1 Lilac Lane
By Sarah Snee
1 Lilac Lane
On my first and last day of housekeeping for the Richardsons’ large and looming estate,
the flowers began to talk to me. I was, by all opinion, horribly naive. The estate, in its entirety,
was spotless. There were whispers all over town as the sleek black Audi rolled through the
streets, its reflection in each shop window catching the attention of every passerby, although
there didn’t seem to be an eye that wasn’t glued to the back of the car. There was no license
plate. I worked at an ice-cream shop on Ginger Street. A scoop of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough
plopped onto the floor as I stood squinting to see who could possibly be inside the kind of car I’d
only seen on episodes of Gossip Girl. The windows were tinted, obviously. I know that you
know. I know the picture is in your head of a beautiful car passing through a small,
undistinguished town. This should’ve been my first clue, I know, I know. Strange things always
happen in towns where nothing ever happens.
“An Audi? Seriously?” My coworker, Deanna, whispered while shoveling my halfmelted
scoop into the trash. “Daddy paid some serious money for that.”
I remember rolling my eyes. Deanna hopped over the counter and crossed the length of
the floor to the windows, her head craning to get a last glimpse of the car. It was fall. No one
wanted ice-cream in the fall.
“Where d’you think they’re headed?” I asked. I assumed they were headed for the city up
north a few hundred miles or so. Every now and again we had some visitors from out of town.
They didn’t stay long, of course, but it made for a nice change of pace.
Deanna turned back around, shrugged, and sat at one of the barstools across from me.
“City? Where else do rich people go?” Then her phone buzzed and she looked at me
incredulously. “Oh my god. No. Oh my god?”
“Huh?”
“That Audi turned onto Lilac Lane.”
Thinking back, I should’ve just stopped asking questions.
I know my eyes widened to an alarming size because I could see mine reflected in
Deanna’s equally as large and excited pupils. “Yes! My mom said that her friend from book club
said that her daughter saw them go up the hill! D’you think they bought it? I thought it was like
two million dollars?”
Rumors travel fast in a small town. It’s a cliche, but most times they’re true. We spent the
rest of the day gossiping about how anyone could afford the estate on Lilac Lane. The place had
been abandoned for decades, even before I was born. My mom said that it used to belong to a
family like the Malfoys from Harry Potter. Old money with their noses so far up in the air you
could see their brains if you ever got close enough to one of them to see, which you wouldn’t. It
felt like a folk tale almost. Lilac Lane hadn’t crossed my mind since I was a girl. I had always
wanted to visit. I think I only liked it because my mother had told me there were so many rows
of flowers in the garden that you’d get lost if you weren’t too careful. She said it was like the
story of Icarus and Daedalus’s labyrinth. She said we could try all we wanted to be like those
people, to get so close, but we’d never be like them. We weren’t meant to be so large and
significant. I always wanted to try. I always pictured myself in the imaginary castle I thought
would be perched atop the hill. A secret: there isn’t a castle at the end of 1 Lilac Lane. There are
only lies and deceit hidden behind multicolor flowers.
The next couple of days consisted of repeating the same gossip until we were broken
records. The Audi had come through town, turned onto Lilac Lane, and no one had seen it since.
Rumors were floating around that lights were visible through the trees if you stood right at the
intersection that led to the gate. Did this happen to you too? Was your town so fixed on this
mysterious couple that you couldn’t think straight? It became the only thing I talked about.
Deanna grew bored of repeating the same information. We had so little information. On the sixth
day after the Audi arrived in town, I was opening up the store on a strangely warm fall morning.
There was a sign plastered to our window.
HELP WANTED.
Housekeeper. Female. 18-21. Friendly. Conversationalist.
Flexible hours. Cleaning, organizing, maintaining the Estate while we are away.
Please call 724-833-2437 to schedule an interview.
I almost disregarded the sign entirely. It was weird and oddly specific, yet at the same
time extremely vague, sure, but I would’ve been able to move along if I hadn’t noticed the
border of the sign — small, purple lilacs. I remember looking around to see if there were any
other signs posted on the street. There were none. I ripped it off the window and hurried inside.
Why did they only want females? They wanted young girls to clean their estate? Was
there some twisted old man at the top of the hill waiting to dress up teenage girls in little maid
costumes? I had a creative imagination. I didn’t want to venture down that thought spiral.
It had to be a prank. That’s what I settled on for the next two hours. It was a small town
and something exciting had happened, and then nothing followed it. People were bored. It made
sense. But why was there only one sign? Why was it posted on the window where I worked? I
was twenty at the time. Was I friendly? A conversationalist? I think so. I remember talking to an
old couple that would come into the shop everyday during the summers. He had plain vanilla,
she had strawberry. They told me stories about the history of the town. It was boring, but I had
liked them. It felt like the sign was for me. Was this planned from the start? I wished so badly for
it to be a plan. I knew I belonged elsewhere. In a town where everyone was interesting and
everyone was meant for something greater. I had to call. How could I live with myself if I
didn’t? If it turned out to be a prank, well, then no harm would be done.
I called the number. I remember my heartbeat thudding against my chest, pounding in my
head. Why was I so nervous. Did I know my life was going to change from this moment? Did
you?
The line picked up, but no one spoke. There was static.
“Hello?”
More static. And then —
“Thank you for calling the Richardsons at 1 Lilac Lane. We greatly appreciate your
interest in our beautiful new home. Please remain on the line.”
The message was a recording. It was a woman, she sounded fairly young. Her voice was
clear and bright. I couldn’t believe it. It sounded legitimate. I think I waited five minutes. God,
Deanna was going to flip.
“This is Jane Richardson, who am I speaking to?”
My heart was racing. It felt like I was swallowing rocks. “Um…Emma? Hi!”
Why did my voice sound so high-pitched?
Jane Richardson was the same woman from the recording. It sounded artificial. She had a
strange accent, or did she not have an accent at all?
“Hello, Emma. I’m so happy you called. I assume you are interested in the housekeeping
position available?
“Yes?”
There was silence for a moment. Jane Richardson spoke again, “We are so happy to hear
you received the invitation. When are you available to visit the house?”
So many thoughts were running through my head. Invitation? Who is we? Why am I
already invited over? It seems naive of me to accept so quickly. It seems strange that Jane
Richardson so easily invites me to her home, as if she knows me. It seems like she knows me.
“Will the interview be at the house then?”
Jane Richardson laughed. It sounded like a bell. It’s clear and her voice raises an octave. I
don’t know why I’m being so critical of her. “Yes, of course, the interview. Is tomorrow okay?”
Again, I agreed. She asked if ten in the morning works. I said of course. She asked if I
will be available for the length of the afternoon. Of course I am. She sounded so excited. My
stomach turned. When we hang up, I feel as though I’ve just become the most interesting person
in town.
Deanna, naturally, was as equally excited and terrified as I felt.
“Wait, she just told you to come over? Is there like a code to get in? A blood exchange?”
I laughed, but then again, Jane Richardson hadn’t given me any information at all. She
had laughed when I asked about an interview. I remember telling Deanna that I was scared or
was it excitement?, that maybe I shouldn’t go. She was eating butterscotch ice-cream out of a
small bowl.
She scoffed, “Oh no way are you backing out of this. Just bring pepper spray or
something. But then again they’re rich enough to kill you off and cover it up…” I must have
looked terrified. “Well I’m a witness! It’ll be fine. It’ll be interesting! You’re going.”
I had known that all along. I had to go. Didn’t I? Is that what you thought too? We must
be alike if we ended up here. I just wanted to prove that I was worth more than this stupid old
town. So, the following morning, I went. For the first time in my life I turned onto Lilac Lane,
drove the roads lined with trees until I came upon a beautiful gate. It was gorgeous. I felt
extremely out of place. I pulled up to the gate, rolled down the window, and pressed the small
button on the intercom.
A voice crackled into existence, “Who is speaking?”
“Um, Emma? I’m here to interview I guess.”
“You guess?”
Strange. “Um, I am here to interview?”
“One moment.”
The gates parted and the asphalt turned to intricately placed white stone. The stone road
driveway was lined with rose bushes. The lawn a fresh and vibrant green. In the distance, as the
estate comes into view, there were marble fountains. I could see the rows upon rows of flowers
that my mom always told me about. They seemed to stretch for miles. It all looked as if it was
directly out of The Great Gatsby, or a magazine, or something that is definitely not real, and
definitely not in a town as insignificant as this. And I loved it. I had to stay. I felt extremely
underdressed–jeans, a sweater, my Vans slip-on shoes.
When I pulled up to the estate, overwhelmed by its ornate features and architecture, there
was a man standing by the front doors. He rushed to my car as soon as I came to a complete stop,
opened the door, and asked for my keys. He said he’ll go and park my car in a safe space. He
said the Richardsons are waiting for me in the foyer. I walked up the stairs leading to the giant
double-doors at the entrance. I opened the door, feeling a mix of emotions, but mainly nausea.
Standing before me was a man and a woman, both smiling. The woman, who I guessed to
be Jane Richardson, was blonde and had her hair twisted up into an elaborate bun. She wore a
muted pink suit and white heels. The man to her right, also blonde, had his hair just as perfectly
styled and trimmed. He, too, wore a suit, but his was tan. I could feel my face burn with
embarrassment. They had to like me. What would I do if they didn’t? I knew now, more than
ever, that my life couldn’t go back to how it was.
Jane Richardson came forward to shake my hand; she was still smiling, her teeth an
unnatural shade of white. “Emma! We are so happy to meet you!” The man, probably Mr.
Richardson, came forward too, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He smiled, “Welcome to
our home.”
I was uncomfortable, but forced a smile. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
Jane’s smile was unwavering. “Please, follow us to the sitting area.” We walked through
the foyer, which I thought only existed in hotels and theatres, and down a hallway covered in
gorgeous paintings and art to a smaller, cozier room. The floors were all white and the furniture
accents of black and tan. There wasn’t a speck of dust I could see. Did their home look like this
when you visited? The Richardsons sat on a small sofa, and I took the chair across from them.
I attempted to fill the awkward air, “I apologize for being, erm, underdressed? I didn’t
realize how…beautiful the estate would be.”
Jane, unsurprisingly, smiled widely, “Don’t apologize, there is no dress code here! Edwin
and I are fashion connoisseurs, I guess you could say,” and she laughed cheerily. Edwin smiled,
his hand resting on her knee, and said, “We love beautiful things.”
I smiled. We were all smiling a lot. “Well you won’t have a shortage of them here. The
flowers out back are breathtaking.”
“I’m glad you brought that up!” Jane stood excitedly. I felt robotic. “Taking care of the
garden will be of utmost importance to you. We hope you don’t mind a little dirt and water!”
I told her that I didn’t, of course, and that I loved flowers. I followed her through too
many rooms and hallways to keep track of. I wondered if anyone lived here besides Jane and
Edwin. I wondered what they do for a living to be able to afford it. I didn’t ask. I should have.
Finally we reached the back patio, and, of course, it was gorgeous. The air smelled sweet
and it looked as though the rows of flowers went on for miles. There were bird feeders on either
side of the stone patio. I imagined sitting out there in the morning, listening to the splash of water
and the chirping of birds. I was so naive. But I wanted it so bad. I shouldn’t have let my foolish
dreams get in the way with reality. I know that now.
I turned to Jane, “So am I hired? Are there no other applicants?” She shook her head
softly, “No, I feel as though this is a good fit, don’t you?” I suppose I agreed. My head felt
stuffed, it was probably from the smell of flowers. It smelled so nice, but so strong. It sounded
like tiny whistles being blown, which I remember thinking was so strange. We finally returned
back inside. I signed a few papers. Jane said I would be able to quit my other job. She said I will
be living very comfortably. I fleetingly thought of Deanna.
“This is all so sudden,” I told Jane once I finished signing the short contract. It was pretty
standard. I was to always show up on time, do my best work, never share the information of the
family, things like that. “Thank you,” I said. When I thanked Jane, I thought she smiled at me
because she liked me. I thought she was sincere. Now I know she was smiling because she had
gotten what she wanted. What did she say to you?
Jane was always smiling and always so nice. “No, thank you, Emma. We are so excited
for you to join the family.”
I stood, thinking it was time to go, but her smile grew even wider. “I have to go take care
of some business in the study, would you be able to water the flowers with the hose? If you turn
the sprinklers on they can reach most of them, but you’ll have to do the ones towards the patio
yourself.”
“Of course, and then I can go?”
“Only if you’d like to. And come back tomorrow morning.”
Jane Richardson was strange, but she seemed to mean well. It took me awhile to find the
patio again. I wandered through hallways and rooms filled with art and furniture, but I didn’t see
anymore people. The man who had taken my car was nowhere to be found. There were no
children, no other workers. No one to ask for directions. I eventually found my way once I see
the sunlight bursting through the glass walls of the patio doorway.
I turned on the sprinklers Jane showed me earlier. The smell was just as sweet and just as
captivating. There were large watering cans sitting by the hose against the walls before the steps
descended to the garden. I grabbed one, filled it up, and made my way to the maze. The sky was
an astonishing shade of clear, bright blue. So clear that your eyes water if you look up for too
long. There were flowers of blue, pink, purple, bright red, white…I was mesmerized. I sprinkled
water on them as I leisurely walked through the garden, the sun beat down hard on my back.
Strange weather for the late fall. I thought to call Deanna…and then I heard that strange whistle
noise again. I leaned into the flowers, it sounded so close.
The whistle sounded more like a high toned pitch…I leaned in closer. It must be a bee, or
some kind of insect, or something. Then I heard the tiniest voice, which sounded almost like a
cartoon character.
“Hello! Hello!” There were multiple voices calling out in the flower bushes. I stood up
straight and looked around…no one else was here. I leaned back down apprehensively. The tiny
voices still yelled, “Hello! Hello! Hello!”
I walked further down the rows of bushes, confused and slightly fearful. I must have been
hearing things….the day had been long and exciting. The smell of the abundance of flowers had
fogged up my head. It had caused me to hallucinate. Flowers don’t talk. Was I crazy? I still don’t
know. Someone tell me. I remember watering the rest of the flowers and humming as loud as I
could. Flowers did not talk. Flowers did not talk.
I repeatedly looked back to the estate, searching for any sign of Jane or Edwin or the man
who had taken my car. I felt bullets of sweat dripping down my lower back. After awhile, I
began to calm down. I hadn’t heard the voices for at least twenty minutes. It had been a figment
of my imagination. I was tired. I just needed to finish my job and go home to rest.
I walked quickly back towards the manner with the empty watering can in hand. I thought
I was safe. I would be home soon.
“Do not go! Do not go!”
I froze. I turned towards the same group of bushes as earlier. What was going on? This
was not right. A cacophony of voices continued to yell, “Please!” “Do not go!” “Help!” I wanted
to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat. Nothing made sense. I leaned down further.
“Hello?” I whispered. All of the voices went silent.
A singular small voice spoke out, “Please! You must help!”
I pause. This was silly.
“Who are you?”
I spun around again to make sure no one was watching me. Were Jane and Edwin
Richardson watching from afar, laughing at my stupidity. The tiny voice rang out again, “The
flowers! Human must help stop bad woman and man!”
I remember feeling lightheaded. Telling this part back is hard for me …I know my head
injury must have done some damage to my memory. But don’t you see?
I hurriedly walked away. This was wrong. This was fake. I threw the watering can near
the back patio and rushed up the steps. The shade felt cool, and I steadied my breathing. When I
went inside, Jane Richardson appeared. I gasped.
“Emma, are you okay? You look so pale.”
I took a deep breath. I tried to smile. “The scent is strong out there, and it’s so hot out …I
thought….” I trailed off. Jane looked so concerned.
“Here, have some water. If you’re feeling unwell, please go and rest at home. Edwin and
I don’t want you ill!”
I took the glass of water from the man that appeared. I gulped it down. Jane smiled. I
smiled back. I felt so much better already. Why had I gotten so worked up?
“Do you want me to have Bernard bring your car around? Or would you like driven
home?”
I shook my head. Why didn’t I go home? Why didn’t I leave and never come back? I was
too fixated on my own personal dream unfolding in front of my eyes. I wanted to be important so
badly. I suppose I am important now, although not in the way I expected.
“No, no, I’m fine. Really. I feel so much better now. I just need to finish up out there.”
Jane smiled. It was beautiful and piercing. She made me feel special. I returned back to
the vast garden. My head felt as clear as the water. The smell was just as intoxicating. I walked
back to the group of bushes. I leaned in.
Nothing.
All I could hear was the sound of birds from above and the water from the fountains.
And then, “You have to listen!”
This could not happen. “What do you want from me?”
The same tiny voice from before answered, “Human, there are bodies underneath us.”
“What?”
Was I conversing with a flower? There weren’t any mouths or eyes that I could see. The
sound was coming from the clusters of gorgeous flowers, but they couldn’t be speaking to me.
Why was I indulging in this trick?
“If you dig you will see!”
Dig? I couldn’t ruin this display of foliage and flowers. Why would I listen to strange
voices? This was wrong. I still don’t know why I did it. Wouldn’t I have ended up here anyway?
How long were you working before they took you?
I placed my hand onto the soft soil. It did feel fresh. But the Richardsons had just moved,
of course they had had work done in the gardens. The flowers cried out, “Yes! You will see!”
I couldn’t. What was I doing?
I scooped some of the soil into my hand. How deep would it go? I couldn’t ruin the
flowerbeds. Jane Richardson would be so upset. I couldn’t upset her.
The voices of the flowers were demanding. “You can stop her! Dig!”
I dug. My hands plunged into the moist soil. The sun beat down on my back again. My
breathing was ragged. I don’t remember how long I was out there for. The flowers’ voices
became a mantra in my head. Soon the soil and dirt became hardened and cool. I broke up the
clumps with my foot. I couldn’t stop.
My hands finally touch something cold and hard. It’s not a rock or a clump of dirt. I
wanted to scream so loud but my body wouldn’t let me. The flowers were yelling. Where was
Jane Richardson now? What had I found?
It was a hand. I dug more. It was a body. Vomit pooled into my mouth and I swallow it. I
was horrified. I don’t remember if I screamed. The body hadn’t decomposed yet. It was drained
of blood. It was pale. It was unmistakably dead. It looked more like a suit of skin than a body. I
must have screamed. Jane and Edwin Richardson must have heard me. Someone must have
heard me. I remember being pulled away, then a sharp throbbing pain in my head, and then
darkness.
And when I wake up I’m here in this cage, in this basement. You’re in the cage next to
mine. Now I’m caught up. There is medical supplies everywhere. You are pale and sickly. You
say the Richardsons will take our blood, our plasma, everything our bodies have to offer. They
will sell it. They will profit off of our bodies. I laugh for so long. My head is pounding and you
hold my hand through the rusted bars of our cages. Why would they do this? You say you don’t
know. You say you lost count of how long you have been down here.
You say the Richardsons move often. You say they were so nice to you. I say, “Did the
flowers tell you to dig? How did the flowers know?”
And you say, “What flowers?”
Eventually, Jane Richardson descends down the stairs of this basement we are in. There
are lots of cages, but it is just me and you down here. She is not smiling anymore. I want to
scream at her. I feel so tired and dizzy.
I want to tell her to let me go. My mom will be so worried. Deanna is so worried. I know
it. I know I should have listened to my mom. She said we would never be like these people. I
should have never wished to be better. I miss my small, insignificant town.
Jane Richardson leans down to stare at me through my cage.
“You have greatly disobeyed, Emma. We will see how much we can get out of you.”
The rest is pain and screams and blood.
Am I alive anymore? I can’t tell. It is so dark. The flowers aren’t here to help me
anymore. You have left, too. I hope you went and told everyone to never listen to the flowers.
I know now. I know.
