The Sorcerer's House Read online

  Winkle remained inside, huddled opposite the door--I suppose because she was afraid of me. I walked some distance away and waited; when I returned, the cage was empty. Why did I bring it back into the house? I confess I have no immediate use for it; but when one is desperately poor, one conserves everything.

  Since then, I have seen her half a dozen times at the windows. Most of them are closed or boarded up, but I have opened a few for ventilation. They are screened, and the screens keep her out. She must believe that there is food inside, poor creature. I only wish she were correct.

  You dislike me, George, I know; and I cannot blame you for it. You are in the majority, after all. I know, too, that you believe all my misfortunes to be my own doing. In that you are at least partially correct--nor shall I argue about the rest.

  Honesty compels me to say that I am not fond of you, either. Perhaps I have less reason. I am your brother even so. The face you see in the mirror is mine. Have you thought of that? I have never sought to do you harm, and have done my best to keep my misfortunes from reflecting upon you. I would help you, if I could, any time that you needed help.

  Can you say the same?

  Yours sincerely,

  Bax

  Number 6

  FRESH AIR

  Hey, Prof!

  Got this paper from the chaplain. You know, I never thought I would be writing anybody from here except my old lady. Feels funny. But good. I liked getting your letters.

  I got another hearing coming up in Sept. If God's on my side I might get to this haunted house you got before Halloween.

  It is not that I hate being in here a whole lot. I know it bothered you a lot more than it ever bothered me. It is that it is not what I want. I want to be able to do whatever I want to do, and what I want to do is get away someplace where there is no sidewalks or streets or phone wires or any of that crap. A place where you listen and what you hear is the wind and birds singing.

  When I was a kid I got sent to this summer camp one year. I do not know how long I stayed, but it seemed like a long time back then. We played ball and went canoeing, and it was all right, especially the baseball which I was pretty good at.

  But the best part was getting lost when we went on hikes. I would drop back and drop back until I could hardly hear them, then go off to one side and hide because I knew they were going to send a couple of guys back for me. I would watch them going down the trail. Then I would watch them coming back. After that I was free. I would be back in time for supper most times, but one time I spent the night in the woods. That was the greatest night of my life. You are the only one I would tell this to, Bax. With the other guys I say it was the night I screwed some bitch, and sometimes it is a bitch I really screwed and sometimes just one I wanted to. But I have told you the truth.

  Please keep this. Or else burn it.

  Sheldon Hawes

  Number 7

  BAX TAKES A BEATING

  Dear George:

  Why does Bax torment me with his letters? I can hear it even as I write. You know the answer, and know equally that I might ask questions of my own.

  Last night I had the strangest dream of my life. Tell poor Millie, please. I feel quite certain that you have no interest in dreams; but Millie may, and if she does she deserves to hear about this one.

  Before I begin, I ought to say something about Winkle. (I intend my Winkle, not Mother's.) Yesterday I implied--or think I did--that Winkle was not truly a fox, although that was what I had first thought her. My implication was based upon glimpses I had gotten of her as she tried to enter the house by various windows. At the time I hoped she would tire and go to another house, where she might find food. I knew, however, that she would find her way inside eventually if she persisted. The house is large and old. There are many windows, odd corners, and nooks, and Winkle is an expert climber.

  Now that I know her better, I think her midway between a fox and a monkey. She is red, with glossy black markings and a white tip to her tail. Her green eyes seem to me rather feline; but there are fingers behind her tiny claws, and her delicate paws are more monkeylike than doglike. She has long canines, but both foxes and monkeys have those, I believe. She seems to me, in short, a rare animal of some kind, most probably from Africa or Asia.

  In my dream I lay asleep until Winkle came and woke me, wanting me to look out the window. I rose readily enough, followed her to a window, and looked out. The lawn behind the house was bathed in moonlight, and the oddest possible figures were dancing in a ring there. Some were grotesque, some quite attractive.

  Most impressive was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a full beard. He was crowned like a king, and his crown gleamed in the moonlight. He danced stiffly, but with great dignity, keeping time (as I saw) to music I could not hear. Beside him danced a Junoesque woman nearly as tall as he. She wore a long gown and many jewels, and there was something beautiful and mysterious in her dance; I longed to see her more closely, and to follow the intricacies of it. With them danced a lean, capering fellow who seemed all arms and legs, a dwarf with the face of an ape, a half-naked girl with flying hair, and others I find I cannot recall distinctly.

  I do remember this, however. The nearly naked girl seemed to be aware that I was watching them. She met my eyes once, and danced so wildly afterward that it seemed she might lose the animal skin that served her for a dress.

  Having no food, I had no breakfast to bother about. I drank water from the tap in the bathroom, washed, and shaved. Returning to the living room to dress, I found three dead birds on the hearth--birds I know were not there when I woke. Two were pigeons, and the third a quail. I hurried out to collect wood and discovered that a ring of mushrooms had sprouted on my lawn.

  And that is really all I have to say, George. I cleaned and gutted the birds as well as I could, removed some skin, and stewed them with dandelion greens in an old pot I discovered in one of the kitchen cabinets.

  Winkle appeared when my stew was nearly ready. She was clearly apprehensive at first, but I spoke gently to her and offered her a bone with a good deal of meat on it. Soon she was sitting beside me, eager for her share of the stew.

  Now she watches as I write, fascinated it seems by the movements of my pen. I am glad that you are not here to despise her.

  But what am I to make of her?

  Rereading this letter, I see there was one point about my dream that I neglected to mention. I sleep in my living room, as you may have gathered. Nights can be cool here at this season, and the living room has a fireplace. I cook over the fire there and sleep in front of it, waking when I am cold to put more wood on.

  The window to which Winkle led me in my dream was in the living room; but when I looked through it, I was seeing the lawn behind the house. None of the living-room windows offers a view of the backyard.

  Possibly I should say they do not normally show it.

  There is something about the windows in this house that perturbs me, George. When I am intent upon something else and see a window from the corner of my eye, it seems to me--sometimes--that what I see through it is quite different. Once I saw a pale face; but when I looked directly at it, it was the moon. Perhaps I am too much alone.

  I went out this morning after breakfast. Before I left, I asked Winkle, "Will you protect the place in my absence?"

  It seemed to me that she shook her head, so I said, "In that case, will you hide from intruders?" I looked away for a moment; when I looked back, she was gone. I have not seen her since.

  If I had closed my letter above, it would have been better, perhaps. But what would I do now? My eye is swollen . . . almost shut, but I am in too much pain to sleep. I shall tell you about it. It is best, I am sure, if I have some occupation.

  It would be better still if I had food.

  Well, then. About midmorning I hiked into town. It is only too likely that my allowance, when it comes, will come to the post-office box I rented when I realized that Mutazz had tried to forge my signature to my allowance chec
k. I have written to Mother's attorneys and provided them with the address of this house, but letters can be slow and attorneys even slower. It is too soon, but it seems it must come too soon or I shall starve. Which would not trouble you.

  A man in the post office stopped me and asked to see my ring. I did not recognize him at first, and said simply that both the rings I wore were mine.

  "Oh, I know that! Are there two? The gold ring with the large stone."

  "And why do you want to see it?"

  He smiled. "You don't remember me, do you? You brought in a ring--costume jewelry--for me to look at yesterday. I'd like to see the one you're wearing now."

  I remembered him then and held up my left hand.

  He bent over it. "I won't ask you to take it off."

  "I wouldn't," I said.

  "That's a fire opal, I believe, the best I've ever seen. What did you pay for it?"

  "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for this." I went to my box. No check. I had not really expected one, but not getting one did nothing to improve my mood. When I turned around, the jeweler was still there. I went past him without a word.

  The truth, George, is that I was terribly tempted to sell him Doris's husband's wedding ring. It is plain gold, but wide, and large enough to be a little loose on my finger. I would think that even the pawn shop would give me a hundred dollars for it.

  I am very glad now that I did not. Both sides of my face are swollen, and the pain on the left side is really quite bad; but I think that if I had sold or pawned that ring I might very well be dead.

  What I did instead was return here and go back up into the attic in the hope of finding something I might use or pawn.

  There is a good deal of old, heavy, black furniture up there, filthy with dust. Much of it I could have used, and still more of it might have fetched a decent price from an antique dealer.

  Which did me no good whatsoever, since I could not possibly have gotten any of those old beds, dressers, and chairs down the trapdoor. There must surely be another entrance, but I searched for it in vain.

  As daylight faded in the dormer windows, it occurred to me that though the house is large, the attic seemed larger still; I went to one of those dormer windows and peered out, more than half expecting to see something very strange indeed.

  In a way I did, George. I saw treetops. Only the leafy green tops of trees in every direction.

  My first thought, naturally, was that I was at the back of the house and looking down upon the wood in which I had freed Winkle. And yet, that could not be.

  I see I got blood on the paper. Sorry! I have bathed the place--what a blessing it is to have running water! I have torn up an old shirt--all my shirts are old. Your old shirts would fit me and would be treasured; I hope you will consider sending a few.

  The bleeding seems to have stopped.

  He roused me by slamming the closet door. I jerked awake and sat up, disoriented and badly frightened. After that, I heard the crash of breaking glass. Is there a more frightening sound in all the world?

  I jumped up and saw that he had broken one of the windows I had repaired. Rage displaced my fear, and I rushed at him. What I intended to do, I have no idea.

  Whatever it was, I had no chance to do it. He was only a boy, a head shorter than I; but he was strong and fought like a wild animal. I hit him more than once, and he pounded and kicked me.

  Then I was down and he kicking me again and again. I tried to protect my head with my arms, tried to roll away. I remember his shoes, low black shoes with gold buckles and thick soles. Isn't that odd? Please excuse the blood.

  That will do it, I think.

  A big man appeared--out of nowhere, it seemed. For a moment or two he stood between the boy and me, and the boy fled. I sat up and the man was gone. You will believe none of this; but it is true, every word of it. I have the bruises and the bleeding nose to prove it.

  To say nothing of the broken window.

  The big man must certainly have been the boy's father. At the time, because of his ring, I thought him something else; but now that I have had a chance to consider, I feel quite sure that I understand everything that happened.

  The boy returned looking for the bronze apparatus I have described. He expected to find it in the coat closet, though I cannot say why. Perhaps he assumed that I would keep it near me, and not finding it in plain view in a room almost entirely empty, he thought it must be in the closet. He looked inside, but it lay flat on the shelf intended for hats, and it was pushed back a trifle. Since the shelf is higher than his head, he failed to find it. Enraged, he broke the window as I have described.

  His father had followed him, feeling no doubt that his son was up to mischief. He got into my house as his son had, through an entrance I must find and secure. Hearing the breaking of my window, he would have run toward us; and finding his son in the act of kicking me, he forced him to desist. I must have lost consciousness at that point; and he (intent upon punishing his son and perhaps fearing that I might sue) left with the boy.

  I hope you and Millie are well, and faring better than your poor brother.

  Yours sincerely,

  Bax

  Number 8

  THE GOOD BOY

  Dear George:

  Doubtless you will resent this second letter, coming as soon as it does. But then you resent everything, or nearly everything. I have all sorts of news! Why should my letters be exempt?

  When I studied my face in the mirror this morning, I decided I really ought to seek treatment. I have no money for a doctor, as you know; but I recalled that under the law anyone who goes to the emergency ward of a hospital must receive treatment. I would walk to a drugstore I had noticed on earlier walks and inquire about the nearest.

  I had traversed no more than a block or two, when a car screeched to a stop beside me. "What happened to you?" It was Martha Murrey.

  Smiling bravely, I declared that it was nothing.

  "You get in here this minute. I'm going to take you home and put ice on that."

  Of course I obeyed.

  "Did you win?"

  I shook my head.

  "You see, that's what happens when a man goes to bars. My postman used to do it, too, that biker bar in Port--I won't tell you where it is."

  I explained that I had fought an intruder.

  "Did you say he was a boy?"

  "Half grown." I shrugged. "He seemed strong for his age. At any rate, he proved more than a match for me."

  "Most men would have told me there were two of them."

  "As would I," I said, "if there had been. As it was, I was saved from a worse beating by his father."

  "You should have called the police."

  "I don't have a telephone."

  "Still? I'll call them. Get a cell phone."

  I nodded and said I suppose I would have to.

  "There's this wonderful place that will give you one. Did you know about them?"

  I certainly had not known, and said so.

  "If you'll sign up for their service, you get a free cell phone. It's bottom of the line, of course."

  She waited for my reaction, and I said, "Good."

  "If you don't want to take pictures with it, or watch sports or any of that . . ."

  "I simply want to call the police," I said. Honesty forced me to add, "And my friends."

  The truth, George, was that I was thinking it might be possible for me to obtain assistance from Doris and Martha now and then if I had a telephone.

  Nor was that all. During the time I was living at the Riverman, I pretty well gave up my job search; months have elapsed since I stopped looking, and it seems possible that something has opened up. Doris or Martha may know of employment opportunities I would never have discovered for myself, for that matter.

  "And your family, of course. You must have a family."

  "Hardly any save my brother," I explained. "He's very busy and sometimes becomes angry when I call him." (As you see, I accorded you every consi
deration. Far be it from me to defame a family member, even when strict truth would require it.)

  "That's a shame."

  I agreed, and mentioned that I would soon be seeking employment.

  "Not until your face heals, Mr. Dunn. Nobody will hire somebody who looks like he's been fighting."

  I had not thought of that, but she is indubitably correct.

  The upshot of all this, George, was that my cuts and bruises were bandaged and salved--"I always wanted to be a nurse"--and that I was Martha's guest at lunch. She spoke at some length about the advantages of selling my house and moving to an urban area in which I might more readily find employment, but I will not give that here.

  What surprised me was her evident pleasure when I explained that I would greatly prefer to stay where I was for the time being. "Since you're staying, I hope to see you from time to time, Mr. Dunn. When you have your cell phone--did I give you the address?"

  I shook my head, and she wrote it out for me.

  "Give me a call when you have it, will you? Before I give it to anyone else, I want to make sure they treat their customers right."

  Of course I promised I would.

  As matters evolved, I did not actually require the address she had provided. She drove me there, waited while I signed the agreement and received my telephone, and drove me home. "Call me anytime," she said in parting. "I live alone, you know. I'm always glad of company."

  Need I say that I returned home in high spirits?

  At once I began a search for the means by which the boy had entered my house. I found it (or at least found one way, which may well be the correct one) immediately. Earlier, you see, George, I had searched the house from within; it was by that means that I discovered the broken side door.

  Wiser now, I chose to search outside. There are at least eight rooms on the ground floor, and I may well have missed one or even two. Five of these are corner rooms.