When contact with him first occurred, Roger became just as frightened as Carolyn had been. Once it became apparent he was not her target, at least not in the same way his wife was, the man began to loosen up a little when these encounters happened by making light of it, as if the episode was no big deal. His adoption of a nonchalant attitude, closely akin to Sam’s approach to this matter, was merely a mask. The truth? Her presence unnerved him no end. In reality it was his false bravado. The subterranean subterfuge was always startling, a seductress-in-waiting at the bottom of a shabby staircase. She left quite an impression; made her marks. He couldn’t afford to forget a potential payback if he was not nice or not conscious; the damage she had done to his skin, as if needles scraped his back bloody. He remembered waking up in holy hell. She was powerful, capable of harming mortals where they slept or capable of making mortals comatose! For this reason, he thought it was best to forewarn his brother-in-law prior to an excursion into the cellar, a trip down the hatch which may well include a visitation from the other mistress of the house.
Frankie and Guy came for their first and only visit to New England in the summer of 1976, soon after Andrea’s graduation from high school. Two of their three sons had come along for the ride of their lives. Taking the scenic route, the long way provided them a picturesque view of the coastline, from Brunswick, Georgia to Providence, Rhode Island. Then, of course, they had to find their way out to the farm, a rather secluded place in the country. After driving nearly fifteen hundred miles, they’d gotten lost in Chepachet! Roger went to fetch them, guide them in, while Carolyn readied the farmhouse for guests. She’d truly missed her elder sister, Frankie. And Guy? She loved him like a brother. It had been too long, too many years since an official visit and it had always been the Perron clan who made that trek to Georgia. The ladies adored their sweet cousins, Billy and Johnny, both awesome boys. They had been looking forward to spending some time together again. Another grand tour planned once they arrived, a historical journey through New England. It meant adventure for the girls, as well. Boston, Lexington and Concord… the shot heard ’round the world! What a rush it was for them to see the places they had only read about. Frankie was a teacher and this field trip would be shared with her students when their fall semester began. Carolyn left Georgia practically a child herself, only eighteen. The time had finally come to share her discoveries with her elder sister. It was a joyful and a meaningful reunion for everyone involved.
However, there was one thing the hosts felt obliged to divulge. Neither of them wanted to broach the subject. Carolyn had not yet told them about their house alive with death, the place where anything could happen at any time. It was privileged information, disclosed strictly on a need-to-know basis. This had been easy to put off, for years, as Carolyn was not certain how her sister would react to the fear factor. It wasn’t a topic they’d ever discussed before.
After a lovely dinner, Carolyn showed everyone to their rooms. Two boys got the middle bedroom downstairs, long abandoned by Roger and Carolyn once they’d refurbished the summer kitchen. Chrissy later claimed it, happily relinquishing her sacred space to their cousins for a week. The Perron clan planned to bunk upstairs. Andrea gave the full-sized bed to her parents who gave their room to Frankie and Guy. The girls crammed into the two remaining bedrooms. Voila! Room enough for house guests with no room to spare in the midst of space shared by seven mortals who didn’t know how to explain just how crowded their farmhouse really was, in spite of its size.
Reconsidering her position on the matter, and because the house had been so quiet for a long time, Carolyn did not discuss the dilemma with her sister that evening. Instead, she decided to risk it, to hope against hope the spirits would be cooperative for once, not resentful or too curious about the sudden influx of people on the scene. Everyone went to bed late. There was merry to make! The celebration ensued from their moment of arrival. It was well past midnight before all four of the adults were ready to retire for the night. By that time it was too late… nothing left to do but listen to their scary stories in the morning. Nothing left to do but to apologize for failing to give them fair warning in a timely manner. Frankie and Guy were about to be introduced to the other mistress of the house.
So many souls to consider… so many fences to mend. Rising at dawn, Carolyn made the coffee. Frankie was not far behind her as they greeted each other at first light. Carolyn could see that something else was brewing. Frankie confronted her sister.
“Carolyn, why didn’t you tell me this house was haunted?” The stern tone of her voice sounded like something she would use in her classroom: lessons learned. She demanded an answer with her tired eyes… not a wink of sleep to their credit.
“Oh my God… what happened?” Carolyn was stunned by the slap of her sister’s words against her blushing cheeks.
“Something was standing right beside the bed, staring at both of us then it reached down and peeled the blanket back all the way to the foot of the bed. It hovered there. Guy was ready to start the car! The room became ice cold and we couldn’t move at all.”
“Oh, my God. I am so sorry.” Carolyn’s remorse was genuine.
“So am I!” Frankie was equally sincere. Though it sounded like the end, it was only beginning. An ethereal classroom had a schoolmarm in the house.
“I’m not finished. The room filled with a smell so disgusting that I nearly retched. I couldn’t move. We both heard the sound of a heavy object, like a cannon ball rolling across the floor, loud enough to wake the dead! Guy was petrified and so was I. So? What the hell happened in there?” Frankie had become emotional. Their bond was being stretched by the truth, or a lack thereof, and Frankie was offended that her own sister did not trust her enough to share their horror story. “You’ve lived here for more than five years now. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about this!”
“I didn’t want to scare you… any of you.”
“Well, something did it for you.”
“In case nothing happened while you were here, I did not want to frighten you, especially the boys. When I found out you were coming I wanted to tell you then but I was afraid you wouldn’t come, so I waited. And the house has been quiet for months, no problems at all. I thought about telling you when you got here but I didn’t know how…”
“You didn’t know how to talk to me about it?” Frankie seemed shocked.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.” Carolyn became emotional, too. She felt ashamed. It was obvious her Southern belle sister was disturbed.
“Not believe my own sister?”
Carolyn continued pleading her case. “I needed to see you! I thought if nothing happened I would never have to mention it at all.”
“You would have kept something this important from me? Never tell me about it? I thought you trusted me.”
“Frankie. I didn’t want you to think…” Carolyn fought on, losing a battle to keep her composure as an internal conflict was exposed. Words seeped from her lips as tears pooled in her eyes. Frankie softened her stance a bit when Carolyn confessed. “I was afraid.”
Whereabouts unbeknownst to their mates, Roger and Guy walked through the kitchen door, having been off for a stroll on the land, engaged in a rather intense conversation of their own. They had met in the parlor and decided to head out early. Carolyn knew the instant she looked at Guy’s face Roger had told him the truth. There were a few tenuous moments. No one was certain how to react or what would be said next but then calm eased into the scene which could have played out very differently, requiring a hotel room or a trip back to Georgia. As Carolyn and Frankie poured coffee for their husbands then began preparing breakfast for unruly hordes, both men sat at the table, discussing the faulty electrical system too old to be considered antiquated. It was downright dangerous. As the master electrician in their family, Guy had volunteered to rewire a farmhouse during their visit. Guessing it was settled, Frankie and Guy had overcome a fear of the unknown.
“Looks like
we’ll be staying.” Grasping her sister’s hand… it was settled.
Grateful beyond measure for their understanding, Carolyn was relieved. It was so difficult to discuss, but soon she was pouring her heart out to a sister who grasped the concept and found herself fascinated, in spite of a gripping fear she had felt the night before, confronted by a presence she didn’t expect. Speaking of mending fences, she told Frankie all about the day Cindy had to rebuild a fallen fence during a storm, about the kind help she received. It was not all doom and gloom. There was light with the darkness, explaining how a situation perceived as a curse had transformed into a blessing, repairing a rift between sisters in the process: Nancy and Cindy. It was complicated and she wanted Frankie to understand that they had reason to stay. In spite of all the extracurricular activity in the farmhouse, there were lessons to be learned.
One minor complication with the proposed electrical work: it meant a trip into the cellar. Roger had no choice. He had to do the right thing. An attempt at full disclosure on the subject he would rather not discuss, Guy deserved to know what was down there, waiting. Besides the furnace and a mostly dead boiler system, there was an equally dysfunctional relationship to consider. He had to admit it. Neither of them would make the same mistake again: a sin of omission. Once all the best and worst of these stories were out in the open, clearing the air, it was easier for everyone to breathe a sigh of relief. Two sisters were free to revisit the past aplenty, chatting happily about their magical childhood shared on a farm in Georgia. As their husbands prepared (tool boxes in hand), to bravely descend into darkness on a stairway to Heaven or hell, depending upon perspectives, Roger did his best to assuage any fears Uncle Guy had before fear had the chance to manifest in form and substance. Heading down the hatch required a leap of faith… say a little prayer.
“She likely won’t bother you. For some ungodly reason, she wants me!” Roger, once again, underestimated the power of the Law of Attraction. Uncle Guy was a handsome devil, a fit figure of a man: tall and lean, that charming Southern drawl, icing on the beefcake. The spirit laid her invisible hands on him immediately. A woman’s touch will and did get the man’s attention. He spun around, pivoting in place like a soldier. Attention! Roger saw the blood drain from his face and knew precisely what happened. “She touched you…” Roger posed the question as a statement.
“Yes. I think so.” Guy was rattled, anxious to be done with a job that only just began. His tools were still in the box, wire still on its spool.
“On the shoulder?”
“And my neck. Down my back.”
“I guess I’m not her only boyfriend.” Roger tried to make light of it in the depths of the darkness he could not comprehend, let alone explain. “You know what they say, a woman scorned… hell hath no fury like her! Be nice.”
It was the first of several encounters Guy would have with this mystery woman over the course of the next few days. He’d adjusted well, though not completely. Neither did Frankie. She was not amused. On edge, nervous like a cat in unfamiliar territory, this little game of “peek-a-boo!” going on in the guest bedroom was disconcerting enough in its own right, but that invisible entity kept the ball rolling, what Frankie described as the sounds of a cannon ball on a roll across the floor. Then there was the antique bucket moving all around the bedroom while they lay there, listening, unable to sleep with the commotion and scrutiny. Nor did she approve of the “hide-n-seek” going on in the cellar with her husband and his newfound friend. Neither of them had appreciated being awakened in the middle of the night by noises too peculiar to describe and both were grateful the boys had been spared this same ordeal. Guy and Frankie left that old farmhouse with many memories and an entirely new perspective. Their surreal journey to the great State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations was third eye-opening enlightenment. They’d learned lessons about life and death, developing a new awareness of and appreciation for the supernatural world. Likewise, a sister and brother came to understand what their family was enduring. It’d been six years since Roger and Carolyn bought the farm, six long years keeping secrets from a sister she could trust. Fear is a powerful weapon. That trigger gets pulled every time a mortal soul allows death to get in the way of a life, by adversely impacting relationships. Mending an imaginary fence fear built between them, Carolyn pledged to tell Frankie everything from then on. No more code of silence. It’s not honorable among thieves or sisters, and they were thick as sisters. Carolyn rediscovered her confidante from long ago and far away, sharing their multitude of stories. Frankie expressed her concerns but there was nothing to be done. The family was firmly entrenched on their farm. She understood why; so did Uncle Guy. During a week spent sipping the nectar, drinking it into their collective soul, they too had fallen in love with its graceful beauty, its history and mysteries. Frankie was transfixed and inspired by a tale told in the wee hours of darkest night or in bright morning light. Two sisters walked in woods, resplendent as always in June, sipped water from a frigid fountain at the well. Love potion. They had languished in the river and lingered at the pond. Carolyn called her when it sold. Frankie mourned the loss of a place in the country she adored and would never revisit again. Any regrets? Still busy counting the losses.
***
Not long after their journey to New England, the Clark family suffered an unimaginable loss. An unusually foggy Georgia morning, heat rising with the sun was burning off moisture absorbed overnight. Billy was sixteen. Music blaring in his car on the way to school, the typical teenager, he never heard the horn. He did not slow down at the railroad crossing at all as the train had a regular schedule and always made its morning pass through the countryside promptly at 6:00 a.m. His expectation of immortality must have kept him from applying the brakes. That fateful day it was running one hour behind. At precisely the moment he crossed the tracks, the cosmic convergence occurred. Billy was gone but never forgotten. That singular event continues to ripple through the hearts and minds of those who loved and lost the brightest star in the firmament. He never knew what hit him; a mercy bestowed. Timing is everything in life and death and his time came too soon for anyone to abide. Only his twisted eyeglasses were found near the wreckage, hundreds of yards down the track. When the call came, no one in the family could believe it. How could it be if the essence of his purity still lingered in their home? How could he be lost and gone forever? Carolyn collapsed. There are losses from which mere mortals never recover… haunted for life by the death of a child.
“Nothing befalls a man except
what it is in his nature to endure.”
Marcus Aurelius
tug of war
“The universe will reward you for taking risks on its behalf.”
Shakti Gawain
The antique icebox entered its newfound home through the kitchen door. Fran claimed it for Carolyn from the cellar of a friend who was moving on. It was “no charge”! Grateful to get rid of the solid oak monstrosity, unaware or unappreciative of its intrinsic value, he gave it away. A surreal score! Once it was cleansed of cobwebs and polished to a shine it looked beautiful. Carolyn placed it proudly up against the wall between two kitchen pantries, admiring it, a lovely pitcher and bowl set on top. A splendid addition to the kitchen, it remained a decorative piece for about a week before someone put something on it that didn’t belong there. Then it became just another cluttered surface.
It reminded Roger of one from his own childhood. He’d reconditioned it and wanted to try it out so he drove into town, returning with a chunk of dry ice. Storing it in the cellar until he was ready to load it into the icebox, the man got sidetracked by some other errand requiring his immediate attention. Meanwhile, Carolyn reminded her girls not to touch that hazardous object, not to go in the cellar at all. When asked why this was so dangerous to touch, their mother explained that it was not really ice, but was instead, a chemical, a solid block of carbon dioxide. Insisting they keep their hands off it because contact could damage delicate fingert
ips (leaving patches of skin behind on the surface of it) mom said: “Don’t touch!” It was all she had to say.
Nancy was usually the corruptive influence on her younger sisters but this time she had nothing to do with it. Cindy felt compelled to sneak down those stairs. She flew down the hatch when no one was watching, so she thought. Curiosity was not just for cats. That strange looking substance was, for some reason, fascinating to the youngster. She merely wanted to know more about it and did not believe for a moment that her skin would shrivel up and fall off if she touched the stuff. Daredevil, down she went into the depth of darkness, into that off-limits area. Roger had placed the block in the anteroom, tucking it out of the way. Out of sight… . out of mind? Hardly! Cindy found it sitting on top of the well, a mysterious substance begging for fingerprints. Looking back to be sure she was alone, a naughty girl went where she did not belong.
As fearless as foolish, Cindy cautiously reached down. Laying a finger on the cold, hard surface, she abruptly pulled away. It burned, like touching fire made of ice. Incredible! She had to touch it again! Examining her fingertips in dim light muted by dirty cellar windows above her head, the musty glow illuminated her hand as she compared index fingers. No damage done. None at all. Skin still perfectly intact she leaned forward again in flagrant disregard of her mother’s direct orders. There would be an immediate consequence for her actions, though nothing expected. Again, the youngster had been caught playing with fire, tempting fate with ice.
“Ouch!” As she, more confidently, leaned toward the object, pushing the boundaries, testing the water disguised as dry ice, a disobedient heathen got what she deserved. Shocked by a sudden pain, her long, flowing locks of hair had been grabbed from behind. With a vicious yank, hard enough to pull her head back then knock her to the floor, Cindy knew instantly she was being admonished. She was not alone and had been watched all along her journey.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 27