Much as before, she was just sitting obediently at the door, not wagging. She was just staring at the closed door making Myranda wonder if she needed to go out. She normally slept through the night, as did Scout, but who knew? Both dogs would normally come to her bedside and paw at her if they needed to go out, which also gave Myranda pause. Plus, after having seen her episode earlier, Myranda did not think it was the need for a potty trip that gotten Blondie up. Her manner and stance were the same and as Myranda listened more carefully now, the low whine was back as well. Even though there was nothing more on her own radar, the dog’s repeated behavior made Myranda’s heart race. She glanced around desperately for some sort of weapon in case there had been a break-in, but sadly all that Myranda had at hand was the Dean Koontz tome…a heavy book, for sure, but hardly something with which to ward off an intruder.
As quietly as she could, Myranda got out of bed and eased across the room to join Blondie. She was definitely whining as if in minor distress, but this time as Myranda put her hand to her fur she could actually feel Blondie trembling. More than anything so far, this discovery frightened Myranda intensely. She pressed her ear to the door, but there was nothing to hear but her pulse pounding in her ears. She glanced at Blondie who was as stoic as she had been earlier in the day, her eyes riveted to the closed door. Feeling embarrassed at what she said next, Myranda was glad she was alone as she was surely blushing, but before she could stop it was out of her mouth:
“What is it girl?” she asked in a soft whisper.
It was like she was in some old episode of Lassie and Timmy, the idiot child, had fallen down yet another well, which seemed to happen without fail every week on the 1960’s TV series. If she had not been so scared, she might have snorted in laughter at her question to Blondie. Her touch seemed to calm the trembling and they both just sat where they were as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. But apparently whatever had gotten Blondie up and alert had nothing to do with shoes. Preferring action, however misguided it might be, to passive inaction, Myranda exhaled deeply and grasped the doorknob, trying to turn it so as not to cause any sound. Blessedly, the hardware was well-oiled and it turned in her hand in silence.
Holding her breath now, Myranda eased open the door and peered into the dark hallway, looking in both directions. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark already, so there was no further need for her night vision to further compensate…however, the corridor was empty in both directions. She let out her breath slowly as she padded into the hallway toward the stairs with Blondie at her heels. It was a challenge to get her pulse under control, but as Myranda moved along it seemed to be falling step by step. They both moved to the head of the stairs and Myranda stared down the wide staircase which was marginally illuminated by a light she had left on at the landing. Or had she? From never-ending lectures from her father, Myranda was religious about not leaving lights on that were unnecessary. But as she stared at the dim bulb below, she was sure she must have just forgotten this one time. Anyway, what kind of intruder comes into your house and turns lights on?
In any case, Myranda, against all common sense and conventional wisdom, walked with determination down the stairs, flipping lights on once she got downstairs to fully illuminate the lower level. She and Blondie made a thorough search of the ground floor but found nothing more. All her doors were securely locked, just as she had left them after eating dinner. There was no sign of a forced entry anywhere and even Blondie seemed more relaxed and more normal once they had determined they were alone in the house. Myranda looked at Blondie and shrugged. Blondie shook her body as if trying to remove water and smiled at Myranda, who knew this behavior was often a dog’s way of releasing stress as well as shedding water. They both retreated back to the bedroom, leaving Myranda unsure of what had actually happened.
No intruder was always a good thing, she thought, but these two episodes from Blondie were giving her the willies. Was there some history to this house that she was unaware of? She made a mental note to run this by Debra the next time she saw her. She opened the bedroom door for Blondie who curled up on her bed and blew out air through her nose before closing her eyes again. Myranda closed the door and got back in bed as well. What they had missed, what even the keen nose of the Labrador retriever had missed, was the lone footprint in the dust of the hallway just past the staircase. It was small, like that belonging to a child, and wet as if the foot had picked up water from the recent rain storm. Yes, it had been missed. But in reality, if Myranda had actually spied the small print, it might have sent her running from the house in a panic. Maybe a good thing, or maybe a bad thing…I guess it depends on your perspective…
Myranda’s Sense of Rationality is Shaken
New Orleans, Louisiana
29th October, 1977
Myranda arose later in the day than she had originally planned on, but after the turmoil overnight, she supposed she must have needed the sleep. Even Scout and Blondie had not bugged her to go out early as was their normal routine. Violet was nowhere to be seen, and Myranda figured she had gotten frustrated with them all sleeping in and had gone in search of a can opener on her own. As she forced herself out of bed and led the way so Blondie and Scout could get out back and get their morning bathroom run taken care of, Myranda was pleased to see that the clouds and storm from the previous night had moved along. Delicate rays of sunlight were penetrating the thick vegetation of the backyard, reflecting off the rainwater that was still dripping from all the shrubs and tree branches.
It was going to be another humid day, but at the moment the temperature was still very pleasant and she wanted to get a huge dent put in her planting…possibly get it all done in one shot. After feeding the crew—including the perturbed Violet—Myranda gathered her gardening tools and hooked up the hose to a faucet near the door that led into the kitchen. As she began digging in the soil and setting individual plants in their new homes along the back and around the sides of the house, Violet came flying out the back door. In pursuit of more prey she would never catch, Myranda thought as she laughed to herself. Blondie and Scout, however, could not be bothered with such energetic activity. As Myranda moved away from the patio to plant a huge family of yellow tulips—her favorites—at the west side of the house, the dogs were sacked out on the patio.
She sat back on her heels, stretching her back, as she admired her handiwork when her focus was broken by the sound of some sort of screeching that seemed to be coming from inside the house. She paused, wanting to make sure she had actually heard it, when the sound repeated itself, though a bit muffled this time compared to the first time. She shot to her feet and ran to the backyard, afraid that maybe Violet had gotten into trouble. But as she raced around the corner of the house, Violet was flopping back and forth on her back as she pawed ineffectually at insects passing through her field of vision. The dogs, however, were up and awake and looking with concern into the kitchen. Myranda felt her heart slow once she found out all the animals were OK, but seeing the dogs’ attention drawn to the interior confirmed that she had not imagined the disturbance.
Myranda paused again and waited to see if there was more to come. Just when she was sure it must have been something from one of the neighbor’s houses or something from the street that had filtered through her open doors and windows, there was a loud slamming sound, like a heavy object being overturned followed by the unmistakable cry of a young child. This had definitely come from inside her house, but neither dog seemed anxious to investigate. Myranda understood their reticence, but on pure instinct, she dropped the garden trowel she was still holding and dashed inside. Once she went inside, the dogs reluctantly followed her, but after a thorough search of the mansion, both upstairs and down, Myranda could find no evidence of what must have been responsible for the ruckus. The dogs stuck to her side as she searched, but their subdued and tentative movements, very uncharacteristic for both, made Myranda feel a bit uneasy…even when all seemed fine. It was baffling and intriguing at the same time,
and Myranda removed her gardening gloves, leaving them on the kitchen table as she retired to the living room.
The sudden excitement had flooded her body with adrenaline and she sat on the sofa with a glass of iced tea trying to figure it all out as her system slowly recovered. Blondie lay flat on one side of her knees, while Scout took a similar pose on the other. She looked down at them and frowned.
“Some guard dogs you two are…”
They did not take her criticism personally and just stayed put. With no other ideas as to what had happened, Myranda drained the last of her drink and set the empty tumbler aside when she heard more. It was not the screeching sound nor any slamming of heavy objects or the overt crying she was sure had been previous, but in a muffled and ubiquitous manner, she could definitely hear a child sobbing. It was hard to pinpoint the origin of the distress. As hard as Myranda tried, she could not understand it, as it felt to her as if the sound was coming from all around her. She felt a shiver run the length of her spine and her pulse kicked into high gear again as an inescapable wave of panic and fear coursed through her body.
She looked wildly about the room but saw nothing. Then as the crying seemed to coalesce into a more focused spot, just outside the living room in the corridor that led to the kitchen, the sobbing grew in volume before stopping completely. Myranda stood on shaky legs and just out of the periphery of her vision, she caught a slight movement. It was nothing significant…more like a shadow or a flutter in the ambient light of the house from the sun filtering through the curtains. But when she moved to the corridor, it was empty. The house was quiet again as well. Myranda grasped the banister of the staircase to steady her balance as her breathing was ragged. Had she just heard what she thought she had? Had she actually seen something moving about in her house that was not her or the animals? Or was it her imagination? Looking back at the dynamic duo, still prostrate on the living room floor, she had no idea….
Despite her lack of belief in anything otherworldly, Myranda felt her skepticism was being tested. Her scientific background had served her well in explaining even the most unusual and strangest experiences she had been through her whole life, but in this case, all her training and education felt inadequate to calm her nerves. With no other options, Myranda returned to her gardening. But even as she moved about the routine of her planting, Myranda was distracted. There was nothing more that occurred that day, but she was glad her experience in the garden was as thorough as it was or else she was sure the rest of her tulips, as well as other flowers, would have had the appearance of having been arranged by some sort of cerebrally-challenged monkey. She did not finish outside until near dark, but the whole time she kept her ears and eyes peeled in case there was a repeat performance. By the end, she was mentally and physically exhausted.
Myranda was in no frame of mind to try her hand at another Cajun dinner entree, so she settled for some macaroni and cheese and steamed asparagus which she more or less just picked at out on the patio as the dogs and Violet chowed down. None of the afternoon’s oddities had seemed to put a damper on anyone’s appetite except for her. She cleaned up all the dishes and sat with her gang out on the patio enjoying the chirp and buzz of the nocturnal denizens of New Orleans. Both Blondie and Scout seemed appreciative of the extra attention they got, but to be truthful, Myranda was feeling a bit sketchy about going back into a dark house following all that happened. None of this stuff had ever gotten to her before, despite having had friends growing up that could get themselves worked into a tizzy over such things. But somehow, today had been different for her, and Myranda was annoyed that she was letting it unnerve her.
After a few more minutes, Myranda shook off the feeling and headed for bed with Blondie and Scout close behind. She took extra care to secure the house, but it was nothing she did not ordinarily do. When they arrived upstairs, they found Violet already ensconced in the bed, making Myranda laugh again as it looked as if the cat had staked her claim to the majority of her bed.
……….
Myranda’s light sleeping habits had served her well as an intern and resident, but now she was finding those old patterns bothersome. And with her mind racing from the day’s bizarre events, she was tossing and turning more than usual. But what came to Myranda this night was something she had not been plagued with since she was very young: nightmares. There seemed to be a series of small passing disturbing images just after she was finally able to fall asleep, but the one prolonged and lasting dream was actually based in her new house. In the dream, Myranda arose from her bed and walked downstairs upon hearing some strange noises. Though it was her new place, a lot of the surrounding furnishings and details of the house did not look quite right. She moved down the corridor that flanked the left side of the staircase and entered the formal dining room that was located about halfway down the hall.
She stopped in the doorway when she spotted a woman sitting at the table. It was not anyone that Myranda recognized from anywhere. The woman looked to be a bit older than Myranda, with stringy, thin brown hair and she did not seem to acknowledge Myranda’s presence as she stepped into the room. She alternatively clasped her hands in front of her as in prayer with wringing them nervously as if she did not know what to do with them. Myranda stepped closer to see that the woman was about her age, not older, but her face and skin looked worn and tired, thus giving her an appearance of being older than she probably was.
“Hello?” Myranda asked quietly. “Can I help you?”
The woman did not reply, but just stared in an unfocused manner as if she was peering right through Myranda…like she was not even there. Myranda furrowed her brow but did not feel scared otherwise. She tried several more times to engage her visitor in conversation, or at least to try and find out who she was and what she wanted, but she got no response to any of her attempts. Myranda, giving up, turned to go back upstairs and to her bed, but as soon as she turned and took two steps, she drew back in surprise as the woman was now directly in front of her, mere inches from her face, blocking her path into the hall. She was so close to the woman that she could actually feel her breath on her face, but still she did not speak, still staring right through Myranda.
The sensation of her breath on her face made Myranda want to scream, but before she did she snapped awake in her bed, her face and upper body covered in a film of perspiration, and feeling in a near panic attack. Both Blondie and Scout were staring at her, and Violet was nowhere to be seen, as she sat up in bed, gasping for breath, her heart pounding as if it might leave her chest. Maybe she had cried out in her sleep after all…
“Sorry, guys…Momma just had a bad dream. It’s OK…”
The dogs settle down again upon her words of reassurance as Myranda got up to wash off her face and get a glass of water. After patting her face dry and changing out of the T-shirt she had been sleeping into a dry one, her pulse had returned to normal and she felt a bit better. When she returned to bed, Violet had apparently not taken her outburst too seriously and was again back in her usual spot on the foot of the bed. Blondie and Scout were already asleep. Myranda exhaled deeply and clicked off her light and lay back down, falling asleep again sooner than she had anticipated. However, it was not long before a second vivid nightmare came her way.
Myranda Loses Her Skepticism
New Orleans, Louisiana
30th October, 1977
In this dream, though, Myranda was awakened by the sound of a crying child…the same type of anguish and distress that she had heard earlier yesterday when she had come inside from gardening. In her nightmare, Myranda immediately leapt from her bed, running toward the crying sounds and calling to the child. Despite not having had children, Myranda’s maternal instinct to protect the child was strong. As she ran through the house toward the noise, the crying of the child began to taper off gradually and eventually stopped altogether before Myranda could reach the source. However, from around a corner of the hallway, a young boy materialized as from out of the ether. He was ma
ybe in his very early teens, but his frail body and sallow complexion made him look much younger. He was covered, from his head to toes in fresh and older bruising, and the look on his face was one of ultimate anger and resentment, bordering on uncontrollable fury.
Wary of the boy’s expression and apparent demeanor, Myranda tip-toed slowly toward him, offering her open, upturned hand to show she meant him no harm.
“It’s OK, honey…I won’t hurt you. You are safe now…” Myranda whispered as she moved.
In a reaction seeming to indicate that he understood her, the boy reached toward her as if accepting her concern and affection, but as Myranda got closer, the boy suddenly lashed out and struck her across her face with a closed fist, sending Myranda sprawling to the floor. She touched her face where he had struck her, totally awestruck and shocked at his attack. Fearing he was perhaps not done with her, Myranda scooted herself backward away from the boy, horrified as she looked into his angry expression.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice shaky and trembling.
However, the boy did not respond. He just laughed at her and dashed away down the hallway, disappearing like a vapor on a cold day. With a start even more abrupt than the one she had experienced following her first nightmare, Myranda woke again, putting her real hand to her face where the boy had struck her in the dream. She knew it had been just a dream, but it had felt so real she fled to the bathroom to look at her face in the mirror. But there was nothing. No bruise, no red mark. Myranda was not sure if she was disappointed or relieved at this. As before, Myranda rinsed off her face and plodded back into the bedroom wondering what in the hell was going on.
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