After lunch the next morning, Jane and Catie were assigned chores. Mrs. Macabre had deemed her manor to be "a bit too stuffy," so she gave herself, Jack, and Catie kitchen duty, while Jane volunteered to dust.
"Do you want me to dust the entire house?" She asked as she was handed the feather duster.
"Oh, no, my dear," Mrs. Macabre chuckled. "Just the foyer. Baby steps and all that."
Just as she had wanted it. Jane went into the foyer and did what she was told, she made her way slowly throughout, first beginning on the ground dusting underneath furniture, and then making her way to the top of statues, tables, etc. As she was dusting the mighty grandfather clock in the corner, she had noticed that it was ten minutes till noon. A chill went through her as she remembered the Widow's words the night before. She looked around and spotted the broom in its umbrella holder. She looked in the kitchen with Catie, Mrs. Macabre, and Jack cleaning the windows with their backs turned. She bit her lip and thought to herself that, if there was a shot at getting it, it was now or never.
She carefully made her way down from the clock and tip-toed across the floor, constantly looking over at the kitchen as if she was crossing a street during traffic. She reached the front door and stared at it. This was the closest she had been to the broom itself when it wasn't in Mrs. Macabre's grasp. She had never really studied it until now. At first glance, it appeared to be just an ordinary broom with a bird's skull on the top of the handle. But as she looked at it closer, she admired the beautiful symbols carved into it, the blackness of the handle like a night sky, and its straw as rich with amber as if it were made of honey. She shook her head and thought it was time to get a move on. Not only would she risk getting caught, but she couldn't imagine how impatient the Widow must have been, waiting by the attic window. She wasn't scared of the Widow per se, the ghost had convinced her that she was of no threat, but she did find something intimidating about her. Like a stern mother that you would never want to let down, lest she send you to your room. She shivered at the thought of where a ghost would send her as punishment.
Jane picked up the broom and was surprised by how heavy it was. She had expected it to be as light as a feather, but instead, it had a certain weight to it. As if it was carrying something that had more than what met the eye. She looked again at the kitchen and saw that they were still cleaning the windows. She ran to the elevator and pressed the down button. As the gears whirled over her, she could hear Catie laughing and a sense of guilt past over her. If her sister were to see her stealing the broom, she may never forgive herself. Not because Catie would be angry, not because it betrayed Mrs. Macabre's trust, though both of those things were true. No, the thing that made Jane's heart sink the most was the look of disappointment on Catie's face.
After all, wouldn't that be like looking into a mirror? To have your identical twin look at you with such a feeling of sadness and confusion would hit too close to home for her. She considered for a moment to run back and return the broom. But the thought of having to deal with the potential wrath of the Widow, along with the Reaper's prophecy convinced her otherwise.
The elevator came to a stop and she got in. As she closed the gate, she pressed the button to the hundredth floor and it came to life again. She breathed out a sigh, glad to have reached thus far in her heist.
"What are you doing with that?" A voice asked next to her. She gasped and nearly fell against the wall. It was Elvira, who was calmly looking up at her.
"I-I'm going up to clean the attic," Jane said quickly. "Mrs. Macabre said to use this. It'll clean things faster," she held up the broom and smiled.
"Do you know how to use it?" The cat asked, tilting her head to the side.
"Well, I mean, I can learn. How hard can it be? What are you doing in here, anyway?"
"I was going to see if they needed any help in the kitchen. I could've taken the stairs, but I'm feeling lazy today."
"Oh," she paused. "Then why didn't you get off when I walked in?"
"Considering that you were carrying that," she nodded her head towards the broom, "I thought you may need some help with whatever you were up to."
"Oh," Jane said again. She faced the elevator door, not wanting to talk. The machinery filled the silence. She could feel Elvira's eyes on her, studying her. The elevator reached the top and pinged.
As they got out, the corridor leading to the attic seemed to be much longer than it had been when she had first arrived. It was like being in a dream where she was running, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't reach where she wanted to go.
"Feeling a little warm, Jane?" Elvira asked, strolling beside her.
"No," she said, beginning to notice the sweat forming on her brow. "Why?"
"You seem a little. . . . stressed, is all," the cat said. Her eyes turned a luminous green.
Jane panicked. She had forgotten that Elvira could read minds. Clear your head, she thought immediately. Don't think about what you're doing. Think of anything! Think of puppies! Elvira's eyes turned back to normal. "You really shouldn't do that," Jane said. "Reading people's minds without their permission is rude."
"You know what they say about cats," Elvira said wryly, "we are a curious lot."
They finally reached the attic and walked through. Jane began sweeping the floor, as if on command while Elvira sat and watched.
"Is this your first time sweeping?" The cat asked.
"I'll have you know that I am a master sweeper. My mother says so."
"That's because she's your mother," Elvira said without hesitation. Jane swept aggressively by her, sending Elvira back several paces.
"If you think I'm no good at it, why don't you make yourself useful and go look in the corners were I can't reach," she pointed to the machinery around her. "Maybe there's some dead mice in there."
Elvira's ears perked up and she darted over to the mechanisms. Jane moved her way closer to the windows. She looked down and saw the Weeping Widow floating right below it. Her hollowed eyes looked up at her like two black pools. She glanced over and saw Elvira's hindquarters sticking out of the gears as she hunted.
"I can't find anything," her voice echoed through the machinery.
"Keep looking," she called to her. "I'm sure you'll find something," she unlatched the window and slowly opened it inwards. A cool breeze drifted in carrying dark orange leaves with it. She prayed the cat couldn't feel it. The Widow slowly drifted up with the wind and stretched out her arms. Jane held out the broom to her.
"I'm telling you, there's nothing-" Elvira turned around. "Jane, don't!" She hissed.
But it was too late. The Widow's hands gripped the handle of the broom and yanked it from Jane, holding it close to her. The lights flickered and went out, then the house began to tremble with the sound of rattling bones.