《Arkham Season One》 The House of the Silver Key The house loomed before her like a giant intent on squashing her. It was massive. Enormous. Not just a home but a place. Vast and many-windowed, it hunkered at the corner of Garrison and College streets in a town no one¡¯s heard of called Arkham, Massachusetts, a rambling, dusty gray Victorian like something out of a storybook. Or a Stephen King novel. Jane Campion was trying to decide which when her father spoke. ¡°Wanna give your old man a hand here?¡± Jane turned just as her father was getting a smallish box from the back seat of their trusty Volvo station wagon. The movers would be there within the hour with their big truck loaded with the rest of their worldly possessions, but Jane and her dad had crammed everything they could into the car before driving from Des Moines to the East Coast. ¡°Might as well carry a box inside with you while you check the place out,¡± her dad said with a groan, and Jane went and helped him with the box, which was full of kitchen odds and ends. Jane took it and walked up the wide gray steps to the huge front porch. ¡°This house should have its own zip code.¡± ¡°Key should be under the mat,¡± said her father as he wrestled another box from behind the driver¡¯s seat. Jane sat the box on a white rocking chair and flipped over the brown welcome mat with the toe of her scuffed hightop. Sure enough, a key glittered there, and she picked it up and inserted it into the lock. Jane entered the house¡¯s cool confines, the box she¡¯d carried onto the porch already forgotten. She stood in a long, wide hallway, the end of which led to what had to be the kitchen. She noted the transoms over each doorway lined with colored glass inserts. One of them had been cracked long ago and never replaced, but instead of marring the aesthetic, it only seemed to add to it. Gave it character, as her mother would say. The thought of her mother brought with it a well of pain which she tamped back down with a deep, slow breath. As angry as Jane was at her father for bringing them here, and for setting in motion the turn of events that made them leave Des Moines in the first place, this really was some house. ¡°Hey,¡± her dad called from behind her. ¡°Can you get the door?¡± Jane swung around and grabbed the door, pulling it open as her father stumbled in carrying a box of his reference books. Jane shook her head at him. He¡¯d need those for work, so he¡¯d only have to load them back in the car again once it had been emptied. ¡°There¡¯ll be time for the tour later. Right now we¡¯ve got a car to unload. The movers will be here any minute.¡± ¡°OK, Dad.¡± Making sure her father noticed her rolling her eyes, Jane went back through the door and grabbed the box she had left in the rocker, lugging it to the small kitchen and placing it on the dusty countertop. ¡°So what¡¯s the deal with this place?¡± she called. Her father was right behind her with another box full of kitchen stuff. ¡°Huh? Oh, it belongs to the university. They lend it to visiting faculty.¡± ¡°So does that mean we¡¯re staying here rent-free?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Her dad smiled at her. ¡°Cool, huh?¡± Jane looked around the kitchen. ¡°Yeah. I guess. Though this kitchen just makes me want to order pizza.¡± ¡°I know it¡¯s old, but it¡¯s free, and this place is huge. Wait till you see it.¡± ¡°Yeah, I got that from the outside,¡± said Jane. Jane¡¯s father fixed her with his accusatory stare. ¡°Then what? I¡¯m trying here, Janey. I¡¯m trying as best I can.¡± ¡°Nothing, Dad,¡± Jane replied, not wanting to be cornered in this tiny kitchen. She stepped around him and hurried back up the hall. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Jane ran out to the car to get more boxes, but it was really so she could stop crying before her father saw. She took a deep breath as her eyes welled with tears. She was going to hate it here, and she wanted her father to hate it just as much as she did. It was his penance for what he had done. To both of them. And to her mother¡¯s memory. As soon as the car was unloaded, Jane left her father alone in the living room opening boxes and went exploring. The place was sparsely furnished, which made sense if people regularly stayed there. Jane lurched up the narrow steps, wondering how the movers would squeeze her mattress through the smallish passage, and up to the second floor, where a longer, mahogany-lined hallway greeted her, most of its length covered by a faded Oriental rug. There were two bedrooms up there, each one staged with large, four-poster beds, a dresser, and matching porcelain wash basins and pitchers. ¡°Holy time warp,¡± she muttered. ¡°I hope I don¡¯t have to get water from the crick.¡± At the end of the hall was a larger bedroom, devoid of any furniture. There was a big bay window overlooking the front yard, with a plush window seat. From this height, she had a grand view of Garrison Street, the houses on the other side of it similar but not as grand, crammed close together. She noticed a tall, thin man standing beneath a wild old oak across the way. He was clutching the handlebars of a bicycle, one of those big, sleek thick-framed models from the 1950s, with big whitewall tires. He was gaunt, with wispy tufts of gray hair encircling his bald head just above the ears, like a wreath of fog around a mountain crag. But the most notable thing about him was that he was staring up at the house. Up at her. ¡°Dad!¡± Jane called, purposefully using the loud, insistent tone usually reserved when one found a snake in one¡¯s bathroom; the kind of tone that said get up here, quick! Jane turned toward the open door, hearing the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs, up the hall. ¡°What is it?¡± her dad said as he entered, panting. Jane pointed to the window. ¡°There¡¯s this weird guy across the street. He¡¯s¨C¡± But when she looked out the window again, the man and his bicycle were gone. ¡°Hm,¡± Dad said, looking over Jane¡¯s shoulder at the street outside. ¡°Probably just curious about who¡¯s moving in. It¡¯s a small town. They don¡¯t get much excitement.¡± Jane sighed. ¡°Well, he¡¯s going to be severely disappointed.¡± Her dad smiled. ¡°Come on. I just heard from the movers. They¡¯re only a few minutes out. Help me move some boxes out of their way.¡± Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Jane took one last glance out the window, wondering where the man on the bicycle went, and wondering if he would come back, while hoping he wouldn¡¯t. She didn¡¯t think he had been looking at the house. She thought he had been staring at her. * * * Once the movers came, the weird man with the bicycle was all but forgotten amid a flurry of lugging boxes upstairs, and directing the movers where to go and getting things into some bare semblance of normalcy, and the next time Jane had a moment to process everything it was night. Her father ordered them a pizza, half cheese for her, half pepperoni and black olives for him, but she was too tired to eat, and merely picked at it. ¡°Listen,¡± her dad said. ¡°It¡¯s getting late, and you¡¯ve got school tomorrow.¡± Jane scowled at him. School was the last thing she wanted to think about right now. Especially a brand new school where she didn¡¯t know anyone. ¡°Come on, can¡¯t I have just one more day to get settled?¡± Her father shook his head. ¡°Sorry, Janey. You¡¯ve got school and I¡¯ve got work. It¡¯s my first day at a new school too.¡± ¡°Oh all right.¡± Jane moped upstairs, changed into an oversized Winnie the Pooh t-shirt she used as a nightgown, and climbed into bed. Her old bed, in a new place. She stared up at the alien ceiling, knowing that just beyond that was an alien sky in an alien town with alien people. She felt like she had been banished through no fault of her own to the other side of the Earth. Or hell. She counted cracks in the ceiling¡¯s paint until she fell asleep. A thunderous jolt woke her. Bleary-eyed, she checked her phone. It was two-thirty in the morning. She waited, thinking she might have dreamed it. Then it happened again. Only it wasn¡¯t thunder. More like footsteps. Footsteps in the attic. Jane had noticed the separate staircase on the far end of the second-floor hallway that led into what must be the attic, but she had been too busy to check it out. Apparently the attic ran the entire length of the house, for the sounds she heard were coming from directly above her bed. Gotta be critters, she told herself. Squirrels. A family of raccoons. Even bats. Though she¡¯d never heard of any of those animals getting big enough to make footfalls like that. Boom. There it was again. Jane sat bolt upright in bed, waiting. There¡¯s no way her father hadn¡¯t heard that. He should be rushing up here to check on her, see what it was. Boom. Nope. The old man had let her down again. ¡°Well, Janey,¡± she whispered. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s up to you.¡± Jane climbed out of bed, found her flip-flops, grabbed her phone, and crept down the hallway. She heard the sound again, but muffled this time since it was now above and behind her. She activated her phone¡¯s flashlight as she mounted the steps, grasping the cold glass Hope Diamond-looking doorknob when she reached the top. Jane thought it might be locked, but the knob twisted easily in her hand, the door pushing open with the slightest creak of ancient hinges and moisture-swollen wood. She stepped into the cool attic, her heart half in her throat. She scanned the walls on either side with her phone, looking for a light switch, but found nothing. She waved the phone¡¯s slender beam around, illuminating a large, mostly empty space. The shadow of a figure startled her, but when she recovered she saw it was just an old dressmaker¡¯s dummy. Get it together, girl. Jane moved her phone around in a sweeping arc, the pale light picking out an old trunk, a dusty rocking horse on rusted springs, and other bits of detritus. The far wall of the attic was taken up by a large round picture window filled with colored glass inserts that matched the transoms downstairs, only more ornate, for they were painted in what appeared to be constellations and astrological signs, a strange zodiac in a dusty, New England attic. Jane stared at it for a long moment. She hadn¡¯t noticed it when they arrived, because its height and the large gables hid it from view. As she marveled at it, she heard the noise again, coming from a far corner off to her left. Her heart threatened to leap from her throat, but Jane steadied herself. She could do this. After all she¡¯d been through the past year, she wasn¡¯t afraid, more like annoyed. It was bad enough she had to move here, she had to be awakened by odd thumps in the middle of the night? No freaking way. Jane edged closer to where she¡¯d heard the noise, finding nothing but a clapboard wall next to the giant window. She looked around for a doorknob or handle, but there was nothing there. Then she heard it again, louder, and more like the sound of a heavy footfall than she wanted it to. But she was already there. Might as well check it out, right? She inspected the wall again, this time moving along it to the left. She found a tiny crease running through the clapboard from floor to ceiling, and again across the top from left to right, just above her head. This is a door, she thought with excitement. A secret door someone had taken pains to make sure was hidden. OK, Nancy Drew. Now how do we get it open? Making a fist, Jane started tapping lightly against it in different spots. When she had moved back to her right, she struck it midways up, about where a doorknob would be if it had one, and the door popped open with a tiny click. Jane pulled it open and shoved her phone inside. The light revealed another room. A big room. Too big. Jane pulled her arm out and looked down the wall toward the window. She was no more than a few inches from the outside of the house, and this door was set into the outer wall beside the window. And yet¨C She stuck her phone arm back inside and waved it around. The room stretched maybe ten feet in every direction. It was also completely free of dust and filled with strange objects. Jane stepped inside. When she didn¡¯t tumble down the roof outside and fall to her death, she decided she probably wasn¡¯t hallucinating and got the courage to go exploring. In the middle of the room, Jane found a string hanging from a bare bulb and pulled it, flooding the place with milky light that flickered, the filaments inside the bulb humming. Wincing up at it, Jane made a mental note to grab a CFL bulb from downstairs tomorrow, then started looking around. In the corner was an ornate and heavy-looking lectern made from some old, dark wood, with a strange emblem embossed on the front she couldn¡¯t read in the light from either the waning bulb or her phone, which cast too many shadows in the intricately carved sigil to be of any help. In the center of the floor was a large symbol that had been drawn in white paint, a circle enclosing a five-pointed star. A pentagram? No, Jane realized, fixating on the star¡¯s center, which was etched with what appeared to be a stylized flame. She didn¡¯t see anything that would account for the noises she heard, and they did not repeat since she discovered the secret door. Jane felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. ¡°OK,¡± she whispered. ¡°What the hell is this?¡± The light from her phone caught a glint of something, and she turned to her right. It was a silver key hanging from a leather thong suspended from a rusty old nail. She went to inspect it, cradling it in her hand. It was cool to the touch and quite beautiful. Jane remembered reading that the Victorians loved making even the most mundane items ornate. The shaft was long and cylindrical, the bow worked in a swirling pattern. It shined bright as silver in the wavering light. Without really knowing why, Jane removed the key from its nail and placed it around her neck, feeling its cold solidity against the skin of her throat. Taking one last look around, Jane turned off the light, closed the secret door, and went to bed. She heard no more sounds that night, but clutching the key in the dark, it was most of another hour before sleep once again found her. The New Girl Jane had every intention of telling her father about the Impossible Room and the silver key over breakfast. But the more she thought about it, the wiser she thought it was to keep it to herself. Part of her liked having a secret, something her father didn¡¯t know. Especially after he had dragged them both to this East Coast hell. Besides, she wasn¡¯t sure she hadn¡¯t dreamed most of it. Only the key around her neck persuaded her that anything strange had happened at all. She kept it hidden under her blouse as her father delivered a plate stacked high with pancakes, his go-to culinary move. ¡°I¡¯ll go grocery shopping this afternoon,¡± he said by way of apology and settled across from her at the table. She looked out across the distance between them, feeling that something was missing. Her mother, who always sat across from Jane and to her father¡¯s right. She thought that being in a new house meant she wouldn¡¯t be surrounded by her mother¡¯s memory, but she hadn¡¯t counted on their old furniture bringing her back to life in Jane¡¯s mind. ¡°I¡¯ve already got you registered,¡± her father said. The school¡¯s only a couple blocks north.¡± Jane scowled up at him. ¡°You¡¯re not going to drive me?¡± Her father fixed her with his trademark reassuring smile. ¡°Of course. But I can¡¯t pick you up this afternoon. Faculty meeting. Think you can find your way home?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, picking at her pancakes. ¡°I can figure it out. This town¡¯s not that big.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a lot smaller than Des Moines, that¡¯s for sure.¡± They ate in silence, all thoughts of the impossible room and the silver key pushed out of Jane¡¯s mind by the dread of starting a new school. All she had to do was tough it out for three more years, and she could get out of here. New York had always sounded exciting. Or maybe she¡¯d just go back to Des Moines. That¡¯d show the old man. * * * The Volvo pulled up to the front of the school, and Jane looked around at all the strange faces. A few stared briefly back at her before going on with their lives. ¡°Remember,¡± said her father. ¡°They¡¯re more scared of you than you are of them.¡± ¡°Dad,¡± Jane groaned, but she was smiling despite herself. ¡°Shut up.¡± You¡¯re making it hard to be mad at you, she thought. ¡°Have a good day. I love you.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Jane replied, noncommittal as she opened the door and got out. She walked toward the entrance, realizing for the first time that she had no idea where she was going. She knew she had to visit the front office, and every school had one of those so it shouldn¡¯t be hard to find. She took a deep, steadying breath, and waded in. The front office was a glassed-in box at the other end of a big central area. Jane dodged a few students and went inside. She had to wait her turn at the front desk for a few minutes before getting an audience with the platinum-haired woman behind the counter. ¡°I¡¯m Jane Campion. I¡¯m new here.¡± ¡°Hello, Jane.¡± A soft yet stern voice from the back of the small office caused Jane¡¯s head to snap quickly to the right. A tall, middle-aged woman with straight, shoulder-length dark hair stood smiling down at her. She wore a white blouse, a black ankle-length skirt, and sensible shoes that looked equally at home at a formal dinner party as they would storming the beaches at Normandy. Jane walked toward the woman as if compelled. "I''m Principal Waite," said the woman. "I''ve been expecting you." "OK," said Jane. "I have your schedule," she said, handing Jane a slip of paper. Jane scanned it, seeing strange abbreviations for her classes, the first initials and last names of teachers she didn''t know. It might as well have been Egyptian heiroglyphs. "I will show you around," said the principal as she led Jane to the door. Jane watched the woman''s back, following her up the hall and through a labyrinth of corridors like a baby duck following its mother. "I have to say, Ms. Campion," said the woman, "I was very impressed with your transcript. Though I would expect nothing less from the daughter of a professor of literature and a neuroscientist." She pronounced "literature" in a way that made it sound much more profound than Jane believed it to be. "Your father teaches at Miskatonic? How exciting." "Yeah. I guess." Ms. Waite pointed out the major high school landmarks as she walked and talked; the cafeteria, the library, which was actually still called a library and not the learning commons. "You know, the faculty''s immediate family can attend the university for free. You might want to keep that in mind. There are many fine programs. I was an Esoteric Studies major there myself." Jane was about to ask what the heck Esoteric Studies was when Ms. Waite stopped before an open classroom door. "Your first class," she said as if she were presenting Jane with a gameshow prize. Ms. Waite stepped aside so Jane could enter, standing there expectantly like a bellhop waiting for his tip. ¡°Thank you," Jane said. Principal Waite nodded and said, "Have a good day, Ms. Campion" before sauntering off. Jane shivered, entered the room, and found an empty desk. Like the town in which it was located, Arkham High wasn¡¯t that big, and Jane was confident she could find her way around. She was glad Ms. Waite had left. Something about that woman gave her the creeps. Her first class was English. The class was in the middle of reading The Scarlet Letter, which Jane had already read and hated. Too much authorial intrusion for her taste, though she enjoyed Hawthorne''s short fiction, like The Artist of the Beautiful and Rappaccini''s Daughter. Next was Massachusetts History, which Jane new little if anything about. They were covering the Salem witch trials, which Jane found interesting. At several points during the lecture, Jane found herself thinking of the impossible room in the attic of the house, and the round window with its painted constellations. She was touching the silver key under her blouse, tracing its outline with her finger, when she felt someone staring at her. Jane turned to her left and saw a boy with dark hair and a high forehead. He looked away self-consciously before returning and holding her gaze. He was nice-looking, with brown eyes and barely present dimples. ¡°Can anyone tell me a proposed theory about what caused the Salem panic?¡± asked Mrs. Armstrong from the front of the room. The boy raised his hand. ¡°Ergot poisoning,¡± he said. ¡°From bread mold. It can cause hallucinations.¡± ¡°Very good,¡± said the teacher. ¡°Thank you, Mr. Chalker.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr. Chalker,¡± someone repeated in a derpy voice, eliciting a chorus of laughter. Before Mrs. Armstrong could admonish them, the bell rang, and Jane gathered her things. When she turned around once more, the boy¨CMr. Chalker¨Cwas already gone. The morning had passed without incident, and for once Jane thought she might just get through this first day at a new school unnoticed, a feeling that only lasted until lunch. She found an empty table and sat down, inspecting her lunch of Salisbury steak and green beans, when three girls appeared. ¡°Hey, New Girl.¡± Jane slumped in her chair. Here we go. ¡°What?¡± ¡°This is our table.¡± The speaker was a tall, athletic girl with strawberry-blond hair and green eyes. She wore a t-shirt with the school¡¯s coyote mascot and the word Cheer emblazoned across it. Her friends wore matching shirts and sardonic glares. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Jane said. ¡°I didn¡¯t see your names on it.¡± ¡°Well that¡¯s the thing, sweetheart. It doesn¡¯t need our names on it for everyone to know it¡¯s ours. Now get lost.¡± Jane¡¯s heart hammered in her chest, but not from fear. ¡°Last I checked, it was a free country and I can sit anywhere I want.¡± This got a giggle from Strawberry-Blond¡¯s two friends, but she was not amused. ¡°Listen, I know you¡¯re new here so we¡¯ll cut you a break. This time. But you better not let it happen again. You out-of-town girls need to learn your place.¡± Strawberry-Blond kicked the chair across from Jane for emphasis and then the trio stalked off to find another place to sit. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Jane suddenly felt she was being watched, and glanced around to find many pairs of eyes staring back at her. Hating the sudden attention, and liking the looks of the Salisbury steak even less, Jane took her tray to the return window and left the cafeteria. Her next and last period was study hall, so Jane went to the library, found a quiet corner, and played on her phone. She had gotten a few texts from friends back home and took the opportunity to fire off a few quick missives about what an awful place Arkham, Massachusetts was. When she looked up, the boy from her history class was sitting at a nearby table in front of an open laptop. But he wasn¡¯t looking at the screen. He was looking at her. Bemused, Jane got up and went to the table, pulling out the chair across from him. ¡°You¡¯re in my history class,¡± she said. He nodded. ¡°Yeah. Name¡¯s Luke. Luke Chalker.¡± ¡°Hi, Luke Chalker, I¡¯m¨C¡± ¡°Jane Campion. Yeah, I know.¡± Then, fearing he sounded creepy, he added, ¡°It¡¯s a small school.¡± Now it was Jane¡¯s turn to nod. ¡°Right. Of course. So what are you working on?¡± Luke frowned at his laptop screen. ¡°Well, I¡¯m supposed to be working on a story for the school paper, but instead I¡¯m writing up some notes for the next episode of my podcast.¡± Jane stifled a laugh. ¡°You have a podcast? What¡¯s it about?¡± He fixed her with a sheepish grin. ¡°About how weird Arkham is.¡± Jane smirked. You have no idea, she thought, remembering the impossible room in the attic. ¡°If by weird you mean boring, I¡¯m right there with ya.¡± ¡°No, I mean weird. You haven¡¯t noticed it yet. But you will. Especially with you being from out of town and all. I noticed it right away, the first week I moved here.¡± ¡°Well, maybe I¡¯ll have to let you give me a tour. How weird are we talkin¡¯? Is it weird as in the janitor¡¯s a serial killer, or weird as in toxic runoff is giving the fish three eyes?¡± Luke laughed. ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t seen any three-eyed fish or janitorial serial killers. I¨CIt¡¯s better if I show you. I guess. I mean, if you want.¡± Jane shrugged. ¡°Hey, I like to know what I¡¯m up against.¡± ¡°Great. Meet me by the flagpole after school and I¡¯ll give you the grand tour. Oh, and don¡¯t let Audrey get under your skin.¡± ¡°Audrey?¡± ¡°Yeah, that showdown in the caff was pretty major.¡± ¡°Oh. Her. So that¡¯s her name.¡± ¡°Yeah. Don¡¯t let her bother you. She¡¯s all bitch and no bite.¡± ¡°What¡¯s their deal anyway?¡± Luke shrugged. ¡°They¡¯re seniors. Audrey¡¯s dad is some head honcho over at the University. Her two bulldogs are Cassie and Ruby. They think they rule the school and by extension the whole town.¡± ¡°Ah, I see,¡± said Jane. ¡°And everyone who isn¡¯t from here is just garbage. I love a good shunning as much as the next girl, but I left my scarlet letter at home.¡± Luke laughed again, and it made Jane smile. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve got a podcast to do and a newspaper story to write. I¡¯ll get out of your hair.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget,¡± said Luke. ¡°Flagpole. After school.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t forget,¡± Jane said. * * * Luke Chalker was true to his word. He was standing by the flagpole when Jane left the building after final bell. ¡°Ready?¡± he said. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind walking.¡± ¡°Nah. It¡¯s a small town, right?¡± As they walked across the front of the campus Luke went into full tour guide mode, telling Jane the strange, sordid history of this weird New England town she, through no fault of her own, found herself in. ¡°The town was founded in the late 1600s,¡± Luke said. ¡°By 1750 it had become a thriving seaport. A group of the wealthiest families donated money and books to help found Miskatonic Liberal College, which became Miskatonic University.¡± "Names after the river that runs through town," said Jane. Luke smiled. "Right." ¡°My dad teaches there,¡± Jane said. ¡°Literature.¡± The high school was now a block behind them, Luke moving in long, quick strides as he pointed out various landmarks, each with its own dark history. ¡°That¡¯s the old Bennett place,¡± he said, pointing to a ramshackle clapboard house with boarded-up windows. ¡°Josiah Bennett was a fishing boat captain from Rhode Island who came here for the abundant fishing in the waters between here and Innsmouth. That way,¡± he said, pointing north to indicate the direction of this other town. ¡°You know,¡± said Jane. ¡°I¡¯d never heard of this place before coming here.¡± Luke nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised. Neither had I. That¡¯s one reason I started researching it. I wanted to know more about it, about why it isn¡¯t more widely known. Turns out this place has a spooky history.¡± ¡°Do tell,¡± said Jane. ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Well, the witchcraft hysteria of Salem reached all the way here. There was also a bought of madness that affected half the town in the early 1700s.¡± ¡°Madness? Like everyone went crazy?¡± ¡°Yeah. More or less. It lasted a few months, then kind of just¡­went away. But I was telling you about the Bennett place. Josiah Bennett had three daughters. He married them off one by one to a couple of wealthy families over in Innsmouth. No one ever saw them again, but the youngest, Eleanor, would come back to visit sometimes, with her husband, an Innsmouth fisherman, and their two kids, who always went heavily covered and never came out except at night.¡± ¡°That¡¯s weird,¡± said Jane. ¡°What else?¡± ¡°Well,¡± said Luke, clearly warming up to the subject. ¡°Supposedly old Josiah was into some kind of devil worship. He and a few others held meetings in his house late at night, and there was an odd chanting at all hours. This went on for years, until one night. Something got out of hand, because a fire erupted, almost completely consuming the place. Josiah and his wife, and about six other townsfolk, were never accounted for, apparently burned up in the flames. The house was rebuilt, and a new family moved in. But they didn¡¯t stay long. People lived there on and off over the intervening century, up until the late 1970s, when a whole family went crazy from living there. It¡¯s been boarded up ever since.¡± ¡°That is weird,¡± said Jane. ¡°What¡¯s weird is that¡¯s not the only weird thing I uncovered in my research,¡± said Luke. ¡°That¡¯s what my podcast is about. Every week I recount a different bit of this town¡¯s bizarre history. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m freaking you out, aren¡¯t I?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Jane, smiling. ¡°It¡¯s very interesting. I had a feeling Arkham was weird, but I thought it was just me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s most definitely not you,¡± said Luke. ¡°You¡¯re the most normal thing that¡¯s happened to this town in quite a while.¡± They walked along in silence for a time, neither of them knowing quite what to make of the other. Then Jane said, ¡°I found something weird too. At the house we¡¯re staying in.¡± ¡°The old Campbell place, right?¡± said Luke. ¡°Near the University?¡± ¡°Yeah. How¡¯d you know?¡± ¡°Just a guess. I know the school lets visiting faculty stay there. What about it?¡± ¡°Well, do you know anything about it?¡± Luke shrugged. ¡°Not really. Should I?¡± Here Jane hesitated. Should she tell him? She hadn¡¯t even told her father yet, but more than that, showing the impossible room to someone else would just make it¡­more real. ¡°What is it?¡± Jane stopped and look at him. ¡°Like you said, it¡¯s best if I show you. Come on.¡± * * * The room was right where it had been the previous night, inside the outer wall of the front of the house. Luke¡¯s eyes widened as Jane opened the secret door. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°Weird,¡± Jane finished. ¡°Yeah.¡± Jane followed him inside. She had retrieved a bulb from downstairs and replaced the room¡¯s failing light source. She stood in the center of the room as Luke explored, moving out in a widening circle to take in everything, the lecturn, the five-pointed star painted on the floor. He moved to stand behind the lecturn, places his hands on each side, looking around. ¡°So I¡¯m not crazy, right?¡± Jane said after a long moment. ¡°You see it too.¡± Luke nodded. ¡°And this room shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Luke shook his head. ¡°No it should not.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t figure out this design on the floor,¡± Jane said. ¡°It looks like a pentagram, but¨C¡± ¡°It¡¯s an Elder Sign,¡± Luke said. Jane looked at him in surprise. ¡°From my research. Some kind of protective ward or something. Apparently, the things people in these parts used to worship only take a pentagram as some kind of challenge.¡± Jane didn¡¯t know what to say to that, so she stayed silent as a cold chill fled up her spine and buried itself in the relative safety of her brain stem. Luke fingered a nail where Jane had found the key. "Is this it?" Jane had told Jake the story of the silver key as they climbed the attic stairs. "Yeah. That''s where I found it. I should have left it where it was. I don''t know why I put it on." "Can I see it?" Jane pulled it from inside her blouse and held it out for Jake to examine. ¡°What do you suppose it goes to?¡± Jane asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Luke. But it¡¯s pretty. I think it belongs to you.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± she said. ¡°I think. Hopefully I can find the door this belongs to.¡± ¡°Could be for any door in this town. Or an old door long gone. Looks good on you, though.¡± Jane blushed. Luke shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Well, I need to go. I¡¯ve got a story to write for the paper.¡± ¡°Yeah, sure. Of course. I¡¯ve got homework.¡± ¡°Sure, yeah. Well, we¡¯ll call it a day then. See you around, New Girl.¡± The Arkham Historical Society The next day at school passed mostly without incident. Jane kept her head down and took notes, occasionally tracing the outline of the silver key under her blouse with her finger. Audrey and the Mean Girls from Hell kept their distance but made sure that Jane could feel them leering at her and could overhear their childish taunts. Jane tried to ignore them, thinking about the impossible room and the strange key that now hung around her neck like some weird souvenir. What did it all mean? The fact that Luke could experience it too just made it even stranger. It meant she wasn¡¯t going crazy, which would be the simplest explanation. Her neuroscientist mother had always said that a scientist goes for the simplest explanation of a particular phenomenon. Occam¡¯s razor, she called it. Luke was doing his level best to appear as if he wasn¡¯t waiting for Jane after school as he waited for her after school. Jane thought it was sweet, and she smiled when she saw him. They hadn¡¯t spoken since the previous afternoon in the secret room in her attic. ¡°Hey,¡± said Luke. ¡°So I was thinking, maybe I could do a little profile of you for the school paper.¡± Jane scrunched up her nose. ¡°Why?¡± Luke shifted his feet. ¡°Well, I figured if everyone knew more about you, then you wouldn¡¯t be a stranger. And maybe Audrey and her hell girls would be a little nicer to you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­maybe?¡± Luke brightened at this. ¡°Listen, if you¡¯re not doing anything, I¡¯d like to introduce you to some of my friends. I think you guys would get along great.¡± Hating the thought of being alone in that gigantic house until her father got home, Jane said, ¡°Sure.¡± They walked away from the school, going in a different direction than the day before. A few blocks later Jane found herself in a quaint town square, dominated by an old courthouse and a ring of shops and other buildings. Among the usual small-town offerings¨Ca drug store, a barber shop¨CJane was surprised to see a tattoo parlor. A white sign painted in flowing black ink declared it as Miskatonic Ink. Jane followed Luke into a storefront labeled simply Books in chipped gold paint. A little brass bell over the door announced their presence. The inside was dimly lit, the only light coming from floor lamps spread around at odd intervals. Huge shelves were crammed with paperbacks and hardcover books separated by category: Romance. Mystery. Sci-Fi. To their right was a long, glass-topped counter upon which sat a fat and very bored-looking black cat. Jane hurried over to the feline. ¡°Hello,¡± she cooed, carefully stroking its head. The cat sat up, startled, looking affronted as it appraised this interruption of its nap, then settled back down. ¡°Are you the proprietor?¡± Luke laughed. ¡°That¡¯s Mrs. McGonagal. You know, from Harry Potter? Because she turned into a cat?¡± Jane nodded. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Come on,¡± said Luke with a jerk of his head. ¡°Everyone should be back here.¡± Jane waved bye-bye to Mrs. McGonagal and followed Luke through a labyrinth of Nancy Drews and Erle Stanley Gardners and Harlequin Romance to a wide sitting area. A boy and two girls sat on the mismatched furniture. The boy was thumbing through an issue of Cosmo. ¡°Hey, guys.¡± said Luke. ¡°I¡¯d like you to meet Jane. The boy flung the magazine aside and crossed toward them. ¡°Hey, New Girl.¡± ¡°Jane, this is Quincy, Arkham¡¯s resident out and proud gay man.¡± ¡°At your service, milady.¡± He did an exaggerated curtsy, which made Jane giggle. Quincy was tall, rail thin, with dark skin, slicked black hair, and intense brown eyes. ¡°Saw your mean girl drama in the caff with Audrey the Queen Bitch of the Universe yesterday. That was pretty major. Don¡¯t let those bitches get you down. Audrey¡¯s just jealous because she doesn¡¯t have your cheekbones. Seriously, girl, what¡¯s your regimen? Do you even have pores?¡± Jane smiled, ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m just showing her around town,¡± said Luke, interrupting him. Don¡¯t blink,¡± said the first girl. She had straight brown hair and wore glasses. ¡°You¡¯ll miss it. Chloe Peaslee.¡± Jane shook her hand. ¡°This is a nice bookstore,¡± said Jane, glancing around. ¡°It¡¯s my aunt¡¯s,¡± said Chloe. ¡°I run it for her for a couple hours after school.¡± The second girl stood and came over, fingers jammed into her pockets. She was older, wearing blue jeans, black motorcycle boots and a black t-shirt with Miskatonic Ink printed on the front in white lettering. A swirling tattoo sleeve wove its intricate way up her right arm, and she had a thick mop of curly blond hair. ¡°I¡¯m Odessa Ridley,¡± she said. ¡°My parents own the tattoo shop down the street.¡± ¡°Cool,¡± said Jane, and she meant it. Odessa smiled. ¡°When you turn eighteen, come see me. I¡¯ll hook you up with some sweet ink.¡± Odessa pried a hand from her pocket and Jane took it, feeling an electric jolt as both of them pulled their hands back. Odessa got a weird look on her face, and began chewing her bottom lip. ¡°Quincy¡¯s from Boston, Odessa and her family moved here from Worchester about five years ago, but Chloe here¡¯s tenth-generation Arkham,¡± said Luke. He pronounced "Worchester" like "Wusta." ¡°Twelfth,¡± Chloe corrected. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Luke extended his arms, indicating the group. ¡°We are the Arkham Historical Society.¡± Jane blinked, not knowing what to say to that. An auspicious name like that conjured images of old ladies knitting in the genealogy room of the local library, while old men hunched in front of microfiche readers or big dusty volumes of ancient, bound newspapers so stiff and yellow they looked as if they would crumble at the slightest touch. ¡°OK.¡± ¡°We all help out with Luke¡¯s podcast,¡± said Odessa. I do some art, Q and Chloe help run down story leads.¡± ¡°And why do you all do this?¡± ¡°Boredom,¡± said Quincy with a roll of his eyes. ¡°Seriously, New Girl. This town is boring AF. At least that¡¯s what we thought at first.¡± Chloe nodded. ¡°Turns out there¡¯s a lot of weird stuff bubbling over the surface.¡± ¡°You should know,¡± said Quincy. To Jane he says, ¡°Girl got a double dose of it in her own family.¡± ¡°Shut up, Q,¡± Chloe said, punching him in the shoulder. ¡°Ow!¡± ¡°Knock it off, you two,¡± said Odessa. ¡°Look, this meet and greet has been fun and all, but I gotta get back to the shop. I¡¯ll have the cover image for the next podcast over to you by tonight, OK? Later.¡± With that Odessa headed toward the front of the bookstore and exited, the little brass bell tinkling. ¡°What¡¯s her deal?¡± Jane asked. ¡°Culture shock,¡± said Quincy. ¡°She¡¯s an outsider like you. Though the girl needs to learn to deal. She¡¯s only been here for five years.¡± ¡°She¡¯s older than us, right?¡± Luke nodded. ¡°Graduated two years ago.¡± ¡°So she buys you guys beers.¡± Luke blushed. Chloe giggled. ¡°Sometimes,¡± Luke said. ¡°Girl, what kind of gay man would I be if I had to have a girl buy me beer?¡± Quincy said, putting on his best shocked and appalled face. ¡°The kind that doesn¡¯t live within a thousand miles of another gay man,¡± said Chloe. ¡°Logistics. Six percent of the population is gay. They¡¯re just hiding it because of the rich vein of puritanism running through this town.¡± Chloe rolled her eyes but said nothing. ¡°Odessa can be a little intense at times,¡± said Luke. ¡°She¡¯s prone to these, uh, psychic flashes.¡± Jane¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°You really think she¡¯s psychic?¡± Luke shrugged. ¡°I think Odessa thinks she is.¡± ¡°Personally, I think they¡¯re hot flashes,¡± Quincy said. Chloe punched him again. ¡°Ow!¡± Jane smiled. ¡°Is every meeting of the Arkham Historical Society like this?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Quincy. ¡°Sometimes there¡¯s beer. Well, gotta run, girls. Later.¡± Quincy sauntered out the door. ¡°Well,¡± said Chloe. ¡°It was nice meeting you, Jane. But I gotta get back to work. I¡¯ll see you at school tomorrow, OK?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± said Jane with a smile. She liked the thought of having another girl to talk to, and Chloe seemed friendly. More friendly than Odessa. ¡°I should get home too,¡± Jane said. ¡°I still have lots of unpacking to do.¡± ¡°Mind if I walk with you?¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± They waved bye to Chloe and Mrs. McGonagal as they left the bookstore, standing out in front of it for a long moment. Jane didn¡¯t exactly want to go home, but she didn¡¯t want to hang around in front of a used bookstore either. Fortunately, Luke took the lead, Jane following him away from the store and back up the street the way they came. ¡°So what do you think?¡± Luke said after they¡¯d traversed half a block. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°About the historical society.¡± Jane stopped, turning to look at him. ¡°What? You want me to join your little club?¡± Luke looked hurt, and Jane felt a stab of regret. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean it to sound like that. I¡¯m just not much of a joiner.¡± ¡°It¡¯s OK,¡± said Luke. ¡°I just thought, since you¡¯re from out of town, you¡¯d be¡­you¡¯d want¡­¡± The unfinished words hung heavy in the early autumn air between them. ¡°Listen. I have to go. My dad should be home soon. I need to make dinner. See you tomorrow?¡± Jake nodded sadly. Still feeling guilty, she added, ¡°You need to interview me for my profile.¡± Luke brightened. ¡°Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yeah, see you tomorrow.¡± They parted ways, Luke trudging toward the other side of the square and Jane going back the way they¡¯d come. She still didn¡¯t quite know her way around, but the layout of the town was easy enough. She knew their house was near the college, so she walked west until she could just make out the tall brick smokestack of what her father had told her was the old maintenance and generator plant. Jane passed Miskatonic ink on her right and paused to look inside. There through the plate glass window she could see Odessa doing something to a gleaming tattoo gun. They locked eyes for a moment, Odessa¡¯s face cold but impassive before she returned to her work. Jane moved away quickly, wondering what had passed between them back at the bookstore. It felt as if Odessa didn¡¯t like her for some reason, and she had enough of that going on at school already. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she had just imagined it. But she didn¡¯t think so. As Jane walked toward home she watched the sky as gray clouds stacked heavy in the east, promising some of that dreary New England weather she¡¯d heard so much about. The town beneath it took on an ominous cast, and she felt herself walking quickly past the boarded-up home where, according to Luke, strange, dark rites had allegedly taken place so long ago. She saw a few people as she walked by, checking their mailboxes or raking up the first batch of early autumn leaves, dour New England faces staring at her with a mix of wonder, fear, and disdain. The people of Arkham didn¡¯t cotton to outsiders, but Jane saw no reason outsiders should be particularly enamored of them either. She kept her head down and speed-walked up the street until her shins were on fire, not stopping until she reached the crumbling steps that led to the house. She didn¡¯t think of it as hers, and doubted she ever would. It was a waystation. A stopping place. A detour. A limbo purgatory of gambrel roofs and dusty eaves. And, as it turned out, a secret room that shouldn¡¯t exist. As soon as Jane graduated, she¡¯d be gone. She intended to apply to every far off college she could just to get away from this place. From Arkham. From her father and the painful memories they shared. Jane sensed movement out of the corner of her eye and jerked right as the tall thin man she¡¯d seen the day she and her father moved in was mounting his bicycle and speeding away. She watched him as he pedeled down the block and disappeared around the corner. Her heart thudded in her chest even though whatever danger there might have been had passed. She made a mental note to ask Luke who the man was as she unlocked the door and went inside, making a point to lock the deadbolt behind her.