House of Darkness House of Light (34 page)

It was true. Mr. Kenyon had provided an ample supply of utility bills for an anxious couple of prospective buyers to peruse. Yet, as months grew warmer, even as the season shared far more natural light, the bills continued spiraling upward, as if the house was being deliberately drained of energy. There was an incessant, low-level humming they could not identify. Long after all of the flies disappeared, omnipresent sounds of them lingered in the still chilly air. It was an unusual anomaly occurring during the last week of school.

The vacant garden spot haunted Carolyn as much as any apparition. It had been a part of the appeal of the place, a reason why she longed to buy a farm. Lamenting the loss, she would often stand out behind the house staring at the unturned earth, imagining what it would have produced for her family. It had been years since Carolyn knew the divinity of such toil. Nothing pleased her more than the aromas, the sensation of cool dirt between her fingers. It was a significant loss for a woman having some difficulty measuring the gains of a major investment made on a place quickly losing its charm.

***

During the last few days of the school year, typically a time when kids find they’ve got way too much time on their hands, Margie approached Andrea. While chatting on the school bus, Margie asked if anything had
happened
to them lately. Their brief conversation was inadvertently overheard by several students who quickly spread the word. In no time Margie was being routinely questioned about the Perrons and the house where they lived. It was common knowledge in the community; Mr. Kenyon always kept the lights on. He got a pass because of his advanced age then because he was alone so much of the time. No one inquired or gossiped about him; the sweet old man who lived in that spooky old house up on Round Top Road. Margie kept the confidence.

Children are intolerant of others; some possessing what appears as a natural predisposition toward cruelty. Whispers persisted throughout the summer. As ghost stories were fabricated, blatant lies were told. By the time the Perrons returned to school the following autumn they were infamous; lives altered by rumor and innuendo. All five, ostracized and shunned by kids they had called friends the year before. Though their house had a reputation for ages prior to their arrival, it was no more than a smoldering story; where there’s smoke, an unholy fire is often fueled by indiscreet comments fanning nefarious flames. Eventually it burst into a powerful pyre. In time, it would burn out of control. Fear the living…not the dead. Sage advice: Words of wisdom.

***

None of the girls were aware of what was being spread around about them. So, on their first day of summer vacation, spirits were high. Everyone was up early, making big plans. After breakfast the girls scattered, except for Cindy, who went upstairs to play with the toys her sisters abandoned for the call of the wild. An excursion through wonders of imagination was an all day affair. Many hours passed without her realizing; it was nearly dinnertime when she recognized the gruesome creature tormenting her mother, having seen her in a
dream
. Squatting on the floor, Cindy had all the figures spread out; her rapt attention fixed on farm animals, finger puppets, trolls and the
Little People
. It didn’t occur to her anything was amiss. The bedroom was suddenly awash in a soft glow associated with twilight, still several hours away. As the closet door opened Cindy assumed it was someone coming to fetch her for supper. Preoccupied, she did not look up immediately. A companion remained quiet. After a moment of silence, a quick glance upward instantly paralyzed Cindy. Frozen in place, the child was in shock. Directly before her eyes an entity of substance slowly approached, floating above the surface of a bedroom floor. Horrified, an eight-year-old could not move, could not breathe the putrid air. Steam escaped her lips; the result of a sudden rise in heart rate, coupled with a sudden drop in temperature. Appearing as some form of a solid mist, Cindy identified the apparition as a woman by her garb. She had no features, only a grayish oval mass cocked hard to one side. She drifted across the room, arms outstretched, extended toward the terrified child. Speaking sweetly, tenderly, with a solicitous voice Cindy could clearly hear in her head but not actually inside the room: she was petrified, in the bubble, unable to burst free of it. “Come here, little girl. Come to me.”

Time was suspended. It ceased to exist…if it ever did. The object of desire was mortified. Odor accompanying this spirit was atrocious; as grotesque as the approaching image itself. A matter of seconds felt like hours trapped with something dead. As it drew closer, she could see stark details of the figure. A white handkerchief dangling from beneath the ruffled edge of a shirt sleeve; the gray flannel blouse with pockets synched tightly at the waist by a flowery apron covering a full-length skirt. No feet. It positioned itself directly in front of her then began leaning in toward her, closer and closer; she came. The air pressure was stifling, pushing on her from every direction. Anticipating the contact, Cynthia begged God for release from an imposed captivity: Granted. She bolted from the bedroom, running through Andrea’s room then down the staircase. Losing her balance, she fell, bouncing over the last few stairs; off the wall then straight into the arms of a startled mother standing at the foot of the stairs, about to come up and get her daughter for dinner. Tears streaked the soft skin on her flushed face. Cindy clung to her mom…for dear life.

“Good Lord! What’s going on?” Carolyn knew it was something wicked.

“A lady came through the chimney closet door and she tried to take me!”

“What? Calm down. Breathe. I can barely understand what you’re saying!”

“She came into my room while I was playing…and tried to take me away! She tried to hug and kiss me and then take me with her!” Cindy’s words were frantic; almost indistinguishable, as vocal tremors vibrated through her torso. Wrapping the youngster securely in her arms, sheltering the traumatized soul the only way she could, Carolyn escorted Cindy over to the sofa. Once there, she tried to calm the girl, still unsure of what occurred. When she noticed her elbows were both scraped and bleeding, Carolyn lifted her shirt to find other abrasions along her back, sustained in a hard fall down the narrow stairwell. Bless her heart. Cindy got hurt. She had not escaped unscathed; not this time.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe in and out. It’s all right. I’ve got you.” Carolyn felt sensations rising she could barely contain; heat on her cheeks, nausea in her stomach. With all the calm she could muster, Carolyn took her daughter into the bathroom, there to tend to physical wounds; uncertain what to do about a psychological impact. While busy with a necessary task, a mother listened as her child choked out hysterical words. Bathing her wounds, applying gauze bandages as needed, Carolyn faced what few mothers ever do. Astounded by the vivid description, she soon realized her daughter’s encounter shared eerie similarities with her own. Head: resembling a hornet’s nest, encased in dense mesh of cobwebs. The smell. The cold. The kiss of death. Floating on the air; hovering over its intended victim. Sleeves with no hands. A skirt but no feet. No features. No face. Snapped at the neck. A desire to be close to its victim; precisely what her mother remembered so well: not something she could ever hope to forget. Time does not heal all wounds. Motivation for the unexpected visit was what seemed quite different, yet proved equally disturbing.

“She loves me, mom!” The words impaled a mother’s heart. Gazing into an innocent face, her child’s wide-eyed-with-wonder expression; Carolyn knew this was something profound: Significant.

“What do you mean…she loves you?” With a voice weakened by her fear, Carolyn softly inquired; by this time she was trembling, too.

“She wants me to be with her.” Terror still dwelling within her daughter’s bloodshot eyes, Cindy was silently pleading with her to make it go away.

“My God.” Carolyn suddenly reached for the side of the bathtub, lowering herself slowly to its porcelain surface; feeling faint. Stunned into submission, she steadied her body and readied her mind, preparing to receive; needing to know if Cindy had anything further to reveal. Was this spirit evil in disguise or had she encountered a benevolent soul; a spirit lost in the ether? She need only listen to know.

“She wants me, mommy. She told me so. She wants me to go with her!”

“
How
did she tell you this?”

“In here.” Cynthia touched the center of her forehead. “And here,
inside
my ears. She talked to me inside my head. I could hear her…I could
feel
it all happen inside me…then the bubble burst. It was
real
strong. She loves me!”

“Well, she can’t have you!” Instantly threatened, a mother began shedding tears of her own; Carolyn’s outburst startled the child. Cindy quickly went to her side, this time to provide some needed comfort: a reversal of misfortune.

“No, mommy! She
can’t
have me…I’m yours!” Holding her mom’s hand, the sweet little girl was too precious for words. Carolyn clinging protectively to Cindy; it was a moment shared. She was frightened for all of her children; at an impasse with a spouse she was beginning to despise. Having patched up the external wounds, Carolyn took Cindy into the kitchen. They spent the rest of the evening together. That night Cindy slept with her mother, as if that bed was any safer a place to be than her own. Truth be told, each of them were equally susceptible: both in jeopardy. Carolyn waited until the children were asleep before telephoning Sam. While sitting alone in the parlor, preparing to call, it occurred to her; she had failed to ask Cindy the most obvious question of all:
Go
where
? Where did this entity want to take her? Perhaps a question she was too fearful to ask. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Sam promised to come the next morning and when he arrived, had his two daughters in tow; the mistress of the house was shocked. Considering a story she’d told him the night before either he did not perceive the threat described or it was empirically true: the man feared no evil.

“Sam. I’m telling you, this bitch wants to run me off and take my kids!” As Carolyn revisited the hellacious story, she became emotional. Sam took her hand then walked her away from the house. His girls were off playing with Nancy, Christine and April. Andrea was playing school with Cindy. The day was glorious. Sam and Carolyn strolled out beneath the shade of an old apple tree, revisiting a happier time and place, by then laden with its supple leaves; blossoms having passed for the season. He had some news of his own.

“I’m glad you called; I wanted to tell you in person. There is no way for us to pursue a case…no way to null and void this sale. Unfortunately, you have no legal recourse in Rhode Island. It has no disclosure laws pertaining to the supernatural. I’m sorry, dear. I know you were counting on it.”

“So you mean we can sue for a leaky roof or demand restitution for a faulty plumbing job but we can’t do a goddamned thing about
this
?”

“I’m afraid not. There’s nothing on the books. These are spirit matters. Our courts won’t touch it; can’t litigate what the court won’t acknowledge exists. There are several attempts on record. All of them failed; refused a hearing.”

Disheartened, Carolyn hung her head. “I don’t want to put my girls to bed at night. Weeks go by when nothing happens at all and then, all of a sudden, I’m catching a kid as she flies down the stairs, terrified out of her mind. This is no way to live. I am trying to provide my children with a normal life in an abnormal environment. It’s out of my control. Everything is out of control! I can’t predict what the next day holds or the next night, for that
spirit
matter! I don’t know where my husband is most of the time and I don’t know if he’ll come home with enough money to keep us going for another month…in hell! I’m exhausted all the time. Sam, I’m getting old too fast.”

Sam did not respond. He didn’t want to lie, nor did he want to tell the truth. Instead, he looked overhead, up through the gnarled, twisted branches of the ancient apple tree. Admiring the view, dappled sunlight splashed across his eyes. Sam studied its tender leaves, left behind once the blossoms had fallen. He could see the pips scattered throughout the branches as it began to bear its fruit for the season. Excited by the prospect, Sam hoped, in spite of his news, the family would still be there at harvest time.

“I wonder how they’ll taste…probably Delicious…maybe Macintosh.”

“With my luck, it’ll be forbidden fruit.” Carolyn was beyond discouraged. She did not see the beauty of the moment or appreciate her country place for what it had to offer besides the obvious; the summer of her discontent.

***

Roger returned home a few days later with better news, having established solid contact with a wealthy new client who owned a tourist-trappy business in Newport. He was not afraid to spend money even though the economy was in trouble and the season had been slower than usual that year. One customer lined Roger’s pockets with cash; he took every bit of it, sending the salesman home with an empty trunk to show for the trip and his efforts. Spirits soaring; Roger was always like a kid at Christmas whenever success smiled upon him and always generous to a fault whenever it did.

“I sold half the load in Jersey. I don’t know what made me think to run the coast on the way home. Before I knew it I’d crossed the bridge and parked in front of his store. It was hot so I stopped to get an ice cream cone. We started talking…I told him what I had. He bought all of it for his gift shop!”

“You could sell snow to the Eskimos, Roger.” Carolyn’s deadpan comment was delivered in monotone.

“He took
all
the gold. All the silver earrings. Chain. Rings. He paid cash!”

“Great. What do you want for dinner…there’s nothing in the house.”

“Let’s go to
Rocky Point
!” (Someone
wanted to ride the
Wildcat
.)

“Are you out of your mind? We can’t afford to waste a dime of that money. God knows when we’ll see more.” Conditioned reaction; reflexive response.