It’s an antique vanity of considerable quality, and it’s in superb condition! Somehow untouched by the years, collectors would pay thousands if not tens of thousands of dollars for such a piece! Several lights of various colors surrounding the mirror emit an eerie glow, and you’re unsure if they’re actually glowing or if it’s a trick of the eyes. A fancy perfume bottle sits empty on the ebony surface of the vanity, at one point likely full of the best blends the times could muster. The single drawer built into the vanity appears uniquely custom-made, as it’s locked with an unseen mechanism save the typewriter keys, numbers one through seven, jutting out from the bottom.
Your curiosity gets the best of you as the question of “What does a century-old perfume bottle smell like” begs for an answer. You grab the bottle and pop off the lid! Empty. You give it a sniff and… nothing.
Wait.
There is something there, but it’s hard to pinpoint. You give the bottle a shake and stick the perfume back up to your nose.
“I do wish you’d respect my belongings.”
You turn to find the foggy figure of a well dressed lady, her face forming a look of disapproval as she looks you over.
“And who are you? Some delinquent come to burgle my home? Some lawbreaker here to scavenge what’s left of my precious things?”
“I just have some questions I was hoping you could answer.”
“Questions? Tell me, crook, what exactly might you do if I refuse to answer?”
“Must I entertain you with the story of my murder? Very well, if it will expedite your egress from this house. I had set off for town to pick up an expensive furnishing for the parlor room, a rather exquisite side table. I had brought the lodger with me to do the heavy lifting, so of course for safety’s sake I had grabbed my sister-in-law, Jane, and made her accompany me. My son tagged along as well at my insistence. The car broke down not too far from here, and just as a storm had begun to roll in. We were given a lift back home by a passerby, that salesman fellow. He was a bit talkative, but pleasant nonetheless, and I invited him in with the hope that the storm would pass shortly and he could return us to our vehicle. Once inside, well… there were refreshments made. That awful neighbor was there, who knows why, and that’s where things get rather blurry for me. I’d rather not discuss this anymore right now.”
“My husband? Away on business, sadly. A different time zone, in fact, three hours behind. Oh how I wish he’d have been here! It was awful to see him when he returned a few days later, to find his wife and family in such a horrendous state. Charles was a special man, though, and he figured out a way to speak with Elsie… ah, our daughter. He wouldn’t speak with me, however… I feel as though he mistakenly thought I might have had something to do with it, that I was but a suspect amongst the other spirits here. I had to watch in horror as my own husband went mad in this house trying to discover what happened! He was obsessed with finding the murderer, it consumed him when I needed him the most. When he died, all I wanted was for him to join us here but… he simply ceased to be.”
“Oh I have my theories. Petty revenge for some perceived slight? Jealousy over my happy family? Unlucky victims of a senseless crime? Society is in such shambles these days, you know. Of course, Charles had his own theory. As he spent his remaining years falling apart in this house, he became rather insistent that his daughter, Elsie, was the intended victim, and that the rest of us were just collateral damage; an accident – so to speak.”
