Widow's Tears by Susan Wittig Albert Page A

sound of dripping, like a faucet. I’ve seen some things, too. Puddles in the downstairs hallway and water stains in the third-floor ceilings that seem to come and go—”
    â€œ
Water
stains?”
    Claire spoke quickly, as if she’d been saving all this and was glad to get it said. “And sometimes there are odors. Cherry pipe smoke. Violet perfume. The smell of chocolate cake baking.”
    â€œJeepers,” Ruby said quietly.
    â€œYeah. Jeepers. Jeepers creepers.” Claire pushed out a ragged breath. “It’s like…it’s like the house is inhabited, Ruby. What I’m hearing is just the daily stuff going on, people moving around, leading their lives, somebody doing things in the kitchen, children out in the yard. Except it’s
not
. Not inhabited by anybody else but me. I’m the only one here.” She rubbed her hand across her face. “I don’t make noises, or smoke cherry tobacco, and I haven’t baked a chocolate cake since Brad died.”
    Since Brad died
. Briefly, Ruby wondered whether this might be psychosomatic, whether it had something to do with Claire’s grief. “The weeping,” she asked. “Does that happen often?”
    Claire nodded. “At night, mostly.” Her voice was unsteady. “It’s…heartbreaking.”
    â€œAnd scary, I guess. All of it, I mean,” Ruby added. “Not just the crying.”
    Claire considered. “Well, in the beginning, I thought it was my imagination.” A wry smile ghosted across her mouth. “After all, I just spent several months in rehab, drying out. For the first few days, I thought maybe it was something like delirium without the tremens. But then I got involved in trying to chase down the sources of the sounds and the other stuff. That turned out to be pretty unproductive, but at least it kept me busy.” She paused and looked down at her hands. “But the crying—that happens at night. And yes, it’s scary. It starts off slow, somewhere in the distance, just one voice, a woman’s voice. And then it builds, and in the end, it’s as if…Ruby, it’s as if it’s coming from everywhere. From the walls, the floors, from the whole house. It’s as if the house is weeping.”
    Ruby covered Claire’s hands with her own. They were very cold and the fingers were trembling. “It sounds frightening,” she said quietly.
    Claire nodded, trying on another smile. “I’m not saying there’s anything malicious or evil about this,” she said earnestly. “It doesn’t feel like that, really. The worst is the crying at night, and in the daytime, it’s the sound of glass breaking, which is always so real that I have to go around and check all the windows. Oh, and there are the puddles on the floor. When I’m down on my knees wiping up, I go a little crazy trying to figure out how they got there.” She reclaimed her hands. “But most of it is just like…well, everyday life, like maybe a noisy family living in the duplex next door—except that there’s no duplex next door, and no family. And there never was, ever. So far as I know, the only people who have ever lived here are two little old ladies. The woman who built this crazy old house, and my great-aunt.”
    â€œJust two old ladies, in this great big house?” Ruby frowned, thinking that Claire had mentioned a row of graves. If only two people had ever lived here, who was buried in the graveyard?
Who?
Her skin prickled and she began to feel shimmery, as if—
    â€œI know how idiotic this sounds,” Claire said. “But since you saw her when you were a kid, I figured you would believe me. At least, I
hoped
you’d believe me.” She swallowed. “You do, don’t you, Ruby?” When Ruby didn’t answer right away, she put out her hand with a pleading look. “Please say you don’t think