by G. F. Frost
Chapter Ten
Over and hour and a half had passed by the time Massey was finished calling Sadie and family and friends to invite them for Thanksgiving. They all wanted to catch up, and Massey loved hearing about each of their lives. She thought that she’d spend the afternoon shopping for fall décor at Wal-Mart. She knew there was a gift shop in town also that she may hop into and check out. Shopping sounded fun.
Remembering to flip on the porch and drive lights, Massey locked the door and started her shopping adventure. She found pumpkins and gourds, banners and tablecloths, candles, dishes, ceramic turkeys and pilgrims, and a huge fall centerpiece. The napkins, placemats, and name cards came from the small gift shop. The backseat of the vehicle was full. She couldn’t wait to host her first party at Lovesong House. Entertaining always made her happy. She didn’t mind cooking, and she loved decorating and spending time with friends and family. She was happy today; she forgot the dreams for now.
Father Patrick was pacing along the front of the house as she pulled into the yard. She had assumed that he would get back from New Orleans much later. He helped her bring in all of the bags from the car. Massey had him place everything in the dining room. He looked tired. Massey looked at him and realized he hadn’t slept much at all the night before. She felt a twinge of guilt.
“Coffee, tea or cocoa, Padre?” Massey asked nicely as they walked into the kitchen.
“Anything will be fine.” Father Patrick replied. “I was wondering if I could stay again tonight. I think I may want to.” He sat down at the table.
Massey nodded and put the kettle of water on the stove.
“That’s fine. I don’t mind having an extra guard dog around,” she said with a smile.
Father Patrick didn’t smile back.
“I’m cooking a roast in the slow cooker, can you smell it?” Massey asked as she turned towards him.
Father Patrick nodded.
“Tell me about your dream last night,” he said.
“Oh, can’t we wait until after dinner?” she begged.
“That’s fine. I just want to hear about it. Did you look for the safe today?” he asked.
“I spent the morning looking for it in the cellar. I didn’t find anything but bugs and mildew. I moved everything and searched. There’s no safe down there. Do you think there is really a safe?” Massey asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“It would be nice to see if Marie’s diary were in it. Where else would Tattienne have put it? Maybe that would help you,” he said as he reached for the tea.
“Help me how? Are you starting to drop some of the skepticism, Father? Did something happen last night?” Massey asked half jokingly.
Father Patrick stood up and carried his cup of tea to the kitchen window. He could see the cemetery from there. It was getting dark and a shiver came over him.
“It’s getting dark. I’d better move my car.” He placed the cup on the counter and left the room.
Massey pulled the hot roast out of the cooker and placed it on a platter. Pouring the vegetables all around it, she set a basket of biscuits down beside the meat. She was getting hungry. She hoped Father Patrick would be too.
There’s a lot of roast for just the two of us, she thought. Nice, no cooking tomorrow.
Father Patrick came through the front door and kicked off his shoes. He walked back into the kitchen a looked at the meal.
“That really looks good,” he said nicely.
It was the first spark of life Massey had seen in him since he arrived. She filled a plate and put it in front of him. When she sat down, he blessed the food, and then devoured it. He acted as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Massey began to wonder if she’d have leftovers tomorrow after all. His spirits seemed lifted during dinner. He laughed, telling her about his day in New Orleans. He had visited the wrong woman in the hospital and had sat there talking for twenties minutes before he noticed the name on her wristband. Fortunately, the sick lady didn’t realize what happened, and he found his way to the lady he was truly there to see. Massey laughed loudly as he told her his story.
After dinner, Father Patrick insisted on doing the dishes. Massey showed him how to work the dishwasher, and he seemed right at home in front of the kitchen sink. They made small talk until they made their way into the parlor. Father Patrick’s toes wiggled in his socks as he sat back on the sofa. He commented on the meal once again and sat up a bit, turning towards Massey. She sat with her feet crossed on the opposite end of the long couch.
“I heard the singing, Massey. I think I saw something in the graveyard. I checked on you late in the night, and I can’t be sure, but I think I saw something in the mirror too.” He looked solemn as he spoke.
Massey rose up quickly on the sofa and put her feet on the floor.
“Father!” she answered excitedly.
“I’m not sure of any of it. I keep doubting myself. I had a lot of seeds planted by all your stories. It may have been…” He didn’t have time to finish.
“No, stop right there. Are you telling me that you experienced these things last night and you didn’t wake me?” Massey asked.
“Well, you were sleeping soundly, and I didn’t want to wake you. I was confused and it was late. I don’t like talking about it, but I owe it to you. I promised you I’d help. I don’t know if telling you these things is helpful or hurtful, but you deserve to know, I guess.” He sounded nervous as he spoke.
Massey stood up and walked to the mantel. Father Patrick followed. They both looked at the picture of Joseph. Father Patrick pulled the locket from the frame and opened it. He ran his finger across the lock of dark hair. He felt a chill as he realized that it was an actual piece of Joseph. He handed it to Massey. She looked at Joseph’s face, and then snapped the lid closed.
“Do you think they’re trying to contact us?” Massey asked.
“I don’t know what to think at this point, but if I see or feel anything similar tonight to what I saw and heard last night, I’m going to contact the Archdiocese to see if anyone there will meet with me. I have to keep my promise. I’m going to try to help. We’ll see.” Father Patrick walked back to the sofa.
Massey sat down beside him and told him about the disturbing dream she had the night before. He sat quietly listening, pulling the tiny note pad out of his pocket and making notes as she spoke. He was definitely interested now.
Massey asked him questions about the Church’s standing and teachings on such things. He responded as honestly as he could, but kept the answers vague and short. He knew that it would become overwhelming to throw a lot of heavy theology at Massey right now. She questioned much of what he had to say, but he was patient and allowed her to speak her mind. He believed that was the healthy thing to do.
Massey felt a bit vindicated, even if Father Patrick didn’t totally acknowledge what he has experienced as truths. Just the idea that she wasn’t alone was enough. Near the end of their conversation, Massey noticed Father Patrick yawning. She brought the blankets and pillows back to the sofa and took Jenkins out for his nightly jaunt.
By the time she returned, Father Patrick was sound asleep. She smiled knowing that it was because of her that he was there, and she felt a twinge of guilt again. Walking over to the sofa, Massey picked up the fuzzy blanket at the end and laid it carefully across his legs. Jenkins had to get a lick in, and Father Patrick stirred as the big dog kissed his forehead. Massey giggled a bit; she knew Father Patrick wasn’t much of a dog fan. Then, she and Jenkins made their way up to bed.
* * * *
Massey was sleeping more soundly than she had since moving to Lovesong House. She wasn’t having the dreams, she wasn’t tossing and turning, and she wasn’t having the night sweats or chills tonight. There were no sounds of singing ringing through the house. All was silent. Jenkins raised his head and his ears perked up. He sensed something in the house even though Massey didn’t.
Father Patrick was in a deep sleep too, but his was not so soun
d. In the deepness of his slumber, he saw the mirror. The long mahogany mirror in Massey and Theo’s room stood before him. As he walked closer, he saw a white mist in the depths of the mirror. From the depths, the pale lifeless couple approached. Their eyes were dark and beckoning as they neared him. Father Patrick tried to back away, but he was frozen. He couldn’t raise his arm to stop their approach. It was Marie and Joseph.
As the dead couple came closer, a smile spread on their pallid faces. He could see death in their still eyes. They floated slowly towards him, smiling horrible smiles, dead smiles from dead faces and dark dead eyes. Father Patrick was terrified, but he could not take his own eyes from the vision. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips.
As the pair approached, Marie raised her hand to him and spoke.
“Help us, Father,” the figure implored.
Father Patrick jumped up from the sofa and backed up against the wall. The dream was so real! He had never experienced such a vivid dream. He remembered the deadly stare of the pair. He shivered in fright. The vision was horrifying. He wanted to run to his car and leave this house, but he didn’t.
Suddenly, he heard someone coming down the stairs. Click, click, click, and then it stopped.
“Massey?” Father called. There was no answer.
He began to shake even harder. He could feel the perspiration on his palms. Creeping towards the fireplace mantel, he grabbed a silver candle holder and tiptoed to the parlor doors. The pocket doors were open, and he stood still with his back against the wall, holding the heavy candlestick over his head. He was ready to strike when he heard the panting. Jenkins walked into the room and looked up at Father Patrick. His tail was wagging. Father Patrick brought the silver holder to his side and sighed.
“Dammit, Jenkins! You scared me to death!” Father Patrick said as he walked to the sofa and plopped down. Jenkins followed standing at the priest’s feet and looked up at him. He couldn’t help but laugh. The dog’s tail wagged harder. Reaching down to pat the troublemaker’s head, he had to laugh again.
Father Patrick didn’t want to go upstairs, but he needed to see if Massey was having a fitful sleep, if she was dreaming the dreadful dream too. Jenkins followed, bounding past him and nearly forcing him off his feet as he entered the room. Massey lay quietly breathing in the bed. She was still and her rhythmic breaths sounded comforting to him. He smiled and pointed to the pillow on the floor. Jenkins climbed onto the pillow and curled up. His tail was still wagging.
Sleep was something Father Patrick would be avoiding for the rest of the night. He had to stay awake. He didn’t want any more dreams, nightmares. He thought of Massey. He had doubted her and now felt guilty for it. Even if the dreams were coincidental, there was something about this house. As soon as she woke up, he would be going to the church library, and he hoped to find anything about the families who lived here after Tattienne.
* * * *
Massey woke up refreshed and energetic. She hadn’t slept the night through without the scary dreams in a long time. She dressed and made her way to the kitchen. She could smell coffee when she descended the stairs. Father Patrick was sitting at the table writing in his note pad. He was blowing on a cup of coffee. Massey asked him if he slept well, and waited for an answer. He just sipped the hot drink and nodded as he continued to write.
“I didn’t dream last night, or if I did, I don’t recall. I feel great this morning. Maybe you have helped things around here,” she said as she clapped for Jenkins to come to the door. She was walking through the yard with him when Father Patrick came out. He had his jacket on and the small bag over his shoulder.
“Leaving me?” she asked with a smile.
“I’m going to the church. I may be back though,” he said tiredly.
“I’ll be here all day. Let me know if you’re staying. I’ll make dinner!” she yelled as he went into the barn for his car.
Jenkins tried to follow the priest, but Massey called him to her. She was a bit bothered by Father Patrick’s attitude, but she knew he would discuss anything that was on his mind later, if it were important.
* * * *
The shower was refreshing to Father Patrick. He dressed and went to the church for prayers. Today his prayers were different. He asked for guidance and the strength to figure out the situation at Lovesong House. He had to get to the church library, but he felt drained. He needed sleep.
While he searched through the old records and books, his phone rang from time to time. Parishioners often called for advice or prayers, and some offered dinner invitations. He couldn’t keep his mind on the research. The library was small but stacked with shelves and cabinets. There were records from long before the church was built when the parish was first developed. There were many records of donations and contributions from the Duseau family throughout the years. The church building would not exist if it were not for the Duseaus and a few other plantation owners.
Father Patrick just could not find anything out of the ordinary. They would have to think of another way to get to the bottom of the haunting. He hated even thinking of it, but he had felt, seen, and heard enough to make him consider it such. He would tell Massey about his dream tonight.
* * * *
Massey spent the day decorating for fall. She had the dining table dressed like a pro. Fall swags, huge pumpkins, and scarecrows adorned the front veranda. She put mums along the front and lay down and enormous fall welcome mat. It was lovely. She felt great. She had her home decorated, she had slept well and she had a large party planned for two weeks away. It was a good day.
There were plenty of roast leftovers for tonight’s dinner. They’d have roast po boys, she thought. She called Father Patrick to see if he would make it for dinner. He said that he would soon be on his way. He also told her that he looked through the archives again, but hadn’t found anything of significance. He sounded tired and disappointed.
Massey took a few minutes to enjoy the crispness in the air. She and Jenkins went outside, and she sat on the back porch in a huge wooden rocker. As Jenkins tramped around the grounds with his nose to the ground, Massey let her gaze move over to the graveyard. The brown leaves were twirling over the graves like a leafy tornado. She thought of the baby. She thought of Joseph and Marie, of Tattienne and Jenkins. All of them were there, right there in the cemetery. All of them had lived in her house, their house, Lovesong House. She felt the sadness return.
“Come on, Jenkins. Let’s go inside!” Massey yelled.
Jenkins came running. They walked into the house. Massey started heating the roast for dinner when she heard the doorbell. She knew it was Father Patrick. She yelled for him to come in, and he did. He had his little black bag with him, so Massey knew that he planned to stay another night. She was anxious to hear what he had to say.
Father Patrick was quiet during dinner again. He looked exhausted. After they finished, he asked for a cup of coffee. Massey told him to go on into the parlor and relax. She brought him his coffee and a saucer with two cookies on it. She knew he loved something sweet with his coffee. He smiled.
“I am so glad you didn’t dream last night, Massey. I must let you know that I had a terrible dream though,” Father Patrick said softly.
She looked at the priest as he lowered his head. She didn’t know what to say. She knew that he had seen Marie and Joseph. She knew the dark eyes, frightening stares, and pale faces. She didn’t know that they had spoken to him.
After telling her about his dream, Father Patrick lay back on the sofa and so did Massey. They were both leaning their heads back on the pillows and staring at the ceiling. It was a time for thought. It was a time for thinking. Each of them felt that the couple was desperately reaching out to them for something, but what?
Massey asked Father Patrick if she should sleep in the parlor tonight so that he wouldn’t be alone. He shook his head. He didn’t want her making a bed on the hard floor. He knew she would not let him give up the sofa, but most importantly, he did
n’t want her to see how frightened the dreams made him. If they came, he didn’t want her to be there.
She turned in early that night and watched a show on the bedroom television because Father Patrick said that he had calls to make. He returned messages that he had received that day and made his bed on the long couch. He was worried about sleeping. When he turned out the light, he noticed that Massey had left the foyer light on. He was glad.
As he returned to the sofa, he thought of the cemetery. He walked to the window and looked out towards the small graveyard. It was darker than before. Massey had not left the driveway lights on. He pushed his face close to the cold windowpane. He saw a glow hovering just over the graves. He watched again as it made its snaky path through the cemetery. His hands began to tremble. Grabbing his camera out of his bag, Father Patrick darted out the front door to take pictures of the phenomena. When he ran across the yard, he noticed that the mist or light was gone. He began snapping pictures. There was nothing out there. He stomped his foot.
“I saw it!” he said to himself.
Returning to the house, he saw Massey standing at the door in her robe. The slamming door had woken her. She demanded to know what he was doing. Father Patrick pulled her inside and told her. She looked down at the camera. She hadn’t thought of that.
“Did you get pictures?” she asked.
“No, it was gone when I went out there.”
“Did you try?” Massey asked as she reached for the small digital camera.
Father Patrick nodded.
Massey hit the review button on the camera and looked into the small screen. She thought she saw something. She reached up, pulled the glasses out of Father Patrick’s shirt pocket, and placed them on her nose. There was something there. The mist, glowing over the graves! Massey looked closer. There was something else, but she couldn’t make it out. She ran into Theo’s study and ejected the card from the camera, placing it into the computer. She turned it on and tapped impatiently on the desk as it loaded.