The Thief Read Free

in search of the woman who was my
grandmother.
    Passing the door to a room full of
beautiful, delicate teacups with saucers, I heard her voice towards
the front of the house. I would ask her what to do.
    I approached the front sitting room and saw
her pacing, phone in hand. “You can’t expect me to deal with this
alone,” she was saying. “Have you seen her?”
    I stopped, and took a step back, where I was
out of view. Eavesdropping wouldn’t help her to like me any better.
But I was glued to the spot.
    “ If you saw her, you
wouldn’t say that,” she said lowly. “I’d swear it was that girl.
You’re certain she’s...?” Silence. “Well, that’s as certain as you
can get, I reckon. Yes, I know what I said...I take it back. She
has to go.”
    I had to go...? All the muscles in my chest froze rock
solid.
    “ G-grandmother?” I said, as
if I were just walking up.
    She spun, and for a second I thought I saw
fear in her eyes, but it vanished immediately. “Expect her
tomorrow,” she said brusquely into the phone, and hung up. Then to
me, “Yes, Juliet, what is it?”
    I had to go. Tomorrow. My head spun. What
had I originally come out here for? “Um...the plates...should
I...?”
    “ Leave them, I’ll take care
of it,” she said.
    I had to go. “If - if you don’t mind,” I said, “I’d like to go
to my room. I know it’s early, I’m just really tired.” Tomorrow.
    “ Alright, settle in and get
some rest then,” she said. She gave me a hard look, like she was
deciding whether or not to say something else. “Good night,” she
finished, and strode quickly past to the kitchen.
    I looked after her blankly, and then climbed
the steps. One foot after the other. The sun was finally setting
outside, casting shadows down the hall. The floorboards creaked
underfoot and every horror movie I’d ever seen was rolling around
in my head. Had my father really grown up here? He had only ever
expressed at best disdain and at worst open loathing for small
towns and countrysides. “If you can’t handle the city, you deserve
the country,” were his exact words. Yet this house was at least
three times as large as our apartment, and the extra unknown space
unnerved me. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep without at
least looking at the other rooms. After all...this was probably my
only chance.
    First I went to the room that connected to
mine. It had no closet, but a larger dresser, and a vanity with an
oversized oval mirror. An inspection of the adjoining bathroom
proved equally lacking in ghostly activity.
    I passed the landing to the other side of
the hall. There were two rooms on this side, mirroring the other. I
opened the first door. It contained furniture very similar to mine,
though was even stuffier from the lack of a fan. The closet was
open and vacant. The emptiness comforted me. I closed the door and
went to the second one. The handle wouldn’t turn.
    I twisted harder, but the
knob wouldn’t budge. I looked up. Carved into the door in crude
letters, as with a pen-knife, was a name. Simon. My father’s name. I released
the handle and backed away. The floor creaked under my feet. There
was a loud call of a bird outside. Startled, I raced back to my
room, shutting the doors to both the hall and the bathroom. I sat
on the bed, knees tucked up. Insects screamed outside. I recalled
the wide, yellow eyes I’d seen in New York - I’d been hysterical
when the police had come in, babbling about monsters. They’d sworn
that it must have been a cat, that I’d been seeing things. But cats
didn’t have teeth like that...I pressed my forehead into my knees,
trying to block it out.
    Five minutes later there was a knock at my
door. She must have heard me running. “Juliet?” Bea said. “Are you
alright?”
    “ Y-yes,” I
responded.
    She opened the door, and I realized I didn’t
look alright, sitting like that on an unmade mattress.
    Her look softened slightly. “It’s an old
house,” she said.