by Sharon Hays
When he was on the outskirts of Lyons, he turned off to the road leading up to the mountains and his home. He loved it out here; no close neighbors and the natural beauty of trees, wild grass, and flowers surrounded the cabin. Occasionally he would sit on his front porch, swaying back and forth on the swing he had installed ten years ago, when he and his wife lived together in this wooded paradise. Since Ellie had passed away about a year ago, Sam was lonely most of the time. He wasn’t anywhere near used to being without her. He stopped in his driveway and sat for a moment, thinking about Ellie. He envisioned them sitting next to each other on the porch in their swing, as they enjoyed the view of the mountains. He missed her greatly and tears welled up in his sad, blue eyes as he thought about her.
36
A Coke was just what Mario needed, and he sucked down a long, cold swig, ending with the proverbial ‘Ahhh! That’s damn good.’ He repeated a three gulp ritual, until it was almost empty. Six thirty on the mark and he was ready to go. He slipped his .38 into the holster and snapped it in. Walking out the door, he looked back to see if he had turned out the lights in the kitchen. His autopilot always kicked in when he left the house. He left the porch light burning, locked the door, and left for the Valencia, filled with anxiety and curiosity. When he arrived at the Manor, he parked in the side drive and waited for everyone to arrive. He turned the dial to a country music station, and tapped his fingers to a catchy Chesney tune. Then he noticed a dark-colored, midsize sedan approaching slowly and then it stopped. Backing up a little, it edged in closer to the curb. The lights went out. Mario waited in his car, lights still on, turning off the radio. He recognized the headlights of Joan’s car approaching. She parked behind him. He opened his door as Joan was climbing out of her car, and she motioned for him to follow her to the black Buick.
Joan tapped on the window of the sedan. “Father Martucci, we’re here. Are you ready?”
The priest opened his door and turned his vision immediately toward the dark stone edifice.
“It’s a very impressive structure,” he noted. “I am Father Martucci,” he said and offered a handshake. “I assume you are Joan Bishop?”
“Yes Father, I am Joan, and this is my partner in crime…investigation,” she jested, “Detective Mario Ramos.”
When Mario looked into the eyes of Father Martucci, he breifly flashed back on his past, remembering a Priest from his childhood, whom he had been very fond of. The resemblance was uncanny. For a moment he thought it was him, but then realized it couldn’t be. His priest would have been at least seventy years old by now.
“Hello Father, honored to meet you. For a moment there, I would have sworn I know you, but I guess I was mistaken. When I was a young boy, my priest looked very similar to you. Sorry if I seemed surprised when I saw you.”
“It’s quite all right, “the Father responded. “ That’s not the first time someone has said that. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Ramos.”
“Oh, just so you know; the lights have not been repaired yet, so we’ll have to use lanterns for tonight. We can’t do this in the dark!” he jested, trying to ease the tension. He took three lanterns from inside his trunk and handed one to each of them. “Make sure they are working. I just put new batteries in them so they should be fine.” Mario led the way to the entrance. Shadows played across the house as the three walked up the stairs to the massive doors under the large portal that spread out across the front of the Manor.
“Careful not to fall; the stairs are in disrepair, as is most of the house,” Joan cautioned.
Mario slipped his key into the deadbolt that had been recently installed. It opened with no resistance as he turned the handle, pushing slowly inward. Ghastly sounds jabbed through the darkness as the door opened and streams of light began to find their way across the wooden floor inside the massive room. Fleeting shadows darted from wall to wall, as they held their lanterns ahead. They walked slowly and carefully into the great room, illuminating their way into the dark Manor.
“Father, are you doing all right?” Joan held her lantern up in front of the Priest. His face appeared very serious and showed chalky white as he gazed through the room, looking up at the balcony where Mario shined his flashlight. Sculptures hung in various places on the decaying walls.
“Yes Miss Bishop, I am doing fine. I am admiring the Italian sculptures. This room is filled with beautiful antiques from Italy. This is quite a magnificent Manor, even though it has deteriorated. There is still so much beauty here.”
Joan was pleased to see that Father Martucci had an appreciation for the architecture and the artifacts. She had hoped this ritual would not be too much of a stress on the Priest. He was an older man and she did not want to put any undue stress upon him. They stood at the bottom of the staircase looking upward at the balcony. Father seemed completely engrossed in studying the interior of the enormous room.
Mario had wandered off. Joan became anxious as she began scanning her light around the room.
“Mario, where are you?” she called out.
“I had to check out a few things in here,” he called back. “Make sure we’re alone, you know. I’m checking out the pantry and kitchen. I’ll be right out.”
Joan let out a deep sigh when she heard his voice.
“Whenever you are ready I can prepare the ceremony. Everything is here in my case. You just let me know, Miss Bishop.”
“Of course, Father. Mario will be back shortly and we can go upstairs if you like.” Joan was eager to get the ritual going and to hopefully find some relief from the entities that had a hold on the manor. There had been so many strange things in and out of the Valencia, since she took the listing and she prayed the Father’s ritual would be able to put an end to the apparitions and other unusual occurrences that had befallen them since that time.
“Yes I would…very much. We can get started any time you are ready. It’s baffling how the people who owned this manor allowed it to depreciate like it has.”
“I feel the same way, but it was explained to me that they were very old and sick before they passed away. Mr. Farthington’s wife died years ago, and he recently passed away, but had been sick for quite a while. Not much a person can do in that situation, you know”
“I didn’t realize that, Miss Bishop.”
He was interrupted by a loud screech from the balcony above them. Joan held up the lantern and called for Mario. He came running out, unsnapping his holster.
“It’s the same awful sound I heard before. The haunting, gut-wrenching wail, as if someone were in agony.
I’m going upstairs. Anyone care to join me?” he said, half-joking and out of breath. “Yes, I would like to go up stairs,” Father Martucci eagerly answered.
“I’m not staying here alone,” Joan retorted, “so let’s get going. Whatever or whoever it is, can’t take all of us on, right? Father Martucci, maybe you should get started before anything else happens.”
“I’ll get my bag. This is as good a time as any, I guess. It’s by the entrance on the table.” The Father made his way toward the table near the front door, and then the door slammed shut with a deafening bang, sending a loud, haunting echo throughout the room, making everyone more frightened and anxious.
“It seems a storm has moved in and is really kicking up out there.” Father took the bag, and the three of them began the climb up the staircase.
Joan was still stunned from the door slamming, trying to regain her composure, but not letting on. Mario was a little shaken, but the storm rolling in did offer a logical explanation and he made a serious attempt to ignore it.
Their lanterns cast the usual haunting shadows as they reached the landing and stepped onto the balcony. Suddenly, though very faintly at first, an agonizing crying began emanating from the heart of the house. It was as though the house itself was grieving with hurtful, weeping moans. There seemed to be no particular direction from which it emanated, but each one of them felt the heart rendering sadness and a mourni
ng that crept right through them. The moans continued to reverberate from within the walls, and the agony was obvious. The volume continued to increase until the sound engulfed the entire edifice with its dejection.
“I am going to prepare the service now.” Father Martucci was extremely sensitive and knew the house had to be cleansed of evil quickly, before any more unnatural activity occurred. He aimed his lantern in the direction of a wall at the beginning of the balcony and placed his bag on one side of a table. Joan thought it seemed to be perfectly placed there for just such an event. Carefully, he opened the bag and began taking out his essentials, one by one and placed them on the small oak table. A candle, a canister of holy water, incense, and—
They were startled by voracious thunder and lightning outside. It seemed to blend with the atmosphere inside the room. Streaks of light flashed through the windows downstairs and lit up the house for a split second. On the floor below, someone stood in the center of the room. Shadows, lightning, thunder, and torrents of rain created deafening reverberations, sending chills through Joan’s entire body. Mario and Father Martucci were consumed with the task at hand. The priest began to perform his ceremony of prayer and ritual. The more he chanted, the louder the cries rang through the house. Lightning, thunder, torrents of hail and rain pounded the roof-top making it almost impossible to hear Father’s voice. He spoke louder and still could barely break through the wailing, crying and thunder, as each resonance took its turn, one by one. The Father prayed louder, and then louder again, trying to compete with the accompanying timbre. Mario held his lantern and stood alongside, giving the Father light to perform his ritualistic ceremony that would hopefully cleanse the Valencia of its evil. Father continued repeating his prayers through the noise that consumed the room, and the entire house.
“We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers…..” Thunder roared, lightning flashed and he kept praying and reciting the ritual. “All infernal invaders, all wicked legions…” he continued his incantation as the storm grew in intensity. “The Most High God commands you!”…The storm intensified. Shutters banged against the house, outside and the Manor seemed to be alive. A chair slid across the room and the picture of John Farthington Sr. fell from the wall, as though someone had taken it off placed it on the floor, in front of Joan. It seemed to be looking straight at her with intense anger and madness.
“Father, please hurry. This is frightening.” Joan was terrified, moving away from the portrait, as she became faint. The Manor was alive with an eerie, supernatural energy. Father Martucci kept his course, continuing the ritual of prayer, even when the sounds of the storm permeated every corner of the Manor. He lit two large candles, their flames causing bizarre shadows to creep along the walls. He carefully placed the holy water onto the small table, and then he lit the incense, releasing the essence and allowing it to permeate the musty house. An incessant sobbing became guttural and more intense, as if the core of the Manor were ready to burst from within. Father Martucci began a walk along the balcony, holding a candle and the holy water was hanging from a leather pouch; lid open. He dipped a baton into the canister and shook it to the left and to the right, reciting prayers in Latin as he made his way down the dark, narrow balcony.
Lightning pierced the windows like a sword, cutting through the darkness below and illuminating the ghostly room. Downstairs, the figure that had stood in the doorway by the kitchen appeared again. This time both Mario and Joan saw it. The hunched creature with long, scraggly hair stood, as if frozen with fear. The lightning seemed to frighten the unknown phantom, and it stood looking up at them, eyes shining with a reddish cast, piercing the dark room. Joan screamed, turning away, not able to fix her eyes on the monster. She felt a subliminal communication coming from somewhere inside the Manor, permeating her subconscious.
“Mario, I can’t stay here. Take me out of here, please,” she begged.
“Joan, if you want to go, I’ll walk you out. Take my hand and we’ll go now.” Her hand tightly held onto his as they descended the stairs.
Mario asked Father Martucci to continue, and told him that he would return shortly. He took Joan to her car, making sure she locked herself inside. He asked her to go home and told her that he would touch base when they finished, but she insisted on waiting.
Mario returned immediately to the house. He hurried up the stairs to join the Priest, but when he got to the landing, the dim candlelight was at the other end of the balcony. There was no sound of Father Martucci performing his ceremony.
“Father Martucci, how is everything going?” he asked, fear bubbling to the surface of his psyche. There was no answer. He hurried to the end of the balcony and then to the table, on which the lantern and candle had been placed. Father Martucci was nowhere to be seen.
“Father! Where are you?” Mario became frantic and began to search the rooms, opening doors, and calling his name. He looked from one end of the balcony to the other, but there was no sign of the Priest. Mario returned to where he had last seen him. One of the rooms was open when he approached and he cautiously peered inside. Father Martucci lay on the floor with his Holy Water canister spilled out onto the dusty oak boards. His head and upper half of his body lay inside the closet, and his feet were visible.
“Father! Father, wake up!” Mario dialed 911 and the station, giving the location and stats. He pulled Father Martucci out into the room where he checked his pulse and breathing. His pulse was strong, and he was taking in short, fast gasps of air. He relayed the information to the medics as he performed his basic vitals check. Mario tried to wake him, but he was unconscious. After checking for blood and injuries, he detected a small cut on the back of his head. The medics gave him instructions while he attended Father Martucci, until the ambulance arrived. EMTs lifted the Priest onto a stretcher and took him to the awaiting van. Mario continued searching the room carefully for the perpetrator.
“Mario, are you still up there?” Joan called from downstairs. “Yes I am, Joan. I’m checking it out. There must have been someone in this room.”
Joan was scared and worried and was insisting that they leave now. She was not comfortable to remain in the house.
“Let’s get out of here. Come back tomorrow. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be here now.” She was beginning to panic again.
“No Joan, you go ahead. I’ll call you when I’m done here. I’m fine. I’ve already called for backup.”
“If you don’t call in an hour, I’m calling 911.”
“Yes. I won’t be long. Promise.” And then Joan left the Manor and drove home. Mario checked out every inch of the room and the closet again, feeling for a possible door or a secret panel in the walls. He used his small hammer to knock against the walls in the closet. When the hammer hit against the back wall, it sounded hollow. He knocked and pushed against sections of the wall until one gave way, becoming loose and then he slid it to the right. Mario pushed a panel aside, revealing a very small room. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a dumbwaiter. He climbed into the small, dusty space and yanked on the cables until it began to lower down slowly, with loud squeals. He continued to pull the cables until it came to a stop. A damp, earthy odor filled the small shaft. A nauseating smell started to fill the air. He pointed his flashlight around and flipped a switch, turning a light on inside the dumbwaiter. It was not bright, but it surprised him, since there were no other lights in the house that worked. Obviously a battery system had been installed in this dumbwaiter at some time. He pulled the door open to reveal a dark hole beneath him. The smell became even stronger.
The sliding stair was visible, and he pushed on it, lowering the metal ladder downward into the darkness, with a loud batter. The stench coming up through the room was wretched. He focused the light around the rock walls until it revealed a corner where he saw a pile of what looked like dirty rags or blankets. Carefully descending into the room from the metal stairs, he jumped onto the ground. Scanning the room, holding his
hand ready on the .38 revolver that he had unsnapped and ready in his holster, he made his way across the room. He could hear someone breathing. His light swept back and forth until it revealed a body, huddled into a fetal position, breathing in very shallow gasps. He leaned over, quietly speaking to the anonymous figure that lay in a crumpled heap on the dirt floor. The smell was putrid, and he breathed through his mouth to keep from vomiting. He had plenty of practice at horrifying death scenes that had smelled much worse than this. Mario started working at the police department as a forensic detective prior to his investigative work. He tried dialing emergency, but there was no reception on his cell from within the cavern.
“Who are you?” He tried to wake the stranger. “Hello, who are you?” he repeated. He could hear short, gasping breaths coming from the huddled figure. He took hold of one arm, finding a pulse, revealing a slow and irregular heartbeat. The face of the stranger was buried beneath dirty blankets. He pulled them away and shined the light to reveal a soiled, disheveled face covered with matted hair.
“Can you hear me?” he spoke, trying to arouse the unknown person who could possibly be dying at this point. Scanning his light, he found a bucket with water and brought it to the ailing stranger. Splashing water onto its face with his hand, he took the metal cup and tried to get hydration into its mouth.
“Hello! Wake up! We are going to get you out of here!”
He heard a weak moan. Finally…a response. It wasn’t much, but enough to know there was a good chance to save this person. He realized it was a woman, when he moved matted hair away from its face. As he continued reviving her, he placed the flashlight down on the ground beside her. Matted, dirty hair covered her face.