Stolen Birthright

Stolen Birthright

By Kristoffer J Martin

Bronze and red haze loomed over the dilapidated gabled ends of a late Victorian mansion. Curly-cued shingles lined the roof edge as a bristling mustache casting eerie shadows across a sprawling overgrown courtyard. Dark dusty windows bleakly mirrored the light of Ali’s 1980 BMW Sprinter van. “We’ll fit right in” she thought as the rust bucket squeaked to a stop. With a heave she threw open her door which crunched as it swung open on its sprung rusty hinges.

She held open a creased black leather bound notebook, well worn from decades of use. Notes scrawled across its pages in sloppy handwriting and doodles revealed a hastily written address, W9653 Butternut Rd, Gresham. “Why did I have to get this dump?” she said aloud. She clamored out of her driver’s seat, her head reaching just above the door handle, her short stature a feature of her stout muscular size. In the light of her van deep auburn hair shined, just brushing her shoulders, defined by a razor sharp transition from long hair to shaved sides of her head. “Nothing to it” she thought as she climbed the crumbling cement stairs into a once grand portico. Tall paint-chipped columns towered above into a high porch roof. Shadows hid the source of a gentle chirp, “Bats...birds?” she thought. Two wide doors, grayed plywood across their windows, sat ajar. She pulled and then pushed, and pushed only to find the door stuck fast.

“Damn it!” she muttered, “Why won’t you o-pen?!” She gave the door a quick kick to which it banged in an echoing reply. Bats swooped out from under the porch roof scattering in all directions. As the dusk light dimmed she returned to her van to grab her torch and turn off her headlights. As she looked across the front of the house, a small face peaked out at her from a window above. What the?.. she thought as a nervous shiver ran across her body. In the brief moment her eyes blinked in disbelief the face was gone. Shaking her head, she turned off her headlights, shut her van door and locked them. “Not tonight,” she said. She clambered into the back of the van, her mobile home of sorts. A single mattress to one side, made up with a sheet and blanket. A small kitchenette staged across from it, and an overflowing trashcan in need of emptying. Ali curled up beneath her blanket, glad for the security her van provided, had always provided, and slowly fell into a restless sleep.

For her it seemed like moments, but hours past her arrival, she awoke to a swift knocking on the side of her van. Dawn’s light beamed through her windows barely illuminating the cab. She jerked upright, instantly alert and turned to look through blurry eyed vision. In the side mirrors of her van was that smallish face, standing, staring, cold and emotionless. Ali scrambled to her feet and pushed open the back doors, hopped down and rounded the corner. Fully expecting for a small child, perhaps a runaway or homeless kid in need of help, she was greeted by nothing. The child was gone, no footprints, no hand prints, nothing to indicate anybody had stood there just moments prior.

“It’s just...imagination...a dream?...” she thought as she shook her head. She readied herself and grabbed her toolbox. The stoop was far less creepy during the day and with some effort and the help of a tire iron, pried the door open. She entered into a wide foyer, a winding staircase adorn by cobwebs climbed to a balcony, and the floor underfoot was springy. Mold and mildew filled her nostrils triggering a deep sneeze, which echoed loudly. Wiping her nose with her sleeve she drew out her small notebook and read the next page. “The deed is found in the library along with a full set of keys.” “Why...why did they just leave it here for just anybody to grab.” she said shaking her head. She slowly walked through the house; a sitting room with furniture covered in dusty once white sheets, a back hall that spanned the length of the house, a dozen closed doors in both directions, and a surprisingly clean wash-closet in the center. She approached each door, a torch in hand, opened looked in, hoping to find the library. The first was a closet, a few hangers and a moth eaten bowler set atop its shelf. The second a butler’s closet, the third an empty study and the fourth a servant’s small room furnished with an old sprung mattress and end table. Upon the table was a bible opened to a sun bleached page, faded from years of evening light. As she turned to leave this room the distinct sound of someone or something moving echoed quietly. “Hello?” she yelled, “Bang!” came a response, a door slammed shut. Torch in one hand, tire iron in the other, she ran towards where she thought she’d heard the sound emanate. She reached the other side of the foyer and down the hall, her torch’s light fading into the darkness. Another set of doors loomed before her. The first was locked as was the second and third. She tested each door until she reached the end where finally a large wooden door with vaulted mantle opened. Inside was the library, a two story room lined with decaying books left to the elements. Broken glass covered the floor from a large window seemingly shattered by a dead crow. A long dust covered table was only disturbed by a recently placed safety box with a combination lock.

“Ah here it is...” she said as she looked in her notebook. “28-64-31-02” she thought as she slowly put in the combination. The box clicked open and there were the keys and deed as promised. Beneath them a few other items. An old photograph of a young girl sitting upon her father’s knee, another note with a combination, and a note. Ali held the note and read aloud, “To my darling cousin, it would seem we would be set to depart and hope to arrive at the homestead in a fortnight, so long as theren’t a problem with the carriage or train. Be well. 8/1/1922”.

“Well, cousin, I guess the homestead stays in the family...ha...” Ali said smirking. She closed the lockbox and took with her its contents. Keys in hand she went to each locked door opening them. Empty room, closet, bathroom and pantry, all of which lead her into a rundown kitchen reminiscent of a 1960s plastic hell. “Gah...” she exclaimed as she looked at the scratched and peeling linoleum floor, garish avocado green walls, matching metal cabinets and a star point clock stopped at ten to two. In the far corner was a door which slowly swung open and closed. As she approached it, it slammed open, lodging the doorknob into the wall and powdering the floor in crumbled plaster. She stopped, eyes fixated on the opening. The doorway seemed to grow in darkness and as she turned to leave she was met with every drawer, every cabinet door, wide open. She raced to the kitchen door which slammed shut before her. Grabbing at the doorknob she twisted and pulled to no avail, it would not budge. She jammed the tire iron wedge between the door and jam, pushing and prying, only to hear a splintering of soft wood that couldn’t give her the leverage she needed to open the door. Withdrawing the tire iron and holding it aloft, she turned around, poised to strike at anything that may attack her. All she was met with was the slow chirp of a second hand ticking. Without any means of egress she slowly returned to the door from before and illuminated it with her torch.

The opening lead down into a cellar, cold wet stone walls glistened in the torch light. Cold air met her breath and a plume of breath wafted upward. “Hello?” she said, “Anybody down here?”. She tentatively stepped down onto the top step, testing her weight, and then another. As she reached the bottom step the cold air hit her. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms and her teeth instantly chattered. Her torch cast long hazy shadows as it crossed opened boxes filled with knickknacks, old dusty furniture, and toys left to rot. Sweeping across the cellar room her light once again briefly showed the ghostly face she’d scene the night before. Ali quickly turned back to the spot only to see nothing but a few cobwebs. She stepped forward slowly, deliberately, the slow tap of dripping water seemed to fill the space. Seeing another moldy door she approached, tire iron raised above her head. She reached out, her hand trembling and she turned the doorknob. The door swung open to a cold dark room. A filthy mattress was wedged up against the wall, a dirty blue knit blanket draped over it. A smattering of old wooden toys, blocks, and ragged stuffed bear filled the middle of the room. To the left of the door was a cast iron bank style standing safe which was equal to her in height. Ali reached up and slowly tried the combination dial and it turned with a click. “The combination” she thought and she took out the slip of paper. “Right...twenty-eight,” she said as she turned the dial, “Sixty-four, thirty-one, two...” She grasped the long handle and plied pressure, it immediately clunked and popped open. With all her weight she swung the door open. Inside, it was empty, devoid of a shelf or item. “Nothing? ...if there was nothing why give me the combination?” she said aloud. As if to answer her the door to the room slammed shut and a gust of cold filled the room. Before she could turn around she felt the force of someone shoving her. She fell forward into the safe which toppled backwards. She looked up to see a black creepy smile and blank black eyes, a featureless mask, staring back at her. Before she could act the safe door was slammed shut.

Clunk

“This is News Center 18 at 10 pm. Our top story tonight, Ali Cauffman, heir to the Cauffman fortune is missing.” said the news anchor. “The young heiress reportedly went to visit the family’s former residence near the small town of Gresham. Authorities discovered her van outside the residence after she was reported missing by friends. She was supposed to attend her family’s remembrance memorial in St. Louis for the August 5th 1922 train wreck which killed two members of her family. Ali Cauffman is one of only two family members left. Her cousin Sydney Cauffman is set to take control of the family business until she is located. If you have any information regarding Ali Cauffman’s disappearance please contact the Shawano county sheriff's office.”