“Andrea is right. How astute. It is possible our presence in your house is enough to cause activity, to what extent I’m not certain. It depends on them. Active spirits can become highly reactive if provoked. Exposure to a psychic energy often results in a response. They resent the intrusion but draw energy from the conflicts they create by being here. Has anything happened lately?”
“No. Nothing I can think of… oh, yes. Roger and I, well, we were having an argument about this interview with the girls, about involving you and Ed. It wasn’t loud but it was contentious, I guess. I’d said something unnecessary and when he got angry, a bottle went flying off this shelf… this one. It hit the floor so hard I can’t believe it didn’t shatter… look. Not a crack or chip in it.”
“I warned you about this, Carolyn… just like feeding raw meat to a lion. Do you remember? It makes them stronger. Healthier. Anger equals strength. It releases powerful energy… a negative charge and they thrive on electricity. Please trust me about this. It is something you want to avoid. Do your best to keep things peaceful here and don’t feed the beast.”
“I know, Lorraine. I don’t know why I said what I did. It was mean. This has been hard on him, too. I don’t want to go through with this interview if it will only invite disaster. I like the peace and quiet, too. We all do.”
“We’ve come here hoping to provide you the peace you seek. It might not be easy to achieve. It requires understanding the events as they occurred and it will require talking with the children as well as your husband.”
“So what you’re telling me is… it’s worth the risk.”
“Yes, Carolyn. That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Are you ready?”
“I don’t know if I could ever prepare myself for this.”
“Take a deep breath. Calm yourself. If you are nervous, the girls will pick up on the energy. Think of it this way. Your house has a disease. The malady is currently in remission. You’ve had a long period of dormancy yet this has happened before. No symptoms, but the disease remains. It has not vanished. It is invisible. For the time being, it’s in hiding.”
“Yes. We’ve had long stretches of time when nothing happens at all.”
“The farmhouse has a low grade fever, a sure sign of infection. In keeping with the analogy, let’s presume we’ll attack the systemic presence of disease from two separate, distinct directions. We have found in the past, interviews provide a great service to the patient by providing an outlet, like applying a topical ointment as a soothing salve on a painful wound. As for the aftermath of the interview, especially for the children, it’s like receiving a painless injection, a remedy for what ails them. They begin feeling unburdened. They begin to undergo a complex healing process infusing a psyche with invisible medicine. They won’t feel it working but it is. We don’t intend to expose the wounds. The intention of an interview is to gather more information but also to bandage the wounds, allowing the healing to occur from within.”
“I’m afraid for my kids, Lorraine. This will bring up emotions and images I’d rather let them forget. This could backfire in my face.”
“That’s the thing. They will never forget; the feelings and visions they’ve had here have already become part of them, permanent fixtures in the minds of impressionable children. Their experiences will undoubtedly be carried on into adulthood and it will haunt them for the rest of their lives. They will never forget but I firmly believe we can help them to understand the reality of what’s going on here and that knowledge will help them heal.”
Carolyn’s eyes were suddenly brimming with tears she couldn’t suppress, a spontaneous reaction to a sentiment Lorraine had so succinctly expressed. A mother riddled with guilt, she’d chosen a home for her children which had scarred them for life.
Lorraine embraced Carolyn; an act of compassion… a kindness extended.
“I’m sorry.” Carolyn fought for every word. “I was hoping…” Her guest helped seat her at the table. “I was hoping the answer would be ‘no’ when I asked you if this could do any damage. It could do more harm than good.”
“Carolyn, I understand how conflicted you feel. We don’t have to do this tonight. It’s entirely up to you. In fact, I’d suggest we postpone it, at least for now. If you think they’re not ready…”
“I am not ready!” Stretching an arm across the table, using it as a cushion to rest her weary head, Carolyn was physically and emotionally exhausted.
Lorraine quietly quelled what was a visceral response; one Carolyn could not avoid, control or escape. “The root of this fear is buried deep. We’ll go.”
“No.” The muffled sound coming from the soft inner lining of her elbow, Carolyn slowly turned her head. Lorraine patted her hand, waiting patiently.
“Your home is much more than a house. It is a portal to the past, a bridge to the other side. I know it. I feel it all around me. If you think you are ready to talk about this as a family then we are ready to listen.”
“Please help us.” Wiping tears onto the sleeve of her shirt, Carolyn chose to rise up and face her demons, searching for answers from someone she trusted. Believing Lorraine was capable of crossing a bridge between dimensions as their pathway to understanding, fear had crippled her long enough. She was ready.
“Much good will come of it.” Lorraine sounded confident, though not in a boastful way. She was too humble for that. Her sweet disposition wasn’t a disguise. Her calm, serious demeanor was all business, yet she appeared to be a soul possessing empathy and a sense of inner peace, satisfaction attained professionally. As an unmistakable quality of one who has known a measure of success, Lorraine wore it well on her somber face, inside a set of knowing eyes which had witnessed things few ever behold… or believe if they do.
“Much good needs to come of this… there has been enough ill will here, enough evil to last a thousand lifetimes. Believe me.”
“Carolyn, I cannot make your memories disappear but if we can keep you from making any new ones, if we can cleanse this house of a disease that has plagued your family for years, then we should, for the sake of the sad souls who dwell here, dead and living alike. I’ve never felt such sorrow anywhere I’ve ever been before.”
Lorraine’s painfully honest words struck Carolyn in the heart. It was true. There was certain sadness in her home, a palpable sense of loss, a shroud of grief draped over all of them all the time.
“Please tell me what to do.”
“Let’s rejoin your family. I’ll speak with Ed about your concerns. He will know what to do and how to speak with your girls. I promise.”
The women began to move toward the parlor. Lorraine suddenly stopped in the front hallway, directly before the cellar door. Placing her hand against the wood, she lingered for a moment, grimacing as if pained by the presence. It passed then they moved on, though Carolyn could already sense a chill in the air. They were not alone. They were never alone. It had already begun. If the Warrens could keep them safe, what would happen when they left?
Roger and Ed were conversing with ease. Once introduced, they’d spoken freely as though they’d been longtime friends. Ed asked the right questions. The men focused on innocuous subjects like cars or cutting wood. Engaging with the girls kept them busy in the parlor while the women went off to talk. Listening a little more closely, the kids learned a few things like the fact that they would be off in the forest with their lumberjack father that next Sunday, replenishing the wood supply, again. They groaned. That backbreaking chore no longer considered an adventure, its rustic charm wore off years before. It was just work. Roger smiled gratefully at his girls like he meant it.
“You’ve met my little helpers?”
“I’ve already had the pleasure. A group of fine young ladies.”
“I’m outnumbered… six to one… with one bathroom.”
“There’s an outhouse in the woodshed, dad!” Nancy strikes again.
“I know!” Roger shook his head as everyone laughed.
Emerging
from the dining room, Carolyn and Lorraine rejoined the others in the much warmer parlor. Gravitating to the fireplace, Lorraine approached her husband. As she tugged him aside for a private chat, Roger and Carolyn exchanged a tentative glance. Carolyn nodded her head. It was a go, after all. Opening her generous valise, Lorraine came prepared. Removing a recording device tucked discreetly inside the pouch, along with an empty notebook, a pen in her pocket; apparently they quickly decided to make it a casual affair, nothing formal. Ed planted his burly frame at the center of the sofa. Lorraine placed a valise on the coffee table. As the conversation began she reached into the pouch and pressed a button. Click. Time to talk.
The ladies were not anxious at all but their mother was nervous wreckage. She worked hard to hide her distress, turning to face the fire during moments when the tension was about to get the best of her. Roger seemed oblivious to the process though he listened, continually stoking a raging fire as welcome distraction for the hands and mind alike. So began their first official inquest:
ED: “Does everyone know why we’re here tonight?”
NANCY: “To talk about our ghosts.”
ED: “Why do you call them your ghosts?”
NANCY: “Because they belong to us if they live in our house.
CHRIS: “They aren’t alive anymore.”
NANCY: “You know what I mean… they sure do seem alive!”
CINDY: “They don’t know it’s our house.”
ED: “What do you mean?”
CINDY: “It used to be their house and they think it still is.”
ED: “How do you know that?”
CINDY: “They tell me.”
ED: “When do they speak to you?”
CINDY: “All the time.”
ED: “How do they speak to you?”
CINDY: “Inside my head… through my forehead or inside my ears. I hear them when they all come together at night, when the voices tell me about the seven dead soldiers in the wall.”
ED: “Could you tell me more about that?”
CINDY: “I always knew there was a secret place inside my bedroom since we moved in. I just knew it! Somebody put a wall up there a long time ago but I know they’re behind that wall!
ED: “How do you know?”
CINDY: “They say so… and I feel them. When those spirits come at night they talk at the same time with the same words. It is a little scary. At first it was hard to tell what they were all saying. It sounded jumbled up like puzzle pieces. They’d all talk together but it sounded far away. Then their words got easier to hear when they started coming closer to me. I got really scared then but I can hear them better now. Now it’s more like one voice, saying the same thing at the same time. I hate it when they come into the bedroom really late at night and get close to me. It makes the air freezing cold, even in summer… and they make my room stink!”
ED: “How often does this happen, Cindy?”
CINDY: “I don’t know… all the time. It’s really bad when they’re in the room but then it goes away when they do… that smell. When they talk it sounds so loud. There are so many…”
NANCY: “We do that, too! We all talk at once!”
ED: “What exactly do they say to you?”
CINDY: “There are seven dead soldiers buried in the wall.”
ED: “Anything else?”
CINDY: “That’s all. It’s never different than that. They wake me up on purpose and say it over and over again. After awhile it starts to sound like a song. They don’t care if I have a test in the morning. They wake me up anyway… on purpose!”
ED: “Do they only come at night?”
CINDY: “Those spirits only come at night.”
ED: “How long has this been happening?”
CINDY: “Since we moved in, I guess… or right after. Always.”
ED: “How often do they come to you?”
CINDY: “Almost every night.”
MOM: “Why didn’t you tell me this, honey?”
CINDY: “I did tell you, a long time ago… the first time. Besides, it doesn’t really scare me anymore the way it used to, mom. I just cover my head then go to sleep. Chris is in the room with me so it helps that I’m not all alone. She doesn’t even hear them, even if she is still awake. I’m the only one they come to but she knows when they do because I’ll cover my head with a pillow, so I can’t hear them anymore. Chrissy gets mad at them because then she can’t talk to me, either.”
NANCY: “Don’t you want to ask me some questions? I have stuff to tell you, too!”
ED: “Yes, of course. Just one more minute, Nancy.”
MOM: “No pouting. You’re way too old for that, young lady.”
ED: “How old are you, Nancy?”
NANCY: “I’ll be fifteen next February.”
CHRIS: “There. He asked you a question. Now hush.”
ED: “Cindy, one more thing. You said those spirits come to you only at night. What do you mean? Are there others?
CINDY: “The others come when the light gets strange in my room. The pretty light after sunset. What do you call it, mom?”
MOM: “Twilight… the in-between light.”
CINDY: “That’s it. That’s when the spirit came who loves me and it is when I see the little girl who cries for her mommy.”
ED: “What little girl?”
CINDY: “We used to think it was two girls because she wears two different dresses, one when she’s sick and one when she’s fine. She’s so lonely. It’s very sad. It makes me cry, too.”
Ed and Lorraine remained exclusively focused on their respective roles. In spite of it, they maintained almost constant eye contact throughout the conversation. Only their eyes reacted. They would look across the room and lock eyes together for a minute then break away again, like dancing partners. However, once Cindy made mention of a spirit who loved her, the couple’s gaze became transfixed. It was love. In an alternate dimension… at twilight.
ED: “Cindy, who is the spirit that loves you?”
CINDY: “I don’t know. She came when the light went strange in my bedroom. She came out of the closet… then floated over to me while she was talking to me inside my head. Here… in my forehead. I was in the bubble. It got cold and loud and the floor shook. The room smelled so bad when she was in there. Then she held out her arms but she had no hands or feet. I froze stiff! I couldn’t move… at all! She leaned over to kiss me or hug me. She wanted to touch me! She said to come to her! Then I broke loose from her then ran straight to mom. I fell down the back stairs I was running so fast. I was scared to death. She didn’t hurt me but she is so ugly. She has no face and I think her neck got broken. The spirit really loves me but I don’t want to go with her, not ever.”
MOM: “Enough! That’s enough for tonight.”
ED: “Please, just a minute more? Cindy. What did you mean? You broke loose… from what?
CINDY: “From her. She put me in the bubble. I think it’s because of the light. It’s a time when our worlds are the same one.”
MOM: “I can’t take anymore of this. Roger?”
NANCY: “Cindy hogged all the time. I didn’t get to tell my stories! I saw Manny first! I’ve been in the bubble, too!”
CHRIS: “It’s not a competition.”
NANCY: “But the ghosts love all of us… not just Cindy!”
MOM: “Let’s take a break. Annie? A fresh pot of coffee?”
ANDREA: “Sure mom. I’ll put the cake out on the table, too.”
MOM: “Girls… please go with your sister.”
APRIL: “I knew I smelled cake!” (Sensing a gravitational pull.)
All the children left the parlor for the kitchen. Roger and Carolyn felt the stares of their house guests; no judgments attached… only sheer amazement. Lorraine leaned in toward the coffee table, reaching into the valise to turn off the recorder then she thought better of it, discreetly withdrawing her hand.
Four adults sat together quietly for a few moments. This would have to be don
e incrementally. Rubbing the pain out of her throbbing wrist (due to that frantic attempt to keep up with her notes) Lorraine began interpreting what she already heard. “Cindy speaks matter-of-factly about her experience, with such ease and acceptance it leads me to think she has natural psychic abilities attracting the spirits to her; insights and understanding far beyond her years. I’m very alarmed. She’s especially vulnerable to their influences.”
“I agree with Lorraine.” Ed was almost passive compared to his wife but as he spoke it was evident the man had something to say. He was a Catholic, a church-affiliated demonologist, one of the few worldwide who was not an ordained priest. “Cindy is the target, being routinely approached. Something wants her to cross over. This is extremely distressing. Make no mistake. This love she speaks of is only an enticement. It is evil in disguise. Your children have been exposed to this presence and they are quite forthcoming about it, which indicates a comfort level I can only assume is based on a familiarity. They’re being approached so frequently it has become a common occurrence in their lives. I must tell you, these children are all in danger of becoming the victims of demonic oppression or possession, and so are both of you. No one living in this house is exempt from the threats posed by the essence of death surrounding all of you.”
“We should have sold this place.” Roger hung his head as he spoke.
“Whenever we even mention selling this house the girls scream in protest. They beg us to stay. I thought things had calmed down. Cindy never told me how often she’s been hearing voices at night. I don’t know why. Maybe she thinks we can’t do anything about it, so why bother. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“We can do something about this.” Lorraine was as confident as adamant. “Do you know anything about these seven dead soldiers she is talking about? Carolyn, have you identified any of the voices speaking to her?”
House of Darkness House of Light Page 30