The Haunting of Hill House (Horror Classic). Shirley Jackson
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cake.’
‘Lemonade in a Thermos bottle. Spilled salt.’
Theodora rolled over luxuriously. ‘They’re wrong about ants, you know. There were almost never ants. Cows, maybe, but I don’t think I ever did see an ant on a picnic.’
‘Was there always a bull in a field? Did someone always say, “But we can’t go through that field; that’s where the bull is”?’
Theodora opened one eye. ‘Did you use to have a comic uncle? Everyone always laughed, whatever he said? And he used to tell you not to be afraid of the bull—if the bull came after you all you had to do was grab the ring through his nose and swing him around your head?’
Eleanor tossed a pebble into the brook and watched it sink clearly to the bottom. ‘Did you have a lot of uncles?’
‘Thousands. Do you?’
After a minute Eleanor said, ‘Oh, yes. Big ones and little ones and fat ones and thin ones——’
‘Do you have an Aunt Edna?’
‘Aunt Muriel.’
‘Kind of thin? Rimless glasses?’
‘A garnet brooch,’ Eleanor said.
‘Does she wear a kind of dark red dress to family parties?’
‘Lace cuffs——’
‘Then I think we must really be related,’ Theodora said. ‘Did you use to have braces on your teeth?’
‘No. Freckles.’
‘I went to that private school where they made me learn to curtsy.’
‘I always had colds all winter long. My mother made me wear woollen stockings.’
‘My mother made my brother take me to dances, and I used to curtsy like mad. My brother still hates me.’
‘I fell down during the graduation procession.’
‘I forgot my lines in the operetta.’
‘I used to write poetry.’
‘Yes,’ Theodora said, I’m positive we’re cousins.’
She sat up, laughing, and then Eleanor said, ‘Be quiet; there’s something moving over there.’ Frozen, shoulders pressed together, they stared, watching the spot of hillside across the brook where the grass moved, watching something unseen move slowly across the bright green hill, chilling the sunlight and the dancing little brook. ‘What is it?’ Eleanor said in a breath, and Theodora put a strong hand on her wrist.
‘It’s gone,’ Theodora said clearly, and the sun came back and it was warm again. ‘It was a rabbit,’ Theodora said.
‘I couldn’t see it,’ Eleanor said.
‘I saw it the minute you spoke,’ Theodora said firmly. ‘It was a rabbit; it went over the hill and out of sight.’
‘We’ve been away too long,’ Eleanor said and looked up anxiously at the sun touching the hilltops. She got up quickly and found that her legs were stiff from kneeling on the damp grass.
‘Imagine two splendid old picnic-going girls like us,’ Theodora said, ‘afraid of a rabbit.’
Eleanor leaned down and held out a hand to help her up. ‘We’d really better hurry back,’ she said and, because she did not herself understand her compelling anxiety, added, ‘The others might be there by now.’
‘We’ll have to come back here for a picnic soon,’ Theodora said, following carefully up the path, which went steadily uphill. ‘We really must have a good old-fashioned picnic down by the brook.’
‘We can ask Mrs Dudley to hard-boil some eggs.’ Eleanor stopped on the path, not turning. ‘Theodora,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I can, you know. I don’t think I really will be able to do it.’
‘Eleanor.’ Theodora put an arm across her shoulders. ‘Would you let them separate us now? Now that we’ve found out we’re cousins?’
Chapter Three
I
The sun went down smoothly behind the hills, slipping almost eagerly, at last, into the pillowy masses. There were already long shadows on the lawn as Eleanor and Theodora came up the path towards the side verandah of Hill House, blessedly hiding its mad face in the growing darkness.
‘There’s someone waiting there,’ Eleanor said, walking more quickly, and so saw Luke for the first time. Journeys end in lovers meeting, she thought, and could only say inadequately, ‘Are you looking for us?’
He had come to the verandah rail, looking down at them in the dusk, and now he bowed with a deep welcoming gesture, ‘ “These being dead,” ’ he said, ‘ “then dead must I be.” Ladies, if you are the ghostly inhabitants of Hill House, I am here for ever.’
He’s really kind of silly, Eleanor thought sternly, and Theodora said, ‘Sorry we weren’t here to meet you; we’ve been exploring.’
‘A sour old beldame with a face of curds welcomed us, thank you,’ he said. ‘ “Howdy-do,” she told me, “I hope I see you alive when I come back in the morning and your dinner’s on the sideboard.” Saying which, she departed in a late-model convertible with First and Second Murderers.’
‘Mrs Dudley,’ Theodora said. ‘First Murderer must be Dudley-at-the-gate; I suppose the other was Count Dracula. A wholesome family.’
‘Since we are listing our cast of characters,’ he said, ‘my name is Luke Sanderson.’
Eleanor was startled into speaking. ‘Then you’re one of the family? The people who own Hill House? Not one of Doctor Montague’s guests?’
‘I am one of the family; some day this stately pile will belong to me; until then, however, I am here as one of Doctor Montague’s guests.’
Theodora giggled. ‘We,’ she said, ‘are Eleanor and Theodora, two little girls who were planning a picnic down by the brook and got scared home by a rabbit.’
‘I go in mortal terror of rabbits,’ Luke agreed politely. ‘May I come if I carry the picnic basket?’
‘You may bring your ukulele and strum to us while we eat chicken sandwiches. Is Doctor Montague here?’
‘He’s inside,’ Luke said, ‘gloating over his haunted house.’
They were silent for a minute, wanting to move closer together, and then Theodora said thinly, ‘It doesn’t sound so funny, does it, now it’s getting dark?’
‘Ladies, welcome.’ And the great front door opened. ‘Come inside. I am Doctor Montague.’
II
The four of them stood, for the first time, in the wide, dark entrance hall of Hill House. Around them the house steadied and located them, above them the hills slept watchfully, small eddies of air and sound and movement stirred and waited and whispered, and the centre of consciousness was somehow the small space where they stood, four separated people, and looked trustingly at one another.
‘I am very happy that everyone arrived safely, and on time,’ Doctor Montague said. ‘Welcome, all of you, welcome to Hill House—although perhaps that sentiment ought to come more properly from you, my boy? In any case, welcome, welcome. Luke, my boy, can you make a martini?’