by Roger Hayden
“But the second guy? He was the ghost?” he asked.
She smacked him lightly on the shoulder, taking offense. “This isn’t a joke. We need to find out more about this house before we invest any more of our money into it.”
Curtis calmed down and pulled him closer, hugging her. “I know you’re worried about the future. I am too, but these things you’re seeing, I think it’s all stress.”
Mary backed away in his arms, unconvinced. “Stress?”
“I’ll talk to the movers and roofers, honey, and get to the bottom of this, but I want you to take it easy. You’re not ready for all of this excitement. I can see it in your face.”
“I’m lucid enough to know what I see and hear,” she said.
He squeezed her hands, trying to make a case for calm. As they stood there in front of their supposed dream house, she found it harder and harder to deny him. “Why don’t we get away from this place and go into town? I’m getting a headache just standing here.”
She looked around in deep thought, trying to reach a resolution. It sounded like a nice enough idea, and beyond it all, she had a burning desire to find out more about the Bechdel mansion. Perhaps there were people in town who could help her.
***
They drove into town on a blue sky day, prepared to get the lay of the land and meet some people in the process. The mansion was roughly three miles from any home, store, or gas station, and it was nice to escape all the activity at home and rejoin civilization. Mary tried to put all the recent strangeness out of her mind and enjoy the scenic beauty of the town before them, a stunning contrast to the traffic and noises of the city. They had entered a different world.
It was a Sunday, and they passed a quaint white church like something out of a story book. Amidst its fresh green lawn and picket fence, a congregation flowed out of the double-door entrance toward a side parking lot. A wooden sign sat in front of the church with words professionally painted over saying, First Christ Church of Redwood.
“Looks like we just missed it,” Curtis said with a smile as they passed.
Mary turned and watched the church as families in their dress clothes, men and women, old and young alike, slowly walked along looking cheerful and vibrant. Mary was raised by Baptists parents but couldn’t remember the last time she had been to church. Mark identified as a Christian but went to Church as much as she. Generally, he worked about seven days a week at the law firm back in Chicago, where Mary worked from home as an illustrator for children’s books. She never thought she’d ever marry a lawyer, but something about them just clicked. She had felt it since day one.
“It looks nice,” she said, her head turned to the back window and watching the steeple as they continued on. She sat down and touched Mark’s hand resting on the armrest. “Maybe we should attend services next weekend and get to know some people.”
“Whatever your heart desires,” Mark said with a smirk. He then shook his head. “The things I do for love.”
Mary turned to him, mouth agape. “As if it would kill you to go to church.” She then leaned back against the headrest and placed her sunglasses on. “I think it would be good for us with everything that’s happened.”
“Church is boring,” Curtis said matter-of-factly.
Mary laughed. “This coming from someone who practices law.”
They passed a park where children climbed a jungle gym and a corner store to their right where an older man was fueling up his boat hitched to his truck at the gas pump. Downtown was in sight, and its series of brick roads, light posts, and buildings. “Historic Downtown,” they called it. There was a fire station to their left, small like everything else, that had its bay doors open revealing a shiny red fire truck. A sign on the at the end of the driveway said, “Redwood Fire Department.”
A few blocks past the fire station, they saw the police department again where two officers in beige uniforms were talking outside the door. Their heads turned toward the vehicle as Curtis passed and they waved. Curtis gave them a wave back and smiled. “Isn’t this place something?” he asked Mary.
“It does seem like a safe, nice town,” she said. She scanned the buildings ahead, hoping to see the library. Then she wondered if it would even be open on a Sunday. They passed a book store with carts of old books out front, but that wasn’t what she was looking for.
“You could use this place in one of your stories,” Curtis said. “Take your sketch pad out here and capture it.”
“I plan to,” Mary said, “but it’ll be for fun. I don’t write the stories.”
“I have you called your work yet and let them know you’re settling in?” he asked.
The thought so far hadn’t crossed her mind. She’d been on maternity leave for few weeks and was planning on taking at least one more. “I’ll call them tomorrow,” she said.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Curtis said. “Relax and put it off.” Curtis scanned the shops as they drove down Main Street. Mary knew that he was looking for a potential spot to set up his own practice, but their dwindling finances concerned her. During the drive from Chicago, she had suggested that find a partnership in Redwood. There had to be a law office out there somewhere. He had originally balked at the idea, but they would have to start somewhere.
They came to a parking lot near a pizza place aptly titled “Redwood Pizza,” completely with an old-fashioned hanging sign in front of the door. It was the same place they had ordered from the night before.
“This looks like a good place to park and walk around. Library’s just up the street,” he said, turning in.
Mary was relieved to hear it. Her desire for knowledge on the mansion’s history was inescapable despite the nonchalant, amiable face she was wearing. Curtis parked between a truck and jeep and turned off the ignition while glancing the rear-view mirror.
“Bob Deckers,” he said, surprised.
Mary turned her head. There was a man in suit standing under the canopy of a building behind them. “Who?” she asked.
“That’s the guy who sold us the mansion. Must be his realtor office,” Curtis said. He opened his door and stepped out as Mary put on her sun hat and exited the car, her sandals touching the hot pavement.
They walked to the rear of the car where Curtis maintained his attention on the man by the building. He looked to be in his fifties with gray slicked black hair, darkly tan and lighting a cigarette. “Let’s go talk to him,” Curtis said, taking her hand. “I want to ask him about leasing some space.”
Mary stayed in place and politely moved her hand away. “You talk to him, honey. I want to check and see if the library is open.” The truth was that she was lost in her thoughts and didn’t feel like talking to a lot of people at the moment. She didn’t want to be rude, but it was a feeling she couldn’t deny.
Curtis turned, frustrated but understanding. “At least come say hi to the man. He really helped us out.”
“Later,” Mary said. “I promise.”
Curtis shook his head. “All right. Don’t go far.”
“I’ll meet you at the library,” she said, waving.
“Sure thing,” Curtis said, waving back. She watched as he hurried to the building calling out Bob’s name and shaking his hand. Bob looked startled and surprised to see him. His lips then moved upward to form a big gaping smile as Curtis continued talking. The exchanged words and then Bob slapped Curtis on the back, opening the door to his office and leading him inside. Mary felt free to walk through the town on her own to get a feel of the place. Someone had to have the answers she needed.
What had her visions meant? Was it all really in her head? She was, in fact, a believer in the supernatural. She had seen too many strange things her entire life, but had always suppressed her ability to do so—from as far back as a teenager. There was a lot Curtis didn’t know about from back then, and she was determined to keep it that way.
She approached the sidewalk and moved past the pizza place, passing a closed consignment shop an
d next door art gallery. Redwood seemed to have a little of everything, and she was excited to see a crafts store with art supplies in the window. It was closed as well, but she made a note to stock up later. A few people passed her by as she smiled and nodded, but there weren’t near as many people out as the previous day.
She heard a church bell toll as the library came into distance—a long gray building with a flat roof and large tinted windows. It was surrounded by vertical metal railing and nicely trimmed bushes. She didn’t see anyone around the building, but something told her to keep going. The open gate in the center was a good sign.
As she walked past a closed bar, a woman stepped into her path from an alley, scaring the hell out of her. She was old and frazzled-looking with a long, dirty and plain dress about two sizes too large for her that concealed her feet and a green jacket. She was seemingly intoxicated as well. Mary froze as her heart skipped a beat.
“Oh my God! You startled me,” she said, carefully moving around the woman.
The woman stared her down, not saying a word, with her gray hair sprouted in all directions. She wore bright red lipsticks amidst the heavy bags under her glazed eyes. As Mary passed, the woman turned to her with a long finger in the air.
“You… You and your husband,” she said in a low, scratchy voice.
Mary stopped and turned around, facing the woman dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve made a terrible mistake,” the woman said.
Mary stepped forward, angered. “What are you talking about? You know my husband?”
“You don’t belong here. Outsider…” she hissed with contempt. Any normal person would have walked away from the woman, considering her crazy, but Mary felt a strong urge to probe her ramblings further.
“Tell me what you know,” she said.
The woman shook her head, lost in her own thoughts. She looked as though she had just crawled out of a paper bag, but there was something even stranger than her appearance. She exhibited a certain wisdom, concealed behind endless wrinkles and dirty layers of clothing.
The woman opened her mouth to speak when a man approached her from behind and placed a hand on her shoulders. “That’s all right, Evelyn, let’s take you home.”
The woman jumped as Mary stood there in wonder. The man looked up at Mary, clean-shaven with a smile on his face. He had thick white hair, neatly brushed to the side. His dark-blue three-piece suit was a stark contrast to the woman’s tattered and oversized clothes.
“Hi, I’m Phil,” he said, extending his hand.
Mary nodded and shook his hand. “I’m Mary. Nice to meet you.”
The woman looked down and mumbled to herself, her train of thought broken.
“I apologize if ol’ Evelyn gave you a scare. She wandered from the retirement home again.” He squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “She’s been gone all night. The staff has been worried sick.”
Mary smiled. “Well, I’m glad she has somewhere to go.”
The man narrowed his eyes in curiosity at her. “You and your husband just moved here, correct?”
“Wow. Word gets around,” she said.
“It sure does,” Phil responded.
“That’s correct,” she said. “We arrived yesterday.”
“And you’re staying in the old mansion, eh?”
“We are. It—It’s been interesting so far,” she said.
Phil smiled again, exposing bright white teeth. “I certainly hope you get settled in okay.” He paused for a moment and stepped closer to Mary as Evelyn rocked in place muttering. “I’m the pastor at the First Christ Church of Redwood. Pastor Phil they call me. I sure hope you and your husband can attend our services sometime.”
Mary nodded politely with a smile.
Realizing that he may have been a bit forward, Phil backtracked. “That is… if you’re practicing members of the faith.”
“I’m sure we’d love to check it out sometime,” she said.
Phil snapped his fingers as though recalling something. “We’re having our annual summer Barbecue next week. Y’all should come on out and see everyone.”
“That sounds… really nice,” she said.
Seeming satisfied, Phil turned back to Evelyn and took her by the hand. “It was nice meeting you Mrs. Malone, but I gotta take ol’ Evelyn here back home.”
“Pleasure meeting you as well,” she said, though she didn’t recall telling him her last name.
He waved and walked off with Evelyn in tow and then turned around, calling out to Mary. “I look forward to meeting your husband!”
Mary waved back and watched as they moved across the crosswalk to the other side of the road. A few cars passed as she stood there thinking about the woman’s words. They could have been the ramblings of a mentally damaged woman, or they could mean something more. She turned back to the library, reading to investigate and uncover whatever was behind the creeping strangeness that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
Chapter Seven
Unearthed
Mary was glad to see that the library was, in fact, open. There were a few rooms with rows of old bookshelves and several empty chairs and tables in the center for patrons to sit and read at. There was an older man at the check-out table sitting on a stool reading a newspaper. He wore a checkered button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and looked up at Mary as she walked in with his rectangular-shaped glasses resting on the tip of his nose. Inside, the library was eerily quiet as sunlight shined through the cracks of blinds of surrounding windows. She found the vintage aesthetic of the white plaster walls and faded red carpet before her comforting but also felt nervous being the only person there—so she thought.
“Good morning,” she said to the man, approaching his counter.
His wrinkled face gave her a polite smile and he eyed her like the complete stranger she was. His black, thinning was slicked back and his skinny neck hung down in folds. He appeared frail and skinny, and when he spoke, she detected a northeastern accent. Like her, she assumed that everyone in town was from somewhere else at one point, or maybe families had been in Redwood for generations. It was exactly what she intended to find out with the time she had to look around.
“Morning,” he said back. “Welcome to the Redwood Public Library.”
“Thanks,” she said, looking around. “I wasn’t sure if you were open today or not.”
“Seven days a week. My wife, Sheila, and I hold the place down.”
A mom and pop library? Mary thought. Now she had seen everything. “That’s great,” she said. She didn’t want to point out the empty tables and aisles but the man seemed to have read her mind.
“Sundays are our slowest in the morning. Big church community and all. By afternoon we usually get a good crowd,” he said.
Mary approached the counter and placed her hands flat on its mahogany surface. “I’m Mary. My husband and I just moved here from Chicago. I’d like to get a library card if I could please.”
The man nodded and leaned down, retrieving a large, dusty binder and setting on the counter. “All right, Mary, I’m Hal. I’m sure we can get you set up.” There was an old computer next to him, but he didn’t seem interested in using it. He asked her full name as well as her driver’s license.
She pulled her pocketbook out from her purse and opened it. “Oh. It still has my old address on it.”
“That’s fine,” he said, taking her license. “Just let me know the new one.”
He began scribbling onto a sheet in the open binder, taking down Mary’s name. The subdued quietness of the library alone had her thinking that she’d be spending a lot of time within its walls. “I live at 513 Weatherford Lane,” she said.
Hal stopped writing as his looked up at her. “Weatherford Lane? The old Bechdel mansion?”
She was surprised that he made the connection so carefully. Perhaps the mansion had a reputation all its own. That much seemed evident in the few interactions she had experienced so far in town. “Yes, th
at would be the place,” she said.
His eyes immediately went back down as he continued writing. “Didn’t think that place would ever sell,” he said.
Curious, Mary leaned in closer. “And why is that?”
Hal looked up again, taken off guard. “Well, it’s just… It’s an old place. Too big for most people. Not really practical in today’s modern world.”
“But it’s so inexpensive,” Mary said. “Hard to believe they’d have a hard time selling it.”
Hal tore a slip from the paper neatly around the edges and handed it to Mary. “I wouldn’t know. Just seems it was held up in probate for God knows how long.” He then handed her a pen. “Sign the card here and you’re all good to go.”
Mary took the card and signed it, not entirely satisfied with what he was willing or not willing to reveal. “Mister?” she paused waiting.
“Hal. Just call me Hal,” she said, sitting back down on his stool.
“Hal. I don’t want to be too forward, but part of why I came here was to get information.”
Hal went for his newspaper and the paused, looking up with an arched brow. “What kind of information?”
“About the Bechdel mansion and its history. The history of this town. I want to find out exactly what happened there and why the murders were never solved.”
Hal leaned back with his arms crossed more reserved than before. “You some kind of reporter? We get some of them from time to time, come around here asking questions and all.”
“No, I can assure you that—”
Hal cut her off with one arm in the air, pointing. “Because if you are trying to dig up some dirt under false pretenses, I’d like you to kindly leave.”
Mary shuffled on the carpet, eager to set the record straight. “Sir. I am not a reporter. My husband and I did just move into the mansion. I’m just curious about its history.”
“Oh…” he said, calming down. “I see. Well you can’t blame me for being suspect. Folks at Redwood don’t bother anyone. They just want to live in a nice, safe community. We’re not spectacles for big city types to come down here and judge us. I think you can respect that.”