Direville. Lina Dee
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house, was the smell. Not an eerie stench like that of a decomposing corpse, but a sharp, sobering aroma of different herbs and medications. The instant I switched on my flashlight, I heard a noise coming from the attic.
I had been uncomfortable before the sound came, but now, I quickly put out the flashlight, and, before I could distinguish any other objects besides an old chest in the hall, I ran – as fast as I only could. I thought I heard steps approaching behind me as I reached the door, but I rushed out without turning around, and, catching full speed onto a low-hanging branch of an apple tree, I stumbled out onto the road and sank at once in a heap of autumn leaves. They stuck to my face, not letting me see clearly, but I kept running on like a madman. Even though nobody was chasing, or even shouting, after me. I was a mere coward.
Then, finally, I got home.
Exhausted, I fell into my bed, feeling as if something heavy was pressing me into the mattress. The neighbour dogs howled, not letting me sleep; the large and pale full moon that seemed to be looking directly into my window made me restless. I tossed and turned, until – I didn’t notice when – sleep received me into its embrace…
***
…This time the cat didn’t come out to encourage me, and there was nothing left for me to do but knock on the closed door. I was beginning to regret having come.
It seemed like an eternity before the door finally opened with a quiet moan. The old woman looked at me from under the rims of her gray hat with mistrust. Then, saying nothing, she threw the door open and limped back into the room. I followed her.
The bright spots of light from an old-fashioned hanging lamp and a kerosene lantern dissolved the dusk that filled the place. The dry floor planks screeched like my own soul. We didn’t stop in the living room, walking straight into the kitchen. Different jars, bottles and even laboratory tubes stood on the wooden shelves, filled with substances of unusually bright colours.
She asked me no questions, and her eyes didn’t express surprise anymore, as if she had already understood what I had come for. Perhaps, her cat had told her of me the night before – or else, she was reading my mind. Thinking of that, I suddenly realized that I was ill.
The stooping old woman chuckled, took a transparent glass and put two spoons of a powder of an emerald shade into it. The colour seemed unnatural to me. It was cold inside the house, and I shrugged. Muttering something, she added a dash of a milled dried herb. I was about to ask her what it was, but on second thoughts, what did I care, as long as it could help me? Then she boiled water in an aluminum pot on an old two-burner stove and poured it into the mix she had made in the glass. A smoke rose from it, and a pleasant aroma filled the kitchen…
I couldn’t help staring at all the things in her house. Everything, even the most unremarkable objects, seemed unusual. The transparent jars filled with bright powders of different colours all had intricate shapes.
Then I noticed a pumpkin on the table, right in front of me. Just like the cat of whose presence I had also just become aware – it sat there, purring and narrowing its eyes – the pumpkin was covered in a sticky green substance of an emerald-green tint. Next to the pumpkin stood old faded photographs in frames. One of them depicted a young girl with beautiful long hair holding that very cat in her arms. First, I thought it could be the lady of the house in her youth – but at once dismissed the possibility. I wasn’t sure at all that cats could live so long not aging even a bit.
The old woman turned away, set the jars with herbs and powders back into their places, and then, pushed the glass with the cooling brew towards me.
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