On a bright summer morning in June of 1970 Carolyn hopped into her car then embarked on a journey, a netherworldly excursion she never anticipated to a place unlike any other she’d ever known. Inevitably dragging her family along for a wild ride across the Universe, at Light speed, a course correction occurred, mid-flight. Was her GPS recalibrating? Does the G stand for God? If an internal compass guides by intuition it pointed her in the right direction.
“Ideas are like stars: you will not succeed in touching
them with your hands, but like the seafaring man
on the ocean desert of waters, you choose them
as your guides, and following them,
you reach your destiny.”
Carl Schurz
fountain of youth
“In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.”
Saint John of the Cross
A concept this powerful casts it own shadow across the ages. Cultures all around the world have long maintained a belief in the existence of a fountain of youth. Eternal beauty, sought by those who wish to live forever, proved an elusive goal ages ago. After all, Ponce de Leon is immortalized in stone, not flesh and blood. However, there are many special places on this planet which appear to possess magical, even medicinal qualities within water bubbling to the surface from its depths, coming straight from the heart of Mother Earth.
Though nobody in the family intentionally imbued this well with mystical qualities it didn’t require acknowledgement as an exceptional discovery to be one. Instantly recognized for what it is, no doubt about it, an ancient, primal, elemental source of pure water at its very best, the well is incredible. It was a marvelous wonder to behold. A point of fascination drew curious onlookers, especially the local kids who would routinely visit this languid pool, there to sip frigid fluid. Refreshing to mortal senses, chilling to the core of any soul, dipping bare fingers into that pool was actually painful, even in midsummer. The water never warmed, yet, in the steam heat of July, it proved restorative, a welcome relief and well worth the trip to a far corner of the yard.
With the explosion of the big rig came myriad stones of a different color. Producing an astounding assortment while retracting the drill bit, there must have been some residual rock which surfaced, gathering at a stem protruding from the ground. Stones had splattered all over the area. Tapped then capped off, the vein, once opened, could not be closed. The pressure was so extreme it forced an incessant and substantial trickle up through the sides of the stem where it attached to a reinforced cap. There would be no containing the flow, quite literally no way to turn off the tap. Thousands of pebbles lay beneath it and many more were scattered for yards around the pool of water perpetually re-filling itself. They had burst from the earth with the geyser. The pool was about three feet in diameter, a perfect circle, as if in homage, resembling the shape of the Earth and the Sun and the Moon: Universal form and substance.
As the rig erupted in a cacophony of unsettling sounds, its metal twisting against metal, water forcing its way to the surface through solid bedrock, the resulting commotion caused the neighbors within earshot to come-a-calling. Excitement in the air intermingled with a surging river shooting straight up through the ground, enticing those who’d felt the rumble and also heard the explosion from a distance then came to behold what they wondered about. It created a sudden magnetic tug, a gravitational pull, calling everybody within range to come see a geyser before they capped it off and they had to hurry. It was flooding the yard! Water was rapidly rushing downhill racing toward the Nipmuc River. It was a sight. Neighbors called others nearby. Folks gathered on the front lawn to watch it as cars stopped then parked on the road because they had seen a geyser from above the tree line while passing the old Arnold Estate on Round Top Road. The farm remained crowded for several hours. A rather bucolic drive through the country had been abruptly transformed into the place to be in Burrillville one hot summer afternoon as a natural resource went on supernatural display for the day. Had they discovered a fountain of youth? Did the purest water possess any special properties which set it above and beyond? Roger certainly looked relieved. Drenched when he’d run out to the rig, the water seemed to work its magic on him immediately, washing all of the stress from his face then it did the same for Carolyn. If it is a fountain unlike any other, a special find on an equally special place, it would be best for everyone to remember that ancient Chinese curse: May you live forever. Perhaps immortality is not such a blessing, after all. Consider the source.
***
It is impossible to tell the full story of that decade, of the family dwelling within this house, without fully expressing the significant role played by the Nipmuc River in their lives. Though not intending to dwell on the riverbank too long, it must be noted. Its message was well-received and so, should be passed along as a profound part of their entire tale. Some remarkable things happened there. Each one of them recalls experiencing something uniquely spiritual at the river and everyone has gained insights due to the time they invested there. It was a flowing lesson of life and death. It offered so much, if only one would sit and quietly listen. At times it flowed rough and robust, tearing through the countryside, as if on a mission to ravage the land on its path to the sea. At other times, it became a placid and peaceful creek, almost still. With one glance it became a reflecting pool, a window into the soul.
The kids were thrilled when their father built a small dam from its endless supply of river rocks. He worked diligently for hours, slogging through sand and mud with one stone after another, constructing the shallow pool in which his kids could swim to their heart’s content, or so he’d said. They all secretly suspected daddy built it as much for himself, considering how many hours he spent submerged in the crystalline pool, swimming with his fishes. It was when he felt closest to his girls, when dad was at his happiest, surrounded by nature, soaking in it while soaking it all in. When Roger recalls his time at the farm, these are sentimental moments he remembers, like slowly, deliberately dipping his overheated body into that cool, clear water. In those moments, he felt rejuvenated, certain bathing in its beauty replenished him, spirit and soul. Standing in its sacred sand, in those moments he felt like a young boy again, like a man-child who had discovered the fountain of youth on a farm in rural Rhode Island. When he talks about it now, it is always with regret: a sense of loss. Roger has never overcome what he still perceives as a promise broken to himself: to hang onto this place in the country… forever. Now, it is with sincerest remorse that he revisits the past, disdainful about feeling forced to leave it behind rather than being grateful for having found it at all. Because of a sad, chronic condition he imposes upon himself, this poor man cannot enjoy his own marvelous memories of the most magical decade of his life.
***
April’s memories of the river involve repeated sightings of spirit children at play, in and around the water’s edge. Many times, she returned home from an excursion mentioning what she had seen, how they spoke with each other. She would watch and listen intently, curious about their language, tickled by their lighthearted laughter and peek-a-boo! game. Fascinated by their lavish outfits, the children wore ornate handmade smocks. April described in vivid detail their faces and places she had seen them emerging from in the forest, darting out from behind trees, examining stones from a riverbed. Whenever she spoke of them it was always with a smile. She took pleasure in observing their antics; the happiness, joy they shared just being together. There were no toys. Nature itself was enticement enough to relish what their world had to offer, even if they were revisiting a final memory for an instant in a fractured sliver of time and space; as a quantum leap, in-between dimensions.
It was April’s way to sit quietly down by the river, blending into scenery, observing the cycle of life unfolding. She was still very young when she first witnessed apparitions there, remaining silent as she watched the bevy of little ones, those she would later watch playing in the pine grove. Describing the
ir clothing as simple but fancy, at the time, words a child would use, April now recalls these images from an adult perspective, able to state that they were all dressed in tan-colored smocks, obviously handmade, colors painted on what appeared to be a thin hide. Wearing open moccasins resembling sandals, they scampered through the woods to the riverbank, moving quickly and nimbly, navigating that rugged terrain with ease, familiar with their surroundings in a place they knew as home. Indian children, the Nipmuc Tribe occupied this valley well before the time when hosts of colonists appeared on the horizon, those who came to claim it as their own. According to the historical records, their settlement was an expansive, sprawling village nestled in the heart of the pristine valley and the river running through it was a vital source of life.
There were there… and then they were gone. As if April was just another little ghost, she would curl up beside a mighty maple tree and watch them for the few instants they appeared and then they’d disappear, dispersing into the ether, riding the wind to who knows where. When April was a child, her own reaction to the sightings seemed nonchalant, as if the Nipmuc children were naturally where they belonged… not supernatural in Nature. Decades later, as her story has come to light, she cannot help but speculate about what she saw and what it meant. Questions arise from mist collecting as vapor above the water when the air is moist; a secondary pool mimicking what lay beneath it. She finds one aspect of these visions most compelling. How could they leap into an alternate time and space then leap out again with relative ease? Why did they seem so familiar to her? How could it be they’d played around trees, among branches that did not even exist during the time they lived? And how could they come so close to her and yet not see her huddled at a river’s edge? It makes no sense. Of one thing April is certain. Her senses as a child did not betray her. They were keen and clear and she saw what she saw. Her sense of them remains strong and she often feels a subtle longing to return to the river to reclaim the childhood she still perceives as lost in the fray. The land is just as haunted as the house and the barn but April does not consider it as such. It remains a placid place to escape their house of horrors. Drawn back in mind to that peaceful place where once she discovered her love of Nature’s beauty, it is with a heavy heart that she revisits the past. April still wants to go home, back to a fountain of youth where she once felt ageless and eternal.
Over the course of a decade spent discovering the essential nature of life and death, girls learned powerful lessons regarding the pure power of water. As a mighty force to be reckoned with, it has claimed innumerable lives over time, throughout the ages, man and beast, as all living things are susceptible to the curse that comes with the blessing. One cup full of what human beings require to live can and will kill, without malice or forethought. Like fire, water does not discriminate nor does it possess a conscience. It has profound influence on life, as an elemental source of it; the stuff of a primordial soup can also be a recipe for disaster. It is the beginning or it can spell the end for anyone who fails to be wary of the woes it can bring. Perish the thought.
During several of her countless visits to their river, April witnessed others as well, souls who appeared to belong where they were but where were they? She saw a man and a boy there. Her description of them was identical to the pair who frequently appeared in the house, manifesting on the landing at the top of the stairs to Andrea’s bedroom. She even saw their dog a time or two. April did believe her eyes. She was too young to doubt her own senses, as all children behold the world with wide-eyed wonder. Her descriptions of them were too exact to be any other souls. It was their land. It was their river, too.
When she describes what she saw, what April says defies public record. It is written that the elder Mr. Baker drowned in the pond and his son perished ten years later. April insists the father died on the river and so did his son, as well as the boy’s dog. April does not talk about what she saw or how she knows. No one doubts her version of events and nobody is willing to reopen the wound to ask. Some things are better left unspoken… too difficult to say.
On the subject of dogs… the river could be treacherous, quite frightening. Case in point: Pooh Bear fell through the ice. Andrea panicked, jumping in after him. Roger plucked both of them out of the frigid water before it was too late. It was a concerted effort on his part and obviously shook the man to the core. The speed of water rushing beneath the icy crust could have swept them away in seconds. He trembled that day, and not from the cold, though he and his daughter were drenched. Helping her back up to their house, he should have ranted and raved, having every right to admonish her for doing something so foolish but instead, he cried and tried to hide it. The father had come close to losing a child that day and he knew it. Perish the thought. The fountain nearly claimed another youth, along with her beloved dog.
***
There was an intriguing combination of natural and supernatural episodes which occurred at the river. As seasons passed, everybody realized the truth: the forest was not an escape from events happening in the house. The woods were simply another venue where different scenes played themselves out for the benefit of the audience, or not. They never noticed who was watching, so the presence of mortal souls had no adverse impact on the spirits. They were where they were, in another space and time, and they would have been there regardless of whether or not there was someone to watch them being spirits. Perhaps they did not realize they were dead. The real question was how these immortal souls could make such an implausibly quantum leap then touch the same trees the Perron girls played among. Phenomenal! Cindy saw several of these native children playing in the pine grove. Impossible! The pine grove was not there when these spirits were alive. Not another living soul present to bear witness, Cynthia doesn’t care who believes or disbelieves her stories. It matters not. She believed her own eyes… and still does. No doubt about it.
If it is even remotely possible for spirits from another time and space to visit and partake of the same pleasures in this realm, within the same woods where mortal children frolicked, the concept is cause enough to investigate, to explore the existence of multiple dimensions at the intersection of past and present tense. Such a vision presupposes the existence of an alternate reality, beyond the three-dimensional world human senses are hardwired to perceive. There were some mind-boggling moments for five little girls who could not comprehend what they’d witnessed in the woods. Yet, fearlessly or foolishly, they would return over and over again, as if being drawn in, to connect with its source: a mystical, magical place in the country where spirits could touch the same bark on a tree they’d touched, at the same time in the same space. It was all too remarkable to ignore, too much of a cosmic collision not to stare in shock and wonder about; an awe-inspiring, four-dimensional revelation.
Behold! The river is what first enticed Roger, well before he ever stepped foot inside the house. His eyes admired the land but a river grabbed him by the heart. When he pulled off shoes and socks to go wading into the shallows of the clear, cool pool, Carolyn knew her husband was as hooked as any fish swimming trustingly around his ankles could have been on that day or any other. He did not fish. He did not hunt. The land was left alone, preserved by a family who tended to it lovingly, protecting it from harm, not simply for themselves but for all of those who’d loved the land, mortal and immortal alike. It was destined to be adored, even worshipped by the pagan children in the family. Inspirational to all of them, some in very specific ways, a walk in the woods was healing. It was a transcendental, holistic experience, whether or not there were supernatural sightings. Being there is supernatural. Being there is essentially spiritual in Nature.
Cynthia still wonders why she could see solid apparitions, observing them without being seen. How would they have reacted if they’d ever noticed her? Is it possible her presence would have frightened them? Would she be the one perceived as the spirit? Would they be as fascinated by her as she was by them? These little ghosts would show themselves, but did the
y ever realize they could be seen? Was she the one visiting them… or was it the other way around? When they disappeared, where did they go? Were they still there, in the woods, merely invisible? April ponders the same questions, ones without answers. Is it conceivable that these spirits were watching over the family as they were being watched over, in the woods and elsewhere? Indian children never appeared in their house because the house did not exist when they did, but then, neither did the pine grove. The Baker boys, a father, his son and a dog, had all appeared in the house. April recognized them. Nancy had been drawn to the old cellar hole, as if beckoned by her family to come home. So, what was the cause or better yet, an explanation? These were heady concepts for ones so young at the time; decades have not provided clarity. Thirty years hence, it all remains equally mystifying. There will be those who suspect the ghosts were little demons come back to haunt and taunt these living souls. Truth be told, they were innocent children… sweet little angels at play.
***
The enormous storm blew up the coast with a vengeance, its unsurpassed fury taking aim on millions of unsuspecting souls. People died as a result. As it arrived, another one blew in from Canada. A direct hit, it did not run away. Instead, it hit a solid wall of water. Conflict ensued. A collision caused both storms to stop dead in their tracks. The warring factions converged over New England. Adversaries fought it out on turf borrowed for use as the battlefield. Day after day, copious amounts of rain fell, scarring a late summer landscape as the relentless torrent continued, a deluge that cut the Earth to shreds. It ran like blood in the trenches, gutting everything in its path. Then it ran off like a coward, deserting its post, rushing downhill toward the river. As if trying to escape itself, rain fled from the sky then ran for the hills and valleys, making its way home to its own elemental source, merging as super/natural resource. Attraction: It’s the Law. Two storms coincided, battling it out for three days. Then, in mutual surrender, embracing as one, they drifted out to sea in peace. Over and out of sight. The collateral damage was done. It was devastating. It was beyond belief. Disturbing. More than mortal eyes could bear to behold. A miserable set of storms teamed up and seemed to do permanent damage to a ravaged landscape. Having witnessed its savage power in its aftermath, the distressing sight prompted Andrea to write about the supernatural destruction done to land she loved and thought she lost. Children process the traumatic events of their lives in different ways. As sunshine re-emerged from behind black, ominous clouds, she could see the light of day. Stepping outside of the house, surveying the property, garden in shambles, she walked to the river. Roaring like a lion, rearing its ugly head, gutting the valley, she could see it had suffered irreparable harm. Nothing would ever be the same. It never is.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 18