A Family Affair: A Novel of Horror by V. J. Banis

Nothing happened. In dismay, she turned the other faucet over the basin, and then the two at the tub, leaving them all open. Not one drop of water came out. The ingenious relative had not, it seemed, carried his modernization project to its completion.
    She returned to the bedroom. The robe, still lying on the bed, caught her eyes and she snatched it up. For a moment she felt the impulse to rip it apart, to vent her annoyance and frustration on the delicate fabric. With forced calm she dropped it to the bed again. She was not a woman to lose her temper, or give free rein to her emotions. This was unpleasant, true, but she would remain calm. That was what she had always done, and what she would continue to do.
    For the moment she would make do, and when she had her chat with Aunt Christine, she would ask about the lack of water. And later, when everything had been satisfactorily put in order, they would all laugh about these silly little inconveniences, she along with the rest, and no one would think of calling her “funny.”
    She removed her suit, the one she had worn the day before, from the armoire and donned it. It was crumpled and anything but fresh, but at least it was better than that silly robe they had provided her. And if she could not clean up, she at least had a comb in her purse, and some fresh lipstick. Thank God she still had her purse.
    The results of her efforts, as viewed in the mirror over the dresser, were somewhat disappointing, but with a final assurance that they would suffice, she left her room and made her way down the stairs to the hall below.
    Once at the bottom, however, her courage paled. She had seen nothing of the downstairs portion of the house the previous night with the exception of the hall itself and the room in which she had waited for Aunt Christine. It was a vast house, and the long rows of doors, still all closed, stretched cheerlessly down either wall. Where on earth was she to find the others? Aunt Christine had provided her no directions for finding the dining room, nor had Aunt Abbie thought of this difficulty.
    She started slowly down the hall, listening for the sound of voices to tell her which room they were in. She reached the opposite end of the hall without hearing a sound. Whatever faults these people possessed, no one could accuse them of being boisterous at breakfast.
    The little room she had seen before was empty. There was, she discovered, another door leading from it or she could return to the hall and start trying the other doors along its length. From outside the house had looked frighteningly large; she had the impression she could wander for days seeking its occupants.
    â€œNow that’s silly,” she scolded herself. “They are here, in the dining room, and that can’t be too far away from the parlor.”
    She decided upon the little door that led from the opposite wall of the room she was in, but it offered little encouragement. It opened to another hall, a small one, that led at first glance nowhere. A closer look told her that it had at one time gone somewhere after all, but one end of it had long since been boarded up, literally chopped off by the addition of a makeshift wall. With mounting regrets she tried one of the two doors offered by the remaining section of the little hall.
    Another empty room presented itself, this one a study or a den of some sort. It was in fact difficult to tell what purpose some of the rooms might have served. They seemed to be furnished simply for the sake of filling them up rather than serving any particular need; but then, with so many rooms, many of them would be rather superfluous, no doubt.
    Another door led her into what might have been a pantry, except that there was no evidence of a kitchen nearby. No doubt it was some sort of storage room, no longer needed. All the rooms were covered with the same layer of filth that she had seen everywhere she had been so far.
    The room beyond was another den, or