House of Darkness House of Light (67 page)

Decades later, Andrea attended the reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle on an expansive field in Lincoln, R.I. Just passing by, the window of her car was open enough to hear the call; music from a distance. She had to stop and listen. Instantly transporting her back in time, she heard the distant horn; a lone bugler standing on a nearby hillside calling his soldiers to arms. It was identical, disturbing her peace of mind. The woman remembered this distinct sound from childhood, the same music which rode the wind across a valley at the farm. There was no mistaking what she heard. No question what it was or what it was intended to achieve; the gathering together of soldiers who would be the ones to fight their mighty battles and die to win their wars. She wondered about the spirits she left behind in her childhood home; if their battles waged were still raging on, trapped as they seemed to be, caught up in an eternal conflict, held captive on Earth by a mission left unaccomplished: an imprisonment which must surely qualify as cruel and unusual punishment.

“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory

is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or demons, heaven or hell.”

Buddha

 
things that go bump in the day

“Not only is the universe stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine.”

Sir Arthur Eddington

The three eldest girls took the same bus, as all three were simultaneously attending Burrillville Junior-Senior High School. A marching band practice was scheduled after school which had kept Andrea and Christine on campus, stomping around in the vacant parking lot, dressed in their uniforms like two soldiers on the march. Nancy went home alone. (Of course, no one was really ever home alone.) A bright and beautiful spring afternoon, she ran toward the house, peeling off a sweater on her way to the door. Entering the kitchen, she distinctly heard footsteps from someone overhead, loud noises reverberating throughout her bedroom; sounds coming from the kitchen ceiling. Something heavy: the maple dresser or maybe her bed frame being dragged, oak against pine planks, across the bedroom floor directly above. Presuming it was her mother suffering a bout of spring-cleaning mania; Nancy ditched her books and hollered a greeting up the stairwell. The sounds continued. She must not have heard her daughter: “Mom?” Nancy had quite a set of lungs for a young lady so diminutive in stature. No answer: “MOM!” Scratching and scraping persisted unabated. If she didn’t stop it the floor would be scarred for life!

Suddenly aware it was
her
bedroom being rearranged, the teenager pressed into action. Oh! No! She had things hidden from a mother’s eyes, discovery of which would mean certain upheaval. God forbid! Even worse, it meant her mother was potentially organizing the familiar chaos, bedlam with which she was accustomed and perfectly comfortable
as is
; Nancy leapt the stairs two at a time. Approaching the landing, she recalls hearing the same footsteps again and the chimney closet door closing with a grand slam. Someone was pissed! Fearlessly throwing open the door, (as there were no perceived threats other than the prying eyes of a thoroughly disgusted mother) Nancy fully expected to find her room tidy and uncluttered; her mother engrossed in a diary…some not-so-light reading, yet destined to be illuminating.

Everything was precisely as she’d left it earlier in the day; like the game of fifty-two pick up. Snatching her precious diary from beneath a fat mattress, mad-dash-stashing what qualified as contraband securely in an undisclosed location for safe-keeping, Nancy walked back downstairs and out to the yard, locating her diligent mother alone behind the house, at work in the garden.

“Mom!” An outburst startled the woman. “Were you just up in my room?”

“Hi! No, babe…I’ve been out here for hours…want to come help?”

“Not really…” Nancy joined her in a row destined to grow string beans.

Carolyn swept the sweat from her brow and the hair from her eyes with an equally sweaty forearm then handed her daughter the spade.

“Work the ground there…this bed next. Go down about three inches deep, four inches apart. I’ll plant today if the weather holds. You can help!”

“Great.” Nancy was distracted.

“You used to
love
to help me in the garden. Has it lost all of its glamour?” Carolyn was in fine spirits; clearly enjoying playfully teasing her daughter. There was no response forthcoming. She turned to the youngster, an easy kid to read, prompting a quizzical expression on her face. Something happened.

“Mom…have you been reading my diary?”

“No! I didn’t even know you
had
a diary. And even if I
did
know, I would
never
take it and read it! Not that I would ever be able to find it in that room of yours: Shame.” Plunging her hoe into the soft dirt, Carolyn stood upright.

“You’re sure.” Nancy had her doubts and no good reason to question mom further;
her
word, as good as gold…and Nancy knew it: Miss Perronoid!

“Why do you ask? Is there something in there I
shouldn’t
see? Or should?”

“NO! It’s not that. (Yes; actually, it was precisely that,) When I came home from school I heard someone up in my bedroom and my diary wasn’t
exactly
where I left it last night. So I thought, well, maybe…” Carolyn reassured her; there was nobody in the house. No cause for alarm.

“Mom,
someone’s
always
in the house…
someone
was just up in my room, moving all the furniture around…and probably reading my diary!”

“What happened?” Carolyn leaned against a stone wall to listen: “When?”

“I’m telling you,
someone
was dragging furniture across the floor and then slammed the chimney door. I went upstairs but nothing was moved, nothing was different in my bedroom.”

“Too bad; I sure could use some extra help with the spring cleaning around here. You’d think if they were going through the motions and making such an effort, they’d actually get something done!”

“I thought it was you…but now I’m glad it was just a ghost!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it honey…your handwriting is illegible, anyway.”

“It’s not funny, mom!” Nancy’s wrinkled up, crinkly face: as evidence.

“Yes, it is. Paranoia strikes deep…into your heart it will creep! I’ll get you, my pretty!” Flashing dirty fingernails: “Now, let’s see what’s in that diary!” Carolyn let go of her hoe then raced toward the house, Nancy in hot pursuit, both buckling over with laughter; breathless. Carolyn beat her to the kitchen door. Nancy gave up the ghost, gasping for air while shouting after her mom: “Go ‘head! You’ll never find it!” From a distance she heard her mom holler out an equally smartass reply: “I KNOW! But there’s no harm in looking!”

***

One pleasant afternoon Carolyn greeted her girls at the bus stop. She had a surprise waiting for them inside. Mom had baked! Her chocolate chip cake! Everyone was gathering around the kitchen table enjoying their afterschool snack, still warm from the oven. Their chattering was as raucous as usual, but not quite loud enough to muffle a thundering lump landing overhead. THUD! Everyone jumped, startled by the jolt. It sounded like a body hitting the floor. As was her habit, Carolyn did a quick head count. All present and accounted for: no one upstairs. It annoyed Nancy no end; it
always
seemed to happen in
her
room. (Perhaps the spirit had tripped and fallen over her junk!) Eyes met as glances were exchanged but no one said a word. Chrissy, the bravest soul among them shook her head, placing her fork beside the plate. “I’ll go see.” As there were no other volunteers willing to go in her place, Chris climbed the staircase, opening the door to a bedroom appearing to be ransacked. She stood on the landing for a moment, surveying the damage done. Then closing the door, she came back downstairs, returning to the kitchen table, prepared to deliver a brief but accurate, if rather unusual report. Timing is everything in life…and death. Chris had her comic timing down to a science. She waited for just the right moment, Carolyn providing just the right questions:

“So, what hit the floor?” Carolyn was curious. Whatever it was, the impact had shaken the house to its foundation, rattling china in the cupboards. It had to have been
something
very large and quite heavy to create such a racket!

“It’s nothing.” Christine shook her head again, this time in feigned disgust. She then resumed eating her mother’s homemade chocolate chip pound cake while standing beside Nancy, glancing disdainfully at her slob of a sister.

“Are you
sure
nothing fell on the floor?” Perplexed by the sound all of her kids seemed to be taking in stride, Carolyn persisted; inadvertently setting up Christine to respond with a nonchalance for which she has become infamous in the family, adding insult to injury…a perfect George and Gracie moment:

“Mom. It’s
Nancy’s
room. Everything is on the floor!” The kitchen erupted with laughter, again at a sloppy sister’s expense. Chrissy’s line delivery was absolutely flawless. Little wonder she was destined for the stage. Nancy was the only one who didn’t chuckle; did not yuck it up with the rest of them: the only one perturbed by the tale; not amused in the least. Buzz kill. Spoil sport.

“In struggling against anguish one never produces serenity;

the struggle against anguish only produces new forms of anguish.”

Simone Weil

 
things that go bump in the night

“All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.”

Galileo Galilei

One steamy evening Nancy invited a few friends over for a game of cards. During the summer of 1979 she socialized quite a bit. Seriously dating Eddy Richardson at the time, Nancy was certain he was
the
one
.
A casual game: an easy-going round of six; an enjoyable way to spend a date night in one’s own home, unless, of course, there are those intent upon
crashing
the party! Boo!

No one remembers where their parents went that night but the girls had the house all to themselves for a few hours. The gathering came with permission and a verifiable head count. At the height of the sweet season, balmy breezes circulating throughout the room provided some comfort after a long, hot day in the garden. A kitchen; littered with colanders brimming with Swiss chard, tomatoes, green beans and cucumbers…destined to be pickled the following morning. However, for the time being all the work was done: Time to play.

While standing just inside the pantry door pouring a tray-load of lemonade-all-around, Nancy heard something scraping overhead. To her knowledge no one had gone upstairs. Instinct told her to listen. It stopped. Hoisting the tray, as she was approaching the table abrasive sounds became more pronounced. Without saying a word about it to anyone Nancy glared up toward the ceiling and
told
them to
stop it
…in mind. No one present noticed but Nancy; a room rocking and rolling with music and laughter, effectively drowning it out. A good thing she didn’t say what she was thinking; her language was atrocious! Suffice to say, Nancy told a disruptive someone upstairs to
cease and desist.

As there had been no mention of the noise from anyone seated at the table, drinks were served and the card game commenced. Katy was flirting with her dewy fawn eyes again. As if nectar of the gods Jerry drank her stare in faster than the lemonade placed to his luscious lips; soft, round, full lips begging to be kissed, so Katy thought. Kate had it bad, having already arrived at an age to do something about it. She had a plan for later; a detour on the drive home. Too bad it would not work out that way. Bathsheba had plans of her own.

Halfway through their third hand a sudden disturbance abruptly interrupted the game, calling everyone’s full attention
upward
! The young folks looked like a nest full of chicks, necks outstretched, mouths propped open, waiting for a meal from mommy. Nancy hung her head, disgraced; certainly agitated by someone too rude to live! An inconvenient truth she had hoped to avoid, having been forewarned, her wishes were ignored by an uninvited guest.

The sounds became more intense with each passing moment, reverberating through the thick floor boards. Something overhead in Nancy’s bedroom was being dragged across the floor; heavy: wood scraping against wood, perhaps a chest of drawers or an oak bed frame. The sound was distinct and familiar, a common sound occurring in an all too uncommon way. For Jerry, it was an unusually curious anomaly, based on the fact that all living souls in the house were seated snugly around the table at the time.

Nancy had no desire to identify their intruder and would have preferred to ignore it; the same way previous marching orders issued had been dismissed as irrelevant. Events such as these were all-too-frequent, embarrassing to her. After years of explaining them away, she’d grown weary of the practice. Her friends knew what to expect. Though Jerry, as a new addition to their group, had been to the house several times prior to this incident, it was his first bona fide supernatural experience. The young man had been forewarned as well, but he laughed it off, expressing his disbelief in ghosts and spirits, angels and demons. It was a rude awakening when the chivalrous skeptic volunteered to go up and “check it out” for the damsel in distress. Bounding up the stairwell before anyone could either accept or reject his offer, Nancy was mortified! She did not want him to see her disaster
of a bedroom, nor did she want him to run into the stranger-than-fiction resident of the dwelling within its shared space. What she
had
wanted was simple enough, but apparently too much to ask; she’d wanted
them
to behave themselves whenever there was company, goddamn it to hell! Reassuring her haunted houseguests it was
nothing at all
, Nancy quickly followed Jerry upstairs. Cindy knew better…she knew these episodes often occurred with purpose and reason, a deliberate intention; not as accidental tourists. She remained seated at the table awaiting his reaction. Sipping the sweet tart lemonade, she crinkled her lips to disguise
told you so
, hidden within the wicked grin peeking out from the corners of her mouth.