annotated floorplan - simple floorplan

“Okay,” Leo said. “Those are incredible, but I think I’m getting dizzy and I need a break.”

Jake dipped his head in a nod. “Four in a row is a lot. I would too. Need to sit and rest?” He pointed with his bovine muzzle in the direction of a chair, next to a small tree in an enormous pot glazed white and amber.

Leo eyed the tree, which looked ordinary enough, just glossy dark green leaves of moderate size, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. Warily, he sat down, but the tree didn’t react. It must get decent sunlight, standing in front of the big south-facing windows, although outside he could faintly see light gleaming off white pillars so it might be partially shaded. Didn’t some vegetation prefer indirect light, or something? Not his forte.

“You’re an amazing artist. I know you said the house brings them to life, but it has to have something to work with. And these are so varied, and so vivid.”

Jake ducked his head again, his version of a bashful blush. “I love doing it. I... there was a time it was all I had. Can’t talk about it. Just love and practice. And I like it when the people who matter to me get something out of them.”

That sounded like private ground, and on top of that, there appeared to be rules about what information to reveal. “I bet they’re grateful. So what else can I expect to trip over?”

Jake snorted, leaning against the wall between paintings. “Not telling. You’re just gonna have to look around for it. We’re pretty close to Fifi. Ophelia, I mean. We passed her room to get here. If you go back towards my labyrinth, that way, it’s the first door on your left.”

“She likes company?”

“We all like meeting guests. Friendly ones. Some are... they don’t have a good time at all. If they’re just upset and scared and stressed, we try to find them a comfy spot to spend the night with someone watching over them. It’s just mean, trying to play with anyone who doesn’t want to. Everyone’s different. One spent the night talking to Wanda in Mistress’ reception room, she was okay with just her but got scared of other stuff. A few years back one got really physically aggressive, that was a bad night. No one got hurt but it upset everyone.”

“But anyone friendly and open to playing?”

“It’s fun. And guests might learn something.”

“Or win a reward? Like keeping memories?”

“Mistress can give rewards,” Jake agreed. “Depending on what she sees in someone and how someone’s handled the night.”

“Erasing memories must keep the house safer... and might be a mercy, for someone who’s not coping well. The more adaptable someone proves they are, the less risk there is in letting them remember?”

“That’s a big part of it. She needs to be sure that rumours about the house stay just a few spooky rumours. The dead house is in a fuzzy space, not a hundred percent in the same world anymore, so no one can quite focus on it enough to destroy it or anything. It doesn’t extend off the immediate grounds, just the house and yard. But if people got proof, they might find a way to do something, and I think it would be at least sort of bad if that connection broke. For one thing, no more guests.”

“The house is doubled and exists on two levels at once... that’s wild. I keep a lot to myself, especially if anyone could get hurt, but of course you guys don’t know that.”

“I believe you.”

“Thanks. So, playing, hm?”

Jake shrugged. “Nothing lasts past sunrise. Nothing does harm. Mostly it’s stuff we do for fun. But it might be hard mentally sometimes if you don’t have that trust and familiarity. Each of us is different. Can’t warn you about the others, that’s not fair.”

“Well, that seems reasonable. I’m used to depending on my intuition to tell me if people are telling me the truth and if I’m in danger. It’s not perfect and I had to learn how to listen to it, but so far, it’s not flashing any red alerts at me. I suppose it might just not work in a haunted house, but if I doubt it I might as well start doubting everything all my other senses tell me, too, so I’m going to go with it for now. But I could definitely see this being disorienting and terrifying without that, especially for someone really anchored in conventional reality or with a lot to lose.”

“You don’t have a lot to lose?”

“Not really. My family’s okay, and I’m grateful to them for a decent childhood with nothing nasty in it, but I don’t really have anything in common with them except genes. I have a few people who are sort-of friends, mostly because they’re weird too—one can make things heal faster if she touches someone and pushes her energy out through her hands, not overnight but faster than normal. One goes into trances and channels this... other... person? Personality? I don’t know, but they seem to have info that she shouldn’t normally have, and I really don’t think it’s a deliberate hoax. One gets impressively accurate results with a set of Tarot cards. That kind of thing. We hang around a store downtown that sells books and things on that, the owner’s one of us, but it’s a pretty limited friendship. And they’re not all totally comfortable with me liking guys and girls both. Well, the girls mostly are fine. Not all the guys.”

That snort didn’t sound like laughter. “Figures.”

“Some of the group’s pretty cool. Not all. They weren’t all very nice to someone who decided to start exploring anima along with physical animus, and experimenting a bit with gender stuff. Some were supportive, but the few who weren’t... well, that person stopped hanging around with us. And none of us who wanted to help had contact info. I heard they might’ve moved to Toronto or something, though.” That whole incident had been enough to teach Leo to keep his mouth closed and keep the difficult search for reliable information, let alone anyone else who questioned the validity of some barriers, strictly to himself. “So, honestly... there are ways I wouldn’t be heartbroken if I couldn’t see them anymore. Job is okay, not earthshaking but not terrible. I’ll probably get promoted to manager within the next year, but whatever. I make enough that I bought a personal computer so I can access this thing called Usenet, there are lots of groups you can subscribe to on different subjects and when you send a message everyone who’s subscribed to that group gets it. Kind of like a penpal club or mailing list but on a computer and no one has to know your real name or where you are.”

“Sounds neat.”

“Between work and social life being kind of unremarkable in any direction and my romantic life tending towards unexciting and unsatisfying, the only thing that really matters to me is finding places that are supposed to have ghosts and helping them move on. Unless, like I said, I just have a really good imagination, and I’m inventing and misinterpreting everything I’ve seen.”

“That all sounds sort of... lukewarm. You’re questioning whether ghost stuff is real, though. Seems to me you’re less likely to be imagining it than if you were absolutely sure. Idunno, I’m just an artist and the others come get me when they need someone strong. I don’t usually talk very much, even. You’re different.” Jake pushed away from the wall. “Ophelia’s smart, she might know something about ghosts.”

Leo got up from the chair. Even that short respite had helped enormously. He fell into step beside the huge minotaur, back the way they’d come. “And even if she doesn’t, I’m kind of looking forward to meeting the rest of the household anyway. I hope you haven’t said more than you’re supposed to, but I appreciate what you have been able to tell me.”

“Not enough to get in trouble with Mistress. Come close a couple times maybe. You’re easy to talk to.”

“Cool. I’m glad. As long as it doesn’t get you in trouble.”

Jake tapped on a closed door, but opened it only cautiously. “Safe, Fi?”

“Absolutely!” a female voice said. “I won’t do anything on Hallowe’en that can’t be interrupted, of course.”

Jake pushed the door open completely. “This is Leo. Do you know anything about ghosts?”

“A little,” Ophelia said. “Mostly that they exist, really. They aren’t very conducive to in-depth research. But I was able to confirm that much during some experiments involving energy and identity. Why, is he a ghost?”

Jake moved out of the way and tilted his head towards the open door. “If you want to really have a challenge later... come back and ask me for the painting I usually don’t let guests see. It’ll be harder, but it would really impress Mistress if it doesn’t freak you out.”

“Thanks,” Leo said, surprised. “I’ll do that.”

Jake ducked his head and turned away, towards his labyrinth.

Leo, meanwhile, went through the now-open door.

The gorgon in the lab coat raised an eyebrow above her tinted goggles. “Okay, are you a witch? Jake is talking rather casually to you and offering you private paintings? Most guests would swear he’s mute. If they could remember enough to swear anything.”

Leo shrugged. “We just... got talking, I guess. So ghosts are real? That’s good to know. I was already pretty sure, but I try to keep the possibility in mind that if I’m relying completely on my subjective experience and events that possibly someone serious enough about it could debunk, then maybe I’m wrong.”

The gorgon nodded approvingly, and gestured invitingly to a wooden stool. “Excellent approach. Subjective experience has validity, but it isn’t generally definitive. You meet a lot of ghosts?”

Leo took a seat, careful not to get anywhere near any of the glassware around them. “I go looking for them. To help them realize they’re dead or wrap up unfinished business.”

“That’s a compassionate thing to do, without even complete certainty you’re helping anyone. No one in this house is dead and I can’t think of any unfinished business, though. So I guess tonight’s plans have changed.”

“Yes. But so far, it’s been majorly interesting.”

“Interesting? That’s not the usual word.” She looked at him thoughtfully, elbow braced on the counter beside her and her chin resting on her fist. The snakes, each one apparently a different colour, writhed around so they could all look at him too. That was a little unnerving. “Can I ask who you’ve met?”

“Just Tarragon and Jake. I think I’m going to take Tarragon up on the offer of going back for soup later. And those paintings are fantastic.”

“Hm. Well.” She got up and went to a glass-doored cabinet. “Do you have any phobias? Recurrent nightmare fears? Anything like that?”

“Not that I can think of. I mean, there are things I doubt I’d be a fan of, but they’re probably just normal self-preservation things.”

“Good.” She returned with three bottles. The shapes differed, as did the colour of the contents, but he figured each held about half a cup of liquid. They did have labels, but she turned them so those faced away from him as she arranged them in a precise line on the counter.

“Each of the three has a different effect on anyone who drinks it. I’m not going to tell you what they are, because that would be a lot less fun. I will tell you that the one on the right has a gentle effect that most people would find strange, maybe amusing, but not stressful. The one on the left could be highly alarming to the wrong person. The one in the middle is somewhere between—intense enough to be, mm, interesting, but unlikely to be extremely alarming. Feel free to pick any one and drink it. Effects are guaranteed non-lethal, non-painful, and short-term.”

“Only one?”

She laughed. “I haven’t tested any combination of them, so I don’t recommend that, no. If you come back later in the night, I might have a different set for you to choose from. Or I might not. No promises. Take your time. I don’t mind if you want to talk while you’re thinking about it.”

“I already know which. And I’m curious. Can I come back later to talk?”

Another laugh. “Any time.”

Leo hopped off the stool, and walked over to the potions. Aware of Ophelia watching him with a grin, he picked up the potion on the left and pulled out the glass stopper. The contents reminded him of melted French vanilla ice cream in colour and consistency—and in flavour, as well, although there was a faint pleasant raspberry aftertaste.

“You should put the bottle down,” Ophelia said, stepping down to the floor and opening a cabinet under a countertop.

“Why?” he asked while already doing so.

The world tilted, not the same way it had with the paintings, more like a sensation of moving very fast in no obvious identifiable direction.

He lost the sensation of the messenger bag’s weight on his shoulder and pressure across his chest, and heartbeats later, realized his clothes felt loose.

And that the contents of the lab looked larger, and were getting more so with every rapid heartbeat.

At least, until he got thoroughly tangled in his clothes, which were now impossibly huge.

Ophelia knelt beside him, setting something next to her that he couldn’t work out and currently had little interest in. “That’s as far as it goes. Roughly eight inches. Here, one size fits all, and they come off fast when the potion wears off. Tie one pair of ties around your waist at the front with the fabric behind you, reach down and pull the rest to the front between your legs, and tie the other pair around your waist at the back.” It looked like a ludicrously small amount of black-to-white gradient fabric in her hand, but turned out to be enough for him to figure out her instructions—in the cover of his own clothes. He wasn’t especially modest but there were limits.

“Thank you. Wait, how am I breathing or talking or anything?”

“Other-side physics. You’re interacting normally with everything from photons to sound vibrations to oxygen, so don’t worry about it. There is, however, a household safety rule for anyone under a foot tall.”

“Do I want to ask?”

Ophelia laughed, picked up the thing she’d left behind her, and split it in both hands. She scooped him up neatly into one transparent half-sphere, and secured the other half with a deft twist. The colourless clear plastic had two wide transparent neon-orange stripes running all the way around it.

“Hey!” He struggled to stand up, and finally managed it, carefully, as long as he was in the very centre of the bottom. If Ophelia let it roll at all, he was going to fall.

The ball was half again his height, so it wasn’t exactly claustrophobic, and there were a few small round holes at either end admitting air, but he knew without even trying that he wasn’t going to be able to get it open.

This was much more bizarre than any of the paintings. The ball he was trapped in was cradled in Ophelia’s hand, and she looked utterly, unspeakably enormous. It would have been very easy to be scared.

“Safety first,” Ophelia said cheerfully. “Someone could trip over you at that height, or you could fall off something, or one of Thalia’s plants might get feisty. I might be a mad scientist, but I believe fervently in safety.” She stood up, holding the ball carefully in both hands—it still made it too unstable for Leo to stay on his feet, so he just crossed his legs and stayed sitting—and walked to the doorway. “Yo, Wanda!” she called. “Did I see you lurking? Hoping to meet our new guest?”

“Um... yes?” a different female voice said.

“Groovy. C’mere. This is Leo. How about you take him on a bit of a tour?”

“I can do that. Hi, Leo. I’m Wanda.” There must be hands inside those black fishnet fingerless gloves that wrapped around the ball, but he couldn’t see them. Except for purple nail polish, at least. The rest of her was the same: black fishnet stockings outlining shapely legs but he could see through them above her black high-heeled sandals; her violet dress bared her shoulders but had short sleeves and a short flouncy skirt. A black velvet choker supported a glittery purple pendant, matched by dangly earrings. He could see lips that were glossy purple and black eyeliner with a dusting of white and lilac above that, and nothing else.

“Uh... hi, Wanda. Please be gentle?”

She chuckled. “Of course.”

Ophelia gathered up Leo’s abandoned clothes, folded them neatly with his crystal necklace tucked into his t-shirt, and packed them into a large flat-bottomed canvas bag along with his messenger bag and running shoes. She passed it to Wanda. “You’ll be needing that.”

“Thank you,” Wanda said, shifting the ball to one hand so she could slide the handles over her wrist. “Let’s go look around at the house, shall we? So, where have you been? Who have you met?”