A Set of Steak Knives

A Set of Steak Knives

By Rich Kopacz

           “You have my fullest assurance,” Caleb Weatherby drawled smoothly as he held open the door to the infamous Murder Mansion of Hickory Creek, South Carolina, “that there is no danger here whatsoever.”

           Miss Elle Higgins nodded appreciatively, but her hands clutched her Gucci purse tightly as she carefully placed on black-heeled foot across the threshold.

           Caleb’s smile never wavered and he summoned every iota of his own positive energy, almost feeling that he was able to will the young woman into the old mansion. It wasn’t, after all, actually called Murder Mansion, but Myrtle Mansion, because it was the largest estate on the street of Myrtle Lane. Its sobriquet was a result of two accidental deaths, not murders, but that was over sixty years ago and rumors and gossip flourished in Hickory Creek like crab grass in the rain.

           But Caleb wasn’t worried. In fact, he radiated an unshakeable self-assuredness and he knew it. It was perfect for a successful real estate agent, and Caleb briefly glanced down at the bag that he’d just set inside the foyer. Its contents were a stinging reminder that he was NOT a very successful real estate agent. The bag contained a box. The box contained a set of steak knives. They were, figuratively and literally, the consolation prize for the loser of the annual selling contest of his real estate firm. He had a box of them at home from a previous contest. He had nine boxes of them at home.

           But this year was going to be different. He was finally going to beat his rival, Vince Robertson, and win the car. And Vince would finally have to eat crow.

           Elle Higgins glanced around nervously in the entry way of the civil-war era home. “Miss Higgins,” Caleb began his routine, “we are standing in the front parlor of an antebellum mansion of historical significance. Now I want you to take a glance around and then, without thinking too much about it, tell me your first impression.”

           It was a tried-and-true tactic. Caleb had just verbally described the place, subtly influencing what the young lady’s reply would be.

           “Oh, um,” Elle Higgins bit her lower lip and looked at the empty entry hall and furrowed her brow. “To tell you the truth, a little intimidating.”

           “Aha!” Caleb grinned, “That’s exactly right. We are two lowly souls being overwhelmed by a dramatic and magnificent past, not something you’re likely to feel in any ordinary suburban home. But now just imagine it furnished, velvet carpeting, beautiful scenic tapestries, polished banister beneath your fingers as you glide down that staircase to greet your guests. Now what’s your impression?”

           Miss Higgins’ eyes followed his finger as he pointed out his vision, and a slight smile crept across her face. “Well, you make it sound so…enchanting.”

           “The very word!” he cried. “But that’s not my doing, this place has a magic all its own. Step this way, Miss Higgins, and you’ll see what I mean.”

           He led her into another room, spacious with large windows and furnished with two long couches and a rocking chair which sat near a fireplace.

           “I’ve had some furniture put in here to give you a proper idea,” Caleb said, “and you tell me if this doesn’t make you think—what was that word you used? Enchanting.”

           He stood and leaned on the back of one of the couches, watching her as she moved to the fireplace. He could see that she was already picturing herself living there, and he grinned in satisfaction.

           “But,” she slowly spoke as she turned away from the fireplace and faced him, “is it true that it may be…haunted? That there were murders here?”

           Inwardly, Caleb celebrated. An objection meant an opportunity for a close on a sale, and he was fully prepared for this objection. In fact, he’d been expecting it.

           “Well, first, Miss Higgins, keep in mind that we are in South Carolina, where any building worth its salt is haunted.” He smiled at her good-naturedly, holding it until she finally nodded.

           “As for the murders,” his voice took on a serious tone, “that’s just simply not true. That is the fabrication of ignorance and fantasy. Oh, there were two people that had unfortunate accidents almost 150 years ago, but you have to expect that in a house of this… significance.”

           Miss Higgins gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

           What do you mean? Caleb echoed in his head. It was as if he was directing her through his script. He paused for effect, then pointed to the fireplace as he spoke.

           “Let me put it this way. You see the fireplace? The mantle? That is two century old walnut. Look at it closely. Run your fingers over it. You see and feel all the grooves and marks? That is the result of four generations of people and families living here. Gathering here on a cold night, resting here in the summer, celebrating here at Christmas. Each one of those marks holds a story, a secret history, and that’s just what you can detect on the mantle. Why, Miss Higgins, if these walls could talk, what could they tell us? This house—”

           His voice rose slightly as he gestured at the dark walls and the molded doorframes leading out to the other rooms.

           “This house doesn’t just sit and exist. It captures experiences. It holds memories. You ask if this house is haunted, and I tell you with enthusiasm, it is wonderfully haunted, because it surrounds and is surrounded by the love and the warmth of the people who built it, who resided in it, who cherished it, who struggled in it, who lived in it, and yes, occasionally died in it.”

           He could see the emotion shining in her eyes as he reached his climax, and he knew he had the sale. When he left here in triumph, he would find Vince Robertson, most likely at the seedy bar he liked to frequent, and he would drop that box of steak knives at his feet, signifying the end of an era of futility, and the beginning of his own destiny.

           “And now, Miss Higgins,” he continued in a softer voice, “this house has been brought into your life, not just as a structure to hold your belongings, but as a home of enchantment for your heart.”

           Miss Higgins seemed to be holding her breath, and she exhaled slowly. “Well, Mr. Weatherby, I certainly—”

           The rest of her sentence was drowned out by Caleb’s foot suddenly and violently stomping upon the hard wooden flooring behind the couch.

           Caleb stopped, his face flush, then forced a smile and said, “I’m so sorry, Miss Higgins, I, uh, I just wanted to, uh show, uh, demonstrate the lasting strength of Myrtle Mansion. The, uh, the floorboards. They are quite, uh, durable. Go ahead and stomp away, if you like, uh, I assure you, you won’t find a weak spot anywhere.”

           Miss Higgins hesitated before her nervous reply. “Oh, that’s alright, I believe you. About the floorboards.”

           Caleb nodded and smoothed his hair. “That’s fine. That’s just fine. Why don’t we head into the next room and look around? I think you’ll enjoy seeing how I’ve done it up.”

           He guided her through one of the large exits to the next room, carefully glancing back at the spot behind the couch. He had seen something slithering out from under the large furniture, something that might have been a snake…or might have been something else. He had reacted instantly, stomping down upon it without success, but it had, for the moment, disappeared. He would be sure to get an exterminator in here as soon as possible.

           But as he turned his eyes away from the couch and looked into the other room, he almost gasped aloud.

           Elle Higgins had walked fully into a tea room, complete with two chairs and a loveseat near the window, the kind that opened up for storing blankets. She was standing with her back to the window, looking off to her left, and seemed to be just in the act of seating herself on the right side of the loveseat. At the same time, Caleb could see, with horrifying clarity, something hairy pushing up the seat from below.

           Without thinking, he launched himself across the room and slammed his bottom on the left side just as Miss Higgins sat on the right. The seat banged violently down, and Miss Higgins gave a small cry of surprise.

           As Caleb tried to collect his wits, he thought he could feel a slight scratching pressure from underneath the seat. He turned to stare into Miss Higgins’ bewildered face and began talking loudly.

           “My, that is a wonderful loveseat, don’t you agree, Miss Higgins? Please don’t mind my closeness, I’m not getting fresh, this is just southern hospitality! I assumed you’d want to try out the loveseat to see that it comfortably seats two, is that not right, Miss Higgins?”

           Her expression was a mix of confusion and embarrassment as he babbled. His mind frantically tried to regroup his thoughts as he felt the sale in danger of slipping away. At the same time, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing and experiencing. A stray thought wormed its way past the others and gave him chills: Was the house actually haunted?

           “The loveseat seems fine,” Miss Higgins said, beginning to rise, “and I appreciate—”

           “Think nothing of it, happy to oblige,” he responded quickly, then grasped her by the hand. “Let’s look in the kitchen, shall we?”

           Without waiting for a response, he fairly dragged the dazed woman through two more rooms without looking back and didn’t let go until they were standing in a large white kitchen with a large white oven, a double sink, and several pantries.

           Caleb was almost frozen in shock at he stared at the oven. It had a glass screen and he could swear he could see a face peering out at him. Caleb lowered his jaw, then clenched it, then lowered it again. Something in his mind was becoming unhinged. With more than a little trepidation, he turned to look at Miss Higgins.

           “Are you alright, Mr. Weatherby?” She was staring at him with undisguised concern. He realized she hadn’t seen the oven yet. His brain reeled as thoughts collided and receded.

           Then, from just behind Miss Higgins’ shoulder, he heard a soft creak.

           He moved his head slightly to get a better look and his eyes widened in shock.

           Behind the young woman, one of the pantry doors had opened slightly, and a skeletal hand began to reach out towards her. With ashen horror, he corrected himself: A skeleton hand began to reach out towards her.

           Acting with sheer impulse, and a touch of madness, he suddenly shot his arm just past Miss Higgins’ head and slammed the door shut. The hand disappeared back inside as the door closed, and Caleb leaned on it, bringing his body close to Miss Higgins, even closer than when they were on the loveseat.

           “Oh!” She cried out, her eyes wide and staring straight into his own with something resembling shock mingled with a tinge of sympathy.

           Somewhere in the back of his mind, Caleb still fought for the sale.

           “Miss Higgins, may I call you Elle?”

           “Oh…! I-I suppose so, but—”

           “Elle, I don’t usually do this, but I know that you’re new to the area, and I was just considering, well, offering, really, to take you around the town, help you get acquainted. And then I know this great Italian restaurant—”

           And then Miss Elle Higgins did the last thing that Caleb would have expected. She burst out laughing.

           But even more surprising was the laughter that Caleb heard from inside the pantry that he was holding shut. Worse yet, he recognized that laughter. He had heard it enough times in the last ten years.

           He took a step away from the pantry, even as Elle moved to one side and stared with amusement. The door opened, and there stood Vince Robertson, plastic skeleton in hand, both of them grinning from ear to ear.

           “Well, you are one son of a gun, buddy!” Vince laughed, “I don’t know whether you’re still trying to make a sale, or whether you’re trying to make time with my girl!”

           “You’re…girl?” Caleb’s stomach dropped into a pit. He looked over at Elle Higgins, whose eyes stared mockingly at him as she shook her head.

           Vince came out of the pantry and slipped his free hand around her waist. “Yeah, my girl. Hands off, pal. You alright, babe?”

           “I have been trying not to laugh ever since he gave me that ridiculous speech about haunting enchantment whatever,” Elle replied, still shaking her head. “This guy is such a loser.”

           “Hey that reminds me—did you record it?” Vince’s eyes lit up with glee.

           “Been on my phone in my pocket since we arrived. This is so going to go viral.”

           They began walking as they talked, not even registering Caleb’s presence. He mutely followed them, trying to process everything that had happened. In a complete daze, he reached the front room of the mansion. Vince and Elle were still basking in their victory over him.

           “When he started stomping the ground, I thought I was going to lose it! What did you have under the couch?”

           “Rubber octopus tentacle! But man, he almost broke my fingers when he sat on the loveseat!”

           “You should have seen the look on his face when he saw the mask in the oven!”

Caleb turned away, his eyes unfocused, his knees feeling like they were about to give out. He stared blankly around the parlor, finally seeing the front door. He took a few shuffling steps towards it, focusing only on getting out. He needed to get out of this wretched, cursed and creepy mansion, a mansion where, in reality, none of the horrors he’d encountered, and then surmounted, had actually happened. It was only an illusion. A worthless illusion, just like his career.

           He subconsciously fumbled in his pocket for the mansion’s keys, even while his numbed mind remembered dimly that the front door wasn’t locked.

           “Hey, where you going, buddy?” Vince called from behind him. “I thought you had a date! Weren’t you going to show my lady a good time around town?”

           Caleb hesitated only slightly at the front door, but he couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. He couldn’t think of any words that would properly convey what he was feeling. But as Vince’s laughter echoed through the archaic house, he began to feel that he should reply, that he would reply. There was something deep within him, something that spoke through the shame and humiliation and loss and broken dreams that gave him ideas of how he should reply. Ideas that, an hour ago, would have seemed unreasonable to a southern gentleman of dignity.

           “Oh, I forgot!” Vince continued, his voice rising to a shrill, “You’ve got a date with a set of steak knives!”

           Caleb blinked, then suddenly looked down at the bag in front of the mansion’s large oak double-doors. Inside was the box of steak knives. He’d completely forgotten about them.

           He reached down and opened his bag, his mind thinking about the other doors of the house, the back door and the two side entrances. He’d brought the keys but hadn’t yet made it to unlocking any of them. He straightened up, looking at the box of top-of-the-line chef’s knives, knives that would cut through a tin can as easily as cutting through a tomato.

Or a bone, he thought as his hand unconsciously fumbled in his pocket and then brought out the large ring of keys. They jangled in his hand as he reached forward and locked the front door.

When he stooped back down to his bag, Vince, whose laughter had finally subsided enough for him to speak again, asked, “Watcha got there, pal? Lemme guess, a house-warming gift?”

As Caleb turned to face the two of them across the parlor, a knife in his hand, he thought with more than a little curiosity about the selling strategy the next real estate agent might apply in trying to sell Hickory Creek’s Murder Mansion.