House of Darkness House of Light (2 page)

For separate, perfect and immovable

Images can break the solitude

Of lovely, satisfied, indifferent eyes.”

~ the barn at twilight in snowfall ~

~ House of Darkness ~ House of Light ~

“Because all dark, like those that are all light,

They are cast beyond the verge, and in a cloud,

Crying to one another like the bats;

But having no desire they cannot tell

What’s good or bad, or what it is to triumph

At the perfection of one’s own obedience;

And yet they speak what’s blown into the mind;

Deformed beyond deformity, unformed,

Insipid as the dough before it is baked,

They change their bodies at a word.”

William Butler Yeats

A Vision

 
Prologue in Prayer

“Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.”

Edgar Allan Poe

The telling of this true story is not intended to persuade the reader of its authenticity. Those who believe in the existence of the spirit world will not require convincing; those who do not believe so will likely remain skeptical. It matters that this tale be told with honesty and integrity. Embarking upon the journey has been scary in its own right. For the past forty years the family involved has remained guarded and exclusive about their mutual experience. Delving into the painful memories has proved difficult; rekindling imagery, disturbing emotions long repressed. Exhuming the dead spawned its share of nightmares and yet it is a tale worthy of telling because it is true; a collective memoir worthy of sharing because of the message a family received.

It is a tale of good and evil, life and death, darkness and light. Evil exists. One need only tune in the nightly news to establish this sad, distressing fact. It is as powerful as invisible. We witness myriad manifestations of evil yet it is essentially an intangible force; an intention to deliberately inflict harm. At times it appears as if evil is winning the battle against what is good and pure, kind and sane in this world. The balance seems skewed. Earth’s news is very bad indeed: omnipresent issues of war and peace.

Let there be Light. Truth be told; the human race is immersed in goodness and light. Evil has yet to prevail, though the struggle between them is real. Philosophers and laymen alike, from the greatest minds in history to those merely curious, have wrestled with the concept. Presuming the existence of good and evil, this narrative explores the Nature of life and Transcendence of death. It poses questions yet does not seek answers; nor will it provide any substantive guidance. There are no definitive answers in this realm. For those who lived through it, the mystery remains. It is time to divulge their closely guarded secrets; the time has come to tell the truth.

Acquiring knowledge through direct experience is a blessing and a curse. It defines then redefines. Once something so extraordinary has been witnessed, there is no escaping the imagery impaled in a memory. It cannot be explained and it cannot be denied. There is no legitimate reason to dismiss otherwise consistently reliable senses. Ultimately, we do believe our eyes. We should. Certainty of knowledge informs all else in life, including the inevitability of death and the consequences for souls who linger, suspended in the ether. In the vast continuum of time and space, there are ramifications for mortal and immortal alike.

The following story chronicles this series of phenomenal encounters and metaphysical moments, events which transformed the seven involved in the saga. What the family endured together was absorbed individually, resulting in an intensely personal search as each one discovered their own spirituality, developing a fundamental belief system based upon what they experienced dwelling for a decade in a house alive with death. Those years provided them with hearth and home then gifted them with an explicit knowledge regarding the inherent complexities of life as it intersects the mysteries of death. Each member of the family believes they were privileged to have a powerful truth revealed in their presence, considering what they had shared was nothing less than the stunning realization: there is indeed some form of existence beyond mortal death. Affirming a belief in Spirit, what became their core assumption gradually evolved into simple, certain, steadfast faith.

There is a tendency for time and distance to ease and clarify consciousness; distilling the truth, instilling a sense of peace; replenishing hope where once only torment prevailed. A family’s private recollections, intimate knowledge of Spirit is no longer burdensome to them. Instead, they consider it to be an awe-inspiring responsibility, sharing the belief they have kept their secrets long enough; perhaps too long. The writer believes everything happens in its proper moment in time, with purpose and reason; perfection intrinsic to the Universe.

The cast of characters, both living and dead, is extensive yet the house has the lead. Many have come and gone from this place in the country, some far more quickly than others. It has acquired quite the reputation over the years, legitimately so. Some have departed in reverence. Others have reportedly run for their lives, literally and figuratively. Then there are those who were born, spent their lifetime and died in this fascinating farmhouse, some of whom never left it at all. What happens in this house is infinitely more significant than to whom it happens; the essential truth of the story.

The Perron family requested this tale of darkness and light be honestly told. It contains no embellishment; merely a modicum of literary license regarding dialogue, though some is quite precise. Their intention is not to entertain but rather to inform. The writer humbly respects their request yet as daughter and sister, as one of seven dwelling in the shadow of death during an illuminating decade of life, it is a given. This story is something sacred. Amen.

“It’s not the answer that enlightens, but the question.”

Eugene Ionesco

 
A Proper Introduction

“You are whatever a moon has always meant,

and whatever a sun will always sing is you.”

e. e. cummings

During those final desperate moments of her life, was she frightened by her own intentions or steadfast in her resolve? How could the woman of such an advanced age climb a rickety ladder to the hayloft of the barn then reach over to a beam from which to suspend the rope? Had life become so intolerable to a beleaguered old soul, the drastic measure appeared to be her only option for retreat? Perhaps she’d been ill and had suffered too long in her own wrinkled skin. What measure of pain prompts the notion to deliberately end a precious life? Had she carried her woes up that ladder or had she made peace with the concept and her creator? Did she believe the decision was her own privileged one to make, or did this woman suspect she risked punishment from the God who reserves such judgments as His own, unforgiving of those who take this matter into mortal hands? Only one thing is known for certain; far more than a century ago Mrs. John Arnold decided to claim her life at the age of ninety-three and was discovered, cold and gray, as stiff as the wood from which she was found dangling in the rafters of a barn. Now, suspended in the ether just as surely as she was detected hanging at the unraveling end of a makeshift noose, her immortality lives on as the stuff of legend and folklore; a mystery from the ages…for the ages. She may well have considered it her only escape and yet, truth be told, there was no escape for her wounded spirit. Whether as an act of eternal damnation for an ill-conceived exit from a mortal existence, or as the dire consequence of the premature departure, her spirit lingers still, remaining in her old home place in the country; a farmhouse where she once lived out her days then died by her own hand. May Almighty God have mercy on her immortal soul.

This woman is not alone. There are others, many others who share her fate; what some might describe as a fate worse than death. Perhaps she is the one who tucked the girls in at night, the one who’d loved them well and tenderly kissed their foreheads and smelled of flowers and fruit. It was a presence of comfort and caring; one who never meant to frighten or disturb youngsters in their own beds. Instead, she was a light in the darkness of night; someone to watch over them. It was this holy presence which tempered their fear. In the framework of an inexplicable existence for a family dwelling in a house alive with death, it was a welcome presence, a protective influence in an otherwise scary place. She was not the only one. Johnny Arnold, presumably a relative, made the same critical decision to take his own life in the eaves of the house where he remains. As gentle a spirit as this elderly woman was, he too made his presence known. He was an omnipresent spirit, from the day they arrived at the farm, there to greet them in the dark shadows of a doorway, one cast as the figment from another dimension. Leaning back into his perpetual pose, watching, no doubt wondering about a sudden changing of the guard, he too would soon become a familiar part of the new landscape. And then there was Bathsheba…a God-forsaken soul.

Consider this a proper introduction to but a few of the many who still dwell among the living in a house revealing as many secrets. It took some time for the seven mortals involved, decades to realize, ultimately, they were glad to meet them. What they learned was worth it, though it cannot be simply stated as
in the final analysis
because
this
subject will
be
subject to analysis for the rest of their natural born lives. A lone fear remaining among them now is the potential for an unwelcomed postmortem return to the house they abandoned so long ago as each will eventually, inevitably enter the realm of supernatural life at the threshold of death’s door: a fear of being drawn
home
again, there to resolve the questions left unanswered during a mortal existence; a dreaded possibility. Best to reconcile spirit matters in life than to face them in death; or risk becoming one of the restless spirits of a house drawing souls back to a place in the country, as it had done in life, perhaps with purpose and reason.

“Nothing in the entire universe ever perishes, believe me, but things vary, and adopt a new form. The phrase ‘being born’ is used for beginning to be something different from what one was before, while ‘dying’ means ceasing to be the same. Though this thing may pass into that, and that into this, yet the sums of things remain unchanged.”

Ovid

Metamorphoses

I.

 
A Place in the Country

“And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is

pleasant to the sight, and good for
food; the tree of life also in the

midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.”

Genesis 2:9

So it began. Long before Carolyn Perron ever considered picking up that newspaper at the corner market, the wise, infinite Universe began conspiring with elements on Earth to provide an extraordinary pathway for her family. Perhaps it was fate or their destiny. Whatever it was, powerful forces beyond mortal imagination intervened on behalf of those who sought respite from an intense and chaotic existence. During the summer of 1970 cosmic confluence occurred in the firmament; their journey commenced.

Lo! And Behold.

***

Carolyn was at once thrilled and overwhelmed to have all of her children at home again. It was a breezy balmy end of June, a later than usual dismissal due to an inordinately high number of
snow days
spent at home the previous winter. Finally, school was out for the season. Instead of having only one to watch, there were suddenly five. All of them arrived together, report cards in hand, waving like flags in the wind. Bedlam: Each young lady wanted to be the first in line with a piece of paper certain to solicit praise from her mother. Andrea was at the head of the line. As the eldest, an expectation of deference came with the territory; a claim staked. Nancy stepped forward, followed by Christine; Cynthia presumed to be the last. April was the baby, still at home, watching as her sisters begged for the same type of attention she received all day, every day. With a usual thoughtful and kind consideration of each child, Carolyn perused their grades, acknowledging her girls for any efforts made. Education had become a friendly competition in the family, due primarily to a positive emphasis placed upon it. As Carolyn was well aware, the children worked diligently merely to please their parents. In those days there was no such thing as an allowance, at least not in their household. Encouragement and approval meant everything; their greatest reward. The rest of the payoff would have to wait until later in the evening when their father arrived home. His acknowledgements were always more subdued and understated, always a critical mention of room for improvement, though meaningful nonetheless.