She had previously worked as a graphic artist for a small newspaper, and agreed to share those talents at our office when required. Carrie had not only filled the required positions, but had seemingly been added to our extended family.
In Danny’s absence we had been forced to hire a local man as our new groundskeeper. A confirmed bachelor at age sixty-five, old Norman Hinckley was a retired grade school teacher of English descent. He was reliable enough, but somewhat slow to tend to things. Although he tended to grumble a little, Eva was obviously enamored with his company and was constantly after him about something.
Quite often I would pause and quietly watch them from my office window, laughing to myself as they argued back and forth. It was never rude or hostile, but much in the same manner to which an old married couple might interact. She would bark orders and he would grumble while following her directions. And then she would fix him a nice lunch, which they would sit and share together in the garden.
The old house had fallen strangely silent. Our home becoming little more than a house filled with dark and often disturbing things. Over the months I had spent a great deal of time alone with Caitlin. She had taken to coming into my office as I worked, and quietly sitting in the large armchair while reading. We rarely went out. With the loss of our unborn child still weighing heavily upon our hearts, neither of us could bear the sight of young parents. As time passed, the pain lessened, but its shadow lingered… I prayed for the time when we could both just allow the memory to fade.
With Nightrealm III in the able hands of my new editor, I wasted no time in beginning the outline for a fourth book. Needless to say, I had my usual concerns and personal doubts. Some things just never changed. I was always worried that I might not be able to find anything interesting, or frightening enough to entertain the readers. I had already begun the search for source material.
I had spent countless hours at the office poring over strange calls and weird letters which I had previously declined. Mainly items previously cast aside for their apparently absurd content. As though having always maintained an open mind, there were just some things that I blatantly refused! If they concerned matters of the supernatural or cryptozoology, I would have gladly investigated! But, the day would never come that I would attend the home of anyone presuming that a potato chip resembling Jesus Christ was speaking to them…
And so, refusing to become desperate, I had simply hoped for the best. There certainly wasn’t any hurry, as Ted had previously and so vividly pointed out. But, the paranoia of putting things off and running late had always haunted me. Needless to say, though I spent a great deal of time with Caitlin, thoughts of the new book were always prevalent in my mind. All that I wanted was a beginning, but things had appeared rather bleak. But then, as August had slowly faded, a mysterious call would change everything…
The Horror of Harrison Mills
Chapter One
Tuesday, August 27, 1974.
It had been an exceptionally hot and very long day. But you would never have heard me utter a single word in complaint. As much as I loved the fall, I absolutely loathed the winter. Quite honestly, I had always experienced sadness, even despair as the nights grew colder. For in my heart there was a sense of mortality with the passing of another year. Places, faces and moments forever lost in the fading pages of time. It often found me alone and deep in thought, as standing silently before the window, I watched the wind tossing the leaves as they yellowed and fell. But those very same gardens had witnessed a cheerful gathering not so long ago….
We had arranged a large barbecue earlier that week and everyone had attended. Rich had assisted with the assembly of several stately lamp posts in the garden, and soon had multi-colored patio lanterns strung all about the large gazebo. We had purchased several large tables and a number of chairs, and Rich had provided the music. A selection of what he had called “bubble-gummer’s fifties’ rock n’ roll.” I had loved every moment of it!
There had been steaks, chicken, burgers and Bavarian sausage. The ladies had all gotten together and prepared a number of wonderful salads. Rich and Red Cloud had busied themselves building a fire-pit, and boiled a huge cauldron of potatoes and corn on the cob. Scott and Carrie had provided enough apple pie and ice cream to choke a horse, and there was an endless flow of lemonade and iced tea.
It had been a wonderful opportunity to share with Deb, Pam and Jen in a more relaxing and pleasant family environment. Debra had brought her husband Raymond, a large man who, though intimidating in stature, had a heart of gold. Pam had arrived with Jen. Neither of them being attached, they had sat together, laughing and joking throughout the evening. It was an absolutely wonderful night, and something that we had all agreed to do more often.
When it had all ended and everyone had pitched in to clean and sort the chaos, I had stood and silently watched as they had departed. Danny, driving his 1970 Dodge Super Bee RT, had paused and, looking back with a wave, locked the gates in parting. He had grown so much since that first morning when he had peeked over my fence. And somehow without my having even noticed, become a man. I was so very, very proud of him in so many ways. I had paused to wonder if this had been how my mother had once felt about me, as standing upon the doorstep, she had waved and watched me leave so many times. Much in the same way that I was doing now….
As the lights and sounds of the Dodge vanished up the street and into the night, I suddenly felt a gentle hand upon my shoulder, and turned to look.
“Are you okay, my love?” Caitlin gazed upon me with those wide and beautiful green eyes.
There was a moment where I was honestly uncertain, but nodding, I gently embraced and kissed her, as we stood and stared up and into the night sky.
“It’s like you can see into forever on nights like this.” she whispered.
“As long as that forever includes you--,” Drawing her closer, I sighed in the cool breeze, “Then I would be happy to just spend eternity right here.”
“Oh—Michael--,” Turning, she looked up and into my eyes, her lips quivering ever so slightly, “I love you so very much—and wish…”
“Stop—please,” Placing a finger before her lips, I sensed what she had been about to say, and interrupted, “Just having each other—safe and sound, is all that matters now….”
Gently resting her head upon my breast, we stood there in the stillness beneath the star-filled heavens. So small, so insignificant beneath eternity, and yet, I knew that I could face anything as long as we had one another.
The sudden sound of a door opening behind us caused us to turn, as peeking out, Eva smiled, “Pardon me for interrupting your hanky-panky. But would either of you care for some hot cocoa before retiring for the evening?”
It was an awkward and emotional moment that swiftly passed. We could only laugh, as after nodding in a moment’s thought, she politely said, “Well, I’ll be off then, I’ll have that ready for you in a jiffy, don’t be long now!”
As she vanished into the house, Caitlin put a hand before her mouth, as somewhere between laughter and tears, she looked to me, “I’m sorry sweetheart—she has the worst timing.”
“It seems to me that my mother did as well.” Brushing the red and flowing locks from out of her face, I shrugged, “I think that it’s a talent that comes with time, and the fear that we may be having more fun than them.”
“Oh—that’s enough.” Caitlin slapped my shoulder, and taking me by the hand, promptly towed me into the house.
We had shared some hot cocoa by the hearth and laughed while discussing the events of the evening. Neither of us was feeling very energetic after such a long day. So, she had retired to the bedroom and, after kissing her good-night, I had wandered into my office.
Sitting in the luxurious, red leather wing-back executive chair before my immense roll-top desk, I sighed deeply. It had been a recent addition. It was heavy and old and rolled about on metal casters. Since I spent such a great deal of time at the desk, it was an absolute
blessing.
The room had felt all too warm, and moving to open the window, I paused to look out into the night. There was a distinct freshness in the cool breeze. I knew that smell. It spoke of forth-coming rain. Drawing the window open and breathing deeply, I closed my eyes while dreaming of old and dark places. The sweet scent of the damp pines carried me back in memory, while remembering several exciting adventures and frightening moments. On some nights, as while doing that very thing, I thought to have even heard voices in the night. It might have just been some distant neighbors’ voices carried through the stillness, but it had always left me wondering. Was it in fact just local sounds, or something that we had brought back with us from the mausoleums of the Duff Glenn? I had looked to the pale marble statues that haunted our gardens by night. So beautiful, they were timeless memories of a forgotten age. They had witnessed many things and perhaps still carried some of those moments, forever engrained within the ancient stone.
Returning to my chair, I sipped at the Earl Grey tea that Eva had brought before retiring for the evening. My attention focusing upon the large hutch and the covered sphere that, resting centrally, stood atop my desk and beneath the first shelf. It seemed as though the desk and hutch had been designed for this specific purpose. Filled with numerous volumes of which I used for general research, it reached to the ceiling while comfortably housing ornaments and treasures.
Removing the black velvet cloth that I had used to cover the golden sphere, I sat and stared into the shimmering crystal. Although I felt no threat, I had taken to covering the stone during the day. Mainly because I was concerned that like amethyst, the sunlight might damage the color of the stone. It was something that Rich had taught me. Taking no chances with something so precious, I felt that it was better to be safe than sorry.
Turning to look toward the hearth, I frowned in the absence of the labradorite pillars that had once stood upon either side. After the experience with Marlowe, and though suffering no sense of threat, I had still decided to remove them from the study.
Rich had taken them down to his garage and rendered them into smaller pieces about the size of an orange. He had produced a globe from either side, and presented them to me. One bore distinctive magenta, golden and purple hues, while the other shimmered in multiple shades of blues and greens. He had kept the remainder of the pillars to later make into items that we would sell in our stores.
Rich had also taken the precaution to run water over them during the day, while saying a prayer in blessing. It was a ritual that many practiced when finding or purchasing minerals for their collections. In this sense, had there been any present negative energy, this process was supposed to have cleansed the stone. They both now rested on either side of the golden sphere atop my desk, and before the great globe sat my beloved “owl stone.”
Although I had always had a great appreciation for the beauty of the natural world, I had never contemplated the power that might reside within such things. Rich had recently acquired a large inventory of raw minerals, and purchasing the cutting and polishing equipment, had built an impressive shop in the garage of his new home. Although money was never an issue or concern, he was the eternal entrepreneur and had many projects in progress at any given time.
Resting upon several forested acres, the house was an immense Victorian structure that had been built by a doctor in the late eighteenth century. Even larger than my own, it possessed the same beautiful arched doorways, eyebrow windows, ornate carvings and numerous stained glass windows. With a surrounding and covered veranda, it stood three stories and was for the main part concealed behind an immense holly hedge.
He had constructed a four car garage and full mechanic’s shop beside the house. This had contained his precious high performance Suburban and Maya’s red 1967 Mustang convertible. Upon further inspection, there was also something that he had hidden beneath a tarp at the very back. Although I had enquired about the mysterious project, he had quickly ushered me out without as much as a word.
I had visited upon several occasions and from what I had seen, he and Maya were swiftly making the house into a home. They had converted the main garage, which was attached to the building, into a mineral processing shop. Much of what was sold in our shops came from his private mineral collection and products. I would never have considered it before, but attributing mystical qualities to minerals had an immediate draw upon almost everyone! Even the girls in our office all carried a mineral keychain or crystal charm of some kind.
Retrieving the magenta labradorite from its round base, I rolled it within my palm while leaning back into my chair. So much had changed. So many strange, terrifying and inexplicable things had come and gone. I stared deeply into the large golden sphere, my mind drifting as I considered a recent request….
We had been contacted by the illustrious Sheila H. Harcourt. A self-proclaimed psychic and spirit guide, she offered past life regressions and conducted séances. Although I had never cared for this sort of thing, always feeling that it just left one open to possession, we had agreed to attend her home.
What little information that Rich had been able to find on the woman was bleak to say the least. She had a high school education, and with exception to attending a number of seminars on psychical research, had no previous academic background. She had been married and bore a single child. A daughter named Helen, whom at the age of seventeen had turned to prostitution and drug abuse. It was a battle that the girl had endured for almost five years, while recently having lost her life to a heroin addiction. After a bitter divorce and at the age of fifty nine, Sheila now earned a living predicting people’s futures, speaking to deceased loved ones and revealing past lives. Her newly discovered clairvoyance, costing five hundred dollars per visit, had earned her a comfortable life and large home in the West End.
In all honesty, few people made me feel sicker… The mere thought of anyone taking advantage of the mortally afflicted was a blasphemy in itself. I knew and understood the desperation that some would suffer in hopes of finding love, forgiveness or answers from beyond, as often blinded by their own grief, they would fall victim to these charlatans, these vultures among the living! I had always believed in existence of truly sentient and sensitive people, yet these fakes not only robbed the grieving, but stole any credibility that might remain to true psychics. Though I had always tried to keep an open heart and mind, in this particular case it would be very hard. I suspected that our visit would be little more than the opportunity to expose a malicious fraud; this alone was reason enough to justify the effort.
Noticing a pale reflection in the golden sphere, I slowly turned toward the window. Leaning back into the chair, I gazed upon the new moon as it slowly drifted in the blackness and, lifting high into the heavens, seemed to be fleeing from the dark clouds that followed like phantoms in swift pursuit.
So many times I had wondered, even feared, that perhaps scientific fact was actually just science theory, attempting to explain away the unknown. What if the things that we were taught and believed, had in fact just been a clever ruse? Was it all some trick of the farmer to keep the sheep from panicking within the approach of the wolf? As I watched the moon succumb to the pursing blackness, I felt my heart skip a beat.
Rolling the labradorite in my palm, I curiously looked to the assorted books that littered my desk. My attention traveling from one title to another, I adjusted the little lamp on my desk and paused in thought. Much of what I had been researching lately concerned astral travel, telekinesis and poltergeist activity. Oddly enough, many of the poltergeist incidents had been attributed to psychic power released by frustrated or angered, prepubescent children. In most cases, the investigators had claimed that it had been telekinesis, the ability to move or affect things with one’s mind.
There was once a time when something so fanciful might have been simply laughed at. But the modern age had provided some new and amazing facts. Such was the case with the famous psychic, Uri Geller. He was a middle aged man
who had made a public display of his ability to bend spoons with merely the power of his mind. Although unexplained, it was an undeniable fact that had left countless skeptics speechless. There were also the astounding events concerning a man named Edgar Cayce, deemed “the sleeping prophet.” A true visionary and mystery to most, there were many books containing documented research involving his mysterious abilities.
I had gathered as much material on the man as possible. I rarely missed new publications on these subjects, and was in constant pursuit of older and corroborating literature. Among some of the new works that now covered my desk, was the 1970 publication of a fascinating magazine entitled: Man, Myth & Magic: An Illustrated Encyclopedia of the Supernatural. Being an incredible collection of documented and well researched subjects by brilliant scholars, it covered many arcane, interesting and even frightening topics. Absolutely fascinated with the provocative material, I had subscribed as fast as pen and mail would allow!
I felt a strange and sudden tightness in my chest, and placing a hand before my heart, breathed slowly. It had been a recent development and something that had concerned my doctor. I tried not to allow mortality to raise its ugly head, but it always seemed to find a way to peek out from the darkness. After numerous tests I had been diagnosed with what was known as Ischemic heart disease, a hardening of the arteries. There was no cure, only medication, a special diet and treatments that would inevitably lead to the same result. One day and in the near future, under immense pressure from blocked arteries, my heart would simply stop.
I would be lying if I said that this had not terrified me. But it was not the fear of death that haunted me, but the thought of losing Caitlin and all that I held so dear. Placing a hand before my eyes and bowing my head, I breathed deeply, fighting back the despair that always came with such thoughts. It was truly disappointing to consider that I had come so far and through so much, just to fall victim to a hereditary disease….
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