The Victorian Cupboard

The phone broke through the evening stillness like a foghorn, making Sarah jolt. She dropped the teacup on the bench with a delicate clatter. Confused, she spun around and peered towards the grandfather clock across the room, its stained timbers shining by the light of the lamp. The golden hands ticked gently, the small hand just passing the seven and the big hand about to touch the three. Besides the buzzing telephone, her living room was serene and dark, like a photograph. Who would be ringing at this hour on a Friday night?

She dried her hands with a cloth after the tea incident and jotted over to the phone, picking up the receiver.

‘Hello?...oh hello…oh dear…I see. Well I am sorry to hear that….right, ok. How did it happen?...Well thank you for letting me know, I will be there. Let me know how I can assist. Bye bye,’ she finished, returning the phone to its previous order.

She breathed out heavily, wiping her forehead. ‘Poor Aunt Essie,’ she thought. 

Wandering back to the kitchen she felt goose flesh rise on the back of her neck. An uneasiness settled upon her shoulders. Her breathing shortened. Slowly she turned toward the grandfather clock, only to find out it was ticking as normal. She shook the strange feeling from her body and continued back to her tea. 

One week later she stood on the street corner opposite the church, watching as distant relatives held each other in tears, wiping them away with handkerchiefs underneath their fascinators. She didn't understand why anyone was crying—Aunt Essie had been a beast of a woman in the end. But it seemed that crying is what people do at funerals, despite how tenuous your relationship with them may be. She was not likely to cry, having felt no warm feelings for the woman. Regardless, she would pay her respects and here she was doing just that.

The church spire rose, spear-like into the closed sky, and a faint drop of rain dusted her shoulders, prompting her to make her way over the street toward her Uncle Reggie.

‘Sarah, my dear. Good to see you,’ he said warmly. She leant over for a gentle kiss on the cheek, stepping back to smile warmly at him, cupping his hands.

‘Are you alright, Uncle?’ she asked.

‘Oh, well, you know. My sister was not the kindest of creatures, but she was my sister. It is sad to see one's family grow smaller, I suppose,’ he replied, a slight twinkle in his eye. She gave him a half-smile.

‘Yes, I suppose it must be,’ she said gently.

‘Oh, before we leave today, remind me to give you a copy of her will. She left something for you and I have been asked to gain your signature,’ her Uncle finished, as they turned and walked up the church steps.

‘Something for me?’ she enquired. But before he could answer, the deep sound waves of the organ overtook their conversation, and they were absorbed into the dark symmetry of the church.

Sarah heard none of the sermon, lost in thought, and remembered no faces that approached her nor Uncle Reggie to offer their sympathies. She wondered just what could be left in her possession from Aunt Essie's belongings. The woman didn't have many belongings, and what she did own had been rather drab.

Once the wake had concluded and the family members departed, Uncle Reggie brought forth the will. Finding a small prayer table to lean on, he produced a pen and prompted her to sign.

‘Uncle, what exactly did she leave for me?’ she asked. Her Uncle looked up brightly.

‘Oh, of course I forgot to mention. How silly of me. She left the Victorian cupboard for you. Quite a piece,’ he replied brightly, giving her a wink.

Sarah froze. If it were the cupboard she remembered this news was not as pleasing as her Uncle believed it to be. Her childhood visits to Aunt Essie were not frequent and she was rather glad that was so, for her apartment had given her the chills. It's dark velvet fabrics, dusty corners and heavy timber furniture.

‘Uncle, can that piece not just be sold with whatever of her belongings will be auctioned? I…I have very little space to store such an item,’ she stammered.

‘I'm afraid not, my dear. If it's listed in the will, we must abide. You could probably sell it if you wish?’ he said, sliding the papers over to her. She looked down warily at the signature line, a cloud forming in her mind. 

She knew the cupboard in question. In her childhood memory, set deep amongst the riding of bicycles and swinging at the park, a fearful moment sat abruptly in her brain. It was a memory of the cupboard, existing quietly but frighteningly in Aunt Essie's spare room. She didn't visit often, but when she did she was uncomfortably drawn to this quiet room. That was, until one particular visit.

Her mother had been assisting Aunt Essie in the tidying of her yard, the two of them bickering over how the roses should be cut and the exact height the gardener should have trimmed the hedge. They came to no agreement of course. Amidst the arguments Sarah had decided to explore the house again, although she knew nothing would be different from her prior visit. Although, this time she was wrong.

The cupboard loomed in its usual damp corner, silent and ghastly. The golden detailing was dull against the dark stain of the timber, but its edges were jagged and sharp. She sank at its feet, peering upwards toward the ceiling. In a split second one of the doors opened until it was just ajar. She jolted, but nothing more happened. Her breathing became noisy and she realised how warm she suddenly felt in her cardigan. Then with a blood-curdling and elongated creaking sound the door continued to open, reaching wide until she was sure it would engulf her. She screamed intensely, turned and fled for the garden. That was the last time she had seen this cupboard, and she had no inclination to ever see it again.

But with the signing on the dotted line it was coming back for her once more.

She received notice that it would be arriving on the twenty-eighth of September, sometime before lunch. Like clockwork a grey delivery truck arrived outside her flat, two men in workers suits hopping out of the cab to attend to the back doors. She met them on the street, avoiding peering into the back of the truck. Then with one swivel she faced her newest possession. 

It towered as high as her childhood memory had captured it, although now the shine of the detailing had worn to a dusty coating. The golden paint had faded, and the dark staining had scratches from removal. It was not the prized possession her Uncle had promised.

The two men wheeled it out of the truck, laboured it up the stairs and followed her instruction to leave it in her second bedroom. Signing the papers, she watched the gentlemen leave, a small tip in each of their pockets. Her apartment was once again quiet, but she couldn't help feeling it was now possessed.

Alone again she decided to peer into the spare room. Her childhood fears seemed rather empty now, as she realised it was simply a very old cupboard. Nothing creaked, nothing moved. She wandered towards it observing the cracked stain, inhaling its overall musty smell and with one swift movement she opened both cupboard doors. There was nothing inside, except the dank tang of old timbers rotting into nothingness. Why had she been worried?

She turned back toward the kitchen, suddenly hitting a wall of frozen air. This air was so thick she could not move through it, nor around it. Believing her mind to be playing tricks on her she tried once more. Again, she was barricaded. It was then that a deep, rattling breath began from behind her.

Turning around slowly, condensation poured from her nostrils from the frozen temperatures that had consumed her apartment. There before her, was a haggard and bitter-looking version of her Aunt Essie. Yet all colour had left her skin, replaced by a cloudy grey fish-like covering, her garments hanging from her bony shoulders like concrete falling down a wall. Sarah went to open her mouth to scream, but no breath moved in or out. She was trapped in fear.

This ghost began to move toward her, slowly lifting its arms upward and toward her face. Sarah panicked, turned and ran. But the ghostly form moved with severe speed and trailed her no matter where she went. Just as she reached her front door Sarah felt an icy arm reach around her neck, choking her airways with sudden strength. She gasped for air, arms flailing as she attempted to break free. Muffled screams poured from her mouth but she never gained enough volume to be heard by anyone. The rattling breath of Aunt Essie smothered her ear, as the ghost began to pull her back toward the spare room. 

Inch by inch, step by step, each second filled with fear, the pair moved backwards slowly. Sarah continued to flail as Aunt Essie continued to hold her. Finally they were in front of the cupboard once more. Aunt Essie stepped up into the dark cavity and dragged Sarah up with her. Sarah clung desperately to the door frame, fingers slipping and grasping for anything she could hold. But she gained no traction. One by one her fingers slipped, until finally one last finger disappeared and she was consumed by the darkness of the cupboard. The door slammed shut with a deep and echoing boom.