Chapter 3: New Home

She stumbled down the last two steps, almost falling into her mother's arms. "Alice!" Betty took a step back to prevent the collision, her hands supporting her

daughter at a distance. "What were you doing up there?"

Alice shrugged, her hair falling over her face as she settled her eyes between Betty's shoes. Her shoulders rolled in a shrug, her favorite gesture. "Nothing."

Betty's sigh was louder than usual. Alice watched Aunt Christine's pointy toed high heels come to a halt next to Betty's practical flats.

"Just look at the mess of you." There was an edge to Aunt Christine's voice that made Alice's teeth grind together, as if a little dust on her clothing made her a criminal or worse. A loser.

Betty reached around Alice and hooked the door. Alice listened to the soft swish of wind it made as her mother slammed it shut.

"Don't wander off." Betty turned and retreated down the hall, but Aunt Christine's shoes never moved. Alice risked a glance up and wished she hadn't. Her aunt's blue eyes, clearly faked with contacts, glared at her like she wasn't worth squashing under her polished spike heels. A sneer pulled at the woman's mouth, but the expression stopped at her eyes. Alice thought it was too much Botox making it impossible for her forehead to do anything about her disdain.

"Come along then, Alice," Aunt Christine said, eyes drifting to the attic doorway and back. Her sneer deepened and Alice wondered if perhaps the woman meant it as a smile instead. She held out one manicured hand tipped with impossibly long fingernails digging into Alice's arm when she grabbed on. Alice tugged herself free, rubbing at the pain even through her heavy sweatshirt.

Alice followed obediently, meekly even. She was good at that. And usually better at not being noticed. At least, until there was someone to blame for something.

Her hands brushed over the wooden box tucked into the baggy bottom of her sweatshirt and Alice allowed herself a little smile. Not just because she found something interesting, but because she had been able to keep it from her mother and aunt. It gave her a great deal of satisfaction, for some reason.

Aunt Christine clicked her way down the broad staircase to the first floor, Alice trailing behind her. She ran one hand over the banister as she went, loving the feel of theold wood, how it had worn to a polish after years of hands just like hers making the same journey. It wasn't until she reached the bottom she realized her smile was big enough for her mother to notice because when she looked up and caught Betty's eyes, her mom smiled back.

For once, Alice didn't drop her gaze and let her mother see her happiness.

Aunt Christine broke the tiny spell woven between mother and daughter and Alice instantly felt a jolt of hatred for the horrid woman.

"I suppose you'll want help cleaning up this mess."

Betty's smile faded as she looked around. "I think we can handle it. Right, Alice?" She shrugged. Whatever.

"You're sure?" Aunt Christine wasn't talking about the cleaning, it seemed clear, because Betty sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yes, for the last time. Mom wanted us to live here, Chris. So we're staying."

Alice wanted to drift away again, sensing the fight pending, but she knew, now Betty was aware of her, there would be no more exploring on her mother's time.

The front door opened, a flash of sunlight glowing across the old tile floor, a cloud of dust motes floating visibly in the air until the heavy door swung shut again with a thud. A matching set of heels clacked their way toward them as a slim blonde, the picture of her mother, made herself at home.

"Claire," Aunt Christine smiled for real at last, though Alice thought her frozen face made it look like she wore a mask, "you made it."

Cousin Claire sniffed the air as if it offended her. "I'm missing cheer practice for this, Mother," she said as she softened her words with a little smile for Betty and an even smaller one for Alice.

"I know, pet," Aunt Christine said. "We won't be much longer. Bets," she turned toward her sister, "I really hope you'll reconsider. Mother isn't in her right mind and hasn't been for quite some time. Selling the house is the best option. Who knows what kind of mess you're going to find once you start cleaning."

Claire looked stunned then angry. "I thought this was already decided," she hissed at her mother. Aunt Christine ignored her daughter. "I have an excellent realtor for you to speak with, all the way from New Orleans." She pronounced it Naworlans as if it were all one word. "He'll get us the very best deal."

Us? Alice perked. And spoke up for the first time in her life. "Gram left the house to us."

Aunt Christine looked like Alice slapped her, but Betty snorted a laugh she covered with a cough. "Thank you, Chris," Betty said. "I have a lot of work to do. If you don't mind."

Part of Alice kicked herself for saying anything. What was wrong with her? She knew better. Speaking up just got her in trouble. And from the glare Claire gave her, Alice was sure school wasn't going to be the great adventure in popularity her mother hoped it would be. Still, the other part of her, the suddenly brave and daring part, was so pleased she smiled back at her cousin instead of dropping her eyes.

She'd pay for it, definitely.

Aunt Christine and Claire turned and marched in high-heeled unison for the door. "I'll be by tomorrow," Aunt Christine said, placing something thin and square on the

table by the entry, "to talk about the house." She rolled out like it was decided after all. It made Alice so angry she couldn't help herself. She made it to the door just behind Claire and slammed it firmly behind her.

Alice spun, pressing her back against the door and caught her mother's eyes. Betty stepped up and hugged her daughter. Alice was so shocked by the gesture she hugged her mother back, though she was careful to only hug with her arms and keep her distance.

Wouldn't do to have Betty uncover the box inside her shirt, not until Alice had time to examine the contents more closely.

"You like it here, don't you?" Betty leaned back, smiling. "The house?"

Alice couldn't stop her own smile no matter how hard she tried and wondered what was wrong with her. "I really do, Mom."

Betty looked around her with a far-off expression. "So many memories," she whispered. "I'd like to make some new ones."

Alice picked up the business card with the cheesily smiling realtor on the front and handed it to Betty. "Aunt Christine seems to want this place to be a memory." Betty deliberately tore the card in two. "I've spent my whole life running from Blunt House," she said, "and for the first time, Mom wants me here. So I'm staying, Christine or no Christine." She handed the bits to Alice. "Trash, please."

That made Alice very happy.

The next several hours were spent putting the kitchen in order, so stocked full of old food and garbage it took five large garbage bags and a lot of sweat to set things right. The room was huge, the appliances old-fashioned and incredible. Alice loved everything about it, from the carved wooden cabinets to the giant slab island taking up the majority of the center of the room. The sun was setting across the back garden, the last of the light shining into the kitchen when Betty called a halt.

"Thanks, honey," she said, squeezing Alice's hand.

"Would have gone faster if Evan was here." Resentment crept past her happiness.

Evan got away with everything.

"He's busy," Betty said. Obvious excuse. "Besides, he'll be here tomorrow for the heavy lifting."

"Yeah, right." Alice caught a yawn with her hand just as her stomach growled. She and her mom devoured the better part of a large pepperoni pizza before Betty softly kissed Alice on the forehead and left her alone.

Alice found her cot, set up in the crowded and slightly creepy front room. Her room wasn't ready yet. She hadn't even chosen one. That would be tomorrow. For now, she was happy to visit the small bathroom down the hall with her toothbrush and pajamas before crawling into bed with her bundled sweatshirt, the doll's box safely inside.

Alice slid under the covers, hiding at the sound of a car roaring up the driveway, the sound of loud music, and a door slamming. Footsteps on the old stone walk. The front door sighing open. Evan kept walking, his large form moving past the living room door. He didn't look her way or even try to scare her. Not yet, anyway. But this house, all the places he could hide, or trap her...she shuddered in the dark, hating the closing in of the night, like always, hoping her mother would leave the hall light on.

Just in case. Alice wouldn't put it past Evan to use the dark against her as soon as he had the chance. His favorite weapon when they were kids. She still felt panic hitch in herchest when she remembered the first night after their dad left. Evan appeared over her in her room, fury on his face, before dragging her to her closet and locking her inside.

Without a word. No explanation. Just absolute rage on his face.

Alice screamed, but her mother hadn't heard, lost in a sleeping-pill coma. Her fear of the dark, a common thing once, grew that night. Expanded outward before contracting to engulf her, devouring her as she wept and pounded on her locked closet door, begging Evan to let her out while the black closed in, terror eating her alive.

Only the softness of the gray place, a dull and apathetic shroud, helped her survive.

She finally slept because of it, waking to the door open, light peeking in as the morning sun tried to warm her frozen heart, but she lost a part of her soul that night. To hate, for Evan, for their father. For her mother for not protecting her. For not believing her when she told Betty what Evan had done.

Alice learned to lock her bedroom door. But it didn't stop Evan. Not always.

She waited for the sound of her mother's voice, heard Evan answer, before tenting her covers and switching on her small flashlight. She was never without it. Never. But rather than a valiant protector from the dark, her light served another purpose: satisfying her curiosity.

For once, the dark around her didn't seem so terrible, not with a mystery to distract her. Alice had her sweatshirt bundled up with her. Slowly, carefully, she unwound it and let the box drop onto the thin mattress. She dumped the sweatshirt out from under the covers and eagerly examined the box with her light.

It was about a foot long and five or so inches wide, hand-carved, Alice guessed, from the tool marks and tiny metal nails. The top was etched with words she didn't recognize, symbols she didn't know. But it wasn't the box she was eager to see.

Alice slid the lid open, this time feeling no resistance, and set it aside. She reached one finger into the box and touched the doll. The fabric of its little body felt rough, but not unpleasant. The scent of old straw from the bedding made Alice sneeze as she fingered the frilly blue dress. She examined the pearl headed pins, wiping at the stubborn rust stain on the one she'd found embedded in the doll's leg before setting those aside as well. Finally, she reached into the box and lifted the doll free, holding it carefully in onehand. She worried, at first, she might damage it. The doll seemed fragile with age, like the kerchief, which hid it, or the straw it rested in. But when it settled in her hand, it seemed sturdy enough, at least not coming apart when she squeezed it gently.

It held her fascinated attention, from its button eyes, one shiny black with a polish like stone and the other dull blue with lines of marble through it. The burlap body smelled faintly of fish. The little dress was so soft, like silk, the lace delicate and yellowed with age. Alice set it on her pillow, still under the covers, stroking it with her fingers.

"Where did you come from?" She felt something prick her leg as she shifted sideways and retrieved the pins, placing them back in the box with great care. "And what are these for?"

The doll stared at her with its button eyes, coarse body limp. Alice smiled at herself, talking to a doll. Still, when she closed her eyes to go to sleep, it was still in her hand, clutched to her heart.

***

It is overcome with emotionÑjoy, excitement, love. Finally, It has come home to Its mistress, the one It was destined to find. The passage of time has run so long, but It has been patient, through the agony. And now, the pain is gone at last, though the effects will remain forever.

She has claimed It. She has need. And It, in devotion and absolute, pain-twisted commitment, will ensure she has everything she has ever wanted.

***