The Face in the House

24

Teddy suspected Malcolm didn't like her. Admittedly, she had come off a bit strong on the whole business prospect. She couldn't help it. She was excited like she'd never been excited before. For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of purpose. A reason to get out of bed in the morning. A reason to be alive.

Still, Malcolm didn't know her, and to him she probably came off like a lunatic. Like a crazy person. Like "That Person." The one that's so focused on one thing that they become oblivious to anything else happening around them. She had never been That Person before. She always made sure to mind peoples' feelings, to speak with caution, to consider all opinions and perspectives before making any action.

She wasn't sure if she was growing — breaking out of her shell, as the school guidance counselor would've told her — or if her personality was changing altogether. Whatever it was, she was enjoying the freedom. It energized her, it took her away from fear and guilt.

There's a freedom in irresponsibility, in rudeness, in thoughtlessness, Teddy realized. If Malcolm believed she was insane, then maybe she was. It was the highest form of freedom there could be. Wasn't that what she wanted?

It was a playful thought, but it spoiled in her mind when she recalled the way Malcolm had looked at her that morning. It was as if he was looking at a picture of a very strange bug in a textbook. He had studied her with great curiosity and fascination, but there was an edge to it, a revulsion. Like he couldn't wait to turn the page and look at something nicer. Like he wanted to shut the book, crushing her within it, and look at a different book altogether.

So she was pleased when he left the house to retrieve his and Owen's things from their hotel room. And she was relieved he didn't bother asking her to join him on the trip, though it did somewhat confirm her suspicion that he couldn't stand to be near her. She supposed she could live with that. She was just glad to stay inside.

Inside. Warm and dry. Quiet and still.

Why don't we just get regular jobs? Malcolm had asked, and the moment he said the words Teddy knew the house was getting to him too. Pulling him in. She had wondered if it was just her, but now she knew. It was the only haunted house in the world that made you want to stay. It made sense. The house was full of magic and mystery. It was everything the world was not.

She loved the house on Thornewood Road, and now Malcolm was falling in love with it too.

It made her like him more.

***

Dear Diary,

The strange hysterics continue each and every night, and I am almost glad to be booted from this home in just a handful of days. I've yet to secure new accommodations (no surprise - I wouldn't hire me as a maid or a governess myself), but I would rather sleep in the woods than bear another night with the mistress.

Even so, I find myself entertaining silly thoughts and conspiracies during the long, dreadful days and the long, restless nights here at Thornewood House. It is the mystery of Edward Poole, the dark and brooding butler, and the lady of the house, the lady in mourning.

I am ever the outcast these days, as the unlikely pair continue to spend quite a bit of time together each and every day. I suspect they sit up late, as more recently the night terrors do not come 'til 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, where they previously came at 1 or 2.

Some mornings, I discover the mistress's best goblets sitting out on the dinner table, stinking of spirits and sticky with the remnants of drink. I know nothing of alcohol, but by the smell I can say it is something mighty. I struggle to envision the pair sharing a night cap. What is discussed? What do they wear? (I blush to imagine the butler in his nightclothes!)