House of Darkness House of Light (50 page)

So many questions…so many souls.

Essentially, the entire story is one gigantic puzzle and, in some cases, it has literally required decades for these pieces to come together, to come into play as this tale unfolds. Yet, this is destined to be a story without an end, a puzzle left incomplete; no means or desires to reconcile the disparate elements or to attain coherence, no matter how rigorously Carolyn had done so in the past. Left unsatisfied, in certain corners, it might be considered a futile effort made from the beginning, unless it doesn’t matter who or what caused these events to occur. That they happened at all is miraculous. These missing pieces have much to do with what is unknowable and it is incumbent upon those involved to acknowledge it is so. This story is not an investigation. It is a memoir. The investigation supposedly happened some thirty-five years ago and it was then determined by Mrs. Warren, concluding that the entity with the broken neck was Bathsheba Sherman, but nobody on the planet knows for sure if it is true. Speculation, intelligent guessing is all mortal souls have at their disposal and to claim otherwise is utterly disingenuous. To a certain extent, belief factors into this equation. Anyone present at the time would attest to this fact; based upon interpersonal communications, Mrs. Warren was acting and speaking in good faith because there is no doubt she believed what she was claiming and was certain she felt psychic vibrations of an evil spirit, a demon in the home. One piece of the puzzle at the center of the bigger picture: something wicked was intervening in Carolyn’s personality and was adversely affecting her in a multitude of ways: physically, mentally, emotionally, psychically: spiritually.

There was no defeating this enemy, not with conventional weaponry. If this was indeed Bathsheba’s doing, she had become a real pain in the neck on too many levels to count. Carolyn had to take an alternate route around an enemy position; the road less traveled. In time, she accepted the presence of the pain as something supernatural in Nature. In the interim, she found her tolerance for pain increasing with her intolerance for the cause of it, each expanding in equal measure. Turning away from the bottle of pills in a medicine cabinet, it was only a matter of time before she’d find a path to peace. The doctors tried but could not help her. Instead, she sought respite where she’d found it in the past, in times of crisis, during trial and tribulation. Ultimately, Carolyn was a victorious combatant in a brutal battle waged against her invisible adversary. She turned to something far more powerful than the pain then prayed it away.

“History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived,

however, if faced with courage, need not be lived again.”

Maya Angelou

 
message received

“The only way to discover the limits of the possible

is by going beyond them into the impossible.”

Arthur C. Clarke

Whenever Roger arrived home in a good mood from a successful road trip it usually meant a happy family outing was in the offing.
Janet’s Ice Cream
in North Smithfield was a frequent haunt; a tolerable drive after days on open highway. The black raspberry was addictive; Carolyn preferred the pistachio, though Roger would occasionally indulge them with banana splits all around. It was always quite a pleasant excursion with the exception of one evening. The car became exceptionally crowded. Seems someone had hitched a ride.

Throughout dinner Carolyn talked about Bathsheba Sherman, recounting what she had learned from Mr. McKeachern just the day before. Perhaps she should not have been so forthcoming in front of the children, unaware she’d been frightening one of them. The folklore he shared with her was gruesome, not the kind of visions one wants planted into a child’s gray matter, there to reside forever; the stuff of nightmares. Cindy was being particularly affected, sensitive as she was to the other side of twilight. Carolyn thought of it more as a history lesson and spared no details retelling the tale she’d heard from an old man who knew it well; someone who knew Bathsheba Sherman as a boy. Cynthia finally put the name to a repulsive face she knew all too well.

Roger arrived home to spaghetti dinner, one of his favorites. The meatballs were luscious. He was in a delightful mood. Night air cooling nicely after the very warm day, everyone was instantly amenable to his bright idea. Once ice cream was mentioned, Roger thought Carolyn would drop the sordid subject and move on to another but she continued to further inform him all about Mr. McKeachern’s visit; how she created a divining rod with his instructions and what he said about the legendary and infamous figure…Bathsheba Sherman. She told him about the crime of which she’d been accused, about the inquest which followed and how she got off the hook: Insufficient evidence. Free at last…but not really, because what she was accused of doing haunted her for a lifetime. A bad reputation was further tarnished: a witch who sold her soul to the devil for eternal youth and beauty…a plan which apparently backfired as she grew old and haggard well before her time.

Finished with dinner, the children began squirming in their seats, anxious to go on their promised ride to the ice cream stand. Expediting things, Roger declared dishes could wait and the kids loaded into his car. All the way down Round Top Road, through Harrisville onto Victory Highway, all the way into North Smithfield, Carolyn kept telling her husband and anyone else who was listening, the lurid details of a gory story. She found it fascinating; believing what she’d discovered would answer some questions regarding the house and its history. As a compelling exploration, this was a privileged excursion into the past through the words of a man whose eyes beheld what he spoke of; she considered the elder gentleman a piece of living history, contributing a rarity: firsthand knowledge of events. He was only a boy when Bathsheba Sherman had grown old but he knew a great deal about her life (because children listen to the adults around them) and he’d apparently retained all that information. Carolyn became transfixed by the subject, a point obvious to all.

Though the girls managed to escape a rather lopsided conversation between their parents while seated some distance away at the picnic table, they would soon reunite, traveling together again. Carolyn was engrossed. She seemed to be unaware of this discomfort level, rising steadily. Cynthia had enough of it. Though she was known as the most demure among that bunch, a soft spoken, temperate young lady, her intolerance piqued; a temper reared its ugly head.

“Mom! Stop this! I can’t stand it! I don’t care about Bathsheba Sherman!” Everyone fell silent as she took a deep breath then continued. “You’ve been talking about her all night long! I’m sick to death of hearing it!” Cynthia’s shrill voice grew much louder, magnified by the quiet of her rapt audience. “As far as I’m concerned that old witch can go straight to hell! Right back to where she came from!” The child’s outburst was angry and uninhibited. She did not consider the impossible consequences of such a harsh indictment or a judgment call made at the top of her lungs. An order issued: Cindy was still too young to be mindful of the concept…what gets put out in the Universe is important and may come back to haunt the one sending a message received.

Fire in the hole! At the precise moment Cynthia shouted her condemnation, Roger threw a cigarette out the front window. The evening air cooled quickly after sunset. Windows were sealed shut all except for Roger’s window which was open a crack because he’d been smoking. As he flicked the butt from his fingertips, (away from the car, as was part of this habit) the object defied all physical law. It flew alongside the car, abruptly stopping outside the window. Then it flew through the glass, landing directly in Cynthia’s lap. Legitimately awestruck, she could not believe her eyes. Shorts were scorched. Her eldest sister was frantically trying to douse the fire and expel the offending object. Tirade over: the eruption ending as Cindy was rendered virtually speechless.

“Get it! There! Knock it onto the floor!” Carolyn was leaning over the seat, attempting to help. Roger drove erratically, trying to observe the commotion created behind him from the narrow mirror. Having logically assumed he had been at fault, the one to blame for this incident, he felt responsible and guilty about it in equal measure. “There it is! Step on it! Put it out on the mat.”

No one got burned. Cindy’s favorite shorts were history. A recurring theme emerged: Punishment time. Sassing an elder…disrespecting the dead.

“Everyone all right back there?” Roger waited for an affirmative reply then said: “
That’s
what you get for talking to your mother that way!” He winked at Cindy, catching her frantic eyes in the rearview mirror; letting her know in an instant with one sly gesture how sorry he was for his perceived infraction. She was off the hook for saying aloud what everyone else had been thinking.

“Dad, it
didn’t
come in through your window. It came in through the glass, back here.” Andrea stomped out the offending flame on the floorboard as she said something no one understood, except for Cindy. She saw it, too.

“What? That’s impossible.” A grimace pinching his lips tugged at the sides of Roger’s nose. “If yours is shut then it came back in through mine.”

“I’m telling you, dad…I saw it happen! The windows are closed. It came in right through the glass! I can’t explain what I saw but that’s what happened.”

“Sorry, mom.” Cindy’s voice trembled; not the boisterous tone she’d had a few moments before while chastising her enthusiastic mother then dismissing a vindictive spirit, effectively banishing her from the center of conversation.

“The car
does
feel crowded tonight; either you guys are growing up too fast or a witch came along for the ride!” Roger tried to make light of their hectic situation without realizing he may have inadvertently spoken truth to power. “Hey Cin, maybe you’re apologizing to the wrong woman!” Making Light.

“It’s
crowded
because we’re growing
out
too fast! Ate too much ice cream! Thanks, daddy!” Patting her belly, Nancy smiled and waved in the mirror.

“Mom…I saw it happen.” Cynthia gazed pleadingly into her mother’s eyes. “I think I made Bathsheba Sherman mad.”

“I think she was
mad
way before you came along!” Andrea made her point.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s over.” Trying to assuage a daughter’s concerns, Carolyn wondered if Bathsheba had taken offense, if this incident was some form of retribution, as Cindy’s punishment for name-calling: Consequences. According to Mr. McKeachern, Bathsheba Sherman enjoyed being the center of attention. Perhaps she did not
want
the subject changed…

“I swear to God.”

“No swearing…that’s what got you into trouble in the first place!” Tapping number four on the nose, her mother’s playful posturing was called for in the moment but Cindy would have none of it. She wanted to explain exactly how it happened and clearly needed to be believed.

“I swear to God! I saw a cigarette flying out the crack of dad’s window and start to pass by my window about half way down when it stopped! It stopped outside! Then it shot like a bullet! It shot straight through the glass right here, right in front of my eyes! The window is closed all the way! Look! I haven’t touched it!” Desperate to be understood, Cindy cried tears of frustration.

“I believe you, honey. I can see it’s closed…all the way up.” Carolyn tried to calm the distraught child. “Just relax…we’re almost home.”

“It landed in my lap! Sparks jumped all over the place! It landed in
my
lap!
I’m
the one who made her mad! Look what she did to my favorite shorts!”

“Maybe she didn’t like the way you were yelling at mom.” Christine finally had use of her tongue, probably frozen stiff by the ice cream. It had thawed.

“Well, you
did
call her a witch!” Nancy justified this perceived retaliation. “You hurt her feelings. That oughta teach ya!” Test comes first; lesson later.

Never ditch a witch…they have great aim and are usually on target.

History lessons learned: Cindy refused to speak ill of the woman ever again and has never said a single word against her since; a sign of fear and respect. Bathsheba Sherman’s power
is
formidable and it should be acknowledged as such; as two children witnessed the overt manipulation of a dangerous object, likely meant to frighten then to silence one youngster. Mission accomplished. Message received…by all. Perhaps their discourse had divulged her identity.

***

“I shut my mouth after that!” Cindy recalls details of this incident; a vision she’ll never forget. However, over several decades of reflection she has come to an understanding and has realized how the experience specifically altered her conceptualization of the spirits in fundamental ways. She now asserts the most significant element of this manifestation was invisible: the evolution of thought. Cindy no longer cares who believes her because she knows what she saw; likewise, she knows what it means. Cynthia changed her mind about the spirits during that evening. She saw them in a different light because of this encounter and realized they are no different than we are…they have feelings, too. Attitudes. Responses. Reactions. No matter what or who it was there, it
was
there: a stowaway had accompanied the family on an outing; someone in (or just outside) a moving vehicle heard the offensive words of the teenager, sparking a consequence. Cindy believes she was
supposed
to see it happen, insisting there was a deeper message imparted, intended as an integral part of her ongoing spiritual development. Her natural reserve made Cynthia nearly dormant in comparison to her sisters, yet on the evening in question, hostility she could not control had suddenly consumed a child, unleashing an entirely foreign, out-of-character spontaneous combustion of negative energy, further charging an atmosphere already enflamed by emotion. The blatantly targeted negative response Cindy received was as immediate as it gets. Her attention was deliberately diverted, drawn to the event as it transpired; her gaze fixed on the cigarette as it flew from her father’s fingers then out his open window. She witnessed its momentum as the wind caught the object. Then, watching it stop in midair saw it catapulting back inside the car with a force she could hardly imagine; its fire flying in her direction, passing through a solid piece of tempered glass. It occurred with purpose and reason. It was a Revelation. No one should even attempt to convince her otherwise. Cindy’s recollection of those few seconds now run through her mind as if in slow motion, much the same way it appeared to her that night, during one of the rides of her life. The youngster learned a series of valuable lessons in the context of a singular event, primary among them, certain knowledge that spirits are not tethered to the homes in which they dwell. They are free to be. Bathsheba is free to pass judgment in death in much the same manner it was passed on her in life, free to reply to her harshest critic by whatever means she chooses, free to express her feelings and make her presence known, perhaps as an act of retribution. There was no escaping the spirits unscathed. As Cindy so often bluntly states regarding their existence: “No matter where you go…there they are.” Death looms larger than life at light speed and they are the source of enlightenment.