House of Darkness House of Light (55 page)

“Yes, I have.” Andrea’s prompt response prompted an “Oh, my God” from her mother. “Mom, do you think Lenora is already up in Heaven?”

“I don’t know. But if there really is a Heaven I believe she is there.”

“If Heaven is a real place in outer space how far away is it from the Earth? How long does it take to get there after we die?”

“As the crow flies? Who knows…but I suspect it’s not far. Not far at all.”

***

It has been scribed in the folklore of civilizations, described throughout the ages: the raven as an omen of death, harbinger of things to come; its ominous presence portends impending doom. In many cultures there remain common beliefs in birds as sacred messengers of the spirit world whose obligation it is to transport the dead: the souls of those who pass on. Foretold is forewarned. It is cruel to cage a bird; to rob it of its essence, its divine purpose and reason for being. These splendid creatures are born with wings so to be free to fly; to fulfill their destiny. As sacred symbols, they are to be worshipped as holy. Therefore, it is a moral imperative to admire the Angels of Death from afar.

“‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore –

Tell this souls with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.’

Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’”

Edgar Allan Poe The Raven

~ as the crows fly ~

 
off the hook

“You can’t run from trouble. There ain’t no place that far.”

Uncle Remus

Bathsheba Sherman may have been able to evade a conviction but not the blame game in life; then was apparently held accountable on some level after death. At least this was the assumption made by many, at that time and since. Town elders still spoke of her with contemptuous condemnation; a blight on the spirit of the village. Mr. McKeachern would often lower his voice and his eyes when he’d mention her name, not with reverence or respect, but disdain. Humanity abhors the vacuum created when a crime goes unsolved or worse, unpunished. According to many, past and present, Bathsheba Sherman was the guilty party who walked away from a heinous accusation free of charge; free as a bird. Some would argue the point. She was imprisoned in her home, shunned by her peers; enough to make any innocent woman angry, perhaps vindictive. Those who know the history suspect she suffered through life and paid the ultimate price in the end, as it was only the beginning for this Earth-bound spirit. In the grand scheme of things, she may not be so free after all.

***

“I didn’t do it!” Most often this was true. The claim staked, an assertion of this kind was usually delivered in a defensive posture most closely associated with self-righteous indignation. “It wasn’t me!” had a “how dare you” tacitly attached to its gruff tone. During the first few months in the house, a problem emerged which had not existed among the siblings. Personal belongings and precious treasures were missing, disappearing at an alarming rate.
Someone
needed to be blamed. “I did not go near your bedroom!” Arguments suddenly began to erupt where they had never been present before; false accusations became commonplace events and hurt feelings were a matter of course. None of the girls owned much but what they had, they cherished. When these items were missing it was usually cause enough for serious dissention in the ranks. Things would vanish then miraculously re-appear days or weeks later, often found in precisely the same place from which they were taken originally, like magic, as if there all along and merely invisible; the girls became suspicious. Occasionally things would vanish, never to be seen again. Borrowers became keepers. Sometimes objects would be relocated to especially strange places; a troll found inside the refrigerator, a treasured story book discovered within a dark stairwell in their woodshed. It was odd how frequently, how routinely possessions went missing, as if someone were deliberately misplacing them, to solicit a negative response, thus prompting rather suspicious, contentious, sarcastically terse inquiries among this paranormally close group of five soul sisters: “Well, I
finally
found
my
gray
sweater…in
your
room!” In response: “Well, I didn’t
take
it! I never even
liked
it and it doesn’t fit me anyway!” Inquiry: “And what were
you
doing in
my
bedroom?” In response: “Finding my missing sweater
…
stuffed down behind the headboard of your bed
!” The children were sensing encroachment; shared space within a house three times the size of the one they had left behind. Appearing ungrateful at times during such petty discourse; this pervasive, negative energy began pulsing through their veins; an electrical vibration which had never been present before, not in this family, not among these siblings. The blame game didn’t persist much longer as the true Nature of the problem soon became apparent to all of them.

No one to hold accountable: No mortal being, the culprit. Boo who? Roger was the only one who refused to accept the fact that there were mischievous spirits in their house. He preferred to blame anyone
visible
; guilty or not. His frustration with these antics sputtered and brewed as in a sealed cauldron, an unstable pressure cooker; the smallest infraction would pop his lid, spewing the contents at a heavenly host of innocent children who did not understand why their father was so upset, again. It was a double-barrel effect: an assault so disconcerting no one was capable of verbalizing it as fear of the unknown. Not only were they forced to contend with a house riddled with an arsenal of invisible weaponry but their father had a hair-trigger and perfect aim. No one ever knew what was coming next or from which direction; a situation which called for courage; uncommon valor in the face of a perceived enemy who’d again become the target of yet another childish prank…victims, one and all.

One late spring afternoon several of the girls were gathered in the kitchen, chatting about events of the day at school. The sky was bright and beautiful. They were packing up snacks and making plans to escape into the woods: the land of the free! It was warm enough to play in the river or at the cascading waterfall beside the pond. While they busily prepared for an excursion their father quietly entered the kitchen. No one took much notice of him; they had greeted him already and were decidedly distracted at that particular moment, which was probably why nobody noticed him placing his precious fingernail clippers on the corner of the sideboard. He had come strolling through on his way to the bathroom. Emerging moments later, Roger walked back toward the sideboard to retrieve his clippers; the object he insisted had been placed there only minutes before. Suddenly a farmhouse became home of the brave.

“Where are they?” Everyone snapped to attention, hearing the harsh tone of his voice, the familiar sound of an implicit accusation levied. Chatter ceased; the kitchen fell silent except for his booming words. “Where’d my fingernail clippers go? I laid them down right here a minute ago…
right here
…so who took them?” The furrowed expression on his face raised heart rates all around the room. High anxiety reigned. Nancy unwittingly entered the room, coming through the front hallway behind him. Roger leapt at her like a wild beast.

“Did
you
take them?” Caught completely off guard, Nancy did not know how to respond to his stunning demand.

“Take what, daddy?” The child’s voice collapsed into a faint whisper. She immediately moved back, away from him, repelled by the sinister discharge of dark energy. Cynthia hovered nearer her big sister, in fear of the unknown. How loud would he get? How angry might he become? What next?

No one understood how he could stare into the innocent eyes of these girls and think ill of them; maintaining a presumption of guilt. How could he bear witness to their fright then ignore the effects his temper was having on them? How could he fail to recognize this? Their faces told the truth. It should have been obvious to the man. How could he not instantly absolve them of a crime they obviously didn’t commit? Roger
had
to know his false accusations were creating a toxic atmosphere of intimidation and yet he indulged it unabated, apparently comfortable with his own outburst. Nancy was not afraid of him. She was perturbed; disgusted by his melodramatic reactions. She found him obtuse, as dense as a slab of stone regarding an issue with which they had all come to terms. He was spoiling everything! She looked at her sisters’ distress then leered resentfully in his direction; challenging him to make amends for this cruel and unusual punishment. He had taken their smiles away, again. In one moment they were happily hanging out together and then suddenly it’s a major crisis, the end of civilization as we know it; paranoia striking deeply in his heart. Roger was feeding the beast…and it was returning the favor.

“I want to know
who
took my clippers! NOW! WHO! Was it
you
? Y
ou
?” Little bodies began to tremble, shaking heads indicating a uniform response. Everyone went mute. Thrusting his hands deeply down into the bottom of his pockets, he must have at least considered the possibility he’d been mistaken, but the search came up empty as would a bucket dipped into a dry well, so an irate interrogation continued: Inquest. Nobody knew what was coming next, including Roger; quite volatile when enraged, he’d often shock himself. This could screw up everything; possessing the potential to cancel an excursion as the highly probable penance. Nancy intervened. She’d had quite enough of it; of him. Displaying an uncommon valor worthy of a medal, Nancy confronted her father on a variety of issues, disarming her adversary in the process.

“Dad! None of us took your clippers! We have our own in the bathroom. I wasn’t even in here! And no one else took them either so stop blaming us for something we didn’t do!” Her tone was equally abrasive.

Roger was momentarily startled by his daughter’s equally fervent outburst.

“Then
someone
is playing a dirty trick on me! Which one of you is it?”

“You’re right! Someone
is
playing a trick on you, and it’s no joke! But it’s
not
us and it
never
has been us! Which
one
is it?
We
don’t know…ask
them
! We have lived here for more than three years now, and what happens to you, happens to all of us, too,
all the time
and we don’t blame
you
when
our
stuff is missing!” Nancy was not finished. “Maybe you’re the one who misplaced your clippers! Or maybe you’re just the one
they
decided to pick on today!”

“They were right here!” Roger slammed his fist down on the sideboard.

“Well, they are
not
there anymore…and none of
us
took them!” Nancy was taking one hell of a risk; she could end up grounded until she was thirty!

“Daddy? We could all help you find them.” There was a distinct tremor in Cindy’s sheepish voice. She was scared but so anxious to make things right.

Jaw grinding, veins bulging, temples throbbing; Roger looked directly into his daughter’s pleading eyes: Epiphany. He’d been living in the darkness of denial. Dawn breaks on Marblehead. Let there be Light. No one was lying to him. If there were not human beings to blame, he would
have
to admit it was something or someone else responsible. Glancing around their kitchen at this cluster of mortified mortals, Roger realized what he had done; overreacting in a way which can only be described as Classic Roger. So he got upset about getting upset, as if what he had put them through wasn’t punishment enough.

“I hate this goddamned house!” Arms flailing, huffing and puffing, he blew out of the room, blazing through the place he hated…on a scavenger hunt.

Relief: it was palpable. It was over, or so they thought. Everyone escaping Roger’s wrath unscathed, it was time to congratulate Nancy. Hers was an act of bravery unparalleled in their collective experience. No one had ever stood up to him like that before; none ever dared. It was a moment of triumph for all: Vindication. Validation. Victory! Grins cautiously returning along with a glint in their eyes; no one had forgotten it was gorgeous outside. They could hear the woods calling in a full-throated song of spring. Ladies-in-waiting quickly loaded up their backpacks and were ready to waltz on out the kitchen door, to make their great escape, just as their father re-entered the kitchen. There he stood, inside the threshold, staring silently at his girls as if he had something to say but it had gotten stuck in his throat; perhaps his pride? All movement stopped. All eyes fell upon him. It was not over yet.