Twice, Martin walked back upstairs to the near empty room. And each time, he took the amulet with the strange word printed on one side out of his pocket and rubbed a callused thumb over the disturbing image as he stared at the unoccupied room. Thinking there was something off, sure that it had been decorated, besides the bare bed pushed up against one of the walls, he found he didn't understand why he was sure of this.
Of the five upstairs bedrooms, only three were ever used. Denise had her bedroom, he and Charlotte had theirs, and then there was the guest room, which so far the only person who'd ever slept in it was Charlotte's sister Michelle and her no-good husband Paul. When it came to the other rooms, he and Charlotte had planned to have other children to occupy them, it just never happened. And so they sat empty. Sighing wistfully at the thought, wanting a son, he thought of the other child they could have had, but knew it wasn't in God's plan.
When they had first moved in to the run-down farmhouse, and he'd begun remodelling and fixing things up, Charlotte had been three months pregnant with their first child. She had insisted it would be a girl, but he had hoped it would be a boy. Yet, despite what each of them hoped for, it wasn't to be, for at about five months pregnant, Charlotte got deathly sick with something and ended up in the hospital. The doctors insisted it was something in the cold February air, but Martin had been sure it was something she had breathed in whilst he was doing repair work. Convinced of this, he had put his foot down and forbidden her from coming home until he finished the work.
This hadn't gone over well and had led to their first real big fight as a wedded couple. One that resulted in hospital security being called, him nearly escorted out, and Charlotte being sedated. It was during this shouting match that Martin had learned Charlotte had lost the child, her own body turning against it as it fought off whatever infection was raging through it.
A shake of his and then he told himself "Snap out of it," and looking at the empty room, the bed that was an extra one they had no other place to put, he found himself curious to know if what he was feeling had anything to do with the wave of nostalgia he'd just been overcome with.
Thoughts still on the past and the confusion that continued to draw him to the empty room, Martin stepped across the room. Ignoring the hard work he had put into fixing the room up, and the closet he had built himself, he peered out the window. Seeing the pens with the two goats Charlotte had insisted on buying, the male for breeding and the female for her milk, Martin twirled the amulet in his hand, thinking. Wondering if she had bought them as a weird way to fill a hole in her life, to fill her need for other children, Martin considered asking, the thought about broaching the subject of other children with her again.
In the past, they had talked about, mostly after Taylor had been born. But that was all it had been, talking. Nothing had ever come of it. And now Taylor was ten and Martin found himself asking whether Charlotte actually wanted any other children or if she was content with the the beautiful daughter they had.
"It would have been nice to at least have a son," he mused as he slipped the necklace back in his pocket and turning away from the window, Martin thought it was something else to talk about with Charlotte.
Until he had found it on the floor earlier, he had never seen it before. Thinking maybe Taylor had been given it or gotten it somewhere, he had dismissed the idea immediately. While, yes, she was a girl, Denise Taylor didn't seem to go in for all the stuff girls seemed to go in for. She had long hair, but only because her mother insisted she keep it so. The same with her ears, which were pierced, but, again, only because Charlotte had felt she should have them. She didn't play with dolls, preferring only the few plushies she kept on her bed, didn't hang around with other girls, as her best friends were a couple of boys, one of them the neighbours only boy, Davis, didn't go in for clothes and playing dress-up, and had absolutely no interest in jewellery whatsoever and make-up, pretend or otherwise.
"Maybe it belongs to Charlotte," he thought to himself, but then asked himself, "Why would she leave it lying in an empty room?"
Certain he was missing something important as he peered at the empty room for a bit longer before turning to look back out the window. Watching the male goat pace, stopping to butt his head against the wall or the gate, Martin, as a way to distract himself, thought back to the odd sense of familiarity he had felt when he come home from working the Reynold's farm and had passed the goat pens and then stopped as he realised this wasn't exactly right.
"There were no goat pens when I came home," he told himself as he thought about how he'd come upstairs to get a shower and had found the ram in the room he was currently standing in.
Yet, this didn't feel right and confused, he wondered if he was suffering from some ill effect or had had a stroke or a seizure or something. After a some time, he cleared his throat and said, "You didn't find the male upstairs. He was down in his pen, where he belongs. You came home, stopped to check and make sure the gates were secure, as the female sometimes gets loose, made sure the door into the shed wasn't jammed shut again, then went in to take a shower," in attempt to reassure himself that what he remembered wasn't accurate and what he felt he had done was as he took the amulet out of his pocket and peered down at it.
After a couple minutes, he asked himself, "What in the heck is with the horrid image? And what exactly is Zoo Lou? Is that like some maker's stamp? Is this thing called the Amulet of Zoo Lou?"
Unable to answer these or any of the other questions eating at him, Martin huffed in frustration. Wondering where Charlotte was, thinking she might be able to clear up the mystery of the necklace, as he thought he could faintly recall that her grandmother or great grandma was into collecting weird jewellery, he almost thrust the amulet back in his pocket. Clutching it tight in his hand instead, he gave the empty room one final look over, peered at the window and thought what he could see from it, then turned and left the room. Having other things to do, he set his thoughts on the tasks he needed to take care of as he headed for the stairs at the end of the hallway that led up to the attic, telling himself, "No time for trips down memory lane and peculiar feelings," as he went.
Up there, he paused and looked at the 12 or so years worth of accumulated odds and ends. Most of it in boxes, some of it piled haphazardly, whilst other things had been shoved in totes and such, he began pushing stuff aside. Making his way to the far side of the attic, forgetting he still had the amulet in his hand, his mind focused on checking a section of the roof that might be leaking, and hoping it wasn't, Martin swore, "Dammit all to Turn and back," when he pushed a pile of boxes to the side and three of them fell over, bursting and spilling a mixture of clothing all over the floor.
Dropping the necklace on a broken end table he had meant to fix years ago, and had never got around to, Martin looked at the boxed. Immediately he could see that two of them were too far torn to be salvaged. Reading the print on them, Taylor Age 7 Clothing Never Worn To Be Donated, he sighed heavily at the thought that it was another project that'd never gotten around to. Taking a step to the side to make himself room so that he could scoop up as many of the garments as he could, Martin uttered, "Son of a bitch," when more stuff fell over.
With a soft thunk, the amulet fell to the floor and, almost as if compelled to do so, rolled a couple inches before coming to rest on one of the garments. Not even paying attention, Martin began angrily restacking the furniture he'd knocked over, grumbling and cursing as he did. Picking up the two boxes that couldn't be used, he tossed them as far as he could, were he'd grab them when he went back downstairs. Turning his attention to the clothing, he righted the final box, thought for a moment about folding them clothing, then changed his mind as he reached down to first pick up the necklace. Touching it and the article it lay upon, Martin yelped, "Fire and fucking damnation," when a sharp, electrical feeling zapped his fingers and shot up his arm. Muttering about dry conditions, the static electricity they caused, and the possibility of needing a humidifier up in the attic, he snapped up the amulet, shoved it back in his pocket of shirt, grabbed as mant of the garments he could hold and began shoving them back in the box.
Finished, he pushed the box a short ways from him. Figuring he'd take it downstairs when he went, he turned his attention back to what had originally brought him up here. Carefully moving through the various stuff, he made his way to the section he thought might be leaking and began inspecting, breathing a sigh of relief when he found no evidence of water coming in. Thinking the water might be coming in elsewhere, he set about to try and determine if this was so. His temper cooling as he worked, he'd mellowed considerably by the time he was ready to go back down, deciding it was something else causing the leaking, and kicking the torn boxes down the steps ahead of him, he started to carry the other box down, but stopped midway when he caught sight of what was inside. And then the peculiar sensation returned.