“He’s a man used to living a fanciful and exciting life--,” Old Norm spoke as the voice of reason once again, “You can either accept him as that, or smother him while trying to keep him on a shelf.”
Caitlin had just looked between us, gazing deeply into my eyes. I knew by her saddened expression that she had realized this to have been the truth. But she said nothing. Sipping at her tea and thinking briefly, she just silently shrugged.
“In all honesty--,” I had quietly said to Norman, “This last experience gave us all quite a big fright. As right as you are about the human spirit and life, I’ll have to consider doing things differently, very soon.” I had only said this in agreement with the ladies, only to offer them comfort as hope seemed nearer and within sight.
“In the end and as always, the decision remains yours to make.” Caitlin had taken my hand from under the table, squeezing it tightly, and quietly said, “All that I ask is that you please remember that you are my love, life and mean everything to me….”
Swallowing hard, I could not bear to even look into those tearful green pools from where rivers of emotion now flowed.
“Well—I suppose that a man must go about his manly ways--,” Eva sighed. Sipping at her tea, she looked back at me and thoughtfully said, “Oh, and by the way, you got another parcel while you were gone. I think that it’s more comics or another toy. I left it on your desk.”
“Thank you!” Ecstatic with the news, I turned to Caitlin and said, “I have some running around to do this afternoon, How about we make a day of it—what do you say?”
“You want me to come along?” She seemed both shocked and pleased with the suggestion.
“Of course, I have to pick up a few things from the local comic shop--,” I thought for a moment, “But after that, we can have lunch anywhere that you like. And catch an early movie—if you want to?”
“It’s a date!” She leapt up, kissing me, and ran out of the kitchen and toward the stairs, “I’ll get ready—I won’t be long!” And with that she vanished up the steps.
Eva had just smiled at me in her loving and all-knowing way, and I sighed deeply as Norm winked and said, “Buttering them all always makes life easier.”
“You old fool--,” Eva batted at him with a rolled up newspaper, “Don’t you go spoiling the moment.”
The afternoon had drifted by all too fast. As attending my favorite comic book shop in New Westminster, I had purchased several items of interest. Caitlin had been absolutely enthralled by the endless art, figures and wonderful things which filled the shelves. She had even surprised me when inquiring about a large model of the Starship Enterprise, and then purchasing it for our collection!
We had shared a wonderful lunch at Valencia’s on Royal, while discussing all the wonderful things that she had never know existed until entering that shop! I had gallantly choked down my salad while watching her indulge a small ham and pineapple pizza. Usually she would never have ordered something that we couldn’t share, but I had insisted that she enjoy herself,
After lunch we had attended the Raymond Burr Theater in New Westminster and watched a recent disaster film, Airport 1975. It had an all-star cast and had kept us on the edge of our seats, while managing to spill popcorn and soda several times. Maybe I shouldn’t have been teasing and tickling her through most of the film? But it was certainly good to see her laugh again.
By the time that we had finally come home, she was so worn out from the long day that she had gone to bed early. Needless to say, I had joined her for a while as we concluded our evening with a few extra giggles and some very big smiles.
Sunday, December 8, 1974.
Typing out the last few words to the events concerning the nightmare at the Lumberton’s farm, I leaned back into my chair to examine the page. The account having been accurately explained to the best of my ability, I drew out the page and dropped it into its proper place. The little metal basket upon my desk becoming exceptionally full as the manuscript reached completion.
Taking up my tea cup and wandering out of my office, I made my way down the hall and into the master bedroom. Creeping toward the window, cautious not to awaken Caitlin, I carefully parted the heavy wine colored draperies and peered out. The snow had ceased some time ago, and the grounds to the rear of the property had been cleared. And through the trees I could make out the heavy equipment that had remained over the weekend.
A great and covered pit now rested some hundred yards from the house. Rich had wasted no time within unearthing and setting down the foundations. The plumbing had already been arranged and the vault had already been delivered and dropped into place. With cement and steel girders already in place, it appeared more like Fort Knox than a guest house. But realizing the nature of the things that we would be securing, I felt a certain sense of security and safety while standing there.
“It looks as though Rich were planning to capture and hold a dinosaur.” Caitlin had commented as she moved from the bed and slid up behind me, “Don’t you think that he might be over-doing things, just a little?”
“Not in the slightest, my dear--,” I had contemplated the thought briefly and then, taking her into my arms, kissed her and said, “Some of the things that we own are antique, very expensive and need to be safely secured.”
“And some are disturbing—possibly haunted, or even cursed.” She had just looked curiously into my eyes, “Too dangerous to keep at the warehouse, or set free upon an unwary world.”
“We will do everything in our power to safe-guard and secure the building—as well as protect ourselves.” I had admitted and promised, “The warehouse has just become too busy—we can’t risk Danny and the others any longer.” I looked to Caitlin, and frowning, said, “Or you and the others here—with some of the objects that I have foolishly brought home.”
“What will happen when we are both long gone--,” She looked out and paused thoughtfully, looking at the structure which was partially hidden beneath tarps, “What will happen when no one is left to watch over those things, and this place?”
“Oh—don’t be concerned--,” I had spoken without fear and feeling confident, “There will always be someone or something watching, guarding over this place….” Her eyes had widened with something that I recognized immediately as fear and concern. But she had refrained from comment, only shaking her head as she turned away.
“Sweetheart--,” I had followed her as she moved from the room, gently catching her by the shoulders in the hallway, and softly asked, “What did I say—did I do something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, darling—but do you ever listen to what you’re saying? Or have even the slightest idea of how something like that sounds?” She put a hand to her face, appearing deeply disturbed, “Because, when you say things like that—I feel as though you have invited the devil into our home….”
“I’m sorry--,” Pulling her close, I sighed deeply, “But you know how dramatic I can be at times. I’m a writer, remember? And I just happen to write about spooky crap. I can’t help it if my work dribbles out a little and leaks into my regular life….”
“I didn’t mean to get upset--,” She hugged me close and whispered, “I suppose that all of this creepiness is finally starting to get to me, just a little….”
“I’ll put all the ghosts and ghouls into their proper place soon.” Gently hugging her and slowly rocking her in my arms before the window, I stared out into the night, “I suppose that after having lived in my work for so long—I don’t even notice how dark things can get a times…”
“Once this book is done--,” She spoke as though falling asleep in my arms, “And you put all those things into their proper place. Maybe we can go looking for a sunny day, just the two of us?”
Slowly turning her so that she was facing me, I gently embraced her and looked straight into her bright green eyes, “You are my sunny day—and will always be. There is nothing that I want more in the world than to spend the rest of our years together, happy. I promis
e—things will be different soon.”
“Tuck me in?” She grinned mischievously.
12:45 p.m.
Sitting quietly at my desk in silent contemplation, I tapped a pen upon my typewriter while gazing into the golden orb. Caitlin’s words had disturbed me deeply, not in insult, but the sense that they had somehow seemed true. Had I accidentally, or through an act of desperation at the Lumberton farm, allowed something evil to enter my soul? Had it all been some kind of horrid hallucination during a terrible accident, a delusion induced by a cardiac event?
It had occurred to me that much of what I had experienced might possibly be attributed to a health condition. Or, after having suffered insurmountable grief and been exposed to unspeakable terrors, that I might possibly be losing my mind….
Retrieving a photo that I had taken of the church and old priest, I felt my heart sink with his terrible loss. Sorting through the envelope and photographs that I had taken during the last investigation, I closely examined one of the old farm-house. It was taken during the blizzard and in deep shadow, but the forms and shapes were clear. Including something that had looked back and down from out a second story window….
Taking the antique magnifying glass from out of a drawer of my roll-top desk, I closely examined the photograph. My eyes widening as my blood suddenly ran cold. Although not entirely clear and partially hidden due to a falling snowflake, it was the indisputable form of little Colleen. She had stood as still as a paper doll, but her eyes had shone with a bright and burning, white fire.
“Oh—dear God—we have physical evidence…” I had slowly placed down the photo and swallowed hard, “But then again, who would ever believe it? Someone would just claim that we had somehow touched up the image and manufactured the whole thing. And for the sake of the mother and little girl—we could never release such an image publicly, anyway…”
With exception to that single image, I shoved the photographs back into the envelope, and retrieving a folder from my desktop, slipped everything into a file marked “Lumberton Farm”. Without a second glance, I turned and dropped them into the bottom drawer of an antique filing cabinet which stood beside my desk. We had developed this new system so that our investigations, information and photographs could be easily accessed and found. Carrie would visit every few weeks. She would share coffee and conversation with Caitlin as she searched for new stories and interesting things to add to the magazine. Although I rarely admitted anyone to my private office, Carrie was the exception to that rule.
Looking over the photograph of the house and the thing that had possessed little Colleen, I quickly hid the image in a concealed compartment of a desk drawer.
“Now what happened to that incredible old cane?” I had remembered the scene from the farm-house, and contemplated its ending, “Was it destroyed in the fire—or had it even been there? It couldn’t have been. We dropped it into that cave in the mine…..”
Merlin had brushed against my leg while uttering an affectionate meow. As reminding me that I had been neglecting him, I reached down and scratched under his chin. He purred loudly and circled about me in his usual manner, then suddenly sat and stared up with wide eyes. There was now something slightly different in how he examined and perceived me. It was as though having met again for the very first time. There was no evidence of fear or any sign of alarm. But with his curiosity peaked, he now quietly observed my every movement
“Is something wrong, old man?” Chuckling, I had reached down and gently petted his head, “Or maybe you don’t care for my cologne, possibly this new brand of soap?”
Something dark now registered in those large and golden eyes. It was a look that I had seen once from him before during a previous summer, when there had been unexplained shadows in my office, and whispers of a demon that had appeared in the still of the night….
I had simply looked away and reached for a cold cup of tea that sat on my desk. And when I glanced back, Merlin had already gone. I poured a fresh cup from a pot that Eva had left, settling back into my chair, and looked over the last few pages of my new manuscript. “Am I finally losing my mind? Or can a lot of this be attributed to some kind of euthanasia brought on by a possible stoke?”
The lamps flickered upon my desk, the draperies moving as the heating vents forced warmth from under them and into the room. It was nothing unusual, just a fluctuation of power through old wiring and even older lamps. I was still analyzing everything and questioning my own sanity, which left me reasonably sane, according to psychologists.
“The moment that you stop questioning yourself, you know you’re in trouble.” I whispered, sipping at the tea and returning to my work, “For a sane man always considers, contemplates things, and never simply justifies all things as a means to an end. Maybe I just need a vacation—get some rest and take a break from everything, especially my work….”
The prospect seemed almost impossible. I had lived in my work for so very long that the reality of my very existence dwelled in each and every new page. It had been my purpose and rescued me from the loneliness and loss of a most turbulent life. The concept, mere consideration of simply stopping would leave a terrifying void in my life, and likely drive me out of my mind. But Caitlin had now come into this world along with so many other wonderful friends and extended family. I would also have to consider them. Possibly, maybe a little vacation, a brief hiatus would not be all that bad?
“When this work is completed--,” I tapped a finger on the manuscript while pondering, “I’ll take Caitlin somewhere nice. Maybe even Rich and Maya, a nice little vacation together. A family excursion away from this, everyone and everything… Of course, that’s exactly what I’ll do.” I thought briefly and looking down, added, “Just as soon as this project is done…”
I had been editing and making additions to some thoughts in the last few pages, when the lamps dimmed again and I paused to watch. And then, as I was about to turn back to the typewriter, I got a sudden chill. It caused the short hairs on the nape of my neck to stand and goose-pimples to form on my arms. I had pulled my robe closer about myself and felt strangely unsettled by the deep shadows.
“Is anyone there--,” I had quietly called, speaking more to myself than anyone else, “Caitlin—are you awake and wandering around?”
The lamp-lights had flickered again and then suddenly gone out. I sat there staring into the presiding stillness. My eyes catching the feint glow of the bathroom light from down the hall, as it now peeked out from beneath my door.
‘Michael--,” I knew the sound of that smooth but sinister voice, it was Marlowe’s demon coming to call, “I wish to speak with you…”
Realizing to have already made a pact with Marlowe, I no longer feared to speak to his fiend, “You are welcome—friend. Please—come forward and show yourself.”
The shadows seemed to become filled with a strange static, the fibers of light and night knitting a form from out of the darkness. And so he came, a ghostly pale and thin figure of a boy with bright blue and burning eyes. He wore a loin cloth and his flesh and hair were deathly white. He moved with the stealth of a predator, creeping closer, he suddenly vanished, then reappeared sitting atop of my desk!
There he squatted upon the edge with his head in his hands, while looking down thoughtfully. He appeared youthful, yet eternally old. His features were that of a boy, but his expression and burning eyes revealed unspoken wisdom spanning eons and beyond.
“Are you real and is this truly happening--,” The question came out of thought rather than intentionally, “Or just something that exists in my mind, a phantom of some other dimension or distant plane?”
We had moved even closer, speaking almost face to face and in whispers shared by children fearing to be over-heard. His burning gaze was mesmerizing. Staring in a mixture of fear and fascination, I was strangely enchanted.
To this he had simply reacted by reaching out and taking a hold of my wrist! His grip was like steel and his flesh bitter cold, a faint smil
e crossing his thin lips, “We three have crossed all boundaries and share the same dimension in time, and exist as one mind, body and soul.” As he released his grasp upon my wrist I felt a sudden rush of heat, the blood and life returning to my flesh.
“Marlowe and us--,” I spoke the words as though doubting the sound of my own voice, “Together as a single being—three becoming one….”
“You exist now as he once did of the flesh—and as I had served him, shall I now serve you….”
“Marlowe is gone?” I desperately searched for that frightening though familiar voice from deep within, but sensed only the stillness, “If I have become him as he once was in life—does that mean that I also assumed his debt--.”
“He exists within you—wisdom and power in times of need. When our tryst is broken by fate or due time--,” The demon whispered, “You shall pass onto wherever destiny takes you, but Marlowe and his debt shall remain with me….”
“So—I will not suffer damnation for our pact—or this unhallowed trinity?”
Slowly shaking his head without removing his gaze from upon mine, he whispered, “What you offered was given in a moment of self-sacrifice for others, a more blessed thing there can never be. Servitude to the dark ones comes with the lust for power and the seven deadly sins.”
There was something both fascinating and evil about this thing and the moments that we exchanged. There was a sense of having touched the mysteries of life and death, and something extending into the boundaries of eternity.
“You owe service to none.” He leaned closer, appearing distraught, and solemnly said, “But, the price for this accursed gift is madness, enduring lifetimes of fading memories, spent utterly alone….”
“And—what escape from this torment—breach of contract will eventually set me free?”
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