The Maid

The breeze across my bare arm was so slight, I would have paid it no mind if it weren’t for the fact that I stood in the long, upper hallway of the mansion that had no excuse for air to be moving through it. All the doors along its length were closed. There were no windows.

Strange, I thought as a shiver chased up my arm, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. I looked back the way I had come, squinting through the gloom. The hallway seemed to stretch out interminably. I felt as if I’d been walking along it for much longer than it should have taken to cross the entire length of the house. The old, thick carpet absorbed sound, making it seem like I was moving underwater. The wallpaper, once bright crimson with a gold embossed design, now just made me think of dried blood. Every door I passed was the same—heavy, dark-stained oak with dull brass handles. Intricately carved casings around each door would have once been beautiful—but in the dim light, the chiseled grooves and sharp ridges made it look as if the wood had been severely maimed and now bore raised and puckered scars. The mansion was a massive relic. I’d only been here a few days and still got lost in its labyrinth.

The employment agency had scant information when I inquired about the posting. All they could tell me was that the previous maid had died, and now the elderly couple desperately needed assistance. Luckily for them, I desperately needed a job. At my last placement, the husband had gotten in the habit of finding me whenever his wife wasn’t around. These ‘chance’ encounters had rapidly escalated from slightly awkward interactions to a much too hands-on approach. His wife was a pale, frightened ghost of a woman—all defiance long gone. I knew there was no help from that quarter, so I quit.

Standing up for yourself is great, but defiance doesn’t pay well. I had been hounding several employment agencies and was not having much luck. My meager savings had dropped from triple to double digits, and when this posting came up, it sounded ideal. However, I’d had enough jobs to know reality was often far different. However, at that point, I had to take it or lose my lease and my dignity, so I went for it. It would be fine.

It was not fine. My train arrived at my destination late in the day. I was stiff, tired, and my head felt muzzy. A steady rain had been falling for over an hour, casting a pall over everything. It was getting darker by the minute. The station was a mere shack. It looked like a strong gust of wind would topple it; the clinging vines would finally have their way, dragging it down and consuming it. I stood on the platform, staring around with trepidation. The first hint of icy wetness seeped through my running shoes. A cold trace of water oozed past my collar and trickled down my back, causing me to shudder. I turned, debating whether I should get back on the train, but it was steadily gathering momentum like a ten-thousand-pound worm slinking across the rain-soaked ground. I could tell it was already going too fast, even if I gave in to my likely-suicidal thought of running after it and trying to jump on.

Despondently, I grabbed my heavy bags and half-dragged them to the shack away from the wind and rain. As the chuffing train disappeared, the quiet settled around me like a heavy, sodden cape. The meager light from the bare bulb atop the station door barely eked out an existence. The darkness seemed to creep towards me. Nervously, I peered myopically left and right down the single gravel lane beside the station. Upon being hired, I received a note stating that I would be picked up from the station and delivered to the residence. I felt the first needle of panic poke sharply at my composure. As a true city dweller, I had never been more than a few hundred yards from other humans. I had never experienced this overwhelming feeling of aloneness.

I hunted through my hobo bag, frantically searching for my cellphone. Eventually, I felt the familiar cool, smooth rectangle of technological perfection. Sighing with relief, I pulled my lifeline out and clicked it on. The glowing screen felt like a balm to my frazzled nerves until I saw zero bars. A feeling of panic began bubbling up. Adrenaline hummed through my body. All my internal dialogue of Don’t be an idiot and You’re a grown ass woman, you need to calm down, did nothing to stop this slow spiral into hysteria.

Suddenly, over the roaring in my ears, I heard the low growl of an engine. Turning, I saw the glow of headlights reflecting off the dense hedgerow that hemmed the road. A car turned the last corner, and the onslaught of light seared my eyes. I turned away, blinking rapidly to clear the stars. As the car pulled up beside me, I quickly blinked again. Unbelievable! It was an antique Bentley. Like the really, really old kind, with curved fenders, running boards and big-ass headlights on stalks. It was in beautiful shape—even in the dim light, I could see its perfection. How classy!

As the driver’s door opened, I realized a wonderful thing—another human being was here. I began grinning like a fool. The man moved around the front of the car and towards me. I couldn’t see much of his features; he wore a chauffeur’s hat and a greatcoat. The collar was pulled up against the weather, and there wasn’t much showing between the brim of the hat and the coat. I got the impression of sharp angles and a downturned mouth.

“Miss Greene?” he said in a low, rough voice.

“Yes,” I replied, “that’s me.”

He said nothing else, just reached down, opened the door and stood aside. I took that to mean I should enter the car. I reached down to grab my bags.

“I’ll get those, Miss,” he said gruffly.

I released my bags as if the handles were on fire, embarrassed that I had already given away my common upbringing. I stooped and slid into the back seat. The leather seats squeaked beneath my wet clothes. I looked around me, appreciating how nice it was. The door quietly clicked shut behind me. I heard the trunk open and the dull thud of my bags. A few seconds later, the driver’s door opened and he got in.

“Thank you for picking me up. I was starting to get worried I might have the time or day wrong. I was so happy to see you. My name is Sadie.”

A grunt was the only reply I received. I tried a few other stabs at idle chit-chat, but “Lurch” was having none of it. I finally gave up and settled into the comfy seat in silence.

When we arrived, Lurch dropped me off in front of what used to be a grand entry to the mansion. By this time, it was full dark. The house was massive and would have been a splendid structure at one time, but like a supermodel in an old folks' home, one could only see ghostly impressions of the beauty she once was. Now the façade was blotched and peeling like crepey skin. A multitude of windows with black, soulless eyes stared out blankly at the night, their shutters hanging at odd angles. The porch roof listed drunkenly, and the stairs looked like a litigation waiting to happen. Shrubs, vines and thorny bushes vied with one another to climb and conceal the house.

Lurch brought my bags from the car, opened the front door, set them inside, then turned and left—driving off without another word.

I entered the house and shut the door, locking out the elements. It was only marginally brighter in here, as there were only a couple of sparse lights.

“Hello?” I said in a voice barely above a timid whisper. No answer. I looked up to the second floor that encircled the open foyer, but there was no sign of life. Several hallways fanned out around me on the ground floor. Only one exhibited a faint glow, so I chose it.

I crept down the hall, finally entering the room where I could see the faint aura. There was a small fire glowing in a fireplace. Two large, wingback chairs sat facing the fire, but I couldn’t see enough to know if they were occupied. I crept closer, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. I had a sudden vision of finding the inhabitants dead and mummified, staring at the fire through empty eye sockets.

Holding my breath, I peered around the edge of the chair and sighed in relief. Mr. and Mrs. Moor were fast asleep—he with a book lying on his chest, she with an almost empty teacup beside her chair. I cleared my throat loudly. Mr. Moor came awake with a startled snort, which caused his wife to raise her drooping head and stare about the room blearily.

“Oh!” he said when he caught sight of me, “Oh my stars, child, you gave me a start. Where did you come from?”

“I am sorry to scare you,” I replied, “I am Sadie, your new maid.”

He stared at me through rheumy eyes, then slowly nodded, “Yes, now I do recall. Nice to meet you, Sadie. My name is Benjamin.”

His voice was soft and creaky, yet also kind and welcoming.

“This is my dear wife, Elizabeth.” He turned towards the woman who did not appear focused on anything. “Lizzie dear, our new maid is here; her name is Sadie.”

Elizabeth gave no indication she heard him or even knew where she was. A sad, tender expression came over Benjamin’s face as he looked at his wife.

“She has her good and bad days, but sadly, this is not a good day. I am sure tomorrow she will be right as rain, and I can give you a proper introduction. For now, let me show you to your room.”

He slowly rose from his chair, looking like it pained him greatly. He grabbed his cane from beside the chair and smiled up at me.

“Please follow me,” he said, then slowly shuffled out of the room.

He managed the arduous, turtle-slow climb up the stairs, then showed me to a charming, well-appointed room. It was the cheeriest part of the house I’d seen yet. However, I gave myself a case of the willies when I considered that the previous maid might have died in this room.

“I hope this is to your liking,” he quavered. I assured him it was. We then went on a very slow tour of the lower floor, to the kitchen, laundry area and other rooms I would require. He told me I was free to explore the upstairs more, but he and his wife stayed on the ground level. He explained my duties, and they were all pretty unremarkable —maid-type work. Not a problem, I thought.

Now, three days later, I stood in the dismal hallway, my arms laden with linens, wondering what new weirdness was happening. And trust me, that list was growing exponentially. I got the feeling there was more to this situation than I understood.

I knew old homes had usual creaks and groans as they settled and shifted due to cold and humidity. This was a whole other level of eerie noises. An aging dame muttering to herself and cursing her inhabitants. Once in a while, there would be a distant bang emitting from an unoccupied part of the house. Or whispery, moaning sounds that did not sound like the wind caused them, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise.

The strangest part of all was the Moors. Mrs. Moor had never spoken to me yet. She always seemed lost and unaware of her surroundings. I was grateful that Mr. Moor still seemed able to help her. Strangely, I had yet to meet them in the halls. I would walk into a room and they would just be there. They tended to frequent the library, the parlour and the small dining room. Other than that, they were ensconced in their private suite.

I had yet to go to their suite, which was down a short hallway towards the back of the house. Mr. Moor reassured me he would let me know if they needed anything, but for now, they had been self-sufficient. I made them simple meals that were served in the dining room. They seemed to subsist on air, though, as it always looked like they had barely touched their food. I knew older people had lighter appetites, but this seemed ridiculous.

I don’t know what woke me that night. What I was sure of was that I smelled smoke. I threw off my blankets and grabbed my phone, switching on the flashlight. Cautiously, I cracked open my door. The smell was definitely more pungent. My phone’s light caught wisps of smoke curling and slithering past. I looked right and was terrified to find a flickering reflection on the wood paneling—it was coming up the stairs!

Panicked, I fled to the left. There were other stairs there. With heightened senses, I could hear the faint crackling as fire greedily ate at the innards: the creaks, groans and wails from the old dame as the gathering inferno tore her apart. I pounded down the stairs, my mind a flurry of disjointed thoughts. Where were Benjamin and Elizabeth? Were they still in their suite? Where was the closest fire hall? Did they have 9-1-1 out here?

The landing was lit up with an ethereal orange glow. My heart stuttered—what if I couldn’t get out of here? Now my jagged breathing was not just from the smoky air. I felt I was on the verge of full-blown panic, but I had to keep my head. I had to get to Benjamin and Elizabeth. Hitting the bottom of the stairs, I saw that the great hall was not yet aflame, but I could see fire. To my left, down a smaller hallway, there was a solid wall of flame. It was already licking around the edges of the opening, gorging on the old wood, paint and wallpaper.

I ran. My bare feet hammered out a staccato slap, slap, slap against the tiles. The fire roared behind me. My imagination conjured a beast from hell, long red fangs and claws, galloping behind me, ready to turn me to cinders. I ran faster.

I was almost at the hall to their suite. But it was getting hotter as I ran. I reached the doorway and nearly turned into a solid wall of flames. Crying out, I threw up my arms to protect my face from the searing heat and backed up quickly. I stared in bewilderment at the blaze blocking my path. A sob tore from my throat, and my eyes burned from more than the smoke. There was no way to reach them. It would be a certain death to try. The heat was becoming intolerable. I had to save myself.

I raced down the hall towards the side door at the end. I was almost there when a force blew open the parlor door, and flames came shooting out, blocking my way. I screamed, sliding to a stop. All rational thought left my head; I was a trapped animal, and panic swamped me—no way forward, no way back. I tried a doorknob next to me—locked. Frantically, I scrabbled to the next—also locked. I had only one more before I was SOL. That door would be my salvation or my death. The relief when it opened almost caused my knees to buckle.

I quickly crossed the floor to the window. Unlatching the sash, I tried lifting. Nothing. A frustrated scream erupted as I yanked desperately on the window—still nothing. I looked wildly around the room. Outside the door, I could see writhing shadows on the walls.

By now, the smoke had become a thick, choking miasma. I was coughing and struggling to breathe. My eyes watered, and my vision was blurry. Grabbing a small chair, I ran to the window and smashed through it. I tore a velvet curtain down and laid it across the sill. Swinging my legs through, I managed to turn and hang briefly before dropping to the ground.

I don’t remember much that happened after that. I was lying on the cold, wet ground, coughing and crying as I watched the house die. Fresh tears wracked my body as I thought of poor Benjamin and Elizabeth. I think I went into shock after that because I don’t remember the fire trucks that eventually arrived. By then, there was nothing to do but watch it burn and prevent it from spreading to the grounds. Haltingly, through great gasping sobs, I told the firefighters the terrible fate of the Moors. They knew there was nothing they could do at that point.

Days later, the fire investigator came to the tiny inn I was staying at. He was a portly man with a big mustache and kind eyes. He sat me down and gently explained that they had found no evidence of anyone else in the house. They had combed through the wreckage and yet had found nothing. All indications were that I was the only one who had been at the house. He gently patted my hand, gave me his card, and left. I sat there stunned as shivers raced up my spine and my mind whirled. As I sat in the stuffy, cramped room, I felt a cool breeze brush past my cheek.