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“Do you know where it is?” Cora asks.
“Yeah, I think so!”
On my lunch break, I text Joseph that I’m going out after work and ask if he can pick up coffee for the house.
He texts me back a photo of a bag of coffee sitting in his hand, saying, “I beat you to it. I needed to leave the house after this last investor’s meeting.”
We’ve been in synch recently. I’ve never experienced a relationship where I anticipate the person’s next move, not out of fear, but because their movements feel as intuitive as mine.
After work, I follow Cora’s beat-up truck to Trapdoor. It’s a tiny building with an old wooden sign swinging in the wind. Now that it’s October, the nights have taken on a velvety darkness. No wonder the residents of Weatherby Island run rampant with their scary stories; the chill in the air practically begs for a story that starts with a dark and stormy night.
I park next to Cora, and we walk into the bar together. It’s not too crowded since tonight is a weeknight.
Izzie, a children’s librarian, secured us a high-top table in the back corner.
“Hey! Eleanor, I’m so glad you made it!” she exclaims. She’s traded her turquoise cardigan for a denim jacket and a simple black T-shirt. Her hair is purple, with Betty Page bangs, and she radiates a sort of modern Ms. Frizzle energy that results in her asking Evan if the local zoo can bring in an iguana for story time.
I like her, but we haven’t talked much.
I place my bag on the stool and walk to the bar to order a beer.
When the bartender asks what I want, I say whatever’s on tap. He hands me a full-bodied fall beer with notes of pumpkin, and when I make a face, he promises it’s good. I take a sip; the pumpkin rounds out the flavor nicely, and bits of the foam taste like cinnamon.
I hop back onto the stool, where Izzie and Cora are complaining about the Weatherby school board attempting to ban books.
“I mean,Matildadidn’t make me a witch. That wasThe Craftand my burgeoning crush on Neve Campbell.” Izzie laughs.
Cora nods. “I know, it’s ridiculous.” She turns to me. “Be grateful that the school board stays out of your hair.”
“I don’t know, the board of directors can be gnarly. Everyone on board at the historical society looks like they either want to mansplain archival work to me or call me a harlot for upending the town’s history.”
Cora whistles. “Oh shit! You found that creepy diary, didn’t you? I, for one, always thought Beatrix was real.”
“You did not! You talked shit about it last week until you went upstairs and saw the diary!” Izzie exclaims.
“I recognize that the whole thing feels outlandish. I was stunned when I found it.”
“The real question is, what’s it like living there?!”
“No offense, I know she’s your boss and all, but that old lady kind of creeps me out.”
“You mean Iphigenia? She’s the best part of the house. She makes me muffins!”
“Yeah, shut up, Izzie. Iphigenia’s the best. I grew up here, and she used to sit out on the porch every Halloween to hand out candy, and if people were too scared to come up to the house, she would get up and hand them candy.”
“People were that scared?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m 30, and I still get a little shiver every time I walk by there,” Cora admits.
“The scary stories you grew up with stay with you,” Izzie adds.
“That makes sense. I mean, as a research site, it’s extraordinary. I find new things every day. But some parts feel perilous. Half of the attic doesn’t have a floor, but the contractors are starting on that next week. And the power went out during the storm a couple of weeks ago. That was pretty scary.”
“The power went out?! Oh, hell no. I would’ve been gone faster than you can say, Idylewylde,” Cora says.
I sip my beer. “We had to go down into the basement to get to the breaker. That was the scary part.”
“You and Iphigenia? Can she even make it down those stairs?” Izzie asks.
