Chapter 2

“The Mansion”

Taeyeon stifles her own scream as Dad chuckles and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, darling. It’s nothing more than those crazy-eyed peacock” he says, pointing to them.  “See there? They love nothing better than to roost in the trees” 

I got to tell you, my Dad is not that easily scared. Following Dad’s gaze, I find several blue-bodied peacocks settle into their roots, high in an aged oak. One stretches its neck and cries out. I swear, it sounds exactly like a girl’s scream. My teeth chatter, and I rub my arms through the heavy sweater.

“Let’s go inside,” says Taeyeon. She and Dad turn and I follow, glancing up at the mansion. A slight movement catches my eye in a small window at the top floor of the mansion. It’s high enough up that I can’t tell if someone is standing there. I squint, trying to see through the fading light and thick mist. But I see nothing.

The feeling doesn’t go away once I’m inside the mansion. Is someone behind me? I freeze, still as death, and glance over my shoulders. 

Nothing. 

Slowly, I exhale. I’m probably just letting my imagination run crazy.

Dirty white walls and old portraits of the country make up the living-room. There is a circular chandelier made of old deer antlers, and a fireplace large enough to walk into. There is a large staircase in the middle, with one of those menacing gargoyles perched on top of the bannister. There are some other curiosities I’ll have to explore later, things I’ll want to see up close, like the tall dusty armor in the corner.

Very different from the small two-bedroom carriage-house apartment Dad and I shared in California. I took one more look at the living-room. Like it or not, this is home sweet home.

Taeyeon turns to me. “Tiffany, your room is on the third floor, last door to the right. You’ve got the place to yourself up there, and it’s equipped with Wi-Fi,” she tells Dad. “Our room is on the second floor. Grandmother’s on the first”

All I could think about is that at least I’m far away from that old lady as possible. 

Dad smiles at me “Don’t you like the house, Tiffany? It’s like living in the old days” 

I give Dad a smile, although it feels about as fake as Rachel’s looked. “Sure, Dad,” I say. I don’t tell him that my stomach is full of rabid butterflies. Or that I wish they could come with me and see my new room. But I guess they figured that I’m mature enough to handle it myself. And I can, I will.

Taeyeon waves. “I’ll see you in a bit,” she says and then walks off with Dad to show him the kitchen and the staff.

I sight, sliding my back-pack higher, and start up the stairs. On my way, I get a good look at the ghoulish gargoyle. Its face, fanged and misshapen, stares right at me.

The higher I climb, the darker and colder it becomes, and by the time I reach the third floor, only the scant yellowish light from the wall shines a path across the hardwood hall. A faded rug stretches the length of the corridor. Against the wall halfway to my room sits alone straight backed wooden chair. The silence unnerves me.

At the last door on the right, I stop, turn the brass-handle, and throw open the heavy oak.

My new room.

I walk in and gape at a space that’s easily as large as our old apartment. My bags have already been brought up and placed neatly against the wall. A canopy bed stands in the middle of the room and next to it is a small writing desk and lamp. At the food of my bed is a medieval-looking wooden chest.

I walk over to the massive bed. The mattes comes up to my waist. A gray plaid curtain made of wool hangs on a wooden rod that circles the bed. I can close myself inn when I sleep if I want.

I guess it’s nice to have the privacy, alone on the third floor. But then my imagination runs wild again. Someone could slip in at any time and kidnap me. murder me in my sleep. And no one would even hear me if I screamed. . . .

I try to shake off these thoughts, I walk over to the big picture window beside the fireplace. The same scratchy-looking gray plaid wool not only covers the window seat but also used for drapes. I push the curtains aside and peer out.

“It’s not a pretty view at this time of the year but in summer it is beautiful,” a clipped, proper voice says, making me jump.

I spin around to see a handsome man in a presses gray suit standing in the doorway. He was one of the servants who took my luggage from the car. He must notice I still looked startled by his presence, because one corner of his mouth lifts, and he gave me a short bow. “I am Kris, young lady, and I am this mansions steward. Let me know if I can be of any assistance at all. Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes. And the bathroom is just across the hall. There’s pantry within. It should contain all the necessities.”

“Thanks, Kris,” I say, relaxing. He seems friendly.

He winks, and flicks something from his sleeve. “Mrs. Rachel doesn’t fancy waiting. She gets a bit cross when her tummy rumbles”

I nod. “I can imagine that,” I seriously doubt a rumbling tummy is the only thing that makes Rachel cross.

Kris gives a vaguest, and grins, then turns and disappears out the door. I decide I like him. He has a twinkle in his eyes that screams to the rebel me.

I quickly freshen up in the bathroom, and then make my way down the dim corridor and downstairs for supper.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to find in the dining room, but it wasn’t a long, formal table set with silver and fine china. Dad and Mom are already seated, and Mom gives me a comforting smile. Grandma Rachel watches me closely.

“You can take your plate there,” she says, inclining her head to a chair. 

“Thanks,”  I tuck my hair behind my ear and look around. Four servants are standing behind the table in a line, waiting for me, I supposed. I can’t believe there is so much fuss over four people eating dinner.

Once I’m seated the food is served: there are many dishes that I don’t know. All this formal stuff is too much. I peer at Rachel over the rim of my glass. Her skin is so thin and pale, blue veins peek out from the white face powder she’s applied liberally. She has on a dress and heels. On her index finger I notice an elaborate ruby ring in a square shape outline, set in gold. It’s the deepest red I’ve ever seen.

I have on the same outfit I travel in: big sweaters, skinny jeans with holes in the knees, sneakers. I can’t help but wonder if Rachel would eventually insist I dress for dinner. I hope not.      

“Is your room sufficient, Tiffany?” Taeyeon asks.

I nod, “Big,” I say after I finish chewing a mouthful of rise.

“Great,” she says. “There is also a big garden in the back that you might like,” Taeyeon says with a big smile.

I’m not sure what to say, so I nod. “Cool”

Rachel meticulously sets her chopsticks aside, wipes with the cloth napkin, and turns toward me. I ready myself for whatever will come out of . 

“There are rules here, young lady,” Rachel begins. “Rules which you will be expected to obey” Her frosty gaze locks onto me. “For one, holes on your clothes at the family table are unacceptable”

Knew it. I shoot a glance at Mom, who looks troubled by this statement.

“And it’s more than clear that you need quite a bit of etiquette training,” Rachel adds. Her eyes harden. “Sit up straight”

I don't want to move. The entire room goes silent as a graveyard. I don’t even know how to respond.

“Gran,” Taeyeon finally says, breaking the silence. “This is no way to start off with Tiffany, your new granddaughter. Tiffany is fine, and I love her like my own daughter. Now, tell my husband about your first days at the castle, yes?”

I look gratefully at Mom. Taeyeon just said she loved me like her real daughter and even defended me from her grandmother. I look at Dad, I know that he doesn’t like the way Rachel just spoke to me; but he doesn’t want to make enemies with her, either.

Taeyeon’s request seems to make effect, Rachel turn to Mom and Dad and starts telling them her story. By the time they’re done, I’ve eaten my whole plate, so in my most polite voice I excused myself to head back upstairs. I can only take so much of Rachel and both Dad and Mom seem to understand that. Mom even blows me a kiss and wishes me good night.

The scream of the wind pushes of the cracks of the mansion’s walls and I hurried to my room. Once inside, with the door close I breathe easier. I decided to unpack before bed since maybe that’ll in some way help me more at feeling settled.

As I open the armoire, I think about starting at my new school on Monday. I wonder how it’s going to be. I’ve gone to the same school with the same group of kids most of my life, so this would be a really big change. Now I’ll be joining a class in the middle of their semester, or whatever it’s called here. Everybody already has friends and I’m American, so that will probably make me a point of interest or of exclusion. Who knows? 

What I do know is that I have to wear a uniform, which really . 

I’m folding my last sweater when the hairs on the back of my neck turn stiff. Suddenly, I hear a flute being played and I quickly whipped around.

My flute was suspended in midair. 

I feel my knees go weak and I try to scream but nothing comes out.

My flute is being played in midair by. . . no one.

I blink. Just that fast, the instrument flies and lands on my bed. I let out a small shriek and rushed over to it. I grab my flute and hug it to my chest as I frantically scanned the room.

The weighty presence of something lingers, but the room is empty. I even dropped to my knees and peek underneath the bed.

Nothing is there. No one. Not even a dusty bunny.

But I know what I saw. I jump up and head for the door. I have to tell Dad what just happened. 

But as I fling open the door, I find Kris standing there.

“Miss Tiffany, is there something wrong?” he asks. ”I heard a scream”

“I-“ I begin to say and glance behind me, then back toward Kris. “I. . , I saw something weird” I finally stammer.

A look of understanding crosses Kris’s face but is quickly replaced by one of concerns. “What was it?” he asked as he peers over my shoulders into my room.

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. If I tell him what I saw, I’ll sound like a lunatic, if I tell Dad what I saw, I will as well. He’ll think I’m acting out, trying to find an excuse to go home.

“Are you sure you’re not just overly tired, miss?” Kris asks.  “Lack of sleep can do strange things to a person” 

He gives me a reassuring smile and says, “I’ll fix a nice cup of hot tea and bring it here. Tea fixes everything, you know”

I smile feeling my heart rate slow down a bit. “Sure, that sounds great” 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am just lacking out of sleep.

As I wait for Kris to return with the tea, I hover by the door, still a little afraid to go fully back inside the room. But my flute lays innocently on my bed, and the eerie feeling that was there earlier seems to have lifted.

Suddenly, I feel a deep sense of emptiness. It’d not like me to wallow in self-pity. But this new situation is making me realize how utterly alone I am. Mom and Dad are wrapped up in each other. My real mom is gone. I have no siblings, grandparents, or even aunts and uncles that I’m close to. My step-grandmother has apparently decided to hate my guts. My friends back home-if I can even call them friends anymore-are an ocean away. I fight the urge to cry. Kris will be back soon and he doesn’t need to see me sniffling and sobbing.

Within a few minutes, he returns with a tray and on it a pot of steaming-hot tea, a flowery cup and saucer, sugar cubes, cream, and a tiny little spoon. Then there are three thick, rectangular cookies sitting upon a frilly napkin. “Here you go, young lady” he says, placing the tray on my bedside table. “Tea, and some shortbread to go with it. If you should need anything else, my room is behind the kitchen downstairs”

“Thank you,” I say, realizing Kris is the closest thing I have to a friend right now. “I really appreciate it”

“My pleasure,” he responds, then quickly leaves me alone.

As I sip the tea and chomp on the cookies, sorry, shortbread, I find myself starting to feel better. I even get brave enough to walk over to my flute and lift it up, feeling it’s familiar weight.  It was just your imagination, I tell myself.

I take my flute to the window and find a comfortable spot on the window seat. With a sight, I begin to play; the melody that comes out is soft, yet powerful. The melancholy sound fits my mood as I gaze out into the shadows of the yard.