House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  “What’s this?” A gruff, sarcastic tone did not sit well with either mistress of the house. Placing both hands on his hips, leering into the pressure cooker, it was obvious he disapproved of a meal made especially for him. A favorite.

  “You can see what this is, Roger. It’s dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs.” Carolyn snapped to attention. High-alert-defensive-mode. On guard!

  “I had that last night… I don’t want it again.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. I had no idea what you ate last night or on any other night when you’re on the road because you didn’t call home and even if you had, you never say much… so how was I supposed to know?”

  Andrea trembled inside and out. She lowered her head and stared into the salad bowl hoping none of her sisters walked in on the escalating altercation. It was bound to get ugly. She wanted to spare them the fallout but remained steadfastly at the table, her mere presence offered as some form of protection against an outburst. They didn’t seem to notice her there. Too busy fighting.

  “I’ll just go out and get myself something to eat.” Petulant while pushing buttons, pouty boy turned to leave, transparent passive / aggressive behavior, all an act designed to provoke a response. Carolyn fed right into it, virtually begging him to explode, and that he did, so to oblige the fair lady-in-waiting.

  “You just walked in the door! You have been gone for more than a week and now you want to go out to dinner… alone… because you refuse to eat the same food two days in a row? Bullshit!” Oh, God. Andrea shifted position at the table, preparing to intervene. Something extraordinary occurred. Roger’s violent outburst was about to meet its match… Bathsheba intervened instead! The child could only watch. Deliberately intimidating at times, the man used his powerful presence effectively to cause others to cower. Standing with his hand on the door knob, he charged back into the pantry. His wife took a few steps back out of harm’s way, providing plenty of room for his temper.

  “Fine! Then I’ll have a bowl of cereal but I am not eating this!” Seething with anger, he touched a handle on the pot of meatballs. It flew off the stove and hit the floor in front of his feet, splattering sauce all over the man. It was hot but he was hotter under the collar, kicking the pot past his daughter. It bounced off the wall. For a moment nobody breathed; no one dared to move. Then Carolyn calmly placed that box of pasta on the counter, turned off their stove and walked past her husband… straight out the door. Retreat! Shocked, Andrea just stood there studying her father’s blood red face, wondering what to say or do next. She picked up a dishrag beside her on the table then began to approach the overturned pot. Leaning over what needed to be cleansed, his booming voice from above ordered her to cease and desist immediately.

  “Leave it alone! No one touches it! Just leave it there. Go tell your sisters there is no dinner tonight.” Marching orders. He went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Apparently everybody deserved punishment. The children went upstairs and stayed there. Roger took a shower then went to bed where he slept throughout the night. Meanwhile, Carolyn went deep into the woods, seeking solace in the darkness… in search of her own inner Lightness.

  She walked and walked but could not get the damn song out of her head; it kept playing over and over again, like a broken record, but made her smile.

  “On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese, I lost my poor

  meatball when somebody sneezed. It rolled off the table and onto

  the floor then my poor meatball rolled out the door.”

  Carolyn could still hear it, her children singing it, when they were younger, swinging on the set in their backyard in Cumberland. It seemed long ago and so very far away, light years before they moved to the farm. Though she was tempted to laugh her way through the tears, at least long enough to enjoy the sweetest memories of her girls in a simpler time… before, Carolyn could not bring herself back. She was simply too wrapped up in hating her husband at the moment, blaming him for something he really hadn’t done.

  Andrea was an objective observer and a reluctant witness for the defense. She saw that pot of meatballs go flying off the surface of the stove without the assistance of her furious father. Carolyn insisted otherwise, inflexible and unwilling to consider another explanation. Truth be told, in that house it was entirely plausible for a spirit to manipulate any object at will. Who knows? Maybe the kitchen witch thought he was being a jerk. Perhaps Bathsheba did not approve of his leaving so soon after arrival. She may have been the only one in the family anxious to keep him there, the one who really missed him!

  Wandering the woods until darkness set in, filtered moonlight became her guide home. When Carolyn entered the kitchen, everything appeared to be in suspended animation, every drop of sauce precisely as it was left, splattered all over the floor, the walls and appliances, except for all the meatballs which had vanished. It was nothing mysterious. The dogs had helped themselves to a feast and famine for the rest. Carolyn was pissed off. For the next hour or so she scrubbed red paw prints from the wooden floor, cleaning up the mess from pantry, kitchen and hallway alike, where pups had tracked it through the house. Exhausted, the woman gave up the ghost and threw in the towels with the dishrags, into a bucket of sudsy water, calling it quits for the night from hell. Grudge match over. She’d lost that round with her temper.

  She went upstairs to check on her girls, beginning with Nancy and April, over the kitchen. Working her way to the far end of the house, Andrea was the only one still awake and happy to see her mother arrive, safe and sound.

  “Mom, are you all right?” The child sat up in bed, inviting her to settle in. Carolyn joined Andrea in the comfort zone. No tea, but plenty of sympathy to spare. More like empathy. She lived with him, too, but this time she had to defend him. Do unto others…

  “I’m fine, honey, just tired. I cleaned up the mess your father made.”

  “Dad didn’t spill the pot on purpose… he didn’t do it at all… I saw how it happened. From where I was standing I saw him touch the handle of the pot. He pulled his hand away and that’s when it flew off the stove. Honest, mom. Dad didn’t do it. I think he got burned. I thought he was going to clean it up. I tried to but he told me to stop. I thought he was going to do it, instead. You should have come to get me when you got home. I would have helped you.”

  “No problem. It’s all done except for a few stray paw prints; the dogs got all the meatballs. Did you girls get something to eat? I’m sorry I left without telling you where I was going. I had to get away from him.”

  “I know. I told them you went for a walk. I snuck downstairs and made oatmeal and toast for everyone. We ate upstairs and left him alone. I know how mad you are at him. You made such a nice dinner. I saved the salad. It’s in the fridge.”

  “Where’s your father?” The contempt in her voice was unmistakable.

  “Under the weather. Dead to the world.” Andrea was disgusted with him, too. After all, he started it and should have at least cleaned up the mess made instead of leaving it for her mother to deal with… so typical.

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” Carolyn wished him dead. She’d had it.

  Perhaps he was responsible. His incredible negative energy could’ve been the culprit at the source, or a culprit could’ve been the source of his negative energy. It was hard to tell. After some time spent in the farmhouse, it became obvious to all the females in their family… that house did something to men. Roger threw temper tantrums but the frequency and intensity of them grew exponentially while living at the farm. It could have been the stress of it but something seemed amiss. Everyone had noticed he was always much happier when he was not inside of the house, almost like a different person. Spooky. Scrunching down beneath the covers, Carolyn cuddled up with her daughter and promptly fell asleep. It was where she slept for the duration of his visit home, keeping her distance, biding her time, until Roger hit the road… again.

  This argument remains a point of contention within their extended family. Caro
lyn blames Roger for spilling good food and spoiling appetites. Andrea blames Bathsheba for stirring up trouble. Roger blames Carolyn for, well, just about everything else. Lessons learned eventually proved valuable, if for no other reason than exposing the truth and the fallacies of life on the farm.

  1. Problems ignored rarely solve themselves.

  2. Haste makes waste.

  3. Given the opportunity, a house will not keep itself.

  Keeping a mental list, therein lies only a few of the lessons imparted from an entirely disturbing and often dysfunctional classroom; one episode of many at the farm. No one recalls what the fights were about. Does it matter? It was over. Once things calmed down, it was best to leave well enough alone.

  “If I had a formula for bypassing trouble,

  I would not pass it round.

  Trouble creates a capacity to handle it.

  I don’t embrace trouble;

  that’s as bad as treating it as an enemy.

  But I do say meet it as a friend,

  for you’ll see a lot of it and had better be

  on speaking terms with it.”

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

  teardrops

  “I go to nature to be soothed and healed,

  and to have my senses put in order.”

  John Burroughs

  Her teardrops spilled as meatballs had just a few weeks earlier. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how upset she had become Carolyn left abruptly and went into the woods, down through the valley, across the river, deeply into the forest. Andrea did the same, following her distraught mother. When she finally arrived at the old cellar hole, expecting to find her mom there, it seemed somehow transformed, different than what she last remembered of it. Carolyn was nowhere in sight. Startled, Andrea approached the ancient ruins and saw how overgrown it had become, how Earth had suddenly reclaimed it. The change was stunning, as were the wild roses, in full bloom, apparently without benefit of sunshine. Tucked in between lilacs, the fragrance was enough to lure any unsuspecting soul to the site. They were free, constrained by nothing but lilac blossoms on either side, not the solid clapboard that held in check those roses wedged into a corner of the farmhouse, beneath her bedroom window. As alluring aromas drew her closer still, as if she was an accidental tourist in a cosmic fairy tale, something told her it was no accident. No such thing. Wandering around as a child lost in the woods, following a sweet scent, she felt very much at home.

  She had no sense of time and space, no way to discern the gradual descent of the Sun; the residual hue, her only clue. Light transforming into darkness Andrea approached the hole in the ground, peering down from the precipice, amazed by the conversion; what occurred between her last visit and this one? So much growth seemed impossible. No. It was impossible! Andrea became disoriented, perception distorted. It felt like she was becoming intoxicated by the fragrance she inhaled while standing on the precarious ledge of a black hole. An oak tree growing from its center quadrupled in size over what she’d quickly calculated to be no longer than a month or so before. She had begun questioning her own memory and mental acuity. It was all too strange. Time to investigate. Her equilibrium began faltering. Latching onto a large, sturdy branch she cautiously climbed down into the cellar hole, staking her claim of land beneath a mighty oak. A tree which appeared as a sapling only weeks prior had, in the next month of the same summer, become her launching pad. Remembering why she was there in the first place, Andrea closed her eyes. The dizziness subsided; so did her unwillingness to accept what she had seen all around her. Then she slowly opened her eyes to that muted light, dappled rays of sunshine filtering through leaves overhead. The curious kid looked down at the dirt and debris and there, her quieting mind began to gradually open to the possibilities. Gazing at the many insects scrambling over roots and stones, Andrea understood. She had been given an extraordinary gift. In that moment, the child realized what was happening to her. She’d arrived at the cellar hole of the future. She had been transported to another space and time, certainly not her own. It then occurred to Andrea, if her family were to come looking for her there, they would not see her. She would be invisible to them. This knowledge transported her to a place she’d longed to visit, where peace and quiet reigned, cloaked in another dimension. Solitude she’d been seeking was found, at last. Safe. Secure. Untouchable… in the comfort zone.

  It began to rain, just lightly at first, as a barely perceptible shower, hardly able to penetrate the draping canopy overhead. A few drop made their way to the ground stirring up activity. Staring at the insects scurrying all around her, Andrea realized that their ancient ancestors had not yet been born. Epiphany. Then it was time to go. Dreading a return to the farmhouse, she did not want to witness another fight. Instead, she longed to remain where it was lush and safe and timeless. Behold! Awakened by this wonder, she had seen the future of the cellar hole. She had come to know true serenity within the ruins, stone walls she knew would endure. Wishing to remain with the roses and lilacs, to remain at peace in a different dimension, the youngster reluctantly scaled the wall, climbing to the ledge. As she did so, looking around, she was graced by raindrops on roses. So beautiful! Walking only the slightest distance from the cellar hole, heading toward the farmhouse, she noticed the rain had suddenly stopped. Turning back to glance at a sacred spot she left behind, she watched the rain still falling directly above it yet nowhere else. Ground cover beneath her feet was dry; the path, clear. Without realizing it Andrea made a quantum leap, there to rediscover the solace of the simplest truth from a different time, an altered perspective. Life goes on. A message received. Her strong sense of direction intact, common sense prevailed… it’s time to be homeward bound. Only a matter of time.

  “The roses under my window make no reference to former roses or better ones;

  they are what they are; they exist with God today.

  There is no time for them.

  There is simply the rose; it is perfect in

  every moment of its existence.”

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  a woman’s touch will get a man’s attention

  “And out of the darkness came the hands that reach thro’ nature, moulding men.”

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Something was always going wrong down in the damn cellar! Whether as normal or paranormal, Roger had his work cut out for him under their house. Down the hatch he goes again, down a rickety set of stairs, down in the dark, dank shared space below a family dwelling. He’d been the only one unafraid to tread where others dared not go. He had come to accept her presence, even welcome it as company among the cobwebs and that dreary lack of light. She posed no threat to him. In fact, oddly enough, her existence was comforting to the man. Strange, how a budding relationship only confirmed how wrong he had been and Roger was not one to accept the idea of being wrong about anything. Well aware this spirit loathed his wife and meant her only ill will, perhaps this realization was at the root of the companionship they’d shared. Though Roger still presumably loved his wife, he also felt contempt for her, especially whenever they argued… and he lost. It was a sentiment returned in kind: double-barrel shotgun style. His frequent trips to the low country often occurred after an intense altercation above ground, accusations boiling over, spilling from a cauldron of discontent where they simmered. Prime time for the other mistress of the house to step up as a stand in and that she did. When he went where she was hiding, she was there, seeking the man of her dreams.

  Truth be told, Roger was often found in the cellar working on yet another broken device to escape a blowout about there being another broken device in the cellar! A cold hot water heater or a furnace on the fritz, again. Carolyn was certain this spirit had something to do with it. Nothing ever broke down unless he was home. That witch had him at her beckon call with a honey-do list of her own making. Anger and frustration accompanied him down those stairs, the residual fallout from harsh words and even harsher tones. There he found a friend w
ith whom to commiserate, someone clearly on his side of an argument. It was always about taking sides. No new furnace in the budget, it was as ancient as the hot water heater, obsolete when they bought the place. Carolyn impatiently awaited replacements, considered it her husband’s fault when they were not forthcoming. He’d become defensive, so down the stairs he went to work some more magic on another mechanical device which had worn out its welcome long before the family arrived at the farm.

  His cursing, slamming the cellar door became a loud, disturbing ritual, his come-a-callin’ card; a bombastic pronouncement of an entrance being made, issued from the hallway or the landing of the staircase. As their adversarial relationship, long-established between the couple, would erupt in accusations whenever anything went wrong, she was there, waiting, at the ready to throw a willing arm around his broad shoulders or stroke his back in a supernatural show of support. Want tea with that sympathy, dear? Her transparent ploy was obvious to all, except for Roger, who did not realize he was being toyed with, manipulated by a maleficent mistress of Mephistopheles.