AN: *grinning* If you want to know how brave a man really is, let him walk into a spider web. On a side note, my mother knew someone that was bitten by a fiddleback spider. She had a hole in her thigh ever after. Sounds painful.
Christineoftheopera-Children, please stop fighting... Yeah, children. Don't you start. Me? You. Problem, Scarecrow? Don't encourage him... SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, JON. Now look what you did.
Johanna Crane-I am a grown-up! I will pour it down if I want! But Mum or Jonathan always stands right there to make sure I don't. Somebody has to. Humph.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-What? That doesn't even make sense. It's in there somewhere, I know it is! Chapel. Pfft. What, did she just lug it around with her? Jon, your gramma was cray. Never use that word again.
Keeney Manor loomed up dark and cold that morning. It would have to look like Hill House…
Well, he'd checked the desk, and Granny's room, and that room…there was nothing in his old room…why did this house have to be so large?
He'd try the dining room, he decided. Maybe it was hiding in the silverware.
The long table-it had never been long enough to protect him-was covered in dust and webs and dead moths.
"…found something rather interesting today, Jonathan. Under your bed."
He shuddered and turned to the hutch that stood on the far wall. He'd never looked in here too much, really-too many fragile things. Ugly fragile things (especially that cupid), but fragile all the same.
He shoved the cupid aside, trying not to break it (it wasn't entirely impossible that Granny wouldn't come back to scold him for that) and reached into the back. His fingers met spider webs and he yanked his hand back. It could be a black widow's web, after all. Or a fiddleback-Kitty would not be pleased if he came back with his finger needing to be amputated.
He turned on the flashlight and shone the beam into the hutch. There was no spider to be seen, but he picked up the cupid and cleared it away. Better safe than sorry, after all.
There were quite a few old plates in here, a handful of tea cups-Kitty might like these, she had a collection of them in her room-and a china doll with a deathly pale face and creepy blue eyes.
He turned the doll facedown before closing the hutch.
Where the hell was it? It should have been in the desk, with the other important papers, and it wasn't. GOD, why did she have to be so damn paranoid?
He left the dining room and went to check the umbrella stand in the hall.
"Any luck?"
"No. How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Kitty…"
"Like death."
She looked it. She looked a little worse this evening, actually.
"Do you have the flu?"
"No. I have a bad cold, love, that's all." She sneezed. "Stop worrying."
"I am not worrying."
"Yes you are. You only chew your pen when you're worried."
Dammit.
"Hm."
"I'm gonna go take a shower."
He looked at his slightly-nibbled pen and frowned. Bad habit. Maybe he should get some of that no-chew spray that people used for dogs…
Kitty was coughing again-nasty ones that heralded a respiratory infection. Great. Hopefully the doctor in this town was better than the one they'd had when he was a boy. It was unlikely-Arlen had a habit of attracting people longing for 'the good old days' of Church every Sunday and no penicillin. Ah, home sweet home.
He was chewing the pen again. Whoops. He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at his notes and listening to Mrs. Richardson
Mary, dear
singing some song about the seaside. Mr. Richardson was outside on the phone-he could see him wandering around, probably trying to get better reception.
Where was that deed? Perhaps it was in the attic, after all. Or the cellar. He didn't relish going into the cellar, but it was possible. He'd try the attic first.
Now, about that last experiment…
"Did the shower help?"
"No." She rubbed her face and got back in bed. "Do you have to go back over there tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"You just don't want to get sick."
"Partly."
She pulled the comforter up to her neck and closed her eyes.
"Oh, thanks."
"Was I supposed to lie?"
"Would've been nice."
"All right then. Of course it's not that, don't be ridiculous."
"Tha's better."
He rolled his eyes-she wasn't looking anyway-and went back to his notes. Where had he gone wrong? It shouldn't have worn off so quickly. Maybe it needed to simmer longer…
Kitty was coughing again.
"You don't need to go to the doctor, do you?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Uh-huh."
"You sound like you should go."
"No."
"Go back to sleep, then."
Her only reply was another coughing fit.