Fox Fur

"Are you sure this whole place isn't going to just collapse around us?"

"It's safe John," Anna replied. "The city put up the "Property Condemned" sign because the house has been empty for years. The old woman died with taxes owed on it, none of her seven children wanted to pay and no one kept the house up so the city took it."

"If you're sure," John said. "I heard stories that the old woman was a witch."

Anna laughed. "And you believe everything you hear? The house is rundown, but it's not about to fall." John looked up at the Victorian house; most of the paint gone, a few windows broken out, weeds all over the yard and an old apple tree in front had a single apple on one bare branch.

"Now come on," and Anna grabbed his hand, "I want to show you the attic. There are some cool vintage clothes up there."

It was dusty inside and the stair treads creaked but felt solid. Anna led him up the stairs, down a hallway and then up a narrower set of steps into the attic. Two gabled windows were boarded over but enough light came through that John could see boxes, trunks, a bird cage on a stand, and a big wardrobe against one wall. "I wonder why no one wanted all this stuff," John said.

Anna shrugged. "They probably thought it was a bunch of junk," she said, and went over to the wardrobe; the door creaked as she pulled it open. On a shelf near the top were faded floral papered hat boxes, and a few dark dresses and suits hung from a rod below. Anna pulled something furry from off the top of the hat boxes. John thought it was an animal, and he was right; it was fox skins stitched together so each fox had its mouth between the rear legs of the next one. They were complete skins, feet and all, with the eyes sewn shut.

"Well, that's just gross."

"I know," Anna said. "It's a fur stole; that's how they used to make them." She put it around her shoulders and spun to face John. "How do I look?"

"Like you have a bunch of dead animals hanging around your neck," he said. "I can't believe people actually wore those things."

"Well, it was all the rage back then. If you had money you wore fur. Even mink stoles were done this way." Anna walked over to a tall mirror, pulled off the yellowed sheet that covered it and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I could never wear something like this." She lifted the stole from her shoulders but it wouldn't come loose. "Help me with this John. The clasp is hung and it won't release."

"You shouldn't have hooked it together."

"I didn't hook it, John. It must've slipped together. Just help get it off me." John reached under the clasp, a fox's mouth locked onto the legs of another, then yanked his hand back. "It bit me!" he said, then realized how stupid that sounded. "There must be a sharp edge on the clasp. Hold still, I'll get it loose."

"John," Anna said with an edge of fear in her voice, "the eyes are open."

"What? The eyes are sewn closed Anna," he said and then noticed that the eyes were open and seemed to be watching him. The stole convulsed and the fox head John had tried to unhook swung up and snapped at his hand. "What the…"

"The claws are scratching me John. Just get this thing off me!"

"I'll find something sharp to cut these things loose," John said, and he started frantically digging through the boxes. "Here," he said, and pulled out an old pair of shears and began cutting at the fox's tails.

"Just hurry up John, the claws are cutting me!" Anna's neck was bleeding from the scratches and the foxes were moving around faster than John could cut them. After he'd cut the tails from three of them he was able to pull the foxes apart and throw them across the attic floor. When all seven were off Anna they ran back into the wardrobe, jumped back onto the hat boxes, formed themselves into a stole again and closed their eyes.

As they were leaving, John said, "I told you what they said about the old woman. Do you believe the stories now?"