“Werewolves,” she whispered. “More things I stopped believing in a long time ago. When I was a kid I saw wolves on the property outside the LaNeau, and I let my imagination run wild, but they weren’t paranormal, just animals that came out of the woods…that’s all, Bruno.”
Diana remembered things she’d seen outside her bedroom window when she awoke in the middle of the night—and there were other creatures that crept out of the ocean on full moon nights. “Just stories,” she said softly.
Bruno studied her face for a moment, and then looked to vegetation and tangled brush.
The radio had been nothing but static for the past few minutes, but suddenly Tyler’s voice broke through the white noise.
“Welcome home, precious child. Take my hand and we’ll dance in the fires of Hades.”
11.
Diana gazed at the house, built around 1800; windows bordered with ornate frames, and smoke streamed from the chimney. Boston ivy crawled over brick, and bare-branch trees swayed gently in the yard.
Bruno pulled into a long winding driveway, and then killed the ignition. He turned to Diana, speaking quickly. “Nicky said the caretaker’s waiting for us. I’ll get your bag.”
“Thank you, Bruno.”
A gang of young men stood at the corner across the street. They were thin, pale and unkempt; gaunt faces framed by stringy hair. They leered at the car, with eyes mocking and dark. Something long dead hung from a streetlamp, and it swayed in the wind.
“Jesus, these people have balls.” Diana shook her head. “Some fans have no scruples at all. Do they think Tyler’s ghost is hanging out here, or something?”
Having placed Diana’s bag by the door, Bruno made his way back to the car, waiting on the walkway, fists clenched, eyes fixed with a cold stare. “I got it under control. Those suckers are out of their element in this part of town,” he whispered. Cold air smoke escaped his lips.
The men whistled, and then one of them yelled at Diana, “Need some help?” Low, guttural growls followed. Footfalls sounded. Shadows seemed to swallow the men when clouds devoured the moon.
Bruno took a step forward.
Humped figures moved beneath gigantic trees, obscured by smoky mist, snow and by the dark of night.
Diana waved her hand, and then proceeded to the walkway. “I’m doing nothing to encourage them. Bruno?” Her voice rose a bit.
Laughter, eerie and merciless, sounded from that darkness. Bruno took another step, raising his fists higher.
“Still got that Magnum?” Diana’s eyes flashed, and caught the driver’s hard stare.
He lifted his chin, and then slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket.
Clouds parted, and the moon shone round and yellow. Still huddled together on the corner, the men had not moved.
Bruno spoke in a tough, matter of fact tone, the Magnum visible on his belt. “You guys are loitering,” he said, his voice hard and harsh. “Move it.”
The men scattered.
Bruno relaxed, turned and made his way to Diana.
“All set,” he said sternly.
A mother cat and three kittens lay near a shrub. Mamma hissed, and the babies glared at her.
“Nice greeting. No table scraps for you,” Diana told them.
Mamma hissed again.
“Damn cats, so independent. Ready, kid? This house…he loved it. I miss him so much.” Diana sobbed as she dug into her purse, pulling out a large silver key, and then handed it to Bruno.
“He’ll visit in dreams. The dead always do.” Bruno unlocked the front door. “Maybe tonight. Spirits are restless in dark—can be a thousand places at once.”
“I’m sure,” Diana whispered when he pushed open the door. A loud screeching emerged from the street, but only snow, fog and ice were visible.
“God keep us safe,” whispered Bruno as he shut the door behind them.
The house was dark, smelled of candle wax, flowers, and something else Diana couldn’t put her finger on.
“Hold on.” A gruff voice ordered from the darkness beyond the entrance.
A door off the vast front hallway opened a crack, and a bloodshot eye peered out at them. A dry, doughy hand pulled the access open a few more inches to reveal a squat middle-aged woman with an array of coarse white hairs poking out of her chin. She leered at them with a mocking face, skin pitted with age spots, resembling that of a leopard’s markings. Stale perspiration, and odors of the sea, wafted forward.
The woman sized Diana up, sniffed the air the same way Diana’s old tabby did when a stranger came near. “You’re Nicky’s kid.” The woman blinked, and then coughed noisily. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”
She made Diana uneasy. Visions of winding corridors, where hellish creatures gathered, played out in her mind. “That’s just fine with me,” Diana snapped. “Sooner the better, I guess. I don’t really need you.”
“The deal was that I stay into the night.” She sized up Diana again, and then slammed the door shut.
Diana turned to Bruno, and said scornfully, “Well, I don’t like her?”
“Me neither. I’ll take care of it.” Bruno leaned against the caretaker’s door with his arms folded.
“Thanks. I’m going to check out the rest of the house.” Diana noted the dark winding staircase, and spider webs hanging from its railing. How long had it been since the house had been cleaned? She wondered if crawly things would invade her bed when she slept—if darker and more sinister beings would impose on her as well.
The woman had upset her, and the intruders on the street could be lurking near the property, but the thought of Bruno carrying a gun eased her mind a bit.
She left him, and then walked through the living room. She surveyed her surroundings, taking in furniture and oddities Tyler had purchased over the years. A plush couch and overstuffed chairs sat majestically on the wooden floor. A lovely painting of Tyler’s mother in her youth hung above the fireplace. Large stained glass windows decorated the right side of the room. Multicolored wildcats caught sunrays, making rich abstract patterns on the walls and floor. A huge bow window faced the road, giving way to a view of rolling hills and the sea below. Vases were propped on the ledge; animals and Astrological glyphs adorned them. Mahogany tables, bookcases and chests leaned against walls. Large ceramic figurines sat in shadowy corners; women dressed in old fashioned clothing and African warriors.
She exited into the kitchen. A vintage stove flanked a pantry laden with china and silver. A copper tea kettle rested on one of the burners. An ornate table stood on black and white tile. Several wooden chairs, matching the table, were flush against the wall. A heavy maple door, in the kitchen’s rear, exited to the backyard. A double jalousie window loomed above a stainless steel sink. Above that, a tiny stained glass window gleamed; an intricate design of kittens playing with a ball of yawn. It was an innocent scene, or it should have been, but something about the animals’ eyes disturbed Diana.
Next to the sink was a small white refrigerator. She pulled the silver handle, opening the fridge. A bottle of orange soda, a small cream pie, and a half-eaten pizza, lay on chrome shelves.
“Caretaker’s junk. It gets thrown out in the morning if she doesn’t take it with her,” she murmured to herself. The thought of the women sitting at the table, stuffing food into her mouth, disgusted Diana.
She turned, and then spotted a deck of Tarot cards on one of the chairs, and an old Ouija board, chipped and stained.
Several Astrology books lay there: The Zodiac and the Soul, Astrological Signatures from the Brotherhood of Light and one simply entitled The Moon.
Tyler loved to collect obscure books and esoteric oddities.
She wondered if that awful woman had taken items out of boxes and drawers, then neglected to put them away.
Her anger began to boil, and she imagined the lady peering through the keyhole, or sitting in darkness, plotting to steal whatever wasn’t nailed down.
“You don’t belong here,” she whisp
ered, remembering the caretaker’s sloppy appearance, and her disrespect. She exited the kitchen, moved back into the living room, and then made her way up the stairs. Stained glass windows with more kittens and wildcats seemed to mock her ascent with sinister stares; photographs and paintings hung between the colorful windows. The second floor landing gave way to several bedrooms, including the one where she and Tyler stayed when visiting the bay.
She thought that she heard whispers behind closed doors, and a child cried from a darkened corner. There were other noises, too—scratching sounds, footsteps prancing across the floorboards, and on the roof.
She almost screamed when something touched her back. She turned quickly, then felt relief when seeing her driver’s concerned face.
“Diana.” Bruno eyed her sympathetically. “It’s just me.”
“You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry, but there’s some spooky stuff here—voices…other sounds,” he whispered.
“Just memories. Old houses retain patterns from the past. Residual energy…that’s all it is.”
“Ghosts?”
“No—memories—love---hate—death--sometimes buildings preserve all that—like a recording. Tyler talked about the phenomena. It’s an old house with a long history. Hey, I’m sorry did you come to find me for a reason?”
Bruno pointed to the staircase, and told her, “That woman down there is pissing me off. She’s cursing in her room, and the stench is getting stronger.”
“Come on, let’s deal with the bitch.” She felt her face redden, and then she clenched her fists.
Bruno nodded, and then led Diana down the stairs, and to the caretaker’s door. He leaned against it, then made the sign of the cross. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “She should leave tonight. I’ll get her a car. I’ll call Nicky; ask him to arrange for a place where she can stay.”
“Don’t be so charitable. She can sleep on the beach for all I care.” Diana thought about the cards and Ouija board.
Bruno stared at the woman’s door with an intensity she figured he might have reserved for unruly fans, or overzealous paparazzi.
“Do what you have to. I’m tired. Thanks, Bruno.” Diana sighed. Her right eye began to twitch, and she wanted to rest before her head began to pound. “She needs to go, if not tonight, then first thing in the morning.”
“Iblis.” Bruno made a fist.
“Who?” She got a kick out of Bruno’s crazy beliefs most of the time, but she was exhausted, and now he was beginning to annoy her.
“Iblis was a Pagan God, a devil—Arabic—I think a shapeshifter. God supposedly made him out of fire. He’s got other names, and sometimes he’s a she.” Bruno looked smug.
Diana rolled her eyes. “Look, Iblis, or not, the woman is a bitch and she fucking creeps me out. I want her gone.”
“She won’t be here much longer.” Bruno smiled weakly. He seemed to relax a bit. “I’ll send her back to where she belongs.”
“Good. Maybe to Hell. Let’s get some rest.” Diana patted Bruno’s arm. She felt him tense when eerie sobs erupted from the woman’s room.
“Iblis,” Bruno said softly, his face darkening. “Your time here is done.”
12.
The night had grown chiller. Lofty pines stood like majestic watchmen around the house, their branches moving rhythmically with the wind. No matter how much Bruno tinkered with the furnace, or how high he turned up the thermostat, the temperature wouldn’t go above sixty-five degrees. Flames blazed in the living room’s fireplace and small electric heaters, found in dusty closets, were placed in bedrooms, hallways and the kitchen.
Diana unpacked things she needed, laying gray sweats, a sweater and white socks on the bed. She went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, removed her robe, then stepped inside. Turquoise tiles shined beneath white florescent lighting. Steam billowed around her, and for a moment it looked as though someone peered at her from the tiny medicine cabinet mirror. She pulled showers curtains shut, and then quickly reopened them. Nothing was there.
She’d read that people with brain tumors often hallucinate, but so far her doctors had found no evidence of growths, only several lesions on her brain, claiming that they were harmless and their cause unknown. “What if there are tumors deep inside my head, not detectable by a scan?” she whispered.
She tried to dismiss thoughts about illness and cancer as she lathered soap on her body, and then rinsed it, feeling muscles relax when soothing water touched her flesh. Next she shampooed her hair, smelling the scent of violets and roses. When done, she stepped out of the shower, reached for a thick towel, and then dried herself off. She creamed her face, brushed her teeth, and then padded into the bedroom. She put on clean underwear, sweats and a white knit sweater. She chose a pair of slippers, bought from an Asian boutique in SOHO, and dabbed on some lip gloss. Now she needed some coffee, maybe a bit to eat.
Bruno had gone to a café in town, brought back burgers, fries and several tins filled with salads, pastries and fruit. Coffee brewed, and it smelled great.
She took her time walking down stairs, studying photographs and paintings hanging on the wall. Tyler’s parents on their wedding day looked happy, full of life, unaware of their unborn son’s future fame. Tyler on graduation day, long hair, clothes a bit too tight, leaning against a vintage Mustang convertible. Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins posed. Some images were in color and others in black and white; most relatives were dead, or far away, with no correspondence in decades. Several large paintings of wildcats, with seemingly human faces, hung amidst family photos, similar to pieces Tyler had painted through the years, but the style was different, tighter, the details more intricate than her husband's loose brushstrokes. The artist's signature, emblazoned on each piece, filled Diana with déjà vu--Rebecca Farrell. A name from a childhood nightmare--a name renown throughout the bay for a legacy of splendid artwork, and abound with tales of the artist's mysterious disappearance. Tyler spoke of the painter often, and about how she'd inspired his work. An eerie feeling filled Diana when she moved away from the artwork, and further down the stairs.
She walked slowly, listening to Bruno’s low voice speaking above a murmur, wondering if he prayed or cursed.
Then Diana stood in the doorway watching the young man stuff greasy fries into his mouth, totally unconcerned about calories or clogged arteries. He thumbed through a book he’d probably found in one of the bookcases.
“Find something good to read, Bruno?” she asked.
He didn’t look up, just spoke quietly, telling her, “Published in 1928. Not worth much though. The spine is cracked and the pages are brittle, and some lady named Madame Bronte wrote her name on the inside cover.” He held up the book so Diana could see. “Book has weird vibes. Madame Bronte was probably a witch, or something. I'm sure she hung out at the LaNeau.”
"Why do you assume everything bad or mysterious is connected to the LaNeau?" Diana pointed at Bruno, her eyes flickering with amusement, glad that Bruno watched over her, and thankful that he helped to lift her spirits.
He leaned forward. "I just know things."
Diana giggled, shaking her head. “My family is weird, but I doubt we're as bad as you think. What’s the name of the other book you’ve got there, kiddo?”
“The Zodiac and the Soul,” he told her.
“One my husband picked up during his travels.” She made her way to the table, then sat. Despite Bruno’s company, grief overpowered hunger, but the doctors advised her to keep up her strength, warning that forceful headaches could plague her, regardless of drugs they’d prescribed.
Bruno dipped a fry into mayonnaise, and then put a thick slab of cheese on buttered bread.
Diana opened a bag, removed a plastic container filled with salad, tore off the lid, and then plucked a fork from the table. She stuck the utensil in a round orange tomato, and moments later tasted the savory flavors of olive oil and flavorful fresh fruit. “You must have a cast iron stomach,” she said to he
r driver.
Bruno looked up at her, smiled, and then pointed to his half-eaten burger. Mayonnaise oozed onto his plate, blending with ketchup and onions. “This is good stuff. How can you eat salad all the time?”
“Easily, when I think about what that shit you’re eating can do to my body.”
Now Bruno gazed through the window, and into a gray-blue landscape. He spoke thoughtfully, keeping his eyes fixed on the city’s hills and the enigmatic hotel.
“The caravan…it’s outside the LaNeau now. Those people must be inside. Same old crap. Some set up shop in on the boardwalk, do card readings—phony kind of stuff. The town women love when they’re here, welcome them because the local Astrologers, mediums and Tarot readers have gone inland until spring.”
Diana told him, “Happens every year…ever since I can remember. They’re odd, but their only apparent crime is an attempt to entertain curious town people, and pay homage to that damn building. Tyler loved those people, said he wished that he could be so free.” She pressed her fingers to her temple, fearing her head would begin to pound.
Her gazed flickered to glass doors separating the kitchen from the living room. They gleamed, and Diana caught her reflection. Mist seemed to rise up from the floor as smoky memories wavered through her mind.
Tyler appeared like a ghost, smiling at a joke apparently only he was aware of, as he plucked fries from a greasy paper bag.
He’d always loved fast food. They’d stop at a burger joint in every town he played, and though he’d down three or four burgers, fries and numerous cups of steaming sugary coffee, he never seemed to gain a pound; but caffeine made him hyper, and he’d stay up until early morning writing, drawing, or rapping with Nicky.
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