“Taylor, Donald brought over some wood. Wanna try to build a fire?” Madeline stomped back into the house, knocking snow from her boots and pants and hanging her coat on the rack by the back door.
“Um-ok,” Taylor replied. “I can’t find the cats, though.”
“Were you wanting to cook them?” Madeline retorted before she realized that Taylor was truly worried. “They certainly haven’t left the house,” Madeline reassured her daughter as slid her feet into the fuzzy slippers that were the best thing she had purchased since arriving in Vermont. “Grab some wood.”
With armfuls of wood and a renewed sense of hope, they made their way through the kitchen and back into the living room.
“So the main three fireplaces in the old house don’t work, or so I was told,” Madeline said. “But this one is supposed to be fine.”
“Who exactly told you this?” Taylor asked.
“The building inspector.”
Madeline checked out the fireplace, which seemed pretty standard, if a bit shallow.
Madeline was examining the flue, “It seems ok. The flue lever should be up here ā¦” Madeline reached up into the chimney and felt around for the lever.
“Remember that scene in Close Encounters when the aliens are coming down the chimney and Jillian is fumbling around trying to shut the flue before they can come down and steal her baby? That’s what you look like.”
“We’re not lucky enough for aliens to come and steal one of us.” Madeline felt a cold metal handle and pulled. She was rewarded with a shower of ash and puff of cold air. “Step one: done. Flue is open.”
She wiped her hands on her jeans and tried to brush the ash from her hair. “Step two: wood in the fireplace.”
Taylor started to stack logs on the grate.
“Hold it-you need kindling,” Madeline interrupted. There was a bucket of small sticks and pinecones next to the fireplace. “We can use these.”
“Are you sure those aren’t Christmas decorations?”
“No. But even if they are, they’re almost certainly flammable.”
“If you say so…”
Madeline shoved a few of the pinecones between the logs and grabbed the lighter.
“Here we go. Charming fire on a snowy day, take one.”
Madeline pulled the trigger on the lighter and held it to one of the pinecones. It immediately caught fire and was merrily burning as she moved over to light the others. “See? Flammable.”
They both sat back and admired their work-for exactly 49 seconds before the room filled with a thck, dark smoke. The dogs darted into the dining room and hid under a table.
“What the actual fuck – I was a Girl Scout! I know how to build a fire…” Madeline shouted as she ran to the kitchen for water.
“Maybe you don’t know how to build a fire in a house,” Taylor retorted, using the poker to try and move the flaming pinecones away from the rest of the wood.
“I’ve had a fireplace before” Madeline came back with a water pitcher and doused the flaming pine bombs.
“It was in Texas, and we didn’t need an actual fire there. And it was gas. There weren’t even any logs. There was a switch.”
“Thanks for being supportive. I’ve built a fire. I’ve built a lot of fires. I’ll build this fire. I will be the master of fire.”
“Alright Firelord Zuko.” Taylor sat back and crossed her arms.
“Maybe we have a weird fireplace. I’ll consult the Google overlord. Go get some more water ā just in case.”
Taylor sighed and trudged to the kitchen. “There’s no water,” she yelled.
“What are you talking about? I just got water ten seconds ago!”
“The water isn’t working now,” Taylor maintained as she returned to the living room. “And thereās another cow on the roof.”
“That cow sounds like it’s upstairs…” Madeline replied. “Great, all of the slates have probably slid off the roof like a million little guillotines and now we have snow falling in the house.”
They exchange looks. “Do we REALLY want to go and look?” Taylor asked.
“I swear, I’ll have a psychotic break if there is snow inside. I’m truly working on my last nerve here.”
“Should we bring the dogs?” Taylor asked. “What if itās an intruder?”
“Theyāre not exactly the worldās best guard dogs. Besides, we live in the middle of nowhere now ā I’m more concerned with finding a gaping hole.”
As if to prove Madelineās point that they were big babies, the dogs avoided eye contact as Taylor and Madeline made their way up the narrow stairs and onto the second floor.
“It’s cold up here,” Taylor shivered, lacing her arm through her mom’s.
“And quiet,” Madeline added. “We’ll need to check the radiators-or maybe just the thermostat? I still can’t figure out how these things really work.”
They made their way from the large rooms in the front of the house to the smaller ones in the back. Everything was just as it should be. Madeline was starting to relax as they made the turn that would take them into the newest part of the house.
Taylor stopped in the doorway of the smallest room in the inn. “I thought we made the bed in 6?”
“We didā¦ā Madeline followed her daughterās gaze to the bed that was now slightly mussed.
“Well, It’s not exactly un-made. It just looks messed with.”
“It must be the cats,” Madeline reasoned. “Where are they? Here kitty! Psspsspsspss.”
A fuzzy black and white missile streaked out of the room and dashed up the hall towards the front of the house. He stopped right in front of the door of the oldest room.
“Pippin, you asshole! You scared the crap out of me,” Taylor hissed. “How did you get up here?”
Pippin meowed again as he sat just in front of room 2 ā the original master bedroom. A room they just checked.
“Come on, cat, let’s go back downstairs and try to find your partner in crime.” Taylor bent to scoop up the cat, but he wriggled his way out of her hands and bounced into the bedroom.
“Taylor,” Madeline whispered. “Didn’t we just check this room? Look at the bed.”
A cold chill crept upwards from Madeline’s stomach all the way to the top of her head. Her skin tingled and contracted, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up. She stepped into the room.
“Mom, never mind the bed ā¦ Look. At. The. Chair.” Taylor’s voice was tight and quiet as she avoided looking towards the chair in question.
Madeline shifted her gaze to the antique rocker in the corner where Pippin was contentedly sitting.
On the lap of a man who not only should not have been there, but was also not entirely there at all.