{"id":126,"date":"2024-10-25T15:30:43","date_gmt":"2024-10-25T15:30:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/?p=126"},"modified":"2024-10-25T15:30:43","modified_gmt":"2024-10-25T15:30:43","slug":"the-upstairs-kitchen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/?p=126","title":{"rendered":"The Upstairs Kitchen"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

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\u2019s imagination or are used fictitiously.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The upstairs kitchen door was open. It shouldn\u2019t 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\u2019t give it any more thought as I went to work, squatting to open the lower cupboards, one after the other, in search of supplies.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs there something I can help you find?\u201d a voice behind me asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I jumped, startled, banging my head on the underside of the countertop. My hand rubbed the sore spot as I turned toward the sound. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, I didn\u2019t see you there,\u201d I said as I looked at the woman in the far corner of the room. Strange. How did I not notice her before?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m looking for the trays,\u201d I said. \u201cWe need them downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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, \u201cI think you might find them there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded and thanked her, realizing that she was no stranger to this kitchen. She must be helping out. Doing what? I\u2019m not sure. The woman appeared to be about seventy years old or so, and she had a regal air about her \u2013 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned away from her as I opened the cupboard, but felt her eyes piercing holes through my back. Although the woman didn\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m helping in the kitchen downstairs, getting ready for tonight\u2019s big event. You probably know they are hosting a paranormal fundraiser \u2013 well, we are baking some ghost cookies to serve the attendees. They are really cute. The cookies I mean, not the attendees.\u201d I tittered at my faux pas. The woman\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEveryone is busy down there, setting up tables and chairs, putting out spooky decorations, and making a racket.\u201d I rambled on in a rush. \u201cSome say there are ghosts in this building.\u201d Still, the woman didn\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI 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,\u201d I said, pointing toward the hallway. \u201cThe poor girl was cowering in the corner, trembling with fear, too afraid to leave the room without an escort.\u201d I struggled to suppress a chuckle as I tried to imagine it. \u201cI\u2019ve been in here many times and never seen one. Don\u2019t imagine I ever will, either. I don\u2019t believe in that stuff \u2013 ghosts and poltergeists but I know a lot of people do. I expect many of them will be here tonight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice was quiet and gentle when she finally spoke. \u201cMy 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.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know what you mean,\u201d I said in agreement. \u201cThe town has grown so much in the last few years,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded. \u201cI imagine they\u2019ll put a stop sign by the hotel soon with all the traffic going through there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I frowned. \u201cYou mean the Addison? There are lights at that intersection.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I suppose so. I don\u2019t get out that way much anymore,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at her with surprise. Those lights have been there for my entire lifetime and I\u2019m not that young. Maybe she suffers memory loss. \u201cThat would explain why I haven\u2019t seen you around town.\u201d Changing the subject, I added, \u201cI should get back downstairs before they miss me. Why don\u2019t you join us down there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t,\u201d she said as she glanced down at her feet. \u201cThey are bringing people through here on a tour tonight and I thought I would tidy up this room. I certainly don\u2019t want anyone to think I\u2019m a messy woman.\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I considered her immaculate appearance, I shook my head and said, \u201cI doubt that anyone would ever think you are a messy woman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She wiped her hands down the front of her apron, smoothing out the fabric. Now it was her turn to feel self-conscious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWill you be here tonight?\u201d I asked. She was now standing in front of the window again although I hadn\u2019t been aware of her moving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I plan to,\u201d She responded. \u201cThe organizers have asked me to make an appearance and help make it more exciting. I told them I would try.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the life of me, I couldn\u2019t fathom how this demure old woman could make any event exciting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI better get changed into something nice in case they want my picture on their camera again,\u201d she said. \u201cThomas will be back soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThomas, your husband? That\u2019s a popular name around this building, isn\u2019t it,\u201d I stated. Wasn\u2019t the last homeowner\u2019s name Thomas? Thomas Sloan? There\u2019s a plaque downstairs with his name on it. Thomas and his wife have been dead for a century. The paranormal team think he\u2019s one of their ghosts,\u201d I said with a chuckle. \u201cWhat do you think? Are there ghosts in here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn a house as old as this one, there are bound to be a few,\u201d she said with some certainty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh,\u201d my eyes widened as a wicked image popped into my mind. \u201cMaybe that\u2019s who the volunteer saw up here that day! Bwaaahaha,\u201d I tried my best spooky laugh, my skepticism showing through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shrugged and shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard footsteps on the staircase, and I realized how long I\u2019d been away from my job. My supervisor appeared in the doorway. \u201cWe can use those trays downstairs, Cindy. Who were you talking to? Yourself?\u201d she asked, as she looked around the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course not!\u201d I exclaimed. I turned to the older woman and said \u201cI was talking with – I\u2019m sorry, I don\u2019t know your name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A split second before my world went black and I collapsed to the floor, I heard her say, \u201cMy name is Molly, Molly Sloan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This woman was a stranger to me …..<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":127,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-126","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/126","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=126"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/126\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":128,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/126\/revisions\/128"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/127"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=126"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=126"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersofbrant.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=126"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}