The house was large, twenty bedrooms large. The gardens boasted shaped hedges of fantastic creatures, but that wasn’t the best part. The best part was when one first stepped through the doors and was dazzled by the high shine of the marble floors and the glitter of the chandeliers, when one stood on the hand-loomed rug and breathed, “I get to work here.”
That was what Matilda did, as did Bertrand, Unice, and Fredrick before her. There were more staff, of course, there were. A house that large required countless maids, menservants, and yardmen; all ruled by the butler, housekeeper, and chef.
“The blood,” mumbled Matilda two weeks later, “I should have mentioned the blood.”
“What?” Unice stood next to her on a step stool, her hands full of drapes.
“The first time I stood in this room,” Matilda dropped the curtain rod. The curtain dampened the ping of its landing. “I should have said, ‘Someone this wealthy must have built their empire on blood.’”
“Um,” Unice scrunched up her forehead, “You dropped the curtain. Mrs. Witherly won’t like that.”
“She won’t know,” Matilda shrugged.
“Yes, she will. It will leave a nick on the rod. A nick she’ll take out of your pay,” Unice stepped down from the stool. She pulled off the curtain, then stepped back up to rehang the rod.
“She’s not all-knowing. Only the One is and he’s too busy to care about the curtains.”
“Well, I’m off to the laundry,” Unice scurried out the door.
“She thinks I’ve gone strange,” Matilda eyed the red curtain crumpled on the ground. “Maybe I have,” she scooped it up as Frederick passed through the room. He kept his head down, his eyes darkened from lack of sleep. “I wonder,” Matilda balled up the curtain.
“What?”
The voice came from the window behind her, and Matilda turned. It was Bertrand, a cap jammed on his head, a pail and rag in his hands. Matilda peered through the glass until she could make out the top of a ladder. “Oh, that’s good. I thought you were air-walking,” Matilda punctuated her sentence with a laugh.
“Air-walking? Bertrand began washing the window, “You’re a hoot.”
“What if I said I wasn’t trying to be funny, that I’ve seen someone do that before, that this house, this whole house is set on top of a river of blood, and if you bathe in it you can do things like that,” Matilda’s hands shook.
“I would say that you sound like Frederick. He’s been saying odd things over the past few weeks,” Bertrand dunked the rag in the pail, “Witherly says she loses help all the time. They go strange and then disappear.”
“Disappear!”
“Leave, Matilda. They go find a new job somewhere.”
“Does . . . did . . . has anyone heard from them afterward?” Matilda couldn’t control the tremors that took hold of her.
“I’m sure,” Bertrand twisted the rag in his hands, “Don’t worry about it, you’ll make yourself ill.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course,” Matilda squeezed the curtain and headed towards the servant stairway. It was tucked away behind a door, a narrow case of wooden stairs that stretched diagonally across the house with no pause for landing. Matilda went down, stopping at the second to last door. The last door led to the basement. It was locked, always. And as always she glanced down at it. “It’s just a basement,” she stepped off the stairs.
Just before she closed the door, she heard footsteps coming up. Fear seized her, a fear more powerful than curiosity. The doorknob turned. The latch clicked. Matilda threw herself against the door, panic beating in her chest. The knob rattled. The door banged. Matilda sobbed.
“What’s that racket?” Unice came towards her, hands full of suds.
“I . . . it . . . there,” Matilda’s whole body went limp as if she were but a starched sheet of cloth dipped in Unice’s wash bucket.
“Move aside. I’ll give them a good piece of my mind,” Unice opened the door. “My mother was right. Servants have no manners among each other,” she stuck her head into the stairwell.
Matilda would have felt foolish, but she was paralyzed. Even her throat had closed up. Unice was right, of course. It was just another servant getting angry at not being able to open the doo -
There was a thud and a blur. The door slammed shut as if a strong wind had blown through the stairway. Unice stood as she had a moment before, but something was missing. Something very, very important was missing, and Matilda inched away from Unice, whimpering.
Unice turned to Matilda, hands still full of suds. The suds were turning pink from the blood that cascaded down her shoulders. Matilda tried not to look as she scooted away from her, but to look or not made no difference. Unice’s headless body toppled, landing on top of Matilda. At long last, Matilda summoned her voice. She screamed, wishing someone would save her, hoping she would faint. But unconsciousness didn’t come, and the idea of rescue began to fill her with dread.
Who or what would come to help her?
Matilda pushed her way out from under Unice, and ran through the laundry to the outside, under the clotheslines, around the corner of the house. Something tripped her and she sprawled. Brown sudsy liquid dripped on her. Matilda choked back a scream.
“Woah, watch it. Are you trying to kill me?” Bertrand clung to the ladder single-handed as it tipped, his bucket clutched in his other hand.
“S-sorry,” Matilda grasped the bottom of the ladder, steadying it.
Bertrand climbed down, swatting her with his rag, “Skipping out of work early, huh? Think old Witherly won’t miss you? She’ll have you baked into a pie, that she will.”
“Witherly,” Matilda echoed. Of course. Witherly wasn’t involved in the river of blood, she was sure of it. “I gotta go,” Matilda hurried to the back door. It stood open as she had left it, and she paused on the threshold. Summoning her courage, Matilda ran through the laundry room and into the servant’s hall. The kitchen was at the other end, and she ducked through the door, walking with purpose.
“You! Girl! Why are you in my kitchen?”
Matilda sputtered.
“It’s my fault,” Frederick cut between them, a butcher knife in his hand. He grabbed Matilda’s wrist and pulled her back into the hall.
Matilda cowered, “Please don’t hurt me.”
“I would never,” Frederick looked at his knife, “I was chopping vegetables. Now listen, I know what you saw, and you should just forget it.”
“But . . . Witherly . . .”
“Unice went strange. Both you and I heard her raving. Today she ran off, straight around the side of the house. You tried to follow her, but she was too fast. That’s the truth.”
“But I saw!” Matilda pulled her wrist out of his grasp, “I know about the river of blood, and air-walking, and I’ve seen the One do it.”
“That was a dream. I used to have them too until I stopped sleeping.”
“Stopped . . . sleeping?”
“I leave my room, go up onto the roof. There’s a widow's walk up there,” Frederick rubbed his eyes, “I don’t go up there, I just tie a rope to the railing in case I doze off.”
“If you believe that, then come down to the basement with me,” Matilda tossed her head, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel, “If there’s nothing down there, I won’t go to Witherly.”
Frederick nodded. Tucking the knife into the waistband of his pants, he led the way down the hall.
The laundry stood empty, too empty. Matilda paused at the entry to the stairs. It was as if she had imagined the whole thing. There was no trace of Unice’s demise, not even a splatter of suds remained.
Frederick’s boots thumped on the treads as he descended. Matilda jumped through the doorway and skittered down the stairs behind him. Frederick stopped at the bottom. He turned the knob. The door was locked, as always.
“Well,” he turned to face Matilda, “I guess - “
The door opened with a bang. Something grabbed Frederick, but what it was, Matilda had no words to describe. Frederick clung to the frame of the door, and Matilda grabbed onto his suspenders. The butcher knife clattered to the ground and Frederick gasped, “Get it!”
She dove for it, then slashed at the thing. It let out a hiss of air, sucking the door shut with a slam. Frederick’s fingertips remained on the outside, and blood trickled from them, spotting the floor with a dark red.
Matilda backed away from the door, brandishing her knife. She bumped into something, something that shouldn’t have been there. She whimpered, not wanting to turn, not wanting to see who or what was behind her.
“Matilda,” the One’s voice was soothing, “I’m so glad you’ve finally come.”