by Greyspid
The one sad flaw in the whole plan was that such a person was not found by the order until 1953. And by that time Antha Mayfair’s tragic life had come to a close. The designee of the legacy was a wan-faced twelve-year-old girl who had already been expelled from school for’talking with her invisible friend,’ and making flowers fly through the air, or finding lost objects, and reading minds.
‘Her name is Deirdre,’ said Evan Neville, his face creased with worry and sadness, ’and she is growing up in that gloomy old house just the way her mother did, alone with those old women, and God only knows what they know or believe about their history, and about her powers, and about this spirit who has already been seen at the child’s side.’
The young member, greatly inflamed by this and by earlier conversations, and much random reading of the Mayfair papers, decided he had better act fast.
As I myself, obviously, am that member, I shall now pause before relating the brief and sad story of Antha Mayfair, to introduce myself.
THE AUTHOR OF THIS NARRATIVE,
AARON LIGHTNER
ENTERS THE PICTURE
A complete biography of me is available under the heading Aaron Lightner. For the purposes of this narrative the following is more than sufficient.
I was born in London in 1921. I became a full member of the order in 1943, after I had finished my studies at Oxford But I had been working with the Talamasca since the age of seven, and living in the Motherhouse since the age of fifteen.
Indeed, I had been brought to the attention of the order in 1928 by my English father (a Latin scholar and translator) and my American mother (a piano teacher) when I was six years old. It was a frightening telekinetic ability that precipitated their search for outside help. I could move objects just by concentrating upon them or telling them to move. And though this power was never very strong, it proved very disturbing to those who saw examples of it.
My concerned parents suspected that this power went along with other psychic traits, of which they had indeed seen an occasional glimpse. I was taken to several psychiatrists, on account of my strange abilities, and finally one of these said, ‘Take him to the Talamasca. His powers are genuine, and they are the only ones who can work with someone like this.’
The Talamasca was more than willing to discuss the question with my parents, who were greatly relieved. ‘If you try to crush this power in your son,’ Evan Neville said, ’you will get nowhere with him Indeed you place his well-being at risk. Let us work with him. Let us teach him how to control and use his psychic abilities.’ Reluctantly my parents agreed.
I began to spend every Saturday at the Motherhouse outside of London, and by the age of ten I was spending weekends and summers there as well My father and mother were frequent visitors. Indeed my father began doing translations for the Talamasca from its old crumbling Latin records in 1935, and worked with the order until his death in 1972, at which time he was a widower living in the Mother-house. Both my parents loved the General Reference Library at the Motherhouse, and though they never sought official membership in the order, they were in a very real sense a part of it all their lives. They did not object when they saw me drawn into it, only insisting that I complete my education, and not allow my ‘special powers’ to draw me prematurely away from ‘the normal world’
My telekinetic power never became very strong, but with the aid of my friends in the order, I became keenly aware that - under certain circumstances — I could read people’s thoughts. I also learned to veil my thoughts and feelings from others I learned also how to introduce my powers to people when and where it was appropriate, and how to reserve them primarily for constructive use.
I have never been what anyone would call a powerful psychic. Indeed my limited mind-reading ability serves me best in my capacity as a field investigator for the Talamasca, particularly in situations which involve jeopardy. And my telekinetic ability is seldom called upon for anything of a practical nature.
By the time I was eighteen, I was devoted to the order’s way of life and its goals I could not easily conceive of a world without the Talamasca My interests were the interests of the order, and I was completely compatible with its spirit. No matter where I went to school, no matter how much I traveled with my parents or with school friends, the order had become my true home.
When I completed my studies at Oxford, I was received into full membership, but I was really a member long before then. The great witch families had always been my chosen field. I had read extensively in the history of the witchcraft persecutions. And those persons fitting our particular definition of witch were of great fascination to me.
My first fieldwork was done in connection with a witch family in Italy, under the guidance of Elaine Barrett, who was at that time, and for many years later, the most able witch investigator in the order.
It was she who first introduced me to the Mayfair Witches, in a casual conversation over dinner, telling me firsthand of what had happened to Petyr van Abel, Stuart Townsend, and Arthur Langtry, and inviting me to begin my reading of the Mayfair materials in my spare time. Many a night during the summer and winter of 1945 I fell asleep with the Mayfair papers all over the floor of my bedroom. I was already jotting down notes for a narrative in.
The year 1947, however, took me completely away from the Motherhouse and the File on the Mayfair Witches for work in the field with Elaine. I did not realize until later that these years provided me with precisely the field record I would need for the romance with the Mayfair Witches which would become my life’s work.
I was given the assignment formally in 1953’ begin the narrative, and when it is complete in acceptable form, we will discuss sending you to New Orleans to see the inhabitants of the First Street house for yourself.
Again and again, I was reminded that whatever my aspirations I would only be allowed to proceed with caution. Antha Mayfair had died violently. So had the father of her daughter, Deirdre. So had a Mayfair cousin from New York — Dr Cornell Mayfair — who had come to New Orleans in 1945 expressly to see little eight-year-old.
Deirdre and investigate Carlotta’s claim that Antha had been congenitally insane.
I accepted the terms of the assignment I set to work translating the diary of Petyr van Abel. In the meantime, I was given an unlimited budget to amplify the research in any and all directions So I also commenced a ’long distance’ investigation into the present state of things with twelve-year-old Deirdre Mayfair, Antha’s only child
I should like to add in conclusion that two factors apparently play a large role in any investigation which I undertake The first of these seems to be that my personal manner and appearance put people at ease, almost unaccountably They talk to me more freely perhaps than they might talk to someone else How much I control this by any sort of ‘telepathic persuasion’ is quite difficult or impossible to determine. In retrospect, I would say it has more to do with the fact that I appear to be ’an Old World gentleman,’ and that people assume that I am basically good. I also empathize strongly with those I interview. I am in no way an antagonistic listener
I hope and pray that in spite of the deceptions I have maintained in connection with my work that I have never really betrayed anyone’s trust. To do good with what I know is my life’s imperative
The second factor which influences my interviews and fieldwork is my mild mind-reading ability. I frequently pick up names and details from people’s thoughts In general I do not include this information in my reports It’s too unreliable But my telepathic discoveries have certainly provided me with significant ’leads’ over the years. And this trait is definitely connected with my keen ability to sense danger, as the following narrative will eventually reveal
It is time now to return to the narrative, and to reconstruct the tragic tale of Antha’s life and Deirdre’s birth.
THE MAYFAIR WITCHES FROM 1929
TO THE PRESENT TIME
Antha Mayfair
With the death of Stella, an er
a ended for the Mayfairs. And the tragic history of Stella’s daughter Antha, and her only child, Deirdre, remains shrouded in mystery to this day.
As the years passed the household staff at First Street dwindled to a couple of silent, unreachable, and completely loyal servants; the outbuildings, no longer needed for housemaids and coachmen and stable boys, fell slowly into disrepair.
The women of First Street maintained a reclusive existence, Belle and Millie Dear becoming ‘sweet old ladies’ of the Garden District as they walked to daily Mass at the Prytania Street chapel, or stopped in their ceaseless and ineffectual gardening to chat with neighbors passing the iron fence.
Only six months after her mother’s death, Antha was expelled from a Canadian boarding school, which was the last public institution she was ever to attend. It was a surprisingly simple matter for a private investigator to learn from teacher gossip that Antha had frightened people with her mind reading, her talking to an invisible friend, and threats against those who ridiculed her or talked behind her back. She was described as a nervous girl, always crying, complaining of the cold in all kinds of weather, and subject to long unexplained fevers and chills.
Carlotta Mayfair took Antha home by train from Canada, and to the best of our knowledge, Antha never spent another night out of the First Street house until she was seventeen.
Nancy, a sullen, dumpy young woman, only two years older than Antha, continued to go to school every day until she was eighteen. At that point she went to work as a file clerk in Carlotta’s law offices, where she worked for four years. Every morning, without fail, she and Carlotta walked from First and Chestnut to St Charles Avenue, where they caught the St Charles car for downtown.
By this time the First Street house had taken on an air of perpetual gloom. Its shutters were never opened. Its violet-gray paint began to peel, and its garden grew wild along the iron fences, with cherry laurels and rain trees sprouting among the old camellias and gardenias, which had been so carefully tended years before. When the old unoccupied stable burned to the ground in 1938, weeds soon filled up the open space at the back of the property. Another dilapidated building was razed shortly after, and nothing remained but the old garconniere, and one great and beautiful oak, its branches poignantly outstretched above the wild grass towards the distant main house.
In 1934, we started to receive the first reports from workmen who found it impossible to complete repairs or other jobs on the house. The Molloy brothers told everyone in Corona’s Bar on Magazine Street that they couldn’t paint that place because every time they turned around their ladders were on the ground, or their paint was spilled, or their brushes somehow got knocked in the dirt. ‘It must have happened six times,’ said Davey Molloy, ‘that my paint just went right over, off the ladder, and poured out on the ground. Now, I know I never knocked over a full paint can! And that’s what she said to me, Miss Carlotta, she said, "You knocked it over yourself." Well, when that ladder went over with me on it, I tell you, that was it. I quit.’
Davey’s brother, Thomson Molloy, had a theory as to who was responsible. ‘It’s that brown-haired fella, the one who was always watching us. I told Miss Carlotta, "Don’t you think he could be doing it? That fella that’s always over there under the tree?" She acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. But he was always watching us. We were trying to patch the wall on Chestnut Street and I seen him looking at us through the library shutters. Gave me the creeps, it did. Who is he? Is he one of them cousins? I’m not working there. I don’t care how bad times are. I’m not working on that house again.’
Another workman, hired only to paint the black cast-iron railings, reported the same ’goings-on.’ He gave up after half a day during which time debris fell on him from the roof and leaves constantly fell into his paint.
By 1935, it was common knowledge in the Irish Channel that nothing could be done ’on that old house.’ When a couple of young men were hired to clean out the pool that same year, one of them was knocked into the stagnant water and almost drowned. The other had a hell of a time getting him out. ‘It was like I couldn’t see anything. I had a hold of him, and I was hollering for somebody to help me, and we were going down in all that muck and then thank God he had a hold of the side and he was saving me. That old colored woman, Aunt Easter, come out there with a towel for us and she hollered, "Just get away from that swimming pool. Never mind cleaning it. Just get away.‘"
Even Irwin Dandrich heard the gossip. ‘They’re saying it’s haunted, that Stella’s spirit won’t let anyone touch anything. It’s as if the whole place is in mourning for Stella.’ Had Dandrich heard of a mysterious brown-haired man? ‘I hear all kinds of things Some say it’s Juhen’s ghost. That he’s keeping an eye on Antha Well, if he is, he isn’t doing a very good job.’
Shortly thereafter a vague story appeared in the Times-Picayune describing a ’mysterious uptown mansion’ where no work could be done. Dandrich clipped it and sent it to London with the note ‘My Big Mouth’ in the margin.
One of our investigators took the reporter to lunch. She was happy to talk about it, and yes indeed it was the Mayfair house. Everyone knew it. A plumber said he was trapped under that house for hours when he tried to fix a pipe He actually lost consciousness When he finally came to himself and got out of there, he had to be taken to the hospital. Then there was the telephone man who was called to fix a phone in the library. He said he would never set foot in that house again One of the portraits on the wall had actually looked at him And he thought sure he saw a ghost in that very room
‘I could have written a great deal more," said the young woman, ’but the people at the paper don’t want any trouble with Carlotta Mayfair Did I tell you about the gardener? He goes in there regularly to cut the grass, you know, and he said the weirdest thing when 1 called him He said, "Oh, he never bothers me. He and I get along just fine He and I are just real regular friends." Now, who do you suppose this man was referring to? When I asked him he said, "You just go up there. You’ll see him He’s been there forever My grandfather used to see him. He’s all right. He can’t move or talk to you. He just stands there looking at you from the shadows One minute you see him Then he’s gone. He don’t bother me. He’s all right by me I get paid plenty to work there. I’ve always worked there He don’t frighten me."’
Family gossip of the period dismissed the ’ghost stories ’ So did uptown society, according to Dandrich, though he implied he thought that people were naive
‘I think Carlotta herself started all those silly ghost stories,’ said one of the cousins years after ‘She wanted to keep people away We just laughed when we heard it.’
‘Ghosts at First Street? Carlotta was responsible for that house becoming a ruin. She always was penny-wise and pound-foolish. That’s the difference between her and her mother’
But whatever the attitudes of the cousins and the local society, the priests at the Redemptonst rectory heard countless stories of ghosts and mysterious mischief at First Street. Father Lafferty called regularly at First Street, and rumor had it that he would not allow himself to be turned away
His sister told one of our investigators, ‘My brother knew plenty about what was going on, but he never gossiped about it I asked him how Antha was doing, and he wouldn’t answer me But I know he saw Antha. He got into that house After Antha died, he came over here one Sunday, and he just put his head on his arms on the dining table and he cried. That’s the only time I ever saw my brother, Father Thomas Lafferty, break down and cry.’
The family remained concerned about Antha throughout this period. The official story was that Antha was ’insane,’ and that Carlotta was always taking her to psychiatrists, but that ‘it didn’t do any good.’ The child had been irreparably shocked by the shooting of her mother She lived in a fantasy world of ghosts and invisible companions. She could not be left unattended; she could not visit outside the house
Legal gossip indicates that the cousins frequently called Cort
land Mayfair to beg him to look in on Antha, but that Cortland was no longer welcome at First Street. Neighbors report seeing him turned away several times.
‘He used to go up there every Christmas Eve,’ said one of the neighbors much later. ‘His car would pull up at the front gate, and his driver would hop out and open the door, and then take all the presents out of the trunk Lots and lots of presents. Then Carlotta would come out and shake hands with him on the steps. He never got inside that house.’
The Talamasca has never found any record of doctors who saw Antha. It is doubtful Antha was ever taken outside the house except to go to Sunday Mass. Neighbors reported seeing her frequently in the garden at First Street.
She read her books under the big oak at the rear of the property; she sat for hours on the side gallery, her elbows on her knees
A maid who worked across the street reported seeing her talking to ’that man all the time, you know that browned-haired man, he is always up there to see her, must be one of the cousins, and he sure do dress nice.’
By the time Antha reached the age of fifteen, she sometimes went out the gate by herself. A mail carrier mentioned seeing her often, a thin girl with a dreamy expression walking alone and sometimes with a ’good-looking young fella’ through the streets. ‘The good-looking fella’ had brown hair and brown eyes, and was always dressed in a suitcoat and tie.
‘They liked to scare the hell out of me,’ said a local milkman. ‘One time I was just whistling to myself, coming out of the gate of Dr Milton’s house on Second Street, and there they were just right in front of me, under the magnolia tree, in the shadows, and she was real still, and he was standing beside her I nearly ran into them I think they were just sort of whispering together, and maybe I scared her as bad as she scared me.’
There are no photographs in our files from this period. But all these witnesses and others describe Antha as pretty.