Scryer Read Free Page B

anything but glittering
for either of us.
    “I can’t believe we have to go to work
tomorrow,” she groaned as she grabbed her bags. “I think I’ll call in sick.” I
smiled at her and said nothing. She wouldn’t. Her work ethic was too great. We
ordered pizza and spent the rest of the evening watching TV. “Hey, I’m glad you
came this weekend. It was fun having you around. You should hang out with us
more often.” Penzance said before yawning and getting to her feet.
    “I had fun.”
    “’Night, Ivy.”
    “Good night, Penzance.” After she was
gone, I turned off the TV and proceeded to switch off all the lights. Penzance
never liked the dark and always had the place lit up like a Christmas tree.
Even in her bedroom, she slept with a dim lamp on.
    Once the apartment was dark except for
the light under Penzance’s door, I went into my own bedroom. It was fairly
sparse, with no pictures on the walls interrupting the white paintwork. A pale
green bedspread was the main intrusion of color; other than that, everything
was wood and white. I liked simple; it helped to calm my mind when I saw
distressing images. Too much going on in a room gave me blinding headaches, and
consequently I could rarely walk into Penzance’s room with its differing shades
of bright pink without leaving with a thumping in my head. There was a mirror
over my dressing table, but that was covered with a white blanket except for
when I specifically needed to use it. The only frivolities adorning my dressing
table were my boxes. There were a dozen or so that I had picked up in flea
markets or antique stores since I was young. They varied in patterns and sizes;
their only commonality being that their surfaces were matte and if any of them
had color, they were pale tones that didn’t hurt my eyes. Before I went to bed,
I ran my hand slowly over each one, feeling the smooth wood and taking pleasure
in how uncomplicated they were. If only life were that way; I could deal with
uncomplicated on the surface, even if the secrets, like with my boxes, were
locked tightly away forever.
    I let my hand linger on the smallest
box. I should have really thrown it away, but every time I saw it I marveled at
how perfect it was. It fit in the palm of my hand and featured an etching of a
bird colored in pale pink to match the blossoms on the branch that it sat on.
When Lake had given it to me I had sat examining it for hours. There were no
hinges and the top could be lifted off to reveal the wooden interior. There had
been a bracelet inside it when he gave it to me—a glittering piece that would
be worth well over what the box cost. That bracelet now sat at the bottom of
the river, but I had kept the box. I liked the box.
    The next morning, Penzance and I got
ready for work at the same time. She swore as she stomped around and gulped
coffee. I left her to it; I worked at the house of my employer, and it took
only a half an hour to get there on foot.
    The house sat amongst a row of houses
that were all at least one hundred years old but had all been restored when the
area’s property prices began to boom. Magdalena’s house was the exception. It
begged for a new paint job and for its rusting iron gates to be replaced. No
doubt that weird woman was considered the scourge of the neighborhood. Not that
she would care.
    I used my key to let myself in. My
employer was away, and my job was to water the plants and sort through her
emails. Several years ago, Magdalena made the mistake of going on a reality TV show
where people complained that their homes were haunted. She became a sensation
in busting people who made up stories about supernatural occurrences in their
houses, exposing their dirty secrets, such as the wife who convinced her
unsuspecting husband that the odd noises he heard were a ghost when in fact it
was her lover sneaking out of the house. She could be a cold, brutal,
ball-breaking bitch, and the public loved her. Unfortunately, she didn’t love
them