House of Darkness House of Light (62 page)

“It was Roger’s idea.” Carolyn chuckled then choked on her Cheetos. Cathi had to laugh, the ripple effect like dropping a boulder into a pond. “Have you got any Fritos? They’re my favorite!” Carolyn, waiting as expectantly as any child would; Cathi reached into the stash: half the bag of salty-flavored treats remained. Eureka! She’d struck gold-colored corn chips!

Yelling into the rearview mirror, Cathi declared: “
Whoever
it is polluting the air back there, please step away from the vehicle!”

Nobody claimed responsibility, girls pretending protest; yet each insisting
she
was
not
the culprit. Andrea felt her first; they weren’t alone. As crowded as it was, apparently there
was
room for one more. Sitting in the square metal box beneath a merciless mid-summer Sun, she got cold…chilled to the bone. Glancing over toward Cindy the eldest knew her younger sibling was equally aware of the drastic temperature change and what it meant. Cathi decided the only way to clear the air was to hit the road; to create some wind of her own. As they pulled out of the yard, Andrea leaned forward to whisper something sacred to her mother; the tattler had told the tale, ratting out their stowaway. Turning around in her seat, Carolyn caught a whiff of the foul, familiar odor. She caught the chill identified as Bathsheba. Not wanting to unnerve anyone, Carolyn closed her eyes then mouthed the words: “Get out of here.” Within a few hundred yards of the house her
aroma
was gone, along with the intruder. Cathi, none the wiser; she had already endured one wild ride with the wicked witch of Round Top Road and did
not
need to know that bitch hitched a ride in her truck. Relieved it was over, Carolyn turned to comfort food for solace; hoarding the Fritos, she consumed all the chips left in the bag, washing them down the hatch with another full can of caffeine. Zoom zoom. They were off.

Heave Ho! It required brute strength to hoist the empty shell of a stove into the back of the truck. By the time it was secured there was no room left at the inn so the children rode home with a father and friends in the van while Cathi and Carolyn carefully navigated back roads…as discreetly as possible. Along the way, Cathi had to maneuver cautiously, keeping both hands on the wheel at all times, though her mind was free to wander. After a pause for reflection she uttered a statement so obvious, it was hard to believe it had been earlier overlooked: “You realize we’re
Foster
-
ing bad behavior in the children.”

“I do now! Why didn’t
I
think of that? Look! More blueberry bushes!”

“We’re both a corruptive influence, but you’re worse…a rotten mother.”

“Awful.” Carolyn shook her head disdainfully as a sign of self-loathing.

“We’re setting another bad example for impressionable youths.”

“They’re tough enough to take it. They all live with ghosts.” Mom: fooling around in fractions…by half…as the remark was inherently true.

“
I’m
an impressionable youth, too! So I’m actually corrupting myself!”

“How tragically convoluted!” Resist an urge to tease a willing accomplice? Never. All joking aside, Carolyn felt compelled to tell Cathi why she became so enchanted by the stove and
had
to bring it home. It reminded her of home.

“I remember being born, on the floor, in front of a black stove just like it.”

“What?” Unprepared for an abrupt change of course: “Are you serious?”

“I dream about it all the time. It was the first thing I ever saw, as soon as I opened my eyes; a cast iron stove just as big and beautiful.” Smiling serenely at her cohort-in-crime, Carolyn’s gratitude was purely sincere. “Thank you.” She considered the gesture of help a gift given. It was…from a dear friend.

Fugitives from justice, thieves escaped unscathed; they arrived at the farm about an hour later. Cathi had to crawl along the road, the weight of the stove causing the truck to scrape bottom entering the driveway. Off it came, out of the truck with one more strenuous Heave Ho! Carried in the kitchen literally a foot at a time, an old molded piece of iron took up residence. It was home; there to share space…to keep their family and a distant memory warm.

Carolyn’s vision of and ensuing rationalization for pilferage on this grand scale had finally come to fruition: Mission accomplished. She would bask in its glowing heat for many years to come. It had worked! A rather ingenious, well-planned, pre-conceived notion of a heist had been a success, in spite of being a rather hastily arranged field trip. It was meant to be; astounding that she was able to convince her reluctant husband to participate then
gather up his biggest, strongest men friends on such short notice. Efficiently executed: maximizing the time and space allotted for the task. Children: none the worse for wear; dirty perhaps, but otherwise, not a scratch. Contrary to the popular mindset, none of them went on to pursue a life of crime based on exposure; an excursion made into the woods to rescue a stove. Fostering felons was not an accusation which would stick; though they were free to plead entrapment and coercion courtesy of their mother’s criminal mind, all of them will freely admit they all went along for the ride. Nobody suspected a thing. Nobody got caught red-handed, yet the telltale signs of their involvement were revealed when they spoke: evidence. The blue-tongued, finger-stained thieves pilfered berries, too. An inspired concept: Blue Girl Group…a great name for a gang. They had gotten away with it! A good thing, too! That summer the old house burned to the ground. Arson: the
real
crime committed at the Stanton Estate. The magnificent specimen rescued; the antique piece of sculpture cast in iron would have been transformed into a mass of molten metal, rendered useless, irretrievable; lost to the world forever. Theirs had been an act of perfect evil executed with good at heart…a scheme which saved a stove, after all.

Looking back on that bright summer day, Carolyn still harbors some regret, expressing it with a wince of shame when she speaks of the grand adventure. However, from the perspective of her accomplices, their rescue mission was necessary, still considered a triumph over evil; not an evil act. Truth be told, it was one of their best family outings ever…stowaway spirits aside.

***

Share and share alike: it was their motto. The Perron girls were growing up and a common childhood theme was apparently being carried into adulthood. Nancy was in the back of their Chevy van with Fred. It didn’t much matter to her that he had been Andrea’s first boyfriend only two years before; he had shown some interest in her
next
of kin; all that mattered at the moment. As a firm believer in sharing with her sisters, Nancy decided to entertain Freddy’s sly dog suggestion that they take a walk together. Andrea was off in a land far, far away; she would
never
know. Had Fred been given the opportunity, he would have happily taken Nancy for the ride of her life. Having come to the house with his sister Katy, his options were rather limited. Fred’s car was broken down. The keys to the van were inaccessible, tucked deeply inside of Roger’s pocket while he slept on the sofa. Nancy knew they’d have to travel locally, on foot, but there were plenty of places available on the property to sneak off and hide in the darkness where they wouldn’t be discovered, or so she thought. No one noticed when a lusty couple disappeared from the crowd gathered in the kitchen. Katy and company were highly distracted. With one “
come hither
”
glance from across the table, Nancy enticed Freddy outside. There were no street lights, nothing to illuminate their whereabouts and yet she was capable of locating his voluptuous set of lips with ease…a miracle! Eyes like that of a cat, Nancy could see in the dark; another natural talent. It occurred to her the vacant van parked in their driveway would be the perfect choice for some privacy, offering a way to stay warm at the onset of winter. With a few suggestions of her own Nancy convinced him to follow her there. They crawled inside the open cargo space in the back. Freddy was just about to make his smoothest move when he turned white enough to light a path all the way back into the house. He followed it, opening the door and exiting the van without saying a word. Nancy was offended, having no idea why she had just been dumped. The young man leapt from a prone position and was out of the vehicle in seconds. She too jumped out, running after him; she
had
to run as he was moving fast. It was unlike Freddy to be so abrupt. Nancy found his behavior curious and equally impolite. Obviously
something
had happened!

Though it took some time to pry the tough truth from his tender lips Freddy confessed he had been spooked. All he said: “We were not alone in that van.” Apparently he’d detected a presence; a
someone
undoubtedly there to watch over Nancy (like it or not); so to preserve, protect and defend her honor, no matter how willing she was to relinquish it. Though she did not
feel
anything other than his hands at the time, Nancy believed him…the young man had no reason to lie. Whoever it was made his skin crawl; whoever it was made him run away like a scared little child, leaving behind a hot tamale teenager ripe for the picking. Fred never did divulge any details of the encounter. Instead, he took another path, slipping away from a family and friends in the process. He never returned to the farmhouse again. Over the course of the next year or so, Fred became involved with a group of unsavory characters who’d led him astray. The bright and beautiful boy was transformed by the substance known as Angel Dust; a powerful, often deadly hallucinogen. A sudden influx of the scourge struck like a dagger at the heart of Harrisville during the summer of 1977, changing everything; a sudden turn for the worse. Their sleepy village became a toxic waste dump, virtually overnight. Kids were getting
dusted
all over town, dosing and overdosing themselves; parents in a panic. Intoxicated teenagers were dropping like flies because a pusher was doing his footwork.

There are losses sustained in a lifetime; significant losses from which those who remain behind never fully recover. Freddy’s death was one of them. No one could believe he was gone. Nancy called Andrea in Pittsburgh, sobbing hysterically; she could not speak. Carolyn had to take the phone to break the tragic news. His body was found in the village cemetery near his car, parked beside Bathsheba Sherman’s gravestone. Andrea grieved for her dear friend. She was not as shocked as some; they’d met in passing the previous summer. During this brief interlude she had seen the startling vacancy in his eyes. His light had turned to darkness. He was already gone…across the Universe.

Freddy had to get high; he had to fly higher and higher until one dark night, while traveling at the speed of light, on devil dust disguised as angel wing, a little birdie whispered in his ear, showing him the way. He wanted to fly high enough to escape his demons on Earth. He did not escape unscathed. Sweet friend, rest in peace. Heaven isn’t far. On the wings of angels fly away home.

“The desire to fly is an idea handed down to us by our ancestors who, in their grueling travels across trackless lands in prehistoric times, looked enviously on the birds soaring freely through space, at full speed, above all obstacles, on the infinite highway of the air.”

Wilbur Wright

 
bed knobs

“We turn to God for help when our foundations are shaking,

only to learn that it is God who is shaking them.”

Charles C. West

What if everything is
one
thing? What if God is
one
thing and everything? What if the Universe expands with our consciousness? These are some of the questions young children pondered as they tried to fall asleep in a house alive with death; not free to have sweet dreams of David Cassidy or Davey Jones. Their minds were otherwise preoccupied: a blessing and a curse. Each night was a challenge; fear, the obstacle to overcome. Cindy went for a ride almost every night. Her bed would shudder and vibrate, as a matter of course. It did not begin to levitate until she was thirteen. Cindy had reason to want another bedroom but she did not want to abandon Christine. As five sisters, watching and listening throughout the nights spent waiting for what was next to come, doors remained open between bedrooms; theirs was a supernatural existence. Whenever the veils thinned, shredding between the dimensions, moonstruck shadows revealing a translucent presence; space and time became irrelevant. All that mattered in the moment
was
the moment; certain knowing they were not alone; knowing, for as long as they lived there, never would be again.

***

September ~ 1976: From the minute the car left the driveway for a journey to Pittsburgh, Cynthia began making moving plans of her own, her intention, to stake a claim: Andrea’s vacant bedroom. It was the perfect solution to her perpetual dilemma. Christine could have the middle room all to herself but Cindy would be right next door. If they each placed their beds back-to-back against the adjoining wall then, technically, they would be sleeping closer together than ever. Problem solved. Cindy’s guilt alleviated, her official plan was hatched. While Roger was away, taking his eldest to college, the fourth of five was single-handedly rearranging the entire room. On a warm, sunny afternoon, while everyone else was busy outside, Cynthia moved her dresser and all of her stuff into unshared space, forgetting that, no matter where you go, there they are. At the age of thirteen she
finally
had a room of her own.

It proved to be a task and a half; a real feat for one so young but Cindy was reluctant to ask for help. She did not have permission and presumed if she did the job alone no one would have a chance to protest. There was a desk, a full-sized bed and a vanity at her disposal, each of which she arranged to her liking. Then came the arduous and incessant back-and-forth motion: toting assorted toys and trinkets, filling an empty closet with clothing. Cindy swept and dusted, polished and primped the bedroom for hours, lending her unique style to the surroundings. She washed windows then hung the set of curtains which matched her quilt. Andrea had been forced to leave a lot behind, as the dormitory room was miniscule by comparison. Consequently, Cindy felt rich in the same way a pauper suddenly endowed feels like a princess. The bed, a four-poster pineapple spinet, was one lovely and familiar space to inhabit. It was like a cushion, a cloud of delightful sensations, luxurious in every way. She had no regrets leaving her old twin-sized bed behind in the middle room. She’d spent many nights cuddled up with Andrea in a bed she had covetously longed for and loved for years…and now it was hers! Placing her quilt across the mattress, Cindy stood back to admire the room, results of an effort made; a wonder to behold. It was beautiful. It looked
so
different. It looked like
her
bedroom; a vision she’d held in reserve, in the back of her mind for years.