House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  “No.” The girl looked away before her expression revealed too much.

  “Then why are you shivering?”

  “I don’t know.” The body betrayed her. It was visible.

  It was fright. He was gorgeous. He was sitting down beside her. Cindy trembled.

  “Here! This’ll warm you up.”

  “Thanks.” Her gratitude was sincere. The senior was a scoundrel.

  No liquor of any kind had ever touched her lips. When he offered a bottle of what appeared to be fruit punch, the trusting soul did not hesitate to accept. She was very nervous. Her mouth was dry. She sipped the sweet and sour nectar without realizing the fluid was toxic, not the mixture of berry juice and lemonade it tasted like, not at all. Instead, she was ingesting grain alcohol, a concoction that would shortly sicken an unsuspecting child abandoned by her sibling.

  At twilight the air became damp, chillier with the setting sun, so typical for early spring. Nancy suggested that everyone move indoors. She pulled a deck of playing cards from a sideboard drawer. The boys struck up a game of gin rummy as giddy girls gathered to watch. Cindy staggered slightly while entering the kitchen, bottle still in hand. No one paid attention. Returning it to the culprit, he then joined the game, claiming a spot at the table. Cindy floated through the crowded room, as would an apparition, an ethereal creature. Once warm inside, her face grew hot, her stomach turned. No one seemed to notice as she spied the bathroom door, awaiting vacancy. Her body in rebellion, she needed privacy. After several minutes passed she bolted for the woodshed.

  Passing through her parents’ room, the child prayed for help. Desperate to escape the scrutiny of others, scrambling for solitude, Cindy was in jeopardy. She knew it. Dizzy and spinning, unable to keep her balance, she struggled along a familiar route as if stumbling through a maze. Dragging stubborn legs along, the pace of a frantic journey stalled. Needing to flee, she could gain no momentum; regain equilibrium, bouncing from dresser to bedpost. It took all her will, what strength she had left to open the thick wooden door at the far end of the room. Cooler air in the woodshed provided small comfort but proved inadequate. Cindy urgently required the colder evening air to banish an increasingly queasy sensation rumbling, curdling within a sour stomach. She could taste a vile serum at the back of her throat. It was too late. She could not reach the woodshed door soon enough to forestall something putrid catapulting from her body, as inevitable as a mother discovering a child’s secret.

  Collapsing on the landing, at the top of the cellar stairs, her body became rigid as her stomach rejected the poison. Violent vomiting ensued. She had no control over herself during those dangerous moments in isolation, fighting for composure in the one place nobody would think to look. Gasping for air between spasmodic retches, the compromised child feared for her life. Cindy was miserable. That painful jolt of heaving would not subside. There was nothing left to expel. Through flowing tears she could vaguely see her location, staring down into a stairwell that frightened her beyond belief, far more than the precarious position she found herself in, unable to move. Defenseless, she closed her eyes and begged for help with silent prayer. God please, dear God, please don’t let anything open that door. Please Lord. Don’t let it hurt me. There was something sinister with her in the darkness. God would send the light of love to protect her. Good God.

  Nancy was oblivious to virtually everything except her hormones. Eddy was one good-looking boy. She doted and fawned on him. While fluttering and flirting all around the young man, Nancy failed to notice that her sister was missing, her rapt attention clearly focused elsewhere. Meanwhile, Cindy was alone in a cold, dark place suffering an interminable ordeal.

  It was an omnipresent fear; a living fear. Cindy could feel it crawling through her skin, swimming in her veins. Everyone knew to stay away from that door. It was an unholy altar where her head had come to rest. It was that huge, heavy door, the one that had flown off its hinges the night of the horn. The crushing weight of fear kept her body immobile but her mind remained alert. Matted hair draped awkwardly across a face drenched with sweat and a residue of all the night had offered thus far. An innocent child to be sure, Cindy didn’t know what happened to her, what brought her to the place where she lay, panting as a rabbit run down by a dog. Barely breathing, she gazed into the vacant space beneath her, below the splintered piece of wood puncturing her skin. It scraped her face as she went down, hard onto the jagged surface. She could taste the blood in her hair. Cindy closed her eyes. Writhing inside as spasms of terror passed through her fragile frame she sensed the omniscient presence. It knew what she was thinking. She knew that it was there. Curling up into the fetal position she became smaller, less noticeable. Percussive, rhythmic pounding in her chest precluded hearing threat of demon or angel of mercy. The throbbing, magnified sound of panic reverberating from within her listening ears became a cacophonous noise, effectively muffling all but the primal beat of a pulse.

  In the midst of the festive atmosphere void of concern, something intuitive seized a clueless sister. Chattering incessantly as she was prone to do, Nancy’s behavior was entirely true to form. Suddenly she stopped, standing abruptly from the subservient position she’d assumed beside her prospective boyfriend. It was a stunning moment of clarity. She was listening. Within seconds Nancy identified the message, if not the messenger: Crisis. She ran directly to the woodshed.

  An oppressive weight of fear began lifting from the trembling child. Remaining as still as possible, an attempt to become invisible in the darkness, she felt her figure impacted by a protective force encasing her in white light. Too horrified to open her eyes, she quaked as an inexplicable softness surrounded her in the shadows. Cindy dared to breathe again, to sense the relief of an unmistakably benevolent presence. With eyes closed, she could see the Light.

  The creaking door shuddered as it opened. Nancy stood on the landing just inside the woodshed, halted by the sight of her sister bathed in an ethereal glow, the light so pure, it brought tears to her eyes. “Cindy?” She reverently whispered the name. It traveled on the echo of the air. No response. Approaching the evanescent, radiant glimmer, it began to dissipate, intermingling with shadows cast by the open door. It evaporated as Nancy reached down, touching her sister. Realizing the situation was serious, she stared through matted hair into the face of a child touched by the evil of this world, not another. Still squeamish, Cindy gagged on the remnants of what remained within her sour throat. Nancy hoisted Cindy to her feet and guided her sister out of the woodshed. She got her into bed then quickly returned to the kitchen.

  Impromptu party over! Nancy pulled Christine aside and told her what just happened. The house was cleared in minutes, the yard emptied of cars, the landscape silenced once more. Christine tended to Cindy while Nancy fearlessly cleaned the woodshed floor, scouring away every detectible trace of the incident. She felt responsible and in fact, was partially to blame. Tossing the soiled water from a bucket down an outhouse hole, she scampered into the house in time to greet her incoming parents. They were home much earlier than expected. Nancy was nervous. She wondered if they could see the sweat on her brow or the guilt in her eyes. The teenager had a gut-wrenching feeling that she would not escape unscathed. It would be only a matter of moments…

  “Where’s Cindy?” Carolyn instantly noticed her daughter’s absence.

  “She went to bed.” Technically not a lie, Nancy attempted a tactical diversion. It was important to distract her mother. Otherwise, she would go upstairs and see the outcome of an evening when a mother’s trust had been betrayed.

  “Why are you home now? We thought you’d be gone…”

  “I know you did. We passed a parade of familiar cars driven by boys with familiar faces right on Round Top Road. Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

  “Does he know? Dad. Does he know what happened?”

  “I don’t know what happened but something told me to come home. What was it that told me to cut our shopping short for yo
ur sister’s birthday?” Sober and stern, Carolyn demanded, “What happened in this house?” She then insisted on an immediate reply. No time available to think about it.

  “Cindy’s sick.” Nancy hung her head. She was rightfully ashamed of herself. Confession they say is good for the soul. She spilled her guts much like her younger sister had before they arrived. Carolyn ran up the stairs. Nancy followed. Roger was building a fire and did not notice what was occurring.

  Shocked by the sight of her precious little girl, Carolyn cradled Cindy in her arms and rocked her like a baby. She could smell the rancid odor of alcohol in the air and leered at Nancy while stroking her daughter’s matted hair. Pulling it away from her face, Carolyn saw streaks of blood, scrapes across her cheek. She gasped.

  “How could you let this happen?

  “Mom.” Cindy’s voice was weak. “It wasn’t her fault. I drank something… it was a bottle of fruit juice but it made me sick.”

  “It was not fruit juice and it never would have happened if your sister hadn’t been completely irresponsible!” Doing her best to restrain an unbridled anger, Carolyn kept her voice low but emotions were running high throughout the darkened room.

  “Please don’t tell… please.” Begging forgiveness, Nancy promised it would never happen again. Furious, Carolyn looked at her children without saying a word. It was a mother’s intuition that brought her home, a protective instinct which knew no distance. Quite alarmed by the sight of her daughter, she considered the distinct possibility all the girls had suffered enough. She too was fearful that any further punishment might be more consequence than necessary for girls who had apparently learned a lesson.

  “You’re grounded.” Nancy bristled. That’s precisely what she had hoped to avoid.

  “For how long?” With three desperate words, Carolyn could detect the nagging whine.

  “I haven’t decided yet.” Gritting out the answer through her clenched jaw, the terse tone put an end to the protest. Nancy knew if her father weighed in on the decision, she would not date or even socialize again until sometime after forty. Nancy closed her mouth. Carolyn kept a secret.

  “Mom.” Cindy’s voice quivered. “Something happened in the woodshed.”

  “I know, baby. We’ll get you a shower and bandage your face.”

  “No. I mean… something happened to me after I fell at the top of the stairs. I was so scared. I hate the woodshed and that door. I was so afraid it would open and the ghosts would come after me. I prayed really hard and something covered me up… something protected me.”

  “I saw it!” Nancy confirmed the story, acknowledging her vision.

  “I didn’t see it exactly… my eyes were closed. But I felt it all around me.”

  “Maybe it was your Guardian Angel, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe.” The child’s weak voice trailed off as she laid her head down again.

  “Do we all have one?” Curiosity broke Christine’s conspicuous silence.

  “I think so… I hope so.” Smiling sadly, Carolyn watched Cindy bundle beneath a thin blanket. She reached for the quilt at the bottom of the bed and covered the child as she fell off to sleep.

  “I hope so, too.” Christine had tears in her eyes, ashamed of what transpired at the house that evening. She felt equally responsible and overcome with guilt, incapable of reconciling the fact she had gone along with one of Nancy’s wild, impetuous flights of fancy. This time there were serious consequences, an outcome far beyond anything either parent could impose on the disobedient children. Cindy looked pale and drawn. All color had washed from her face except for blood red streaks; painful reminders of unnecessary wounds. She appeared entirely listless and exhausted. An unconscionable young man on the verge of adulthood with no business at the house had poisoned an innocent girl. The infraction occurred within range of the watchful eye of an elder sister who allowed it to happen. Mother had every right to be furious and Nancy knew it. She stood at the bottom of Cindy’s bed, remorse in her heart, as Carolyn soothed her child and tucked her in beneath the quilt. Chrissy went quietly to her bed and wept in despair, a pillow absorbing her tears, while Nancy remained behind awaiting further instructions. None were forthcoming. Gathering up a soiled pile of clothing from the floor, Carolyn exited the room without a word or glance at the perceived culprit. The breach bordered on unforgivable and Nancy knew it was going to take some time to regain her mother’s trust, if she ever could again.

  The contaminated clothing was discreetly hidden until it could be laundered with no risk of Roger picking up the scent. The mother, whose protective instincts were still in full force for all involved, in spite of the temptation to tell her husband, went back upstairs to retrieve Cindy a few hours later after Roger fell asleep. Helping her disoriented daughter bathe, washing her hair was a labor of love. Tucking her in for the night, Carolyn whispered an old Irish blessing: “A sunbeam to warm you, a moonbeam to charm you, a sheltering angel so nothing can harm you.” Kissing her good night, a heartsick mother left the room with regret, wishing none of it ever happened. Her anger was tempered only by grief. Cindy was so vulnerable, too trusting of others. She wanted to wring Nancy’s neck like a washcloth she’d used to cleanse Cindy’s face.

  Deciding to keep such a secret was second nature, as Carolyn preferred to handle the situation in a less disruptive manner. Roger would have certainly lost his temper. Her silence was far less disturbing and far more effective than the hollering which would likely ensue. April’s birthday was coming the following day. Carolyn believed she should be spared the gruesome details of her elder sister’s behavior. Otherwise, the negativity would spill retribution upon the innocent one who deserved to enjoy her birthday in spite of the antics of her rebellious elder sibling. A mother’s instincts held true to her principles, if false in marriage. She could not bear thinking April’s party could get cancelled through no fault of her own. Honesty is not always the best policy, after all. Best to commit a sin of omission, as penance would be too widely dispersed. Secrets and lies… they seemed to proliferate in the farmhouse.

  Cindy slipped and fell down. It was the story her father was told when he inquired. It was obvious something had happened to the delicate skin on her face. Covering for her girls, Carolyn made light of it in his company. Clumsy. Armload of wood. The woodshed staircase needs repair. The kid keeps Band-Aid in business… time to buy stocks in the corporation.

  Something told Carolyn to come home that fateful night, the same thing which told a completely distracted sister to go out to the woodshed immediately and rescue her sibling. Perhaps there are powers which human beings are not meant to understand. It could be they exist with or without comprehension, offering only points of light to reflect upon in the darkness.

  Cindy remains convinced she was in serious jeopardy. It was not only the risk posed by alcohol. Thirty years later Cindy swears she felt an evil, threatening presence in a space shared. She knows. She asked for help and it arrived. An oblivious sister and a benevolent spirit arrived. Her mother was on the way home… heartfelt prayers answered from every conceivable direction.

  Nancy knows what she saw: a shimmering glow hovering above her sister. Prior to her arrival in the woodshed she knew precisely where to go. Of this they are both quite certain. Nancy insists something spoke directly to her. It was something so powerful the force literally stopped her from speaking or thinking of anything else but Cindy during those critical moments. It told her where to go to find her sister.

  Telepathy and intuition are as real as they are invisible, much like good and evil. Witnessing the manifestation, the outcome, is as close as humanity gets to the concept in action. They exist to function and function to exist. A presence threatened the child, even if that presence was fear itself. She had reason to be fearful, based on prior experience, yet even if nothing except fear was present in the woodshed it was reason enough to pray. It was reason enough for Spirit to answer the call. Begging for help, it arrived promptly. Nancy witnessed the
distinct manifestation of what can only be described as divine light. Both still believe something sacred intervened on Cindy’s behalf then battled forces with something wicked in the woodshed. The purity of one child’s faith triumphed over fear. A blessing in disguise.

  “Sweet souls around us watch us still,

  Press nearer to our side;

  Into our thoughts, into our prayers,

  With gentle helpings glide.”

  Harriet Beecher Stowe

  guess who’s coming to dinner?

  “Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine.

  Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear.”

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Lorraine Warren had virtually promised supernatural activity would increase in the house due to their presence. Reiterating this notion on the night of the séance, primarily due to the inclusion of a medium necessary to the process, even Lorraine, in touch as she was with her own intuition, could not have predicted the extent to which all space and time, heaven and hell would break loose; a seismic shift, an act of transformation: Metamorphosis. Perceptions of this meeting of the mind were permanently altered. Pushed from behind, Carolyn arrived at the dark intersection of life and death: Simpatico.

  On the night the infamous séance occurred, what energy Carolyn possessed was drained from her being as an experience she cannot recall depleted her of whatever strength remained. As her resources diminished, fast-approaching a point of extinction, Andrea assumed virtually all of the household responsibilities. It was essentially becoming a surrogate; mother to her four siblings. This was a position she’d already accepted on some level years before, so, at the age of sixteen, she was prepared to take over until her mother was well again. No one had any notion when this time might arrive. Andrea knew her mother needed help. It was all she needed to know.