The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

of them padded out of the parlor and down the hallway until Mother turned to the basement door, gesturing the twins down and then shooting me a little smile and nod to follow. I did, trailing the group cautiously as I wondered what Mother had up her sleeve.

“I’m choking on the mold down here.”

“I’ll call someone,” Mother answered, navigating around the twins and heading for a darkened corner of the damp space. Her slender finger traced the roughened stone walls, a small hum in her voice before she paused at a floor-to-ceiling wooden cabinet. She knocked on the door once, listening for what, I wasn’t sure, before she swung the right door wide and ducked her head inside the wardrobe.

“Hmm.” Her head popped out, perfectly coiffed black hair now covered in tiny silver webs of spider silk. She dusted them off with a huff and then moved around the edge of the cabinet and pushed it easily. It screeched across the uneven stone before halting with a thud against an uneven brick in the floor. “That should be good.”

One of her palms followed a crack in the wall before she pushed softly and what looked like a stone and plaster wall turned to a door that pushed in easily. I covered my mouth, watching in shock as she ducked under the threshold of the shorter-than-normal door and then waved us in behind her.

“Come on chickens, there’s nothing to fear.”

“Famous last words,” I groaned, then pushed the twins in behind my mother. They cried and clung to her black skirt. She waved them off, clearing her voice. She took a few steps and then the soft clank of a chain was heard before a dim yellow light bulb illuminated the space.

We were in a tunnel.

“What is this?”

Mother’s gaze caught mine. “Well, haven’t you been wondering what’s under the garden fountain?”

“No, I have not been wondering,” I retorted.

She waved me off. “All that space—you didn't think it was beauty for the sake of beauty, did you? All beautiful things hide devastating secrets, Zara, haven’t I taught you well enough to recognize an elegant deception when it’s right in front of you?”

“Are we under the fountain?” Yarrow’s question was loud, echoing off the narrow tunnel walls.

“Not yet, my dear, not yet.” She caught a hand of each of the twins in hers and then walked off ahead of me as if she knew exactly where she was going. The silver-blonde in their hair glinted in the dim light. They looked like little ghosts, walking off into Hell.

“It takes a lot of work in the off-season to keep a place like Usher House running.”

She paused as we reached a turn in the tunnel. Her hand searched the wall again, finally yanking on a chain before another, dimmer light flickered on. The light illuminated a small, rounded room, two other tunnels shooting off in opposite directions like the spokes on a wheel.

“This is the old caretaker’s home.”

“Someone lived here?” Yara finally spoke up, her voice tiny like a scared mouse. Her shoulders shook too. I wondered if she’d lost more blood than I’d realized from the thorn flogging she’d suffered earlier. She’d changed her dress to something long-sleeved and black to cover her arms, so I couldn't see how much they’d healed in the hour since it’d happened.

“Still does.” She winked, then poked her head down one of the still-dark tunnels. “Walton!”

Fear bubbled in my heart when I heard the soft scraping of shoes on stone. As the sound grew louder, so did my dread. I gulped when Yarrow backed away from Mother’s skirt and looked up at me, fear tracing his irises.

“Who’s it now?” A voice crackled.

“Come into the light, Walton, you’re scaring the kids.”

“You brought kids?”

“Of course, Usher House is most alive when a child’s laughter rings through the walls. Isn’t that what grandfather always said?”

The man, Walton, grunted. And then he stepped into the light.

His face was twisted with wrinkled skin, dark layers of grime and soot caked into the pores just as it did every surface of the house. He grinned, a dark string of tobacco spit seeping from the corner of his mouth, before he spit the black string into a corner on the floor.

Disdain crossed Mother’s face.

“Well, then. I just wanted to introduce you, the kids will be working down here, cleaning and storing the lily bulbs for spring. I intend to return Usher House to its former grandeur.”

Walton’s eyes cut across the room to land on mine. He arched an eyebrow, then shifted his gaze to Yara’s. “Little hands work fast.”

“Exactly,” Mother hummed, pride seeming to cross her features. “So, don’t be alarmed if you hear Walton shuffling around back here, okay, my loves? He’s your great-uncle, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Go on,” she shoved Yarrow’s shoulder and he stumbled forward, “be a good boy and shake his hand.”

Yarrow’s trembled palm crossed the space between them. Walton's shifty eyes washed from mine and I saw for the first time that one eye was covered in a milky haze, like cataracts left unattended for decades. He shook his head, wiped at his spittle-covered mouth with the back of his hand, and then turned and shuffled down the black tunnel.

“How does he see in the dark?”

“He’s run these hallways since he was a child, he knows every corner better than the rats that run around the fountain at night.”

“The rats?” Yara pressed against my side, eyes on her patent-leather covered toes.

“Sure, but they don’t bite. Just watch your step.”

“Will you be helping us with the lilies?” Yara called after Mother as she headed down the main tunnel that led back to the basement doorway.

“No, I’ll be too busy, my loves. I’ve got a book to write.”

SEVEN

Ryn

Thax’s earlier words rang in my head as I tucked myself deeper into the cracked-leather armchair in the reading room. The librarian was settled behind her desk, a few students perched at tables with laptops open, and me—hiding in the corner