The Haunting of Pitmon House (23 page)

“They’re worried,” Robert said. “Some of the wounds are deep,
and they’re still trying to figure out if internal organs are OK. They might
need to perform surgery. They suspected me until he gained enough consciousness
to talk to them and clear me.”

“Oh, Robert,” she said, extending her arms to hug him. “I’m
so sorry.”

He hugged her tightly. “He’s a tough old man. I know he’ll
pull through.”

“I’m sure of it,” she said.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he said, releasing her.
“This everything from the room?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Just the shelf and this bag.”

“Did you figure out what did that to your fingers?”

“No,” she said. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

Robert reached under the slate and lifted it. Eliza reached
for the umbrella and the sack, and they walked to the car.

“She’s gone,” Eliza said, sitting on a chair next to
Granger’s hospital bed. “They said she checked out last night.”

“Checked out?” Robert asked. “How could she have done that?
She was in no condition to check out.”

“She might have changed hospitals,” Eliza replied, “for
insurance reasons. They won’t tell me, of course. I wonder if that means I’m
not covered?” She looked at her bandaged hands.

“They’re gonna charge you a couple of thousand dollars for
those bandages,” Granger said weakly from his hospital bed.

“I can’t believe she’d just leave and not say anything,”
Eliza said.

“You’ll find her,” Robert replied. “We’ll search the other
hospitals until we do. Or someone at your work will know. She has to tell them,
at least, right?”

“She had me tell them for her,” Eliza said. She was beginning
to wonder if Rachel didn’t want any of them to know where she’d gone.

“You got the legend shelf?” Granger asked.

“It’s in the car,” Eliza answered. “Along with a skull that
isn’t human.”

“Well, it’s kind of human,” Robert said. “Part of it looks
human.”

“Much of it does not,” Eliza replied. “I know I’ve seen a
skull like that somewhere before, maybe in a biology class. It’s almost
simian.”

“An ape?” Granger asked. “Like the one you said you saw on
the stairs?”

“Ah,” Eliza said. “I only saw the legs. Hard to say. And then
there was this.” She held up the spindle, pulling the cord from it so they
could see the braiding.

“Oh!” Granger replied, trying to sit up in bed but wincing
from the effort.

“Don’t move around, Dad!” Robert said. “Stay still.”

“Can I see it?” Granger asked.

Eliza handed him the spindle. “I was hoping there would be a
journal or something that would tell us what happened. There was only the
shelf, the bones, and that.”

“My dear,” Granger said, holding the braid. “Your hopes were
not in vain. This is a journal!”

“That?” Eliza asked.

“This is a memory cord,” Granger said. “It’s an ingenious
type of journal. Can’t be destroyed like paper. Can’t be read like paper,
though. We’ll need a translator. We’ll have to call Edgar.”

“Edgar?” Robert asked. “Uncle Edgar?”

“Yes, him,” Granger replied.

“I thought you two don’t talk anymore,” Robert replied.

“We don’t,” Granger said. “He’ll want to be paid for doing
it. We’ll have to scrape up some money.” Granger handed the spindle back to
Eliza. “Keep that safe. It shouldn’t be hard, it’s damn near indestructible.”

Eliza pulled the cord from it once again, looking at the
intertwining of colors. Some were red, black, and brown, while others were
metallic; gold, copper, silver.

“A memory cord,” she muttered. “And we don’t know who it
belongs to.”

“Could be Kendall’s,” Robert offered. “Or maybe Tena or
Dominic.”

“All speculation until we reach Edgar,” Granger replied. “His
number is in my rolodex at home. I want you to give him a call and convince him
to come translate it. It’ll help that it’s not me calling. If he wants money,
negotiate.”

“What I really need is a solution for Shane,” Eliza said. “I
was hoping that once we got through that wall, a solution would be evident.”

“It may well be,” Granger replied. “Your solution is likely
on that memory cord.”

“I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow,” Eliza said. “Three
days sick, and Rachel gone — they’re gonna be pissed.”

“Go,” Robert said. “I’ll set something up with Uncle Edgar
and let you know.”

“When do they make the surgery decision?” Eliza asked.

“We won’t know until tomorrow,” Robert replied. “I’ll call
you with that news, too.”

She stood. “I want you both to know how much I appreciate
what you did for me in that house. I never would have made it inside without
your help.”

“Would you like me to move the legend shelf to your car?”
Robert asked. “You want to take it home?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I kinda do. I’ll leave the bones and this
spindle with you, if you don’t mind.”

“We don’t mind,” Granger said. “Go home and we’ll let you
know as soon as things with Edgar are arranged.”

They said their goodbyes and Robert drove Eliza back to his
place, where he transferred the legend shelf from the Fiat to her car. As he
finished the task, he turned and accidentally bumped into her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Standing in your way.”

“You’re never in my way,” he said, smiling at her.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he replied.

She walked to the driver’s side and got into her car, and
replayed the day over and over in her mind as the highway rolled under her.

●

“Your father isn’t here?” Edgar asked, stepping into Robert’s
place. He was a tall, thin man wearing a long trench coat.

“He’s in the hospital,” Robert replied.

“Oh, getting corrective treatments for his asshole problem?”
Edgar asked.

“Actually,” Robert said, escorting Edgar to the sofa where
Eliza was waiting, “he was cut up pretty bad.”

“Cut up?” Edgar replied, the sarcasm leaving him. “Oh. I’m
sorry. I apologize for that comment.”

“Look, whatever happened between you and my dad,” Robert
replied, “we really do need your help.”

“I told your father to never call on me for help again,” Edgar
said.

“I’m calling, Uncle Edgar,” Robert replied. “Not my father.
It’s me asking, not him.”

“He’s not involved in this?” Edgar asked. “Not in any way?”

“He’s involved,” Eliza said, extending her hand. “Granger and
Robert have been helping me. Well, helping me and my brother, who’s very ill.
You’d be helping me and him.”

“And what is wrong with your brother?” Edgar asked, shaking
her hand.

“He’s so violent they have to keep him drugged up,” Eliza
said. “We think he was infected by an object that was in Pitmon House.”

“Pitmon House?” Edgar repeated, his eyebrows rising. He
turned to Robert. “You didn’t say anything about Pitmon House!”

Robert replied with a weak smile.

“We may have cracked the place,” Eliza said, reaching for the
spindle on the coffee table. “We got several things from it, including this.”

The look of horror on Edgar’s face surprised Eliza. Edgar
stood and walked behind the sofa.

“It’s safe,” she said, holding it up. “At least, we think it
is.”

“Think it is?” Edgar asked. “From Pitmon House? I doubt it!”

“There was a legend shelf that had gone haywire,” Robert
said. “Eliza shut it down. The most violent manifestations have gone.”

“And whatever secret was held inside that house,” Eliza said,
“is probably contained in this memory cord. If I’m going to help my brother, I
need to know what happened. I need you to translate this for me.”

“So, all the bad blood between our families,” Edgar said,
“and you still want a favor from me. Not only a translation, but a dangerous
one. That’s a lot to ask.”

“I don’t have any bad blood,” Robert said. “And certainly
Eliza doesn’t.”

“But your father does,” Edgar replied. “He shouldn’t be
surprised that I’d refuse.”

Eliza put the spindle back on the table and stood, walking
around to Edgar until she was standing right next to him.

“I understand,” she said. “Pitmon House scared the shit out
of me when we first went there. I know it has a reputation. Listen, I don’t
have much experience with these things. And I don’t have much money, either.
Robert has been helping me try to save Shane, and hasn’t asked for anything in
return. Neither has Granger. Three people have been hurt pretty badly by all of
this, so I understand completely if you want to say no. But I think I’m close.
What’s on that memory cord might end it all.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of dangerous things can be
woven into a memory cord?” Edgar asked. “It could be nothing more than a booby
trap. It’s a huge risk.”

“Is there any way to detect that,” Eliza asked, “before you
translate it?”

“No,” Edgar replied. “The only clue you can get from it is
the subject matter itself, and to determine that you have to translate it, inch
by inch.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Eliza replied. “My brother’s life
is in your hands. I’m begging you to put aside whatever history you have with
Granger and put aside whatever fear you may have about Pitmon House. Please
help my brother. He’s only fourteen. He has his whole life ahead of him. None
of this is his fault, yet he lies strapped down to a bed. I think you can
change all that with just a few moments of your time. Please.”

She watched as he looked at the spindle on the table. He
walked around the chair and picked it up, examining the thread. “Seems benign,”
he said. “It’s oral, not visual.”

“What does that mean?” Robert asked.

“It means I can’t project an image from it,” Edgar replied.
“I’ll have to recite what I find.”

“Perfect,” Eliza said. “We’re ready anytime you are.”

He sat in the chair. “If we encounter material in this cord
that is threatening or dangerous in any way, I’m going to stop the translation.
Entirely my prerogative. As long as it remains informational I’ll keep going,
but I reserve the right to stop at any time.”

“Alright,” Eliza said, sitting next to him. Robert took a
seat opposite them.

Edgar removed a small box from his jacket, about the size of
a checkbook. A lid lifted open on hinges, doubling its size, exposing a complex
series of gears and arms inside. Eliza watched as Edgar carefully threaded the
cord into the device, following a channel that wound it around the gears,
creating a loop that hung out over the edge of the box.

“Eliza, I’ll ask you to handle the spindle,” Edgar said.
“Pull off sections of it and make sure there’s plenty of slack to feed into the
mechanism.”

“Alright,” she replied, reaching for the spindle.

“Robert, I’d like you to wind up the processed part,” Edgar
continued. “It’ll come out here; just wind it around your hand. When we’re all
done, we’ll feed it back onto the spindle.”

“Sure,” Robert said, moving to sit next to Edgar’s left.

“Now,” Edgar said, removing a pair of thin gloves from his
jacket and slipping them on, “I’m going to drop into the River and I’ll be
using my fingers to translate here, at the loop. As I do, I’ll pull more of the
cord into the device. Eliza, you make sure it feeds OK; I won’t be able to
monitor that. As I finish with a section, it’ll pass through here, and Robert,
you wind it up.”

“The gloves allow you to read what’s on it?” Eliza asked.

“No, the projector allows me to read it,” Edgar smiled, “combined
with my abilities. These gloves are for protection, in the event I encounter
something nasty. They slow down the translation a little, but I can’t take the
chance with this thing.”

“Understood,” Eliza said.

“Alright,” Edgar replied. “If you’re ready, I’ll begin.”

“I’m ready,” Eliza said. “You, Robert?”

“Let’s do it,” Robert replied.

Edgar took a deep breath and became silent for a minute
before he began to speak.

My name is Jonah Pitmon,
Edgar said, his voice low and quiet.

Jonah?
Eliza thought.
Not a name we’ve heard before.

Edgar continued.
I’m leaving this journal in the hopes
that someone in the future may discover what happened to me and my dearest, and
set things right. Dominic and Tena can’t destroy this; I know they would if
they could, since it’s been Dominic’s mission in life to destroy mine at every
turn. I realize if it’s found by a layman it will probably be discarded, but
I’m hoping it’s found by someone with the gift. Given Tena’s terrible use of
it, it will probably take someone with supreme talents to find this journal.
So, whoever you are, your attention to my story is appreciated in ways you will
never know.

To tell you what happened, I need to take you back almost
forty years, to when I was young. At the time, Keith Pitmon, my uncle, was
doing well in business. He hadn’t built Pitmon House yet, but he was successful
and considering a run for Congress.

My father, Gary, was Keith’s younger brother. My mother,
Mary, had the gift. She taught me how to use it as a youth in my teens. I
believe my father knew of the tutelage, but never spoke of it.

One year, when I was in my twenties and still single, we were
attending a summer family retreat outside of Traverse City, sponsored by
Keith’s family. The entire clan was there, enjoying the wealth that had come
their way because of Keith’s dealings in the aluminum business. He made a habit
of summer reunions once he had the money to fund them, and I think this was the
third or fourth of what would be a string of them that went on for many years,
until he lost everything.

All of Keith’s siblings were there, with their families.
Keith’s older brother, Louis, was there with his wife and two children, a girl
who was fifteen and a boy who was close to my age: Dominic.

Louis always seemed sycophantic to me, always trying to
ingratiate himself with Keith, more so than any of the other siblings. His wife
was a quiet, demure woman who was very kind to us as an aunt, and I remember
the daughter, Kendra, as being similar in nature.

Dominic, however, had always been an odd duck. Whenever I
interacted with him at an earlier age, I found him to be a strange mix of
spoiled brat, bully, and a person utterly lacking in real self-confidence. He
was a half year older than me, and when we were very young, that age difference
was enough to put him in charge. We got in trouble a couple of times for
escapades he led and forced me to participate in; one time, it was playing with
matches behind his parents’ garage; another, he decided to play doctor with one
of the caged rabbits on their property, and he forced me to participate as he
butchered the animal.

In all cases where we were exposed, his father blamed me as
the influence that led Dominic to commit reprehensible acts, unable or
unwilling to see the fault in his offspring. Reports of the acts were relayed
to my father, who disciplined me for my participation. I learned early that
associating with Dominic would lead to bad outcomes, and I avoided him as much
as I could. Still, he showed up at almost every family function, his father
desperate to demonstrate his family’s loyalty to anything Keith requested, and
the adults never seemed to monitor or restrict Dominic or their own children’s
involvement with him, perhaps for fear of displeasing Louis, who many believed
had Keith’s ear. Things were different back then; children were allowed to run
free most of the time. Parents seemed unconcerned about the fears that plague
them today. Certainly at one of Keith’s reunions, the adults were of a mind to
relax, enjoy the scenery, have a few drinks, and let the kids out of their hair
for a while.

On this particular occasion, we were staying in a gigantic
summer home next to a lake. There were cottages surrounding the main house, all
filled with members of the family. I’d guess there were over a hundred people
there, not counting the servants Keith hired to provide food and keep drinks
prepared for the adults. Besides associating with family that I enjoyed, I
found it easy to avoid Dominic with such a large group. Still, I noticed him
here and there, as unnerving as he’d always been. I made sure we never made eye
contact, and if it seemed he was coming in my direction, I found ways to dodge
him and engage with groups that I knew he wouldn’t want to join.

On that particular summer excursion, something unusual and
wonderful happened to me, something that became one of the most magnificent and
important things that ever occurred in my life. I had found a way to escape
from the others, and was resting on the private beach near the lake. It was
late afternoon, and no one was around, which was fine with me — I wanted some
time to enjoy myself, and I wanted to drift in and out of the River, enjoying
the sensation of moving between the real world and the unseen. I mentioned that
my mother had the gift and taught me; by the time of this trip, I was well
versed in its use and knew how to operate within it discreetly. As far as I
could tell, no one else in Keith’s family was gifted like my mother and me, and
with Keith’s candidacy for a congressional seat, everyone in the family was on
strict notice to remain discreet and to never give cause for any aspersions, so
it was unlikely anyone would admit to such abilities, and I certainly wasn’t
going to.

As I lay on the beach, enjoying the view of the water from
both in and out of the River, I noticed a woman rising from the lake, as though
she’d just swam in from another part of the shore. I hadn’t noticed her
arriving until her head crested the water a few feet from the bank, and as she
rose, her body becoming slowly exposed to the air, I was taken with her intense
beauty. At that age any partially-clad woman was likely to be attractive to me,
but this woman was beyond attractive — it felt magnetic, like an animal allure
that made my mind euphoric and my sex aroused. I sat up and watched as she
walked on shore. She pulled on her long hair, squeezing the water from it. She
noticed me staring, and came over to me.

“You alone?” she asked. My mind raced. I felt my heart
beating rapidly. In my throat were a million cotton balls, sucking up all of
the moisture, making it impossible to speak. I nodded instead.

She extended a hand, and I took it. She was warm and soft. I
asked where we were going, and she pointed to a boathouse a hundred feet in the
distance. I felt my heart leap in anticipation; it felt like the type of thing
you dream about, but here it was, playing out. I remember thinking that perhaps
I had fallen asleep on the beach, and would wake up at any moment, but the sensation
of the rocks under my feet reminded me that I was wide awake, and about to have
some type of encounter.

As we entered the boathouse I looked around, concerned that
someone from the family might see us go in. There was no one; we had the beach
and the boathouse to ourselves.

Inside we engaged in a passionate union that I can only
remember as transformative. Talking about it now, I can’t accurately recall how
long we spent in that boathouse, but I do recall at least four orgasms, and the
faint smell of marine fuel, mixed with the sweet odor of the Wisteria that grew
all over the structure.

When we parted, I begged her for her name, and a way to reach
her. She walked back into the water, and said she’d return the next day. I
watched as she swam away, descending below the surface. I hurried back to the
house, where I arrived in time for dinner. I was in a state of ecstasy the
entire evening, and was questioned about my dreamy countenance by several
cousins. I lied and said I was merely in a good mood, but the truth was I had
never felt so incredible. I wanted to see her again, and I made plans to escape
from the organized family activities of the following day so I could be on the
beach when she arrived.

We met several times after that. Each was as good or better
than the first time, and I found myself falling in love. She told me her name
was Sydney, and that she lived in a house on the lake nearby. Although I begged
her for her address or some way to contact her, she would never tell me.

On the last day of our stay, I managed to spend some time
with Sydney in the boathouse, and we enjoyed each other’s bodies for a very
long time — I remember telling her how devastated I was that I would be leaving
the next day, and I didn’t know how I would get on without being able to see
her. We talked for a long time. She wouldn’t give me any way to contact her, no
address to which I could write, or a phone number to call. She said she knew
we’d see each other again at some point, and that was that — she swam away that
day, leaving me in tears on the beach, heartbroken. I would have swum after
her, but I knew she wouldn’t have it. She’d been in charge of our brief affair
from the beginning, and as we separated, the terms were still all under her
control.

As we returned home, others noticed my melancholy mood. I
told them I was sad to be leaving such a beautiful place. I think one or two of
them realized something special had happened to me while we were there, but
most of them just rolled their eyes, happy to be free of the obligation of
attending Keith’s reunion — as grand as it was — and happy to be returning to
their regular lives after the vacation.

A year went by. To my delight, the summer family retreat the
next year was to be held at the same location; apparently I wasn’t the only one
who thought the accommodations and surrounding beauty were exceptional. I
arrived excited to meet Sydney, anxious to make my way to the beach. After the
first day, most of the others engaged themselves in activities closer to the
house, and the beach saw little use, like the previous year.

I waited for hours, hoping to see her head rising from the
waters, but she didn’t appear. After a while I decided to walk to the
boathouse, to see if she was there.

When I entered the boathouse, my heart sank. Sydney wasn’t
there, but someone else was — Dominic.

At first I thought I had surprised him, as he was acting very
strangely — more oddly than normal. I soon realized he was playing a game with
me, trying to get me to talk about why I had come to the boathouse.

I prevaricated and tried to change the subject, but he kept
mentioning how secluded the boathouse was, and how it would be a perfect place
for a tryst. After a while I wondered if perhaps he was coming on to me, and
trying to gauge my reaction. I tried to offer signals that would dissuade him,
and decided to leave.

He stopped me. “I know what you did here,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Last summer,” he said, walking toward me. “With that animal.
I saw you through that window.” He pointed at a small pane in the boathouse
door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.

“I saw you fucking it,” he said, approaching. “At first I
thought it was sick, but the more I watched, the more it intrigued me. And I
think I may have met a kindred spirit.”

He reached out to touch me, and I stepped back. I certainly
had no interest in men, and had there been the slightest interest, it would not
have been directed toward Dominic. At the time I was confused as to why he
thought he could approach me in this manner. I told him to back off.

He took the hint immediately, and I saw his eyes shift as he decided
how to react. It was as though he mentally shifted to a different plan.

“I wonder how the family would react to learn what kind of a
pervert you are,” he said. “Fucking an animal. I’m sure you’d be very popular
with Uncle Keith.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice rising. “I saw you in
here, doing it. I’ll spill it all to my father and Uncle Keith. You’ll be a
family embarrassment, a pariah.”

I decided to stop evading the subject and take him on
directly. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time someone in this family had an
affair. I’m not married; they won’t give a shit. You’re just jealous. And
there’s a good chance they wouldn’t believe you, anyway. You’re not exactly
credible, Dominic.”

“I have pictures!” Dominic sneered. “To my recollection no
one in the family has ever been accused of bestiality, but the pictures I have
will prove there’s a first time for everything!”

“Bestiality?” I replied. “I don’t know what you think you
saw, Dominic. Perhaps you’re so twisted you wouldn’t know a beautiful woman
when you saw one.”

“I know a hairy beast when I see one!” Dominic said. “And I’m
sure the family will recognize your cock, sliding in and out of it!”

“What are you talking about?” I said. “I had sex with a woman
last year, so what? I’m proud of it. I won’t be blackmailed.”

Dominic pulled the photos from his back pocket and handed
them to me. They were in black and white, and I examined them, slowly feeling
my stomach give out as my mind began to numb. In each picture, I was engaged in
the most grotesque intercourse with some kind of animal. Its hair was evident,
and some shots even showed hooves. I wondered how he’d doctored the photos, but
as I looked at each of them, I realized they were genuine. His camera captured
something that my mind did not. Whereas I had seen and made love to what I
thought was a beautiful woman, Dominic’s camera had captured scenes of graphic
perversion. I was horrified.