The Haunting of Pitmon House

by Michael Richan

  “Oh!” Eliza replied. “The one that looks like a hand puppet?”

  “Yes.”

  “That one has always creeped me out!”

  “Well,” Rachel continued, “be sure to check him out in the River next time you’re there.”

  “What?”

  Rachel opened her eyes wide and took another sip of her cocktail.

  “What, tell me!” Eliza insisted.

  “You’ll see,” Rachel replied. “Then walk around the rest of the place and see what else you notice. All those figurines in the Circus Building? Wait ’til you see those in the River. And The Organ Room? All those weird trees? Yeah, freaky.”

  “What about The Mikado Room?” Eliza asked. “Anything there?”

  “It’s one of the worst,” Rachel replied. “All kinds of River stuff worked into that contraption.”

  “That’s where Shane lost it,” Eliza said. “You think it might have caused what happened to him?”

  “Very hard to know for sure,” Rachel said. “He had walked through half the exhibit by that point. Could have been any of it before that.”

  “Why him?” Eliza asked. “Why not his friends? Why not any of the other thousands of people who walk through that place?”

  “Hard to say,” Rachel replied. “I just thought you should consider it. There’s lots of questionable stuff in there.”

  “I mean, he’s just a normal fourteen-year-old,” Eliza said. “When he walked in with his friends, he was acting like he always does. Then, this. Now he’s in an institution. It makes no sense.”

  “Maybe he’s susceptible somehow,” Rachel offered. “Is he gifted, too?”

  Eliza thought about Rachel’s question. She’d never considered the idea; Shane seemed like an ordinary younger brother. There was enough difference between their ages that he’d never really been a pest when they were growing up. They spent most of their time apart, hanging with friends their own age. Since she’d hardly ever pursued the exploration of her own gift, she’d never really considered if Shane had it too.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He might. I mean, we’ve never talked about it.”

  “Some gifteds are more sensitive to certain objects,” Rachel said. “That’s why I thought I should mention them, in case they’re to blame for what happened.”

  “Well,” Eliza said, leaning back and taking another sip of the drink, “the doctors said they’d have test results by tomorrow.”

  “When they come back inconclusive,” Rachel said, rising from her chair to make herself another, “think about what I’m telling you.”

  ●

  Eliza let the screen door hit her as she walked into the country home. The house had originally belonged to her grandparents, who were buried on the property in a shady spot a hundred yards from the house. There were a couple of other gravestones there, too — relatives she hadn’t bothered to learn about while growing up. She would have laid her father to rest there as well, but the laws changed. No more private graveyards, even if you did have thirty acres of relative solitude.

  She stood for a moment in the entryway, listening. The house was quiet.

  She dropped her keys in the key dish and walked into the living room, falling down on the sofa. She knew she probably shouldn’t have driven home; Rachel’s cocktails were strong, and she might be pushing the blood alcohol limit. The combination of booze and information from Rachel was spinning around in her mind, making her thoughts race.

  Rachel isn’t exactly reliable, she thought. She’s a mess, personally. More than once she’s been talked to about alcohol on her breath when she came to work. And men — boy, can she pick them. Eliza could predict exactly how the next man in Rachel’s life would look and act: he’d be wearing a wife beater, have tattoos up and down his arms, and a sneer or a smirk. They’d party a lot, and after a few weeks Rachel would show up at work with bruises on her arms, complaining that she didn’t know the guy was a felon. Eventually she’d kick the guy out. Sometimes a restraining order would be involved; sometimes not. She went through three or four a year.

  Eliza remembered asking Rachel once where she met the guys she dated. Rachel mentioned a bar in Fitchburg she’d never heard of.

  A single light was on in the living room, a standing lamp that was set on a timer. It cast a warm glow through the room, beating back the dark that was slowly enveloping the house. She felt Sponge jump up onto the couch with her, his head pressing against her arm and sliding several inches down it.

  She absently-mindedly reached to pet the cat, stroking his back. When the purring didn’t start up, she pulled her hand away and turned to look at the animal. A foot-long garter snake was hanging limply from each side of Sponge’s mouth. As she watched, the cat stepped forward and placed the snake next to her. Then it looked up, expecting Eliza’s hand on its head.

  “Oh, thank you!” Eliza said sarcastically, letting her fingers drop to the animal’s fur and giving him a quick rub. “Just what I always wanted, Sponge: another dead snake. I appreciate the lack of blood this time.”

  The purring started.

  She stood up and grabbed the reptile by the tip of its tail, lifting it from the sofa. She walked into the kitchen and tossed it into the garbage bin. Sponge was at her ankles immediately.

  “It’s coming,” she said, reaching into the cupboard to locate a can of cat food. “If you ate what you caught, I wouldn’t have to feed you, would I?”

  She set the cat food down and Sponge began devouring it. “Then again, why would you want to eat a snake when you have this tasty crap waiting for you every night?”

  She left the cat and the kitchen, walking upstairs. As she passed the bedroom doors, her thoughts returned to Shane. She opened the door to his bedroom and looked inside. Bed unmade, clothes on the floor. Just like always.

  She felt a huge rush of concern resurface. She’d been good at keeping it under control most of the day, knowing she needed to go to work and continue making income for the household even though Shane was in trouble. Still, it had been a hard day, trying to stay balanced.

  She shut the door to his bedroom and walked to her own, passing her father’s room on the way. Once she was inside, she turned on a small nightstand lamp and stripped to underwear. She laid down on the giant four-poster bed, feeling the weight of the day press down on her.

  We’ll be alright, she thought. That’s what daddy always said. We’ll be alright. Just keep moving forward.

  The combination of the booze and the long day caused her to lose any resistance to sleep, and before she knew it, she was out.

  ●

  She awoke in the middle of the night, grateful that the nightmare had ended. It was the same dream she’d had dozens of time since her father died: they were penniless, and she and Janie and Shane were forced to live in a tent in a homeless camp in Madison. She was standing by a busy intersection holding a cardboard sign, trying to come up with ways to make her face look more deserving, or more pathetic. She hated having to beg, but what else could she do? They had lost it all.

  And it was all her fault.

  She wiped her hands over her face and let her feet swing down to the floor. Moonlight lit the windows, and she decided to stand up and look out over the view she’d had since a kid.

  Below her was the front yard. This side of the house had no trees, allowing her a clear view all the way down the driveway to where the hill dropped off, blocking sight of the main road. To her left in the distance was the small family graveyard. Grass had begun to grow up around the iron fence that surrounded it; she’d have to get on Shane about that when he was better. It was his job to keep the grass down.

  To her right was the barn. Well, not really a barn anymore — in her grandparents’ day it had housed a tractor and some animals; once they sold off the farmland, the tractor and animals went, too. Since her father’s time, they’d used it to park an occasional car and for storage. She’d been afraid of the structure as a child; it had too many dark
corners and strange smells, and her father had always encouraged her to stay out of it, fearing an accident.

  I need to go back to sleep, she thought. I gotta work at nine. And I gotta check on Shane after.

  Still, the details of her disturbing dream kept her from slipping away from the window and back into bed. She knew it was irrational — they had insurance, and there was a modest savings account, the result of inheritance. Eliza was proud that they hadn’t had to dip into it since their father died, that they’d been able to make ends meet on their own.

  Just barely, she thought. Not with anything to spare.

  She let her eyes drift absently across the landscape as she tried to manage her fear of finances. The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was pointless; there was nothing to be done in the middle of the night. All she was doing was robbing herself of some much-needed sleep.

  Then she saw the light, drifting in the barn.

  She blinked, unsure if what she’d seen was actually there. A small, yellowish light had passed by one of the windows on the barn. It had come and gone within a second.

  Not firefly season yet, she thought. Still too cold.

  She kept her gaze focused on the barn window, expecting nothing, half suspecting she’d imagined it, or she misinterpreted a reflection of the moon on the glass panes. She was about to give up when she thought she saw a light in a different window on the other side of the barn doors.

  Adrenaline flooded her system and she grabbed a pair of pants as she left her room, slipping them on quickly before she hit the stairs. When she arrived at the bottom, she walked to the closet under the stairs and reached up to the top shelf, pushing aside stacks of old jackets to feel for the shotgun. She pulled it down and felt for a box of shells stored behind it.

  Once the gun was loaded, she grabbed a heavy jacket from a hook inside the door and walked to the kitchen. The door on that side of the house was the closest to the barn. She made sure the screen didn’t bang as she left, and marched quickly over the cold grass. It added to the adrenaline.

  Although the front door to the barn had a large padlock, she knew the back door was never locked. She walked up to it, brandishing the shotgun, and slowly pushed it open.

  “I’ve got a shotgun!” she said. “Come on out if you don’t want to get pumped full of pellets!”

  She waited, listening. There was no reply and no sound. The barn was as still as it had ever been. She could see dust floating in the moonlight air by the windows, but other than that, nothing seemed to move.

  “I saw the light, I know you’re in here,” she said loudly. “Come on out and you won’t get shot up.”

  Again she waited. No reply came.

  “Alright,” she said. “I gave you a fair warning!” She started walking through the barn, slowly maneuvering around a riding mower and a small flatbed trailer. Her senses were on high alert, looking for any movement. She crossed between two stacks of plastic tubs, part of the family storage. By the time she reached the other end of the barn, she realized she was alone in the structure.

  Ghosts, she thought, amused, the idea reminding her of the conversation she’d had with Rachel earlier that evening.

  On a whim, she lowered the shotgun and let herself slip into the River, following the technique Rachel had described. A few seconds passed, and she felt different, as though her senses were on overdrive, seeing and experiencing things she normally didn’t experience.

  When she saw movement to her right, she turned slightly. There, behind the mower, was a figure. It was slowly drifting across the floor without moving its legs.

  A loud BANG! yanked her from the River, and she turned to her left to see a stack of plastic tubs collapse, falling over to one side, punctured by holes. She’d pulled the trigger on the shotgun. She felt a stabbing pain in the back of her neck that rose quickly to the base of her skull, a result of leaving the River so abruptly.

  She quickly reached for the safety on the shotgun and pushed it in while looking around the barn, back to the spot where she’d seen the figure. It was gone.

  No, it’s still there, she thought. I can only see it when I’m in the River.

  She let herself enter the flow once again. No figure was there. She slowly searched the rest of the structure, but nothing appeared.

  I scared it away, she thought. Shit, I nearly pissed myself, shooting up those boxes! No wonder it’s gone!

  She carefully dropped from the River and left through the back door, returning to the house. Her feet were now freezing. When she reached the house she removed the ammo from the shotgun and replaced it in its hiding spot in the closet, then she walked back to the kitchen and turned on a light, looking at the tea pot on the stove.

  Might as well, she thought. I’m not getting back to sleep now.

  Chapter Four

  “So?” Rachel asked under her breath. “Is he any better?”

  Eliza sprayed cleaning solution on the small round table and wiped at it with a rag. “They don’t know anything yet,” she replied quietly. Lois was on the other side of the gift shop, arranging a display of bookmarks. Bernice hadn’t yet arrived; she called, saying she’d be late due to car trouble.

  “They ran the tests?” Rachel asked.

  “Some of them, yes,” Eliza replied.

  “And?”

  Eliza paused. “Inconclusive, as you predicted. His brain looks normal though. That’s a good sign.”

  “It’s not his brain that’s in trouble,” Rachel said. “His body is reacting normally.”

  “It’s not normal to be strapped down to the bed,” Eliza replied.

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  Eliza considered telling Rachel about the events of the past night, of her encounter in the barn. She felt a wave of exhaustion pass over her and decided against it. Too much effort.

  “So what are you suggesting?” Eliza said. “Suppose you’re right. What am I supposed to do?”

  “You’re not sure I’m right, though, are you?”

  Eliza paused. “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

  Rachel came closer, lowering your voice. “Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

  Eliza shook her head. “See for myself? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s a slow day, there won’t be many people walking through the exhibits. Stroll through it for yourself.”

  “I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

  “Stroll through them in the River. Check it out, see if I’m right.”

  Eliza paused, considering Rachel’s suggestion. “You mean, drop into the River, right there in those rooms?”

  “Like I said, it’s a light day. There won’t be many people. You’ll most likely have whole rooms to yourself.”

  Eliza thought about it. “Lois won’t let me go for that long, you know that.”

  “You don’t have to take the full tour, just hit a few spots, like the main street and the circus stuff. Oh, The Organ Room, too. And the carousel. Tell Lois you need to have a long call with the doctors in Madison.”

  “I don’t know,” Eliza replied. Her work ethic made it hard for her to lie.

  “I’ll cover for you,” Rachel said. “Lois won’t have any reason to get her panties in a bunch.”

  Eliza wondered if the exhibits would be as altered as Rachel was suggesting. They were already bizarre and wondrous in their own right; seeing a deeper level of bizarreness in them sounded intriguing.

  “You’re never gonna know if I’m right or not if you don’t try,” Rachel said. “What can it hurt?”

  Eliza could feel herself slipping, a sensation of momentum that she might not be able to control, and it bothered her. Probably won’t hurt anything, she thought. Just walk through and take a look. See what she’s talking about.

  Still, it felt as if she went ahead with it, she was crossing some personal Rubicon. What was it her father used to say? Can’t un-ring that bell.

  “OK,” she replied, feeling something physica
lly shift inside her, as though her guts were rearranging themselves. She instantly felt a pang of regret.

  “Once Bernice gets here, you do it whenever you want,” Rachel said. “I’ll step up and offer to cover.”

  “Thanks,” Eliza said, just as Lois crossed the gift shop, a bundle of bookmarks in her hand.

  “Look how many are bent!” Lois said, flipping the bookmarks in her hand. “Carton was dented! We gotta talk to Willie about rejecting boxes that are damaged.”

  “Willie’s been out for weeks,” Rachel replied. “In rehab.”

  “That explains it!” Lois said. “Probably some Gen-Xer in his place who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “I heard it was Frank covering for Willie while he’s out,” Eliza said.

  Lois lowered her hand, red slowly taking over her face. She walked out of the gift shop without further comment. Everyone knew Lois had a low opinion of Frank.

  “Poor Frank,” Rachel said, once Lois was out of earshot. “She’s got her battle face on. He’s gonna get it.”

  ●

  After lunch, Eliza asked Lois for some time to make a call about Shane, and Rachel was right there to offer to cover for her. Lois seemed in a good mood after her confrontation with Frank, and agreed to let her go for a half hour. Rachel winked at her as Eliza left the gift shop, and headed through the property to the Streets of Yesterday building, which was the start of the second part of the tour. The first part, the actual House on the Rock, was really a walk-through of the crazy architecture of a real house that Alex Jordan had built into the side of the mountain. While there were a few displays there, the real star of that section was the house itself and its Infinity Room — a room that jutted out over the Wisconsin landscape, looking as though it would go on forever. Rachel seemed to think most of the things she should search for were in sections two and three, where all of the exhibits were housed.

  She reached the entrance door to the Streets of Yesterday and wound her way through the dark passages, ignoring the occasional displays of self-playing banjos and violins. She knew the real star of the show was around the corner.