Rosemount Manor
Sacha Bissonnette
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It was the first weekend of July when Sam, Josie, and Buddy met under the maple tree next to the battered shed in Sam’s backyard. They went over the juice-stained checklist Josie pulled out of her bag. Flashlights? Check. Snacks? Check. Three Walkie-Talkies? Check.
They had been planning this adventure on a large piece of cardboard for over a month before the summer had started. They had a picture of the abandoned house – which Josie took with her brand new point-and-shoot – glued next to the six steps they had to follow. They had even drawn up a map and developed quite a detailed cover story. Buddy was to be the lookout in case their parents, or even worse, the police tailed them. They would give him a bag of chips—Buddy had a tendency to fall asleep if he wasn’t eating. Not the best choice for a lookout, but they had to make due because this was in fact a secret that Buddy overheard at recess. He insisted on being involved or he would tattle.
They figured they were as prepared as they were ever going to be, so they set out on their mission. Quietly exiting the yard, the three followed the winding path down to Rosemount Street. A few manors were built on Rosemount during the automobile boom, but they were almost all torn down some years back. According to Josie’s research, this was the only one left.
It was quite dark by the time they got to the old rusted-out gate. Sam gulped, Josie wiped away her sweat, and Buddy’s stomach turned. Josie and Sam would be grounded and Buddy’s father would cancel pizza night indefinitely for something like this. This wouldn’t stop them. Excitement filled their stomachs as they zigzagged down the overgrown walkway and climbed up a set of broken stone steps. Once on the porch, they stood in front of a red door nearly twice their size and lingered there for a few long minutes. Josie looked back anxiously at Buddy posted by the gate, and Sam squatted to tie his shoe, taking in a deep breath. No words of warning were exchanged but they had a feeling that once they twisted the big brass doorknob, turning back wasn’t an option. They had spit-sworn on it.
The door creaked long and loud. It hadn’t been opened in some time. Josie reached into her bag, pulled out two large camping flashlights, and handed one to Sam.
“Whoa, cool,” he muttered, shining the light and looking up. In front of them, a spiral staircase made of gilded wood with a greenish-gold railing twisted up into the darkness. From the ceiling a magnificent, dusty old chandelier hung precariously. Josie coughed softly. There was dust everywhere. So much so that with every step they took, they left perfect imprints of their shoes behind.
“I totally thought this place was going to be empty.” Sam said a little too loudly for Josie’s liking, moving his light over the creepy shapes in the lobby visible from the mudroom. “The people that used to live here left like a bunch of things behind,” he added, “I wonder who did live here. There’s so much stuff. I bet you they got murdered or something.”
He placed the flashlight below his chin, casting shadows across his boyish face, faking a deep and sinister voice, “Maybe they’re stuffed in a trunk in the basement.”
“Oh quit it, you’re not scaring me,” Josie responded, though her voice was slightly shaky. They both moved into the lobby towards the staircase, each with the same idea that the upstairs should be explored first. Directing their lights forward, they moved to the first step and then up. The old stairs creaked throughout the vast, abandoned house.
At the top, they pointed their beams at their surroundings, only to have them shine back into their eyes. They jumped back at the sight of themselves. “Creepy,” Josie whispered, running her flashlight along the diagonal crack of a mirror that may have fallen off the wall years before.
“Let’s split up and meet back here in five minutes, OK?” Josie suggested, attempting to prove her bravery to Sam. Josie knew that once school returned in the fall, Sam would be telling everyone about this, even though it was supposed to be a secret. It was important to her to not behave like a scaredy-cat going into grade nine.
“I’ll do the rooms on the right and you do the ones on the left,” Josie insisted.
“Sounds good to me… Just try not to get axe-murdered.” Sam teased.
Using the railing as a guide, Josie inched into the unknown. It was a familiar feeling, similar to when she mustered the courage to jump off the highest platform at the Saint Francis recreational center pool. It’s a good thing her fear was of snakes and not spiders because she batted away silver string cobwebs.
Josie paused when she came upon a big wooden door. She inspected its serpentine carvings and realized that it was slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it in further.
In the spacious room she could make out what looked like a four-poster bed frame against the far wall. It was covered by a large dusty sheet. Despite its eeriness, it made her think of the fort she made at camp the previous year. Stepping around the bed, Josie was drawn to the walk-in closet on the right side. The small porcelain handles were cool to the touch as she twisted them and walked in. She looked in awe at the pristine fur coats, ball gowns, chemises, and silk negligees. She wondered why they still looked so nice.
As she slid her arms into the black fur coat of her choosing, a tingle ran from the back of her neck down her spine. A warmth washed over her. She reached into the soft right pocket and pulled out a gold encased lipstick. It felt nothing like her mother’s black plastic Maybelline. It was heavier, maybe even made of real gold. She popped the top off and twisted it up and out. As she did so, the room seemed to brighten. Feeling drawn to the ornate mirror in the corner of the room, Josie moved closer and parted her lips. The lipstick was smooth as she traced her mouth. She checked herself out. She was fond of her new look. It made her feel good and older. Her mother had once said, “If you find the right shade, you can wear it forever.”
Sam was inspecting an old trunk he found tucked under the bed in the room opposite to the one Josie had entered. The trunk wasn’t locked. Thrilled, he opened it carefully, making sure what looked like years of collected dust wouldn’t fall down onto its contents. Inside, there was a neatly folded outfit; a black smoking jacket with a red silk lining, a crisp white dress shirt, cream-colored suspenders, pleated pants, and a maroon fedora that still had its shape. Choosing the hat first, he put it on and then stripped down to his boxers, feeling he had to complete the outfit. Once dressed, he caught his blurry reflection in the nearby window.
“Awesome,” he muttered, giving himself a self-satisfying smirk. How important I look, he thought. He spun around in his new outfit and as he did, he heard a deep thud. He turned towards the sound and could just make out a large old book that had fallen from somewhere in the back of the room. He turned his flashlight towards it and a luxurious floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelf came into view. He didn’t recognize any of the titles, yet he was certain he had read them all before. He walked along it, thumbing the books as he moved. He stopped at a bright bottle with brown liquid. Inspecting its contents, he turned the bottle on its side. In one swift motion, he removed the cork and confidently took a swig. The alcohol stung a little as it slid down his throat, comfortably warming his insides. Sam felt good. Better than before. Josie would hate this. I better not tell her, he thought. The sound of steps down the hall made him jump and spill some of the whiskey.
“Sam! Come here, come quick!” Josie called out for him, her voice lower in a way Sam had never heard before.
“Over here, Hon.” His voice was gruff, and the grittiness of his response caught him off guard.
“Look at me!” she said, doing a little spin and puckering her lips, once Sam was in sight.
His expression changed. “Yikes,” he replied with an edge to his voice.
“You don’t like it!?” She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
“It’s a little much,” Sam critiqued.
“Don’t you think I’m beautiful?” She blurted, shocked at the words coming out of her mouth, “Tell me you love me!” Josie had never been in love. Sam openly laughed at her as she backed into wall, covering her face with her hands. Then as if rehearsed, she slowly slid down to the floor, tears streaming down her face. She forgot she was wearing lipstick and panicked at the sight of the red on her hands.
They stared into each other from across the room. He looked troubled. She looked fearful. He had control, like she was a puppet and he could crush her. Josie knew she was just so malleable and so small. She cried quietly for a while as he just sat back and watched her.
Shaking out of it, Sam stood up and flashed the light around again. He was nauseated, uneasy and wanted to move, to get out of the room. “Let’s check out the kitchen, maybe there’s more stuff.”
They crept downstairs, thankful the cobwebs were out of their way this time. When they passed the cracked hallway mirror, they dared to look at themselves again. They had changed but it was hard to place how. Distorted, a little worn. It must be the crack or a trick of the darkness, Josie hoped. They followed their dusty footprints back down to the main floor, purposely making their steps heavy.
In the kitchen they walked around the big marble island, opening all the pantry doors, one by one.
“These glasses are so nice!” Josie exclaimed, running her hand over the most intricate one and then picking it up. It was not dusty like the others, as if it had a greater importance.
“Yeah but check this thing out!” Sam had taken a large black cleaver out of the countertop knife block. “It looks custom made or something. I love the craftsmanship.”
“What do you know about craftsmanship? Put it away. Don’t be a child.” Sam hated being talked to like that. He slammed the cleaver down on the counter instead of placing it back into the knife block. The sharp metallic sound rang through all the empty rooms.
“Idiot!” she spat.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” he shot back, thinking of how good that cleaver felt in his hand. He moved to the cupboards under the island. There, he found an old bottle of rum, an aluminum box with a big cigar still perfectly wrapped, and next to it a lighter with the letters SJB engraved into it.
Quickly, Sam reached for the cleaver and struck down on the tip of the cigar, then lit it as fast as he could before Josie could say a thing.
“That’s disgusting,” she blurted out.
“I’m the disgusting one?!” he snarled, his face hot with rage, “Says the trashy clown with caked on lipstick who admires the glassware we haven’t used in years! Who are you dressing up for? No one looks at you! We don’t even host parties anymore. What’s the point?”
“Am I not enough for you?! Do you need all those people, the adoration? Did you need all those girls around? You were too stupid to see that they were just using you for this house and the free champagne! Did you know how much you were spending on booze? All they did was break our nice things! You goddam fool!” Josie glared menacingly as she gripped the glass harder. She walked right up to Sam but before she could slam the glass down on the floor, it split into a million shards in front of their surprised faces. The red on Josie’s hands, this time, was blood.
They stopped fighting. Time seemed distorted, to be playing games with them. Or maybe all the emotions and animosity caused them to perceive things differently. “That’s how you want to play this? Fine. You’re on your own,” Sam sighed, and then walked away, spent.
Josie was confused and felt abandoned, blood slowly dripping on the floor. What a mess, she thought of the soiled tiles and of herself. She grabbed the two towels that were hanging off the stove, wrapped one around her hand and wiped the floor with the other. She was having trouble organizing her thoughts—they seemed misplaced. She got another crystal glass out of the cupboard, wiped the dust off with her sleeve and reached for an old bottle that read Taylor Vintage Port 1927.
Josie moved to the living room and spotted a green velvet armchair under a clear plastic sheet. She didn’t bother to remove the covering. My chair, she thought, slumping down. She pulled a wine opener out of her coat pocket. Her hand stung as she pulled the cork out with a few expert moves. She tried to recall how she got where she was. How long she had been there. She sank further into the armchair, further into the soft fur coat.
In the dining hall, Sam sat at the Steinway grand piano. He loved to play. And he did love the attention, the crowd, but what he loved most was when Josie joined him in the lounge to sing. He loved her voice, that sound, but it was fading now, getting further and further out of his grasp. He tapped the keys individually, letting the barren sound echo throughout the emptiness.
Sam went to find Josie. He called out to her a few times. With no response he began to panic. “Baby, I’m sorry! Baby, I’m worried, where are you!? Don’t do anything stupid!”
He found her passed out in the armchair, her face pale, the empty bottle at her side. He was afraid she had gone too far. He shook her desperately “Wake up!” He shook her even harder. “Please, wake up!”
Josie shot up, scared and confused, as if summoned from beyond. “What are you doing? Get off me!” She screamed, throwing her body weight forward and into him. She instantly regretted what followed. His shoe rolled over the empty bottle, causing him to lose his footing and fall backwards violently. She caught the fear in his eye—a millisecond later his head smashed against the dining room hardwood floor. His maroon fedora rolled off into the dark.
Josie burst into tears. “I… I thought you were trying to hurt me. I’ve just been so confused.” She moved in closer to comfort a calmer, injured Sam. “I would never,” he said with conviction. She held up his head with one hand and removed her coat with the other, securing it under his head. All of a sudden, she remembered her first aid training from her babysitting course at Saint Francis recreational center.
“Thanks,” Sam smiled, and then he reached his hand towards her mouth, slowly wiping her lipstick off. Josie blushed, “I think we should leave.” She leaned in close and whispered when she said it, making sure the house couldn’t hear.
Josie helped Sam back to his feet. She knew what she had to do next. She started undressing him, suspenders first. Sam was now blushing too. She removed his smoking jacket arm-by-arm and gently unbuttoned the old shirt as he stepped out of the dress pants. She thought he looked awkward but cute in his boxers that looked too big for his body.
They hurriedly tiptoed towards the entrance, making sure to step over their old dusty footprints. At the door, Josie paused. She could tell something was bothering Sam, he was looking up the spiral staircase towards the bedrooms. “No,” she said, “Let’s go. Don’t worry about it. It just looks like you’re wearing a swimsuit. A really big, awkward swimsuit.” They both laughed and opened the door.
Buddy had fallen asleep. Next to him was the crumpled yellow bag. He woke as the two approached him. “Oh, damn. I fell asleep. You guys should’ve given me two bags of chips,” he said, rubbing his eyes, trying to wake up.
“Sam, why are you in your boxers?” his head jerked between the two enthusiastically. Sam opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again.
“Uh Ok… So… Did you guys find anything cool in there, like a body or treasure or something?”
“No,” Josie and Sam responded at the same time.
“Oh, lame. Maybe we have to find another empty, abandoned, creepy house,” he said enthusiastically.
The three walked home slowly, enjoying the cool summer night. They knew they would probably get in trouble when they were back, but they did not walk any faster. Sam kept looking over at Josie. Her eyes seemed different, he thought. More knowing. He got closer to her and when Buddy was far enough down the road, he whispered. “I don’t think I’m ready for another house for a while.” He then grabbed her hand and squeezed. The fingers of her other hand slid around the cool gold casing of the red lipstick in her pocket.
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Sacha Bissonnette is a reader for Wigleaf TOP 50. His fiction has appeared in Witness, The Baltimore Review, Wigleaf, SmokeLong, ARC poetry, EQMM, Terrain, Ghost Parachute, The No Sleep Podcast, and elsewhere. He is currently working on a short fiction collection as well as a comic book adaptation of one of his short stories. His projects are powered by the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the City of Ottawa. He has been nominated for several awards including the pushcart prize twice and BSF thrice. He has been selected Wigleaf top 50 2023, 2024 and for the 2024 Sundress Publications Residency and is the winner of the 2024 Faulkner Gulf Coast Residency. Find him on X @sjohnb9 or at his website sachajohnbissonnette.com
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Posted in "Boo"din: The Ticking Clock, Oct. '25 and tagged in #boudin, #fiction, Fiction