Having arrived late on Friday, after a two hour drive from Boston, I called Jane. “Hon, I made it. It’s dark now so I’ll start the inspection in the morning. But let me tell you, I had no idea how great this place looks from the outside. With the setting in the woods and the nearby Vermont valley, your aunt’s old Victorian will look awesome in the photos. It’ll make a fine B & B and a great nest egg for the kids’ college. How are you holding up?”

“I’m wiped, but Mom’s here, helping out. We’ve been reminiscing about happy times with Aunt MaryJane. It’s too bad you never met her. She considered me the daughter she never had. Me, Mom and my aunt are—were—three of a kind. Listen, I need to rest. Let me know how things go. And watch out for the weird stuff.”

“Sure.” I said, laughing.

I’d spend two days assessing the home. Once inside, I knew that the goofy farm animal statues and the dark, dour faced portraits of what I hoped were not my wife’s ancestors, had to go. For tonight I’d sleep on the sofa and absorb the ambience of the ground floor, experiencing it like a potential visitor. On Saturday, I’d sleep upstairs.

I lay down, however, before nodding off, a mild lavender aroma, like an invisible, damp dust sifting through the air, settled over me and the old furnishings. Getting up, I tracked the smell through several rooms until I reached the stairs. The scent descended from the second floor.

I flipped the wall switch to illuminate the upstairs, but they didn’t go on. Maybe a wiring issue or the bulbs were dead. I became curious. I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow.

Things had happened fast for Jane and me. We married less than a year after meeting and before we had time to really get to know each other, she became pregnant with twin girls. Her beloved aunt, who I heard was the odd chick in her family, sent us a case of Campbell’s Chicken Soup as a shower gift. Her card stated, For when the kids get sick. “Let it go,” Jane said. “We’ll visit soon and you’ll understand.”

We never made it. My wife’s pregnancy proved to be tough; she became housebound and inherited the house when the aunt passed away. Rather than sell the place, we hoped to turn it into a B & B and vacation home for us.

I turned on my cell phone flashlight which lit most of the staircase. Taking two steps,

I paused. The quiet and darkness at the top made my memory conjure images of third rate horror films, the ones where dim witted teenagers go where they obviously shouldn’t. I didn’t believe in ghosts yet here I was thinking about them.

Moving on, halfway up, the perfume-like air intensified, which from a distance was inviting, but getting closer, made me cough. At the landing, as detailed in the house plans, I could make out four closed doors materializing along the hallway, two on each side. I approached the first one on the left, but the smell did not originate there. I crossed to the right. Nope. Back to the second on the left, getting stronger but still not the source. Going to the second on the right,

my phone revealed a pair of extra strength Febreze air fresheners on either side of the corridor.

I coughed again.

Looking straight ahead, centered at the hallway end, a fifth door become visible. That wasn’t in the plans. I proceeded, but passing the air fresheners, as if crossing through an invisible barrier, the fragrance turned foul. And it came from that last door. The Febreze had acted as a buffer. I recalled the old film, The Birds, the scene in which the woman goes to a room the audience knows is a mistake. But, of course, she goes in and is attacked by a zillion birds.

Speaking of questionable decisions, I reached the door and turned the knob. At first, the handle resisted as if glued shut. I squeezed and twisted harder with two hands. It opened. Like a gusting wind, the odor exploded into a revolting manure type stench. Covering my nose with a handkerchief, I entered, shining the light along the floor.

A bare metal bed frame came into view. So did a night stand. I aimed my light, going left to right, and came across two side by side dressers. Raising the cell, both units had each of their four drawers pulled halfway out.

In the top and third drawer of each dresser rested four chickens, sixteen in all, eyes shut, as if deep meditation. In the second and fourth drawers were baskets. Holes had been cut in the bottoms of the above drawers for eggs to drop into. Coughing harder, I flung open a window and stuck my head out. I inhaled cold, fresh air and called my wife. “Jane, was your aunt nuts?

I’ve discovered a hostel for chickens.”

“Hey,” she said, “what’s odd about that?”

“Um, don’t you think your aunt was—” I tried to be careful— “eccentric?”

“Not really.”

     Huh?

“She was kind. When the weather became frigid, she’d move her little friends in for the winter. I loved playing with them as a kid. We should make it a tradition. Our girls will love it.”

“Jane, you think it’s okay to keep a poultryplex in the home? Besides inheriting the house, I’m beginning to think that you inherited some of her genes.”

“Oh,” she laughed. “I’m sure I have. My aunt always said I was just like her. You know what? We should name the girls Mary and Jane.”