The Haunting of Paxwood House

06: Best Friends Save You Leftovers

Wednesday, 15 May 2019, EveningPaxwood, Whatcom County, Washington, USA

Eyewitness: Kerry

Luella Paxwood's voice caught me somewhere between the turn of a page, where her journal became less like reading and more like listening to an old friend. I absorbed her life story, took notes on my computer, forgot about the existence of time or food. At some point, Sly cleaned up her books and placed them on the return shelf, but she left quietly. Whether she respected my focus or found it dull, I didn't particularly care.

I didn't discover any obvious mention of a hidden treasure in Luella Paxwood's journal, but would it be a secret hidden treasure if someone blatantly wrote about it in the open text of a journal?

I also didn't notice the time or the text messages until the on-duty librarian arrived to inform me that she was locking up the library.

I apologized for holding her up and only then checked my phone.

My mother messaged to let me know she was busy with city council work and I should handle my own dinner. That was typical, though.

Then there were three messages from Char.

Char (3:40 PM): Finally done with math retakes—brought my score up to an A! Heading home, lmk when you're on your way over?

Char (4:37 PM): Did a book eat you? Should I send help?

Char (5:24 PM): Dinner might be leftovers by the time you're here, but you're still invited!

I kicked myself as I sent a reply.

Kerry (6:04 PM): Sorry! Lost track of time — omw

Leftovers at Char's still beat whatever I'd piece together on my own at home. Though I found Luella Paxwood's company entrancing, my reverie was broken. My stomach demanded attention.

Char was a once-in-a-lifetime friend who deeply understood me, and I never wanted to lose that. So, I spent the whole bike ride to her home filing away all my thoughts and research notes about Paxwood House, the haunting, the potential hidden treasure, and lawyers that definitely weren't vampires.

Even with my research notes physically closed away, my mind was all wound up. It felt like stuffing springs into a box and securing the lid before the thoughts could jump out. I layered each line just right so it would rest without bumping into another and causing an explosion of new thoughts.

After last night's debacle, I had to let Char lead the conversation. Everything in our friendship couldn't always be about me and my investigations.

By the time I knocked on her door, I'd ratcheted my mental box of investigative springs tightly shut. The flower beds in the front yard were in full bloom. Char's father loved doing landscaping and gardening to relax, and his love showed through the bright selection of colors in elaborate arrangements.

Still hadn't found faeries in those flower beds, but one of these days I'd set up an outside camera and watch for them. It was just that kind of perfect dreamy paradise for a faerie dance.

Char called for me to come in, so I pushed the door open. The sound of the sink running and dishes clanking cut off.

"Sorry you missed dinner with us," Char's father said from his open study, off to the right of the doorway. I pulled off my shoes and left them on the shoe rack. His costume design work featured in stage productions and on screen all over the world. Fabric, sketches, and costume projects in various states of completion filled his work space.

"We saved some for you, though," Char's mother chimed in. She was no doubt curled up with a relaxing book in the living room.

Which meant that Char was doing the dishes.