Fallen Stones (9 page)

Jack looked down along the hallway to determine which direction to head next. He could immediately tell that Washburn truly had spared no expense in remodeling the home. Since it had been so dark when he arrived outside, Jack did not have the opportunity to see what improvements Washburn may have made to the outside, but if this was any indication of the degree to which the man had gone, the outside likewise must no doubt be a sight to behold.

Jack removed his cupped hand from the front of the flashlight, allowing it to shine to its fullest potential, flooding the long hallway with bright illumination. Jack immediately noticed what appeared to be either new or refinished hardwood floors, covered with an oriental-styled carpet runner, which extended completely down to the end of the hall. Since it seemed to be one solid piece Jack assumed it must have been custom-made specifically for the house.

The walls were covered in tastefully designed striped pattern wallpaper with a solid pattern border on top and the wooden baseboard had been restored to its natural wood beauty. The chandeliers in the hall were made of what appeared to be expensive imported hand-cut crystal. Jack could practically smell the money that had been poured into the place.

Halfway down the hall to his left Jack saw an open doorway, which he assumed, led to a formal dining room. To his right he saw another door he suspected opened to either a closet under a stairway or perhaps led to the house's cellar steps. He tried to recall if he had seen a door in the kitchen, which may have opened to the cellar but couldn't recall if one had been present.

He could see the large handcrafted front door, with its beautiful stained glass sidelight looming in the distance at the end of the long hallway. He also saw a walnut banister traveling up along what had to be a flight of steps leading to the upstairs bedrooms. Those rooms were his destination; his main reason for coming to the house on this dark night. He sensed the ring he so desperately desired was in one of those bedrooms. He didn't know how he knew this, but still understood he had to be correct.

Jack placed his back tightly along the right wall and slowly worked his way down the hallway, keeping his eye on the large open dining room doorway. He kept his flashlight pointed downward and held it behind him to prevent anyone outside from seeing the light. Although Jack was quite certain there was no one on the isolated property except him, he still took any necessary precautions.

He passed the empty darkened doorway without incident and without going inside to investigate. If it were a dining room as he suspected, there would be little of interest to him in there. Likewise as he passed the closed door behind his back, he didn't bother to open it either, assuming he could always do so later, if things didn't work out for him upstairs; although he believed they surely would.

As he approached the area near the front door, Jack saw another wide doorway on the left side of the hall, just inside the foyer. When he stood directly in front of the opening, Jack was suddenly hit with an unexplainable and overwhelming curious desire and briefly shown his flashlight into the opening. So strong was the need to find out more about the room, that he completely forgot his original concern with the flashlight beam.  Upon examining the interior of the space, he recognized it immediately as an oversized formal living room, much larger than he had expected to find. Even from out in the hall, Jack could see the room was as expensively renovated and professionally decorated, as the rest of the house seemed to be. He assumed this living room opened up to the adjacent dining room as was typical of most houses of that style, but he was still surprised by its size.

Jack lifted the flashlight for another quick look and saw the walls were adorned with a variety of paintings. Knowing Washburn's reputation as Jack believed he did, the artwork was likely one-of-a-kind original works and likely very valuable. He started to wonder if he should help himself to some of the wealth hanging on the walls. But then he realized he would have to find some way to fence the stolen paintings, and he had absolutely no knowledge of how to do such a thing. He decided instead to leave them hanging where they were so they could burn along with the rest of the house when he was finally ready to start his blaze.

Among the paintings directly visible from the entrance hanging above the mantel of a large fireplace, Jack saw a portrait of a couple. It appeared to be a formal wedding pose, perhaps an oil painting. Both the man and the woman in the portrait seemed to bare some family resemblance to the way Jack remembered Washburn looking. Jack wondered who they might be. The work seemed to be too old for the couple to be Washburn's parents, so Jack determined they must have been his grandparents.

The man in the picture held some sort of cane or walking stick with what appeared to be an ivory handle shaped like the head of a wolf. The man's hair was dark brown under a formal top hat as was his stylish mustache. He also wore wire-rimmed glasses and was dressed in an expensive looking suit typical of early twentieth century gentlemen. The woman in the picture had long dark brown hair pulled up in a stylish bun and wore white silk wedding gown. Jack realized the image must have been rendered on the obviously affluent couples' wedding day.

As Jack shone his light along the front wall of the room, it came to rest on something shiny and large positioned between two windows, both of which were covered with heavy drapes. He realized the object was an ornate gold leaf framed mirror. As he started to look away, not really having an interest in the mirror, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. A sinking feeling struck in the pit of his stomach and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Jack thought he had seen something in the mirror; a face, a hideous countenance. But surely, that could not have been possible. When he pointed the light back toward the mysterious mirror once again, whatever he may have thought he had seen was gone and the shining glass was back to normal. At first, Jack thought he might have mistaken his own reflection for the image in the mirror but now he could plainly see that his reflection was not even present in the mirror. It was obviously too far away and much too far off center to catch his reflection.

This did very little to quell the unsettling feeling he was experiencing. He wondered if he really could have seen what he thought he had seen. Jack didn't believe so; it seemed impossible, obviously a trick of the light. However, within that millisecond of time, Jack saw the vision in such complete detail, that it seemed unbelievably real.

He thought he had seen the face of the recently deceased Emerson Washburn, but not as Jack had remembered the man. The Washburn he believed he saw was not the large, strong, dangerous man he once encountered on that long ago fateful night, but instead appeared to be much older; and not just thirteen years older but almost ancient. The man was skeleton-thin and his flesh hung in layered wrinkles from his boney skull. What had once been a full head of thick black hair was now nothing more than thin wisps of grey and white, scarcely covering his blotched head. There were places where clumps of hair were missing, leaving patches of mottled grey flesh in their wake. The man's sagging skin was likewise grey and was prominently covered with darker age spots. His once thick broken nose was now a thin and twisted remnant, barely recognizable as it former shape.

The image's lips had been thin dark-grey slits and his practically toothless mouth seemed to go from hanging slack-jawed to slowly moving open and closed in an almost animatronic manner as if trying to speak. A steady stream of mucus filled drool leaked from the corner of the wretched creature's mouth.  Jack was amazed at how much his mind had captured of the image in such a short span of time. In hindsight, the image might not have appeared as frightening to Jack as it did pathetic, but nonetheless the instantaneous image had sent chills of terror racing down his spine.

However, once Jack had directed his flashlight the second time and the image had disappeared, he logically began to rationalize what he had seen as nothing more than a brief figment of his imagination. He knew he was alone in the house and was well armed against anyone who tried to interfere with his plans.

He refocused on his goal and worked his way around to the base of the stairs, always being careful not to turn his back on the darkened living room. Just because his rational mind told him there was nothing to fear, a small part of him still had the creeps and he decided not to take any chances. He discovered another opening to a room behind him at the base of the stairs but he didn't believe it was where he needed to go. His destination was up the stairs and in a certain bedroom.

Jack slowly and carefully walked up the long and squeaky stairway to the upstairs hall. Once there, he shone his light into several of the open bedrooms hoping to find the one he wanted most, that being Emerson Washburn's private sleeping quarters. During his search, he was extra careful, watching for any mirrors, which might produce more of the strange optical illusions, but he didn't see the hideous image again. This helped to build his confidence and gave him the encouragement to move on.

At the far end of the hall, he came upon the final room, which he correctly assumed to be Washburn's bedroom. The door was closed, but upon trying the knob, Jack was pleased to see it was not locked.  He slowly opened the door and raising the flashlight walked cautiously inside.  Unlike what he had seen in the rest of the house, the master bedroom, although remodeled, was not nearly as tastefully decorated. In fact, it was quite dark and dismal in appearance, filled with heavy, thick antique furnishings and some of the most thread-bear carpeting Jack had ever seen. It was as if he had entered an entirely different world, a private sanctuary of antiquities. It was like the room existed in another period in time, separate from the rest of the house, furnished in a manner Washburn preferred. Jack had no idea how the man could have slept in a place, which smelled so dank, musty and old.

As if guided by some unseen, magnetic force, Jack immediately went straight toward a large well-worn dresser where he found an ornately decorated man's jewelry box sitting on top. He lifted the lid and was astounded by the number of fine pieces of jewelry inside the box. He decided he would help himself to pockets full of the treasures once he had found what he was looking for. He pulled handfuls of rings, gold chains, expensive watches and medallions from inside of the box as well as what appeared to be gold collector's coins, haphazardly dropping them on the top of the dresser.

When the box was almost empty, he lifted it up, turned it at an angle and dumped the remainder of the items on the dresser.  Jack placed the flashlight on the dresser so it shone in his direction, and then began sifting through the mounds of jewelry searching for his precious wedding band. After several minutes, he realized his search was futile, and the ring was not present among the treasures. Angrily Jack picked up the jewelry box and threw it to the floor. It struck hard against the worn carpeting raising a small plume of dust.

The box was damaged upon impact, and Jack noticed the bottom jutting out at a strange angle where it had broken away. Upon closer examination, Jack discovered there was a false bottom, a secret hiding place, in the box and in his rage he had accidentally uncovered it. He bent down, picked up the box and pulled hard, prying the bottom from the box. It suddenly tore free and both parts flew from Jack's hand. As they did, a cylindrical wad of yellowed, brown-stained tissues fell from the compartment landing on the dirty torn cover of the bed next to the dresser.

Jack walked slowly toward the rolled up tissues already knowing what he would find inside. He cautiously reached down and began unraveling the tissues. As he did so, he saw the skeletal remains of his own severed finger, its flesh mummified and shriveled. And at the center of the decayed mass, he found his ring; his precious wedding ring still attached to the boney, remnant. Jack suddenly got a sickening feeling in his gut as if he might vomit, knowing the rotted, decayed stump lying on the bed before him had once been his own finger.

Jack suddenly felt a sharp pain in his left hand at the place where his ring finger had one been. He knew it as a ghost pain, a phantom ache which he had not felt for years. But now in the presence of his long missing digit, the pain felt almost a real as the night Washburn had taken his finger from him.

Struggling desperately to maintain his composure, Jack took a piece of the tissue, wrapped it around the back end of the finger so he would not actually have to come into contact with the dead appendage and slowly slid the ring off the rotted tip with the other hand. Still using the tissue, he tossed the hideous finger bone across the room where it clacked against the face of a large full-length antique dressing mirror. The sickening bone-on-glass clattering sound sent chill through Jack's body.  He took some more tissues and turning so that he was once again positioned in the beam of the flashlight, wiped some of the tarnish and fleshy remnants from the ring, attempting to bring back enough of its original luster to be able to read its inscription. Then he saw what he had been waiting almost thirteen years to see. The inscription on the inside of the ring read, Jack and Christina 7/14/1979, the date he and his wife had been married.

Jack's eyes fill with tears for the loss of his wife and daughter so many years ago, for the misdeeds, which led to his encounter with Washburn, for the loss of his finger and finally his landing in prison. Perhaps some of the tears were for the happiness he now felt at regaining his special treasure. So many different emotions seemed to flood through Jack simultaneously; thoughts of happier times with his wife and daughter, sadness at their loss and thoughts of hatred and revenge for what Emerson Washburn had cost him.

He looked down at the expensive jewelry on the dusty dresser top and realized he no longer was interested in those stupid trinkets, nor was he interested in the paintings in the living room downstairs. He had gotten what he came for, and now it was time for him to exact his revenge. Even in death, Emerson Washburn would pay for what he did to Jack. If he had any living heirs then they could suffer the loss in his stead; Jack didn't particularly care. The anger was much too strong within him. He knew exactly what he had to do next.