by D. M. Pulley
“And she’s not?” Hunter sighed. “Who cares what she thinks? They’re both so completely messed up. I just . . . I want you to come. Okay? Will you? Come stay with us awhile. Think of it as a free hotel until you can figure something else out.”
Ava considered his face a moment—scruffy and awkward but soft. The sweetness of it hurt. “But I don’t know if I can. I’ve been here for so long. This is my home.”
“It’s just a house. Wouldn’t you rather be with people? People who care about you? Friends? All this place has is bad memories. Ghosts. Just—please. Come with us. If you don’t like it, I’ll drive you back here myself. Okay?”
“Your mom doesn’t like me,” she insisted. “And she wants me to go to therapy.”
“My mom thinks everyone needs therapy. She wants me to go to therapy. So what? I mean, she’s a basket case, but at least now she’s not just sitting around obsessing about nothing anymore. She’s going to get her old job back, and she’ll hardly be around anyway. Besides, I think she really wants to do something right for a change.” He cocked a goofy grin. “Can’t you just let her?”
He hadn’t noticed the way Margot looked at Ava, a girl the same age Allison would’ve been if she hadn’t died. He only heard her nagging voice asking, Are you in love with this girl?
“What about your dad?”
“What about him? He’s a junkie in denial. He’s staying in Cleveland. They’re getting divorced. I’ll probably see him once a year or some shit just like every other kid. Right?”
She frowned at the venom in his voice. “You know he isn’t all bad, right? Like, addicts aren’t bad people. He’s just messed up.”
“Yeah. Tell that to Abigail Marty’s family.” Hunter blew out some trapped steam and softened his tone. “I just really kind of hate him right now.”
“I know.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around her and felt her stiffen.
“Um, Hunter? I like you.” She eyed him cautiously. “I mean, I really like you. But if I’m staying with you and your mom, it would be weird if we . . . I mean, I’m just so messed up right now, and . . .” She couldn’t put the rest into words.
“Hey. I get it.” He squeezed her shoulder and let her go. He didn’t dare let his smile slip or the hurt of her words show through. “We can be friends, right?”
“Right.” She nodded, feeling both bad and relieved.
“So you’ll come with us?”
She shrugged. If you don’t like it, I’ll drive you back here myself. “Okay.”
“Good. Because if you don’t come, Caleb will never fucking believe any of this.”
She broke out laughing. The sweet sound of it drifted out Hunter’s door and down the hallway past the empty rooms, flitting like a trapped bird into the attic.
64
House for Sale
April 2, 2019
“Wow. This is beautiful!” the young woman cooed from the front stoop. Her pregnant belly looked ready to burst.
Her husband squeezed her hand and shot her a look that said, Don’t let on how much you like it.
“Wait until you see the inside. The renovation the last owner did is stunning. Brand-new kitchen. Remodeled bathrooms. Fully restored wood floors. You’re going to love it.” The real estate agent opened the front door and strolled inside. The cherub-faced door knocker watched as the couple crossed the threshold hand in hand with their two children, a toddler and a six-year-old.
“Oh, my!” the wife gasped in the two-story foyer, her voice echoing off the ceiling high above. “I love the chandelier!”
“It’s original to the house,” the agent purred, handing them each a flyer. “We have over four thousand square feet here, not including the basement or the third floor, nearly all of it renovated last year, including piping in central air-conditioning. It’s a perfect family home and plenty of space for all three of your children.”
“May I ask why the sellers are leaving? I mean, they bought the house less than a year ago. Were they flippers?”
“Messy divorce. It happens all the time. I can assure you they spared no expense on the renovation.” The agent led the tour through the empty living room and the den and into the kitchen. “I believe the seller has already moved back to Boston with her children.”
The young wife stopped at an enormous marble island, not believing her good fortune. “It’s gorgeous! This is exactly the sort of kitchen we’ve been looking for, right, honey?”
“It is nice,” the husband conceded, taking in the top-of-the-line appliances and high-end finishes. He did a slow turn, searching for something to dislike.
“Nice? It’s perfect!” his wife whined. “Wally? Watch your sister, okay? Don’t let her climb the stairs.”
The six-year-old groaned. “But Mom! I want to see the house too!”
“Okay, kiddo.” Wally’s dad hoisted the little girl onto his hip. “Let’s all go.”
Sunlight shined in through the large windows, casting a warm glow in the solarium. Despite his best efforts, Wally’s dad found himself picturing Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas mornings and barbecues on the back patio.
The real estate agent hid a knowing grin as she led them up the back stairs. “Now, if you’re seriously considering putting in an offer, I should let you know that the house has a bit of a history.”
“What history?” The man scowled, stopping the tour in the long hallway outside Hunter’s old room. Wally ran past him into the bedroom and started spinning in circles by the fireplace. The little girl squirmed until her father set her down to join her brother.
“They recently found evidence that suggests that this site may have been a stop on the Underground Railroad.”
“Really?”
“It’s up to the scholars to debate it, but they discovered human remains buried in the backyard last summer. The medical examiner determined the bones to be over a hundred and fifty years old and of African American descent. Did you know that Chagrin Road, just a few blocks south of here, was a known route up to Canada?”
“That’s amazing!” The specter of the dead bodies didn’t seem to chill the woman’s enthusiasm in the slightest.
The husband was less enthusiastic. “How did they find them?”
“Digging in the backyard.” The agent waved her hand. “Must’ve been quite a shock. Of course, they called the police right away when they found bones.”
“What did they do with them?” The husband cast a suspicious eye toward the backyard. The two children went tearing down the hall into the next room. “They’re not still out there, are they?”
“Of course not! Everything was done by the book, I assure you. It was quite a process, really. The police brought in the anthropology department of Case Western Reserve University to perform a full site investigation. It turns out that the old foundations of one of the North Union Shaker Settlement buildings is located on this site. They spent three months digging around back there, preserving what they could. They gave the remains a proper burial at Lakeview Cemetery, from what I understand. They wrote all about it in the paper, so in a way, this house is famous!” The real estate agent grinned like she’d just handed them a prize. Sell it as a positive. That’s what her boss had explained weeks earlier in the foyer. It’s not a stigmatized property. It’s a landmark. “You may want to look into getting the house registered as a historic landmark.”
The husband nodded slowly. “Interesting.”
Relieved to have the explanations over with, the agent continued the tour into the first bedroom. “Now keep in mind when you look at the bedrooms that the closets are smaller than you’ll find in newer homes, but I think the extra space here more than makes up for it.”
Hunter’s old room basked in the warm sun streaming in through the window sheers. The two children came squealing back, chasing each other and then their own shadows, which danced on the floor.
The two parents moved on to the next room. “Wally, wat
ch your sister.”
Wally nodded his little head and stomped on his sister’s shadow. Once his parents were out of sight, the boy spun slowly in the wondrous room. The fireplace stood at one end, then windows, built-in bookshelves, and the closet door. Curious, the boy walked over and opened the closet with his little sister in tow.
Inside, Benny’s angry pencil marks had been painted over in a tasteful gray. Hunter’s mother had insisted it was the only way they’d sell the house. The DeAD GiRL lay buried there under the latex along with Ava’s lonely musings.
Wally stared up at the towering walls. “Look, Annie, look,” he whispered. “There’s a secret message.”
The toddler stumbled in. “Where?”
“Here.” He pointed to the inside wall next to the door. The boy couldn’t read all the words just yet, but he ran a finger over the letters written in thin black ink with reverence.
Welcome to our Rawlingswood
Please fill this house with life and love
And forgive the ghosts that trespass here
For this was the home of Believers and runaways
And it does not belong just to you
It belongs to the Rawlings, Bells, and Klussmans
It belongs to the Turners and Spielmans
It belongs to the dead and the moved away
So if you see Walter in the attic, tell him you’re sorry
If you find Benny in the closet, tell him you believe him
If you hear Toby in the night, tell him you love him
We welcome your ghosts, so be a good host
And perhaps we’ll all meet in the end.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
No One’s Home is a work of historical fiction, and as such it contains several true events, places, and people that form the backdrop for a fictional story. Two real murders in Shaker Heights, Ohio, inspired portions of this story. However, the events contained herein, including all characters, are figments of the author’s imagination.
Rawlingswood and its inhabitants never existed. The fictional house is a composite of many beautiful century homes in Shaker Heights, Ohio. A vacant home the author toured in 2008 inspired much of the story. The previous owners were rumored to have fallen victim to an untimely death, drug addiction, and insanity. The home was badly vandalized, stripped of copper, and an unopened college acceptance letter lay on one of the steps up to the attic.
The following is an index of true events, places, and people that give historical context to the novel. Any characterization or dialogue involving real persons are fabrications invented by the author to enhance the story.
Shaker Heights, Ohio—The affluent suburb of Shaker Heights was built on lands purchased by the Van Sweringen brothers in 1905. Located approximately seven miles east and south of downtown Cleveland, Ohio, the city was named for the religious commune that occupied the land from 1822 to 1889. In 1921, the Van Sweringen Company real estate brochure for “Peaceful Shaker Village” promised prospective home buyers “protection forever against depreciation and unwanted change.”
Lee Road, South Woodland, and Van Aken Boulevard are real streets in Shaker Heights; however, none of the homes there formed the basis for this story.
United Society of Believers in the Second Appearing of Christ (Shakers)—A religious order began in eighteenth-century England that practiced celibacy and asceticism in the belief that Jesus Christ would soon return. Mother Ann Lee was a founding member of the United Society of Believers, and the group came to be known as “Shaking Quakers” or “Shakers” for their exuberant prayer dances.
North Union Shaker Settlement—A group of Mother Ann’s Believers settled in northeast Ohio in 1822 and dubbed the land given to the commune by convert Ralph Russell “the Valley of God’s Pleasure.” At the height of the movement, over two hundred North Union members divided themselves into the Center Family, Gathering (East) Family, and Mill (North) Family.
The North Union Shakers took in anyone seeking shelter and were known to house Native Americans and at least one African American member. Other Shaker settlements in the US reportedly harbored “fugitive” African Americans seeking refuge; however, no direct evidence was found linking North Union to the Underground Railroad.
North Union Shakers were the victims of mob violence more than once, and written evidence suggests many Shaker buildings were burned to the ground between 1848 and 1854. Membership dwindled after the Civil War due to a lack of new converts. The commune disbanded in 1889, and the land was sold off in 1892.
The Holy Grove—The North Union Settlement experienced an intense period of mysticism between 1840 and 1852. In 1843, they believed Jesus Christ came to stay with them for three months. In 1845, they constructed a “Holy Grove,” or outdoor cathedral, also called “Jehovah’s Beautiful Square,” where they believed they could speak to angels and experience supernatural visions. The location of the Holy Grove was at the corner of Lee Road and Shaker Boulevard and less than two blocks from the fictional Rawlingswood.
Fugitive Slave Act of 1850—Congress passed legislation in 1850 that allowed slave hunters from the South to capture “fugitive” African Americans seeking refuge in northern states such as Ohio. It also made harboring “fugitives” illegal in the North, although abolitionists and many others of good conscience ignored the law. The act was officially overturned with the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863.
Underground Railroad—According to Cleveland historians, African Americans seeking freedom from slavery traveled along Chagrin Boulevard between Shaker Heights and Chagrin Falls on a path north toward Canada. This Underground Railroad passed along the southern border of the North Union Shaker Settlement (approximately four blocks from the fictional Rawlingswood).
Angelo Lonardo—Several Cleveland crime families were known to be involved in the illegal manufacture and distribution of liquor during Prohibition (1920–1933), which included a loose network of small residential distilleries. The character Big Ange was named after Angelo Lonardo.
References to the supernatural and unmarked graves in the story were largely inspired by my research into the North Union Shaker Settlement, the Society of Believers, and the enigmatic culture of the Romany people. Romany words and phrases vary in spelling and usage based on dialect and region. Any errors or omissions are my own.
The Shaker song “Simple Gifts” was written in 1848 by Elder Joseph Brackett, and its lyrics were transcribed from “Force and Form: The Shaker Intuition of Simplicity” by John M. Anderson, published in the University of Chicago Press’s The Journal of Religion 30, no. 4 (October 1950): 256–260. All other song lyrics and poem verses were inspired by Shaker traditions and written by the author.
For more information on the history of Shaker Heights and the North Union Shaker Settlement, consider the following sources:
Conlin, Mary Lou. The North Union Story: A Shaker Society 1822–1889. Shaker Heights, OH: The Shaker Historical Society, 1961.
Molyneaux, David G., and Sue Sackman. 75 Years: An Informal History of Shaker Heights. Shaker Heights, OH: Shaker Heights Public Library, 1987.
Piercy, Caroline B. The Valley of God’s Pleasure: A Saga of the North Union Shaker Community. New York: Stratford House, 1951.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Shirley Jackson and her quintessential gothic novel, The Haunting of Hill House. I also owe a heartfelt thanks to the friends, family, editors, and historians who made this story possible. Local history librarian Meghan Hays of the Shaker Heights Public Library offered her help and insight as I researched the North Union Shaker Settlement. Ware Petznick and the staff of the Shaker Historical Society opened their collections and archives as well as their personal expertise to me as I researched the mysticism of the Society of Believers and the development of Shaker Heights.
A team of editors guided this tangled story through the deep, dark woods. Thank you, Jessica Tribble, Andrea Hurst, Carissa Bluestone, Riam Griswold, Leslie Molnar, Yishai Seid
man, and all my friends at Thomas & Mercer and Amazon Publishing. I would be lost without you.
Jen and MK, your thoughtful feedback led me to the final draft. Mom, I wouldn’t have made it without the love. Dad, thank you for my first home and the will to leave it. Jo, thank you for being my compass whenever I feel lost. Brac, thanks for being my friend in dark places. Hugs to my boys for finding the missing pieces of my heart. Irv, you’re my home, and I’ll never outgrow you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © Rebecca Cain
D. M. Pulley lives just outside Cleveland, Ohio, with her husband, her two sons, and her dog. Before becoming a full-time writer, she worked as a professional engineer, rehabbing historic structures and conducting forensic investigations of building failures. Pulley’s structural survey of a vacant building in Cleveland inspired her debut novel, The Dead Key, the winner of the 2014 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. She is also the author of The Buried Book.