“No—I’m okay—it’s nothing but a sudden chill.” I could see by his expression that he knew I had lied, “Just give me a few moments and I’ll be just fine.”
“That’s our road--,” He motioned at a turn from off the highway, “With a little luck and as long as this weather doesn’t get any worse, we should be there in a few hours.”
“Rich—listen to me--,” I spoke softly, but with great concern, “All things considered, my health, these dreams and the possibilities of whatever may come.” It was hard to even conceive of the thought, but I had looked to him with all sincerity, “This has all been my fault. I dragged everyone into the dream and the nightmare. Fully knowing the risk, I took you and the others on these investigations. God help me—I even kept secrets when I was too afraid to admit to things.”
He had attempted to speak, but halting him with a motion of my hand, I said “In my life, nothing is more precious—or more worthy of protection than our loved ones. So, the next time that you might be worried or wondering what might be waiting for us, please—don’t underestimate me. If the choice ever comes—even at the risk of my life and immortal soul—I will never abandon you…”
Startled as an enormous Raven flew right before our eyes, we slid out of control and off to the side of the road! The vehicle stopping short as we narrowly escaped having plunged off the shoulder and down into a steep embankment! Gasping, we looked out and into the snow, the huge black bird having seemingly vanished from sight! I had questioned the moment, but swallowed hard while discovering the snow-dusted impression of one enormous wing impressed upon the windshield in passing.
We could hear its wild call from among the steep rock and tall pines, still echoing from somewhere beyond sight. I thought or imagined to have recognized that monstrous bird by the familiar red glint in its wide and staring eye….
Yet, even as my heart pounded and the terror chilled my soul, I held silent vigil. My eyes strained as I searched the tree-tops and dark heavens, but not a single movement or another sound was to be heard.
Rich had appeared as white as a sheet, recollections of a nightmare obviously flashing through his mind. I had looked out of my window, peering down and into the deep and water filled ditch. With shattered nerves and hair still standing on end, I slowly turned my attention back to the rocks, pines and dismal heavens. Had it just been some old raven that had coincidentally, or through curiosity simply flown too near? Or had the devil sent a dark and feathered emissary, as both witness and endorsement of an unholy deal….
Rich had said nothing as he slowly pulled out of the deep snow, steering us clear of the ditch and back onto the road. We had exchanged unsettling glances and then eased back into our seats. Neither of us daring to pursue the conversation any further, we both sensed and feared that we were no longer alone.
We had arrived in the town of Midvale shortly before dark. Locating the property had been somewhat awkward, as through the flurries and shadows it had been nothing short of dumb-luck. We had passed through the old wooden gates, traveling down through deep snow on the slowly winding path toward the house. Obviously having been taken by surprise by the weather, the family had not had the opportunity to plow.
The old barn had appeared in the darkness to our immediate left. An archaic reminder of the property’s dismal past. We could see the darkness of the forest’s edge and the dim lights of the house from upon an approaching hill. It stood like a beacon, a light-house in the wasteland of darkness and seemingly endless snow.
From what I could see it was a two level Colonial structure, a Victorian beauty with an attic or possible third floor. It had a large and surrounding veranda, pillars, arches and beautifully ornate woodwork. In some respects it appeared as though the main building had been far older and the additions made later. Painted in white and what seemed its prospective robin’s egg blue, it stood majestically over the property. It was a testament of antiquity with large stained glass windows, a widow’s peak and large lanterns lighting the front door. Huge willows and Birches stood in clusters from all around, the rolling hills hiding most of the surroundings and mountains beyond.
“Just a moment—please stop the truck!” I had pulled out my camera from a bag in the back seat, “I just want a few quick shots of the house for the magazine.”
Opening the door and squinting, I cursed as the snow and wind bit into my flesh. Half-blinded, I snapped several photographs of the old house in different perspectives while hanging from out of the window. The house was picturesque and, though appearing welcoming, had an unsettling sense of foreboding. I was not altogether certain of whether it had just been the night, blizzard or the place itself, but I suddenly had the distinct impression that we were trespassing and within doing so now relinquished any and all hope of ever escaping.
I turned suddenly, looking upward and into one of the second story windows, where I thought to have seen a movement in the glowing portal. Blinking as the snow blinded me, I wiped at my eyes while clambering back into the seat.
“It’s quite the place!” Rich appeared excited, though likely just relieved to have escaped the snow and road, “I hope that they have a roaring fire and hot coffee on the brew!” Packing my camera back into the bag, I had sighed deeply, “At this point I would be happy to just get out of this weather.”
As the snow came harder in a blinding and suffocating veil, we pulled up and parked before the half-buried, white picket fence. Struggling with our luggage in the bitter cold winds, we hurriedly made our way toward the porch, stumbling up the steps and literally almost falling against the front door.
It was obvious by Rich’s expression that he had never before experienced such terrible and gale force winds. As they whipped the fur collared hood of his parka about his face, he cursed under his breath.
We had been greeted at the open doorway by an enormous, middle-aged man. His hair was sandy brown and cut very short, he wore a thick beard and mustache, which he nervously tugged. Dressed in a white woolen sweater and dark corduroy pants, his deep blue eyes scanned us suspiciously as we entered and all shook hands.
“Gregory Lumberton--,” His grip was straight and firm and he spoke in a heavy English lilt, “It’s a pleasure to have you here, please come in and make yourselves at home.”
We had anxiously followed our host through the hall, removing our boots and coats at the front door. Leaving our luggage near the steps to the second floor, we followed our host into the main room. The ceilings were high and the rooms quite spacious. The colors were creams and shades of brown with wood panelling and the home was meticulously clean. With golden and brown Victorian draperies and valances to match, it was beautifully furnished.
Although it was a rustic setting, it bore a distinct aura of Victorian England, which was not such a surprise. As the manor house had been occupied entirely by professionals and never truly seen or experienced farm life.
We were seated on French Colonial furniture before a roaring hearth, offered cakes and coffee, and his wife kindly brought tea. The original gas lights still burned from off the walls and antique lamps stood on either side of the ornate, marble hearth. There was an odd presence, the sensation of something far older. I had the impression of being somewhere entirely foreign that had been cleverly disguised as a home. For reasons beyond immediate appearances and explanation, it reminded me of a beautifully flowered and carnivorous plant….
The smell of spiced and roasted meat hung heavy in the air and the scent of freshly baked apple pie teased the senses with each and every breath.
“I can’t begin to thank you enough for coming--,” Gregory had poured the tea, “We honestly didn’t know who else to contact who wouldn’t consider us quite mad.”
“Rest assured—we would never think anything like that.” I had felt the need to comfort our host, “We have investigated many claims, and heard and seen far worse.”
“The girls are in bed already—they sleep together in our room.” His wife had explained, “It
’s the only place in the house where they truly feel safe.”
“Pardon me, dear--,” Our host turned and politely presented the woman, “Permit me to introduce my wife, Laura.”
She was an attractive and middle-aged woman, with long blonde curls that had been tied back in French braided style. Her eyes were large and blue as the sky, her flesh reminding me of the pale complexions in the paintings of Victorian Royals. Her long brown dress and white blouse were plain and quite obviously home-made, the style and design of which reflected modest, though typically pleasant English ‘farm-girls’ attire.
“Would you mind terribly if we used your telephone?” Rich had paused in thought, “We should call our wives before they get worried—the storm, I’m sure that you understand.”
“I would be happy to leave you some money for any additional expense.” I had prepared to remove my wallet from a pocket, but was halted as Gregory kindly guided us to the phone.
“Please feel free--,” He retrieved it from a side table, passing us the telephone, as he nervously smiled, “It’s the least that we can do.”
The calls had gone swiftly, though Caitlin had sounded grieved. I knew that she was terribly worried, but had attempted to comfort her as best I could.
“It’s actually quite a lovely old house--,” I chuckled, “You would love the design. It reminds me quite a bit of the others, you know, just down the street from our own?”
“I can always tell when you get nervous.” She thought aloud, “You start stuttering and bumbling on about things. Are you sure that everything is alright?”
“It’s just another old place with a sordid history. We should have it sorted out in no time. I’ll call when we know what’s going on.”
There was a static on the line, making her seem a million miles away. Her voice sounding distant, as she quietly said, “I love you Michael—just come home to me in one piece.”
“That was my intention—listen honey, there’s really nothing to be concerned about.”
“You can call it paranoia—or women’s intuition. But my instincts are telling me different. Please, just be careful—you really don’t know anything about those people, or that place.”
The comment causing me to look among the group, I suddenly swallowed hard. It may have been nothing more than my love for her and her fear for me, but suddenly I was deeply troubled.
“I’ll keep that in mind, sweetheart—but we have to cut this short. Its long distance—and you know what that’s like.”
“I love you—more than anything in this world--,” She sniffled, “I wish that you would just give all of this up and just come home.”
“We can discuss that when I get back, darling. I love you—till then….”
The phone had just gone dead in my hand, the steady tone not even there. Seeing this, Gregory had taken it from my hand and listened for several moments. “The snow must have taken down the lines again—that’s nothing new around here.”
Rich had looked over at me. I could see the tension slowly building. We were now cut off from communication during a blizzard, in the middle of nowhere…
“We have prepared a meal—and kept portions warmed for you.” Gregory announced, “If you would care to join me in the kitchen, it would be more private to speak.” He had motioned with a nod up and to where a shadow moved upon the steps. Just the slightest hint of blonde curls revealing an eavesdropper, who now crept about instead of being at rest.
To this we had quietly and enthusiastically agreed, taking our drinks and following the couple out of the room. We had traveled back through the long hall, passing the stairs, bathroom and then gone right into a corridor. From there a large room had opened to reveal the dining room and then kitchen. We were promptly seated around a large round oak table, which had been previously set.
The draperies and décor reflected that same Victorian appeal. It was as though nothing had changed in over a century with exception to the people.
“I hope that you like roast pork—with just a hint of honey, rosemary and thyme.” Laura had proudly brought our meals from out of the large cast iron stove.
“I’m certain that it will be absolutely wonderful—,” I had exclaimed, observing Rich’s pleased expression, as I said, “This is truly an unexpected pleasure, your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”
“You have an appreciation for antiquity--,” Gregory had taken notice of my wandering eye, and looking proudly about, said, “Most of what surrounds us here belonged to the previous owners of the house. It was in such fabulous condition that we saw no purpose in replacing anything.”
“You mean Benjamin Porter and his family?” Rich had unfolded and placed a napkin upon his lap.
“Actually--,” His eyes traveled the walls, draperies and beams of the high ceilings, “I was referring to the good Doctor, Henry Charles Thorne and his sister, Agatha. I believe that was her name. All that we brought with us from England were some personal things and luggage. I’m afraid that the expenses of shipping large items proved simply too much, especially with the purchase of the house and property.”
“Completely understandable--,” I had agreed, “And considering the beauty of the existing furnishing, it would be ludicrous to consider doing anything differently.”
As she set down the pork roast, baked potatoes, carrots and peas, I felt my stomach growling. It would be my first decent meal! We had indulged the food without hesitation and must have looked appalling, like two starving men having traveled some great distance, and never once seen food! Yet our hosts seemed quite pleased and considerately kept offering more.
Although we had accepted the fresh baked apple pie, being polite of course, I had insisted upon just the smallest slice. To this Rich had just muttered, but said nothing though it was apparent that he had disapproved. I had broken my diet just slightly, but managed to keep my appetite limited, unlike previously.
It was not until Laura had removed all the dishes and plates that she had served hot drinks and we all quietly spoke. “Concerning the details of your letter--,” I had sipped at my tea, “I noticed that you mentioned many things in great details, but not much about what your daughter might have seen?”
Gregory had glanced at Laura, apprehensively tugging at his beard. Clearing his throat and then looking back at me, he quietly spoke, “It isn’t a habit of mine--,” He began, “To attempt to explain things that are not absolutely clear. Especially, when told by someone, particularly a child, who is hysterical at the time.”
“And that makes perfectly good sense—I could not possibly agree more.” I peered at Rich before looking back to our host, “But in your own words—would you be kind enough to attempt a description of her assailant?”
At this point, both Rich and I had drawn out our notepads. I had refrained from making use of the recorder as it might inhibit their reactions. It was already quite obvious that they were both visibly distraught.
“It began, so it seems?” Gregory now fidgeted nervously with his coffee mug, “Shortly after midnight—I say this, because my wife and I had retired by that time. You see—we tend to leave the hall lights burning until our bed-time. And little Colleen said that it had been entirely dark for quite some time.”
“Is it usual for her to be awake at such a late hour?” I had asked, listening quietly, and scribbling down the details.
“Unlike our other two girls--,” Laura fretted, “She seems to sleep very little. And as you saw earlier--,” She pointed with a finger toward the upper floor and stairs, “Wanders in the night, ever watchful and with a perked ear,”
“Her late night habit began with this trouble--,” Gregory explained while nervously tugging at his thick beard, “She sleeps very little, wanders about and is simply just not herself.”
“Do you mind if I ask the names and ages of all the girls?” Rich interrupted, anxiously looking up at the already agitated man.
“First there is Trudy, she is the eldest at fourteen--,” He cleared his t
hroat, and sipping at a cup of coffee, said, “Then Colleen, she is the middle child of eleven, and of course Paula, being the baby of the family, is just nine.”
“Thank you—please continue.” He politely gestured with a wave. I could see that the name Trudy, having been all too familiar, had also sent a shudder of dread through my friend.
“As I had said—it was presumably not long after the hour, when Colleen had been awakened with a start. Her room is the furthest down the hall from us and nearest the bathroom and attic stair. And then follows Trudy, as we placed the eldest in between, and then of course little Paula was closest to our room.”
“Therefore setting the eldest of three centrally, should there be any need in the night.” I had agreed, while hurriedly scribbling notes.
“It began as she had said--,” He swallowed hard, his glassy eyes affixed upon the ceiling lamp above our heads, “As a creaking, the sounds all houses make while settling in the night. But as she lay and in the darkness, she now listened, became aware of a feint scratching, like those of a rat in the wood.”
His wife had moved nearer as he took her in gentle embrace, recounting the events slowly and with a look of absolute horror crossing his face. “She spoke of something creeping—as though coming down the attic stair. And then, an atrocious stench of something rotting, and a shadow that crouched at her open door.”
The unseen glance that Rich had shared spoke volumes as we both feared the worst. The story growing gradually was beyond anything that a child could ever imagine, or the inexperienced might ever perceive to share.
“She then said, trembling and out of her poor wits--,” Gregory now had tears in his eyes, as the father suffered for his child, “That there was a shuffling sound, and that the shadow had entered her room. She had hidden beneath her covers, too frightened to move or make a sound. But a sudden movement at the bed-side and a tugging of the blanket forced her to look!”
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