House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  On a cosmic level, in another dimension, a healing happened that night. It was a moment of truth; pure enlightenment. A revelation for Carolyn. Though it took some time to fully process the episode, she did so privately. Her spirits lifted as time passed and several years later, she finally described what she’d still perceived as a miraculous event to the daughter who had been present to witness this remarkable transformation. Andrea was off at college and had come home for vacation. During their conversation about philosophy, her chosen course of study, the two of them began exploring metaphysics and religion. At that time, Carolyn finally disclosed this phenomenal event, revealing her interpretation of it. Those unexpected dinner guests had truly touched her heart and likewise opened her mind. A singular event solidified her faith, the existence of something beyond us, beyond this life. The mystical encounter caused her to become a more deeply spiritual being and she felt privileged to witness such a remarkable manifestation, as it informed everything else. She knew, beyond a doubt, she had shared the same place, at the same time, with a group of people who once dwelled within those walls. At the intersection of dimensions, a crossroad of life and death, she was the one perceived as the spirit. An acknowledgement and acceptance of such had essentially liberated Carolyn from the vise grip of fear that kept her tethered during all the years spent in a farmhouse that, until this incident, she could not comprehend. The woman finally understood they all shared the same space and time; a concept of a portal suddenly made perfect sense. A shroud of despair lifted. Light penetrated the darkness of a black hole in which she dwelled. Her strength, weight and outlook showed signs of a gradual but steady improvement. After an extended absence, at long last, Carolyn began her sure ascent on a journey back from Hell on Earth. She returned to her family, restored, into the loving arms of her children again, as if she had never left them… but she had. She was finally home. Silent prayers of gratitude were heaven sent. Hallelujah!

  “I simply believe that some part of the human

  Self or Soul is not subject to the laws of space and time.”

  Carl Jung

  the foreseeable future

  “Not until we are lost do we begin to find ourselves.”

  Henry David Thoreau

  Her sense of direction skewed and screwed with by one irascible immortal soul, it was not so easy to predict what the future might hold. No psychic, no matter how prescient, could say what would happen to a mere mortal searching for a way out of a labyrinth, the maze her life had become. Carolyn could not see her way clear to the freedom she craved because she did not yet know where to look, in what direction to run. She did not yet comprehend that she was already free as a bird. Glimpses into the future were dark and bleak, revealing nothing, like staring into a black hole from which she extricated herself in an act of divine intervention and self-preservation.

  Those possessing foresight are quick to admit they almost never predict what is going to happen in their own lives, because they can’t, because they aren’t supposed to see the light within. They are instead supposed to be the light which guides others along their path on a remarkable spiritual journey called life. Ah, the gypsies and fortune tellers of the world are an interesting lot. Carolyn wasn’t one of them. She’d have flashes and moments of insight which often panned out, yielding little flecks of gold to marvel at, but she was not prescient in the truest sense of the word, defined as possessing knowledge of actions or events before they occur. Few possess such ability and some who claim the gift as their own are frauds. For those who are legitimate, who are the seers among us, no oracle or sage could have helped her. It was too volatile an environment, too unpredictable. There was no crystal ball… no deck of cards… no Ouija board with any answers for a woman who dwelled in a numinous realm. It was truly beyond understanding.

  Carolyn was beginning to allow a new vision into her mind. There was another path. She would not be there forever. She wanted to go home. In much the same way she put it out in mind years before, the deep, heartfelt desire to find the right and proper place in the country, she refocused and redoubled her efforts to visualize a way out, a way forward. Carolyn wanted to go home. She had Georgia on her mind. Placing an order with the cosmos, she let it go and moved on with life as she knew it, knowing the time would come when she would. If she had learned anything in her ethereal classroom it was to let go and let God.

  “For a long time it had seemed to me that life was

  about to begin—real life.

  But there was always some obstacle in the way.

  Something to be got through first,

  some unfinished business, time still to be served,

  a debt to be paid.

  Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that

  these obstacles were my life.”

  Friar Alfred D’Souza

  amen

  “Those who seek consolation in existing churches often pay

  for their own peace of mind with a tacit agreement to ignore

  a great deal of what is known about the way the world works.”

  Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

  A moment of silence. A pause for reflection. Prayer as powerful medium; the point of spiritual convergence: in unity. When a child closes her eyes and connects from within to the belief that someone is there to hear her call out in the night, it alone provides a moment of stunned silence for any thinking mortal soul. The practice of prayer was familiar to the children, whether in private or as a group, they sought comfort and solace in phrases that always ended in amen; prayer punctuated with a single word to announce an end to their communiqué. Traditions upheld dictate the necessary completion to a memorized text when praying together in church. A predetermined construct; its boundaries set in stone, it left no wiggle room for children confronted by the Netherworld. Often, when these children prayed, it qualified as begging; pleading to be spared from some ungodly sight or sound… to be spared from death, or a fate even worse. Cindy had begged for her life on more than one occasion, not the conventional Lord’s Prayer . . . a different version of the practice altogether. Directly to the source, requesting immediate assistance, divine intervention in that moment of crisis. Her unique method of informal communication was a marked departure from hushed tones used, the somber words murmured in church, heads bowed and hands clasped, kneeling in oak pews beneath stained glass. Cindy would, if necessary, scream for help, and often did. No worry of disturbing the family. None of them could hear her.

  The five children of the family were far more devout than either of their parents but it was the house, a spooky old farmhouse which forged an innate understanding in each of the significance of this pure connection. No words chanted from memory could quite convey the need or gratitude transmitted in the heartfelt pleas they uttered when overtaken by a moment of panic. It did not escape them; their prayers were always answered… always. Not once did evil beget good. Not once was the clarion call blatantly ignored. Some benevolent force always intervened on behalf of the panic-stricken child, instantly banishing any malevolence from the scene… exit, stage left.

  For the first year or so the children clustered like nuts in a squirrel’s nest atop Andrea’s comfortable bed, as soon as they all realized they really had something to pray about. Andrea would lead the charge and often relied on the old standards. Over time, she began addressing specific issues with the Almighty Lord, requesting protection for herself and her siblings each night before they went to sleep. Bound each to each, these girls learned to speak directly with God regarding whatever was on their minds. God’s existence was a given. It was a valuable resource, a gift they gave one another as they each expressed their own desires and dreams and wishes for the health and happiness of their family. Gathering in a circle on the bed, holding hands, the children grew spiritually, simply by sharing their thoughts and fears, free of any scrutiny or judgment. It was safe when they were all together. It felt as if nothing could harm them. There was safety in numbers and power in prayer
.

  This evolution occurred naturally but did not really begin in earnest until they moved into a house alive with death; such is the blessing that comes with the curse. With only a modicum of instruction in an outdated dogma, the children entered the farmhouse with fresh eyes and pure hearts, relatively unspoiled by any preconceived notions. None of them expected what they soon discovered but all of them knew where to turn for help. Each of them learned how to seek the Holy Spirit as a valiant companion with whom to do battle; to virtually wage war against the formidable (if sometimes invisible) adversary… an unholy ghost. Though the children got caught in the bubble, their nightly prayers felt like the establishment of a mighty fortress, as a protective barrier… a force field of their own to shield them against attacks. It was how the girls coped, how they processed what was happening in their home. This was how they resolved the dilemmas and snapped the grasp of constant fear. A natural conversion began to occur after several years in the house. They found God omnipresent in Nature and likewise found God in every holy moment during every holy day. They were never alone and never abandoned to the dark and nefarious forces. They felt safe in the midst of those momentary lapses in dimension when hell chose to rear its ugly head. But why, they wondered, was “amen” even necessary when there is no end to practicing the presence? Of course private conversations occurred while under some peculiar duress. However, when things were calm in the house there was no less reason to maintain private connections. Spirits in rebellion in their natural habitat manifesting at will; this was reason enough to keep a conversation current. When things became active it was time to pick up the pace and make a call… much like phoning a friend in a crisis. A call for help.

  There was a truly redemptive quality about their encounters with spirits. Time after glorious time, simple prayer would spontaneously rush to the lips of everyone who lived in the dwelling. Roger’s prayers came in the form of what some might perceive as curses, in emotional outbursts: “Jesus Christ!” All is forgiven… he hopes.

  These children gravitated naturally to acceptance of a greater power. The existence of God did not seem to be such a far-fetched notion to any of them. Had they become indoctrinated? No. It was a fundamental inclination based on the Nature around them; miracles they saw every day. Seeing the spirits was a miracle: proof enough. How many times had their desperate pleas been answered? How many times did an angel come to call? They had no reason to doubt. Over the course of time everyone learned their prayers were heard and taken seriously. They were usually answered in a timely manner, unless there was some obvious lesson involved. In the midst of a crisis each request was attended to with immediacy. Nancy trapped behind a chimney inside the borning room. Carolyn surrounded by fire. Cynthia, sick in a dark woodshed. It was she who first insisted the farmhouse was a protective force; a fortress against evil. Yet, her suggestion was not taken seriously at the time. Upon reflection, the family now sees her point with clarity… the truth of it.

  April prayed on principle alone. She never did distinguish between the phenomenon she called Oliver and what she prayed to before she went to bed at night. To her they were one in the same: it was all miraculous. There was no perceived threat. She felt only a deep sense of compassion for a little boy lost, trapped between this world and the next. She said “amen” as an excuse to practice making the sign of the cross, though she always got it backwards. In the end, there is no end. Amen is, for the ladies, simply a way of saying “ta-ta-for-now-talk-to-you-later!” Though amen has a much nicer ring to it.

  “There are many things that are essential to arriving

  at true peace of mind,

  and one of the most important is faith, which cannot be acquired without prayer.”

  John Wooden

  ~ an old wagon road leading nowhere and everywhere ~

  Transformation

  “Once you make a decision, the universe conspires

  to make it happen.”

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  In retrospect it appears to be a conspiracy, a deliberate convergence of events. Carolyn made a decision. She wanted a place in the country. Having focused all her mental energy on a singular desire, essentially placing an order with the Universe, she’d then moved on in mind, attending to her family while silently nurturing the dreamscape along as a vision, no further words on the matter necessary. During fleeting moments, when her mind was free to wander, she would allow herself passing reflections, imagining a future free of worry and torment from mortal souls surrounding them in a suburb she reluctantly called home. She knew better. She knew there was a place for her family elsewhere though she had no idea how far away elsewhere might prove to be. Carolyn allowed herself the luxury of looking ahead, peering into the future at that point in her life, still young and energetic, full of life and clinging to the hope that they would find their way. Trusting her sense of direction, she followed it all the way to Harrisville, Rhode Island, to the home of her dreams. Too good to be true? Apparently so. Yet, it was also too true not to be good. As far as Carolyn was concerned it had robbed her of youth and beauty, depleting her of natural resources in every conceivable way. Supernatural subterfuge, it all seemed cruel and unusual punishment for a mother who wanted nothing but the best for her children, especially a fine education. Few children ever receive the education her girls did. However, omnipresent underlying currents of hostility charged the place with negative energy and there proved to be nothing restorative about an oppressive weight Carolyn carried as a burden for a decade. There was nothing enchanting, nothing uplifting, not anymore. The spell cast had been a dark one indeed.

  Fear consumed like flames, ravaging the minds of those who’d come to the light but had to learn to find their way in the dark. Fear of fire was a mother’s greatest torment, what a spirit used as weaponry. Carolyn had lowered her standards and expectations over time. Instead of daring to long for a future as free of worry as she’d once hoped the farm would provide, free of anguish from mortals they encountered in Cumberland, her priorities had drastically changed. Now she hoped for a place free of immortal souls and the riff raff they attracted. She once felt trapped, stuck in Cumberland and those emotions reemerged when she felt captured by a haunted house in Harrisville. No way out.

  Far more than a tale about the two who remained locked in a most ferocious battle, in a mortal conflict waged against an immortal soul; it was all about staking a rightful claim to the position of mistress of the house. But the body count kept rising. Collateral damage was done. Children lost their innocence but gained a new perspective and their father was confronted by the truth. In time, they would all learn their lessons well and none were permitted to leave the ethereal classroom until they’d passed the test. Each member of the family was forced to learn about life and death the hard way, compelled to stare into a light emerging from their dark existence. As such, each of them gradually transformed, touched by a mutual encounter within shared space. They experienced the wonder of it all as participants as well as witnesses to a decade-long duel to the death on two distinct fronts. Carolyn began to become what she’d loathed. Her physical transformation took a toll. Complications ensued. A séance gone wrong revealed the presence of imminent danger. There was nothing left to salvage from the spoils of a war waged in the Netherworld. It was not a fair fight. Wounded and withdrawing into a cocoon-like existence, Carolyn would have to heal where she felt safely cosseted though she knew better than most there was no safe place. They were always in harm’s way and some tempted fate as a matter of course. In a Universe riddled with collisions and near misses, she’d taken a direct hit then crawled off the battlefield for a time to heal the wounds, to restore and reclaim her soul. When she’d grown out of it the cocoon ruptured. She emerged profoundly changed, almost unrecognizable. It was the most fearful time of all. The irony of it was inescapable and no one escaped unscathed… a life sentence.

  Life and subsequent deaths on a farm seemed to be a series of trials and tribulation; crimes
committed and punishment dispensed. Penance or purgatory, it hardly mattered when it came to spirit matters, as they called all the shots. Best to stick to one’s guns. Would their family get let off the hook with only time served? From the moment they stepped onto the property, over a threshold, through a portal cleverly disguised as a farmhouse, it was simply too late to turn back. Recalling words of warning by Paulo Coelho, “Don’t allow your wounds to transform you into someone you are not.” There were times when it seemed they had no choice in the matter. Transmutation seemed to be the natural course of things in their supernatural environment; Carolyn’s conversion, a case in point. The entire family became involved in the process of spiritual evolution as revolution, one they could not avoid.

  Epiphany is painful. Enlightenment is a difficult process. When all one has ever known is three-dimensional black and white, introduction of the fourth dimension displayed in dazzling Technicolor is terribly hard on the eyes, all three of them. What was once bright and beautiful at a glance became more of a shock to the system when stared at for an extended period… too much to take in. H.P. Lovecraft wrote about this kind of conversion. “The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the ability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.” How does a family stunned by the sight absorb the many messages received? What mercy bestowed? “We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.” Their journey became truly treacherous. It was a call to arms but why? Coming to terms with one’s immortality requires a quantum leap in consciousness, no easy feat, culminating in the biggest chill of all.

  It was surreal estate with a cosmic twist; a black hole to infinity and beyond. No one expected to have to travel quite so far to get elsewhere and it seemed a high price to pay to arrive at an intended destination; a placid place in the country. Lovecraft forewarned of it: “but someday the piercing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.” Forewarned is forearmed and yet, they were actually outnumbered in their own home. Plunged into a new dark age, they marched forward into each new moment of it as advancing their position seemed the only option.