Welcome to Ashford Row
PARLOR TRICKS # 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
SMOKE & MIRRORS # 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
Making Room
Arthur Mercer arrived precisely on time.
The house stood near the northern edge of Ashford Row where the streets widened and the homes clung to memories of older fortunes. Gas lamps burned behind wrought-iron fencing and tall windows spilled warm amber light across the hedges. Laughter drifted from somewhere inside.
A liveried servant admitted him before he had finished removing his gloves.
“Mr. Mercer. They’re just gathering in the dining room.”
Arthur thanked him and stepped inside. The home possessed the sort of effortless elegance that only years of careful maintenance could achieve. Hardwood floors gleamed beneath patterned runners. Family portraits watched from dark-paneled walls. Crystal chandeliers scattered warm light across polished wood and tasteful wallpaper. Somewhere deeper in the house, a string quartet played softly through a gramophone.
When he reached the dining room, Arthur stopped in the doorway. Something plump and bulbous occupied the far corner. It crouched beneath the crown molding with its long limbs folded awkwardly against itself, as though trying to make room for the furniture. Its skin had the dull gray texture of old candle wax stretched too tightly over swollen flesh, and its small eyes watched the room with weary patience. The dinner guests paid it no attention whatsoever.
“Arthur!” called a voice. It belonged to Edwin Pembroke, tonight’s host. He crossed the room with arms spread wide, smiling broadly beneath an immaculate gray mustache. His dinner jacket fit perfectly. Not a hair sat out of place. “I’m delighted you could join us.”
Arthur accepted the offered hand. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Edwin gestured proudly around the room. “My family. This is my brother William and his wife Helen. Over there, my daughter Margaret and her husband Charles. Their boys are away at university, otherwise we’d be an even noisier gathering.”
Each greeted Arthur with practiced warmth. Then Edwin reached the elderly woman seated quietly near the end of the table. “And this is my Aunt Evelyn.”
The old woman looked up with clear blue eyes. “Evening.”
Unlike everyone else, she did not rise. Arthur suspected she no longer could without assistance. Her silver hair had been gathered into a loose bun, and a knitted shawl rested across narrow shoulders. One hand remained curled around a polished walking stick leaning against her chair.
“A pleasure,” said Arthur.
She studied him for a moment. Her eyes flicked toward the corner, to the bulbous shape lurking there, then back again. A smirk cracked the corner of her mouth.
Charles cleared his throat. “So, Arthur… Edwin tells us you’re something of a parlor magician.”
Arthur spread his hands. “I’m afraid I left my tricks at home.”
Charles laughed and the conversation flowed onward with practiced ease. Arthur noticed no one had actually looked toward the corner. Not once. No one acknowledged the thing that squatted there, watching the family with quiet interest. Even the servants stepped around it without glancing, unconsciously curving their paths around the creature’s enormous knees as they carried out the first course.
“So,” William said, buttering a roll, “the city council finally approved the renovations to the conservatory.”
“Wonderful news,” Helen replied.
“I always thought the east wing needed attention.”
Arthur watched the demon inhale. Its ribcage expanded until its shoulder brushed the wallpaper, scraping it loose from the plaster with a crackle. Nobody reacted.
Edwin lifted his spoon. “I’ve always believed deferred maintenance becomes everyone’s problem.”
The demon grew another inch. A porcelain figurine atop the nearby cabinet tipped sideways and shattered against the floor. The conversation paused only long enough for everyone to glance at the broken pieces.
“What a shame,” sighed Margaret.
“The adhesive is in the study,” Charles offered. “I’ll fetch it after dinner.”
A servant swept the fragments aside. No one looked at the demon. No one except Arthur. And, from across the table, Aunt Evelyn. When Arthur caught her eye, She winked. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “It’s not done yet.”
Arthur looked back toward the corner. One enormous shoulder now rested firmly against the wall. The wallpaper had begun to wrinkle beneath its weight. Arthur lowered his spoon. “I believe,” he said calmly, “we should probably discuss it.”
Every fork stopped moving. Silence settled over the room, just long enough for everyone to register that Arthur had violated an unspoken rule. William reached for his wine. “It appears Mr. Mercer brought his imagination tonight.”
A ripple of polite laughter moved around the table. Arthur noticed the demon inhale again. Its chest expanded. One thick arm slid another inch along the wall. Wood groaned. Edwin cleared his throat. “Excellent soup, wouldn’t you agree?”
“It is,” Arthur said. “Though I imagine it’s difficult to enjoy with that thing pressing against the room.”
No one answered. Instead, Charles leaned toward William. “So… how is business?”
“Quite good, actually.”
The demon swelled. Its shoulder disappeared into the plaster with a muffled crack. A long fracture crept across the ceiling. Dust sifted onto the tablecloth. Helen brushed it away as though nothing had happened. “What dreadful workmanship.”
Arthur watched the creature. It was breathing heavily, listening, drawing every evasive conversation into its lungs. Every changed subject thickened its limbs. Every careful smile stretched its gray hide tighter. Every silence fed another breath into its lungs.
Aunt Evelyn slid Arthur a knowing look. “It never goes hungry here.”
Margaret looked down the table. “What was that, Aunt Evelyn?”
“I said you’re feeding it.”
Margaret gave Arthur an embarrassed smile. “You’ll have to forgive her. The age, you know.”
The room grew awkwardly still. Edwin stood. “More wine.” He began refilling glasses himself.
Arthur noticed something peculiar. As Edwin moved around the table, he unconsciously walked a wide arc around the creature. He never once came within arm’s reach of it, even if his eyes never acknowledged why. Arthur waited until Edwin resumed his seat. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“How long have you arranged the table this way? So close to the fireplace?”
Helen looked puzzled. “It’s always been there.”
Arthur glanced toward the hearth. The scratch marks on the hardwood several feet farther left betrayed the table’s original position. The dining table had been shifted. So had the china cabinet. The sideboard no longer sat square against the wall. Everything in the room had gradually migrated away from the corner. Only inches at a time. Over years. Making room. He looked back at the creature. It no longer merely occupied the corner. The room had surrendered itself to the creature’s presence.
The door to the kitchen burst open, breaking the tension as the main course arrived. Roasted lamb. Potatoes. Carrots glazed with honey. The servant squeezed between Arthur’s chair and the creature’s enormous knee, twisting sideways to avoid brushing against its skin. No one else seemed to notice the inconvenience of her steps.
The creature shifted. Its back struck the chandelier, causing a cascade of chiming crystal overhead. Several prisms fell onto the table. Charles caught one before it landed in his plate. “Well,” he said with a strained smile, “that will need fixing.”
Arthur followed his gaze. The chandelier wasn’t hanging from the ceiling anymore. It was resting on the creature’s back. The chain hung slack. Yet Charles looked directly at it and somehow failed to see anything but a ceiling needing repair.
Aunt Evelyn set down her fork. With complete sincerity, she said, “We’ve reached the chandelier.”
Arthur’s eyes drifted around the table. No one met anyone else’s gaze. Every smile strained. Arthur looked back at Aunt Evelyn. “When did it start?”
Aunt Evelyn lowered her eyes to the tablecloth. Her fingers traced the embroidered edge of her napkin. The room waited.
Edwin cleared his throat. “Arthur, really, there’s no need to pry.”
Arthur didn’t look away from the old woman. “When did it start?”
She drew a slow breath. “It started…” She paused.
William shifted in his chair. “Aunt Evelyn.”
She ignored him. “It grew after Thomas died.”
The room became perfectly still. Helen set down her fork. Margaret stared into her plate. Charles closed his eyes. No one spoke. The creature inhaled. Then… nothing. Arthur watched carefully. It had not grown.
Edwin laughed. A brittle, shallow sound. “That was thirty years ago.”
“Thirty-two,” said Aunt Evelyn.
Arthur felt something change in the room. The demon’s tiny eyes moved from face to face. Watching. Waiting.
Edwin’s smile tightened. “There was nothing anyone could have done. We’ve all made our peace with that.”
William looked away. Helen reached for her wine. Margaret spoke so quietly Arthur almost missed it. “That’s not true.”
Edwin turned. “Margaret.”
Margaret took a long drink, as if bolstering herself. “You told us never to talk about him again.”
“I told us dwelling on tragedy wouldn’t help anyone.”
“You packed away every photograph. You wouldn’t even let us say his name.”
Edwin’s voice struggled to maintain its even tenor. “You were children. I was protecting this family.”
Margaret looked at him for the first time all evening. “No. You were hiding.” The words landed like a plate dropped onto stone.
The creature twitched. Its enormous shoulders rippled strangely beneath its taut gray skin. William pushed back from the table. “You think your father wanted that?”
Margaret turned to her uncle. “I think he couldn’t bear it.”
William bristled. “You weren’t there. You left before—”
“I left because no one would speak to one another!”
Helen stood. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“For heaven’s sake what?” snapped Margaret. “Say it.”
Charles rose more slowly. “Margaret…”
“No.” She looked around the table. “No. We’re doing this now.”
Years collapsed into moments. Words long buried clawed their way into the room. Accusations. Apologies. Half-finished explanations. Old misunderstandings. Grief. Real grief, messy and loud. Human.
Arthur watched the creature. It tried to breathe, but its enormous bulk shuddered. Gray flesh trembled as though uncertain what shape it ought to hold. One massive arm slowly deflated. Then another, surrendering the space it had occupied.
The chandelier slipped from its back and swung free once more. Dust drifted through shafts of candlelight. A crack in the wall relaxed. The room itself seemed to exhale. No one noticed. They were too busy looking at one another. Really looking. For the first time that evening.
Arthur folded his napkin and rose from his chair. The argument continued behind him as he crossed the dining room.
“…I never hated you!”
“You certainly convinced the rest of us!”
“I didn’t know how to mourn him!”
“Neither did we!”
A serving dish crashed somewhere behind him. No one apologized. Arthur turned toward the foyer and collected his coat from the stand.
“Leaving so soon?”
Arthur turned to find Aunt Evelyn standing with one hand resting on her walking stick. Through the archway behind her, he could just see the thing in the corner, no longer pressing against the walls. No longer swallowing the room. It sat still and quiet. Watching. Waiting.
Raised voices continued to echo from the dining room. Aunt Evelyn smiled. “Best supper we’ve had in years.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Arthur slipped on his gloves. “Thank you for suggesting my invitation.”
She laughed. “It sounds awful in there.”
Arthur listened to the voices for another moment. The house was no longer frozen in a polite veneer. The place sounded alive. “No,” he said. “It sounds like a family.” He stepped out into the cool evening air.
Behind him, the argument carried on long after the door had closed.
They're feeding it. Having lived in a household that ignored glaring issues, this one really hit home. Finely written, Matthew.