There was only one thing that seemed out of place—the largest knife from the butcher’s block lay crosswise in the sink. It appeared to be clean, but it seemed odd when there were no dishes around, and the cutting board was in its place against the blue toile print tiles above the countertop. She supposed that her grandmother might have gotten it out to cut some thick flower stems.
She remembered that she ought to call Marsha and let her know that she had made it to town. But, when she went to the credenza next to the dining table and picked up the phone, there was no dial tone. She clicked the button several times. Surely, Marsha hadn’t turned off the utilities already!
She could use her cell phone in the car, but she decided to look through the house some more first.
Next, she tried the light switch next to the broom closet and cursed when it didn’t turn on. That might not be her sister’s fault—the wiring in the house had been faulty since 1975 when an electrician had done a botched job on the renovation. She had been after her grandmother for years to get it repaired, but her stubborn response usually involved some mention of the reliability of sunlight and candles that worked just fine all the time.
Georgia tried a Tiffany lamp next to the phone. She pulled the chain three times before light radiated through its multi-colored panes.
At the far end of the kitchen on the left side, there was a door that led down to the basement. She put her hand on the knob then changed her mind. The basement never had been her favorite place. It was dark and dank, and the light switch to the lone bulb in the center area was fickle. At some point, she knew she’d have to go through things down there with Marsha. There were three rooms down there with storage of canned goods, dishes, clothes, and Grandpa’s old things. But, it could wait.
She poked her head into the library. The easy chair’s footrest was open. Next to it, on an oval side table, there lay an open book, face down, and an empty glass.
The title of the book was, Manners and Etiquette for Ladies. It was an old-fashioned rulebook for behavior in the Victorian age. She picked it up and glanced over the section on the open page about the proper way for a woman to keep her home.
An odd choice for an evening read...
The glass next to it had a small amount of liquid dried in the bottom. She picked it up and sniffed.
Gin!
She couldn’t believe it. Had Grammie been drinking again after all these years away from the stuff? What could have driven her to take it back up at her age?
A minute later, she found herself wandering towards the spiral staircase that led upstairs. On the second floor, there were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and the turret room. She wound her way up to the first room on the right.
She opened the door to her old bedroom and surveyed the room that had been hers for over a decade until she moved to New York. Grammie had redecorated years ago, switching out the twin-sized pink ruffled bedspread and curtains for more grown-up floral fabrics and pillows. But, there were still paintings on the walls of sunflowers and vases of roses that were familiar to her hands and eyes.
Next to that room was the turret room, a small circular area with a vaulted ceiling and no door. It was Grammie’s craft room. It contained a long wood table filled with a sewing machine, grapevine wreaths, raffia, glue guns, and wire. Racks hung on the ceiling holding upside down bundles of dried roses and herbs. From the layers of dust around, it seemed that her grandmother hadn’t even been in there for a while.
She continued on to Grammie’s room across the hall. But, she paused before opening the door. Could she really look in there knowing that her grandmother wasn’t inside humming as she pinned up her curls?
Inside, she saw Grammie’s king-sized four-poster bed with its quilted bedspread. She remembered her grandfather insisting on purchasing that particular bed twenty-five years ago. “Virginia”, he’d said, lowering his voice as if it would hide his gruff tone from the girls. “Virginia, I’m a big man...and I don’t want any short little frilly thing that my feet are going to hang off of”. Grammie agreed to purchase the man-sized bed. But, after he passed away, she removed the masculine brown plaid comforter and replaced it with a floral quilt and a fluff of pillows.
A matching dark wood dresser with an attached mirror engulfed the wall across from it. Its surface was covered with framed black and white photos. She picked up one of her parents. Their faces forced out shivering smiles from a bundle of tweeds and wool. It was winter in Lawrence where they went to college. They met at a party, never suspecting that they would be married, have two children, then lose their lives in a fatal car crash.
There were other photos of her relatives too, nameless pictures that went back decades—aunts, uncles, great grandparents. There were even hazy sepia-toned pictures of ancestors in Union uniforms from the Civil War. Their faces all had a peculiar familiarity about them, but they all seemed like strangers, people from a faraway place that she never knew.
Grammie once likened the passage of time and generations to a great cosmic train. She said, “People get on when they’re born. As they grow up, they move further up to the head of the train. When they die, the train stops and they get off. But, their descendents are continually getting on at the rear of the train. They may never meet, but they have all ridden the same train and have the single experience of that journey in common.”
Georgia looked at an old photo of a young woman wearing a white cotton dress and a large straw hat standing next to a large rose bush. She was familiar with the face in this picture.
It was MargaretCrawford, her Great Aunt and daughter of WilliamCrawford. There was a family legend that she had thrown herself into the river behind the house when her lover, the family gardener, had run off and left her heart broken. The suicide had been a family disgrace that had been called an accident for many years to avoid family scandal.
As she studied the face, there was something about the dark round shape of her eyes and the thin highly arched brows that reminded her of her own face looking back at her from the mirror. She thought about her grandmother’s quote. This girl had definitely ridden the same family ‘train’.
She and Marsha had once used a Ouija board to try to contact her ghost when they were teenagers. They had been down in the basement at midnight with a single candle and were scared half out of their wits when Grandpa snuck down and did his most theatrical ‘Boo’!
She was lost in her memories when she heard the loud fluster of noise from the room across the hall.
Chapter 14
Opal sat in her car across the street from the Blake house, wondering what to do now that she saw a car in the driveway. She hadn’t figured that anyone would be there.
It should be empty. Who’s there? Should I go in anyway? Under what pretext?
She thought it might be a realtor checking the place out. It was a nice chunk of property with a spacious Victorian dwelling. Maybe some investor from out of town was—
As she squinted at the house through the glaring rays of sunlight that had escaped from the cloud cover, she saw movement inside. Lights turned on and off in different rooms as if someone was touring through it. But, that wasn’t what had drawn her attention.
She could tell that something was very different about the house. If she looked hard enough, the walls on either side seemed to breathe in and out with some evil presence.
Was it her imagination? Or, should she run in and rescue the person who had been foolish enough to walk right in to a potential maelstrom of entities?
She hesitated with her hand on the door handle of the car for several minutes and studied the navy-colored sedan parked on the damp gravel. It looked as new as a shiny penny.
There were no car dealerships in Calathia, or within fifty miles, for that matter. She wondered if it was a rental car driven by someone from out of town. A relative of Virginia’s? She couldn’t remember if Virginia had ever mentioned any family who lived close by during their short miserable night together.
Her attention
shifted as she saw something move behind the sheer white curtains of the front window that lined much of the expanse of the porch. At the same time, a light came on in an upstairs room. Now, she knew there were two people in the house.
A shadow—the very tall shadow of a man—was pressed against the cloth. He seemed to be standing very still. Was he watching her just as she was watching him?
He pulled back the curtains, and though she still couldn’t make out the man’s features, she now clearly saw the rectangular outline of the top hat that she remembered so well from the night of the séance. A shudder ran through her body.
It’s him. Oh God...
She blinked her eyes then shut them, hoping that she was home in bed and just having a terrible dream. But, when she reopened them a few seconds later, he was still there, standing like a sentinel manning his post.
So...now she knew. He was in there. Whoever or whatever he was, he hadn’t left.
She froze and waited to see what he would do next.
For a minute or longer, he didn’t move. Then, she noticed two spots of reddish light emerging from behind the glass. It confused her until she realized that the brilliance was coming from the spirit’s eyes. The reddish glow, like the luminescent tips of firebrands reminded her of the description of a demonic pig’s glowing red eyes in a horror book that she had read many years back.
Her body became so cold with fear—a shiver ran all the way from the top of her head down to her toes, and she found herself unable to move...to think...to even breathe.
He stared at her with those unreal eyes that didn’t blink at all. They seemed mechanical, like the crimson light from an electric alarm clock in the middle of the night, an almost robotic emanation from some kind of invincible monster.
He saw her. There was no doubt about it. Was he giving her a warning to stay away?
For now, it was certainly working. She couldn’t imagine dredging up an ounce of the pounds of bravery that she would need to face such an unreal creature.
Another thought shattered the fragile sense of safety that she had as she sat in her locked car. She was only about twenty yards away from the house. It seemed certain that glass or brick couldn’t contain such a determined spirit, unless he was somehow spiritually bound to the confines of the property. If not, in any second he could come right through that window and leap across the street at her. She imagined someone later finding her body slumped back against the headrest. They might determine that, like Virginia, she had a heart attack, and God had just called her number.
God. Would he help her now, even though she had forsaken a pious life for the mysteries of the unknown and unleashed one of Satan’s dominion?
Feeling the spirit’s eyes boring into her, it took tremendous effort to will herself to move. Her hand shook as she fumbled for the pewter cross and held it up against her heart, wondering if those eyes could kill her just by their stare.
She tore her gaze away from the awful sight in the window. Then, she twisted the cross back and forth in her hands. Jesus, help me. Would the Lord bother with her prayers, knowing that she was a spiritual law-breaker? Having broken the biblical rules against divination and fortune telling, would he even listen to her pleas?
She felt alone...so alone...as she felt the eyes bearing into her. It was a sick feeling, like a hot ray of malevolence, piercing into her body.
I can’t go in there. I can’t do it.
Her plan was officially aborted for now.
She drove a little further down the street until she was out of the direct line of sight from the house. Then, she decided to wait and watch until the visitor left to make sure that he or she was safe.
But, as the minutes ticked by, and the blue sedan didn’t pass her on the road, she grew more and more fearful for the driver’s safety.
Chapter 15
The picture frame slipped from Georgia’s hands. It fell, and the glass cracked diagonally across the bottom right corner as it hit the dresser top. She muttered an apology to her grandmother and placed the picture upright in its former spot.
As she walked towards the room across the hall, she heard the noise again. It was a rustling sound, like someone was shuffling a stack of paper.
The room had once been Marsha’s. It was the same room where Annie had seen something moving the curtain earlier.
Her first thought was that the stray cat might be locked in the room, or perhaps the window was cracked, and the wind was flipping open the pages of a magazine.
Despite these rationalizations, her hand shook a little as she turned the doorknob.
“Hello...?” she called out as she opened the door.
As she peered in, she saw that the room was empty.
The guest room, as it had been called since Marsha left to move in with Steven, was rarely used. It consisted of a small daybed, a roll-top desk, a nightstand with a porcelain lamp, and an oval braided rug in the center of the floor.
The window was closed, and there were no fluttering papers or magazines in sight.
“Here kitty kitty...” she called.
She looked toward the closet. Perhaps he was locked inside.
As she yanked the door open, she saw a wardrobe of women’s suits, formal dresses, and coats. Up above on the shelf, there was a double row of shoeboxes all neatly labeled with their contents in Grammie’s script. On the floor, there was a line of shoes...nothing at all that could have made the sound she heard.
Exasperated, she shut the door and decided to look under the bed.
She crouched down and lifted the dust ruffle. Instead of feline eyes or something else to explain the noise, she saw a row of boxes. But, on the right side, she spied an eighteen-inch long wooden chest that she’d never seen before.
She forgot about investigating the noise and took out the wooden chest. She was dismayed to find out that it wouldn’t open without a key. She felt around the floor for a key near the other boxes but came up empty handed. With her fingers, she tried to pry open the sides, but the effort only resulted in a torn fingernail. She sucked a drop of blood off the tip where the skin came away.
She cursed and shoved the box back into place. “It’s probably nothing but birth certificates and her old marriage license”.
She found a Band-aid in the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink in the hall bathroom. Her finger throbbed with pain as she wrapped it and inadvertently knocked the box off the corner of the sink into the basin. As she retrieved it, she thought she caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror from behind her.
She swiveled around and faced the closed shower curtain. Its peach ruffles and pleats hung silent and still. Without hesitation, she grabbed the edge and flung it back in one swift motion.
There was nothing—only spotless tile and grout and a bar of French-milled lavender soap in the holder.
I’m getting jumpy. I need to go.
She walked, then scurried down the spiral staircase, muttering to herself. Whatever she had seen in the mirror was not peach-colored and frilly. It had been dark, like the outline of a face, and seemed to dissolve in a fraction of a second when she looked back up into the mirror. My hair, she thought. Maybe it was just the reflection of my hair. It moved as I moved my head.
There was some comfort in that rationalization as she remembered that she still needed to water the geraniums on the porch before she left.
On her way into the kitchen, she grabbed the sad flowers from the table, tossed them into the trash, and dumped the putrid water in the sink. Then, she found a pitcher, filled it with water and went out to give the geraniums a good soak.
Before leaving, she opened the refrigerator. It was filled with a full gallon of milk, an unopened loaf of bread, a pitcher of orange juice, and a half-eaten peach cobbler that looked like Annie’s work, among a dozen other items that made it appear that her grandmother had gone to the grocery store just before she died. It was a sad reminder that just a few days before, she had been in the house eating and sleeping..
.and living her life.
Two minutes later, she had the front door locked and was on her way down the steps towards the car. On the last step, she paused.
Where was Annie’s pie?
She looked up and down the steps, along the porch and the muddy driveway, and on her car hood...but it was nowhere.
She blew out an exasperated puff of air and sniffed her fingers, smelling the cinnamon that had been on the crust. That was definite proof that she hadn’t imagined Annie giving it to her.
As she got back in the car and drove east towards Marsha’s, her stomach grumbled with disappointment. She hadn’t had one of Annie’s pies in years.
A pie thief—out in the middle of the country. Now ain’t that a cute one!
Chapter 16
Opal watched the sedan whizzed past her, not caring that the careless driver sped through a mud puddle and spattered the side of her white car with muck. Thankful was too weak of a word for the feeling she had when she knew that the visitor to the house had escaped from the house with their life.
She had seen the profile of the driver from behind as the car sped away. Even though she had seen short, cropped dark hair, the slim neckline suggested that the driver was a woman.
Despite the woman’s safe departure, she could still feel a dark presence emanating from the Blake house. What had happened in there? Had the spirit revealed himself? Threatened her? Scared her away? Was that why she had driven away like a madwoman with her wheels on fire?
She knew that the spirit was a fixture of the house now as much as its pretty green trim and brick chimney. He had seen her and obviously was not happy with her return. She knew that he would be prepared for her when she came back, and would likely attack her in some way.
A stifled giggle fell out of her mouth. That assumed that she would find the courage to return to the house and face him. If she mustered up the balls to do that, how on earth would she protect herself? The bottle of Holy Water seemed like a joke after what she had seen in the window. She imagined herself brandishing the bottle, only to have him double over in horrible laughter right before he smashed her brains into oblivion.
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