The act itself must have defied every bit of logic, along with all that Daren believed in. He had a dream later that night in which he was reminded of his experience at the family mausoleum and the secret pleasure of tasting his decomposing grandfather mixed with formaldehyde. He suddenly found himself contemplating this necrophagous addiction and wondered if there was a way to create a wine made from a decomposing corpse. Could he collect several bodies of his own and let them rot in such a way that his grandfather did?
Consequently, Daren developed the part time career as a serial killer. This, of course, was only in his dream. He collected several bodies, preserved them in tanks of wine and then stored them in his tool shed.
When satisfied he had enough bodies to age, he ended the part time career, but speculated that someone might find his collection. At this point, Daren fell into a deeper sleep and forgot he was only dreaming.
As luck would have it, his neighbor asked Daren if he could take the keys to the house and check on it regularly while gone on vacation for a week. What better place to bury a collection of bodies than in a neighbor's home, who would least expect them to be there!
Since the house to be watched was on a slab, Daren spent the week taking apart his neighbor's kitchen cabinets, jack-hammering the floor under the sink, digging a deep hole, and ultimately burying his collection of wine-preserved bodies under the kitchen sink. He filled up the hole, re-cemented and re-assembled his neighbor's cabinets. It looked as if nothing had ever happened. However, upon returning, Daren's neighbors did ask if there had been some construction in the neighborhood while they were gone. Throughout the jack hammering, there was much dust which Daren neglected to remove.
A couple years passed, and Daren's neighbor had not discovered the collection of bodies under the sink. Eventually, Daren was asked to watch the neighbor's home, again. Daren was so clever as to implement a concrete door under the kitchen cabinets. And in those couple years of living with wine-preserved corpses, Daren's neighbor was clueless of the door. Now on vacation, it was the perfect opportunity for Daren to check on his bodies.
But to his horror, it was discovered that the cases encapsulating the wine-preserved corpses had fully cracked and shattered underground. What could have done this? There were no reports of earthquake activity in the area. Such a waste; the bodies were rotting which provided a feast for a colony of bugs and maggots. The sight disturbed Daren very much as he began to screamed bloody murder.
Unfortunately, the kitchen window and curtains remained carelessly open, which invited one of the neighbors from down the street to investigate the chaos. Everything was exposed and the police were quickly summoned.
If you've ever awoken in the middle of such a circumstance, wishing the events of your bad dream weren't true, then you can imagine the relief Daren experienced, finding himself lying in a bed drenched in sweat. It was a rather bizarre 48 hours, some of the events never disclosed to his precious fiancée, Mary.
Chapter 3
Mary awoke Saturday morning after an evening of nightmares. Despite the small interruptions during the night, she felt rested and in a more positive frame of mind. It was a beautiful day which called for opening the windows and allowing the woodsy air to circulate. Mary passed the antique vase that sat on the piano and remembered the nightmare she had overnight. Really it was a beautiful vase, probably 200 years old, and would look so nice if she put some fresh-cut flowers in it. Mary decided she would correct anything causing stress or anxiety in her life by replacing it with something that was positive. If a vase caused a nightmare, she would clean it and put fresh flowers in it. She would sell all those old tools in the cellar and get rid of the bench her Grandpa made. And if her soon-to-be husband was causing stress in her life, she would break the engagement off.
Mary picked up the beautiful, antique vase and noticed it hadn't been cleaned in a while. For most homes across America; the vase is a very, much misunderstood piece of decorating. The average person sees a vase as being a practical item and will not display one unless it involves flowers or some kind of floral arrangement. To most, the idea of collecting vases is ridiculous, especially if one is not fond of small knick-knacks or centerpieces.
But for centuries, the vase has been proudly displayed in homes, stores and offices throughout the world. And there still is a population of people in America who admire the vase and proudly display them in the home. If you are such a person, you realize that it is not only a beautiful piece of decoration, but a secret place to hide things.
Do you have spare keys you don't want laying around? Hide them in that vase. Want to hide jewelry or money away from possible burglars or visitors who may have sticky fingers? Hide these things way at the bottom of your vase. Secret love letters you don't want someone to find? Hide them away in the vase.
Mary looked down at the bottom and noticed something that appeared to be stuck. Maybe it was some old, dried up flowers. She brought the vase over to the sink and rinsed it out; hoping to dislodge whatever was at the bottom. The stubborn item remained
Suddenly the phone rang and Mary ran over to answer it. The caller ID said something about a rehabilitation center. But it was from Arizona, the state where Daren still lived.
Mary answered, “Hello?”
“Mary?” It was Daren!
“Daren, where are you? Where have you been?” Needless to say, Mary was expecting a good explanation!
“Mary? I've decided I need to be honest with you. I want honesty in our relationship and marriage, and keeping this a secret from you is wrong. Besides, it's not working keeping it a secret.” When someone begins a conversation this way it's a little strange and one can interpret that he or she is being prepared to hear something disturbing.
“What is it Daren?”
“Mary, I was randomly picked for the company drug screen last week, and they found cocaine in me. I did a lot the night before without knowing I would be called down the following morning for the test. In order to keep my job, I have to do a mandatory, three-week, inpatient treatment program. If you were trying to reach me yesterday, I've been in the rehab center. They weren't even going to let me call until I explained to my councilor that you didn't know and was probably worried.
I hope you're not mad Mary."
Mary was speechless upon finding out her soon-to-be husband had a cocaine addiction. Not that a cocaine addiction would be an indicator of problems in a marriage along with possible violence and abuse down the road! But would you want to marry someone like that, especially after he was trying to keep it a secret?
“Daren, I don't know what to say! You know, you told me you had kicked your drinking habit and promised to stay clean. Now I find out you were using cocaine? Call me when you get out!” Mary slammed down the phone. Maybe her aunt was correct in hinting that Daren wasn't right for her.
Now where was she before answering the phone and finding the truth about her husband-to-be? Frazzled and much disappointed, Mary needed to focus on the moment. Just minutes ago, she was in a fantastic mood and… oh, there was something at the bottom of that vase, and it was of most importance that she learn of the secret. Using the vase as an object to become absorbed in the moment, she truly believed that any discovery pertaining to it would make things clear. It was as if her life depended on it.
Grabbing a yardstick, she picked and picked until finally dislodging. Whatever it was, the vase rattled when shook.—evidence of a hard object or perhaps… antique jewelry? The vase was brought over to the sofa and turned up-side-down.
Out slid the skeletal remains of a human hand, wearing a woman's wedding ring! Was it a souvenir kept by her Grandpa Trivelli? Or perhaps he tormented his wife with the knowledge that her hand was hiding somewhere in the house? Whatever the reason, the decomposed flesh apparently served as glue that bonded the skeletal hand to the bottom of the vase for many decades.
Mary stood frozen in disbelief, waiting to take her next breath. If her aunt didn't get the message
across, then her Grandmother did! The dream of having her hand chopped off and the need to look for axe marks on the workbench made sense to Mary, now. And this was the fear of gazing into the unknown bottom of the vase in that dream.
* * *
Now this incident in Mapleview could very well have served as a marker for Detective Tom Morehausen and his partner Larry Copperwright. Prior to this day, the detectives of the Mapleview Police department simply investigated fatal traffic accidents, theft, or an occasional drug ring. It was a fork in the road for Detective Tom that could have pointed the direction of his much deserved retirement, or the beginning of a rash of mysterious disappearance in Mapleview. He had been on the force many years, and the common belief throughout the department was that he would soon retire.
Finding the skeletal remains of a human hand in the Trivelli mansion had, more-or-less, solved a nearly 175-year-old mystery of what happened that terrible winter. The explanation given for the disappearance of Grandma Trivelli was an attack by a pack of wolves. Now the possibility was open that Grandpa Trivelli had murdered her. And since the people involved in the incident were longtime dead, the finding in the vase was a cause for celebration at the Mapleview Police Department. Detectives Tom and Larry were thrown a party. And as a subtle coax to finally retire, Detective Tom was given a trophy for solving the 175-year-old case.
But Detective Tom merely brought the trophy in his office, and proudly displayed it at his desk. He raised a cup of coffee in toast to himself, “Here's to many more!” Little did the seasoned detective know that he was about to get more than bargained for.
But on this day, being the initial discovery in the vase, he stood before Mary with his partner, offering comfort and asking casual questions of what she knew. Again, the incident would have taken place nearly 175 years ago, and there was no one to prosecute, only to bring closure to the Trivelli family and the town of Mapleview that spoke of the legend.
Detective Tom asked, “So you actually bought this house from your aunt?”
“Yes, and I'm going to clean it up! I'm going to end the legend and stigmatism that this house had for years!” Mary was still shook up over the discovery. Really she had been through much in the past 48 hours and this was the final straw.
Detective Tom sensed the anxiety in the woman and offered some idle conversation to put Mary at ease. “Well, let me tell you what you do with the vase. I'm sure you don't want it anymore, right?”
Mary provided a blank stare.
Detective Tom continued, “On the other side of Sillmac, just down Route 4, there's that touristy part of town. You know where I'm talking about, right?”
“Oh yeah, I've been there—lot's of restaurants and shops.”
“Well here's what you do, Mary. Take a day, drive out past Sillmac, and sell the vase to the World's Strangest Collection of Antique Vases. It's a small museum. I think it's wedged in between a coffee shop and popcorn store. People all over the country sell vases that have (or had) unusual discoveries to the museum. It's an antique, so you'll probably make money. Then take that cash, buy yourself a nice lunch, browse the shops in town and get your mind off what happened.”
Detective Larry added his input, “But don't travel Route 4 at night!”
Detective Tom continued, “Yeah, stay off Route 4 after sundown. There's some weird activity going on there in the late night hours. You should be fine before 9:00pm.”
* * *
Mary's mother and father lived in Florida, enjoying their golden years. And both Mary's siblings had settled down in New York City as they each pursued successful careers. Although this was a family matter, the last person Mary would have wanted to call was her Aunt Loraine. Recall that it was Loraine who insisted that Grandma Trivelli had been murdered in that house. In Mary's determination of enjoying her new home, and ridding the house of the stigmatism and legend, calling Aunt Loraine was like crawling back, defeated—admitting that the crazy, old woman was right. Being she was the only family member in Mapleview, and not to mention was so attached to family history, it was only right to inform Aunt Loraine of the recent discovery.
“You mean to tell me that the vase contained her severed hand all those decades?” Needless to say, Aunt Loraine was engrossed by every detail. She rushed over to Mary's house and closely examined the centerpiece. “Why, I can see some of the dried up decomposed matter at the bottle of the vase! I'm surprised the Mapleview Police didn't take this with her hand! What about the wedding ring? Did they take that?”
“It was pretty much stuck on the bone of her finger, Aunt Loraine! I wasn't about to take it off. I didn't even touch the hand.”
Aunt Loraine walked over to the piano and set the vase back down, as if it should have continued to be proudly displayed in the living room. “It was your Grandma Trivelli! She was warning you about Daren! I know she was!”
“Aunt Loraine! Stop it!” Although realizing the crazy, old lady was probably right, Mary wasn't prepared to disclose her recent knowledge of Daren's cocaine addiction. “Alright, so Grandma was murdered in this house; so what? What does it have to do with me? If anything, I took the first step in exposing the truth about this house and have begun cleaning it up. And you know what? I'm getting rid of all that junk downstairs. I'm throwing out all the canned vegetables from the 1950; I'm throwing out the huge jar of whatever that oily stuff is; and I'm selling all those antique tools in the basement.”
Aunt Loraine appeared very disappointed. “Well if it suits you; it's your house.”
Mary could not understand her aunt. She originally desired to rid herself of owning the Trivelli house, but was now heartbroken over Mary's attempt to discard the decades of garbage and any items associated with supposed curses. It was as if the very stigmatism of the house was Aunt Loraine's purpose in life. Even stranger, the woman stormed out of the house, appearing to be deeply hurt.
Finally alone, Mary called her mother to inform her of the discovery. Over an hour of conversation with Mom was just the thing that Mary needed. But at some point, Mom was growing impatient with her daughter's vague explanations of Daren's absence.
Mary sighed while holding her eyelids shut. “Daren called me from a drug rehab in Arizona this morning. He was given a random drug screen, and they found cocaine in him.”
Mom gasped, “You've got to be kidding me! Are you serious? Well at least you found this out, now.”
Unsure of how to handle her recent knowledge, Mary didn't want to disclose the fact to family just yet. She had yet to consider forgiving Daren. But as far as Mom was concerned, the engagement was off as she asked the question, “What about the house? What are you going to do, now?”
* * *
Seriously needing to get away, Mary thought about Detective Tom's suggestion of trekking just past Sillmac to sell the vase. Carefully placing it in a box with crumpled up newspaper, the vase could no longer be proudly displayed on the piano. The trunk of her car was a better place. The next stop was either the museum or an antique dealer.
But what fun would it be to go alone? Perhaps her friend, Shelly, would have been open to a Sunday out. Mary called her friend (and soon-to-be-boss) who owned the flower shop. “Shelly? Hi, it's Mary. Do you have a minute? You're not going to believe what happened to me this morning!”
* * *
And so the two head off to the other side of Sillmac, Sunday morning, down Route 4 with Grandma Trivelli's vase in the trunk. Mary and Shelly's friendship began in 5th grade as “best friends”, which only lasted a couple of weeks as girls that age change best friends like yesterday's socks. But the bond was strong through high school; through college while attending, together; and while Mary worked at Shelly's flower shop some years ago. Of course Mary didn't major in floral arrangements and taking customers' credit card numbers! The job was only temporary. She moved when an opportunity in Flagstaff allowed the pursuit of her intended career, which led to meeting Daren.
Mary had been to the touristy section on the other
side of Sillmac on a few occasions. In fact, both women had been there; but neither remembered seeing the World's Strangest Collection of Antique Vases. It was just as Detective Tom Morehausen said, “Wedged in between a coffee shop and popcorn store”. From the moment one walks in the scent of musty, old carpeting can be smelled. Many get the impression that at one time, the small attraction was to be a museum of oddities and strange facts. But somehow, the owners received numerous donations of unwanted vases, which resulted in changing the name to “The World's Strangest Collection of Antique Vases”.
During the owner's initial evaluation of the vase, Mary was hit with the realization that the centerpiece was an antique. And being that it was about to be sold to a small museum of oddities, perhaps she wasn't about receive top dollar for the family possession. Maybe it was better to seek out an antique dealer who was knowledgeable of valuables. But before doing so, Mary was curious of what the owner of the museum had to say.
The owner asked, “What's the story behind this vase?”
“Well, it's from the Trivelli house in Mapleview…”
He interrupted Mary, “The Trivelli house?” Everyone in the area was familiar with the legendary Trivelli House. And such an item originating from the home was very exciting for the museum owner. “How did you get this?”
“Well, I'm a member of the family who just recently purchased the home, and I'm trying to get rid of some things.” Suddenly, it occurred to Mary that a detailed account of her experience with the vase was necessary. The discovery of Grandma Trivelli's skeletal hand would certainly set the record straight of the 1830s legend. Perhaps it was best not to sell the vase to the museum. Then again, the newspapers would jump all over the story once the Mapleview Police announced the discovery of the skeletal hand. Why not make it a good story? Perhaps it would promise more money for the vase.
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