House of Darkness House of Light (51 page)

“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human

existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.”

Carl Gustav Jung

 
twisted sister

“Courage is fear that has said its prayers.”

Dorothy Bernard

Christine had the face of an angel. This child, with enormous blue eyes and platinum blonde hair accentuating the smile which could melt human hearts; the middle sister shared a sweet disposition with everybody she met. So often a large family has one who gets lost in the fray, but this was not the case with Chris. Her sisters gravitated toward her; they felt the desire to include her in everything they did. Because of her reliable sense of humor, well developed, they were bound to share some laughter with the one always ready to crack a quick joke. Christine was somewhat shy around strangers though her buoyant personality was fully unleashed around her siblings. Generous to a fault, her very best toys were routinely and graciously loaned. Meticulous about their bedroom and her belongings, incessantly cleaning up behind those who often used her space for play, she did so without complaint, counting the trolls and puppets while she replaced them into compartments of a case she kept neatly beside the bed. Her sense of order, an innate ability to organize things came quite naturally to the child, though it clearly failed to rub off on her siblings. They frequently took advantage of her exceedingly good nature because she made it very easy for them to do so; Christine’s temperate ways were tolerant and forgiving; this predisposition disguising her secret, most heartfelt desire to have a place for everything…and everything in its right and proper place.

Her softness and innocence nicely balanced against an edgy pragmatism, a sardonic sense of humor much like that of Mr. Kenyon; bordering on British, Christine was observant and understated. Nancy, as polar opposite, regularly got on her nerves. Born only eleven months apart (that Catholic thing again) they could not have been more different. If a harsh word or a cold demeanor ever escaped the child, it was, without question, directed at Nancy. However, her kind and gentle spirit would resurface within moments as she’d sincerely apologize for something she had every right to say! Perhaps this is why the rest of the family took it so hard when Christine was hurt or subjected to any offense. This was why, in spite of the ordeal Cynthia was enduring, she was so upset by what happened to her darling sister while she slept. Cindy adored Christine, with whom she shared a bedroom. They had always been close and were highly compatible, sharing many of the same toys, tastes and habits, so it really was a perfect fit for both. One fateful night it came to be that Cindy witnessed one of the most disturbing episodes to ever occur in the house, one she vividly recalls with incredible detail. It is one story, so many years later, still capable of producing mournful tears. What Cindy witnessed in midnight moonlight profoundly affected her for life. To see it happen to her cherished, beloved sister was more than one young mind could absorb. To observe this event with her own eyes as the face of an angel became a refuge for a demon, was something she will never forget; imagery she will never escape.

Chrissy’s lovely face was the picture of serenity as she slept. Cindy saw the flawless, delicate features of that face become infiltrated and then distorted beyond recognition by a demonic presence. Cindy could not move, could not breathe throughout the manifestation. It happened slowly and deliberately, as if whatever it was in their bedroom
wanted
Cynthia to see the face of evil. It woke her just before it went after Chris, the one most pure of heart. Perhaps it was this essential purity, the sheer beauty and innocence of the child which initially attracted something wicked…a demon this way comes.

It began as odd, indistinguishable sounds. Because the girls so often spoke during the night, if one sensed the other was awake, she responded, as Cindy did: “Chris, is that you? Are you awake?” With her back turned, Cindy relied on an answer; it never came so she rolled over beneath the blanket. She could hear the sound of growling and thought it was the cat stalking her shadow in the night, an all too frequent habit she had developed since moving into the house. The sound persisted, growing in volume as Cindy searched their room for the presumed suspect. An ominous, unusual sound deepened in intensity. It began reverberating throughout the bedroom, noticeable enough to awaken her other siblings within adjacent rooms. The distinct sound did not resemble any kind of animal sound with which she was familiar. It was a low, guttural, menacing tone, alarming to the child. Propping herself up in bed, searching the darkness for an intruder, Cindy soon realized the awful noise was coming from beneath the blankets in the bed beside her own. Only a few feet apart, that slight distance provided an excellent vantage point from which to view a horrible sight. With benefit of the nightlight and the natural moonlight shed, spilling through their narrow window, Cynthia watched and listened intently. In the darkest heart of night the house was so quiet it made the menace all the more disturbing. She could not remotely identify those sinister sounds which were, quite literally, something she had never heard before.

The child lying beside her began to moan. Her sister was obviously in pain. “Chrissy? Are you all right?” Only her placid face visible, in peaceful repose, it was an expression about to be drastically altered. Christine had a tendency to bundle up like a papoose even on warm nights. Distinctly foreboding noise emanating from her bed signaled the threatening presence as something wild: utterly untamed. Just as fear and curiosity ushered Cynthia into a completely conscious state of awareness, Christine’s face began to tremble, as if erupting from within. Startled, Cindy sat bolt upright, frightened out of her mind as an utterly helpless sister’s features began to bubble up and boil like the cone of an active volcano. Watching in horror as Christine’s skin began warping and twisting in muted shades of light, if Cindy could wake her, perhaps it would stop, but she couldn’t force herself to crawl out of the bed. Paralyzed by the shock of it, she was rendered motionless by this gruesome image. Breathless, unable to intervene, Cindy watched in abject terror as her sister transformed. What movements appeared beneath the girl’s supple skin became even more pronounced. It looked like fingertips protruding, trapped inside; attempting to escape by rupturing the surface. Cindy would later describe it like snakes slithering inside of a pit. Contorting her face, inflicting pain, Cindy remained frozen in place. It got worse. Christine’s mouth quickly became gnarled and mangled. The tender skin of her lips seemed to disappear, as if being sucked inside her body and then her features began moving, scrambling and shifting out of place. A pitiful cry for help oozed from strained, pained vocal chords. Cynthia’s heart was pounding. She could feel the rapid pulse throbbing in her temples; hear it rushing through her ears as tremors passed through her body. Whatever was gouging at the skin beneath the surface of Christine’s face was attempting to puncture it from within, tearing through it like a creature caged, seeking release; escape. What was only moments felt like torturous hours as Cindy begged it to stop in her mind; no words would come. It was a struggle just to breathe but nothing like the fight her precious sister was engaged in right before her tear-filled eyes. Wanting to scream for help, wake the house, Andrea was sleeping in the next room. Nancy and April
must
have heard this horrendous commotion. Surely
someone
would come…but no one ever did. Cindy was alone as the sole witness to this hideous disfigurement, incapable of saving her sister from a demon. The tormentor continued; just as it seemed Christine would succumb, her once beautiful eyes exploded open, revealing the demon within. That was not her face and those were not her eyes. Black, glistening orbs peered directly through Cynthia’s soul, challenging her sanity as it taunted the helpless child in moonlight. Chris became completely still as it stared, penetrating the only one who could identify the evil lurking within. Cindy distinctly recalls hearing herself screaming and gasping for air as the demon slowly, deliberately smiled at her, displaying the remnants of chipped and jagged yellow teeth, resembling the fangs of a beast about to pounce its prey for the pleasure of the kill. Gloating, it shot the stench of its hot breath across the room as steam, into the thick, icy air surrounding the corpse-like body it had chosen to inhabit. A spasm of terror gave Cynthia the strength to pull the blanket up over her head. She wept, begging God to spare them both, her sister and herself, from the grasp of something purely evil; there was no question of its intentions. It had crawled up from the bowels of existence to stake its claim. Cindy could feel a hot, putrid breath at her throat. She prayed. Then at the back of her neck; she pleaded for help, retaining the presence of mind to invoke the presence of God. She could feel evil all around her, intent on consuming them both. Swirling through a bedroom delivering its message with a nauseating stench and petrifying cold, it was hell bent and determined to scare her to death…Cindy prayed. Dear God: Deliver us from evil. Amen.

Evil does exist. It seeks out the innocent to expose itself within. It stretches and taunts to taint all it touches. It covets pure and fertile ground to penetrate and poison. It permeates to mortify its victims; in disbelief. Huddled beneath her blankets, Cynthia waited and prayed. Too terrified to look, afraid of what she might see, she sat perfectly still until the sound had subsided, then lay her body down, hoping it was over. Sobbing uncontrollably, eventually she cried herself to sleep, still praying for her sister. Cindy awoke sickened, unsure if Chrissy had survived the night, ashamed she had not intervened; but she had. Chris was safe; very tired but otherwise fine. Her prayers had been powerful.

“God pours life into death and death into life without spilling a drop.”

Author Unknown

 
solitary confinement

“
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark;

the real tragedy of life, is when men are afraid of the light.”

Plato

Cathi had mustered the courage required to return to the farm; she’d missed the girls and her dearest friend, Carolyn. Her serious concerns for their well being outweighed a certain reticence which weighed heavily on her mind. The horrendous ride home from her previous visit still vividly in memory; an image she could barely tolerate to recall, Cathi felt compelled to take the risk and make the drive again, on behalf of those living souls she loved so well.

It was one glorious late summer day laden with a golden glow of abundant sunshine. The breeze was bound to carry its summer song along. Andrea had all but mastered the guitar she received the previous Christmas and everyone gathered on the front porch, anxious to share a celebratory tune. Music was a normal part of life in the farmhouse and everyone sang as frequently as they spoke, or so it seemed; simply another form of communication. Cathi was as musically inclined. She played bass guitar in a local band and had real talent. Andrea’s repertoire had grown over the months. One song after another rang out like bells through the rafters. Sweet tea kept throats moistened as a tray of cookies mysteriously disappeared…and no one dared blame the ghosts. It was as festive an event as a formal holiday…but there was someone missing. Cathi was the first to notice her absence from their formerly crowded porch. “Where’s Chrissy?” Everybody looked around. Perhaps she’d gone off to the bathroom or maybe upstairs to snag the tambourine. Cathi called out through an open window but there was no response. The house was huge so it wasn’t surprising if Christine could not yet hear her. She went into their parlor then hollered up the bedroom stairwell with a voluminous voice as big as the solar system. Still nothing; no reply from above…very strange.

Having arrived at the farm by mid-morning Cathi left herself plenty of time for romp and play. It’d already been quite a long day when afternoon rolled around, hours spent down at the river and in the dense woods. Everyone was a trifle drowsy after lunch, yet most fought the fatigue and kept on frolicking. Cathi suspected Chris snuck off to take a nap which turned out to be the case. She initiated the thorough search. At first she went quietly upstairs, so as not to startle the child, assuming she must be in her own bed. If, after the earlier bellowing, (which could have caused the dead to rise) there were no signs of life, then her darling girl must be deeply asleep. Cathi and Christine had the most endearing of relationships. Chris adored her and the feeling was mutual; thick as thieves. Cathi did not have favorites, per se. She loved all of the girls equally, much as a mother would. She’d been a significant part of their lives, a magically powerful influence on all of them for many years. Though, if she had a
secret
favorite, it was Christine.

Room by room, she searched for her then ten-year-old cherub. Everyone in the family knew she regularly slept
beneath
her bed, especially if she did not want to be disturbed…or found. It was a quirky habit. No one ever teased her about it. Privacy was a hard thing to come by in their house; a quiet, peaceful resting place, feeling safe when asleep, a more rare and precious commodity. Peeking into every bedroom, reaching under each bed, there was still no sign of Christine. Cathi called out to Carolyn as she descended the center staircase into the front hallway. She was in the kitchen pantry, up to her bony elbows in soapsuds, humming a happy tune they had sung together earlier.

“I can’t find Chrissy.” Cathi’s somber tone indicated some worry. Scraping the lather from her arms in preparation; it was time to join in the search.

“Did you check
all
of the bedrooms?” Carolyn read Cathi’s expression as a cause for concern.