Soon, behind her, the woods were pegged with bodies of those intent on revenge and what they thought was godly justice. She could hear feet still behind her and shouts, although there were fewer now. Russ was still behind her and luckily enough, had dodged every flying wooden dagger. With unrelenting determination, he started swinging the rope as he was closing in on her and in spite of a few misses, finally, he hit his target and pulled her back, dragging her across the rugged ground.
Only five men remained – everyone was taken down by Matilda’s otherworldly attack. Russ punched her harder than he had before and knocked her out, then he slipped the rope up above her waist to her neck, and tightened it. With the help of the others, he selected the perfect tree and threw the other end of the rope over it and together, the men pulled that end, hoisting Matilda far up into the air. After one of the men tied the end of the rope around the trunk of a tree, they all watched as she hung there. Suddenly awake now, wiggling and struggling to breathe, Matilda tried to slacken the rope around her neck, fighting with everything inside to preserve her life. With a supernatural will that went against what the men knew to be humanly possible, she somehow managed to speak as the rope choked the very air out of her: “You think you’ve killed me, but you cannot destroy my legacy. I curse you all and this God-forsaken town.”
* * *
Reverend Ike had quickly taken a detour from the crowd and ran away after he saw the flying branches. He returned home and locked himself in his prayer room – the basement – for the next six days. It was on the seventh day that a parishioner discovered his decomposing body in a pool of blood, and smeared on the floor nearby were the letters: M A T I L D A.
12
_________________
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Mira said to her daughter Rosie, who had just rolled over in bed. “Time to get ready for school.”
Rosie slowly sat up moments later, rubbing her eyes.
“Morning, honey.” Mira gave her a peck on the cheek and started to leave, then she suddenly turned around. “You must’ve really had some dream. I’m pretty sure I heard you talking in your sleep last night.”
“I wasn’t dreaming, Mom,” Rosie replied, tiredly.
Mira giggled. “Many times we dream and just don’t remember, honey. I’m positive I heard you.”
“It was no dream. This very nice lady named Matilda was here. Do you remember Cara?”
“Yes.” Mira nodded, apprehensively.
“Well, her Aunt Matilda was here and she told me so many things about what happened before there were TVs, telephones, the internet...”
Mira walked over and sat down next to Rosie. “Really? She was actually here in the room with you?”
“Yes, she was. She’s a very pretty lady and when she was alive she had a special gift, but it was different from ours.”
Mira could not forget the little girl she and Rosie had met years earlier — the one that killed the people she once loved.
“Her gift was like Cara’s,” Rosie said.
“Right.”
Rosie started to get up. “They killed her, you know, but she didn’t deserve it. In the end she got even though.”
“Even? How?”
“She cursed the entire town and she said if we ever researched its history, we’d find out some very interesting things. She was sad then, but she’s not anymore.”
“I wonder why she came to you.” Mira said. “I never imagined you or I would ever see her again after she came for Cara.”
“She came because something’s going to happen, but she didn’t say what it was. Instead, she said to pay attention to the signs when they appear. That’s all I know.”
Mira had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as Rosie walked out of the room.
The Disappearing House
Cornelius Saga Series - Book 10
1
_________________
“Every town has its secrets and this one is no different,” Mira told her mother.
Sara took one gulp of her soft drink, then rested the can down on the table again. Their lunch date at Phil’s had been planned a week in advance and finally, they were sitting there, just the two of them, in the corner of the large room near a window.
Phil’s was never busy between 11:00 a.m. and 12:00 noon; the influx of customers usually came in between the hours of 12:00 and 3:00 p.m. Since Mira had returned to work again, although with a slight limp she’d suffered since the tragedy a couple of years earlier, it had been difficult for her and Sara to plan any outings. And as Sara was getting older, Mira realized even more than ever how important it was to continue to make good memories and spend as much time as possible with her mom.
Sara’s eyes met Mira’s again. “I’ve lived in this town all of my life. If there was some dreadful secret people were keeping, I’d know about it.”
“Really, Mom? What about Cornelius’ secret? Karlen’s demise and how his granddaughter had kept hush about it for years? You knew nothing about that until it all was uncovered, remember? So, you can’t possibly know everything that went on in this town decades or centuries before you were born that have been swept under the rug!” Mira sighed. “Something around here has an awful stench and I’m gonna find out what it is, one way or the other.”
“Why are you insisting on this? Look, you’ve just recently returned to work; you’re still in recovery mode whether you believe it or not.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’m saying that your focus needs to be in the right place, Mira. You can’t help them all! And you certainly can’t save the world. What matters most is Rosie’s needs. She’s now a teenager and needs you more than ever.”
“What does this have to do with Rosie? I’m always there for her— just as you are!”
Sara quickly nodded to appease her daughter’s temperament.
“I know…and I’m not implying that you’re not. All I’m saying is it’s best you leave the past in the past and not dig up anything that might cause you any trouble or unnecessary stress. You don’t need that, Sweet Pea; you’ve been through so much already.”
Mira looked Sara dead in the eyes. “Seven months ago, Matilda told Rosie that something was going to happen and to pay attention to the signs. I’ve seen the signs ever since she appeared to her — and so have you.”
Sara lowered her head. Mira could tell that she wanted to avoid the subject. Her face suddenly looked pale and the wrinkles across her forehead seemed to appear more prominent as she frowned.
“Why are you avoiding this, Mom?” Mira studied her. “All of my life, ever since my first unusual experience, you’ve supported me in every situation, just as you have Rosie. You’ve never once tried to deter me from doing what I could to help those that needed my help. Any intuition I had, you encouraged me to follow, but this time, you just seem so resistant to what I’m telling you and I don’t understand why. You know, firsthand, that this part of my life never ever affected my taking care of Rosie or my job performance in any way, shape or form, so what you’re saying to me just doesn’t make sense. What about the fact that you’ve been seeing things as of late — strange things that you don’t normally see? What about the nightmares you’ve been having for literally months now? And the manhole we saw the other day brimming over with what appeared to be bubbling acid, and although you didn’t see the young man inside screaming his lungs out, I did. These are just some of the signs that tell me something isn’t right.”
“I agree the acid thing was strange, but as for the apparition, you always see them. And as far as my having nightmares is concerned; everyone has nightmares, Mira.”
“Not for the length of time you’ve been having them.” She reached across the table for Sara’s hand. “That’s why I want you to see someone about it.”
Sara scowled. “Someone…like who?”
Mira paused for a few moments as she considered how to put it. “Someone who can help.”
“You mean, like a th
erapist?”
Mira nodded.
“Please! You’ve gotta be kidding! What in the world would I need to see a therapist for— just because I’m having bad dreams?”
“Mainly because you won’t talk about it. You won’t share what wakes you up screaming almost every other night and you shut down when I ask you about it, Mom. The constant, sleepless nights are obviously taking a toll on you. You seem to be aging quickly and your concentration isn’t there like it used to be. If you won’t talk to me, you must talk to someone. I can’t sit back and watch you go on like this, for God knows how much longer!”
For a while, no one spoke, then Sara gently pushed her plate aside which still had another half of a turkey sandwich on it. “As usual, Mira, you’ve managed to switch the conversation from you to me. We were talking about how you ought to leave this new stuff you’ve started digging into alone, when all of a sudden the focus switched to me and my nightmares! This is ridiculous. I’m going to say this once. I don’t have a problem that I can’t deal with, so I’m not going to see a therapist or anyone else for that matter. If somehow I awake you in the middle of the night, it’s just a dream; ignore me and go back to sleep. I’m fine. I may look older because I am older — there’s nothing odd about that. I want you to concentrate on yourself and Rosie and what’s best for you both. I’ll be all right.” She put the strap of her purse on her arm. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now. I need to make a few stops before heading home. See you later at the house, okay?”
Mira was taken aback by her mother’s abrupt behavior. “Okay, Mom,” she replied. “See you later.”
Sara got up and left the diner. As Mira watched her walk to the parking lot, her cell phone rang. Bobby’s name appeared on the caller ID.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Hey yourself. How are you doing?” he asked, while searching a top cabinet at the office for a tool he needed.
“Cool. Just sitting here at Phil’s after Mom walked out on me.”
“She did?”
“Yup. She’s just not acting much like herself lately, ever since…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Mira checked her wristwatch, then stood up. “I’ll talk to you about it later, Bobby. Gotta get back to the clinic.”
“Okay. I’ll stop by your house after work.”
“Um…no. I’ll come by you after five.”
Mira ended the call as she exited the diner, and walked over to her car. As she was about to insert the key into the door, her peripheral vision caught sight of something over to her left. It looked like a trail of blood that she hadn’t noticed when she first parked there. It started only a few inches from her back tire and stretched across the asphalt pavement, ending in the very spot where Sara’s car had been parked. Fixing her purse on her shoulder, Mira knelt down next to the trail and scooped up a small bit with her finger. From the smell of it, she was sure it was fresh blood. It was then that she had an agonizing feeling in the pit of her gut and heard what sounded like muffled screams and disembodied voices. Dropping her purse to the ground, she pressed her hands against her ears. The cries were heart-wrenching and the faces which soon surfaced in her mind’s eye were filled with terror.
2
_________________
Now seated behind the wheel of the car, Mira pulled out her cell and quickly phoned her mother.
“Mom, are you all right?” she asked.
Baffled, Sara replied, “Of course I’m all right. I just left you five minutes ago, remember?”
Mira breathed a sigh of relief. “I was just… checking up on you. That’s all.”
“Why, thank you, Sweet Pea, but there’s no need for you to worry about me. I’m fine as can be.”
Mira hoped she was right, but something indicating the opposite of that confession silently nagged at her.
She pulled onto the main road and headed back to work. In the meantime, she knew it was mandatory that she clear her head of those things which bothered her since her patients would require her full attention, without the slightest distraction. She pushed in the CD labeled classical and soothing music oozed through the car’s speakers during her drive to the clinic.
“Doctor Cullen! It’s so good to see you!” Vince Macinroy exclaimed from his seat in the waiting room.
Mira had just walked in and she went over to him. “Hi, Vince. How are you today?”
“Doing quite well.”
“It’s been a long time, huh? That’s not a bad thing.” She smiled. “Means you’ve been following my instructions?”
“To the T.”
“Excellent! See you in a bit.”
Vince felt good inside whenever he got to see Dr. Mira Cullen. After all, she was the one that saved his life after he’d suffered a major heart attack on the way to the clinic for a simple routine check-up four years earlier. His ex-wife, Samantha, had brought him in just in time. Every day since then, he sent up a prayer for his favorite doctor and her family, keeping them near to his heart.
“Mister Bryant Sylvester phoned for you while you were out,” the new receptionist, Brenda Scrivens, told Mira as she passed by. “I put a note on your desk, but he said to inform you as soon as you got in.”
Doctor Barns, who was sole proprietor of The Caring Hands Clinic, had hired Brenda, a part-time college student, on a contractual basis. She was studying Corporate Law and the expenses associated with earning that degree were quite hefty. She’d worked at the supermarket he frequented, and as time went on, he was very much impressed by her drive and professionalism. After several chats about life and work, he decided to offer her a position at the clinic which also came with better pay. Brenda jumped at the opportunity. It wouldn’t have taken her eighteen-year-old brain any extended period of time to decide if leaving behind eight bucks an hour at the supermarket for eleven at the clinic would be a good move. Couldn’t beat it. Besides, Barns offered her flextime so she could work around her school hours, which was not an option at her previous job.
Mira leaned on the counter. “Is he a patient?”
“Not sure, but it doesn’t sound so,” Brenda said.
“How’s that?”
“He said he needed your help with something.”
“Guess it’s another one, huh?”
Brenda knew precisely where she was coming from. “I believe so, Doctor Cullen. By the way… these are for you too.” She retrieved a stack of around thirty pink message slips.
Mira shook her head. Only since returning to work after the long leave did she begin receiving an influx of messages. She quickly discovered that most of the callers had no interest in her services as a physician. They often expressed needing her insight into some apparent paranormal activity which was reportedly occurring in their home or work space. Often, she would decline paying them a visit as most times, she sensed there was nothing going on which couldn’t be explained. Then there’s Bryant Sylvester. She decided to make that call later.
“How many patients are here to see me, other than Vince Macinroy?” she asked.
Brenda carefully checked the register. “Just three. The others haven’t specified you or Doctor Barns.”
Mira saw patients until a quarter to five, then sat at her desk, eyeing the message slip Brenda had put there hours earlier with Bryant Sylvester’s name scribbled on it. “This has become ridiculous,” she muttered. It wasn’t enough that she’d practically changed her home phone number twice that same year due to the influx of calls requesting her psychic assistance. Now, they were calling at work and she knew she needed a plan. Barns was well aware of it and left it to her to handle. Furthermore, she was more like his right hand instead of a regular employee. Nearly two years without her, he’d felt lost. Now, she was back and so were the calls that had nothing to do with his line of practice.
She picked up the handset and dialed the number.
A few rings later, someone answered.
“Bryant Sylvester?”
Ther
e was a slight pause on the other line. “Yes, this is he.”
“Doctor Cullen returning your call.”
Mira heard his heavy sigh.
“Doctor Cullen, I’m so glad you called. I was wondering if I can come and meet with you as there’s something really important I need to discuss with you.
“What is this about?” Mira was dreading the answer.
“I… I mean… my wife and I just recently moved into this old house. We found it in a pretty nice neighborhood a few months ago and decided to make an offer for it. Well, I think we might’ve made a serious mistake.”
Bryant’s last sentence grasped her attention. She heard the fear in his voice.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“A lot’s been going on. Things neither of us can explain. My poor wife hasn’t slept a wink in days and I barely get in a couple of hours each night. I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could think of was to get in touch with you somehow and maybe you could tell us what’s going on in here and what we can do to fix it.”
“Mister Sylvester, I feel for you and your wife, but I’m not a ghost buster; I’m a doctor. Maybe you should get in touch with a paranormal investigator to see what might be happening in your home.”
“I’ve done that, Doctor Cullen. Called the only one in town about a week ago,” he said.
“And what happened?”
“He took sick really bad the night he was supposed to come, and his wife said he’s barely responsive to her. Just sits around with a blank stare on his face most of the time. Strange. Doctors have no explanation for, I guess, what you can call the trance he’s in, but his wife said nothing like that has ever happened to him before. See, it was only after he spoke with me that very morning and agreed to come here to the house that he suddenly took ill.” Bryant shifted the curtain he was standing nearby to the side. He thought sure he’d seen something dark sprint across the yard. Looking outside, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. It was quiet. Terribly quiet.
The Cornelius Saga Series Box Set 2 Page 6