The Collection

Melanie stares at the old coat rack. She could’ve sworn this was still in the attic. She sighs, shaking her head. Everything’s been a blur since Grandma died. She inherited Grandma’s house last month and with it, a lifetime of jackets. Grandma had been a fashionista in her younger days.

“Honey, I was gorgeous. Everyone wanted to be my friend,” Grandma would brag, head high.

It wasn’t the jackets themselves; it was the sheer volume. The attic held nothing but jackets and the lone oak coat rack. No trunks of memories. No other clothes. Just silence, dust, and jackets.

Melanie searches for anything that might smooth the raw edge of her grief. The sun dousing the coat rack at the far end of the attic makes her laugh like it did the day before. Little dust motes glitter, adding a sense of magic. It’s like the coat rack could come alive at any moment. Its four arms spread wide, proud, showing off its jacket bounty like a hunter’s display.

Yesterday, Melanie tried to share the joke with her brother. “We have spices for spice racks; the coat rack has jackets…” Luke was too burnt out. His eyes tracked her words, but he was miles away.

She loves Luke, but his nose and veins abuse anything they can. Their relationship has deteriorated over the years, what little there was. She fears the call saying he’s face down in a ditch.

“I remember the paint smell when she’d repaint it every year,” he said, inhaling. Melanie knew he was inhaling for the fumes, not the memory. “Think I could have some? Just to… wear.” He tapped his foot, a childhood tell that meant he was lying.

Melanie bit back tears. “They stay here for… safekeeping.”

He cursed her out, mumbling “…stupid coat rack, anyway…” as he stormed off.

She learned to just let him go. He’d come back or not.

Right now, she needs to compartmentalize yesterday with Luke because the house is a mess. Confusion drips into her veins as she stares at the coat rack. She didn’t remember taking it out of the attic. Anger and sadness have been battling over her raw nerves, so who knows what she rearranged yesterday after Luke left.

She hauls the coat rack upstairs. On the last set of stairs, she loses grip, it clatters down three steps. A long wooden groan fills the stairway. She finishes it and places back in its spotlight in the back of the attic. Looking at the jackets, she decides to have a yard sale with them tomorrow. She’s aware Luke would’ve sold them, but the money will be spent wisely.

Melanie works around the house until midnight. Memories cascade with each box she packs. Raw inside and out, she collapses into her Grandma’s bed and is dreaming within seconds…

Melanie stands inside the house, staring at the front door. Her Grandma opens the door with another woman standing beside her. Grandma ushers the woman in, then turns to Melanie and grins. It’s too wide. Too many teeth. Grandma takes the woman’s jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. Light erupts from every orifice of the woman, blinding Melanie. The woman shrieks, a sound that seems to rip the dream open.

Melanie jolts awake and hurls her shrill alarm clock at the wall. She pads barefoot into the kitchen, trying to shake the dream off with the bittersweet aroma of coffee. By her second cup, a knock comes at the door. Melanie drifts to it.

“Tabitha, great to see you,” Melanie steps aside, and Tabitha and her Curve perfume enter the foyer. Lilac and nutmeg remind Melanie of baking cookies with Grandma. “I’ve wrangled the messy piles. It’ll be ready for sale soon. Coffee?” Melanie heads toward the kitchen.

Tabitha sniffs the air, nods, and shrugs off her electric blue blazer. Her white cashmere short-sleeved shirt reveals an intricate black rose tattoo on her forearm. Melanie trusts people with tattoos. Pain meant endurance. She had none.

“Lots of cream, no sugar. And you’re fine. You’re going through a lot. Look at this messy bun. Didn’t even shower.” She laughs, then blinks fast, suddenly self-conscious. She drapes the blazer over her tattoo.

Melanie notices but doesn’t comment. Professional boundaries are tricky. Tabitha’s mom helped Grandma buy this house, so Melanie figures her daughter is fine enough to sell it. She slips into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” Tabitha calls back. A thud echoes from the front door. “Oh, your grandmother adored this coat rack. July’s so hot, I don’t know why I wore a blazer. It’s…”

It takes a moment for Tabitha’s words to register. Melanie stops pouring cream. The coat rack? How?

She waits. Maybe a client texted, some are very needy. Melanie walks to the foyer to find Tabitha’s blazer swinging on the coat rack, as if just hung.

“Tabitha?” Melanie calls.

She checks the sitting room. Empty. She opens the door, checks the porch. Nothing. Melanie spins in a circle. Tabitha would’ve had to walk by the kitchen to go deeper into the house. “I would’ve heard…”

Silence wraps around her. Lilacs and nutmeg taunt her nose. But no Tabitha. Melanie’s stomach pits and she drops onto the couch in the sitting room. The room spins.

“Okay, enough.” Melanie calls Tabitha. The phone rings… from the foyer. Relief loosens her chest She rushes toward the sound.

The foyer is empty.

The ringing drills into the silence.

Melanie’s gaze snaps to the coat rack. The blazer sways. She shivers. As she inches closer, the coat rack seems to rise. She ends the call. Silence ricochets through the foyer. Her hand trembles reaching toward the blazer. She tugs and screams.

The coat rack seems to lunge at her, arms everywhere, ready to strangle, to devour, to kill, to… be perfectly still. The blazer’s locker loop caught on the coat rack’s finger. Melanie freezes, her scream dies mid-air.

Melanie collapses into laughter. Almost hysterical. Stress and fear drains out of her in a rush. She’s more wounded than she realizes. All she can do is laugh.

Tabitha must’ve seen her panic decided she needed a laugh. She’ll show eventually. She reminds herself Tabitha enjoys dramatic gestures. She holds on to that idea like a life raft. Leaving her phone, keys, and car is bold, but realtors are a different breed.

Melanie organizes the house. Hauling the coat rack back to the attic feels easier, though it seems heavier. Even so, she doesn’t drop it.

By nightfall, Melanie’s over the prank. Where the hell is Tabitha?

Melanie throws herself into bed, sleep dragging her under. The dream claws its way back. Her alarm yanks her awake before the light hits. She drags herself out of bed and gets ready for the yard sale.

Each time she carries jackets to the table outside, she walks through faint wisps of lilac and nutmeg. She keeps her eyes on the edges of her vision, waiting for Tabitha.

Twenty minutes later, other knickknacks and Grandma’s forty-eight jackets are lined up for new owners. Melanie thought she recognized some but dismisses the thought.

An hour later, Mr. Robinson, the calm, reserved widower from down the street, ambles up the jackets. His eyes catch one and his demeanor turns rigid and hostile.

“Where’d you get this?” He snaps.

“The attic,” Melanie is thrown by his tone.

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. Where’d you get this?” He lifts a red floral jacket. It’s sleek and simple; one she almost kept.

One she thought she recognized but couldn’t place.

 His voice breaks. “Linda wore this the last time I saw her.”

Melanie falters. “These were my grandmother’s, maybe they…” He hugs it close, eyes full of desperate pain. She nods her head, gesturing for him to take it. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent, getting lost in Linda’s memory. She watches him shuffle home.

Melanie smiles at the jacket returning home. It’s short-lived. A cold dread threads in her stomach. She remembers Linda went missing several years ago. What were you doing with it, Grandma? Melanie turns to the front door.

She’s been in the sun for too long, she could’ve sworn she shut it. She remembers the door’s echo. A lot of moving parts today, so it’s possible she did slide it shut. She shakes it off, turns back around.

But something nags at her. Melanie glances down the street, in windows, she’s alone. She exhales, rolling her eyes at herself. She starts to scroll on her phone, trying to drown out the creeping feeling in her neck. Someone must be watching her. She stiffens.

Or something is watching her.

She cranes her neck to the front door. A moment of relief, nothing there. Her eyes involuntarily trace up to the circular attic window. She squints, shielding her eyes from the sun. The light hits just right, making the silhouette inside look… taller. Her heart is in her throat.

A cloud pulls its shadow over the window, smoothing out the silhouette. It looks less menacing. Melanie turns back around in the chair, looks at her lap, dumbfounded at how silly she’s acting. She thinks a few moments before she decides to go check, calm her mind.

A few minutes later, she stands in front of the attic. She opens the door. The coat rack stands in its waning spotlight. Shiny in the dim light, yet somehow dull. “You’re a mess,” she whispers, unsure if she means herself or the rack. She closes the door. She whips it open again, testing her fear of a hungry coat rack.

She imagines how a coat rack would eat and… giggles. She shuts the door and heads downstairs. She spends an hour or so tidying up, trying to shake off the unease. She collapses into bed soon after, forgetting the attic for now, but sad no one has checked in on Tabitha.

The dream returns.

Melanie wakes, clinging to the dream. “She bursts into light when Grandma hangs her jacket on the coat rack…” She sits upright. “Tabitha!” Fear tears through the thin comfort she found last night.

She sucks in air. “One way to settle this.” She throws back the covers, pulse sharp.

Determined, she grabs a jacket, storms up to the coat rack. If the dream was real, the coat rack would react. If it didn’t, she could breathe again. Without letting herself hesitate, she throws the jacket on the coat rack, closing her eyes and tensing.

But nothing.

No bursting into light.

Melanie rubs her eyes. Luke, Tabitha’s disappearance, this house, her own spiraling mind, everything’s been tightening around her temples.

“Just a weird, recurring dream.” She exclaims, laughing. Hysterical again like when she thought she was being attacked by the coat rack. She watches the dust motes swirl around her, disturbed when she rushed in. They dull the fear buzzing under her skin. Melanie leaves the attic lighter in her step.

Two dreamless days later, the house is packed and ready whenever Tabitha comes back. Her phone chimes, “Luke?”

“Detective Maverick.” A stern voice says.

Melanie’s heart sinks. “What was it this time?” She did quick mental calculations.

“We caught him in a drug sting,” the detective says. “But I’ve never seen someone so thankful to get caught. He’s been in rehab several days. I checked on him. He’s doing well. Sudden, sure, but when they bite the bit, you give them every chance. I’m curious, Melanie, what did you say to him?”

“I told him he couldn’t have any of Grandma’s jackets.”

She can hear the detective smile. “Whatever it takes. He mentioned you’re packing up the house, so I connected him with a moving company outreach program. They’ll help keep an eye on him. Luke’s lucky to have you. I’ll text the details.” Melanie smiles and ends the call. Luke cleaning up, maybe for real this time. Hope blossoms in her.

Only thing missing is Tabitha.

Melanie folds Tabitha’s electric blue blazer, still smelling of lilac and nutmeg. She tucks it in the back of the closet. She moves Tabitha’s car into the garage. The police hadn’t claimed it, no one had, and she couldn’t stand seeing it abandoned in the driveway. But someone will come by to get it, right?

Eventually?

She calls the movers outreach and schedules them for tomorrow. Something still lurks in her stomach, even after her attic test.

The coat rack will be loaded first. Far in the back of the truck.

To be safe and secure, of course.

***

Six months later, Melanie and Luke crunch through December snow, bundled against the chill, admiring Christmas lights. Their nightly tradition now.

“Thank you, again,” Luke says quietly, eyes lingering on a nativity scene.

She knows this tone, “You did the hard work, Luke. Still doing.” She punches his shoulder, and they head home, laughing

Melanie unlocks the door and they bustle in. She tears off her gloves and jacket, flinging them onto the foyer chair. “Chocolate coffee? And I tell you every time: gloves off first, then jacket.” She laughs at him stuck in his jacket. “Close the door!” She calls over her shoulder moving toward the kitchen.

A familiar thud. Melanie unwraps and plops some chocolate in the brewed coffee. “You brought the coat rack back. Say that five times fast.” Luke laughs from the foyer.

Melanie freezes, watching the chocolate swirl. No. How?

“Oof, Grandma’d be pissed that you drew this black rose on it. It’s nice, but…” His voice fades as Tabitha’s tattoo flashes in Melanie’s mind, followed by Grandma painting it every year. But she threw a jacket on it months ago and nothing happened.

Because someone else wore it last. Grandma knew.

“Everyone wanted to be my friend.” Grandma’s words echo in Melanie’s mind. Yeah, when you can get rid of your enemies, only people you like are left.

She thinks of Tabitha, overheated, tossing her blazer on it, disappearing. A cry escapes Melanie’s mouth. The jacket she just took off is right there. How could she be so careless… she’s put herself right in its path… but she thought it was gone. She inches toward the foyer, tears spilling when she sees the coat rack.

“Why are you crying? Burn yourself again?” Luke jokes, lifting her jacket.

“Luke… please give that to me.” Melanie gulps. She sees the black rose. Poor Tabitha. Fear beads across her brow.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s nice, you need to hang it up.” He waves her off.

“Please…” Melanie barely hears her own voice.

He stops, turning with a puzzled brow. “What’s your problem? I’m doing something nice.” He flings the jacket over the eager arm.

“Luke—no!” Melanie screams. Heat detonates inside her.

“Melanie, calm dow—” Luke turns just in time to see her erupt with light.

Her last coherent thought before the light vaporizes her is what design she’ll leave on the coat rack.