House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  Tears welled in her eyes. Jerked severely, her scalp was throbbing, aching from a tug so sharp it should qualify as a weapon of war. She reached behind to grasp her head and save her hair, sure she would encounter the hand of the spirit who caught her in the act but it was a different kind of close encounter, cold as ice itself. Cindy gasped; a startled breath of putrid air went deeply into her lungs along with the striking odor of death. What had her by the hair was not mortal, (no one in her family would be that brutal) nor was it pleased by her behavior. She did not dare make a sound, though doubted she could in a moment of panic: terror. Had anybody heard her in the cellar, she would be punished twice. Instead, she pulled free from a grip held so tightly, strands of her hair remained behind on the granite floor beneath her. Frantically leaping onto her feet, Cindy ran for her life. The most frightening time of this ordeal came at the top of a splintering stairwell. She stood there trembling, listening and waiting for a strategic exit from the escape hatch, rescue from a situation of her own making. She could not bolt through the cellar door and risk being discovered; she had to wait, dead silence on the other side her only salvation. It was her own fault and she knew it; knew it was an encounter she could not disclose for fear of mortal retribution. She would not look down the staircase for fear she’d been followed. It was best not to know if it was the end. After a few unbearable minutes which seemed to last forever, Cindy took a chance and fled into the hallway then straight up Nancy’s bedroom stairs, through a closet then into her own room. Nobody to seek comfort from, her pounding heart was her only companion. She sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her aching head, tears flowing down flushed cheeks. Not about to rat herself out, she kept this incident a secret… for more than thirty years.

  A reward for the risk taken came much later in life, arriving in the form of revelation. Once Cynthia realized what had actually happened, it occurred to her that the spirit not only had her best interest at heart (though the method of discipline was a bit harsh), but obviously knew their mother forewarned them against touching something hazardous to their health. Having defied a direct order, she considered the retribution divine by nature. That particularly bizarre incident had a valuable lesson which was not apparent to the child at the time, busy soothing the pain she could not divulge, thus suffered alone. However, as a child, she’d presumed it was a tug of war rather than a way to keep the peace. The test was over but questions remained. Was she protected from her own bad decision or was the spirit showing respect for her mother’s directive, as Carolyn was unavailable to intervene on her daughter’s behalf? It was nice to be naughty once in awhile but was practically impossible to do in a house with invisible eyes. The walls had ears. Eventually, Cindy came to her senses and a conclusion based on an encounter; the spirits did watch over them. They listened and frequently responded to various interactions which occurred between their mortal counterparts, like free babysitting, though they all paid a price in the end. It took a toll at every turn.

  Upon reflection, Cindy is now convinced the spirits often defended them from themselves, as if these sometimes stupid, silly children were their own, by birthright. She likewise believes they retained intellect and emotions after death. They reason and persuade, cajole and protect those they care for and watch over within an expansive Universe. They are all capable of expressing love and in some cases, hatred. There is simply no other rational explanation for it. The spirits are omnipresent, like God. Perhaps they are merely another manifestation of God, in an alternate dimension, devotional by nature, much like their mortal counterparts. Most amazingly of all, they still feel fear. Ask little Oliver Richardson what terrifies him as he crawls through the eaves or perhaps a little girl who knows the depths of loneliness and despair. Tragic.

  Going into the cellar is still some risky business. Cindy once vowed never to descend the stairway again, a self-imposed rule she later broke. Exploring the cavernous underbelly of their home meant taking a risk. It made Cindy a wiser soul. Just another classroom on campus, there to learn her lessons well. Poor judgment aside, she once cursed the darkness but she has seen the Light. “No matter where we went, there they were… hard to get away with anything! We were never alone.” Disobedient heathens get what they deserve as punishment and enlightenment, in equal measure. An important part of child-rearing is discipline imposed. The source matters not as long as the authority figure is an elder. In some cases, the girls found themselves confronted by an elder who was hundreds of years older than their own parents.

  “It is the false shame of fools to try to

  conceal wounds that have not healed.”

  Horace

  War

  When my young brother was killed

  By a mute and dusty shell in the thorny brush

  Crowning the boulders of the Villa Verde Trail

  On the island of Luzon,

  I laid my whole dry body down,

  Dropping my face like a stone in a green park

  On the east banks of the Rhine;

  On an airstrip skirting the Seine

  His sergeant brother sat like a stick in his barracks

  While cracks of fading sunlight

  Caged the dusty air;

  In the rocky rolling hills west of the Mississippi

  His father and mother sat in a simple Norwegian parlor

  With a photograph smiling between them on the table

  And their hands fallen into their laps

  Like sticks and dust;

  And still other brothers and sisters,

  Linking their arms together,

  Walked down the dusty road where once he ran

  And into the deep green valley

  To sit on the stony banks of the stream he loved

  And let the murmuring waters

  Wash over their blood-hot feet with a springing crown of tears.

  Joseph Langland

  ~ a bridge too far gone ~

  “We make war that we may live in peace.”

  Aristotle

  VII.

  WARREN PEACE

  “Resist the devil and he will flee from you.”

  James iv. 7

  Ed and Lorraine Warren were the perfect example of an intermingling of darkness and light. Both are fondly remembered by the Perron family as kind and compassionate human beings who did everything in their power to help, a beacon of light in a storm. They knew the darker side of existence, too. It is not their fault nor was it their intention to create upheaval in a farmhouse. In October of 1973 the couple first made their presence known, and a powerful presence it was: two supernatural beings disguised as mere mortals. They had appeared at twilight on the threshold of their door on a wild and windy night just prior to Halloween. It really was a dark and stormy night! Having been recently informed that the Rhode Island family was in serious trouble, they made the trip from Connecticut with nothing but a surname and address to go on. Widely considered as the foremost experts in the paranormal, then and now, the Warrens had no idea what threshold they were crossing at the time, but would soon understand the significance of their exceptional find in space and time: a portal to the past and future alike… a dimensional doorway.

  Finding their way to the farmhouse in Harrisville was no small feat. They were lost in the woods. Finally, after several passes, the Warrens glimpsed a few lights from the old home place, set back hundreds of feet from the road, discreetly hidden behind three enormous evergreens. A massive barn was the clue that a house was close by on the property. It was sometime around 5:00 p.m. when they pulled in the driveway. Carolyn anxiously paced the parlor.

  A friend had called to tell her that help was on the way. Upon arrival, the Warrens were cordially invited inside then introduced to most of the family. Roger was noticeably and quite deliberately absent, gone out of town, those plans hastily arranged, once he heard they were coming. He wanted nothing to do with the world-famous “ghost hunters”, considering them to be in an illegitimate line of work. Theirs was the ulti
mate odd job, as far as he was concerned. Over time, his extremely narrow mind would expand universally. However, at the moment, Carolyn was left on her own… again.

  A surprisingly jovial pair, Ed and Lorraine were charming and disarming. Carolyn was unaware of just how famous they were, or she would have been far more self-conscious. She was already on edge. They seemed “normal” for people who’d delved so deeply into the paranormal. The middle-aged couple appeared to be ordinary folks, like people who would make good neighbors, someone from whom one could borrow a cup of sugar, maybe share a cup of coffee, which is exactly what they did. Once the children delivered a “good night” to all and went upstairs to attend to homework, Carolyn explained that her husband would be unable to join them. There was no way to mislead this highly intuitive woman. Lorraine Warren was far too perceptive to fool. She knew precisely why Roger was missing in action. She’d sensed his reticence from afar, from the very beginning, through the trembling voice of his wife, someone in obvious turmoil, left alone… in solitary confinement.

  Settling into the parlor, the Warrens enjoyed the warmth of the fireplace and that of their hostess. Ed was a gentle, soft-spoken man. He resembled a teddy bear, possessing those same endearing qualities. Lorraine was far more the school teacher, quite adept at taking notes and directing the conversation. For Carolyn the encounter was quite an education. Though she had much to learn, she had much to teach the Warrens, as well. By the time they left, far later on in the evening, the two were both excited and equally distressed by what had been freely discussed in their presence. Carolyn believed she could trust them. She held nothing back. It was quite an earful for the eldest child, too. Andrea’s room, directly above the parlor, had an iron grate in the floor, designed to disperse heat upstairs. It was also the source of some startling information. It was the night she discovered to what extent her mother had endured abuse at the invisible hands of a malicious manifestation, a hateful spirit with purely evil intentions toward her mom; an influence this couple suspected might be attempting to “oppress” or “possess” the dispirited soul, a woman being challenged from within as the rightful mistress of the house.

  “Was mistress once afore ye came and mistress here will be again.

  Will drive ye out with fiery broom.

  Will drive ye mad with death and gloom.”

  Carolyn peered into the small, dark closet where she had kept a notebook containing descriptions from her initial encounters with an entity in question. Lorraine, stunned by the images and explanations revealed within its pages, exchanged a silent but extended glance with her husband, as if conversing in sign language entirely their own. The lapse in time had done little to mitigate the memory. Several years had passed since Carolyn had looked inside those pages, at the sketches and the notes she had scribed with her trembling hand. They quietly studied her face, transfixed by her reactions while revisiting the nightmares, all too real. Carolyn became fearful, withdrawing into herself for several minutes, obviously in pain. Lorraine reached over, coaxing her back.

  “I think that’s enough for tonight.” Closing the notebook, suggesting they should go, she said, “It’s getting late and we have a long drive ahead of us.”

  As the initial meeting had been both pleasant and productive, the Warrens asked if they might return again in the near future. Carolyn agreed. Lorraine asked if she would try to convince her reluctant husband to join them. They wanted his perspective as well. She’d promised to try. Before they departed, Lorraine respectfully requested a brief walk throughout the lower level of the house, so as not to disturb the children upstairs. The grateful woman escorted her guests. When Lorraine entered the couple’s bedroom, stopping abruptly, just beyond the threshold, she closed her eyes and shuddered, visible tremors passing through her body.

  “No one should sleep in this bedroom.” Carolyn concurred, explaining it. Plans were already underway to convert the old summer kitchen into another bedroom. Roger had been consistently and diligently working on this project. She took them in to see it. Mrs. Warren approved. A far better choice. She suggested they close off the other bedroom, abandon it entirely. Apparently it was not a space any mortal beings should want to share. Carolyn opened the pantry door into the laundry room. Lorraine stepped inside but then she immediately backed out, startled by what she described as waves of negative energy. Carolyn had not yet mentioned the issue with the doors opening and closing at will, especially this one. It seemed negligible in comparison to the other incidents which had occurred by the time the Warrens became involved in this truly remarkable haunting. So much to tell… so little time.

  “Terrible. Something awful happened in there. Violent. The poor thing. So young. A girl. Blood. Definitely a female.” She closed the door, certain something tragic took place within the narrow pantry.

  Lorraine’s expression appeared deeply disturbed, though she reserved any further comment or judgment at the time, sensory perceptions on high alert.

  “That’s what April said, too. This door opens all the time, by itself. It has been a problem since we restored the fireplace. It’s as if someone is trying to send us a message or get our attention, or maybe just get out of the pantry.”

  “No… not by itself. It only appears that way. Carolyn, please listen to me. Children are highly susceptible to supernatural energy. They’re an easy mark as targets go, easy to haunt because they are so innocent. They can see things adults don’t perceive and they are often adversely affected in insidious ways adults do not understand. They haven’t established any boundaries and have no preconceived ideas of what they are experiencing; they simply experience it. Children remain open to the energy around them. They absorb the good as well as the evil and the sensory impact can be traumatic. Destructive. Intense fear can trigger other problems. I really do understand. Protect your own. We should interview them, with your permission, of course.” The mother of five felt her blood pressure rising with the moon.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with my husband first.” Carolyn was as frightened by her words as by the images she’d revisited that evening.

  “Please do so, as soon as possible. Carolyn, your children are in danger. I don’t mean to alarm you. Well, maybe I do. Whatever this is in your home is attracted to them, I promise you. Please call me whenever you’re ready for us to come. You have our phone number. Ed will conduct the interviews. He is wonderful with children. He will put them at ease and when he is finished listening we will all know far more about the impact this haunting is having on them.” The investigation was fast becoming a “case”. Shaken and stirred, a loving mother noticed she was trembling again, from inside her soul.

  Carolyn agreed to do her best to persuade Roger to participate, confessing she was fearful of the effort. She seriously doubted he would agree and she already knew he would never allow their children to become involved in the discussion. Escorting her guests to the door, Carolyn bid them farewell and told them she’d be in touch. Afterward, she settled on the sofa then thought about a close encounter with two people who felt like friends. She was able to speak openly with them, to share her ordeal and that of her family without feeling self-conscious, without being judged or criticized in any way. It was a relief. Something about them inspired confidence, the belief they might help. “Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.” (George Iles) Shaking their hands, she’d said goodnight in gratitude. An intense meeting, they had put her at ease, until they mentioned a necessity to include her husband.

  When Roger returned home, Carolyn rearranged some time and space for them to speak privately. As she expected, he wasn’t the least bit amenable to having their conversation. Belligerent, Roger considered this concept absurd: ghost hunters! Staunch and rigid, he preferred to simply ignore the problem, as if it didn’t exist… like the ghosts! Seeking assistance was an admission, with some real potential of exposing his family to further scrutiny. He feared involving the Warrens. It could destroy a low profile deliberately
established long before, in the first year when they decided not to share the predicament with anyone outside a very small circle of trusted souls… real friends.

  “Roger, these people can help us… they’re parapsychologists.”

  “I think you’re dreaming again! No such thing as a parapsychologist. It’s a fake made-up career invented by somebody looking to make a buck off the misery of others! Don’t you realize when you’re being played? I thought you were smarter than that.” A big dig. Roger could not communicate with his wife without insulting her in the process. It came naturally to him; that bad attitude was like breathing. What was supposed to be a civilized discussion quickly deteriorated into a grudge match… a fight to the finish.

  “They didn’t ask me for anything except an honest conversation. I’ve told them the story, that’s all; a truthful account of what’s been happening in this house since the day we moved in. And let me remind you, it was not so long ago that you didn’t believe in ghosts either.” The insults always flew in both directions, like spears in a jungle, amongst warring factions: rival tribes.

  “I have no interest in talking with these people and neither should you. I don’t want to discuss this with anyone and I certainly don’t understand why you would. They can’t help us. No one can. We’re on our own.”

  “You don’t know that.” Carolyn’s cauldron was sputtering, boiling over.

  “This story makes you sound like you’re unstable!”

  “Is that what you’re so worried about? Being thought of as…”

  “I am a respected businessman with a reputation to uphold! I don’t need it undermined by a pair of two-bit charlatans spreading my name around town or anywhere else, for that matter! Don’t you get it? They’ll only use you for notoriety, for their own purposes.” Roger’s tendency was to bluntness.