Tell No Tales

Part 2: Bottle

“Would you like some tea?” Christine asked the strange man standing in the hall. He was a quiet, stocky man, with a thick white moustache and a shiny bald head. He held a little silver toolbox in one hand.

He shook his head, and then raised the thermos that was in his hand. She could hear its contents slosh around. “I’ve got my coffee, thanks. Your husband said he’d be down any second, anyway.”

“Right,” she said, nodding politely. “Well, if you change your mind—”

But she was cut off as Martin appeared at the top of the stairs. “Alright!” he said, as he clomped down, taking two at a time. “Thanks again for coming all the way out here. Are you ready?”

“Yep,” the man replied. “Just show me where it is.”

“Sure thing!” Martin said, but swung around to face his wife. “Sorry, dear, but I couldn’t find the second pair of keys. I thought I put them in a drawer in the bedroom, but they’re not there.”

Christine’s brow folded together, and immediately thought of Georgia, and cringed. She hated to suspect her, but lately their daughter had a habit of snooping and taking things that weren’t hers. “That’s not good,” was all she said though, and made a mental note to ask Georgia about it.

“Don’t worry,” Martin said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “We’ll just have to make another set. I mean, there’s a locksmith right here.” He turned to the man, who was just standing there, waiting patiently. “You can make new keys, right?”

The man turned to look at them, and raised an eyebrow. “Usually. It depends on the key. I might have to take it to town.”

Martin’s smile faltered slightly; town was a small city in the valley on the other side of the mountain. It took over an hour by car to get there; not exactly a quick trip. “Hopefully not!” he said. “But I guess we’ll just see. Now, let’s go check those locks.”

The locksmith gave a single nod. “Let’s.”

The two men headed down the hall, out of sight. Christine just sighed, and went back to the parlour, where her tea was waiting, hoping it hadn’t gotten cold. Thankfully, when she returned to the old oak table that sat at the end of the parlour, there was still a little ribbon of steam pouring out from the mouth of the teapot. She poured herself another cup, then went back to the bookshelf to resume her search for something to read. She had been looking through these books since the morning, after they finished breakfast.

Though the bookcases were tightly packed with books, Christine couldn’t seem to chose one. None of the titles or authors were familiar, and all the books were old, their plain fabric binding well worn. They might be as old as the house, and she worried that if she slid one out, it might just turn to dust in her hands

As her interest in the books waned, she glanced around the parlour, and her eye fell on the row of chrome frames that sat on the mantel. She reached for one—

A scream echoed down the stairs, and she startled. It was quickly followed by the rapid patter of feet overhead, and the slamming of a door.

Kids, Christine thought with a roll of her eyes, though a smile spread across her face. Ashton and Georgia had been playing hide and seek for the past two hours. If only she could be so easily entertained. They had begged her to let them play in the rest of the house, but she had told them no, confining them to the upstairs apartments. So far it had seemed to satisfy them, but Christine thought of the absent set of house keys, and a knot wound itself up in her chest.

She’d go check on them soon, and ask them if they knew anything about it.

Things fell quiet again, and Christine listened closely. Through the thin, creaky floor, she could just barely hear Ashton counting. She knew it was him because the pauses between numbers were longer. He wasn’t quite confident with the order of his numbers just yet.