The Upstairs Kitchen

Disclaimer: Although the setting for this story is based on an actual place, this is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

The upstairs kitchen door was open. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. I slipped my unused keys back into my pocket and took a cursory glance inside the room. A lot of people were working in this 170-year-old building today so I assumed that one of them left the door unlocked. I didn’t give it any more thought as I went to work, squatting to open the lower cupboards, one after the other, in search of supplies.  

“Is there something I can help you find?” a voice behind me asked.

I jumped, startled, banging my head on the underside of the countertop. My hand rubbed the sore spot as I turned toward the sound. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I said as I looked at the woman in the far corner of the room. Strange. How did I not notice her before?

“I’m looking for the trays,” I said. “We need them downstairs.”

This woman was a stranger to me and I wondered what she was doing up here in this kitchen. Today, most of the ladies were working in the downstairs kitchen of this converted old Victorian-style house that is now the home to a service club. Before I could ask though, she pointed toward the cupboard along the rear wall and said, “I think you might find them there.”

I nodded and thanked her, realizing that she was no stranger to this kitchen. She must be helping out. Doing what? I’m not sure. The woman appeared to be about seventy years old or so, and she had a regal air about her – she stood tall, back straight, and held her hands together in front of her body. Her silvery grey hair was pulled back off her aging face but it was the outfit that really looked out of place. Under her floral apron, she was wearing a rather elegant, lacy white blouse tucked into a long grey skirt. Most of us were wearing blue jeans and t-shirts.

I turned away from her as I opened the cupboard, but felt her eyes piercing holes through my back. Although the woman didn’t say a word, I knew that she watched my every move. An uneasy sensation filled me and I had the urge to grab the trays and run. Not wanting to be rude though, I pulled several serving platters from their hiding place and stacked them on the table; flashed a quick, false smile, and began to chatter.

“I’m helping in the kitchen downstairs, getting ready for tonight’s big event. You probably know they are hosting a paranormal fundraiser – well, we are baking some ghost cookies to serve the attendees. They are really cute. The cookies I mean, not the attendees.” I tittered at my faux pas. The woman’s face creased into a tiny smile but she continued to watch me. I took a breath and avoided looking at her as my hands fidgeted with aligning the pile of trays.

“Everyone is busy down there, setting up tables and chairs, putting out spooky decorations, and making a racket.” I rambled on in a rush. “Some say there are ghosts in this building.” Still, the woman didn’t speak.

“I once heard of a volunteer who saw someone up here a while back, when she was helping out with a function. They said she was in this kitchen when an apparition appeared in the doorway, that doorway,” I said, pointing toward the hallway. “The poor girl was cowering in the corner, trembling with fear, too afraid to leave the room without an escort.” I struggled to suppress a chuckle as I tried to imagine it. “I’ve been in here many times and never seen one. Don’t imagine I ever will, either. I don’t believe in that stuff – ghosts and poltergeists but I know a lot of people do. I expect many of them will be here tonight.

The woman gave a little nod and made her way toward the window. With a pointed finger she moved the curtains aside and gazed out.

Her voice was quiet and gentle when she finally spoke. “My husband is out there somewhere, driving around town. The old fool loves showing off his new car. He used to walk to his office over town but now he drives. He drives everywhere. It makes me nervous though, now that there are more and more cars on the road.”

“I know what you mean,” I said in agreement. “The town has grown so much in the last few years,”

She nodded. “I imagine they’ll put a stop sign by the hotel soon with all the traffic going through there.”

I frowned. “You mean the Addison? There are lights at that intersection.”

“Oh, I suppose so. I don’t get out that way much anymore,” she replied.

I looked at her with surprise. Those lights have been there for my entire lifetime and I’m not that young. Maybe she suffers memory loss. “That would explain why I haven’t seen you around town.” Changing the subject, I added, “I should get back downstairs before they miss me. Why don’t you join us down there?”

“I couldn’t,” she said as she glanced down at her feet. “They are bringing people through here on a tour tonight and I thought I would tidy up this room. I certainly don’t want anyone to think I’m a messy woman.”  

As I considered her immaculate appearance, I shook my head and said, “I doubt that anyone would ever think you are a messy woman.”

She wiped her hands down the front of her apron, smoothing out the fabric. Now it was her turn to feel self-conscious.

“Will you be here tonight?” I asked. She was now standing in front of the window again although I hadn’t been aware of her moving.

“Yes, I plan to,” She responded. “The organizers have asked me to make an appearance and help make it more exciting. I told them I would try.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t fathom how this demure old woman could make any event exciting.

“I better get changed into something nice in case they want my picture on their camera again,” she said. “Thomas will be back soon.”

“Thomas, your husband? That’s a popular name around this building, isn’t it,” I stated. Wasn’t the last homeowner’s name Thomas? Thomas Sloan? There’s a plaque downstairs with his name on it. Thomas and his wife have been dead for a century. The paranormal team think he’s one of their ghosts,” I said with a chuckle. “What do you think? Are there ghosts in here?”

“In a house as old as this one, there are bound to be a few,” she said with some certainty.

Oh,” my eyes widened as a wicked image popped into my mind. “Maybe that’s who the volunteer saw up here that day! Bwaaahaha,” I tried my best spooky laugh, my skepticism showing through.

She shrugged and shook her head.

I heard footsteps on the staircase, and I realized how long I’d been away from my job. My supervisor appeared in the doorway. “We can use those trays downstairs, Cindy. Who were you talking to? Yourself?” she asked, as she looked around the room.

“Of course not!” I exclaimed. I turned to the older woman and said “I was talking with – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

A split second before my world went black and I collapsed to the floor, I heard her say, “My name is Molly, Molly Sloan.”