Collecting Dust by C91Industries

C91Industries/Works/Collecting Dust - 2019 Remake

Leigh pulled up to her grandma’s empty household out in the Montanan boonies, just a week after her death. It was an enormous three-story structure built back in the forties; Leigh recalled all the people who’d stay and leave as rooms were often rented out. This was fitting as her grandmother’s main hustle for most of her life was inspecting and rating the price of people’s ceramics and knick knacks. Though implied connections and various endowments over her lifetime, grandma came into possession of more than enough old artifacts. Some had a significant bit of worth or more, others were basically junk but looked nice enough to keep around, and then there was the stuff she hid up in the attic. Leigh was not allowed anywhere near the attic, nor was anyone else. Nobody questioned it.

Leigh was already up to the third floor as she reminisced on these old hallways, the ones she played in during the summertime as adults ran around, keeping up the home on grandma’s payroll. She had nothing but good, albeit musty, memories about this big hole in the middle of nowhere.

Pulling out a folded up piece of paper, Leigh read it back over again, as if it were her first time.

My Dear Leigh,

Please promise me you will burn this entire household down upon my passing. No one should have to know what I’ve been hiding in this mansion for my entire life, and neither should you. Tell no one you’ve done this. Leave all of my possessions as is - do NOT remove anything. Avoid dust and do not enter the attic.

-Polly

Repeat readings did not shake the dreamlike haze that was this information. “Jesus,” she said, “what was so bad about this place?”

Once a warm and bustling vista during her childhood now felt intimidating and empty. Leigh never saw her grandmother’s home before as a place to be feared, despite all the signs pointing in that direction: the desolate countrylands, the endless hallways and furnished, empty rooms, the American gothic construction, and the dying leaves of autumn whirring around outside. Grandma’s house suddenly seemed apt for a horror movie. Walking down the chilly hallway, Leigh questioned why she was the only one who was given this instruction - she seemed no more qualified for such a destructive job than her mom or dad or anyone else. It was also never clarified why she was to leave all of the artifacts, priceless or otherwise, to the mercy of the supposed flames.

The door at the end of the hallway remained perpetually locked, a forbidden room that nobody, not even grandma’s own family, was allowed to even question. It was adorned with strange markings and symbols that were never explained to anyone - it reminded Leigh of the Sigil of Baphomet, except a lot less evil and just mysterious. The door remained locked, barring its secrets from the outside world... until today. She twiddled a lockpick in between her fingers, then eyed down the cryptic looking door. It had to be the oldest thing in the house. Grandma was never going to let Leigh enter this attic, even after death, but she probably didn’t think ahead about replacing the door. She began work on the lock, shoving her pins inside the ancient device until she heard a very faint click.

“Wow, that was easy,” she said. “After all this time and it took nothing to open. These early 20th century doors are easy. Now, let’s see…”

Pressing her hand against the bronze engravings on the door, it creaked open slowly to an expected flight of stairs. While most of the three-story home was unnervingly large and empty, grandma’s upkeep was absolutely meticulous. Everyone remembered grandma for being a clean freak, or more fittingly, a clean psychopath. Leigh could never forget the monthly white glove tests during her childhood, along with the half-dozen maid staff that cleaned up after every serviced room in the house. It was on TV, after all, so it made sense to keep it up to specific standards, but even then, it didn’t justify how terrified she was of dust in the house. Not dust in general, but just the dust inside the house. Grandma was chronically, obsessively protective of this place, and that made it even harder to process why, after decades of obsessive cleaning and maintenance, she wanted the entire place, goodies and all, to perish. Even post-mortem, the whole house was kept sterile… except for everything behind this door. Leigh started coughing and squinted her eyes.

“Is that mold!?” She said, dumbfounded. “In this house!? The fuck? Seriously… Well, I can’t turn back now. I’ll have to brave it, ugliness and all. I can’t let this go...” Spiderwebs were continuously batted out of the way as she ascended, and the creaking of each step was a nice addition to the haunted house fuckery going on. As she rose to the highest step, Leigh found herself in the legendary attic, the place that absolutely everyone was forbidden to visit, the last stop in the universe. It was pretty ordinary, actually. Much like the stairs, the entire room was moldy and horrendously dirty, and wood was rotting off of the walls. Leigh made clear footprints on the floor, which was covered in an even, untouched blanket of dirt. All evidence provided so far suggested that grandma didn’t just lock everyone out of the attic, but herself, too. It was apparently so horrible up here that she refused to even clean it.

Leigh’s mind went to ghosts initially. Maybe she saw a spector or something while she was up here one night? Then she got a little more real with her theories and considered something more grounded, like a traumatic event. Did someone’s body get dragged up here? Was someone raped or murdered? It was an old ass house - surely it had a lot of history, or at least enough to justify at least one terrible event. Nothing made sense, nor could it explain grandma’s post-mortem desire to have it all destroyed, bells and whistles and all. Leigh supposed that made sense; if you’re dead, why do you care about what you leave behind? Yet still, this was a flimsy argument, because she left plenty of things to Leigh, mom, dad, the whole extended family, but nothing from the house.

The dust caked upon the bottoms of Leigh’s shoes as she pulled the white blankets off of random objects. Almost everything uncovered were statues, usually a variety of maids and ballerinas. Somewhat dusty, but incredibly high quality and well preserved, despite the attic’s condemnable conditions. They were easily the most expensive-looking artifacts in the entire house, which was saying a lot.

Leigh grazed her hands across a silver ballerina - it was smooth and shiny, almost like it’d been finished and shipped out yesterday. Her continued prodding of the ballerina, however, uncovered something unexpected. She started pressing and squeezing on its shoulders, then arms, then face.

“It… feels like rubber,” she said. “Are these cheap knock offs or something?” Leigh knew her grandmother didn’t shy away from collecting extra odd things, but this was pushing into the territory of QVC lawn furniture. Leigh rubbed her hands over the ballerina again just to get a better feel and to reaffirm herself. She could not imagine any scenario where grandma would physically go out and buy something like this; it was high quality, sure, and had the look of a ceramic from any distance, but only in the sense of a plastic, mass-produced product rather than an individual’s creation. Nothing else in grandma’s collection felt like this. It was possible all of this was hidden up here because it didn’t fit in with the rest, which wouldn’t surprise Leigh, but that didn’t explain why she kept them.

The dust never ceased building beneath, around or on top of her tennis shoes, and she was repeatedly kicking it off every few seconds. Leigh questioned how grandma allowed this one room in an otherwise obsessively cleaned mansion to become so nasty - the condition of the attic, alone, threatened condemnation. She continued pulling off sheets: more statues, all of them implying victorian-era dresses, ballerinas, nutcrackers, anything of the variety. Innumerable crates lined the walls, retaining just as much dirt and mold as everything else. Leigh made it to the farthest end of the attic, eyeing a chest just as old as everything else with another padlock. Despite her success with the decrypt door, the chest was less receptive to her lock-picking skills. “Shit…” She slumped her shoulders.

As it stood, burning the whole place down was out of the question, no matter how badly grandma wanted it. This was a home worth preserving, whether grandma liked that or not. Leigh planned on telling her family about the attic and what condition it was in - the biggest family mystery finally gets investigated, though she wasn’t sure how to open the chest.

Leigh tried tracing her footprints to mitigate the amount of dirt buildup as she passed the ballerina and headed towards the stairs. She would’ve continued on if it wasn’t for something that got caught in her peripheral vision. Turning around, Leigh searched the area for what felt like a pair of prying eyes. Nobody was here except her. “Hello? Is anybody-” She looked in the direction of the ballerina and witnessed its eyes, staring directly at her.

Leigh froze. The ballerina statue, with her arms stretched out in a fleeting pose, wobbled hopelessly, her joints and muscles petrifying her into this unmovable state. Leigh choked up, forgetting again that mold caked the air in the attic, and nearly tripped backwards. “Oh, God…”

The ballerina’s face was shiny silver, alongside the rest of her body. She clearly wanted to speak to Leigh, but a series of vertical slits were in place of her mouth, the implication of a frown without the function. The ballerina could not produce a single sound.

Leigh hesitantly approached the unfortunate ballerina. “Are… are you okay!?”

The ballerina, surprisingly, nodded. The dotted ‘lips’ turned up slightly into a smile.

Leigh’s brain was frying. She could process only a few of the million questions running in her head at once. “A-are you stuck like this!? What happened? Can you speak?”

She shook her head.

“Hold on, please let me help you…” Leigh began pacing around her body, looking for some kind of zipper to the… suit, or whatever the hell this was. She rationalized that the woman was covered in a thin layer of skin paint that somehow froze her into this position, but that theory was quickly defeated. A closeup look of her skin, face and ‘hair’ showed it was far deeper than paint, and much more worrying than just being trapped beneath an implied ‘shell’.

“There’s… there’s no…” She gasped for air again. It was getting progressively harder to breathe inside of the attic, and her feet started getting cold. She put her shirt over her face as a makeshift filter, then walked back in front of the ballerina and held her hand. “Honey, I’m so sorry… I have no idea what’s wrong with you, but I can get help. I promise.”

The ballerina gave her a concerned gaze, like she wasn’t really convinced of Leigh’s words.

“Do you know my grandma? She owns this house.”

She nodded.

Leigh hesitated to ask. “Did… did she do this to you?”

She nodded.

Leigh’s entire body went cold. She sweat profusely within a matter of seconds. “Please tell me you’re being serious. That can’t be true.” Leigh immediately realized what a selfish comment this was.

The ballerina, again, nodded.

“She was going to make me burn this place down… my, God…” She covered part of her face. Tears threatened to break through. “And she wanted me to burn the evidence...”

That last comment wasn’t intended as interrogative, but the ballerina nodded at her.

Leigh gagged. “She wanted me to kill you…”

She nodded.

Leigh quickly turned around and jumped back against the ballerina, screaming. It was a strange noise, almost like the sound of someone using a crayon. When she looked at the crate sitting directly in front of the ballerina, she saw words being drawn in the dirt by an invisible tool.

‘I DON’T WANT TO SCARE YOU. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE.’

“You can communicate!?”

She nodded.

“What’s your name?”

‘I AM A GUARDIAN WHO SERVES HER MASTER.’

Leigh tried to read between the lines on this. Somehow, she felt like this wasn’t an honest answer, but it was probably out of the ballerina’s ability to write anything else. Either that or she became brainwashed by whatever ungodly curse caused this transformation, so it was possible she truly saw herself as a good and obedient servant to her grandma.

“Well…” She tried to think of something comforting. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but I need to find a way to help you. I’ll have to go get help later and let people know what’s going on.”

The ballerina nodded.

“Okay…” With no certainty whatsoever in her voice, Leigh returned to the end of the attic again and tried out the chest, refusing to let it go. There was no guarantee - she crouched down at the chest for more than twenty minutes, sweat pouring down her face as she grew more and more frustrated. Finally, Leigh had a eureka moment as she heard a subtle, yet satisfying click, confirming it was correct. Leigh slowly opened the chest, briefly turning to look back at the ballerina to make sure she was still sentient and not just in her deluded imagination, then looked inside. She began sifting through loads and loads of gold and silver bars, wads of hundred-dollar bills, a chalice, some cups, jewels, necklaces… It was fucking Fort Knox. All this time, grandma was hiding the economy of a medium-sized country in her attic. Grandma always had money, but Leigh never knew it was this much.

Leigh picked up what was possibly the most damning thing in the entire chest. Not a treasure or a block of pure gold, but a deed. A very, very old looking deed, written on a yellowed piece of parchment with an old typewriter.

To The Kerringtons,

It is with our trust in your family’s shamanic history, as well as the generosity you’ve offered to our tribe over many years, that we are pleased to endow you with this estate property on the date of January, 22nd, 1942. The stipulation, as discussed, requires you to meet the required upkeep of the household, to keep all rooms devoid of all dust, filth, and especially mold. The only exception is the attic, which must be kept in this state.

The youngest daughter, Polly Kerrington, will be the expected heir to this estate.

We do not expect failure but in the chance that you lose control of the estates and it begins to spread, you or one of your heirs must burn it down and leave everything inside, including all those who have been cursed. Guardians must either go in the attic or be given to us.

Otherwise, you are free to perform and practice your rituals as needed.

Signed,
REDACTED

I, Polly Kerrington, will take ownership of this property and all of it’s inhabiting wares.

Leigh slowly dropped her arms, not even realizing the deed slipped from her fingers. All the memories Leigh had of her sweet grandma, all the kindness and charity she had endowed to her extended family and beyond, all this time… it made her sick. She gagged, this time nearly to the point of her lunch coming up. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the mold in the air or the realization, but both coming down at once had been overwhelming. Leigh couldn’t decide if she now hated or pitied her grandma as it seemed this was an incredibly dark reality she was born into. Did mom and dad know? Did anyone else in the family know? Who the hell was doing ‘rituals’?

The familiar sound of crayons scratching on paper got her attention again. She walked up to the ballerina, now struggling to keep herself walking straight from the overwhelming gunk in the air as she read the newest message.

‘I WAS A CARETAKER IN THIS HOUSE THREE YEARS AGO WHEN I WAS CURSED. THE SOURCE OF THE FAMILY’S RICHES COMES FROM A PACT. RITUALS GUARANTEE LONG LIFE AND GOOD HEALTH. ONLY POLLY KNEW ABOUT IT. SHE DID NOT PASS DOWN THE INFORMATION.’

She shivered. The cold was getting worse and so was her breathing. “How many others in the house are like this?”

‘UNDER THE SHEETS.’

Leigh felt weak and delirious. The statues she uncovered, all in their own varieties, stared back at her. Were these all former maids or people grandma knew? “I… need to get out of here. What do I do?”

‘JOIN US.’

Leigh’s eyes widened. Without a second thought, her flight response took complete control - this was all too much to process for any rational discourse to take place. She rushed back down the stairs, aiming for the door.

“I didn’t close this!” She pulled and tugged at the knob, finding no mercy. She went to work with her lock-pick, but as soon as she shoved the pin into the lock, it was met with a clot. The entire lock was filled with… something. No amount of scraping or digging could remove it. “No!! Let me out!!” She kicked and screamed at the door, a futile effort. Pulling out her phone did little else to help as it refused to even turn on - she bought it just a week ago and it was fully charged upon arrival to the scene.

She ran back up to the ballerina. “Please, you have to help me! I can’t get the door open! I don’t want to turn into a statue, and I don’t want you to stay like this, either!”

A new message was scribbled.

‘I MUST BE OBEDIENT TO MY MASTER’S WILL AND PROTECT THE FAMILY SECRET. YOU KNOW TOO MUCH AND MUST EMBRACE THE DUST.’

She looked back over to the deed sitting on the floor when an idea suddenly landed. “Shit!” Quickly, Leigh dashed across the attic, her legs weak and her chest full of gunk as she barely made the short distance she ran. Leigh’s toes felt numb and tingly, as did everything else up to her kneecaps. Her pants were caked in the stuff, too, along with her shirt, and her entire throat felt caked with shit. The document was in her hand. “Alright… I hope this works…” Digging through the chest, it wasn’t terribly long until she found a pen. “Yes!” Immediately, she wiped the dust off of the chest and scribbled furiously on the paper. It was near the bottom.

‘I, Polly Kerrington, will take ownership of this property and all of it’s inhabiting wares.
LEIGH KERRINGTON’

“Phew…” She wiped the sweat from her face. “Can’t curse me if I own everything, right? I’m the rightful heir, afterall...” She smiled, though it wasn’t a confident smile. Looking down at her hands where she touched the chest, she wiped the dirt away to reveal her hands… now with the same silver sheen as the ballerina.

“Oh, no…” The crayon marking sound returned, except this time it was from the deed. She looked down at the paper and watched as the nearly century-old typewritten words magically changed on their own.

I, Leigh Kerrington, hereby renounce my humanity and will serve indefinitely as a guardian. I will represent the deed as my body and ensure it remains preserved and unedited.

Standing up, her knees almost buckled as the entire bottom half of her body felt tingly and cold. Looking down her pants, the same corruption took over. “No!” She started pulling them down, but they almost felt stuck to her body. She turned around to look at the ballerina, then crouched down to take off her shoes, only to find they had morphed into strange masses of silver, barely in the image of what she was wearing. She started coughing, spitting up some of the silver stuff. “Oh, God…” She fell on the floor, dizzy and confused. “Help! Somebody! Help! Please!!” More of the stuff came barrelling out of her system, and with every heave and spew, it coated more and more of her throat and mouth. “Mnnghhgb!! Hmmnlp!! Hmmlp!!!” She could not spit out what was obviously fusing inside of her system, closing everything shut. The silver continued up her arms and fully connected with her torso and head. The palm of her left hand, still holding the deed, had not only succumbed to the corruption but was clearly forming into a thin pillar, imitating the shape of a plate.

“Mm-mnn…. Mhp-” The last of her voice called out as silver sinews fused between her lips, sewing them shut into a smooth and seamless surface, leaving the same vertical slits that were on the ballerina. Free to emote, but not scream. Her legs, pants, shoes, had all ballooned out together into what looked like a large bustle, forming as the intended base of her immobile body. Her arms, already losing any semblance of control, contorted into a specific pose. Her right hand connected to her right hip, fusing seamlessly and remaining solid to enforce the new appearance. Her left arm was a bit more interesting.

Leigh tried her best to thrash and fight against her changes, but it was far, far too late. It only took a minute or so, but her muscles, bones and joints had all been crystallized by this new rubbery, yet resilient mystery substance. Now with the appearance of wearing white shoulder-length gloves, Leigh’s arms were rendered without any mobility whatsoever. She shook and wobbled, but nothing that would allow her any bodily freedom. They were arms in appearance only. Her legs suffered even worse as they completely vanished beneath the hollowed out dress.

The last of her humanity disappeared in her hair, which she watched form into a gray, solid mass covering the left portion of her face. “...!!!” The transformation finished and there was no going back. “...!!! …!!!” With a white-masked face and dark makeup, she appeared not unlike a gothic beauty, clearly depicted in a victorian-era dress with a large bust now hanging out in front of her chest. She emoted with full-blown terror, thrashing with only the amount she was allowed.

The deed in Leigh’s left hand grew into a silver platter with a large, transparent lid, held proudly to her side as if she were serving it at a party. A transparent key hung from below the glass lid while an implied keyhole symbol sat at the bottom, symbolizing a lock that can never be opened. The deed, itself, was Leigh. No way to open the lid as it was fused shut to the platter, and impossible to break or tear open as her body was not of the natural world, bound to the laws of the supernatural. Her written words had been permanently preserved and would go unedited.

Leigh looked up to the ballerina, almost too ashamed to see her reaction, instead finding that she was smiling.

“...?” Leigh could no longer speak or ask questions.

The crayon sound emitted on the floor in front of Leigh. She watched the whole thing write out.

‘DON’T WORRY, MASTER. WE WILL BE HAPPY TO HAVE YOU SERVING UP HERE WITH US.’

Leigh was confused. She started writing in response - all it took was thinking of the words.

‘PLEASE HELP ME. I CAN’T LIVE LIKE THIS. I DON’T WANT TO BE STUCK THIS WAY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.’

Leigh closed her eyes. She expected a wave of shame and horror to consume her. She felt it, but it was far less impactive than she thought it would be, almost like an emotional safety net. Despite this seal of guaranteed servitude that she caused upon herself, she felt an equal and opposite force, almost like a ‘light’ version of what she was experiencing. Every terrified and guilty thought running through her mind was evenly matched with a thought process just as powerful, beckoning a type of artificial acceptance. Leigh knew it was invasive, and yet she didn’t fight it. Being a subservient maid statue designed to spread transformative dust didn’t seem entirely wrong, just strange.

There was also the matter of her going missing. Surely, this would be a cause for alarm, and she wasn’t going to be the last one to enter this building. Her parents, family and friends were likely to drop by, wondering why her car was still sitting outside with her totally vanished. She hoped they would think to come up to the attic, the absolute most mysterious part of the entire house, as well as the most suspicious place she could’ve gone, and question at the very least what was up here. Yet at the same time, it was evidently clear this house was fucking dangerous and they were all in trouble if they consumed any dust, dirt or mold. Leigh was completely deprived of any agency to help herself, and she knew whatever obedient mindset the ballerina had was likely to happen to her, as well. Even as she processed everything in order, she felt more and more at ease, not unlike a comforting grandmother telling her everything was going to be okay.

The ballerina noticed her peril and wrote a new line above where the old one sat.

‘YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SCARED, MASTER. WE WILL LOOK OUT FOR EACH OTHER.’

Leigh looked at the ballerina and nodded, smiling somewhat. She wrote back.

‘THANK YOU. I’LL LOOK OUT FOR YOU, TOO.’