Odd, but it’s true, it was the Velvet Elvis that set me at ease. When I first met Mrs. Beeks, I found her unsettling, all jangling gold jewelry and a cloud of perfume, her too white teeth set against yellowing skin. But I needed a place to board and, with the local foliage changing, I was running out of options.
Then I saw the Velvet Elvis hanging in the hallway – it reminded me of my mother and her harmless fascination with the King. So I signed the registry in Mrs. Beeks’ vestibule and was barely put off when she raucously laughed.
Even with the early Autumn nightfalls to help explain it, though, sometimes the house feels like someone has draped the windows in heavy velvet, plunging the house into an interminable dark. It’s disorienting and I’m unable to locate the exit or my room, only the eyes of the King following me as I pass under the portrait time and time again.
With Elvis’ yellow spangles the only light to see, I’m uncertain how long I’ve been at Mrs. Beeks’ or why I arrived. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the portrait was changing, or changing the house, but I don’t dare look at it. Every time I pass under it now, I hear the jangling of Mrs. Beeks’ gold jewelry and – I swear to you – it sounds like it’s getting closer.
Have you seen any of the houses other tenants?
See the author’s published work here.
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