House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  “She can’t do it. She’s too weak.” Roger remained firmly entrenched.

  “She must do this or she will never regain her strength.” Lorraine rose up abruptly, turning on Roger like a panther would its prey. “Look at her! Don’t you see what’s happening here, what’s happening to your wife? Look at her, Roger! I can barely reach her. Are you really willing to deny her the help she obviously needs? Do you really love this woman?”

  “How dare you!” Furious beyond measure, Roger began visibly trembling with rage. Ed stepped in to quell a firestorm Lorraine doused with accelerant.

  “Roger. Breathe.” Leaning into his ear, Ed whispered, “She’ll jump on me like that sometimes, too. This is only because she cares so much. Believe me. It is because she knows this is a crisis. Please. Let it go. Let’s move on.”

  Lorraine was a force to be reckoned with as their power struggle ensued. She was acutely aware of intense negative energy swirling around the room, recharging a battery, power-surging through the atmosphere like a lightning strike. Expediting the process, prying the portal wide open, Roger wanted to bolt. This was a calculated risk on her part. One of the men present among a stunned, silenced crowd was a prominent doctor from Duke University who specialized in the study of extrasensory perception and parapsychology. This learned professor also pursued telepathic / telekinetic experimentation. Well-versed in the occult, he’d approached attempting to explain the process involved with the ancient craft and primitive ritual… the origin of séance.

  “Mr. Perron, this technique is well-established. It dates back thousands of years. It is not black magic or hocus-pocus or witchcraft. This is a legitimate method for making contact and receiving messages from the other side.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. I know what it is.”

  “Of course not. I’m merely trying to explain, provide a bit of its history.”

  “I don’t give a damn about history. I want to know what is going on right here, right now.”

  “There’s no way of telling what will happen in advance, maybe nothing at all. It depends on the medium and the others involved, especially your wife. It depends if she is receptive or not.”

  Roger appeared distant and disinterested, barely making eye contact with the professor. Meanwhile Carolyn was being briefed by a medium seemingly elsewhere herself, or not totally present. No one can remember her name, so, for namesake she’ll be referred to as “Mary” for the duration. Carolyn was in a dazed stupor, an increasingly darkening space. It was nothing less than a paralyzing lethargy. She was not even capable of wiping her own tears away.

  In spite of their academic approach, Roger remained staunchly opposed. Ed took a chance Roger would listen to logic; become more practical. He requested the unyielding man accompany him into a vacant room. It was obvious to Ed that Roger was terrified, as fearful as his wife was, for entirely different reasons. He had seen it before; bravado used to disguise fear. Roger was thoroughly unimpressed with the arguments used to convince him of the need for what he considered to be a foreign, wholly superstitious pagan ritual. He found the gathering absurd, disturbing on so many levels: a very bad idea. Reluctantly, Roger agreed to speak with Ed alone. Addressing the matter privately behind the door of the couple’s new bedroom, (formerly the summer kitchen) the men emerged from within the confines of that space after a few long minutes, apparently having reached some resolution. Roger finally appeared more at ease; a gut-wrenching anxiety Ed previously sensed began to visibly subside as his deeply furrowed brows relaxed and that taut, pinched skin around his nose measurably softened… for the moment.

  A mind-boggling notion for the husband and wife to absorb, their struggle with the concept of allowing the séance to occur within their house persisted. Time passed, and it had been nearly an hour. Carolyn had withdrawn further, becoming untouchable. Presumably she was listening as Mary prepared her, though she never did respond. Not one word. With each passing minute she became more frigid and rigid, fighting to maintain her composure. When her teeth began to chatter, her shivering, and shriveling body began quaking from the cold. An embattled woman, summoning defenses necessary to engage in the fight of her life… for her life, there was no question about it. Carolyn was under siege. This was war. A confrontation was occurring. It was with them in the room. The assault had already begun.

  Lorraine kept anxiously watching over her charge. Approaching Carolyn from beneath a collapsing face, she asked if they could help her to the table. She could not move a muscle, not even her jaw to answer the question posed. Ed went over to Lorraine, sensing her concern. They each took an elbow and lifted a poor soul in tandem as they would an elderly woman in an infirmary. Extricating the fragile creature from her chair, guiding her with utmost care, leading her to the table, Mary readied her own place at the head of it. No one spoke or uttered a sound as this transition occurred, allowing them to hear the cellar stairs creaking in protest beneath the weight of the photographers. Lifting the latch, he announced they were ready. All of their equipment was set and ready. It was an opportune time for the children to quietly scamper across the upper floor of the house, emerging in the opposite stairwell in a matter of moments. Their journey went undetected, providing them with an exceptional vantage point from which to witness the gathering in their dining room through a crack in the door. By the end, they’d both wish they had not seen anything. Disobedient heathens get what they deserve, but God! Let the punishment fit the crime! It was exposure which would prove to be cruel and unusual… unforgettable. Ah, childhood trauma: the gift that keeps on giving.

  RULES OF ENGAGEMENT:

  Mortal strength should not define an immortal battle.

  No true warrior should ever be felled by invisible forces.

  It was not a fair fight from the start.

  There is a weapon for every conflict.

  On Guard!

  Mary aimlessly wandered the room, as if lost. She’d appeared perpetually distracted, engrossed in thought, as if taming her mind, preparing the ground for planting, for receiving the cosmic secrecy of seed. Removing several objects, trinkets and some type of talisman from a small, black velvet pouch cinched at her waist, she placed them on the table in front of the spot she had chosen. The younger woman dispersed candles in a circle at the center of the table as Mary opened an unusual box in the pouch including matches which were handmade. One matchstick was used for each candle illuminated. The haunting, spectral glow filled the room with holy Light. The charred remains stacked in a pile, like sticks of kindling bundled in a fireplace at the center of a circle; an acrid smell of sulfur permeated the air as she rounded the room her gaze transfixed on the light. Fire in the hole. Solemnly, Mary claimed her place. This was no parlor game. A time lapse occurred, fracturing thin air. A séance had begun.

  Encouraging him to take his assigned seat beside his wife, Roger balked. Resurfacing as anger, his personal conflict reared its ugly head again. He had agreed to allow the ritualistic ceremony but had no intention of participating, preferring instead to watch from a safer, more comfortable distance, perhaps in the upper deck at Fenway Park in Boston. He refused, stepping away from the table, lurching back, as if touching fire, spooked by the recalcitrant force; an invisible presence. The man freaked. As the professor approached him, a tension in the room became unbearable. Roger left, returning to the fireplace. Ed followed, realizing this chronic problem must be resolved immediately in order for them to continue. As the priest advanced, Roger became obdurate, feeling cornered and trapped; a captive in his house. The doctor spoke first, assuring him that his personal involvement was both necessary and required. It was evident to all that Roger might have been a more amenable advocate, had his comfort level not been severely infringed upon. It was not a matter of respecting his space, though he clearly interpreted it as such, lashing out at the men surrounding him, cautiously approaching from every direction.

  “This is bullshit!” Roger began questioning the credentials of
the priest, a stall tactic. Then he questioned the professor with a doctorate. Ed intervened immediately.

  “Roger. I thought we agreed this was best for your wife.” Ed spoke softly.

  “We agreed on one thing. She needs help. I don’t need to be involved.”

  “But you do. We need your energy, your connection with the spirits. It is critically important, Roger… imperative you be included.”

  “I need to get her into bed.” Glancing toward his wife, he could see she’d become utterly despondent, as if a pallor of death had washed over her face.

  “It’s too late for that, Roger.” Lorraine’s shrill tone silenced the muttering onlookers. “We are wasting time she doesn’t have to spare.” Contempt in her voice, she growled the beastly words at him while hovering protectively over Carolyn. “It is time to begin.” Lorraine, leering at Roger, willing him back to the table, he’d reluctantly complied. Once the technicians took their places in the background the electronic shutters began clicking incessantly. Ed crossed through the dining room, closing the door which led into the front hallway. A nervous man was moving fast. He couldn’t see two girls tucked discreetly in the stairwell and failed to secure the wrought iron latch, allowing the door to remain slightly open, just enough for them to witness a horrible incident.

  “Everyone join hands.” Mary had spoken.

  “No way!” Roger retreated again, standing abruptly and stepping back from the table. He wasn’t willing to touch anyone there, especially unwilling to “hold hands” with another man.

  “Sit down, Roger. Do as you’re told.” Lorraine forced him back in place.

  Andrea’s heart began to pound. She knew that expression on her father’s face. He was about to explode, like her heart. Nobody told him what to do!

  “We are gathered here tonight to reach across, so to call forth the spirits.” Somebody turned out the lights. Only the soft glow of candlelight remained, casting shadows across its darkened walls, shadows dancing all around them.

  April opened her bedroom door at the top of the stairwell. Andrea was so nervous she turned, snarling at her baby sister, telling her to close that door! And stay upstairs! It was only a whisper. She did not want to risk detection. April got the message, loud and clear. Andrea regretted her tone as that door quietly closed. She would have to make amends. Shocked, her feelings hurt by the practically silent outburst, April’s eyes began filling with tears.

  There was an urgency to begin, set a spiritual process in motion, though everything seemed to be happening in slow motion; in suspended animation. With thoughtful, deliberate movement, as if time had been interrupted for the duration of the ritual, Mary began with her prayer, asking everyone to close their eyes. Roger watched as the crowd complied. His anger and resentment was almost palpable. It swirled around the man like vapor, thickening the air.

  “We call upon God to create a peaceful path for us to connect with spirit.” Mary had not said more than a few words when the table began to tremble then shift in place. Cynthia grabbed hold of her sister. As the girls observed, wind filled the dining room and Roger’s eyes grew wide. Both girls stood up and watched something Cynthia was familiar with, an encounter so similar to her experience in the borning room. Crawling into relative safety, inside a sister’s arms, Cindy pulled them tightly around her, hanging on for dear life. Together, they peered through the crack in the door, only to witness what each perceived and believed to be the death of their defenseless mother.

  Carolyn’s body recoiled. Her head lifted and she began mumbling a series of incoherent words, garbled chatter. Mary asked who was there with them. Foreign sounds began emanating from the woman. Everyone realized it was not Carolyn’s voice they were hearing, a brief, collective gasp heard beneath the strange language she was speaking. Her hands pulled free from the grasp of those on either side. Her fingers curled, nails impaling the palms of her hands. Excruciating pain appeared on Carolyn’s face and she began to moan like a wounded soldier. Her eyes sprung wide open. They were not her eyes. Suddenly, both of her legs drew up to her chin, as if her body was forming a fireball. A low-pitched, guttural utterance emerged from deep within her being as her quaking body trembled in place. It sounded like a wild animal warning off an intruder, preparing to attack. Andrea felt sick to her stomach and thought she might faint dead away with Cindy in her arms. Just as they were about to run, something wicked burst forth from their mother: a stark, dark transformation of energy, as black as any moonless night. It was not of this world. Everyone present observed it in awe. Only Mary’s eyes remained closed. She never saw it coming.

  Words unheard by mortal souls in this lifetime or any other began spilling from Carolyn’s shriveled lips. Even these terrified children knew it was not any language present on the planet. It was ancient. Primitive. Otherworldly. The sound sent shivers through their bodies and nausea through their bellies. This thing was not their mother, but it was certainly in their mother! Cindy’s legs buckled. Andrea held her tightly upright, not certain how long she could keep her sibling from tumbling out of her arms and through the door. Panic gripped them, choking both by the throat. They wanted to scream but could not break a stranglehold. They wanted to flee but couldn’t move. The girls had seen plenty at the farm but nothing ever like this! Roger’s face told the story. They had never seen their father’s expression before, because neither had seen him scared out of his mind. Mary continued muttering words of her own, head down, eyes closed as everyone else focused their attention on the woman formerly known as Carolyn. Whatever this was, an imperial presence had possession, complete control of her. She had ceased to exist for the time it was speaking. An unholy demon had entered a holy host… a child of God.

  The shrill screams came so suddenly no one was prepared. It rang through the rafters, sounds impossible for the human body to produce. Her tiny voice had transformed into that of a creature, something angry and evil; something wicked. Again it came, howling in the night, baying at the moon, an ungodly shriek any coyote would cower from instantly, though it seemed a call they would make in a pack while hunting prey. Again, her head thrown back as if pulled from behind, it jerked with such force it should have broken the neck of its host. Mary kept praying and mumbling unintelligible words as the lights flickered in the constant rush of wind. It should have blown out the candles as it blew back the hair of those closest to her caught in a whirlwind, in the vortex of where she was centered. Sur-reality: time was suspended.

  Each outburst was louder than the next but the third was too much to take. Roger broke the wicked spell cast in shadows, jerking his hands free, bolting upright from his chair.

  “Stop it!” His voice seemed magnified a hundred fold. “Stop this now!” Ed stood up grabbing at Roger’s flailing arms to keep him from interfering. A howling, growling horrific pain exploded out of Carolyn. Ugly. Grotesque. Pure, unadulterated evil, louder than anyone could imagine, filled the air and shook the house. Everybody was trembling to the core. Carolyn’s chair lifted from the floor and flew straight back, traveling at light speed into the parlor. She hit the floor with such force everyone present could hear the air rushing from her lungs. Someone screamed. Roger leapt toward his wife as Lorraine stood. Mary collapsed, head striking the table. Ed tried pulling Roger back. He whipped around and punched Ed directly in the face, dropping him to the floor. All Hell broke loose. Shutters began snapping and clicking like latches on angry doors. People were yelling and crying, racing toward the wounded woman who lay seemingly lifeless in a crumpled mass on the floor, dangling over the back of the armchair still beneath her. As someone reached the light switch, Lorraine raced to her husband’s side. Roger picked Carolyn up as if she was weightless, carrying her to the sofa. Andrea felt her knees buckling, hugging Cindy so hard it cut off her air. No one was breathing… hold it!

  A sudden, horrendous noise rocked the house, emanating from the cellar. Crashing and creaking; the sound of wood, splintering and glass shattering… as if the structure was be
ing destroyed from within. Roger ignored it, leaning over his wife. He gently shook her by the shoulders. He yelled in her face to come back… come back… goddammit come back to me now! He slapped his wife gently on the cheeks, seeking a response; anything. Ed’s nose was bleeding. Lorraine wiped his face. Mary lifted her head from the table. She looked as if she had aged one thousand years over the course of twenty minutes. Once Ed was up on his feet again he stood behind Roger as Lorraine went to Carolyn. Roger turned and glared at her with rage in his eyes. Carolyn began to groan. He growled an ominous tone, as if he was the one possessed by the demon. Daredevils had tempted fate. The war raged on with collateral damage, life and death resulting. The parlor stilled when Roger rose to his feet, facing his adversaries. It was war… but he was declaring his intention for peace.

  “Get the hell out of my house!” Roger was livid. The place fell instantly silent. It was over. Ed backed away, perceiving a threat implied by a glance taking a punch of its own. He crossed through the dining room then opened the door to the hallway, shocked to find two children standing there, rigid, motionless, terrified out of their minds. Ed gasped when he saw their faces. He knew what they had seen. Everything. They’d seen the face of hell.

  “Oh, my God! Girls, go back upstairs.” He embraced both of them as one, reassuring them it would be all right. He then insisted they leave the hallway. Stepping back into the dining room, this time he’d latched the door securely behind him. They scurried up the staircase, darting through the upper level of the house as quickly and quietly as possible, though, with all that commotion downstairs, no one would have heard them anyway. Still it was not worth the risk. Their father was furious… officially out of his mind.