Dwight fell to his knees near his dead sons and began to scream and cry his heart out. Near the house, Marie turned upon hearing Dwight's wails and stood for a moment with pleasure, watching him fall to pieces over the bodies of his boys. She walked into the house, through the kitchen and along the way picked up a long butcher's knife. She would be ready. When Dwight came for her, she would be ready. Then she walked slowly up to the master bedroom.
Chapter 31
Stephanie continued to stare out into space in her hypnotic state, watching the events of that horrible night play out on the movie screen of her mind. She was now inside the mind of her great-grandfather, Dwight Livingston, seeing the scene from his perspective and reliving the thoughts and feelings he experienced.
Dwight slowly tried to stand up on wobbly legs, looking back toward the farmhouse. He saw Marie looking out at him for just a moment as she approached the kitchen door, just before she quickly turned to enter the house. He wanted to call to her, but his voice caught in his throat when he saw her face: that horrible expression. He would have sworn in the rising moonlight he had seen her smiling at him. But it was not her typical smile, not the one he known and had fallen in love with so many years ago. It appeared more like a hideously bizarre grin; one that radiated some twisted sort of rapture, which bordered the realm of insanity. What was wrong with his wife, and what in the name of God had happened to his boys tonight? Had she found the boys dead in the well and lost her mind with grief? God knew he was barely able to hold onto his on sanity over it. But why in the world had she been wearing such an unsettlingly hideous expression at such an unimaginable time?
Dwight had assumed at first some type of terrible yet innocent accident must have occurred. He had given Marie the benefit of the doubt because she was his wife and the mother of his children. He assumed she might have mistakenly left the top of the well open. He thought perhaps the boys had disobeyed his orders and had accidentally fallen into the opening. Perhaps Charles had fallen in and Matthew had climbed in to try to save him. Although it wasn't far down to the surface of the water, Dwight knew the sides were too steep and too slippery with ice for them to have had a chance to get out. The frigid water surly had taken them quickly. Although it was an unspeakable tragedy, he was certain it surely had to have been an accident. Perhaps Marie had heard their cries for help and had come to the well in a futile attempt to try to rescue them. He wanted to believe that was so; he needed to believe it. But he couldn’t because deep down inside, he already knew the truth.
After seeing the insane look on his wife's face as she glared madly out at him from the kitchen doorway, he had no choice but to accept the truth. If she was innocent then why, when she had finally seen him, hadn't she come out to be with him? Why didn't she let him console her and she him in this time of devastating sorrow? Why instead would she look at him with that mad look then turn and quickly enter the house? None of it made any sense to him. He was bewildered, heartsick and confused.
But Dwight was also starting to comprehend. He realized this and began to accept his original assessment of a possible accident had likely been wrong. Maybe some other series of events had taken place; something beyond his previous imaginings; something unthinkable. Could it be that the unimaginable thoughts, which were now forming in his mind might actually have taken place? He couldn't believe such a thing possible. Could it really be that something so vile, born of unbridled evil had actually occurred? And could it be that his own wife; the boys' own mother had been deliberately responsible? He could scarcely allow the question formulate in his baffled mind. He tried to force the thought away but it continued to push its way to the forefront of his thoughts and he had no choice but to accept it.
Once he was able to acknowledge the idea, it went in an instant from a mere thought to a reality. Marie had actually murdered her own sons, his sons.
With a growing anger, Dwight began to make his way through the meadow grass, which was wet with snow. He trudged back toward the farmhouse, stumbling clumsily along the uneven ground, using his walking stick for support. When he got closer to the house, he saw the dark upstairs bedroom, his and Marie's bedroom, begin to come alive with the bright glow from several lanterns. He saw Marie’s shape passing behind the sheer curtains covering the windows as she moved about lighting one lantern after another. Under other circumstances, he might have found that image alluring and sensual, but now it seemed sinister and surreal.
By the time he reached the backdoor of the house, the bedroom appeared to be ablaze with light. He saw the silhouette of his wife standing at the window apparently looking down at him. He could not make out her facial features in the shadows but assumed she still wore that mad grin he had seen just a few minutes earlier.
Surprisingly, he began to recall other unusual events, which had taken place over the previous month or more. He remembered how strangely Marie had been acting, how distant and how cold she had been toward him. Now that he had taken the time to think further about it, he realized she must have been in the throes of some sort of mental decline brought on by something, but what that might be he had no idea. Or perhaps he was not being completely honest with himself. Perhaps he really did know exactly what would have driven her to such madness and that he was likely responsible.
He was uncertain if this idea was a real possibility or if it was simply the result of his own guilty conscience. Might it be possible that she had somehow learned about his mistress, Agatha and his illegitimate daughter? He had always been concerned such a day might come, but he never thought finding out would have driven Marie to the point of insanity and murder. He mentally cursed the gossiping old biddies of Ashton, those who were likely responsible for Marie learning his secret.
But then again, he hadn't really been discrete, had he? In fact, he had been quite arrogant and flagrant about his indiscretions. He had allowed himself to be seen in public with the mother as well as his child. Now in hindsight he realized just how foolish he had been. At the time, he had felt so confident about what he was doing, almost as if it had been his right as a successful businessman to have a mistress and a second family; but he now felt the hard, cold truth. He was just a broken and sorrowful fool. Marie was always a strong and forthright woman. He should have realized she would never have tolerated his philandering.
Dwight was not necessarily proud of what he had done by any means, but it had made him feel special at the time. He did love the woman Agatha as well as their daughter, yet at the same time he believed he still loved Marie and was certain he loved his other children as well. He realized she might not be able to believe he did still love her, but it was the truth. Could that really be what had happened? But if he were being honest with himself, what else could have driven his wife past the brink of sanity?
Marie knew everything there was to know about Dwight, his strengths as well as his weaknesses. Therefore, she knew how to hurt him. She knew where to strike the blow that would bring him to his knees. She understood how much Dwight loved his two boys and how much they idolized him as well. But could she really have murdered her own flesh and blood as some sick attempt at seeking retribution against him?
Suddenly Dwight thought about their youngest child, their daughter little Sarah. "Oh my God!" he thought, stopping in his tracks. Where was Sarah? What had happened to Sarah? Had Marie killed her too? Surely, Marie couldn't have thrown Sarah into the well, could she? Sarah was so much like her mother that killing her would be like Marie killing herself. But then Dwight realized he was still thinking somewhat rationally, and that was not the way to think if he were trying to follow Marie's train of thought. Since, for Marie Livingston, the days of thinking rationally were gone forever.
He turned and looked back toward the well trying to decide if he had missed finding his daughter’s body floating in the bottom because of his shock and confusion. Reflected in the moonlight, he could see the glistening wet bodies of his two dead sons, Matthew and Charles. For a moment, he almost forg
ot about Marie and considered returning to the well to look for Sarah, but he realized such a move would be futile. If Sarah were truly in the well, it was far too late for anyone to do anything to help her. She would likely have been the first to be thrown in. His heart broke with sorrow and his gut clenched with revolution.
Then he began to fill with a raging fury the likes of which he had never known before. He was going to get the truth from his wife. If was going to find out what had happened to his children if he had to beat her to death to get the answers he needed.
Dwight plowed through the kitchen door and as it flew open it slammed against the inside wall shattering several of the windowpanes. The broken shards tinkled to the floor, sounding like tiny musical instruments as they rained down on its surface. In the back of Dwight's mind, the sound reminded him of the high-pitched melodic laughter of children; his children; his now dead children. Marie would surely pay for what she had done. Dwight realized he was no longer just considering the possibility his wife had killed their children; he was now certain of it. He swore by all that was holy he would make her suffer while she was on earth and cursed her soul and prayed he might find some way to make her pay for her foul deeds in her own special hell.
Stephanie squirmed slightly in her seat, a disturbed expression forming on her face, as the scene played out in her mind. She knew what was coming next in the series of events, but was unable to do anything to stop the steady progression of the living movie flashing across her mind.
At first, she had seen all that Marie had seen. In fact, she had become Marie. Then things had changed and she had become Dwight. Now she seemed to have become separated from both of them and seeing things from the perspective of a spectator, watching the events unfold. And somehow, the situation seemed even more terrifying from this latest perspective. She understood the madness, which possessed Marie as well as the fury, which encompassed Dwight from sampling their emotions first hand. She understood bringing together two people who were operating under extreme emotions would be a recipe for disaster. And of course, she already knew what exactly the disaster was which would follow.
Stephanie found herself floating in the bedroom of her farmhouse. The room was as it appeared in the original house; much smaller than the present day master bedroom but she was still able to recognize it. The room was filled with many of the same antique furnishings, which she and Jason had sold at auction; the ones which Emerson Washburn had chosen to live with. But in the image she was watching, the furniture looked brand new. The room was bright with illumination with an amber glow from a mixture of candles and oil lanterns. Stephanie was surprised by how bright the space appeared.
Across the room she saw Marie, dressed in a night gown, which was wet and splotched with mud and what appeared to be smears of blood. She stood before a full-length mirror, the same one which was now stored in the attic of the farmhouse. But as with the other furnishings, this version of the mirror appeared new. In Marie's reflection Stephanie could see the woman was looking down at her own hands, which were covered with deep scratches. The blood in the gashes seemed to have dried and was no longer flowing. The front of her white gown was stained with even larger smears of blood, which must have come from the gouges obtained during her struggling with the boys. Marie was looking into the dressing mirror, and seeing a face, which she apparently did not recognized as her own. Her hair was a mess and her cheeks glistened with the tears yet her face wore an unexplainable expression of ecstasy.
To Stephanie's surprise, Marie picked up a large hairbrush and began delicately stroking her long tresses, never taking her eyes from the eyes of the woman in the mirror. It was like she was locked in a gaze with a person she had never met before, but with whom she was completely fascinated. The bizarre look of calm and the insane, inappropriate smile never left her face, even when the door to the bedroom exploded behind her.
Chapter 32
In a shower of splinters and shattered wood, Dwight Livingston burst through the bedroom door. His business suit, which once hung neatly from his muscular frame, now was in disarray. He still held tightly to his walking stick, with its wolf's-head ivory handle, but now he gripped it less like a means of support and more like a weapon. In the bright light of the oil lamps, Stephanie was amazed at just how much Dwight Livingston resembled Jason, with his dark brown hair and wire-framed glasses, although she had never seen Jason wearing such a look of anger. And she was equally perplexed by how much Marie looked like herself. It was as if she were watching a movie drama in which she and Jason were actors, playing the roles of the Livingstons.
Dwight's eyes brimmed with tears and were wild with rage as he stormed into the room. His breath hitched heavily in his chest, as he struggled to ask the question he obviously wished he would never have to ask, "What the hell did you do, Marie? What in the name of God did you do to our boys?"
Marie slowly turned away from the mirror, looked directly into her husband's eyes. Her calm and relaxed demeanor took him by surprise. His wife smiled and replied, "Me? I did nothing my husband. It was all of your doing."
"M...m...my...my doing?" Dwight stammered, scarcely able to form the words. Then his anger returned. "Of what do you speak, woman? Was it not you who killed our children?"
She hesitated for a moment then admitted with no apparent signs of regret, "Yes, Dwight. I carried out the deed which needed to be done... I was the one who drowned our boys in the well, but it was entirely your fault… It was all because of you… You see, my husband, I had no choice… The boys… well… they were so, so much like you… They worshiped the ground you walked on… They even looked like miniature versions of you… I had no doubt that if I didn't take some sort of action…if I allowed them to grow into men…they each would surely have become the same kind of unfaithful whoremongers just like you have become."
"But...but..." Dwight exclaimed, still unable to completely take control of the situation, "Buy why, Marie? Why would you murder our two innocent babies?"
"Not our babies, Dwight. YOUR babies," she shot back. "They may have come from inside of me but they were the result of your rotten demon seed; the fruit of your damnable loins. And what do you care, anyway? You'll just go out and find one of your trollops and make another baby, or maybe two or three more. For all I know you may already have a dozen other little bastards running about, besides that little bitch I learned about. Oh yes, Dwight, those boys were more yours than mine, and because they were, they needed to die, just like you must die."
With that, Marie pulled the butcher knife from behind her back and held it in front of her, determined to stab her husband to death; to allow him to join what she now thought of in her broken mind as his demon spawn offspring. At last she would get the final bit of her revenge. Holding tightly onto the handle, she thrust the knife at his stomach.
But Marie was not prepared for Dwight's quick reaction. He was much faster than she had anticipated. Before she had a chance to strike, he slammed the ivory wolf's head handle of his walking stick into the side of her skull. Marie collapsed to the floor in a heap, falling down directly in front of the mirror. The knife skittered across the floor out of reach.
Within a second, Dwight was on top of her. He reached down and wrapped his strong hands tightly around her throat squeezing with all of his might. His eyes blazed like fiery embers in his skull glowing with a level of insanity, seeming to surpass even that of his mad wife. The furious Dwight continued to grip Marie's throat ever tighter as her eyes bugged wildly from her skull. Stephanie could see blood begin to trickle down the woman’s neck where Dwight's fingernails dug deep furrows into the flesh of her throat. He throttled her back and forth as her head bobbed helplessly to and fro, until eventually with a sharp crack, Stephanie heard the woman's neck break. A moment later the woman who was Stephanie’s great grandmother, Marie Louise O'Hara Livingston collapsed to the floor in a dead heap.
Dwight sat on the floor weeping and cradling the dead woman in his trembling arms. Wit
h the madness now completely gone from her lifeless eyes, Marie looked even more like Stephanie than she previously had. In fact, it was almost as if she had actually become a doppelganger of Stephanie. As Dwight sat sobbing, Marie's corpse shifted slightly and her arm flopped down, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
As Stephanie watched in terrorized silence, Dwight reached slowly into his suit jacket pocket and withdrew a long ivory handled straight razor. Now seeing the razor, she realized it actually was the very same razor Jason had found. This realization repulsed Stephanie to no end as chills of disgust and revulsion raced down her spine. She knew what this razor was going to be used for from the newspaper article she had found and wanted to turn away in horror, but was forced to watch the terrible tableau unfold in front of her.
However, unknown to Stephanie as she watched in horror, not only was the razor the exact one used by Dwight almost a century earlier to commit his atrocious act, but it was also used by Emerson Washburn to butcher himself earlier that same year.
It was the same razor, which set in motion the series of events, which would eventually bring her and her family to the property. It was the cursed talisman which allowed Marie and Dwight Livingston to venture beyond the confines of their own place of eternal damnation to begin planning for their one chance to escape from the confines of their torturous hell.
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