House of Darkness House of Light (36 page)

Cathi returned on cool September breezes. She and Carolyn spent the entire day together, well into evening, an arrival coinciding with Roger’s departure: perfect timing. All the “girls” enjoyed a fine reunion. They played and sang, danced and made a joyful noise created by so many females in one place, at one time. It was wonderful to see her again. Both women spoke at length on a variety of subjects. There was news on both fronts…Cathi met a man and fell in love. She left him behind in Nova Scotia. The ladies snuck off into the pantry like two giddy schoolgirls. Later in the afternoon there were sobering moments between them when Carolyn discreetly retrieved her notebook from its not-so-final resting place and they poured over it privately. She shuddered at seeing those images again. Cathi was far more fascinated than frightened; something with which to tease her facile mind. She wasn’t intimidated by it except on behalf of the kids, concerned about the potential impact made on a bevy of impressionable youth. Curious by nature, Cathi asked thoughtful and erudite questions, most of which Carolyn remained unable to answer in full. She believed in the existence of supernatural phenomenon but did not believe the spirits were dangerous; more of a nuisance. Explaining multi-dimensional aspects of such theory, it precluded actual physical involvement; interaction between the living and the dead. Apparently well-informed, Carolyn listened carefully to her young but learned friend, wanting to believe this theory to be an accurate one…for the sake of her family.

“How do you know so much about the supernatural?”

“I don’t know much. Reading…things I’ve heard from reliable sources.”

“So you think the same way Sam does; there’s really nothing here to fear.”

“Well, I have not had to live with it. This is more of a cerebral exercise for me, but for you; I’m sure you’ve seen and felt things you’ll never forget. I’m sorry to say…I wish it weren’t so. I know how much you wanted this place.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of Cathi; images trapped in my mind for eternity.”

“There are things we see in life we’re not supposed to forget.” A wise one.

Though invited, encouraged to spend the night at their farm, Cathi declined the invitation. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. by the time she left for home, calling her mother first to announce she was on the way. Elsie was anxious to spend some time with her daughter after such an extended absence. Cathi promised she’d be coming home and had to go. With hugs and kisses, Carolyn sent her off into the darkness. The ride was a long one back to her neck of the woods; Seekonk, Massachusetts. Plenty to occupy her mind, Cathi cheerfully cruised down Round Top Road. Nova Scotia had her by the heart. Rather than dwell on all Carolyn disclosed, she instead revisited the place where she longed to return…to the man waiting for her north of the border.

Suddenly Cathi smelled something foul in her car; she hadn’t driven farther than a mile or so when a putrid stench permeated the vehicle. Something was wrong. Gripped by unbearable cold, it felt as if her fingers had frozen to the steering wheel. Someone touched her long, flowing hair. Panic; pure dread consumed her being: petrified in place. She glanced into the rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of it; a fleeting image of something wicked turned her heart to stone. Jagged, yellow teeth: Death. She was in the presence of death. Her mind refused to absorb what she witnessed with her eyes. Cathi couldn’t stop the car; flee the scene. Knowing she was not alone, she kept on driving, faster and faster, racing toward the safety of home…the arms of her mother. Though the apparition vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, its putrid stink lingered for the duration of the trip, trapped within her sinuses, perhaps trapped in her own memory forever…somewhat more to fear than fear itself. Calling Carolyn as soon as she finished debriefing her mother, there was no making light of it allowed…not yet…not ever; this was a too-close encounter of the bizarre kind and Cathi knew firsthand what a dear friend had endured.

Her spooky status report was equally disconcerting to Carolyn. She offered an awkward apology then went into her bedroom to look at it again, an image revealed in the open tablet. Furious, she slammed it shut and held it in the air.

“You bitch! If you cost me this friendship I’ll hunt you to hell and back!” The irate woman issued a formal threat of her own. Though a confrontational approach was not in her best interest Carolyn felt compelled to state her case. Replacing the notebook in its hiding hole in the wall, to rest undisturbed for years to come, there it would remain until the day two strangers appeared on her threshold with a genuine offer of help. As a solid bridge of trust was built between them over time, Carolyn would eventually agree to relinquish this notebook, along with all of her research, with an explicit promise made for a timely return. All of it…placed into hands where it was laid to rest; out of her possession…never to return.

Autumn ushered in yet another brutal winter. Carolyn remained watchful; pensive. Though an extended period of time passed without a major incident, she was perpetually on guard. Electric bills continued to spike, rising steadily month after month, even though Roger had their original meter replaced that previous summer. As a constant source of consternation between the couple, the blame game got old. Carolyn became increasingly intolerant; resentful of her absentee husband. Snide comments, harsh accusations were taking a toll as their relationship deteriorated into a series of caustic remarks; arguments. They were unknowingly feeding a force within those walls…and it was quite likely returning the disfavor. Negative energy is powerful. Hostility is potent. The inimical approach toward one another bred contempt, neither willing to make amends. They felt no desire to reconcile issues as differences between them became too stark; the depth and breadth, a chasm too wide to traverse. Roger and Carolyn were two opposing forces…at war on uncommon ground. The occasional peace treaty drafted would then be mutually agreed upon but the truce never lasted very long; their once marital bliss had evolved into so many blisters: deep, festering wounds…so occurred the scarring of the heart. Over time, they would prove to be permanent, irreparable: wounds too deep to heal became infected…irreconcilable differences; deadly to a marriage.

Rumors spread, wildfire-style, through town; inflammatory and inaccurate. Though the girls remained relatively isolated over the course of the summer, socializing with just a few close friends and neighbors, when they returned to school the reception was distinctly different; as chilly as the raw autumn air. Teased and taunted on a regular basis, the five girls began withdrawing from those they’d perceived to be friendly the year before. They learned important lessons very quickly, including who their
real
friends really were, receiving quite an education about ignorance, intolerance and the roll of thrill-seekers in their young lives. During this time, all five children forged bonds based on sound protective instincts, defending one another against this onslaught on numerous occasions; unity which lasts a lifetime. They stopped blaming each other for such annoying anomalies as rearranged toys or missing objects and they soon discovered the intrinsic value of a sisterhood. What the girls faced was nothing less than blatant unabashed discrimination. Circling the wagons, warding off the evil spirits, living and dead, those who intended them harm; they found their way through it within loving arms. As their parents waged a civil war with uncivil discourse the children prayed for peace. Watching over one another, setting an example of civility, they practiced the presence: God.

***

Carolyn cursed at the spirits and husband alike while Roger played the role of Devil’s Advocate. An abundance of evidence at his disposal; how much of it was required to convince him? How could it be that he did not recognize so many omens for precisely what they were? Why did he feel justified arguing the logic of an illogical situation? It was an argument he could not, would not win in reality and yet he persisted, sometimes amenable to Carolyn’s point of view, sometimes staunchly opposed as if to taunt her, deliberately making an obvious spirit matter worse. Why was it so important for Roger to be right? Opposing forces: Perhaps what was called for was a happy medium. In time, she would appear at their door. Then he could begin not believing in her, too. At least Carolyn would no longer feel so desperately alone. She would listen to the terrified mother, pass no judgment; recognize the omens as harbingers of things to come and realize a danger; the true Nature of an imposing threat.

“In this unbelievable universe in which we live there are no absolutes.

Even parallel lines, reaching into infinity, meet somewhere yonder.”

Pearl Buck

 
from frying pan into the fire

Murphy’s Law: “What can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the most inopportune time.”

Sizzled and scorched, over-fried chicken clung to the bottom of a cast iron frying pan, cemented in place. It was so unlike Carolyn to lose concentration when cooking. A long-standing reputation for preparing the best Southern fried chicken, she was mortified by her own lapse of attention paid to dinner. It was ruined. Good food wasted. Thank God Roger was not home to see this happen then critique her skills accordingly. Bouncing down the stairs, Nancy emerged into the kitchen, inevitably prepared to state the obvious:

“Something’s burning! I can smell it upstairs!” Smoke does tend to rise.

“No shit, Sherlock!” The cook’s response was slightly defensive.

“Who’s Sherlock?” Nancy’s question met with some intolerant resistance.

“Never mind.” Disgusted, Carolyn was in no mood to teach from a primer on English literature at the moment; she was much too busy learning her own lesson while trying to salvage what she could of their supper.

“Elementary, my dear sister. You should know it already. Doctor Watson? Sherlock Holmes? You should try going to the library once in a while.” Quite snippy, Andrea’s attitude toward her next of kin was sarcastic, dismissive at times. “Instead of the sand banks!” Ouch! Calling her sister a super-slacker, all Nancy had done was bring the aroma of charred grease to their attention. Out the door she went, ignoring the blatant insult, perhaps oblivious to it.

“I’m goin’ fishin’ down at the river.” The great escape artist was gone.

“No problem, mom. I can scrape off the scorch. It’s still good.” Consoling her mother, Andrea took over the task at hand. Returning to the potato salad, Carolyn remained quiet, reflecting upon time lost; on her inadvertent lack of concentration when cooking on fire (albeit electrical heat) and knowing how dangerous it was to be anything but mindful when grease is boiling in a pan. Upset with herself, she mixed her salad, allowing the distracting thoughts to continue doing their work, pulling her further away from the mindless task, compared to the more serious one she’d relinquished to her eldest daughter.

It was a sense of dread consuming a soul, this watching and waiting, taking its toll. Nothing happened to provoke it; nothing seen or heard which would indicate the presence of a nefarious force. No apparitions; nothing unusual of late, so why was Carolyn so preoccupied? Why was her mind wandering into dark spaces? She’d felt an oppressive weight which she did not generate and could not shed. It occurred to her that this process was, in itself, a malignant blight; an omnipresent influence working its blackest magic on her thoughts, keeping her fearful, robbing her of time. This was not the first time. As hours passed at the sink, she’d stare out the back window and lose track of time; an afternoon gone as if it were an instant, reliving moments she longed to forget while knowing she never would. Time lost lingered with an evil spirit which was haunting her in absentia, or was it actually gone? Carolyn continued to sense an overwhelming presence and yet nothing had manifested in form; no one had issued any threats. Yet, was it not a threat unto itself if she had been unable to properly tend to a skillet which posed a hazard of its own? Maybe Roger was right. Perhaps her imagination was getting the best of her…maybe the memory was enough to do this damage on its own. Why sense impending doom when some sense of normalcy prevailed? Truth be told, it was fallacy; no such thing as normalcy in their house. “Normal”
was
the new paranormal. Their family had purchased a piece of surreal estate. Carolyn didn’t dare trust her intuition, didn’t dare believe she was alone, because on some level, she knew it was not true. A wounded woman in the midst of a transformation she could not fathom, her real sense of foreboding was omnipresent with purpose and reason, if for no other reason than to warn her to prepare for what was to come. What she sensed was not coming from beyond her; she sensed it from within…the most frightening sensation of all.

“Mom!” Apparently Andrea had splattered some grease on its burner while removing the seriously crispy chicken from a skillet. Flames shot up from the surface of the stove, around the outside of the cast iron frying pan. Fire in the hole! Rushing into the pantry, Carolyn slapped a metal lid over the exposed oil while pulling her daughter away from a stove. Checking to be certain that burner was off, as she’d suspected, she had indeed turned it off when initially discovering the problem: what is done can be overdone! The heating element was totally cool to the touch. No grease had splattered after all; no fuel added to the fire. No fire! Message received.

Cutting the crusty skin away from the meat, it became dinner for the dogs. In spite of a mishap, it turned out to be, as Annie predicted, a delicious meal. Carolyn might have been more gratified by this outcome if not for a niggling sensation which continued to trouble her. Had the sense of foreboding been her intuition at work, as warning of a pending situation in the pantry? Or had the pantry provided another venue for yet another manifestation of the spirits playing with fire? She considered the scenario as metaphor: out of the frying pan…into the fire. Something told her a haunting was not over. Looming on a darkening horizon, ominous clouds were gathering, creating the solid wall of worry, shrouding her mind in despair. Carolyn could feel it all around her. She could feel it inside her. Omnipresent…like God. It could not possibly get worse…or could it? Of course it could…and would.