House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  Roger made himself scarce, embarking on one business trip after another. Once it was clear all the turmoil had subsided, it became a very quiet time in the house; no bedlam. The children were subdued. Though Andrea and Cindy had been the only actual witnesses of the séance, the others knew it had not gone well. Andrea discreetly shared just enough detail with her sisters to let them know it would be a good time to be still, lay low and stay the hell out of trouble Nancy. April was nine years old and still preoccupied with the chimney closet and all of the mysteries it contained. The other girls kept close by the house, often playing school in the middle bedroom upstairs, taking turns being teacher, sharing whatever they’d recently learned. No one wandered far from home. Reading and any leftover homework took precedence during the evening hours and there was to be no yelling, no bickering; no upheaval of any kind… in deference to their mother. Andrea kept a close eye on Carolyn; powerless as she was to affect any positive change, yet willing to do whatever she could to ease her mother’s burdens. A driver’s license afforded an ability to take care of grocery shopping and assorted errands, though she found it to be a time of heightened anxiety whenever she left the house… even when going to school. It was a dark time, a frightening time for the entire family. None of the children were in any way comfortable with leaving their mother alone in the house. The protective instincts a mother felt so intensely for her children were being returned in kind, shared by those she loved. As each of them began to watch over her with fear and trepidation regarding her well being, children took on the role of caretaker to the parent.

  A séance had indeed stirred up the spirits. The event had somehow torn a hole in space and time itself, opening the presumed portal to the past unlike anything the family had experienced to date. Shadows abounded. The cat they all loved moved out and went to live with a neighbor down the street. No matter how many times they fetched her back, she refused to stay in this house. They had no choice but to relinquish her to the new home she chose. Jennifer, the dog, was constantly on alert. She would leap off the floor and growl at thin air, then settle back down but rarely close her eyes. She was devoted to the family, especially April. It was her job to protect them, though they could not detect the intruder. Still, she refused to pass in front of the cellar door and would literally walk the length of the house outside in order to avoid the necessary pathway to the food bowl in the kitchen. A passive dog became highly aggressive near the cellar door: agitated and ferocious. There was definitely something down there Jenny did not like and her mortals could not see, smell or sense at these times, but she knew better.

  Carolyn never did tell Lorraine what was happening in the house after that disturbing night. Though the Warrens called frequently, undoubtedly to check in on what they clearly perceived to be their charge, Carolyn became quite distant and aloof with an unwitting pair who desired to complete their mission. It had been her fervent hope, as those two years passed, that the Warrens would be the saving grace, the ones whose knowledge would resolve the haunting, but Carolyn had grown weary of the people and the effort. She simply gave up, uninterested in pursuing any further interaction with them. The attempt had been an utter failure as far as she was concerned. Likewise, Carolyn believed the couple had been derelict in their duty by exposing her family to so many others while in pursuit of the truth. She resented the intrusion of living beings more than she despised the presence of spirits. Carolyn assumed the position with notable reserve.

  There is such a thing as expecting too much from another. So it was with the two friends who promised to help. Gradually losing her once steadfast faith in the Warrens, the well-established trust she invested in the relationship had significantly eroded, eventually disintegrating entirely. Carolyn had expected both to keep their story in confidence. The night of the séance felt more like a sideshow to her, as veritable strangers crowding into her own home gawked, observing the tragic figure of a woman at her very worst; at her most vulnerable. What was supposed to be a private gathering of only a few knowledgeable souls, an intimate matter between confidants had instead become a spectacle for all those present to witness; the most nightmarish episode of her life. Carolyn was hurt, bothered beyond measure, in spite of the fact that she retained no actual memory of the séance or the horrific events as they had transpired. Everyone else there certainly did, though many fled from the home during the terrible ordeal, too frightened to be in the house. They got a taste of “what next?” and fled the scene. It was over. Carolyn intended to insulate, isolate and keep it that way. Over. There would be no more interviews, no sharing of information; no further disclosures of any kind from anyone else in the family. On this point there would be no future debate. Promises made had been empty ones, indeed.

  Succumbing to exhaustion, Carolyn realized she was far too weak to resist or even tolerate any further intrusion. Sequestering herself became a source of peace, the comfort zone established; welcome respite from the hoards of curious onlookers. The Warrens made a final attempt about a month or so afterward, showing up at the farm unannounced, something they were prone to do for their own investigative purposes. The couple’s discovery must have been disconcerting to them. The mother of five appeared more as a pale phantom. Her eyes were dark and hollow. She was emaciated. Her reserved demeanor was somber and stoic. Carolyn did not invite them into the house, across her threshold. Instead, she stepped outside where they chatted only briefly on the kitchen porch. No questions answered. Nothing of substance was discussed between them. As children who normally ran to greet them remained inside, waiting for their mother to return, it was apparent to all; this was the end of the association. Her natural warmth was replaced with a decidedly cool reception. Carolyn made her disposition known by simply becoming remote; withdrawing… withholding information. She did not confront them about the disastrous séance or its aftermath. Sealed as tightly as any vault, the conversation soon became uncomfortable for all involved, riddled with frequent pauses and empty stares. A roast languished in the oven, the scent of which could easily be detected, yet Carolyn did not extend an invitation to stay and share the dinner with her family, as she had so often done before. They knew the show was over. It was the culmination of an investigation which had yielded too many results.

  The Warrens witnessed an iniquitous entity take Carolyn into the night as they wrestled her back from the darkness, from the grasp of something so obscene, so purely evil; they all feared losing her in the process. Their eyes revealed the same fear as they scrutinized Carolyn that afternoon, shrunken and removed, quiet and calm, ardent in her resolve to be finished with any exploration of the supernatural activity in her house. The couple had shared countless hours in her company and that of her family. From their first encounter to their last, it was obvious they cared about the outcome for all involved. Carolyn knew in her heart; these people had a genuine fondness for her and a real commitment to the cause of salvation for so many wounded souls. No one in the family believes the Warrens intended any harm to come of their actions. Quite the contrary, their motivation was based in goodness and light, a faith in God and the human spirit. The couple moved on to other investigations, incapable of vanquishing the demon they sought and unleashed one fateful night in Harrisville but never forgot the family or what they observed. It haunted them as the spirits continued haunting those they had come to help. Best intentions proved no match for an evil presence they could conjure but could not counter… a force to be reckoned with had won the war… and peace remained elusive.

  Soon Carolyn would have another close encounter with more unexpected dinner guests. Their presence was about to change her life and change her mind about death in fundamental ways. In fact, their presence would, ultimately, bring her back to life in a way her children did not expect or dared to dream could happen. As the cool of spring made its glorious transition to another warm summer, Carolyn finally found her way home and back to her children. It was a true cause for celebration. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord and pass t
he popcorn! Movie night was back and so was their beloved mother. A sense of normalcy returned to a place no less paranormal. The shift was invisible like the spirits. Carolyn changed her mind. Attitude is everything, they say.

  “There is an alchemy in sorrow.

  It can be transmuted into wisdom, which,

  if it does not bring joy, can yet bring happiness.”

  Pearl Buck

  joy

  “Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,

  But leave—oh! leave the light of Hope behind.”

  Thomas Campbell

  In spite of, perhaps because of the many trials and tribulations the children endured in their beloved house, they savored the precious moments with an enthusiasm reserved for childhood. They would all grasp the gravity of their circumstances in time and space but it was their escape from reality they found most pleasurable. They screamed when they saw something treacherous or threatening in the house but outside they screamed like banshees in the snow, running and playing and sliding down tall hills far too fast. Kids have a tendency to seek and find excitement wherever it may hide and they did not have to look too far… out the door they went… up the hill… over the river and through the woods. There was joy in their home as well: there was laughter and music, light and love surrounding them all the time. No matter what happened they always did manage to come round right in the end. It was their eternal optimism which kept hope floating like the ethereal creatures hovering about. Even spirits participated in the festivities. One of them was particularly fond of the choices made in music and would sit in the rocking chair and keep the beat with a creak in the floor as the antique rocker came forward then went back on the up and down beats respectively. If the girls turned off the music the rocking would stop as well, like a game of musical chairs. They’d grin at each other then continue, marveling at the Universe, its ability to provide them with an appreciative audience out of thin air! Life was good. Most of the time it was great, spirits were high; all right with the world and space beyond its borders, especially why they stayed within its borders most of the time. Not a lot of gallivanting. No need. They had just about everything they could want right where they were.

  It is the simplest pleasures they remember most: horseback riding on a sunny day, planting the garden, digging a dump beside mom. When the family looks back, revisiting the past in mind, it is with some measure of regret, some element of sadness and loss but there is also a vast reservoir of memories which were happy; lighthearted and satisfied, in spite of and sometimes because of the dark circumstances. When one lives in the midst of an ongoing conflict, the peaceful, pleasurable moments stand out in the crowd of experiences and become magnified, taking on even greater significance. When everything is surreal, moments of plain and simple three-dimensional reality seem a comfort, a touch of normalcy in an otherwise paranormal existence. For this, they are grateful. The girls grew up to be women who all have positive memories of their childhood, too. Not all doom and gloom.

  When it came time to endow this manuscript with a title, Carolyn came up with it out of thin air, quite like naming a puppy Bathsheba some forty years ago. When asked if she’d write down a few ideas and give it some thought, no need. As if on the tip of her tongue, she said: “House of Darkness House of Light.” She smiled: “It was both.” Let there be light in the darkness.

  “I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns

  on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty

  of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!”

  Louise Bogan

  leap of faith

  “The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.”

  American Indian Proverb

  Roger had a very special man in his life. His uncle Eugene was a Brother of the Sacred Heart, a member of a select, well-respected group of clergymen at the Vatican. For years he was lost to the family, doing his good works elsewhere, touching the lives of everyone he met. His kindness was immeasurable. The man’s spirit soared; he could make an eagle blush. He was loved, adored by the children he’d come back to visit every few years, hopping the pond, one giant leap, landing first in Canada, to make the rounds. Then onto Maine to see more family, with a final stop in Rhode Island. Roger’s uncle Gene was known far and wide by many who appreciated the time and trouble he took to stay connected with his extended family, in spite of his numerous duties and obligations at the Vatican. Every three years he would skip over the pond like a stone skipping the surface, so to come home to play with the kids. It was a precious, endearing relationship he had with each of them. He was a luminescent figure; a human being who possessed an unmistakably Godly glow. The man spoke five languages and earned three doctorates but would get down in the grass and roll around like a youngster; still young at heart. Yet it was this enormous heart that claimed him in the end. He had given so much of it away to so many souls there was not enough left for him. So he flew home to be with the angels.

  During his initial visit to the farm, not long past its purchase, he too learned to sip the nectar. Roger took him for a long walk in the woods and showed him the property. Uncle Gene was delighted. He was well aware of the impact unbridled Nature can have on children; it is about as close as any of us ever get to God: Heaven on Earth. During his second and last visit to the farm Roger did not tell divulge what was happening there, but Carolyn did. He listened thoughtfully, sympathetically, though he offered no advice or suggestion for a remedy. Instead, he gave all of his attention to the woman sharing a story, one obviously difficult to tell, even to a close family member. He held her hand as she fought to find the words to describe the ordeal.

  Several months later a mysterious priest arrived at the house unannounced. He walked through it and delivered the unhappy message she received: the house could not be cleansed. She wept but in her heart she knew, some way, somehow, Uncle Gene had tried to help. He had spoken on their behalf to someone who knew about dilemmas such as these and she still suspects this priest was dispatched directly from the Vatican, courtesy of a wise and beneficent man.

  One warm morning the following summer Andrea was early to rise and made a pot of coffee. Roger came into the kitchen and greeted his daughter. They sat quietly at the table nursing their respective cups of something so strong it qualified as Witch’s Brew. When the telephone rang Andrea looked into her father’s eyes as her own suddenly moistened.

  “Oh, my God. It’s Aunt Irene. Uncle Gene died.”

  Roger’s facial features hardened with the issuance of soft words. How dare she predict such a terrible outcome? She has no idea who is on the phone… how could she suggest such a thing? Andrea could almost hear the words as if they had been spoken aloud by the troubled man. He lifted the receiver and placed it to his ear. His eyes told the rest of the story. Roger stared at her with a grimace; partially the pain of a loss sustained as well as suspicion bordering on distrust, with a hint of fear. Roger never looked at his daughter quite the same way again. It was not only Cindy; she too had the third eye. If he’d been a wiser man he would have viewed his children with reverence and respect rather than suspicion and distrust regarding an innate ability to see. Many years later he came to understand the truth. His eldest child felt the loss before any empirical evidence existed. Her connection with the favorite uncle was strong, indeed. He still holds out his hand to her in times of need. There have been many moments in her life when she felt him beside her, guiding her along this treacherous journey and there have been moments when she has sensed his presence as if he was standing beside her, as she believes he does. Those who listen, who sense spirit around them come to understand; it is a blessing, not a curse. When one soul chooses another to protect and defend, to lovingly guide along the path, it is the truest, most adoring act of God manifesting in a form we do not always recognize. Practicing the presence is a purely passive endeavor when one considers the only necessary action: Listen up. Look up. The Stars are whispering their secrets… tales traveling
on the wind. “Faith dares the soul to go beyond what the eyes can see.”

  Over time, Roger realized who the rightful owner was and he relinquished two of his most prized possessions to her as a testament to her caring for the man she lost so long ago. Andrea hopes to see him again, God willing. Roger knew she had no affiliation with the Roman Catholic Church and yet the keepsakes would be meaningful, separate and distinct from point of origin; as relics. He gave his eldest daughter the set of rosary beads he’d inherited from his Uncle Eugene, the set of beads the Pope presented to him many decades before; she keeps them with her at all times. They do not represent a point of reconciliation but rather, function as a touchstone; an object of deep significance… something once held in his hands. It is a talisman, something tangible to see and touch and feel between her fingers as she reaches through the darkness hoping to glimpse the Light of his Soul in the Cosmos. Whenever she takes a moment to pause and reflect on his life, Andrea gazes into the eyes of a beautiful portrait; in memory of a man they both cherished.

  “Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.”

  George Iles

  doubt

  “I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.”

  Robert Browning

  It is often said that doubt is where wisdom begins. Doubting one’s own eyes then eventually one’s own sanity is a truly precarious place to be in life. What we rely upon to guide the way through this journey, our primary tools which function as a compass for navigation come into question. This fosters a skeptical mindset; an ominous expectation of impending doom. As suspicion then paranoia set in like tenacious weeds in a garden it suffocating new growth, compromising the soil; draining it of nutrients for no benefit. That which should go to the food supply to sustain it and ensure a healthy crop is instead circumvented: wasted. Carolyn was determined not to let this happen to her. She used her doubt initially to further her own investigation regarding the occurrences in her home but as time passed and the manifestations became more threatening in tone and manner, she shed the doubt like a snake sheds its skin, releasing her mind to consider the ramifications of their existence. The spirits were not subject to speculation past a certain point. Instead, they became a foregone conclusion. At first, Carolyn really did not begrudge her husband his skepticism but after a while it seemed ludicrous to his wife. The existence of metaphysical beings was so blatant, so obvious; denials began to seem deliberately belligerent, even antagonistic on the spirit matters at hand: Devil’s advocate in the extreme, with no evidence to support his position. Meanwhile, the evidence was mounting to the contrary. Once he encountered a few ghosts of his own he had no choice but to relinquish his vice grip grasp of a fantasy and realize the truth: they were living among the dead.