The Bottom of the Sea

Part 19: Just Fine

"I left them right here." I rustled around in my purse, and the pockets of all of my coats, but I couldn't find my keys anywhere. "Have you seen them?" I called to Missy. I was already late for my interview, and frazzled.


"Nope." She was engrossed in a recipe book in the kitchen and surrounded by spices and chopped vegetables. Along with the antique furniture, we found an old, yellowed notebook filled with recipes written in a patient, elegant scrawl. We weren't sure how old it was, but the crumbling pages suggested at least a century. I'd photocopied the pages for safekeeping at work because it looked like the book was seconds away from falling apart. I supposed we'd hand it over to the town archives when we were ready, but for now we were both enjoying testing out the recipes as the nights grew dark. Plus, it felt like the book belonged to the house and we didn't want to send it away.

The colder nights made me want to give baking a try. Missy did most of the meals, but it turned out I excelled at desserts. I made blueberry pie with the berries I picked in the summer from the back field that were in the freezer, a succulent apple cinnamon bread, and sugar pie, a confection that tasted more like caramel pudding stuffed into flaky pastry.

I passed on the calf's head pie and stewed-tongue-in-pastry, I assumed they would be as horrific as they sounded. Not all early 20th century recipes could be winners.

I could never bake anything before, unlike my mother who used to make beautiful breads and cakes from scratch, and usually without a recipe. Using that old cookbook and making delicious things out of cream, eggs, flour and sugar was a kind of magic. It made me feel closer to Mom somehow, like she was right there with me. It was a comforting presence, like a warm hand on my shoulder.

Lately, I felt like whatever was in the house was getting closer and closer to me. At night, I woke up and sensed her in my room watching me. I had taken to sleeping with a mask over my eyes and earplugs in, and still I could feel her there. I hid my discomfort from Missy, she had a lot on her plate. But the night before, I nearly scrambled into bed between her and Simon.

Something woke me at 3 am, and the air in my room was icy and still. I felt a tense anticipation in the silence; I knew something was about to happen. Then I heard someone exhale — a long, deep sigh. It was so close to my ear I could feel my hair move and it made my skin crawl. I scrambled out of bed and snapped on the light, but of course, no one was there.

"Back up," I whispered under my breath. "Back up away from me, you're too close!"

I wrapped myself in a blanket and camped out in the cozy chair in the library, reading until the first pink rays of dawn spread into the room. Exhausted, I rested on the sofa and slept well past my alarm.

I thought about telling Missy, then quickly discarded the idea. She had enough to worry about and the ghost seemed to be leaving her alone, mostly.

"You're doing dinner prep early. What are you making?" I asked, heading into the kitchen when a loud slam made me jump. "Fuck," I yelled. I never cursed much or at all before I moved into this house, but it was becoming an everyday occurrence. The noise came from upstairs.

Another slam startled us both again. It sounded like the door to the bathroom just outside our bedrooms. I refused to go upstairs and look, afraid of what I'd see.

Missy spun around; her eyes wild with fear as she scanned the ceiling. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. My nerves are already raw." She gestured upwards with the rolling pin in her hand.

"What are you making," I asked again, catching her eye. Normal. Everything's normal. Ignore it, push it down, it's not happening.

"Something called Alfred's Chicken," she said, glancing down at the book. "I have to—" Another loud bang interrupted her sentence and she flinched. "Pound the chicken flat and then cut it into chunks for a—" Slam. "Sort-of chicken pot pie casserole," she finished, grimacing each time the loud bangs erupted from the second floor.