Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity)

by Anabell Martin

  “Mom, you’ll be fine. You’ve been doing this for how long now? I’m sure that women deliver babies the same way here as they do back home.”

  “Oh, thank you honey. I’m just nervous. I worked labor and delivery at Community Hospital for five years. But even with my experience, I’ll still be ‘the new girl.’ No one will know how good I am until I’ve been in the trenches for a while. I’ll be going back to being told how to do everything as if I’m a newbie right out of nursing school. Gah!”

  She left a half an hour early so she could get to the hospital, find a decent parking space, and introduce herself to everyone before her shift began. She wasn’t looking forward to being on the night shift yet again, but it wouldn’t be too bad if she could get off on the right foot and make friends with her co-workers.

  After she left, Lindsey picked up around the living room and took out the garbage. They’d made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, so the kitchen wasn’t too tedious to clean up. By 8:30, the house was tidy and locked up. She made some popcorn, grabbed a Coke and a DVD, set the alarm, and went upstairs to her room. She was very accustomed to her mother being gone at night since she did overnights back in Bremen, but it was somehow different here. This house was much bigger and, quite frankly, a little creepy when you were alone in it. Everything echoed and the air circulating through it almost sounded like the house was breathing at times.

  She thought about calling Maddie and Michelle to see if they might want to come over, but she remembered they were on mare watch. She didn’t want them to be here if the horse went into labor. Then she thought about just going over there, but she didn’t want to wear out her welcome so soon.

  So she would stay here. She popped the movie into the DVD player and tossed the remote on the bed. While the previews rolled, Lindsey gathered the dirty laundry from both her and her mom’s rooms and tossed them into the washer. Once the load was started, she locked herself in her room and curled up in bed. When the film company logo flared up on the screen, she dashed to the bedroom door. She made sure that the door was locked and grabbed her cell phone off the dresser. Just in case. She told herself.

  Before the movie was half over, she was drifting in and out of sleep. She set the alarm on her cell for 8 a.m. Darby set up a job interview for her over at the Artisans Center in the morning and Lindsey didn’t want to run the risk of being late. The DVD was just a soothing noise in the background as sleep finally closed its warm cloak around her and she succumbed to unconsciousness.

  BAM!

  Lindsey sat bolt upright. Did a door just slam? Don’t panic, she told herself. It’s just Mom. She must’ve forgotten something. She scooted out of bed, walked over to the side-window, and glanced around the rose sun catcher that hung in the middle of the pane of glass. Her eyes searched the spot where her mom normally parked. It was empty. Empty.

  It must be a shoe banging around in the washer. Or a heavy towel. Yeah. The load was out of balance. That had to be it. She scooted nervously back into bed.

  BAM!

  That was no effing shoe or towel! Lindsey’s heart raced, coursing copious amounts of adrenaline through her body. Someone was in the house. And they shouldn’t be. She grabbed the remote and muted the musical number playing as the credits rolled on the movie. Her heart thudded violently, banging against her sternum like it wanted to erupt right out of her chest. Blood, which had run cold, rushed through her veins so hard that it roared in her ears and made her stomach queasy.

  Fight or flight, fight or flight?

  Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? She was positive that she’d set the damned thing before coming upstairs. Had she not set it correctly? It was the first time she’d set it, but she had followed her mom’s instructions perfectly. But what if her mom forgot to write a step down? Oh, crap.

  She strained to hear any possible movement from below, any indication that the intruder might be climbing the stairs, but the pounding in her chest and ears made it difficult. She took a slow, deep breath to calm herself then she listened again. Nothing – the house was silent as the grave.

  As the moments ticked away, and her heart rate calmed, Lindsey thought that maybe she’d imagined it. Maybe the noise had come from the movie. She searched the DVD case. It was a romantic comedy her mom rented last night. She hadn’t seen it before, so she didn’t know if someone slammed a door at the end of the movie or not. Then again, the TV volume was low. The noise she heard had been loud. Her mind raced for other possible, less threatening possibilities. Maybe something fell downstairs. She thought back to the painting that Darby had hung days before. Maybe the old woman hadn’t hung it correctly. Yeah, that was it. It was a large, very heavy piece. A couple of simple nails couldn’t hold it on the wall for long. Silly girl, she thought and cuddled back into bed. She’d survey the damage in the morning, clean up the glass when there was sufficient lighting.

  BAM! Thud, thud, thud.

  Lindsey sat up once more, her eyes the size of saucers and her breath frozen in her chest. That was not a fallen picture unless the damned thing had sprouted legs and run off! She jumped up, grabbed her cell, and tip-toed into the bathroom, trying her best not to be heard through the ceiling in the room below. She locked the door, cut off the lights, and cowered in the corner. Once she was as low as she could get, she grabbed the toilet plunger with one hand and dialed 9-1-1 with the other.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “There’s someone in my house!” she whispered urgently, not wanting the intruder to hear. “Please help me!”

  “Ma’am, where are you calling from?”

  “My, my bathroom. Upstairs.”

  “Ma’am, you are calling from a cellular phone and we are having problems tracing your exact location since the signal is roaming. Can you give me the street address from where you are calling?”

  “Oh. Sorry! We just moved here and the cell still has its Indiana number.”

  “Ma’am, the address?”

  “7556 St. Peter’s Church Road. Please, hurry!”

  “The old Retreat House? Don’t worry, I’m sending a car right now. Stay calm. Are you in a safe place?”

  “I’m upstairs,” she panted. “I’m locked in my bathroom.”

  “The officer should be there in a moment. Do you know where the intruder entered and if they’re still there?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard doors slamming downstairs. Doors from inside the house… I don’t know how they got in. The alarm didn’t go off. I don’t know if they’re still here or not. Please, hurry!” Lindsey was crying, tears streaking her face as she huddled against the porcelain base of the toilet. She sat there, cell phone held against her ear by her shoulder and the toilet plunger clutched in both hands. She wasn’t sure what damage she could do with a plunger, but it made her feel safer to hold it just the same.

  “Ma’am, Officer Hardy is pulling into your drive way right now. He’ll knock on the door. Do you think you can get to the front door safely?”

  Lindsey listened intently; she could hear the cruiser crunching up the driveway. She hit the end button on her cell and crept toward the bathroom door. The cop banged on the front door three times, scaring her so badly that she screamed. Feeling foolish, she quickly made her way to her bedroom door, holding the plunger above her head like a weapon. She didn’t hear anything so she opened the door and stuck her head out. The house was completely quiet, so she decided that she could make a run for it, head down the stairs, and to the door before anyone could get her.

  “This is the police! Come out with your hands up!” the cop yelled loudly.

  She counted to three and ran like her life depended on it, nearly slipping on the stairs when her sock feet hit one of the steps wrong. She jerked the door open, still holding the plunger defensively.

  Beep, beep, screel, screel, screel, screel!

  The high-pitch alarm blared unexpectedly, echoing into the velvet cover of night. Lindsey screamed and dropped the plunger, sending it b
ouncing on its red rubber bulb before landing with a thud by the staircase. The cordless phone on the credenza and Lindsey’s cell phone rang simultaneously. She answered both – the alarm company was calling on one, Maddie from next door on the other. Lindsey talked to them both, a phone at each ear.

  The cop stood there looking at her like she was deranged. He motioned for his partner to search the perimeter of the house. After the younger cop took off, gun drawn, around the outside of the house, the older officer slid past her, his gun drawn, too, and began to search the house, flipping on lights in his wake.

  “I’m OK. I thought I heard someone in the house so I called the police. The alarm went off when I opened the door to let the cops in. They’re searching the house right now,” she explained to both parties on the phones.

  The alarm company hung up, their part done. Maddie said she and her dad were heading over. Lindsey met them in the front yard a few minutes later; she was recounting the events to Mr. Robbins when the police officers walked around the side of the house.

  “Ma’am, there’s no one here nor any sign of a forced entry. I checked the entire house and then went out back to help Officer Ryan. Are you sure there was an intruder? You don’t have a cat that might be hiding somewhere, do you?”

  “No, my mom’s allergic. I was in my room, upstairs, and I heard a door slam. It scared me, but the alarm hadn’t been triggered so I thought that maybe a picture had fallen off the wall or something. Then I heard it again followed by loud footsteps in the hall downstairs. That’s when I called you guys.”

  “And there’s no pets whatsoever on the premises, ma’am? Not even a dog?”

  “No sir, like I said, my mom’s allergic.”

  “Forced air conditioning? Sometimes in these older houses, if a door is ajar and the air comes on, it can cause it to close. Happened to the missus not too long ago. Scared the shit out of her!” Hardy said, causing his younger partner to laugh.

  “And there aren’t any footprints around the house,” the second cop added. “It’s pretty wet out there, so if someone had been snooping around, there would be some prints in the mud.”

  Officer Hardy turned to Lindsey. “I’ll help you check all your windows and locks. When we leave lock the door and reset the alarm. Call us if you have any other problems, alright?”

  Everyone went into the house and checked each room. The policeman offered to call Aimee, but Lindsey felt foolish and didn’t want to bother her mother on her first night at work. They left Lindsey with Maddie and Mr. Robbins. Maddie had brought her pillow and some snacks with her, intent on keeping Lindsey entertained. It seemed like they all thought she was just a little lonely and a lot paranoid.

  “These old houses can play tricks on your senses,” Mr. Robbins said. “They pop and crack at night when they’re settling. If you’re not used to it, it’s easy to mistake an innocent noise for something more sinister.”

  Lindsey was grateful to the two of them. But she wanted to know what in the hell made that noise. She looked the house over. Nothing was out of place; nothing had fallen off the walls. She wasn’t going crazy, she definitely heard something. It was like this house itself was playing tricks on her. From the things that had been moved around during her shower the other day to this. Something was definitely up here. And it wasn’t funny at all.

  Maddie called and told Michelle to come over, that they were going to have a slumber party. Mr. Robbins left after he’d done a second check on all the windows. He stood on the porch until Lindsey had reset the alarm. “Call if you need anything,” he said through the door before setting off into the night.

  “You all don’t have to babysit me. What about Wind Dancer?” Lindsey really did want them to stay, but she felt guilty … and a little embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry. Daddy’s keeping an eye on her tonight,” Michelle reassured her as she poured a bag of boiled peanuts into a bowl, popped it into the microwave, and tossed a roll of paper towels to her sister.

  Maddie spotted the discarded toilet plunger as the trio headed toward the foot of the stairs.

  “I was scared and it was the first thing I grabbed,” Lindsey reasoned.

  “What were you going to do if there actually was someone in the house? Suck his face off?” Maddie joked.

  “Well, it sure puts a new meaning to beating the crap out of someone,” Michelle smirked.

  The house was silent for the rest of the night. The girls fell asleep a little after two in the morning, all three of them crowded on Lindsey’s bed, the credits of another DVD rolling silently in the background.

  The alarm on Lindsey’s phone woke them the next morning. The twins went home after inviting Lindsey to spend the night in the barn to help them watch Wind Dancer. Lindsey agreed – she wasn’t too keen on spending the night alone in the house yet. She knew it was silly, but she’d take a cold, hard concrete floor in a barn over a soft, comfy bed in a spooky house tonight.

  Aimee called and said she’d be a little late getting home. She was going to breakfast with a couple of the women from work. She was tired, but it was a good way to bond with her new co-workers. That was fine with Lindsey because she wasn’t sure how she was going to tell her mom about the incident the night before, at least not yet.

  Lindsey drove into town to meet with Karen, the director of the Artisans Center. The road leading into town was in desperate need of repair. The pot-holed asphalt, yellow line long faded, was flanked on either side by a mixture of trees. Some were healthy and plush, bright green leaves and pine needles crowded their limbs, each stretching and bending to reach the sunlight shining down on the canopy above. But others were naked and skeletal looking, not a bit of green on them. Their bare branches reached out to the road like gnarly, dead fingers. She passed two reflective yellow, diamond-shaped signs with the image of a leaping deer on it. It made her wonder what other kinds of wildlife called this area home.

  She reached the Artisans Center in less than ten minutes. It had once been a small, one-story home, but had been converted into a store that sold artwork from South Carolina artists. As she pulled her car into the small driveway, Lindsey spied a long table sitting in the small patch of grass in front of the Center. A middle-aged black woman sat in a wicker chair weaving a large basket. On her table sat an assortment of hand-made, woven items – hats, planters, and baskets. The weaving was intricate and beautiful. She’d never seen anything like it. A rack held intricately carved wooden bracelets and multi-colored bead necklaces.

  Inside, there were unique paintings, sculptures, framed photos, hand-made jewelry, note cards, bookmarks, and even hand-dipped candles. Another table sat near the cash register that held woven items like the ones the lady was making outside. Along one wall, books about art, South Carolina history, and the like were packed willy-nilly into bookcases. Somewhere, a fruity candle burned, filling the air with an inviting aroma, and a CD played delicate piano music in the background.

  “I just love Yiruma. He has a gift, that man,” Darby said, stepping out from behind an easel that held a large, framed painting of a baby sea turtle at the ocean’s edge, the frothy Atlantic just a hair’s-breathe from its front flippers. She pointed at the little grey CD player on the counter when she spoke.

  “Good morning, Ms. Darby. What are you doing here?”

  “Good mornin’ to you, too, sweetheart. I’m looking at the new things Karen got in today. Did you see these hand-painted note cards? Anyway, how are you doin’? How’s that house treatin’ y’all?”

  “It’s … nice.”

  “Oh, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

  Lindsey picked up one of the baskets. “These are so pretty.”

  “Ms. Yalunka made those. You probably saw her outside. She drives out here all the way from the Gullah settlement on Warsaw Island three times a week.”

  “Gullah?”

  “Oh, yes, honey. You’re not from around here so it makes sense that you don’ know about them. The Gullahs are a group of
African Americans that inhabit the sea islands up and down the coasts of South Carolina and Georgia. They’re descendants of slaves brought over from Africa way back when, particularly West Africa. They’ve kept the customs, like that sweet grass weaving, and the language alive. It’s real neat. You should go down to the peninsula and visit the open air market sometime.”

  A tall woman with soft sable skin and her hair in a bun walked around the counter and dropped a box on the floor.

  “Good morning, Darby. How you doing this morning?”

  “I’m happy as a little lark,” Darby answered, taking Lindsey’s hand in her own. “And this is our new friend.”

  “Well, hello! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. How do you like Angela’s old place? Nice, eh?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice,” Lindsey was confused. Who was Angela?

  Darby introduced the two of them before she excused herself and left for her volunteer shift at the hospital. She talked about the job for only a few moments, stating that if Darby recommended her then the job was as good as hers. The interview was just a formality, like the application. It was only 15 hours or so a week and paid $7.75 an hour, but at least it was a job. And it was a means to get out of the house and meet some people around town.

  When Lindsey returned home, Aimee was sitting on the front porch reading the newspaper. “I’ll be so glad when the elections are over,” she thumped the picture of a political candidate that was displayed in color across the front page then folded the paper in half and tucked it under her leg. “I am so damned sick of all of the political bickering. They’re all full of shit if you ask me.”

  Lindsey dropped down on the edge of the seat of the empty rocking chair next to her mom.

  “Well… did you get it?” Aimee asked.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s only part-time, but I can’t complain. And it pays a little better than the dry cleaners did.”

  “Woo-hoo! I’m happy for you, girl!” Her mom took a sip of her coffee and picked the paper back up.

  “Mom, can I ask you something?”