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Walking up the steps and onto the porch of Cora's century-old farmhouse, she glanced at the windows and noticed the shades were down. Her heart began to pound with apprehension. Cora loved natural light and even under bleak skies the pale wintry day would provide some cheer.
Her pulse sped up as she knocked on the door. When no answer came, she tried the knob and found the door was locked.
Cora never locked the door.
Her hands trembled as she placed the roll on the old porch swing. She dug in her handbag for the keys to the house while telling herself she was fretting about nothing.
"She's taking a nap," she whispered. "Or maybe she's in the cellar." Though she tried to reassure herself, panic built inside her.
A dozen keys jangled on the ring, some so ancient that they could be sold as antiques. There was one for the old springhouse, one for the barn, one for the cellar door, one for the corncrib, and one for every other outbuilding. Flipping through the keys, she searched for the splash of nail polish that marked the key for the front door, which had a more modern lock.
Spotting the bright peach splotch of enamel on one key did not calm her alarm. She had found the right key, but what would she find once she entered the house?
She took a deep breath and tried to quiet her racing pulse. Fitting the key in the lock, she stepped into the dim foyer.
"Cora?" she called out. "Cora, where are you?" Only silence greeted her.
Her body chilled as the memory of the words Abigail had spoken last night rushed into her mind. Come with me!
Why had Abigail needed her?
She could hardly breathe. Trying to quell her fears, she toyed with the curling tendrils that had escaped her braid and prickled against her skin. Then, squaring her shoulders, she walked along the dark hall to the kitchen. The rank smell of stale coffee assailed her nostrils as she entered the room. A coffeepot sat on the stove. Touching the dull aluminum sent an icy shiver straight to her heart. Cora, a meticulous housekeeper, never left the pot on the stove.
A tingle went up her spine as she stared at the basement door. Would she find Cora there? She hated the cellar with its dirt floor, monstrous old coal furnace, and the ominous black pit used as a coal bin. As a child, she had endured countless nightmares set in that murky cave. If any fiend needed an appropriate place to hide, the cellar would make suitable surroundings. She decided to check all the other rooms first.
"Cora?" she called, her voice quivering. She passed through the dining room, the living room, and the small office. Everything appeared to be in place. She paused at the bottom of the stairway leading up to the bedrooms.
Cora had already suffered one stroke that left her with a drooping eyelid and affected her speech. She could have fallen victim to another debilitating stroke. Jennifer clung to the banister as a wave of fear threatened to undo her. She reminded herself that Cora always remembered to take her medication, but she steeled herself for the worst as she climbed the steps.
"Cora?" she called again, trying to squelch the jitters she felt at every creak in the stairway. She pushed open the bathroom door. It squealed on the hinges and set her teeth on edge.
Cora wasn't there.
Across the hall, the sight of the furniture in the spare bedroom draped with ghostly white dust covers sent goose bumps crawling on her skin.
By the time she reached Cora's bedroom door her nerves were at a screaming pitch. Flinging back her heavy braid and clamping her teeth firmly together, she knocked at the door. Her heart pounded loudly in the deafening silence that followed.
Turning the knob, she slowly opened the door. Daylight streamed through the crocheted lace at the windows leaving an interesting pattern on the polished plank floor. The gentle hint of lavender sachet teased her nose. The bed had been made.
She dropped her head into her hands and tried to summon up her failing courage. With cold sweat beading on her brow, she retraced her steps to the kitchen. Pure terror gripped her when she touched the knob to the basement door, but it wouldn't turn. Though her hand felt like ice, she tried it again. It didn't budge.
She searched through the key ring once more. Her fingers fumbled as she jammed a number of old keys into the lock until she found the one that fit. Holding her breath, she opened the door. Gloom, dense and impenetrable, greeted her. She felt as though she stood on the threshold to the pits of hell.
She reached for the tiny brass bell on the string dangling from the ceiling. She yanked and the bare bulb above flashed out its harsh light, blinding her for a moment.
She squinted and peered down the steps. At the bottom, Cora lay crumpled in a heap, her head twisted at an odd angle.
Seizing the handrail as a wave of nausea threatened her, Jennifer hoped her legs would not give way as she descended the stairway.
When she knelt at the elderly woman's side, she brushed back the curly gray hair and touched Cora's cheek. The skin felt cold. She drew back in horror.
"No!" She screamed.
