by Cindy Winget
“If you didn’t write it, Theo, then…” Eleanor’s pale face took on a subtle shade of green. “The house. It’s the house,” Eleanor whispered. “It knows my name. Hill House knows my name!” she said louder.
Theo walked over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Eleanor. It’s like Dr. Montague told us. Spirits can’t harm you.” But then she glanced at the smears of blood, and Luke watched the color drain from her face.
“But the house can!” Eleanor insisted. “It gets inside your mind. Isn’t that right, Theo? Isn’t that what you said?”
“Oh, well…” Theo began.
“We are perfectly safe,” Dr. Montague broke in. “Spirits can be scary, but they have no corporeal form. They can’t hurt us. Poltergeists can throw stones and move furniture around, but they aren’t inherently malicious. At the most they are simply annoying.”
Or trap you behind a brick wall, thought Luke bitterly. And mess with your head. He had been so sure that he was a mere few steps away from being sliced in half or hurled into an infernal pit. The psychological fear of impending death had been much worse than a few books hurled at him in the library.
“But I don’t believe any physical danger exists here,” Dr. Montague was saying.
Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes. “If one of you did this, it’s incredibly cruel.”
“I don’t believe anyone here did this. We are dwelling in a haunted house with any number of entities,” said Dr. Montague. He put his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and steered her towards the door. “Come with me down to the kitchen and we’ll have Miss Dudley make you a nice cup of chamomile tea to help settle your nerves.”
When they had left, Luke looked at Theo. “So…I am guessing it wasn’t you who ruined your own clothes with blood.”
Theo rolled her eyes. “Of course not! She’s crazy!”
“I sure hope it isn’t human blood.”
“Not funny.”
“So are we supposed to clean this up or…”
Theo glared at him. “I sincerely hope you aren’t that spoiled.”
Luke smiled and grabbed a garbage bag from a nearby closet to help Theo throw the ruined clothing and bedding away. He searched for a broom closet where he found a mop, a scrub brush, and some soap. After filling the bucket to the brim with hot water, he squirted some soap into the liquid and brought it all back to the bedroom. He began scrubbing the message on the wall while Theo mopped the floor.
“It’s not coming off,” Theo growled.
“I don’t suppose this place has hydrogen peroxide.”
Theo gave him an exasperated look.
“What?” said Luke, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s the best thing for blood stains. Or so I hear. I can’t say from personal experience. It’s not often I need to clean up a bunch of blood.”
At that moment, Dr. Montague reentered the room. Closing the door behind him, he turned towards them and said in a low voice, “We need to talk.”
“Okay, Mugsy,” whispered Luke in a gruff voice. “Where should we hide the body?”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s just trying to be funny,” explained Theo.
Luke threw up his hands. “Well, he comes in here looking all serious and speaking in hushed tones. What’s a fella supposed to think?”
“Just listen,” Dr. Montague stated. “I want to get this out before Eleanor gets back. I have to level with you; I don’t think she is one hundred percent stable. I think it wise if we send her home.”
Theo looked surprised. “Send her home? But she loves it here!”
“She does?”
“Yes. She confessed to me once that even though she was frightened at first, she loves being here at Hill House. She loves the adventure of it. She loves being with us instead of being alone…like she used to be.”
“Be that as it may, I believe that Hill House is starting to get to her,” confessed Dr. Montague.
“It may not be a bad idea,” Luke agreed. “If these dreams that Theo has been having are real, as the evidence would suggest, then Eleanor is not the first person to be driven insane by Hill House.”
Theo chewed on her lower lip, but finally nodded. “She has been acting a bit strange lately. Although, I wouldn’t exactly say she acted normal from the start. She’s always been a bit on the odd side. But with these messages making her think that the house is out to get her…I don’t know. Perhaps it is best to get her away from all this. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she wrote these messages herself as a bid for attention,” she added.
“Not to mention the time I found her leaning precariously on the railing of the verandah,” pointed out Luke.
Dr. Montague was nodding. “Yes. And what of her reaction to last night’s chaos? Submitting herself to the house the way she did.” He shook his head. “It disturbed me. With her isolation for twelve years, combined with all that has happened at Hill House, I just don’t think it’s good for her to remain here.”
“When should we tell her?” asked Theo.
“Tomorrow,” Dr. Montague said firmly. “It’s too late in the day to send her off now. I don’t want her trying to drive home in the dark. Not on these perilous roads. It’s best for us all to remain together until things calm down.”
Theo looked troubled.
“What is it?” Luke asked her.
“Eleanor doesn’t have a home. After her mom passed away, she refused to stay in that house, and she confided in me that she doesn’t get along well with her sister. She practically begged me to find an apartment with her, but I was reluctant to agree. We can’t send her away with nowhere to go.”
“Well, she can’t stay here,” pointed out Luke.
“What are we to do then? Just shove her out into the uncaring world to fend for herself? She’s hardly been outside her house for twelve years!”
Luke looked to Dr. Montague for an answer.
“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, “But I fear if she stays here, her mind will fully unravel.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a dull, dark, and soundless day. Edgar pulled the collar of his coat up to help ward off the chill of the air. He glanced apprehensively at the sprawling estate before him, shrouded in mist. This is where Roderick had elected to work as the caretaker? What could have possessed him to do so?
Looking at the house, despite the difficulty in getting here, seemed liable to send him on his way before he had even knocked upon the front door. The only reason he had even shown up was because he had received a letter from Roderick asking him to come. The letter had conveyed such desperation that Edgar could not refuse.
The property gave off an ominous feeling that he could not account for. It was as though the house had absorbed an evil and diseased atmosphere from the decaying trees and murky ponds around it. Although the structure seemed solid enough, some of the stones were beginning to disintegrate and crumble. There was a crack that extended from the top of the roof all the way down to the bottom of the porch.
Despite his reservations, Edgar stumbled up the porch steps and knocked upon the door. He had a feeling that he was not going to like it here, but his friend needed him. Roderick’s letter had revealed that he was both physically and emotionally ill. Roderick had pleaded for Edgar to come and give him some much-needed company.
The door swung open and Edgar stepped into the foyer. “Hello?” he called. No response. He pushed the door open wider and found the space empty. No one was there. Then who had opened the door?
“Ah! You made it!” came a voice from the left. Edgar turned his head as his friend entered the room.
The man didn’t seem ill or distressed.
“Hope the road up here wasn’t too rough,” Roderick said.
“No. Not too bad,” Edgar replied untruthfully.
“Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?”
Edgar waved him away. “I’m fine.”
“Do you mind if I e
at?”
Edgar chuckled. “Not at all.” He followed Roderick down the hallway to the dining room where a sumptuous dinner was laid out.
“My sister,” Roderick said by way of explanation. “She is always preparing way more food than I could possibly eat.”
Edgar’s mouth watered at the delicious aroma of the feast. “Well, I might have some room for dessert at least.” But he grabbed up a plate and took a bit of everything: roast chicken, baked potatoes with sour cream, corn on the cob, green beans, a hot roll with butter and jam, and a big helping of apple pie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He took a large bite of the pie, unable to resist.
“This is amazing!” Edgar said with his mouth full.
“Glad you like it.”
The evening passed pleasantly and uneventfully. The two friends sat in plush chairs by the warm fire and caught up with each other’s lives. Roderick poured Edgar yet another glass of scotch, and the two men laughed uproariously as it splashed down the sides of the glass. Perhaps Edgar had had enough. His head felt fuzzy and unfocused. He watched as Roderick poured and drained his own cup of liquor.
As the laughter died, Roderick put down his glass on the table next to him. They sat companionably, staring at the fire, lost in their own individual thoughts. Edgar was glad now that he had come. The letter he had received had seemed to promise otherwise. He had expected a lot worse from this trip.
“You know,” began Roderick, “the house of Crain is an ancient family. But although we Crains have always been affluent, we have never been prosperous.”
Edgar didn’t know what he meant. How can you be both rich and poor?
Seemingly privy to his thoughts, Roderick went on. “Now I know what you must be thinking; how can we not have been prosperous and yet have lived in such luxury? I meant that we have been wealthy, but never fully flourished. Did you know that only one member of the Crain family has survived from generation to generation? There has only ever been one direct line of descent without any outside branches.”
“What about Madeleine?”
“What about her?”
“You just said that only one member of the Crain family has ever survived and yet you retain a sister.”
Roderick shook his head. “Yes, but mark my words. She will never marry. She will not have children. Perhaps I won’t either.” He crossed his right leg over the left. “The family of Crain has been so identified with this house over the years that we have often been confused for Hills instead of Crains.”
Edgar noted that his friend seemed paler than he had when he first arrived. Dark circles laced his bottom eyelids. The energy that had animated his frame mere moments ago was gone, leaving behind a man that looked feeble; as though he never had any energy to begin with, that it had only been his imagination.
The letter had given the impression of a man broken and weary, and here was the evidence. Edgar frowned as he mulled over how best to broach the subject of his reason for being here.
“Bedtime, I think,” Roderick said.
“But—” Edgar tried to argue.
“I know what you are going to say, my friend, but I can’t bear to speak of it during the nighttime. When the world is dark and dreary and nightmares can descend like wolves after such a conversation. Best we speak of it on the morrow.”
Edgar nodded. “Where do I sleep?”
Roderick got to his feet and picked up a lit taper. “Follow me.”
Edgar did as he was told. As they traveled deeper into the cavernous house, his body gave a shiver. Partly because of the cold, but mostly because of the feeling of foreboding the dank house gave off. Each long passageway they traveled down gave the impression of descending into the gaping maw of hell. Closer and closer to the belly of the beast. Every statue, every tapestry, every table, seemed to give off living shadows that followed behind the men as they moved down the narrow hallways, until they finally stopped in front of a large wooden door.
Roderick pushed the door open. It screeched shrilly on raspy hinges. “This will be your room for as long as you choose to stay with me. The owner of the house is never here, so I have the entire place to myself, save for my sister.”
The next morning, he found Roderick already in the dining room eating breakfast. Edgar helped himself to some sausage and eggs and glanced at Roderick, wondering which side of his friend he would be met with today. He pondered whether he should bring up the letter now.
He needn’t have worried, for Roderick beat him to the chase. “I wrote for you to come here because I’m afraid.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“This house.”
Edgar understood. He himself had felt a presence in this house, as though eyes followed him constantly, making him jump at shadows as if he were a young boy telling ghost stories around the campfire.
“Why is that?” he said instead.
Roderick didn’t answer right away. He stared at a painting on the wall, twirling his thumbs around each other and picking at his nails. “I feel trapped. A prisoner in my own home.”
“Then why don’t you leave?”
“The house won’t let me leave. I can’t explain how I know this, but I worry that if I were to try to leave, Hill House would swallow me, and make me its own.”
Edgar was at a loss for what to say. He took a bite of his eggs.
“I fear that by asking you to come here, I have doomed you as well. I can only hope that the curse is limited to the Crain family.”
Remembering that the letter confessed the fear that Roderick was becoming mentally unstable, Edgar determined to stay and see this thing through.
Over the course of the next few days, he tried to raise Roderick’s spirits. He listened while his friend sang songs—a pastime Roderick loved but had no reason to use often—read him stories and played game after game of cards.
Nothing seemed to help. His friend’s melancholy worsened from day to day until he resigned to his bed, too weak to leave the comfort of his pillows.
As the days stretched into weeks, Edgar began to notice a pattern. During the day, Roderick seemed much improved. He would smile and laugh and engage in playful banter, but after dinner, when nighttime began to descend upon Hill House, his friend withdrew. He became paranoid and morose.
Acting upon his suspicion, Edgar waited until the dinner dishes were cleared and then asked Roderick to take a nighttime stroll with him.
“No. I can’t. I can’t leave the house.”
“You can’t but your sister can?”
That made Roderick pause. “What?”
“Your sister. She surely leaves the house in order to procure supplies, correct?”
“I guess so.”
“If she can leave, then why not you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s try it. Go for a turn in the gardens with me,” Edgar coaxed.
Roderick got to his feet and walked toward a side door that led out to the verandah. Slowly, he turned the handle and opened the door.
“That’s it. Go on,” Edgar urged.
Roderick stood there, as though he was assessing the mood of Hill House. He must have felt no ill will toward himself because he finally stepped out onto the verandah. As Edgar joined him, Roderick took a deep breath of fresh air, relishing his newfound freedom.
“How long has it been since you left the house?” Edgar asked as they walked down to the hedge maze and strolled past the stone fountain burbling forth water.
“Long time.”
“Has it always been so? Since you procured employment here?”
Roderick shook his head.
“When did you begin to feel that Hill House wouldn’t let you leave?”
Roderick shrugged. “A few years.”
A few years! Edgar thought in alarm.
“One day, I tried to leave and felt sick to my stomach,” explained Roderick. “Every time I finished my work and went to walk out the front doors, some unseen force seemed to preven
t me from leaving.”
Edgar had begun to suspect something. A pattern in his friend’s psychosis. To test his theory, he waited until eight o’clock the next night to ask his friend to go for another walk. This time when Roderick walked to the door, he seemed incapable of even the act of opening the door. He gasped and panted until crying out, “I can’t! It angers the house! It doesn’t want me to leave!”
The next day, Edgar tried before nighttime. Before darkness began to shadow the house. Roderick stepped out onto the porch with nary a hint of distress. He looked at Edgar with wonder. “I think you’re on to something! It’s the darkness. Hill House doesn’t like being left alone at night.”
Edgar inwardly sighed, knowing full well that it wasn’t the house that prevented Roderick from leaving, but his own mental blocks. But all in good time. At least he had had a breakthrough, and hopefully Roderick’s life was soon to get better. The deep depression and paranoia that plagued him would begin to fade.
“I’m going to refer you to some good psychologists that I feel you should seek out. Now, don’t look at me like that, Roderick. I know how you feel about psychology, but I really think it would be beneficial.”
Having his own life and work to get back to, Edgar stayed a few more days and then was gone, hoping that his friend took the necessary steps to get himself the help he so clearly needed.
Theo awoke from the vision peacefully this time, instead of being ripped from sleep like the times before. She lay there and took in the details of the dream.
She sat up with a start.
She had recognized the caretaker from her dream. She was sure of it, despite the fact that he had looked so much younger. It was him. The caretaker had been Roderick Dudley. No. Roderick Crain.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Theo had chosen to remain in a separate room from Eleanor since the bloody message incident, and therefore, didn’t need to take care how much noise she made as she arose from her bed, pulled on some clothes, and ran a comb through her dark hair.
She walked to the dining room, but it was empty. How early was it? Glancing at the clock upon the wall, she saw that it was barely six am.