House of Darkness House of Light (31 page)

***

“Sam. You were dead wrong.”

“I beg your pardon? Who…is this…Carolyn?”

“You might be keeping Casper as a pet in Providence but I’ve got a serious problem here, one in particular. She’s mean and ugly and wants me dead just like she is…and this is nothing to ignore!”

“Why do you…you sound so…different.”

“I
am
different. I will never be the same again. No one ever could be after something like this. Sam, you don’t understand.”

“Carolyn, what the hell happened? What’s wrong?”

“Hell happened. Something terrible, something evil happened in this house and everything is wrong; I have seen things that changed my mind…my life, forever. Sam. We have to sell this place. We have to get out now.”

“Calm down, dear.”

“She’s dying to live in my house…she practically crawled into my bed!”

“I know you’re upset.” Sam could barely wedge his words in between hers.

“The bitch can have it! And if she wants my husband so badly she can have him, too. I’ll take my kids and go!”

“Take a deep breath. I’ll be there in an hour.” Click.

Having received some bad advice from an otherwise good attorney, she’d prepared for Sam’s arrival; her spiral notebook ready…something tangible to enter into evidence. Sam would consider it proper documentation; hard copy regarding an infinitely harder event. Common knowledge: lawyers prefer to have something in writing. Friends see with blind faith eyes; vision based on personal relationship; she wanted him to see what was etched on those pages with the eyes of an attorney; no personal validation required. Carolyn sought understanding instead. If he grasped the notion, perhaps he too would change his mind, realize this threat as posed; recognize the gravity of their situation: Nothing cute or friendly about it. She required his help. Sam was enlightened by the darkness of a story she told; yet another rude awakening at dawn.

As promised, he was there within the hour. She sat him down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and stale sweet roll. They had some privacy to talk. April was in the parlor, engrossed in the Letter
B
and the Number
3
. Big girls had gone off to school. Roger was on the road, again. Carolyn had waited as long as she could; a few days, before phoning a friend. It took time to absorb what happened; to process before attempting to discuss. Morning light sliced across the table, landing on the tablet with laser beam precision. Sam studied its tattered surface, cloth stained by many years of handling. Pencil streaks and doodles adorned the shabby cover; its cardboard base bent at the corners.

Fighting to maintain her equilibrium, bracing against fear, Carolyn opened the notebook to precisely the pages revealing her secret, as if marked for easy access. There it was, hiding in plain sight: the deeply disturbing images of an entity which qualified as something wicked; infinitely shocking, yet more so when it was in her bedroom and in her face; an up close and personal affront.

“Here you go; now you have it in writing. As I told Roger…I’m not insane. Sam…I am
not
a liar.”

“Carolyn. No one has thought or said anything about you being either.”

“Roger doesn’t believe me. Not a word of it.”

“He
said
that to you?”

“He doesn’t
have
to say it; not in those words. I know how he feels about all of this. He thinks I’m to blame…somehow all of
this
is my fault!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re responsible for…”

“I’m sure you’re wrong. Look at this thing. The smell of it was nauseating. See the head? Well, it really wasn’t a head, more like a mass of rotting flesh, all gray covered with a mesh of darker cobwebs. Like a hornet’s nest; flimsy paper held together with this…stuff. Look how it hangs off the side, a broken neck I think and there were arms but no hands, only wisps of shredded fabric and broken bones. The dress was greenish brown, a slender belt here with the same fabric on the buckle. There were pockets, here…and on the bodice and here, a narrow ribbon of lace at the top of her collar.”

“Amazing detail…Carolyn, this is remarkable.” Genuinely impressed with her rendering; Sam saw a memory captured on paper for posterity and proof.

“Not something I could forget…from the moment she was in my face.”

“This has to be the most fascinating breakfast conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Smartass! Listen up! There’s something to learn here.” Class: in session.

“I assure you, my dear. You have my undivided attention.”

“Sam, there is
something
beyond death; beyond life as we know it. Here is proof.” Carolyn sharply snapped her fingers against the page. Sam appeared grim. He studied the illustrations, pulling the notebook closer, using glasses for a better look. It took nearly twenty minutes to tell her story. Difficult as it was to relive, she had to share the sordid details with him. When finished she felt assaulted all over again. It left her squeamish. Cold: a vivid description, chilling. Sammy suggested they gravitate toward the warmth of the fireplace. Tucking the tablet into a dark crevice of the sideboard, Carolyn’s companion lead the way; a gentleman escorting the mistress of the house. Heartened to leave the heavy air behind, he sighed, feeling each thickly laden molecule of it weighing upon him; the density of reviled imagery evoked with sketches, a few words. She’d stoke the waning fire while Sam greeted April. Throwing herself at his belly, she held on tightly to his suspenders while he kissed her on the head. Click. The pantry door unlatched. Still in his arms, she turned to watch as the door drifted slowly open, its rusty hinges whining mournfully.

“Something bad happened in there.” The child returned her full attention to Sam then back to
Sesame Street
as if nothing had happened; a commonplace occurrence. Her simple words were telling. Exchanging glances with Carolyn told the rest of the story. Shivers passed through him; the gentleman, visibly shaken. Carolyn knew then; Sam did understand. Having observed her as she crossed the parlor, closing the pantry, Sam could not help but notice how her vibrancy had severely diminished; her youthful glow was gone. Stooped over while tending to the fire; a beautiful woman suddenly seemed so much older: an equally disturbing realization. Five months since his friends purchased the home of their nightmares…at his urging and with his assistance.

After several minutes huddled near the fire, Sam was sufficiently warm and ready to go. Overwhelmed by what he had seen and heard during their hastily arranged visit, Carolyn did not press him further, knowing the man had been inundated with information. It would require time to digest, as it had for her. She helped him with his jacket then embraced the man, the one she trusted; the one who could help her…if anyone could. Carolyn walked him outside.

“I’ll do some research. We may be able to void the contract and get you out of this deal and out of this house…on the basis of a failure to disclose.”

“Anything you can do. I can’t just live with it, Sam. I can’t. I won’t.”

Before leaving, he gathered up more blossoms from beneath the apple tree before they passed for the season. It occurred to him it may be his last chance to collect the delicate treasures. They could soon be gone; an escape from the evils of paradise. He seemed sad as he departed; distracted by the thought.

Once Sam was gone, Carolyn retrieved the notebook, tucking it discreetly, secretly away into a dark hole she had chosen specifically for its safekeeping. Her only other friend destined to see it was in Nova Scotia for the summer. Cathi fell madly in love with Canada on previous trips, deciding to explore as much as possible during the few months a year when it was easier to navigate the frozen tundra; she was due home later in September. Though they stayed in touch, Carolyn had not disclosed details of the ordeal, deciding instead to wait for her return. It was not the kind of information which lends itself well to a letter; necessary to have an “in person” conversation with a friend. Their time would come. Having shown this notebook to Roger, as her evidence, he would later disavow his initial reaction, claiming to remain unconvinced. In Sam’s presence, Roger would again describe their encounter as a
nightmare
, discounting the real wounds he’d sustained in battle, as if they never existed, explaining in his usual patronizing manner how Carolyn was the victim of a vivid imagination: Told you so, Sam.

Roger was afraid to believe her. His disbelief was no reflection on his wife but she did not see it that way, taking great exception to his doubt and denial. Relocating the sacred text far from the prying eyes and curious minds of their children, the tablet would come out of hiding only twice before disappearing forever. Carolyn showed it to Cathi when she returned the following autumn. In the interim, it kept space and time inside the beehive oven, buried behind a stack of antique books the children knew they were
not
allowed to touch; an off-limits area where they were not allowed to go. Carolyn was quite clear. It was a non-negotiable closet; warm, dry and dark: a perfect place to hide. For three years this notebook remained there undisturbed. Nobody knew where it was, not even her husband. The highly principled woman never attempted to lie about it…but she knew how to withhold; learned how to keep a secret.

***

Cindy crawled in bed beside her big sister. She was just a peanut, really; a little girl with concerns of her own. Andrea threw back the receiving blanket, warmly welcoming her, inviting Cindy to sleep over on another chilly night. It was late. Cindy was trembling. The child was scared to death.

“Annie, I keep seeing things in my bedroom. My toys all move around. If I run downstairs to go pee or tell mom something my toys are all moved when I come back. I know it’s
not
April doing it. The last time it happened I was the only one playing up here. Everyone else was outside the whole time. We have ghosts. They talk to me. I see them. I can feel them all the time.”

“I’ve seen strange things, too. Don’t worry. Do you want to tell mom?”

“No. I want
you
to tell mom.”

“Why? Do you think she’ll believe me more than you?”

“No. You talk better than I do. Tell her about the lady who comes after she tucks us in, how she leans over me to kiss me but I never feel the kisses. It’s
not
mom. I
know
it’s not. She smells different than mom does…mom smells like soap but this lady smells like flowers and fruit. But then, after she leaves another lady comes late at night. It always says threes on the clock when she wakes me up. I feel her first. She makes me so cold and then the room stinks! She’s the one who hates mommy. I saw her in my bad dream when mom was screaming and the ghost wouldn’t let me go help her. I saw it happen.”

Testimonials began within days of the manifestation in Carolyn’s bedroom. One after another, the girls came to their eldest sister, reluctant to share their many unusual experiences, feeling safe to do so with her. Their stories were disturbing; everything from vibrating beds to shadows crossing through their bedrooms to multiple voices whispering in tandem at night. It was one thing after another. Andrea was concerned knowing what happened to their mother was
not
a nightmare. This was something else: something wicked. She didn’t want to distress her any further but these confessions could not be ignored or dismissed; she could not keep anymore secrets. Time was fast approaching to have a serious conversation about what was occurring in their home; again.

Andrea waited impatiently for the right opportunity. She felt guilty having to burden Carolyn; a necessary evil. One evening in early June, the first real hint of pending summer warmth carried softly, like a promise on the breeze, Andrea went to her mother, asking to speak with her privately. It might have been a tone in her daughter’s voice or a secret they shared which caused her to drop everything and follow her lead. They went onto the porch together.

“Mom, I really hate to tell you this but I have to do it anyway.” Remorse in her voice was telling: very bad news…nothing a mother wants to hear.

“What is it, honey?” Carolyn knew. She could feel it like cold in her bones.

“My sisters keep coming to me. Everyone except April has told me about it and I have to tell you. They are scared about what they have seen or heard in the house. They’re scared, mom. I know what happened. I
saw
it happen and I couldn’t help you…I couldn’t even move. I know it was
not
a nightmare.”

“I know. What have they been telling you?” Carolyn felt her heart race; her face flushing with blood. An internal alarm triggered. Fear of the unknown.

“To tell you the truth, mom, it’s more than I can even remember. I’m pretty sure Cindy’s the one who sees them the most; I’m so sorry to tell you this but we have more than one ghost…they need to tell you about all of them.”

Carolyn stood abruptly. Remaining in place for a moment, frantic thoughts muddling her mind, she considered what to do next. Instructing Andrea to go and quietly gather her sisters, except for April, then meet her in the kitchen; a message received. Let the baby sleep…sweet dreams.

During the time required for the eldest to collect three of her four siblings, the blood drained from Carolyn’s face. She appeared gaunt; a ghostly shade of pale. Sitting alone in silence, waiting at the table for the girls to arrive, she cursed a demon beneath her breath, angered by this intrusion; the disruption its deathly presence was deliberately creating. Infuriated by the thought of it, the mother wanted to know how this bitch from hell could approach innocent children. An odd question; as if something essentially evil might possess any decency or conscience at all. Of course it would
want
to exploit those among them who are most vulnerable! Logical! Overcome with a sense of urgency, panic brewing in the mental cauldron Carolyn realized she’d imbued a corpse with qualities it couldn’t possibly possess. Another thought occurred to her:
What the hell are you thinking!
Far-fetched as the concept of having a ghost was in the first place, to then attribute it with mortal characteristics; to assign it an intellect and emotion was absurd. The journey of discovery upon which Carolyn had embarked would yield many revelations over time. In stressful moments, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her girls, she chastised herself for entertaining ludicrous notions which were summarily dismissed. Carolyn had no idea how precariously close to the truth she had come.