5 - It was built years ago....

Ginny Hawkins

June 5, 2000

When I came up to the sixth floor, forgetting I had no breakfast to bring to Mr. Jay (since he got up early, a trend my uncle hopes remains) he was not there.

"Did he or did he not say he would return?" a voice calls behind me.

I sigh and turn my head, to see Jim again. "Why? Did you see him go anywhere else?"

He paused bobbing oddly like a fish, and furrowed in confusion. "Maybe. Oh yes. Down below the first floor, to the shrine, or whatever its called. Grave? Well anyway," and he returned to whatever he was doing.

I sighed, and wondered how often I did that. Well, I put my hands in my pockets after realizing I had no tray, then hurried down to the underground.

Sure enough, there he was, staring at the painting above the candles. Some chill ran through me, for some reason. How did he know about this place?

"Did he show you?" I whispered.

He jumped. "The butler, yes," he panted, still recovering. His attention to the grave appeared to have been broken by my standing where he could see me. "It's a fascinating place! It feels...odd, more odd than the rest of the place. More odd than even the sixth floor. And I don't mean 'feel' as emotion, passion, but as an intuition deep in my soul...does something unnatural reside here?"

What a barrage of questions. "It would make sense," I tried, unsure what I was feeling. "There might be something beyond nature here, more likely than anywhere else. It has some significance..."

"Something unnatural is here," he said, as though something clicked. "The vases."

There was a silence in which I figured we were pondering what was said. Then I realized he was staring, and when I met his dark green eyes his face became red, slowly, like a bloodstain.

"I'm sorry," he said, shamed perhaps, slower and more clear than he had spoken before. "It's just---you're standing there in the doorway and the light is making you glow."

"Oh." I stepped in where the effect wasn't so strong.

"This was built hundreds of years ago...wasn't it?" he asked carefully, his breathing having evened, which I only noticed since he tends to hyperventilate around me.

Reluctantly, I was forced to say, "Well, how else did he get all this wealth? Not just hundreds of years ago, over a century of building."

"When, exactly?"

My mouth moved by itself, knowing the answer so well, even though I was not obliged by curse to give answers. "1393, when they started construction."

He stepped closer. "They told you?"

"They told me everything when I was employed."

"You sure? This place has its secrets, but you are only a scullery maid. Either you're all in with the rest, keeping some secret from me, or you weren't told everything and are closer to my position."

"I don't know," I levied evenly. "My uncle knows more than I do."

"The butler?"

"Yes, him."

We stood in silence. "I see..." he mused, slowly, softly.

"More importantly. Have you toured the entire place yet? Or at least most of it. It's too big to see in one week."

"I know the paintings," he said, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket. His hand stilled and he turned pale. "Where is it?" he whispered. Frantically, he ruffled around, in every pocket, every fold in his clothes.

I stood and watched helplessly, then spotted something like one on the table. "That it?" I went and took it before it got burned.

He sagged in relief. "O my gosh, thank you." He tucked it carefully into his breast pocket, face stern. "I don't want to know how it got there."

"What is your plan for the opening?" I asked, to calm him from the scare. Stupid spirits.

"How about, a historical experience?" he said. "Look at this place!! It's so old, and looks to be quite new. We just have to rope off a few places, like this grave for instance, ban the sixth floor, and map it out."

"I wouldn't bother," I said. "I've been here since I was seven and I don't know the place."

He frowned. "What? Does the foundation itself move or something?" Panic began to rise in his voice.

"No, the pieces move on the foundation," I said, trying to sooth him with my voice. It worked now, as it always did. "It's just like Harry Potter."

He went an odd color, greenish perhaps. "How is that possible?" It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was reacting in him. "Physics--nature--that's not possible." His face became a groan as he thought back to something. "The place was different when he took me around the second time," he muttered.

I suddenly put my hand on his arm. "Do rest." He visibly relaxed again. "You cannot think when you are flustered. Besides, the floors themselves don't change, or jump that often, just within each floor do things change."