***
Nancy went out to check on their horses, no time to waste, as a cold night ahead had been predicted. The forecast was a bleak one. It was twilight, time for a couple of boys to go to sleep. Entering the barn to find them munching on their last hay of the day, the grain buckets were empty. They’d had a good meal to keep them warm. Pineridge and Royalton were ready to settle in for a long winter’s nap. Pulling an enormous roll of blankets from the outside wall of the stall, intending to cover them, before doing so, Nancy refreshed their water, breaking through the thin sheet of ice forming on the surface. No doubt about it… gonna be a cold one. It was by no means warm in their barn but it was certainly tolerable for critters. Nancy was moving fast, working up a sweat. She had placed a thermal throw on Royal without incident. Standing in front of Pineridge, preparing to open his stall, she was whispering sweet nothings to him when it happened. Nancy remembers being overcome in an instant by a sensation she describes as unnatural cold; supernatural in Nature.
The backside of her body, all of it, from head to toe, suddenly turned so frigid it was as if she was stretched out on a solid slab of ice. The heaviness she felt was staggering, like the weight of the world was pulling her back, to force her down to the ground. Pineridge went nuts! He reared up, screaming in terror. A moment before he had been docile, eating a carrot from her hand. Throwing his huge head back then to the side, his wild-eyed expression, one of abject horror, frightened her more than whatever was right behind her, whatever it was Pineridge was staring at, scared out of his mind. Nancy felt overcome, stricken by a weakness in the knees that threatened her collapse. It was proper time to panic. Pineridge was known to be skittish but this was dangerous, as he could easily injure himself. Leaping in protest, kicking up on his hind legs then slamming into the walls of his stall caused Nancy to begin sobbing. She was helpless and so afraid for him. The horse screeched and whinnied, kicked and bucked in his stall, all the time staring over her shoulder. If he’d had the opportunity to bolt, he would have been gone, but the poor thing was trapped in a cage, nowhere to run. He had seen something behind the child, just beyond where she stood, frozen stiff. Whatever had a hold of her pulled Nancy off her feet, jerking her down onto the floorboards. She hit the floor hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Pinned, wriggling to escape in her mind, Nancy could not move her body. But she could pray, and she did, begging for help. Release seemed to take eternity but once she could breathe again the terrified teenager leapt to her feet then ran screaming and crying all the way back to the house, confronting the issue head on.
“I told you so! I told you there was something in the barn!” The youngster was hysterical. “Pineridge is probably hurt! And so am I! Something grabbed me from behind and dragged me to the floor!” Nancy rubbed the back of her head to indicate injury. Carolyn embraced her daughter then took her into the bathroom. It was not be the first aid rendered or received that evening. Good Lord! Roger grabbed his coat and was out the door, running to check on the other victim. Pineridge was startled when he entered the barn, still afraid and sweating profusely. Steam poured from his nostrils and his body, laden with glistening drops of moisture, was freezing solid in the bitter cold. He reared up then backward in his stall, away from Roger, but slowly came around a few minutes later as the man spoke softly, kindly to him. This horse trusted a human being he knew well, the man who had originally rescued him; the one who had come to help in a crisis. After some gentle coaxing then cautious but comforting strokes, Roger was able to soothe the savage beast and enter the stall to wipe Pineridge down. Though his hide was scuffed in a few spots, otherwise he appeared unharmed, none the worse for wear, though Roger did not blanket him right away. His body had to cool first.
Once the horse settled down, Roger returned to the house to check on his daughter. He said little more than goodnight but knew she’d been through an ordeal of some kind. Feeling sad and helpless, unable to control the situation, he went back to the barn, out in the darkness, following an illuminated path across packed snow, having left the lights on earlier. It gleamed through the window, providing him safe passage, revealing the hazardous ice beneath his feet. Pineridge finally received his warm blanket and oats for good measure. Royal was asleep. Roger turned the lights out and found his way home with the brilliant glow of moon shine from above thickening clouds, peeking from behind, much as a spirit spooked a horse from behind an unsuspecting child.
But Nancy had suspected, all along. Even though she was ill-prepared for what happened to her, (not what one would expect to occur while performing a mundane task), she had known all along about a presence in the barn. It had haunted her from the beginning. Nancy barely slept that night. Her head hurt. Instead, she laid in bed thinking about the wild look in the eyes of her horse. What was it that frightened him out of his mind? What evil presence took her to the floorboards of the barn? Why didn’t Royal react the same way? Had he not seen what Pineridge did? Rolling around in her bed, the child realized the barn had just become an off-limits area without an escort. Safety in numbers? Not necessarily.
All’s well that ends well, or so they say, but Roger was deeply troubled, and so was his daughter. Life on the farm was becoming more complicated, as a series of unfortunate incidents began to unfold, quite like what occurred in Cumberland. It is one thing for straps or bridles and curry combs to vanish or get misplaced. The truth is, things get misplaced from time to time but the complaints were chronic and none of the girls were blaming each other. They all knew that nefarious forces were at play in their barn and elsewhere on the property, too. Their head games were harmless enough, as head games go, nothing but a nuisance. These missing objects often found their way home, reappearing in the spot from which they were taken, usually a few minutes after the spot had been re-checked. That spirit, a mischievous soul, was a benign presence. This could not have been the same spirit. Nancy had been petrified, frozen in place with purpose and reason, deliberately disabled. She hit the floor like a slab of stone. It was meant to hurt; a cruel and vicious act. The same intuition she used to locate lost items, a voice that told her to go back and look again, also told her what attacked her and had spooked the horse was not the same familiar playful presence to which she and her sisters had grown accustomed. The encounter she had that evening was something else entirely… something wicked. Mean-spirited. Nancy believes it intended to do her harm and if the horse was harmed in the process, so be it. Devil may care… or could care less. Whatever it was, it was pernicious, cold and heartless. She felt its malicious intention and so did her dad, but did they sit down together to discuss this incident? Hell no! That would have required Roger to admit he felt something and his most vulnerable emotions were located in an off-limits area. That night, Nancy wrestled with images of fear, panic she saw in the eyes of an innocent animal that had seen too much. And the image that was planted in her brain, still remains.
Prior to this unsettling experience, Nancy had considered the episodes out in the barn to be a more subtle form of communication, non-threatening and non-violent. This not-so-subtle encounter was a rude awakening. What had been a special, sacred place, a welcoming retreat, suddenly transformed into a hostile environment from which she’d been inexplicably forced to retreat, under threat. Nancy was angry, bitterly resentful of the intrusion, spoiling the barn as a spot for the child who always found it a safe and comforting place, in spite of all the supernatural activity surrounding her there. For no apparent reason, the student had been expelled from her favorite class.
***
Perhaps it was the presence of mere mortals the spirits found disturbing. Seven of them inadvertently knocked on their door to the netherworld and it knocked back in response, as a pull on the hair, the tug of an ill wind or as a door knocked off its hinges and Nancy knocked on her ass! What diabolical message was meant to be sent or received with three heavy blows against the house or three blows of the mysterious horn from the bowels of the Earth: a sinister mocking of the Holy Tr
inity? Or was it something worse? And what of Roger’s rude awakening? Dogs knew enough to cower and the horse tried to bolt, but there was no escaping unscathed. Mortals were not as wise as the creatures they cared for; they did not see with the same eyes. Their animals told them the truth. Danger! Providing all with a wake-up call at the dawn of a new age, the message received was ageless and yet, right on time for a new millennium. It was illuminating, to say the least. Always darkest before the dawn, enlightenment is a sometimes painful, difficult process for those who know not where they are in the grand scheme of things. The eyes have it.
“Every animal knows more than you do.”
American Indian Proverb
~ Pineridge ~
buyer’s remorse
“When anger rises, think of the consequences.”
Confucius
One balmy August evening Roger and Carolyn took the kids for a ride off shoe shopping with a special trip to McDonald’s, a big deal and a good deal back in 1974. Even though the town of Webster, Massachusetts was hardly bigger than a quaint village, it had the lake with the longest name on record, dubbed by the Wampanoag Tribe, quite literally unpronounceable. The girls had a good time trying to say the name aloud as the car passed the oversized sign paying homage to it, as a dare ya! The beautiful ride along narrow roads thickly lined with birch and maple, especially brilliant in autumn, everyone knew the show was about to begin, within a month or so. Their final outing prior to the start of another school year, it was a fun-filled occasion for all.
Returning home sometime after darkness fell, pulling into the driveway, it was obvious; no one thought to leave the light on. Carolyn entered, fumbling for the lamp beside the sofa. Roger walked in behind their children, instantly noticing what they already knew. As warm as it was outside, the house had a biting chill… to the bone; that cutting cold in air as thick as paste, leaving its taste at the back of the throat. A gut-wrenching stench had returned as well, a repugnant odor so foul as to be repulsive. Instantly invading their nostrils, its pervasive presence throughout the house was impossible to escape. Roger’s jovial mood turned abruptly sour, almost evil. It was stunning how fast it had happened, even for those accustomed to his occasional fits of temper. As the spontaneous outburst erupted, issued from the center of their parlor, it caused everyone to jump. Brief and to the point, came his familiar prayerful words.
“Jesus Christ!” Roger glared disdainfully at his wife, a weird concoction of game, blame and shame. A snarling grimace had stolen a broad smile he’d worn throughout an eventful evening. The moment was a loss for everybody involved. His tirade continued. “This house smells like death!” Shocked by that harsh tone, the intensity of delivery, it startled all the children, silencing them as they stared at their father’s face, twisted and contorted with hatred. The girls stood totally still, frozen in time, waiting for whatever was coming next, mortal or immortal. Negativity oozed throughout the room as an almost tangible presence, as dense as the venom milked from a poisonous snake. A fierce energy charged with the ugliness of contempt seething from his pores, popping from his veins, it began to puddle on his skin as minuscule beads of perspiration; an anomaly in such frigid air. The ladies huddled together and shivered, as much from the volume and dark content of his remarks as from a bleak, intense cold. Vile, offensive words sent shock waves through them, a trembling shudder through the stillness. Was his emphatic prayer another cry for help? Good God Almighty! It was true. He was right. It was Death. A presence of death was in the farmhouse. No doubt about it. All of them were overcome with a visceral sensation with which they’d become familiar, a gut-wrenching anticipation: what’s next?
Roger leered into the dining room then marched in, pausing, as if to sense his surroundings; chasing a culprit, tracking a scent. This is when he noticed the deliberate taunt. The cellar door in their front hallway was swinging back and forth, wide open. Roger had been the last one out of the house that night. He knew that door was closed when they left. He’d been the one to secure it then habitually rechecked it before he exited the premises. Swinging open, as if fanning flames or spreading the stench, Roger confronted his attacker. The severity in his voice increased during a moment of realization; an accusatory comment so misdirected became redirected toward yet another target of his anger and frustration. Bathsheba. Carolyn was off the hook, for the moment.
“Get the hell out of my house, you witch!” He kicked the door shut then defiantly stood there, waited in place; a daredevil, daring her to return.
Click. The latch lifted then it settled back into the slot. He could hear her, footsteps descended the staircase into a malodorous black hole of oblivion. Roger yanked the cellar door open again, staring down into the darkness. Let there be light bulb. He pulled the string in fearless pursuit of this hellacious spirit. Nobody home… only the sound of her footsteps causing the stairs to creak beneath the invisible weight of infinity… imagine the universal mass.
When you see a chance, take it! Daddy was distracted. His children fled. Up the stairs they flew, birds on the wing, escaping the surly bonds of Earth while their father was engaged in subterranean battle. Packages in hand, they quietly gathered in Andrea’s bedroom, from where they could clearly hear as mom and dad began arguing again. It is something a child remembers. Roger took aim at the only available target, blaming Carolyn for… well, everything.
“You just had to have this goddamned house!” Using words as weaponry, his sarcastic bite matching his bark, it was nothing compared to that wild, arm-flailing creature bearing fangs. “It had to be this house!” Ranting on… “It must be fifty degrees colder here than it is outside! I can see my breath!” It was true. Steam heat poured from his loud mouth, like a lone wolf poised in the cool evening mist, baying brutishly at the Moon. “For Christ’s sake!” Praying again, as a frantic call for help, no doubt.
“Then stop huffing and puffing like some ridiculous cartoon character. If you’re not careful you’ll blow the house down!”
“I’ll be goddamned if I’ll run the heat in summer!”
“No one asked you to! Besides, it wouldn’t help anyway.”
“Oh, really.”
“You can blast it all you want and it won’t make a difference. The cold in this house won’t leave until she does.”
“Is that so… and how do you know that?”
“Because this happens all the time! You’re just not here to feel it when it does. I’ve told you over and over again. You don’t listen to me, Roger.”
“I am so sorry you ever found this place…” shaking his head in disgust.
“It found me.” Carolyn, suddenly subdued, was oppressed by burdens she carried alone. Truth be told, there was more than one dilemma in her life.
“Maybe all of this happens because of you! Maybe Mrs. Curtis was right. Maybe you’re the witch!”
“And maybe you’re a stupid sonofabitch.” And… she’s back!
“Now I’m stupid.” Roger’s face resembled a balloon ready to explode, too much hot air bulging, accumulating from within. It had to go somewhere.
“Well, it took you long enough to admit and yet, you still blame me.”
“I am sick to DEATH of this godforsaken place!” The rafters rumbled.
“Empty vessels tend to make the loudest noise.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me…” So much hot air… in spite of the chill.
“Perfect. That works for me.” Carolyn had effectively silenced the wolf, for the moment. She simply stopped responding… stopped defending herself. While he was mid-sentence, she pivoted in place and walked away, out to the woodshed. Pacing like a caged animal, he prepared his next lines in advance, to effectively advance a cause; ready his half of the argument in her absence. Sharpening his points like a set of claws on the ragged bark of a tree, Roger planned on plunging them into his adversary upon her return. Like a weapon of mass destruction and proud of it, poised in position, Roger remained quiet as his wife dropped the heavy armload
of wood in the box, never extending a hand to help or even applaud her efforts. Punishment. No doubt about it.
She ignored him entirely, built a raging fire then claimed her familiar spot on the hearthstone. The man of the house watched a woman do all the work without lifting a finger, though he had no qualms about lifting a finger to her face, pointing it directly at her like the barrel of a gun, taking aim and… fire!
A foul and frigid parlor warmed instantly. The life force of fire had driven death away. Roger hesitated to pounce, withdrawing his weapon as fast as he drew it. Carolyn was holding the fire poker. Best not provoke her, should she choose to strike while the iron is red hot! Perish the thought! He had made a wise choice for an often unwise man. Carolyn was in no mood to tolerate any further disruption, remaining cold to the core. She wondered how a heart made of solid ice could possibly keep beating. The air began to sweeten, an obnoxious odor dissipating with the chill. In spite of this remarkably sudden change, a certain stench lingered… that of a marriage rotting on the vine.
Mission accomplished. Whoever she was… Bathsheba Sherman, perhaps Mrs. Arnold (as Roger later suspected) or some other lost soul that they were never able to identify… whoever she was, she was happy. The spirit from the depths had done her stinky, dirty work. Why wasn’t it obvious to everyone? It was her intention to split the couple up, to force Carolyn out of the house. Ulterior motive: not merely an objective to haunt and taunt but instead, expel. She was an incendiary by nature, a supernatural fire-starter. How many times and how many rifts caused by her insinuating herself into the mix, to stir the pot as a cauldron of discontent… and she was the fire beneath it.
Her purpose in death, perhaps as well in life, was warfare; an avid attempt made to disturb the peace. Regardless of her point of origin, she had gotten what she wanted. Breaking up is hard to do. At times, it takes three souls to accomplish the task. The spirit in a cellar seemed hell bent and determined, doing everything in her formidable power to incite a riot, to break this couple apart. All quiet on the Eastern front but the damage was done. A witch? Had he suggested she was a witch? The other woman made her presence known. Had she put words into his mouth? Apparently, it was one of the dark arts.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 21