Ondine saw the door knocker fixed to the outside wall beside the door. It was old and small, made of tarnished brass, and resembled something out of the sea — with a curved head, fins, and a long tail. The wooden door handle was similar, a long, carved fish tail with countless detailed brass scales forming the handle. It looked almost like a sea horse, but Ondine couldn’t be sure without a closer look.

The old lady came back out and Ondine was surprised how she hadn’t heard her come down the hall, at how quiet she was, even with a cane. She took a sip of water out of a glass jar sitting on the railing. The old woman didn’t offer Ondine anything to drink, but she carefully watched her as she took note of the knocker and handle, noting how Ondine’s eyes moved slowly up and down the objects. Ondine figured she was used to people stopping by, lost, not able to use their phones to figure out where they were, gawking at the old, rundown house and all its strange features. There was intricate stained glass in the main door of the house but it was impossible to see the detail from where Ondine was sitting.

The old woman took a breath and continued speaking as she sat down. “There were those who thought my stepmother brought it on herself, and people like my husband who said my father was innocent. But in all our minds we kept thinking of my stepmother’s son, Elmore, who’d died years before, when he fell from a truck. And of course, my sister, Rose, who disappeared. Rose Ondine. You look so much like Rose . . . like I imagine she would have looked if I ever laid eyes on her when she was grown up.

“They said Rose was pregnant and took off in the night. I don’t know if that’s what happened. I do know the men around here were always worried how their women wouldn’t do as they said. That was always a problem. They said it was a curse, a curse which got awakened when my stepmother got murdered. If she was taken care of, if you don’t mind me putting it that way, then perhaps things would be normal around here, and women would do as their husbands said. But it only got worse after that. Violence never wastes its breath singing a lullaby.”

Something screeched from the field across the road, and Ondine jumped. Maybe a cicada, she thought. The old lady looked at her. “Don’t mind the creatures. There ain’t nothing to be afraid of. Those men said my father didn’t kill my mother or my stepmother, just like they said he didn’t kill my sister. Of course there was no bodies when it come to my sister, Rose, and our mother. But there are some things they never knew about Rose. Or my stepmother. Things those women kept hid.

“And now here you are, wanting to know. ‘Tell me your stories,’ you say.