Horror House by J. N. Williamson (ed.)

Author:J. N. Williamson (ed.) [Williamson, J. N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Star Books
Published: 1988-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Maisie Simpson was a stunning nineteen-year-old redhead in 1901, and pretty sure she was pregnant. But lasses in that condition don’t care for uncertainty, and Maisie wanted to find out for sure.

Even in Pittsburgh at the turn of the century there was a grapevine that distilled and disseminated information for young single girls who’d committed a costly indiscretion. Dr Adolph Brunrichter would make things go right, Maisie was assured.

She paused at the front door of 1129 Ridge Avenue to consider what she’d heard about the man. He was, people said, a charming, compassionate gentleman of the world who scoffed at houses with ancient curses on them and bought the old house for a song. It had been empty for eight years - deserted - before the good doctor briskly took it over, certain that the age of science could deal with dead madwomen and even-longer-dead Indian braves. He was forty years old, on top of his world, and had the kind of charm that made ladies lose their heads.

When Maisie Simpson met him, she discovered they were right. Dr Brunrichter had no nurse. Instead, he greeted her personally at the door, bowing to kiss her hand. Then he led her through the foyer and down a cheerful hallway to his study.

Brunrichter was a tall fellow, broad-shouldered in his frock coat, with unusually serious brown eyes. Many of his patients thought he resembled the dreamy Edgar Allan Poe. He sported an inch square of moustache, and his dark hair puffed from the temples in serene waves. Maisie thought he was adorable.

Not that she was an authority on men. For a girl who feared she was pregnant, Maisie had very limited experience. Her father had died in the coal mines when she was twelve, and her brother, Clyde, ten years Maisie’s elder, dwelled in Philadelphia; so she rarely saw him. Willie O’Brien was the first boy Maisie had dated, and Willie, they say, reminded Maisie a great deal of Daddy. He also worked in the mines, and the witty tales he told came on the lilt of a pure Irish brogue. His ready humour, surface resemblance to her beloved father and work-forged biceps positively charmed Maisie into carelessness on a Sunday picnic. Neither before nor after had she ever dallied, and she promised God that, if He spared her embarrassment, she’d save herself for marriage and bear twenty little ones to atone for her sin.

In Brunrichter’s office she waited for him to begin the conversation, but he was quiet, apparently lost in thought even though his sombre brown eyes went on staring into hers. Maisie’s gaze strayed nervously to the framed photograph on the doctor’s desk, depicting a handsome woman with an aura of command.

’Is that the Missus?’ she asked softly.

He laughed lightly. That? My, no, child; I’m not married. That is, um, a dear friend - Madame Aenotta.’

‘She looks powerful wise, sir,’ Maisie remarked gravely.

’Observant child!’ He smiled. ‘She taught me much of what I know.’

‘About the art of healing?’

He laughed again.

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