"It's okay, Meg," Arlene said with relief, as she worked to get her breathing under control and slow her palpitating heart. "They're only stone statues that some people put outside their homes to frighten off evil spirits."
"Yeah, they're just gargoyles, for pity's sake," Renee said, glaring at Megan as she worked to calm her own racing heart.
"Yes— and no," Arlene said, not ready to move on until her heart stopped racing. "Strictly speaking, no. The term gargoyle was originally applied to figures that disguised the downspout on a building's rain drainage system. Many people lump all the statues together these days and refer to them as gargoyles, but if they don't have a drainpipe sticking up their— through their body, they should be called grotesques. You can still find them on many of the old homes in Europe and America, and on most of the oldest churches and government buildings. I read up on them after my sister gave me a miniature of a grotesque that can still be seen on Notre Dame Cathedral in France."
"They're hideous," Megan said, still trembling noticeably. "Arlene, I swear that the eyes of the one on the right side were glowing when I looked up. And I saw it actually move!"
"I'm sure it was only shifting shadows caused by clouds passing in front of the moon. They're made of solid stone, Meg. They can't hurt you; unless one happens to fall on you."
"What now, Ar?" Renee asked nervously, as she stared up at the building's sinister, three-story-high façade of dark-grey Connecticut Granite.
A dramatic example of the Gothic Revival architecture popular in nineteenth century America, most of the mansion was capped by a garret sheathed in Pennsylvania Slate roofing tiles of dark blue, black, and deep magenta. A forbidding granite-faced tower rose ominously from the center of the building, just behind the front portico, to a height of five stories.
From where she stood, the topmost floor of the tower appeared to be an open gallery, and Arlene wondered if one could see the harbor from up there. Widow's Walk observatories are common on old New England homes, and everyone knew that the Westfield family had been prominent in local whaling and shipping activities during the nineteenth century.
"I suppose we should try the front doors," Arlene replied, looking towards the two weathered oak behemoths set in a darkened archway of ornately fretted and polished grey granite that served as the main entrance to the house.
Climbing the stone steps of the portico first, Arlene walked towards the threshold and reached for the massive, ornamented brass handle on the right door. It had always fallen upon her to venture forth while the others held back. Depressing the latch button with her thumb, she pushed on the door— but nothing happened. She tried again, this time putting her shoulder into the door, but she was still met with unyielding resistance. Renee joined her then, gripping the handle of the other door and pushing, but the two substantial doors remained tightly sealed.
"I didn't feel anything give, did you?" Renee asked.
"Nope. I guess that it was too much to hope for. We'll have to find another way in."
"I am not climbing through any basement windows," Erin stated vociferously from behind them, "so you can forget that idea right now!"
"A house this large has to have a number of entrances," Arlene said as she turned. "Let's walk around it and try the other doors before we talk about climbing through basement windows."
"I just want it to be perfectly clear from the start that I don't do basements in old, spooky houses. It's not the ghosts; it's the freaking spiders— and snakes— and rodents."
"The road goes around to the right," Arlene said calmly. "Let's try that way."
A wide sturdy door, beneath a slate-covered protruding roof towards the rear of the house, provided the next opportunity for possible entry. Facing two outbuildings, possibly a carriage house and a stable, the door looked like it might be the kitchen entrance. As in any wealthy household, there had to be easy kitchen access so that food and supplies could be brought in without disturbing the family. It would also be the entrance that servants and trades people used. Arlene imagined that the mansion's first floor, designed for impressing visitors, or entertaining large gatherings of relatives, friends, and guests, probably contained only sets of double doors in most every doorway outside of the servant areas. Failing to budge the very solid door even slightly, the girls continued their travel around the house.
Near the rear of the mansion, a set of steps rose to a raised terrace area. At the top of the stairway, the girls found themselves on a large patio that overlooked the overgrown vegetation in the estate's once magnificent gardens. Several fountains and a large reflecting pool, now empty, dotted the area. At least ten sets of double doors faced the rear yard from this part of the house. Blistered and peeling white paint on the window sashes and doorframes further attested to the neglect that the exterior of the mansion had suffered in recent years.
They were on their third set of terrace doors when the combined efforts of Arlene and Renee were rewarded. As they pushed, they felt a slight movement; so they leaned in harder. The doors suddenly flew open, sending them sprawling onto maple parquet inside the house.
Lying on the dust-covered floor next to Renee, Arlene saw baby angels flying overhead and playfully hiding among the clouds. The angels imparted a strangely hypnotic and peaceful mood.
"Look at the ceiling, Ren," Arlene whispered as she moved the beam of her flashlight around. "It's like a church."
"Oh wow," Renee said. "Is this a chapel or something?"
Propping herself up on dusty elbows, Arlene swept the light from her flashlight around the massive room in a slow arc. Two wide balconies, similar to what were once common in theatres, extended three-quarters of the way around the room at the second and third-story levels, while a fourth-story arched ceiling adorned with frescoes covered the room. Elaborate gold leaf plasterwork moldings either outlined sections of the beige walls, or framed murals of New England landscapes, while three enormous, Austrian cut glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, waiting patiently for someone to bring them new candles. A two-foot-high raised platform, complete with footlights and large enough to hold a full orchestra, occupied one end of the room. Except for numerous sheet-covered chairs and sofas, positioned at irregular intervals around the perimeter, the rest of the floor space was empty.
"No, it's a ballroom. See," Arlene said, aiming the flashlight, "there's the stage for the musicians."
"Kewl," Renee said. "This place is as big as the gym at school. What a party we could throw in here. Too bad no one would come."
"Why wouldn't people come?"
"The ghosts, remember?"
"Oh, yeah," Arlene replied.
Grinning, Renee said, "Of course, some heavy metal or rap might be just the thing to drive them out."
"Is it safe to come in?" Megan whispered loudly from outside.
"C'mon in, the room is clear," Arlene said, as she and Renee got to their feet and began patting their clothes to remove the heaviest concentrations of dust.
"What is this?" Erin asked as she and Megan entered.
"It appears to be a ballroom," Arlene answered.
"Is this where we'll do it?" Megan asked, referring to the séance.
"No, let's go to the parlor at the front of the house," Arlene replied, as she turned and began walking towards a wide set of doors at the far end of the room. "There's a table there."
"Parlor? Table?" Renee questioned, as she fell in behind Arlene. "You've been in here before?"
Arlene stopped so abruptly that Renee walked into her. Turning to face the others, she wore a confused look as she said, "No, I haven't."
"Then how do you know they have a parlor?" Erin asked. "And how do you know that it's at the front of the house? And how do you know there's a table there?"
"I don't know; everything just feels so— familiar. Perhaps I dreamt it." Shrugging her shoulders as she shook herself mentally, she added, as nonchalantly as possible, "All mansions have parlors or sitting rooms; most have several, in addition to
drawing rooms, music rooms, studies, and libraries. One was usually set up with one or more card tables. They didn't have radio or television years ago, so they often played cards for entertainment."
"Where did you hear that?" Renee asked.
"I remember my mom telling me when she taught me how to play Bridge." Pausing for a few seconds, she sighed and said, "Well, let's see if my intuition about the parlor is right." Turning again towards the doors, she began walking. The others clustered behind her.
"You play Bridge?" Renee said to Arlene's back.
"Not as good as my mom," Arlene said over her shoulder, "she's fantastic. It sometimes seems as if she knows what's in everyone's hand and what cards they'll play. While cleaning up in our basement this spring, I found a huge box full of trophies she won in card tournaments before I was born. We play occasionally when there isn't anything else to do, like during winter evenings."
"I thought that you needed four people for Bridge," Erin remarked.
"Most bridge is played by four people, but there's a variant called Honeymoon Bridge, which only requires two players. I've also read about variations of the game that are designed for three players. We always play with four though because my father and sister play. Jimmy can't play anything yet, except 'Go Fish.' And he cheats," Arlene said, grimacing to herself. "My mother lets him get away with it, using the excuse that he's only eight. I keep telling her that he should be taught that cheating is never acceptable, at any age."
Upon reaching the far end of the room, Arlene hesitated momentarily when a dark shadow seemed to flit across the dual oak doors facing her. She blinked, and looked again, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Deciding that it must have been simply a shadow caused by another cloud passing quickly in front of the moon, she stretched out her hand and slowly pushed down on the lever-style handle of the right door. The latch released with an audible click as the handle reached the end of its travel, and the heavy door began to swing inward noisily, protesting every millimeter of movement, as she pulled lightly on the handle. The screeching sound of door hinges long dry of lubricant, sent cold shivers up and down the spine of each girl.
Where the ballroom seemed almost bright, with moonlight flooding in through eight sets of double terrace doors, the hallway that faced them was black as pitch. Even with their eyes somewhat accustomed to the dark, it was impossible to see even a foot into the gloom without the aid of the flashlight. As she faced the deeply oppressive darkness, Arlene again experienced the dread feeling of foreboding that she'd felt as they approached the house. Were she alone, she would turn around immediately and leave the house.
"I'm not so sure about this, Ar," Renee said nervously.
"We can't turn back now," Arlene said, putting up a brave front, but almost hoping that someone would refuse to enter the oppressive darkness so they would have to forget about finding their way to the front of the mansion.
"But it's pretty dark in there."
"We have a flashlight," Arlene said, struggling to keep her voice calm.
"Uh, wait a minute," Erin said, then turned and ran back towards the open terrace doors. Disappearing outside momentarily, she reappeared holding something in her hand. After closing the doors, she raced back to where the others were waiting and held out a five-foot long stick to Arlene. "For the spider webs," she said simply, then added, "or rodents, or snakes— or— whatever."
Arlene swallowed, took the stick in her left hand, and then stood peering pensively into the somberness of the corridor. Suddenly, three pairs of hands snaked out and gripped her upper arms from behind. As each of the other girls tried to move closer to her, their actions actually propelled her forward with mincing steps through the open doorway. She could have resisted, and pushed back, but instead nervously swept the flashlight through the darkness in front of her. Each sweep of the light revealed the former grandeur of the corridor. Walls of beige Vermont marble, polished to a lustrous finish, rose from a floor of Vermont rose-grey marble. With each tiny step, Arlene's breathing seemed to grow more ragged and her heart seemed to beat faster. The stick in her left hand was kept busy ripping down dust-covered webs— the life's work of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of spiders— that extended from side wall to side wall.
They moved through the ominous gloom at a snail's pace. The long, wide corridor seemed to stretch interminably into the darkness, changing direction first to the right, and then to the left. After the first turn, the open door to the ballroom, with bright, alluring moonbeams of light marking its presence, disappeared from sight, and only blackness stretched out both ahead and behind. The only sounds to be heard were the clip-clop of Erin's sandals on the dusty stone floor, and the echoes that reverberated in the darkness. Arlene was too preoccupied to notice the ragged breathing of the three nervous faces pressed close to her shoulders and neck as she felt herself being guided, like the planchette on an Ouija board, past half a dozen doorways, to a particular set of doors. She wasn't even sure if she was being directed by the three friends that gripped her arms and pushed her along, or by some more-powerful unseen force, but there seemed to be little doubt about their destination.
Their travel culminated at the front entrance hall, where three sets of double doors and a wide curved stairway that rose into repressive darkness offered them continued passage. As Arlene was maneuvered towards the doors on her immediate left, the light from her flashlight reflected brightly off the highly polished surfaces. She felt the grip on her upper arms tighten again as they halted just a foot from the doors. Taking a deep breath, she transferred the stick to the hand with the flashlight, and reached out towards the handle, gripping it tightly for several seconds before trying to push it downwards.
The latch clicked loudly, the sound echoing a half dozen times in the deathly quiet of the foyer and corridor. Arlene relaxed her grip on the handle, allowing it to return to its normal horizontal position, and then watched as the door seemed to open by itself to the continued protest of its hinges. The hands on her arms gripped her even more tightly still as a large parlor was revealed. She was again propelled forward in much the same way that someone is caught up in a crowd, not that she wouldn't have entered the room of her own accord, given the opportunity.
Moonlight, surging through two large windows like incoming waves on the afternoon tide, illuminated the spacious interior sufficiently for them to see the white outlines of sheet covered furniture. The dry, stale, and dusty air of the room seemed to suck the very moisture from their bodies as it filled their nostrils and throats.
"This is what we're looking for," Arlene whispered. Pointing the flashlight, she said, "That looks like it might be a card table over there."
"Why are you whispering?" Renee whispered back.
"I don't know. I guess that I feel like an intruder."
"We're not intruding on anybody here," Renee said, her face just inches from Arlene's ear. "The house is unoccupied and the estate guards have all gone home for the night."
"I know," Arlene said. "But it's not…" Arlene suddenly stiffened, the new tautness of her muscles instantly relayed to the hands gripping her arms.
"It's not what?" Renee asked nervously after a couple of seconds of complete silence. "Ar, are you okay? Arlene?"
Pulled from her reverie, Arlene said, "Uh, I was just going to say that it isn't my house, when I suddenly saw this room in daylight, clean and bright, and occupied by a dozen or so people."
"Occupied by whom?" Erin asked.
"I don't know, but they seemed familiar somehow. The women were dressed in floor-length gowns, and the men were wearing strangely cut suits, the sort you see in museums. A woman holding a teacup and saucer was standing in front of me, carrying on about the latest fashions from Paris. I felt perfectly at ease, like— I was home again."
"Okay, that's it," Renee said, "time to head out."
"No, wait," Arlene said. "We haven't held the séance yet."
Renee breathed deeply and said, "Okay, but if you zone out on us
again, I'm leaving."
"Okay, no zone outs. You guys can let go of my arms now. I'd like to get a little circulation back into them."
One by one, the girls relaxed their grip and then released her arms. Normal capillary action beneath the skin immediately began to erase all evidence of the tight grasps.
"How about lighting some of those candles that you brought?" Renee said at a normal speaking volume.
"Coming up," Arlene responded. "Erin, hold the flashlight while I get them out. Here, Erin, take this stick also. Somebody take that sheet off the table."
Renee moved to the table and gripped one end of the protective sheet. Then, in a foolish display that she would instantly regret, she whipped it off with the panache of a magician attempting to remove a tablecloth without disturbing the place settings. A dust storm swirled above the table and all about her body as a richly accented piece of exceptionally fine cherry wood furniture was revealed. After dropping the sheet to one side, and coughing from the years of accumulated dust she'd set in frenzied motion, she more fastidiously removed the sheets covering each of the four matching chairs.
Once illuminated by the soft flickering glow of three candles placed on the table, the room acquired a warm, almost welcoming appearance, despite its twelve-foot-high ceiling. While Erin walked around the room, destroying dusty spider webs by the score, Arlene placed two more candles on the mantle atop a beautiful White Carrara Marble fireplace, and another in an empty wall sconce. She had brought the three-inch thick, long burning kind instead of the very slender tapers typically used on a dinner table. They would have light for as long as they needed it.
"What do we do now?" Megan asked.
When The Spirit Moves You Page 3