The door to Jemima’s room was wide open and moonlight filled the room. Jonas could easily see that the bedclothes were tousled but not much else looked amiss. He closed the door behind and sat down in the large upholstered chair by Jemima’s bed. Mariah and Jonas had spent many hours in that chair, reading to Jemima while she was still too weak to leave the bed.
Now he sat in the chair and waited. At some point he knew the house would speak to him. He also knew that nothing the house told him could reassure him that anyone but he and Mariah were safe in the house, although he sometimes harbored doubts about their own safety.
“Do not worry,” the voice came, a mild vibration in Jonas’s head. The house had decided to speak much sooner than Jonas expected. Apparently, he thought, the house was fully cognizant of the night’s event.
“Do not worry about what,” Jonas asked out loud. His voice was stern and paternalistic. He felt his patience with the house ebbing away.
“There will be no more disturbances tonight,” the house replied.
“I want there to be no more disturbances ever again, not just tonight.” Jonas felt helpless, though he tried to sound strong and forceful. “What kind of life can Mariah and I have here if you insist on frightening anyone who visits us?”
“I did not frighten Jemima.”
Jonas rolled his eyes. He was exhausted, not just from the night’s events, but from the many months he has carried the knowledge of the house within him, not daring to share what he knew with anyone, not even Mariah.
“Well, who did,” he asked the house, his voice carrying an undercurrent of sarcasm.
The house did not respond right away, and Jonas could feel that the house was displeased with Jonas’s tone of voice.
“Jemima was visited by her sister Hannah. You remember Hannah, don’t you?”
The house returned Jonas’s sarcasm, causing the man to lower his head in fear. Jonas did not want the house to be angry with him. He was too afraid of what it could do. He was afraid of what it had already done.
“Hannah slipped by me. It was my mistake, but she will not trouble anyone anymore.”
“How can you be sure,” Jonas asked.
“She has been taken care of. You do not need to worry.”
“You’ve said that before,” Jonas retorted, forgetting for a moment his fears. He was thinking instead of poor Hannah and poor Jemima. The house was responsible for Hannah’s death, he was sure of it.
“Why would Hannah have come back,” he asked, getting up from the chair to gaze out the window.
“She wanted Jemima. She was lonely and she wanted Jemima.” The house was not going to tell Jonas about Hannah’s plan to kill him and Mariah. He needed to believe that she had only been after her sister.
Jonas sighed. How can I ever understand any of this, he wondered. It’s all too fantastic.
“Do not worry,” the house said, in a soothing tone. “You don’t need to understand. There’ll be nothing more to disturb your days and nights as long as you and Mariah live here.”
“But what about others,” Jonas demanded. “Can our friends feel safe here, too? Or must they all be visited by ghosts?”
“As long as no one means you harm, they will be safe here.”
Fatigue fell over Jonas and he abruptly sat down on Jemima’s bed. He tried to make his mind blank. He didn’t want the house eavesdropping on his thoughts. He had had enough for one night.
“Very well,” he said flatly and took himself off to the bedroom below where he would lay awake the rest of the night, listening for any odd sound from the master bedroom.
