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Humans have a lot of things that matter to us. They build up day to day- it matters what the grocer thinks of you, it matters that you finish cleaning up the outside of your home before the weather turns, and it matters terribly that your parents have been pressuring you into finding a nice man to settle down with- and each person’s list of things that matter are as unique as their fingerprint, or the pattern of light that shines in their eyes. But perhaps the most remarkable thing is how a disaster can wipe away all those things that mattered, and leave you starting from scratch.
Charlotte lost much in the storm, but not as much as many others. Her home was still standing, and none of her family- not her parents, her brother, her uncle or niece or several cousins and not her grandfather- had been injured in the flooding or the terribly strong winds. For a time, Charlotte had felt oddly free, even happy at the change of circumstances from her ordinary everyday life. It was like a vacation, complete with all the stress and fussing about running out of clean clothes, but with a novelty in the change of routine that made up for it.
But of course, things that matter will always build up. First it was their neighbor’s young girl, whose house did not make it out quite so well as Charlotte and her family’s. The girl’s parents had already both been in poor health, and they passed away so quickly that nobody could attempt to nurse them back to health. Charlotte’s mother had taken the girl in, which rather meant that Charlotte had taken on the duties of a nanny, as happened with most endeavors her mother picked up. And then after the neighbors’ girl, a brother and sister from the wrecked tailor’s shop, an orphan with no extended family, and so on until Charlotte was caring for seven different children of various ages.
My readers may perhaps think that a home capable of housing Charlotte’s somewhat large extended family would also manage to find space for the little ones, but truth be told, that brave structure was packed full as it was, and for that matter the family’s pantry was barely holding out even under heavy rationing.
Luckily, the same word of mouth which had found Sadie and Ness and Aiden left on their doorstep also brought Charlotte into acquaintance with Miss Taylor Hebert. By letter- delivered by perhaps the one public service still operating in Brockton Bay- the infamous young woman offered her spacious home on the outskirts of Brockton as a temporary refuge for the town’s ‘impromptu orphanage’ and included a series of directions that would lead Charlotte and her charges to the mansion named The Caldera, likely for its locale in a small valley surrounded by steep cliffs that would surely give off the impression that it had once been a mountain that had collapsed in on itself into its current state.
Now that she was standing at the entrance gates, her uncle’s friend’s truck bouncing along the uneven path back to town, she got an impression far closer to Dante’s Inferno than any natural feature. Rough and rugged towers of stone jutted from the perimeter of the grounds, looming over the whole area and casting a shadow over the Caldera, even though noon-time was not too far behind. The house itself, though dwarfed by its surroundings, still towered over Charlotte and the children, and its spires and towers gave the impression that they were leaning forward, all at once rapt in attention and sagging toward their own inevitable collapse.
Charlotte approached the gate. It was made of thick iron bars and bands, with wicked, sharp spikes dotting the top, and adorned with a set of thick locks. She reached through the bars and took one in hand, setting the chains rattling.
“Hey!” The voice was loud- the word was shouted, though the voice gave the impression that it would have been loud even at a conversational tone- and it quite startled Charlotte, who withdrew her hand quickly as though it had been bitten.
A woman approached, flanked by two rough, mean-looking dogs. She wore a thick coat which concealed much of her features, the rest fighting to peek out from behind thick, unkempt locks of hair. She called again, “hey! The grounds are off limits!”
“We were invited!” Charlotte called back, wishing she had the letter to hand so she might brandish it like a talisman against an aggressive spirit. “We’re expected!”
“Nobody comes here,” the woman said, close enough now for Charlotte to make out the weathering of her face, “the dogs have run of the place, and they don’t like people.”
Charlotte directed a glance to the dogs following the woman- they seemed to enjoy her company enough to follow her, and indeed to sit attentively at her heels as she stopped a short distance away from the gate. “Taylor Hebert invited us. She sent a letter, I could show you if you like.”
“The dogs don’t like people,” the woman repeated. “Children don’t know how to keep themselves to themselves, and then everyone blames the dog.”
“I…” Charlotte had been about to say something rather stupid, but instead stammered out, “I am sure these children will behave themselves just fine with a proper warning, miss. Isn’t that right?” She turned to see the boys and girls in her care, who mostly made small affirmative noises or simply stared mutely through the bars of the gate. “Anyway, we’re guests of the owner, one Taylor Hebert. We have as much right to be inside that gate as you or those dogs do, so please, open the locks.”
The woman stepped up and her eyes moved to the chains and locks upon the gate, perhaps considering. “You’d just be bringing more trouble, coming here. Poking around where you don’t belong. Ugh, fine. Not my business, even though it’ll be trouble.” She continued muttering while she pulled a key from somewhere deep in her coat, “they always blame the dogs, not their fault. I said it would just be more trouble.”
Once free of the locks, the chains slid and shook to the ground, making such a racket that Charlotte found herself retreating a step, the hint of distant howls carrying on the wind, unless that was simply her imagination. And something about this place did seem to arouse the imagination, in any case.
The woman- whose presence was perhaps in the capacity of a groundskeeper, or a security guard- followed at a distance with her dogs never but a step away as Charlotte ushered the children along the wide, winding path down the hill toward the mansion. An effect of their downward movement was that their destination seemed to grow and stretch even beyond its original absurd dimensions, until it seemed to Charlotte that its mad architect had intended to create a moat, not of waters or boiling oil, but of shadows, as surely the leaning battlements would not allow the sun’s touch upon the grass below except for very early or late in the day, when, in fact, the walls of the Caldera would finish the job.
The phantom sounds of howling continued to flit in on the wind as they went, though beyond the two hounds- or three, an uncharitable part of Charlotte’s mind added- behind them, there was no sign of dogs on the grounds, or any animal for that matter. The sole exception was a cloud of gnats which Charlotte found herself in the middle of suddenly without warning, and even after her spluttered attempts to warn her charges, the tiny swirling insects managed to tap upon each and every child as they ran, often squealing, through or past the swarming insects.
Having recovered her own composure a few moments later and having calmed the children, Charlotte turned to find that the mansion was all together closer than she had remembered. They were within a stone’s throw of the imposing, intricately etched doors, and with a curious glance up, Charlotte confirmed that the upper sections of the mansion did seem to lean outward such that their very peaks were now behind her, rather than in front or even above her. It was bizarre, but reasoning that any uncomfort at being beneath such an architectural aberration would be relieved by entering, she approached the doors and gave the attending bell cord a firm tug.
Given how large the mansion was, she had expected to wait some time for a response, but it was only about a minute later that one of the overlarge double doors creaked and began to scrape inward, revealing their host.
Taylor Hebert was a surprise. She seemed all together small and unimpressive against the backdrop of the Caldera. Her face was somewhat wide, with thin glasses perched on her nose, and she wore a simple dress with subtle dark patterns along the collar and sleeves. She smiled, and it was somehow strained, or false, or perhaps just an expression unfamiliar to her face.
“Hello, I am the proprietress of this house. It’s nice to meet you all. Please, come inside.” As Taylor Hebert stepped back and waved the group forward, she continued, “I know it’s a ways from the town proper, and it’s hardly the most hospitable-looking house, but there is much space not being used, and as I understand it, that is exactly what is needed.”
“Did the storm reach this far west?” Charlotte asked, glancing around the luxurious, spacious antechamber. From the paintings high on the walls to the candles still burning in the chandeliers, to the tall, thin windows, this place seemed untouched by the torrential downpour and tearing winds. A more fantastical part of Charlotte’s brain suggested that perhaps the storm had warped this place like a deranged artist molding clay, pushing and pulling and stretching the architecture into its current state.
Taylor Hebert nodded, sharply. “It did. Two wings of the house were damaged, and there was flooding in the basement.”
She turned, one foot up on the few steps leading up, deeper into the house proper. “I know how it may sound, but the house is perfectly safe. I’ll explain later which areas are free, and which are off limits. I swear, even with the damage, this is a lovely place to live. Even if- or especially- if the circumstances of your stay are less than pleasant.”
Charlotte thought that last interjection odd, but she couldn’t think of a graceful way to ask about it, so she simply brought the children- Aiden was practically glued to her leg as if he expected the ceiling to fall in around them, but Marline and David kept stopping to gawk- along the way to what turned out to be a dining hall.
Their host helped Charlotte seat the children, who as always were eager for food, and led her to the adjoining kitchen, where the two grabbed up various platters, pots, and pitchers and brought them out to the table. Taylor Hebert was evasive on the subject of who had prepared the food, and whether she employed servants or had made all of this herself. “I had some help,” she had said, “but likely not what you’re thinking.”
Once all of the food and drink was laid out and the children had begun helping themselves, Taylor Hebert directed Charlotte to a seat at the head of the table and turned to go. “I still have some business to attend to,” she said. “I’ll be back when you’re done.”
Charlotte spent the meal in a quiet mood, only bringing her voice out to lull the occasional quarrel or answer a question. She had been thinking of their host- and, in a way, her new land-lord- as Taylor Hebert in her full name, and why was that? Perhaps it was because she did not yet know how formally she should treat her. A girl around Charlotte’s age, if not a year or so younger, and yet it was by her grace alone that they had a place to keep these children until a proper home could be found for them. Was she some kind of nobility or an heiress, to own a place like this? She certainly didn’t seem to demand a higher form of address, and she had both answered the door and served the food herself. Charlotte resolved to give this… Taylor… the same warmth she would have to a newly-met distant relative or schoolmate. She was owed at least that much, but any more would feel forced and false.
Just as the last of the children were finished and Charlotte was fielding questions about leaving the table or going to explore the house on their own, Taylor, true to her earlier promise, returned. She gave another odd smile and said, “I’m sure that after eating, you may not be up for a full tour of the Caldera, so let me show you all to your rooms in the north wing. Don’t worry about the plates and the remaining food, they’ll be cleaned before the next meal.”
She led the way deeper into the mansion, down a hallway with elegant wallpapering and portraits of ugly patriarchs lining one wall. Higher up, slitted windows let in some natural light. They went up a small staircase that turned back around on the second floor, with a glass door leading to a large balcony on the right side and a sequence of doors along the wall on the left.
Taylor gestured to the wall of doors- raising her arm in an odd, almost marionette-like fashion- and said, “There are enough beds spaced throughout the rooms here. The layout is unconventional, and most of you will have to share a room, but that shouldn’t be too bad. There are more rooms in the house, but these are all together and many of the others saw damage in the storm.”
“Where do you sleep?” one of the girls- Deborah- asked.
“Ah.” Taylor blinked. It took her a moment to respond, “I have a bedroom on the third floor, in a sort of attic space. I like my privacy, you see.”
As if the question had broken a hole in a dam, more questions came.
“Do you live here all alone?”
“Rachel lives on the grounds, and others come to visit regularly. Besides, you all live here as well now.”
“Do you own this place?”
“My friend Alec is the owner on paper, but I do keep and maintain the house. It used to belong to-”
“Why is it so creepy?”
“I-” In the moment of silence that followed, Charlotte put a warning hand on Marline’s head. Taylor smiled, again, somehow wrongly. “I suppose it is rather creepy, isn’t it? I had grown used to it in all but its size, honestly, but there is something… unusual about the geometries and angles of the place. As if it were being warped around a certain point, almost.”
A distant look overtook her, and Charlotte nearly missed what she said next as a fly she had not heard approach suddenly buzzed near her ear. She waved it off and heard, “The Caldera was built long ago by a foreigner who practiced medicine from this house. She worked for free, but the hidden cost was that many of her treatments were experimental, and often worked to treat illnesses that the subjects did not have. Eventually, too many of the town’s-people went missing or died of mysterious causes, and the doctor- for she was both a woman and dark-skinned- was suspected. Whether rightly or not, she was driven out, and the Caldera passed through several hands, eventually reaching a french nobleman named Nikos Vasil. He redecorated heavily, and when he passed, his son- my acquaintance- offered its care to me, as he looked at the various renovations as poor taste and did not wish to spend much time here.”
Taylor seemed to come back to herself. “Ah, but I do not mean to frighten you. The founder is long gone, and ever since, this house has seen a clean bill of health from architects and exorcists both. The only dangers which remain are the damaged portions of the building, which are securely locked away until we can have builders brought in to restore them.”
Aiden clenched Charlotte’s dress in his hands, and she had to gently pry it free before he tore something. “Scary…” she heard him whimper.
“Well, children,” Charlotte said in a rising tone, hoping to similarly raise the mood of their group, “let’s have a look at these bedrooms. Everyone can pick their favorites, and I’ll help sort out any issues.”
The first bedroom they explored had a window on the left wall that faced the east. David immediately called one of the two beds as his own, as he claimed that he needed to wake up to sunlight or he would be groggy all day. The second room was further in, with no other adjoining spaces, and a window whose view was mostly blocked by the curve of one of the external towers of the Caldera. Nobody claimed the double-large bed immediately, and Charlotte could see why, with the gloomy lighting and disturbingly sharp-patterned wallpaper. Perhaps the original intent had been to resemble blades of grass, creating the impression in one lying on the bed that they were in a field, but the use of blues and purples and reds made Charlotte think more immediately of scratches and bruises.
The third room, accessed by the second door along, was more of a parlor room, though it did include a bed. Little Deborah asked to sleep there, as the bookshelf and comfortable reading chairs suited her well. The room after that was up a flight of circular stairs encased in stone, likely the tower blocking the view from the earlier room. As this was the edge of the house and the roof slanted outward, the ceiling likewise slanted down, until the space between it and the floor was mere inches. Ness thought that the room was charming, but wanted to see more before he made a decision.
The procession traveled back down the stairs, through little Deborah’s room, and back into the main hallway to find the last two rooms. The first was simple enough for a bedroom, with a posted bed pressed into a corner, a reading chair in another, and a lamp lending its diffuse but bright light. The only oddity was the decoration: pinned moths, butterflies, and dragonflies, each given a label and some surrounded by elaborate illustrations on parchment paper, all set behind glass in fine frames. They dominated the walls, and even the tops of the sitting table and dresser. Nobody claimed this room either.
The final room was the older Deborah’s instant favorite, done up in pink and decked out with a large vanity and an adjoining walk-in closet. There were two beds, each plush and vibrant, and even the light shades were thin and colored to give the room an even cheerier air. Honestly, Charlotte felt the room was a bit too much. If she had been forced to put a word to it, it would be gaudy. However, it was just right for Deborah, who claimed it instantly and convinced Sadie to join her.
In the end, Charlotte was left with the second room, with the unsettling wallpaper and blocked-off window. She thought that it might give her nightmares to sleep in such a place, but she was forced to console herself with the fact that it would either be her or one of the children who must suffer the odd accommodations, and as a mature young lady, she would be able to persevere much better than one of her dependents.
After the children had had some time to put away their few belongings in their respective rooms, Taylor led them down another flight of stairs to a surprisingly lush side garden to while away the remaining daylight hours. Little Deborah read a storybook she had brought from her new room, Ness and David found a chessbox on one of the tables and began to play, and the others played one of those children’s games which was sometimes hide and seek, sometimes tag, sometimes pretend-as, and never seemed to stay in one form for long. Taylor quickly disappeared after seeing her guests settle in, with the promise that she would return to make sure they could find their rooms once evening approached.
Charlotte placed herself in a comfortable lawn chair from which she could see most of the children’s activities and tried to relax. There was a pleasant breeze blowing across the side of the mansion, and things were calm. The peaceful air was occasionally broken by those same phantom howls which seemed to be carried by the wind to the edge of her hearing, but it was always soon drowned out by the squeals of one of the children running around.
That was the most of their first day at the Caldera, and for days to follow, the pattern repeated itself. Charlotte would wake in her blood-and-bruise room and gently wake the children who had not already risen, and corral the ones who had wandered some distance before she was up. Taylor would join them for breakfast and leave soon after, disappearing into the unknown rooms of the mansion and only reappearing to direct them to their next destination or to simply ask after their wellbeing as a host. The children technically had the run of the house, but Charlotte would not allow them to venture further than those areas which she had already investigated, and from which the children could find their way back if they wandered.
Of course, children do not take well to rules and limits. This is especially true of those who feel they have something to prove, or perhaps that they have already proven their strength and invulnerability to themselves. And with Charlotte stretching her limited guardianship over so many, a few incidents were bound to occur.
- - -
Aiden had been a brave boy. Though, it’s easy to be brave when you grow up in safety, with an immovable house, eternal parents, and fewer problems than a fed duck growing fat in a pond. Aiden had lost more than his home and family in the storm; he had lost his courage as well. Everything was new, uncertain, and frightening, with no way back and only a blind path forward. However, he also had his pride, and that made him up into the type of boy who was very easy for other children to goad.
“Chi-ken! Chi-ken! Chi-ken!” Older Deborah taunted, arms folded into flapping wings.
“Am not!” Aiden protested. His fists balled up and clutched against his shoulders, a pose which may have come across as dignified and restrained on one older and more composed, but on Aiden simply reminded the other three children of the selfsame chicken which Deborah was imitating.
David said, “stop being a baby, Aiden. It’s not like you’re the only one going in anyway, so what’s the big deal?”
“Then why do I have to go first?”
“To prove you’re not a chicken,” Deborah said. “You wanted to tattle on us to Charlotte, because you’re scared of going into the forbidden wing.” These last words Deborah put a wobbling intonation on, like a spook or specter rattling their mortal chains and moaning.
“Am not!”
“Then go!” David said, pointing at the glass door. The main entrance to the ruined wing of the mansion was locked solid, but the children had found out that passage could be gained through a sitting room which connected the main section with the forbidden area, the only impediment a closed door with a sign reading ‘Danger! Keep Out!’
Aiden took a tentative step forward, trying to get a better angle to peer through the glass of the door to the space beyond. All he could see was the water-splotched wallpaper of the hallway which sat at crossed-angles to the door, and not more than a couple of feet down either way. “But… it’s dangerous.” The protest came out as a whine even to him.
“Stop being a chicken, Aiden! Just go!”
“Yeah!” David and Marline chimed in.
“I- Ughhhh… fine, I’ll go.” Having said this, Aiden still hesitated, feeling a sensation as if the air itself was buzzing with his nerves.
That buzzing went from subconsciously audible to ear-splitting as he placed his hand on the handle, and a sizable swarm of large winged insects descended from the ceiling.
With screams behind him, the instinct-alarming buzz and flutter of insects all around him, and already halfway committed to the path forward, Aiden found himself throwing open the glass door and running full-tilt, banging his shoulder on the far wall as he blindly ran away, swatting at the insects now leaving the telltale pinch of a bite or sting, or trying to crawl along his arms or beneath his clothes.
It is a terrible thing to be beset by a swarm of insects. Your body becomes, itself, terrified and jumps at proverbial shadows- you may bat away the actual threat with some luck and effort, but you will find yourself beset by phantom insects for a time yet. With his eyes blinded by tears of fear and in any respect closed against the blows he was directing about his own face, Aiden did not experience the normal continuity of transition between one space and another. He was first safe- if scared- in the mansion proper, then lost in his own bubble of fear and sound and pain, and then he was standing in what must be the water-damaged wing of the Caldera.
It instantly reminded Aiden of home in the worst ways. Peeling and seemingly rotten wallpaper, the occasional chair or banister bashed to pieces, leaving jagged, exposed splinters, and through the holes bashed through the ceiling there poured down rain from a stone-gray clouded sky. The air was damp and thick with musk, making the endeavor of breathing somewhat hard. His feet sank into the floor as he stepped and shifted; not as though he might fall through, but as though the wood or even stone had become soft and porous, like stepping on sponges.
Ahead and below, past the wrecked banister, there was a small foyer with books floating in more than a foot of water and an ornate door which seemed to be straining under the effort of keeping it all in. Ankle-deep, even on what seemed to be a podium beneath the obscuring water, was the life-sized statue of a man. Golden, and with features resembling a shepherd Jesus, though less sharp and more masculine. He stood without clothing or adornment, face angled up yet somehow still in shadow, arms reaching up and out, seeming to embrace the rain which poured down on his fingers and arms and streamed off of his shoulders like a tattered cloak. Aiden looked away.
With the panic ebbing and being replaced by a far more subtle kind of dread, Aiden’s brain began working, its gears turning once more. He began to notice things which didn’t quite add up to a full sum. For one, it hadn’t been raining, or even cloudy, when Aiden had last been outside. Weather could move fast, but for a sudden downpour like this, with no warning and in just a matter of minutes? Another issue was the rot; Aiden had rather unfortunately experienced the problems of a flooded home, but even the days of knee-high water had not produced the level of decay in wood or walls that he was seeing now. It was as if this whole wing had been dipped into the ocean and left to soak for years before being dredged up and replaced to again complete the mansion. And then there were the clouds…
Writhing slowly, undulating.
Massive, larger than the sky itself, and yet of a size to fit within his vision…
He thought he could see one arc as if it were a breaching whale. Another scrunched up and pushed out like a slug. They…
Aiden blinked, hard. What had he… he glanced around, trying to relocate his train of thought by finding its previous focus.
It was then that his eyes once more alit on the golden statue, its smooth blank eyes seeming to stare straight toward him, its raised arms reaching forward as if to receive an embrace, to grasp him in its immovable, cold arms, never to…
Aiden turned and ran. He ran from the statue, from the rain, from the water and rot and fear. He fled down a corridor, took a corner, and saw the glass door which marked the boundary, still flung open from where he had rushed through moments- had it only been moments?- before.
David, Marline, and Deborah stood more or less where they had been, staring wide-eyed at Aiden’s sudden approach.
Struck by a sudden sense of anger and indignation, Aiden demanded, “you were all supposed to come in after me! Who’s the chicken now, huh?”
“I dunno,” Deborah said, pointing. “None of us peed ourselves.”
Aiden looked down, touching his pants with one hand. It came away wet and warm, and he whined.
- - -
Charlotte glanced down at Aiden, who was walking next to her. The woods around the mansion were pleasant, lush without being overbearing or choking. As long as they didn’t stray too far and incur the wrath of the groundskeeper and her dogs, there were seemingly endless steps to take along the winding paths through the trees.
Aiden had been wetting his bed most nights for the past week, and he’d been quieter than usual, even when playing around or during meals. She was worried for him, and worried about what may have spurred the sudden change in him. Though she wanted to simply sit him down and ask, she had enough experience with children to know that confrontations like that would only make him feel more scared, and would probably cause him to clam up.
So here they were, out and about, hopefully away from anything which would cause Aiden more stress or give him reason to fear, all the while Charlotte thought of a way to broach the topic.
“So,” she finally said, “how are you feeling, Aiden?”
They made small talk for some time, most of the talking coming from Charlotte. Eventually they ended up in a small clearing, and Charlotte invited Aiden to sit down.
Unprompted, Aiden said, “It’s the birds,” surprising Charlotte.
“What is it about the birds?” She asked, confused.
Aiden was quiet for a time. Eventually, he said, “I think it’s how they follow me. I saw them, and that made them mad, so…” He paused. “The birds know where I am, and I can… I can tell them things.”
“I…” Charlotte was at a loss for words. “What kinds of things?”
“Sit,” Aiden said softly, pointing to the middle of the clearing.
“Ah, so you talk to them like a dog?” Charlotte felt a little relieved. Her younger brother had once tried to play fetch with a squirrel, and after it had run after the stick he’d thrown, he’d been convinced for months that he could tame squirrels like a dog. If Aiden had pointed at a spot on the ground and a bird had happened to land there, a child’s imagination could easily turn that into some massive event or conspiracy.
With a flutter of wings, a single crow flew down and landed in the clearing. Two more landed nearby, and then a hawk, an owl, a cluster of sparrows…
Soon the clearing was full of birds; not stock still, but sitting at rest, ignoring the others just inches away from them, and the two humans sitting only a short distance away.
“Go,” Aiden said, and to Charlotte’s horror, the sky was filled with wings and squawks and avian cries.