Ruby was rummaging in a box beside me. “This is nice,” she said, holding up a long gray skirt, gored to fit smoothly over the hips and flared at the hem, and a white, lace-trimmed Victorian shirtwaist with leg o’ mutton sleeves. “Looks like it might fit you.”
I put the box of photographs back on the shelf, thinking that it would be fun to go through them on a rainy Sunday afternoon. “Sure,” I said. “That’ll be my Halloween costume. I’ll go as Mary Poppins and you can be the Mad Flapper.” I opened a round cardboard hatbox that held a woman’s flat-brimmed straw hat with a red velvet band. It had once boasted a gray feather, but something had nibbled the feather to a stub and gnawed several small chunks out of the brim. “And here’s my hat,” I said, and put it on.
Then I found what looked like a small white umbrella. “Look, Ruby! A lace parasol.” It was gray with dust and there were a few ragged holes in the lace trimming, but it was still very pretty.
“Oh, China, that’s lovely!” Ruby said eagerly. “It must be very old. Parasols went out with bustles, didn’t they? Let me see it.” Ruby took it from me and strutted and twirled for a moment. “I think we should bring back parasols as a fashion statement. This makes me feel positively elegant.”
“Looks like we’re almost finished,” I said. I dusted my hands and looked around. All that was left was a stack of old newspapers and the box Ruby was rummaging in, which appeared to be full of petticoats and camisoles, the same vintage as the Mary Poppins costume. “Let’s take this box out to the table. We can go through it out there. If there’s nothing we want, we can drop it off at the vintage clothing shop on the square.”
Ruby took the box and left. As she went through the door, she accidentally kicked the prop and the door swung shut behind her, cutting out the light that had come from the loft. The naked lightbulb near the door had never done a very good job of illuminating the far end of the storeroom, and now the space around me seemed to close down like a dark cave. I turned, aiming to replace the prop that held the door open, but as I did, I heard something that stopped me dead in my tracks.
Somewhere, very close to me in the gloom, I heard a low voice, a woman’s pleasant voice, humming a breathy snatch of melody—an old Scottish ballad, “Annie Laurie,” that had been made popular by a folk group a few years ago. No words, just the low-pitched, melodic humming, a wispy, haunting sound deep in the shadows. And with it, the tantalizing scent of fresh lavender.
I sucked in my breath and the flesh on my arms broke out in goose bumps. Was I imagining this? Surely, I couldn’t be—
No. I was actually hearing it. There was no one else in that storeroom with me, but someone, somewhere close by, was humming. As I listened, it grew louder, the melody carrying the words, unbidden, into my head. And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I’d lay me down and die.
I stood frozen, holding my breath, listening. The humming faded slightly, as if the woman had moved away from me. Then, at last, it faded away to nothing, and all I could hear was my ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart. I don’t frighten easily, but I was honestly, genuinely, down-to-the-bone scared. Someone was here with me. Someone else was in this empty room.
I stood still, my mind a swirl of confused thoughts. “Hello?” I whispered. “Who’s here?”
Nothing.
I tried again, louder. “Who’s here? Who are you?” The words were a raspy whisper in a voice I barely recognized as my own.
But there was no answer. Only the dusty, lavender-scented silence and the banging of my heart against my ribs. And the echo of unspoken words. And for bonnie Annie Laurie . . .
The door opened and the light from the loft brightened the dimness around me. “Oops,” Ruby said cheerfully. “Didn’t mean to shut you in here all by yourself.” She was a dark silhouette against the light. “Is that all? Are we finished?”
“Did you—” My mouth was dry as dust. I swallowed. “Did you hear anything just now?”
“Nope.” She stood on her tiptoes to look on a shelf. “Why? What was I supposed to hear?”
“Maybe somebody . . . humming?” I rubbed my arms. Just a few moments before, the sweat had been trickling down my back, but now I was shivering. The storeroom felt as cold as a frozen food locker. “A woman. Humming.”
And as I said the words, I heard it again. A woman’s voice. That melody.
But Ruby didn’t. “Nope, sorry,” she said, pushing a stack of newspapers aside. “Maybe you were hearing the air-conditioning. It kicked on a minute ago, out in the loft. Feels cooler in here, too, don’t you think?” She sniffed. “And I’m smelling lavender again. Wonder where it’s coming from.” She looked around. “Well, are we done?”
“I guess so,” I said, and clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. I am willing to grant that an air conditioner can hum, but I seriously doubted that it could hum an old Scottish ballad. I was in no mood to argue the point, however. I was ready to get out of the storeroom, right now, before I froze to death.
“Wait.” Ruby reached up to the top shelf and took something down. “This is really weird, China. I could swear we had cleared off all these shelves, but it looks like we missed something.” She was holding a rectangular dark wooden chest
