Someone in the House (35 page)

Another lamp made a circle of brightness around Kevin’s lean brown hands and the book they held. They were beautiful hands, scarred by the labors of that long day, but shapely and sensitive. His face was in shadow, but I could see the alert lift of his head as he listened. Yes, it was a story painting—the two generations, one resting after a lifetime of labor, the next virile and strong, ready to take up the burden. I was the only one not in the picture. I was the spectator, looking on.

As I continued to look, more and more I had the feeling that I was missing something. The scene was a puzzle picture, like the ones they invent to amuse children, but more complex—find the heads of ten United States Presidents, or twenty animals. The shape of the hidden object was there, masked by other lines and shapes—glaringly conspicuous once it has been found, invisible until the eyes isolate its outlines.

Kevin was only pretending to read. He hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Finally he closed the book and got to his feet. Bea’s eyes opened. She was not as relaxed as she appeared to be. We all watched Kevin walk to the window and pull back the draperies.

He leaned forward as if trying to see—an impossibility in that howling chaos of darkness, with rain pouring down like a twenty-mile wide waterfall.

“See anything?” Bea asked. I was glad she was the one to voice that silly question. If she hadn’t I would have.

“The big maple at the northwest corner,” Kevin said.

Roger grunted irritably. “You can’t see anything from here. Sit down, Kevin, you make me nervous.”

“It’s going to fall,” Kevin said.

“If it goes, it goes,” Roger said. “Nothing we can do. Unless you’re planning to swim out there and hold it up.”

Kevin’s pose had unquestionably sparked that attempt at a witticism. He strained forward, as if prepared to support a heavy weight. He was wearing white painter’s pants and an old shirt, the sleeves rolled above his elbows; his ruffled brown hair curled over his ears and the back of his neck. A sudden stab of anguish pierced me, as if I knew I was seeing him for the last time.

“It’s going,” he said quietly. “Now.”

The crash caused scarcely a tremor in the solid fabric of the house. Only an echo shook the air, like a high, distant wailing.

And then I knew. I felt neither fear nor horror, only the solemn satisfaction of finally working out the solution to a long equation. But without conscious thought, without even knowing I had moved, I found myself at the front door pushing at the bolts, trying to turn the massive key. Kevin was beside me, his face distorted, his hands attempting to trap mine; he was shouting. “What the hell are you doing? Have you gone crazy?” and something about “letting in the wind.” I understood why he said that. It made me redouble my frantic efforts. Kevin had to hit me. I didn’t blame him. It was the only sensible thing for him to do.

When I came to, I was lying on the couch in the library. I could hear them talking in low, concerned voices. “…always been afraid of storms….” “You didn’t have to hit her.” “…tranquilizers or something? She needs…”

The last comment scared me. Little white pills to dull my fears were the last thing I needed.

“I’m all right,” I said. “I don’t…need anything.”

My voice was steady, but I didn’t open my eyes. I knew they were standing around the couch looking down at me, like the learned doctors in that awful painting of Rembrandt, and I was the naked corpse on the dissecting table, with one arm already opened to bare the bloody bones and tendons. A dead man cannot protect himself from being flayed. I had the same helpless feeling—that their questions, their ignorant concern would tear off the skin and muscle and show the dark places I had to keep hidden. There was so much I still did not understand. Until I did, the safest course was to hide my knowledge. My first reaction had been pure panic, stupid as panic always is. I wanted to lie still, in the darkness behind my closed eyelids, until it was safe to act. But I couldn’t risk it. They might try to give me something—for my own good. Drugged, I would really be helpless. I opened my eyes and moved the muscles of my face.

“I don’t know what came over me,” I said. “Storms. You know how I’m afraid of storms.”

There were the faces I had envisioned, and the expressions of fond concern. I had not realized how the light would distort them, drawing dark shadows in the wrong places and hiding the eyes in black hollows. Bea was kneeling; Kevin and Roger stood on either side of her. Their bodies hedged me in. I could not get by them. But I had decided I wasn’t going to run, hadn’t I? The storm still howled outside in great cries and gasps, like a living, agonized creature.

“The worst is over now,” Bea said gently. “It’s passing now, Anne.”

“Honey, I’m sorry.” Kevin crouched down, his face close to mine. “I didn’t know how else to stop you. If you had gone out there, you would have been knocked off your feet, maybe killed.”

And the wind would have come in.

I didn’t say that aloud. “It’s all right,” I muttered. “You had to do it. I’m fine now.”

They helped me sit up. They brought me brandy and soup and tea, and they chatted brightly to keep my mind off the howling outside. From time to time Kevin or Roger would slip out, making the rounds, checking to make sure the windows were still intact, the shutters closed, everything in order…the house safe.

Bea had been lying, to make me feel better, when she said the worst of the storm was over. It rose to new violence a few hours before dawn, and Kevin came back from one of his trips of inspection to report that water was coming in a couple of upstairs windows. He added, with a reassuring smile at me, that he had taken care of it. Everything was fine.

“Sure,” I echoed. “Everything is fine.”

All the while I was thinking, trying to work out the last remaining pieces of the puzzle. I wasn’t sure it was safe to do this. Maybe thoughts were as perceptible in that house, and as dangerous, as speech. But I couldn’t think of anything else. I had it pretty well figured out by the time a gray troubled dawn lightened the cracks around the draperies and the wind diminished.

The radio had already told us the storm was passing. Nothing of that magnitude had hit the area since 1895, or some such date. Thanks to advance warnings, said the announcer smugly, the damage had not been as bad as it might have been; but most of the utility wires were down, and it would be several days before full power was restored. Everything had been canceled—schools, meetings—and all the businesses in the region were opening late, if at all. There was a long list of emergency numbers for people who needed food, water, transportation, medical attention. It went on and on.

As soon as the rain died down to the strength of a normal storm, Kevin put on boots and mackintosh and went out. He was gone for some time. When he came back he was soaked to the skin, but cheerful.

“It’s over,” he said. “The sun is beginning to come out.”

Roger had fallen into a doze. He awoke with a start and a grumble. We all followed Kevin to the door.

The wind was still brisk up on the heights, but in our hollow it was now scarcely more than a stiff breeze. Gray clouds rushed westward, with streaks of brilliant blue already showing in between. Bea let out a cry of distress at the sight of the flower beds; buds, leaves, and twigs had been stripped. The lawn was littered with debris, and the big maple had seen its last summer. It had fallen straight toward the house, struck, and slid sideways, taking a few shingles with it but doing surprisingly little damage. Indeed, as Kevin pointed out, we had gotten off lightly. If some Good Samaritan would cook him a hearty breakfast on the camping stove he had been clever enough to buy, he would start clearing the drive of fallen branches and taking down the makeshift shutters.

It should have been an occasion warm with camaraderie and shared congratulations—the relief of survival, the triumph of having defeated nature red in tooth and claw. We sat with our elbows on the table; Kevin and Roger wolfed down the food Bea prepared. Everybody talked and laughed and compared notes. Yes, everybody. I played my part quite well, I think. I even joked about my panic, and Kevin’s “brutal attack.” I joined Kevin and Roger in their clean-up efforts. It took our combined strength to drag one big limb off the drive. Little did they know how anxious I was to accomplish that particular chore.

After a few hours Roger wiped his perspiring brow and announced that he personally had had it. The sun was beaming down out of a bright-blue sky and the ground steamed with moisture. We had done the essential chores; the rest could wait till we got help. It was useless to expect anyone to come that day; the gardeners were probably busy cleaning up their own property.

I followed Roger to the house, leaving Kevin still raking and cleaning. He had promised to quit soon and get some sleep. Bea had already gone to bed. I figured they would sleep until evening.

I had to wait till Kevin was out of the way, but there was plenty to do before I left. I packed one bag and shoved it under the bed, in case he came to my room before he hit the sack. Then I sat down at the table and started writing. I couldn’t leave without an explanation. I owed them that, even though I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

I had not been writing long when I heard Kevin’s footsteps. He stopped outside my door for a moment, but didn’t come in.

After I finished my letter I folded the sheets and put them on the bedside table, with the lamp on one corner to anchor them. I got my suitcase out from under the bed and slung my purse over my shoulder.

The house was very quiet. The silence was particularly noticeable in the kitchen, without the normal humming of the refrigerator, freezer, and other appliances. I took the car keys from the board by the door. Annabelle was lying on the hearthrug. She lifted her head to look at me. I leaned over and scratched her gently behind the ears. Her tail moved lazily, a furry flutter.

“Good-bye,” I whispered. That was the only time I had to say it.

14

THE BUSwas two hours late leaving Pittsfield. Not bad, the driver pointed out, when you considered. I got a window seat.

The ravages of the storm were apparent everywhere—flattened crops, shattered trees, flooded roads. Crews were already at work along the highway replacing telephone poles and power lines. We had to make several detours because bridges were out or parts of the road were under water. The bus was full. Everybody was talking about the storm, telling of their own experiences and asking for news. My seatmate, an elderly woman, tried to chat with me, but I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

I was remembering what I had written and wondering whether I should have said more—or less. Not that it mattered.

“We were all wrong. And we were all partly right. It wasn’t someone in the house. It wasn’t some thing in the house. It was the house itself.

“The manifestations we saw and heard were part of it—the cause or the effect, I don’t know which. And of course everything was colored, for each of us, by our personal needs and fears. It tried to give us what we wanted. Does that sound absurd? Think about it. Remember what happened, in the light of that interpretation, and see if it doesn’t fit. Remember the feeling of warmth and of welcome that endured incomprehensibly through all the horrors, reassuring us, forcing us to accept the unacceptable? The whole place is permeated by that atmosphere. It’s like a colorless, odorless gas; the more you struggle, the more you breathe in, and the more it dulls your senses.

“Oh, it made some mistakes. It must have been out of practice after so many years of inactivity. Miss Marion was happy with her ‘companion’; Kevin’s parents didn’t need artificial encouragement, they had everything they wanted. They plan to end their days there, tending their lovely old home with the fond attention, and the money, it requires. Kevin was the problem. He had to stay and carry on the loving, the tending. He had to want to stay.

“So the house tried to make him happy. It experimented. It didn’t mind when he found a flesh-and-blood lover; the other one was only designed to fill a gap. Or maybe it was a test; some people prefer phantoms to reality. Faust was ready to sell his soul for the privilege of embracing the shade of Trojan Helen.

“It never meant to frighten me. I caught it by surprise, that was all, and it didn’t know how to react. There is something horrifyingly human about its reaction; but it is not surprising that after all these centuries it should have developed qualities we think of as human, or at least animal. Self-preservation is one of the strongest of such qualities.

“That’s what it’s all about—the house wanting to survive. It endures repairs and restorations and additions the way a person accepts necessary surgery, even amputation, so long as the essential core can continue. With the help of its attendants, its lovers, it survived flood and storm and siege. And when Armageddon threatened, when the bombs were about to fall, it found a safer place.