by Callie Norse
They returned to the parlor to talk. Marta offered to prepare dinner for the two of them. She found a couple of small steaks in the freezer, which she placed under the broiler. While the steak was cooking, she made a lettuce salad. Greg put two potatoes in the microwave. They talked about the events of the evening, mainly the fowl smelling substance, the condition of the third floor, and the portrait. As an interior decorator, Marta had many ideas how they could clean the rooms up and decorate that floor.
“What do I need more room for, Marta? This house is huge as it is. Lisa and I talked of opening that floor up someday as guest quarters, after we had more children.” For a second, he looked as if he would cry. The memories of the plans he and Lisa had, were too painful to think about yet. His mind wandered to how happy she had been, thinking she was pregnant, when in reality she was in the early stages of cancer.
“It would be fun and something to do,” Marta answered. “You know me, how I love to decorate. You could rent it out.”
“I don’t know about that. One must enter our private living quarters to gain access to the stairs. Sure, back in the time the house was built the servants lived up there. They were in and out of the house anyway. I don’t know how I would feel about strangers entering the floor housing our bedrooms. I suppose if we installed a door at the end of the hall and kept it locked it might work. Except, then we wouldn’t be able to use the back stairs. As it is now, I can come and go easily to the carriage house and my workshop. That is, if I ever open my workshop. I’m just not sure now that I want to. First, I must find out what is causing the red crap to appear.”
Marta felt a chill go through her body at the thought of the mysterious substance.
They dismissed the subject and began discussing the portrait. “Would you mind if I come back tomorrow and look for any information that might be there as to who this young girl is, or was, as the case must be?” Marta asked.
“If you like. I have nothing planned for tomorrow. Maggie will still be at the farm.”
It was approaching 11:00 PM, so Greg took Marta home. He hated coming home to the big empty house. It had been so pleasant having Marta there with him. She was such a fun gal and so much like Lisa, in so many ways.
As Greg was getting into bed, he thought he heard the cries of a baby. “Not again,” he thought. “Please, not this on top of everything else.” He listened carefully and decided it was his imagination. As he was drifting off to sleep, he heard muffled cries. This time he was sure—it was the same baby’s cry that he had heard so many months previously.
*****
The next morning, Greg was sitting in the parlor reading the paper, or rather staring at it, when Marta arrived. He hadn’t expected her quite so early. It was obvious, she was anxious to begin her search for the identity of the beautiful young girl. Or was it that she wanted another peek at the third floor mansard? How she loved redecorating. It was nice for Greg to see such a warm smile so early in the morning.
“Hi, I’m not too early, I hope.”
“No, I’ve been up for hours. Come on in. Would you like some coffee? Or some breakfast?”
“No, thanks, I ate earlier. I hope you don’t mind I’m so early. I’m anxious to rummage through the mansard, to see if we can find anything about the girl in the picture.” Marta was her usual bubbly self.
“Sure, hon, no problem. It’s nice to have such lovely company so early in the morning…or anytime really. It keeps me from feeling sorry for myself. Maggie is company, just not the kind I need. She spends so much of her time in the sewing room reading, rocking, and talking to herself that I see less and less of her. I don’t understand why she enjoys reading so much anymore. Maybe it’s her way of coping with Lisa’s death. I guess I should just be glad she is happy and healthy. In time, maybe she will wean herself from this phase.”
As Greg opened the door to the third floor, the stench hit them both. Sure enough, the red, sticky substance was back again! “Oh, my God, no! Why does this keep happening to me? I wish we could find some answers to this in that rummage up there. There must be a reason. Something tells me I will never know the answer. The question is, how do I get it to stop? And…what the hell is it? The entire thing is so insane…” His words faded off as he hurried down the stairs to get some rags.
Marta backed away from the stairs and stepped into the guest room to look at the portrait again. She was so startled with what she saw that she knocked over a vase on the table in front of the portrait. It came crashing to the floor. Greg came rushing in. He had heard the crash, when he was coming up the stairs.
“What was that?” he yelled. When he reached Marta, he instantly knew, as pieces of the broken vase were scattered about the floor. As his eyes followed the wall, he noticed the girl in the portrait had tears in her eyes, and the paint below her eyes appeared wet and shiny.
“What the hell?” Greg was totally bewildered. “What next? Is this house haunted or what?” He put his arms around Marta and drew her close. He could feel her trembling.
“I’m okay, really,” Marta finally was able to speak. She had been enjoying the warmth of his arms around her. She almost hated to speak up, not wanting it to end. She had been attracted to him for so long, thinking for years he was off limits, because he was married to Lisa. Could things possibly be opening up for her now? “No,” she thought, “It’s only the circumstances of today.”
“Let me clean this mess up and the one on the stairs; then let’s go downstairs for awhile.” He felt she needed to relax and try to forget what she saw. He knew it would be impossible for either of them to forget, but relaxing with Marta suddenly sounded wonderful to him. He hadn’t wanted to let go of her.
“I’d rather not, I’ve been too anxious to get up to the mansard again. I’m fine. Let’s not let this stop us.”
Greg hurriedly cleaned up the red substance and carried the dirty rags out to the barrel. He grabbed a broom from the cellar way on his way back through the hallway and returned to Marta to find her staring at the picture again. The picture was now totally dry.
Greg was puzzled, “What did you use to dry it off?”
“Nothing, I haven’t touched the picture!”
“It’s a good thing we were here together, for both of us to see this. One of us alone wouldn’t have believed our eyes. We may have dismissed it as our imagination. Things get crazier and crazier around here. I’m glad you’re in this with me—well, not for your sake. I really hate it that you’re involved, but I was going nuts keeping all this to myself.”
“Maybe we can go to the library and find some books on hauntings. Possibly, we could find something on the computer. If we Google ‘hauntings’ maybe we can turn up something,” Marta suggested.
Greg swept up the pieces of the broken vase and dumped it in a wastebasket in his office.
“Are you sure you are up to this?” he asked Marta, as he propped the broom up beside the mansard stairway.
“I’m beginning to wonder, but yes, let’s do this before I change my mind.”
Marta quickly became involved in going through all the treasures of the mansard. She seemed to forget about the earlier occurrences. She was in her glory rummaging through box after box that had been left by earlier tenants. Greg also was seriously searching through items, mostly books, hoping to find answers. He was concentrating mainly on information that could lead him to answers about the red, sticky substance. They searched for hours. As they were ready to break for lunch, Marta let out a yell. “Greg! Look at this!”
Greg rushed to her side, “What is it, Mart?”
“Look! It’s an old family bible. In the back it lists names of a family. Do you suppose it’s the family that lived here years ago?”
“Quite possibly, as it’s here in this house. Who else would it be?”
“I need to study this. Did you say something about lunch?” Marta asked.
“I sure did, I’m absolutely starved.”
They went down the stairs to t
he sitting room. Marta noticed Greg looking a little puzzled, “Something wrong, Greg?”
“I could have sworn I propped the broom up here.”
“Yes, you did, I saw you. It didn’t fall down the stairs did it?”
Greg rushed down the stairs with Marta close behind. They searched the servants’ hallway. There was no broom in sight. Greg was determined to find it. He ran back up the stairs and looked again—nothing. He returned looking a bit spooked, “I’m going to put a lock on that stairway door. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Marta was studying the bible when Greg asked, “How hungry are you? Do you think you could eat some lasagna? There is a place close by that delivers.”
“Sounds wonderful to me! Actually, I’m famished!”
“I would suggest we go out, except I’m afraid we are both a little dusty dirty from all the dust flying around up there.” He dialed the phone, placed the order, and returned to Marta at the kitchen table. He placed his hands on her shoulders and began gently massaging them. “How about moving to the parlor until the delivery arrives?”
“Sure, sounds like a good idea. Kitchen chairs aren’t the most relaxing.”
The fireplace was warm and glowing. Greg sat on the sofa and motioned for her to sit beside him, which she happily did. He put his arm around her and drew her close. She laid her head on his shoulder while they sat quietly watching the glowing fire. Greg was wishing he had brought some wine in—the moment seemed to call for it.
“Mart, do you think Lisa would mind us here like this?”
“I know she wouldn’t, Greg.”
“How is that?”
“Greg, she had a talk with Lori before she died.”
“What do you mean…a talk?” Greg was quite curious.
“She told Lori she didn’t want you grieving your life away. She wanted Lori to encourage you and I to become friends.”
“You serious?” he was quite surprised.
“I certainly wouldn’t joke about something like this. Actually, she wanted us to become more than friends.”
“So, what were her wishes?” Greg coaxed.
“She wanted us to become interested in one another. She… she…”
“She, what? Please tell me, Mart.”
“She wanted us to fall in love. She wanted us to be together.”
“Are you saying what I think you are? She wanted us to marry?” Greg couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Yes, that’s what she told Lori.”
“What would have given her such an idea?”
“Greg, she didn’t want you to be lonely…and…”
“And…”
“This is difficult for me, Greg. Lisa was my best friend. But, she did have certain reasons for wanting us to be together, one that you don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” Greg was even more curious now.
“Greg, you know Lisa and I were friends dating back to high school.”
“Of course, and we used to double date with what’s his name, Dwight was it? What ever became of him?”
“I’m not really sure. I think he moved away. I was never really interested in him. He knew that, and Lisa did, too.”
“And why not? He seemed like a very nice guy, and a fun guy to be around,” Greg continued.
“I had other interests,” Marta replied.
“And what might they have been?”
“Please, Greg…”
“Please, what Mart?”
“Please, don’t put me on the spot. Talk to Lori, she knows,” Marta suggested.
“Why should I ask Lori, when you have the answer?”
“Greg, it’s just hard for me to talk to you about it.”
“Now you really have me curious. Out with it Mart.” He began stroking her hair, convincing her to explain.
“Greg, honey, I have had feelings for you since way back then…and Lisa knew it.”
“And no one ever told me? Why didn’t I know?”
“Because…you and Lisa were an item from the beginning. There was no way I was going to butt in.”
“I should have known.” He drew Marta closer and kissed her gently on the lips, then sat with her in his embrace until the doorbell rang. The delivery had arrived. Greg took her hand and led her, glowing, to the kitchen.
They both agreed the lasagna had been a good idea. It was delicious. Marta cleared the table off and washed the few dishes.
“Now what?” Greg inquired of Marta.
Marta really wanted to return to where they left off, but she didn’t want to rush Greg. “Let’s go back to the mansard and see what more we can find. The bible lists names, but really doesn’t give us the name of the girl in the picture.”
Greg agreed. He still hadn’t found any answer to why the mysterious, red substance kept appearing. He had his doubts they would ever find any information as to why this was happening or what it was. They slowly climbed the back stairs, as neither was in a hurry for any more surprises. Greg hesitated before opening the stair door. “Whew,” he sighed. There was no more red stuff or anything mysterious.
They decided to begin looking in one of the bedrooms. Much to their surprise, in the first one they entered, there they found the broom propped up against the wall.
“Is that the broom, Greg?”
He bent down to examine it. “Sure looks like it to me. It has the same scuffmark on the handle, same brand, and everything. How the hell did it get up here? We haven’t even been in this room yet. This is a little unsettling to me. Maybe we should go back downstairs.” Greg grabbed a large box, “I’ll take this and we can sort through it downstairs.”
Marta picked up a smaller box and followed Greg down the stairs. They sat at the kitchen table examining the contents of both. There were many pictures in the boxes; many were dated and labeled with names. Some of the ink had been smeared. Greg came across a picture he felt resembled the beautiful girl. He held it up for Marta to see.
“I think it’s her,” she said. “I definitely wouldn’t forget those eyes. I can’t read the name, can you?”
“No, it’s smudged. Keep looking, maybe there is another one here,” Greg said.
After a couple of hours, they finished going through the boxes. Their eyes were feeling strained. It would be dark soon. They didn’t care to return to the mansard after dark.
“I’d like to run to the hardware store and get a lock for that door. Care to come along, Mart?”
“Sure, we need to brush some of this dust off ourselves first.”
After they stepped into the back hall and did just that, Greg gently brushed the dust off Marta’s hair, drew her close to him, and kissed her—a long, gentle kiss that could have easily turned into a long, passionate kiss. Marta put her arms around him and held him tightly. She had longed to do this for so long.
“Time to get our coats on and get to the hardware store before they close.” Greg helped her with her coat and opened the jeep door for her, as it was blocking his Tahoe. “I’ll drive.” He went around and got behind the wheel. Marta handed him the keys. The hardware store was only a few blocks away. Greg found the lock he wanted, and they were back home in a few short minutes.
He installed the lock while Marta sat in the upstairs sitting room—watching, thinking of all the years she had admired and loved him. She so hoped Lisa’s wish would eventually come true. She and Greg enjoyed skiing, but skiing was a long way from the relationship that she dreamed of. Greg was tired, as he hadn’t slept well lately.
When they went down to the parlor, he lay back on the pillow at the end of the sofa and looked over at Marta sitting at the other end. She was certainly a lovely gal. He began to mentally undress her. He felt this was wrong, especially so soon after Lisa’s death—nonetheless, the thoughts were there. He missed Lisa’s warmth—her love. Desires began to swell within him. He reached for Marta’s hand and pulled her close. Their lips met in that passionate kiss. She started to pull away, thinking it was too soon. He pulled
her closer, and began rubbing her back through her shirt. He wanted so much to be under her shirt. Their tongues danced. Desires increased. He wanted to feel her breasts…to see them. When he could no longer resist, his hands found their way under her shirt. Marta was breathing heavily. He could no longer fight his own desires. With fingers fumbling, he unfastened her bra and reached around to feel her breasts. She was quickly succumbing to him. His heart pumping rapidly, he raised her shirt to see the most beautiful D breasts, so firm, so perfect—so inviting. He looked up at Marta for approval. Her eyes seemed to say yes. He began to fondle and enjoy her breasts. Her mind was beginning to cloud over—Greg could tell, he had her. He picked up the phone and dialed. Marta wondered why. She soon knew, when she heard him asking what time they would be bringing Maggie home. “Okay, eight is quite alright. I’ll see you then.” He turned to Marta, “They aren’t bringing Maggie home for a couple of hours yet.” He took his shirt off and pulled her close. Her shirt lay rippled above her breasts. “May I?” he whispered, as he began to pull her shirt over her head.
She nodded in approval. Oh, how wonderful her awesome breasts felt against his bare chest. As they lay there, skin-to-skin, desires arose rapidly—each wanting—fighting their desires. Eventually, Greg could resist no longer. He slipped his hand inside her jeans and reached under her panties. With the first touch, he knew she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. He slowly removed her jeans, and began kissing his way down. Her breathing quickened. It was then, that he unzipped his pants and showed her just how much he desired her.
“Sweet, merciful heaven,” Marta thought to herself, “Is it possible to have too much of a good thing?”
There she lay with her midnight blue bikini panties begging to be removed. Greg obliged, and laid his hand against her inner thigh, as a motion for her to spread her thighs to let him in. He ran his fingers slowly through her silky brown pubic hair, her love nest.
Her heart was racing with anticipation. The minute she had been dreaming of all these years was about to happen. Her heart raced faster. Greg’s thoughts were on Marta, only. Lisa was set aside, for the moment, as he laid Marta back and slowly but eagerly guided his arousal into her readiness. He was gentle, telling himself he didn’t want to hurt her, knowing nothing of her past experience. As she took him totally, he began to move gently at first, then faster, as she began making wonderful sounds of pleasure. One last thrust and it was over.