A Curious Tale of the In-Between by Lauren DeStefano Read Free Book Online Page A

angels filled the gardens, and it seemed that they were also sleeping, as though a witch had cast a spell on them.
    Pram thought a dozen people could have lived in that house and still not have filled all its rooms. But no one was home, aside from a woman in a black dress and white apron, who took their coats and offered them crackers and tea.
    “No, thank you,” Clarence said. “We’ll be upstairs.”
    The staircase was thrice as wide as any Pram had ever seen. Even the banister was extra thick.
    “ Who else lives here?” she asked.
    “Just my father and me,” Clarence said. When they reached the top of the staircase, he said, “My mother’s room is that one.” He nodded to the only door that wasn’t brown. It was painted light blue, with the chipped silhouette of a bird in the center, its beak open like it was calling for something that would never come.
    “She had her own bedroom?” Pram said. She didn’t know very much about parents, but she knew that they shared bedrooms once they were married.
    “It’s not a bedroom,” Clarence said, turning the knob.
    There was a window on the far wall—not a large window but big enough to fill every corner with light. The walls were yellow, but Pram could see parts along the floor and around the radiator that showed they had once been dark green.
    There was a daybed in one corner, and bookshelves along two of the walls, and trinkets everywhere. There was a dresser covered in combs and bottles, and pictures laid under a square of glass.
    “Which things have moved?” Pram asked.
    “Nearly all of them,” Clarence said.
    Pram’s hand hovered over the dresser. She was mindful not to touch anything. She wasn’t entirely sure if this would lead her to any ghosts, but she thought it couldn’t hurt.
    “ Was your mother friendly?” Pram asked.
    “Very,” Clarence said. “She wouldn’t mind that you’re here in her room. You can say hello, if you want.”
    “What was her name?”
    “Sarah.”
    “Hello, Sarah,” Pram said. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me. You don’t have to. But I’m a pretty good listener.”
    Pram’s hair was like the light, Clarence thought. She nearly disappeared in the brightness of the room. She closed her eyes to listen for his mother, and he was able to stare at her. She had freckles, but they weren’t obvious. They could only be seen in the right lighting, and only if he was close enough.
    Her lips were light pink, and the room was so silent that he could hear them parting. She was just about to say something when a noise interrupted them.
    She opened her eyes. Clarence realized how close they were standing, and his cheeks turned red.
    They both heard the front door close and the footsteps coming up the stairs. Clarence’s eyes were wide. “Quiet,” he whispered. “Come on.”
    He took Pram by the wrist and hurried her across the room, under the daybed, where they were concealed by a blanket that hung over its edge. The blanket smelled of perfume.
    “ Why are we hiding?” Pram whispered.
    “I’m not allowed in here,” Clarence said. “Only the maid comes in, to clean the floor and the windows, and she’s careful not to disturb anything.”
    He heard his father’s heavy shoes approaching and hoped he would assume the door had been left open by the maid, who was forgetful sometimes.
    But to Clarence’s surprise, his father pushed the pale blue door all the way open and then stood there, looking at the way the light reflected from the bottles and mirrors, like bits of dust that had been set on fire.
    Then he did something he’d rarely done when Clarence’s mother was alive. Something he had forbidden after her death. He entered the room.
    The floorboards creaked loudly under his weight. Clarence’s mother had been a wisp of a woman, petite and unassuming. The floorboards were startled by her husband’s presence.
    Clarence’s father stood at the dresser for a long time, and then he picked up a glass