Whispers of the Devil

a

an scare me. Maybe that

rely creepy, and no doubt haunted, French Colonial style mansion smack dab

country during my four years of being a travel nurse. I’ve seen things in emerge

scare me. Althoug

she pleads, “Layla, seriously, yo

sigh, narrowing my eyes at the gargantuan str

artments I could find during my nursing rotations. I’ve never stayed in one place very long. Not long enough to need a car, or to sign for my own apartment, that’s for sure. The winding driveway is several miles long by

s inside the boundary of this property sh

istance.” Speaking of something that should have died a long time ago, at least in

I’ve never met her and only have your exagger

to call me repeatedly now that she knows of my intentions here. “She’s been cooped up in the house for decades, sweetie. I’m talking fifty or sixty years. The place is

Cypress roots have sprung from the cement, fanning out like dark claws that dig into the stone like talons.

your life to a grinding halt to make sure she doe

dows greet me as I pull into the driveway beside a rusted out sedan. “Look, I’m here. I’m fine, okay? I needed a break from the emergency room setting,

the bay window in my old childhood home in Kirkland, Washington, ju

st the headrest and letting my car idle. “I should tell you

s with static, the line breaki

f this since the day I told her I’d been contacted by a lawyer i

eir to the family estate that dates back to the early 1800s. This place used to be a pla

windows. The screened-in front porch rattles as someone opens an interior door, and then a petite dark-haired woman peeks

back at her, saying, “Yeah, that’s me. I’m glad I’m in the

s a dirt road that connects with the neighbor’s property. Come on in, it’s stifling today. I just made iced t

and walk to the trunk of my car. I hike my duffle bag ove

, by the way,” she

Bailey. Are you Penny Gr

ht, all of her teeth shin

rhead, blocking some of the light. Strange, I tell myself as I walk up a set of steps and follow Bailey across the porch. I’m used to shadows in strange places, but the second I enter the house, I get that creepi

s the front door behind us. Her steps cause the wood floor to creak until she

hind my ear. “Really? Honestly, I’ve never met my great-au

cigar room. You’ll see. Every one of those people have those big blue eyes and that pointed chin. You look like Ms. Penny, actually. There’s a portrait of

but there’s still an underlying layer of decay hanging in the air. Mom might have been right about

k grand piano has been waxed so thoroughly the sunlight gleams off it, spreading

oo. Laundry room, two small bunk rooms, which I think used to be the house servants’ quarters way back in the day.” She walks back into the foyer. “On the right side, there’s another sitting room in the back, a sunroom. It gets awfully

tubes and latex gloves. The sterile smell immediately brings me back to the hospitals I’ve spent so much time in, and I

leading to the kitchen. Sunlight streams through the back windows as she pours iced tea and h

pen in the summer to let the breeze in. It seems to

W

ps from her tea, her dark curls dancing with the motion. “And then there’s Curtis. He’s our handyman. He’s been fighting with the AC all spring to no avail, but you’ll see him around nonetheless. He comes out once a week to tidy up the landscaping out front and back and checks on t

le. She doesn’t eat much anymore and has an IV for fluids if she doesn’t drink much during the day. She doesn’t talk to us t

ouse. In the distance, against the swaying vines and leaping insects, I

been told the house is perfectly safe, but because of the way it’s settling, you might hear some strange noises at night. The pipes are pretty loud, and sometimes it

can’t help myself, especially while my gaze

e sound. “Mmm… that depends on who you ask. This pl

, creating the family lines I belonged to. I knew her father had died young, and her mother, based on family lore, went clinically insane after his death and died in an asylum in the earl

egory line, the prolific name dy

t nurse quit?” I ask,

window, shrugging. “She didn’t like being here at night, whic

s,” I laugh, sh

before I leave this evening, but it’s a big place. I haven’t even seen half the rooms myself, and I’ve been here

k painfully with each step as the long, darkened hallway she leads me d

sun. It smells sharply of wisteria, lilac, and fresh laundry, which is a welcome relief from the dusty smell in the lower level of the hous

s antique finishes, looks

ey says, planting her hands on her hips. “I guess