Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House

by Michael Swanson

  Lee called out, “What's that?"

  Miss Laura instantly swiveled about to follow the lead of his eyes. “What? Where?"

  Lee pointed by the fireplace. “The eye."

  Miss Laura swiveled about to sit forward, intently scanning the rug and floor in front of the fireplace.

  Lee picked up his glass from the table and took another sharp drink; the rum seemed to be getting stronger. He'd already drunk more than half of it, and he was to the point where he was feeling so addled, it wasn't helping him to sort things out.

  Sitting back, and savoring the bite from the rum, Lee fell back into his reverie. As it was, reality seemed to be skewing itself against him. It was just the tip of a pervasive feeling he'd had ever since his father had first told him Grandma Bonham had died. That empty hole in the pit of his stomach, a kind of queasiness or unease was becoming more and more real every day. The events of this afternoon, and this evening, were sure evidence of a growing presence. Something was definitely going on. Like in those scary movies, there comes a point where even the dumbest character, stupid enough to go down into the dark cellar, finally realizes something weird is going on. Of course, by then, like the poor fly, it's too late. It was like that now. Life, people, events, everything was becoming a glassy fog; even this very room had started to appear more like an image in one of the old photographs than a three dimensional, color reality.

  Looking around, Lee tried to put his finger on any one thing, but couldn't. Maybe it was only an effect of the glare of the overhead lights from the fan, or maybe it was how they reflected off the yellowed varnish of the paneling, but everything in the room, from the furniture to the walls themselves, looked so old and unreal. Feverish, that's what it was. Hitting upon that word, he knew that was it. The room was feverish. Fretting, too. Feverishly fretting, fretting feverishly, he played the words back and forth.

  He fell back into another analogy. It was like coming down with a bad case of the flu, there comes a point where you can't ignore the symptoms anymore; you have to give in and reconcile yourself to the fact that, like it or not, you know it's coming on. With the flu it's a green taste in the back of the mouth, a raspy throat, and that murky, fuzzy feeling behind your itchy eyes. With this, this weirdness, it was nothing and everything. But, there comes a point where you know, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself you're not getting sick, you just know, the bug's got you.

  After a while of thinking all this over and not liking what he was coming up with, Lee dared to look over. Miss Laura was still looking around, her eyes moving from place to place about the floor, obviously concentrating on nothing but locating the missing eye. Charlene was sleeping, lying on her back, her mouth wide open and her legs and arms splayed like she'd fallen from some great height. The baby was totally oblivious to the world.

  Taking his eyes from Charlene, he took some time to steal a long, careful look at Miss Laura, so prim, so proper. He came to the conclusion he was getting drunk and must have been confused by it all. The manner in which she always kept her legs crossed, something about the very way in which she sat, even the positioning of her head and neck, she was just too ladylike. Okay, if it had really happened the way he thought he remembered it, it had to be the rum, he told himself. She simply couldn't have been aware of how rattled he became when she'd innocently pulled her blouse open.

  But, even as he tried to feel better with the comfort provided by this latest rationalization, Lee knew, deep down, he'd be foolish to dismiss the presence lingering in the heat of the night air. There was something here, despite any rationalization. He felt as if the show was only just starting. Like the first tickle of a raspy throat, these symptoms weren't just going away; they were becoming even stronger. He could feel it; the fever was coming on, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. It was intense; the heat and the aura of something building seemed to permeate the room. This night wasn't over, not by a long shot. It was just like the calm, moments before a storm, when the air temperature drops, the sky turns green, and you know any second the heavens are going to open up and the wind is gonna blow and the rain's gonna fall.

  "Hey, you two look real cozy there,” his dad, said coming back into the room. “Where'd ol’ Ed get off to?"

  Miss Laura didn't say anything so Lee spoke up. “He's checking on the girls."

  Ted put Miss Laura's drink in front of her and fell into the chair opposite the couch, scooting back a few inches. “Man, we keep losing people. We'll never get through this story at this rate."

  Miss Laura picked up her glass, and at the same time absently placed her right hand on Lee's knee. He didn't want to make a big show of pulling away, but he felt really odd about her touching him. If his dad even noticed, he certainly didn't show it.

  On the floor, Charlene rolled over, taking the corner of her blanket with her in one small fist.

  Miss Laura started, suddenly putting her glass down after but one short suck at the straw. “Look! There it is. I found it! I found it!"

  "What?” Ted had a handful of peanuts in his fist and was looking up at the ceiling trying to drop them one by one into his mouth. “Found what?"

  "The glass eye!” Miss Laura was so excited she uncrossed her legs, and letting go of Lee's thigh, she reached way over. With her outstretched hand she straightened the corner of Charlene's blanket back. Then quickly, she scooped something up. For a moment, she hung precariously on the edge of the couch, leaning out. She'd reached out so far she had a difficult time maintaining a ladylike poise when pulling herself back up into a sitting position.

  "See!” Miss Laura held up her palm. “It was here all along, caught in the edge of Charlene's blanket."

  "All right!” Lee too, eyed it eagerly. “Could I see it for a sec?"

  Miss Laura's eyes fluttered. “What?"

  "My eye.” That sounded funny. “Could I see it for a minute, Miss Laura?” He remembered to be polite, adding, “Please,” and “May I?"

  She held the little piece of glass out on her palm and looked down at it as though he'd asked her for her heart. Not waiting, Lee reached over and plucked it from her palm. And he was surprised to find it was hot, as hot as a fever.

  Miss Laura snapped her hand shut and made to reach for it, but Lee had it.

  "I just want to see it for a second.” He pulled it in close to his chest. “I'll give it back."

  Miss Laura glared at Lee, doubling up her other hand into a fist.

  "Look at you two,” Ted chuckled. “You should see yourself, Laura. You two are just like a couple of two-year-olds arguing over a piece of candy."

  Miss Laura cast an acrid glance at Ted. She did look like a two-year-old who'd lost her favorite toy. Without saying anything she turned her attention to her glass, picked up her drink and drew at the straw. She took a long sip, her cheeks dimpling, then another and another. Yet all the while she kept her own eyes on Lee's hand, the one holding the eye.

  Ted scooted his chair forward with a loud squeak of the legs on the hardwoods. “Hey, Laura, I was just funning with you.” He reached way across to quickly tap her on the knee, but just as quickly he drew back. “And let me tell you, that's really quite a tale you got going on there with that Yankee captain. How'd you remember all those quotes and dates and stuff?"

  Both her eyes turned slightly, reluctantly letting go of the eye for a moment. “Yes,” she said vacantly, “it is quite a tale. Quite a tale.” She obviously was distracted by something she'd been thinking and drifted for a moment, then added: “I've always found history so real, especially local history. Sometimes it's like I can almost touch things, feel things.” She took another drink and then set the glass down on a magazine. She almost sounded like her old self, her voice soft and very under control. “History is funny. You know, nothing is ever really gone. That's a falsehood of human perception. We throw something away; we think it's gone. Someone dies, and we think they're gone. Society and times change, and we think they're over and done with. But it's
just not true; we only think of things in that manner because we're limited in our scope. But that's wrong. History always remains, even whether or not we ever knew about it. Even if it doesn't leave a mark or a record. What's happened, happened, and is never really over. Tomorrow always joins to yesterday through the present. Everything, every event, every emotion, good, bad, it's all connected through our present reality. Life has gone on for so, so long, and we're just the ones who happen to be here in this particular here and now. Yes, tomorrow will be different; but that's not to say that we never lived, and that a portion of who we are and what we've done doesn't live on even after our bodies are gone to dust."

  "I get that feeling every time I'm in a cemetery,” Ted replied, really beginning to slur in earnest. “All the headstones, rows and rows of them, and below, in the ground, there's actual people, for real, at least their bodies anyway, but people, people who were once like us. Am I weird, or what?"

  "No, not at all,” she responded. “That emotion is actually quite common. It just shows that you're in tune with the various and sundry aspects of life. Death is probably one the least unique facets of life. The only thing that's for sure when you are born, the joke about taxes aside, is that you will die. As I said a moment ago, too many people think what's dead is gone, but history lives. History is like the scent of a woman's fine perfume. It lingers in a room even after she's gone; a tangible trace of what was real just a moment ago. You may not have seen the woman, or even known she was there, but her scent remains.” She raised a finger as though this was important. “And, even if you personally are unable to smell it, the trace of the scent is nonetheless there. Your perception of it doesn't matter, real is real. Maybe that's what ghosts are; a trace of what that person once was, an emotional resonance left behind? You know,” she seemed to change her tack out of the blue. “I've been to quite a few places people have called haunted."

  Miss Laura had her legs locked together primly and her delicate fingers folded neatly in her lap, the picture of composure. And Ted and Lee were both paying complete attention.

  "Take the Ballard house as an example,” she continued. “I had never been there, had never even been to Lenoir until after I'd met Ed, and yet, sure, I'd read quite a bit about the history of Cherry Heights. So for me it was very real, very tangible when I first saw it, the red brick walls and the roof looming up over the trees. I'd even seen it in my imagination despite what I'd heard and read. A mental picture, a preconception had formed. Some places earn a bad reputation because of their history, and others have a bad history mainly because of their reputation. The study of history is how we sort out the fact from the fiction. But you'd be surprised how often the actual facts, when they're brought to light, are really much stranger than the surrounding legends and lore. You see,” she said meshing her fingers, “our mental images, my preconceived idea of the Ballard mansion for example, plays a part in how I perceive the reality of things. If I think a place is haunted, it probably will be. At least to me, anyway. But the true reality of what a place is like is almost always sure to be something quite different than whatever your mind can conjure up. At least that's what I've found in all my ramblings around old houses and such."

  "So you've always had a liking for history?” Lee heard his dad ask. But he didn't hear Miss Laura's reply. He could see something in the eye. It was pitch black, but there was a speck down deep, a light, a dim light, reflecting off what appeared to be a floor at the baseboard along a wall. Yes, there was a wall plug above a baseboard. The light was coming from a nightlight. It was a kid's room, a little girl's room, Patty's room; he could dimly recognize the pattern of the wallpaper and the mess of toys. Lucky Pup was splayed out on the floor, flattened like he'd been run over by a truck. The three girls were all in Patty's bed, asleep.

  The perspective changed and something was moving just inside the door. It was shadowy and dark, but he could trace an outline in the dim light cast off by the nightlight. Within, wherever he was watching from, the room was murky, but not entirely dark, a tantalizing mix of gray and black. Maggie was there and Uncle Ed. They were in each other's arms. Uncle Ed's back was against the door, and Maggie was jerking at his pants trying to work free his belt. He could see Patty; she was on the outside, away from Belinda who was turned the other way; the covers were off; their eyes were closed. Ed had Maggie's blouse pulled up; he was fumbling at her bra. All the while they were kissing madly, going crazy, ripping at each other's clothes. With the door closed, Lee could feel the heat trapped in the room. It was so intense, stifling. The suck of the attic fan could only draw from under the door. The cool air was rushing around their feet, drawn from a draft coming through a crack at the base of the window. Uncle Ed had gotten her bra off, throwing it somewhere. Maggie had his belt loose, and then ripped his pants down, underwear and all. It was all bunched up around his ankles. The two of them were sweating, dripping, breathless, frantic, feral. Maggie slid down, running her hands down his sides and legs, going to her knees, pressing Uncle Ed's hips back against the door. There wasn't a breath of air in that room that wasn't stifling with heat and the smell of passion and sweat. The heat, he could feel it as intense and powerful as a physical presence in the room.

  "Lee!” It was his dad. “Hey, Lee!"

  He looked up, bleary eyed.

  "You getting tired, son? You looked all glassy eyed like you were about to conk right out."

  "No, I'm okay.” His mouth had gone completely dry again.

  "What time's it getting to be?” His dad was squinting at the clock on the wall by the phone. “I can't make it out from here with the glare."

  Lee had to turn around. “Quarter after eleven."

  His dad drained his beer, holding the bottle upright for a moment while the suds washed down. Bringing the bottle down, he put it on the tray amid the other empties and stared at Lee. “Nope, ‘fraid not,” he said.

  Lee reached for his glass. Mostly all of the ice had melted and the liquid inside went from dark brown on the bottom to clear and watery at the top. He really didn't think he needed anymore rum but he was so thirsty, and there was something peculiarly tasty about the blend of alcohol, water, and sugary sweetness. He took a quick drink. “What do you mean? Course it's a quarter after."

  "No its not,” his dad came back flatly.

  Lee looked again. The big hand was on the eleven and the small hand was just past the three. “Okay, I'll bite, what time is it, then?"

  His dad gave him the Groucho eyes. “Time for another beer."

  "Good one, Dad,” Lee replied, then added one of the most popular comeback lines from school. “It was so funny I forgot to laugh."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: MORE ABOUT THE CAPTAIN

  Lee's dad popped the top off of another bottle using the church key. Lee put the eye down on the coffee table and swirled the dwindling contents of his glass around. Pulling at the straw with his lips he sucked greedily. There was no mistaking, he'd been careful in setting the eye down making sure it wasn't going to roll off the table. But by the time he was sucking on the straw the thing was spinning, the iris going ‘round and ‘round, all on its own.

  Miss Laura came to life and casually leaned over. When her hand was close enough, she snatched up the eye in a wink, like a gambler going for the dice. The move was so quick Lee almost expected to hear her holler out, “Gotcha!"

  Ted settled back with his fresh beer, swigging, keeping it to his lips and bouncing the bottle up and down. And Lee, he just couldn't seem to get enough of the sweetly syrupy blend of alcohol, cola, and water; the more he drank the more he craved. And Miss Laura, she was back to rolling the eye, having sandwiched between her palms and looking off beyond the window to something out in the blackness.

  "Wonder what's keeping Ed?” Ted asked. He looked towards the hall. “I'd figure the girls would have to be asleep by now."

  Lee could see the daydream, such a realistic but bizarre vision; undoubtedly fired by his overactive imagination and fueled by the i
ncident with Miss Laura. What he'd thought he'd seen in the eye was so fresh in his mind: Maggie sliding down, her shirt off completely and crumpled in the shadows on the floor, Uncle Ed's fingers gripping into her hair as she knelt before him. He shook his head; the cobwebs suddenly seemed to be so thick.

  "I think I'll go check,” Ted said, sitting up.

  Lee exploded. “No!"

  His dad almost dropped his beer. “What? Why?"

  Lee faced his startled father and thought quickly. “You might wake the girls.” He wasn't sure if what he'd just imagined was a figment of his imagination, but he felt compelled to not find out, at least just now.

  "Yes,” Miss Laura joined in, again all the color from her voice gone. “Let the girls sleep.” She sounded distracted, vague, not really there. “Maggie and Ed are just fine ... just fine."

  With the strange shift in tone Lee switched his attention from his father to Miss Laura. She again appeared to be lost in some other world. But she suddenly squeezed Lee's leg. He could feel the pressure of her nails. He looked to her face; her eyes were the slightest shade of green again, he could just catch a hint of the change accented by the yellowish light.

  Ted sat up gripping his beer bottle in one hand. “If the girls are asleep, then what could Maggie and Ed be up to?"

  "Maybe they fell asleep, too,” Lee offered.

  Ted cocked an eye. It definitely wasn't his Groucho look. “I'm gonna go see.” He rose up, bracing himself on the arms of the chair.

  Just then, Ed appeared, coming out of the darkness of the hallway. “Whoa!” he called out, entirely red-faced. “Man, it's hot back in there.” He stopped, blinking in the light. All three were staring at him.

  "What?"

  "How are the girls?” Ted asked.