Though I was angry with her, she knows how to convince me. Although she is my best friend and I can’t leave her alone. And if everyone started working from home. Let me also join them. Anything is fair in love and war. She joined me.
Watercolour paintings hung on the walls, alternately depicting nature
scenes and small animals. The animals were all slightly wrong. The eyes weren’t level, one ear seemed more massive than the other, or its pose was contorted. I wondered if those paintings were part of the original furnishings, too. Had each of the house’s occupants walked into the same surroundings then walked out, leaving it virtually untouched for the next family? Ruby stopped at the top of the stairs. The hallway was poorly lit, and the light refracted from the lower floor painted her face with odd shadows. She stared down the hall. “It doesn’t look this large from the outside.” “No,” I agreed.
She took a hesitant step down the hall. I moved up to her side to offer what reassurance I could.
“It’s strange with furniture in it.” She laughed, but there wasn’t much
the strength behind it. “I know that must sound odd—houses are supposed to be furnished—but these beds and desks and wardrobes aren’t mine, and that makes me feel like I don’t belong here.” It was the same sensation I’d felt earlier while eating off the previous family’s dishes as if we were intruders taking advantage of their property while they were on holiday. “It’s your house,” I said, putting conviction behind the words. “It belongs to you. No one else.”
The door at the end of the hall groaned as it shifted closed.
Both Ruby and I jumped. I laughed and patted her shoulder. “Someone must have left the window open.” “Yeah. Probably.” She tried to match my chuckles but stayed rooted to the spot.
We both watched the door. It didn’t move. “Come on.” I led the way. “One of the rooms has got to be a good place to work. Do you need any sort of special arrangement to make your dolls?” “N-No.” She glanced through each partially open door we passed. Most
were bedrooms. “Just desk space and—and good lighting.”
The upstairs floor was all wood panelling. I ran my fingers over the
planks, feeling their little grooves and bumps. A splinter caught on my index finger, and I pulled it back with a murmur. Should’ve been more careful. “Jo?” Ruby’s voice was a whisper. She tugged on my jacket. “Did you see that?” “See what?” I followed her gaze towards the room at the end of the hall, the one with the shifting door. It was open just a sliver, revealing blue wallpaper and a hint of natural light. I squinted and took a step closer. A woman paced through the room.
I took a quick, sharp breath. She’d been visible for only a fraction of a second. I’d caught a glimpse of a washed-out slate-blue dress and sallow, shadowed eyes. Then she was gone again. When I tried to step back, I bumped into Ruby. Her voice was ragged
with stress. “You saw her, too, didn’t you?” Has someone been staying in the house? I didn’t want to move, but I forced my legs to carry me closer to the room. I stretched out a hand and bumped the door. The hinges wailed as the door glided open. Inside was
empty. “No one.” The anxious squeeze didn’t leave my chest. I couldn’t figure out if an empty room were better or worse than finding a squatter. Ruby came up beside me. She crouched to peer under the wooden desk then stood and released a breath in a rush.
“Oh! Look! It was just the curtain.” The windows had been left open. The heavy drapes framing them billowed out in a gust of wind. They were the right shade of slate blue to be confused for a woman’s dress and in the right position to be visible through the door’s gap, but as I stared at them, I found myself less willing to be convinced than Ruby. The curtains had no eyes. Ruby’s mood had lifted again, though she cuckled as she stepped into the room and admired its furniture and blue wallpaper.