“What… what do you see?” Sara asked them as their gaze went well beyond the parakeet.
The strange woman looked down lovingly at Rosie. Her affection for the child could not be denied. Mira felt her heart – it was heavy.
“Rosie...” Mira started.
“It’s Matilda!” Rosie happily exclaimed.
Mira could not forget the woman after she’d appeared some time ago to help a child named Cara who was hopelessly lost.
Matilda soon looked her way. Her eyes were desperately yearning for something that Mira could not pinpoint. “Go to Newport...” she uttered boldly.
“What will I find there?” Mira asked.
“Listen to the child and everything will become clear.” She walked over to Rosie and placed a single red rose in the palm of her hand, which Rosie gladly accepted.
Matilda glanced one last time at Mira before turning and walking away. She disappeared gradually into the tempered glass sliding door.
Sara was stunned. She saw the rose appear in Rosie’s hand, but did not see who had put it there; neither did she hear anything that was said other than what Mira and Rosie had uttered. “My goodness! You’ve got a rose.” She felt it to see if it was real. “Did this Matilda woman give it to you?”
“Yes, she did!” Rosie replied. “She’s very nice.”
She then looked at Mira. “You have to go to Newport, Mom. Remember the research you did?”
“Uh huh,” Mira answered.
“Well, it’s right there in your notes. You must go as quickly as you can.”
Mira had a strong feeling that the request was one that something or someone other than Matilda heavily relied on.
By now, the parakeet had settled and was picking at the sunflower seed and fruit mix.
“Newport? Why in the world would you go to Newport?” Sara asked Mira.
“I’m not sure.” Mira went straight to her room, pulled out a letter-size manila folder from the second drawer of her nightstand and sat on the bed. She skimmed through notes she’d made and newspaper clippings about Newport and the mystery surrounding a one Matilda Curry and Stephen Anthers in 1894; also the bizarre deaths of many men and several women on the night of June 5th of the same year, and the seemingly untimely death of Reverend Carl Ike. There was a note about the house where Matilda and Stephen lived, where it was located and the urban legend surrounding their deaths.
“That’s it!” Mira exclaimed, eyeing that particular note. “She wants me to go to her old house.”
Sara and Rosie entered the bedroom.
“It’s the house. She wants me to go there,” Mira told them. “She’s spoken to you about these signs, Rosie, and the house has something to do with what we’ve been seeing lately. I’m almost sure of it.”
“What you’re saying makes no sense,” Sara said. “Are you considering going all the way to Newport because a ghost sent you there?”
Mira got up and headed over to the window. “Something’s wrong, Mom. Something’s seriously wrong. As crazy as this seems, I have to find out why she wants me to go there.”
“Well, I think it will be a mistake!” Sara barked. “You’re supposed to be level-headed, for goodness’ sake! But you’re gonna drive for hours to get to a town you’ve never been to before and not sure why you’re even going. Ludicrous!” She stormed out of the room.
Surprised by her outburst, Mira and Rosie looked at each other.
“It’s okay, honey,” Mira said to Rosie. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Sara was standing in the living room with her arms folded, looking out of a window.
“What’s the matter, Mom?” Mira asked. “I must say, your reaction in there stunned both of us. It’s so unlike you.”
Sara turned to her. “Mira, I don’t see the need for anything so drastic. Newport is an entirely different town. Why should you travel so far with no clear understanding of why you’d be doing it? It just seems silly to me. That’s all.”
“Mom, do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you. Why should you ask that?”
“Do you trust my instinct?”
Sara seemed reluctant to answer.
Mira searched her eyes.
“All right. I do.”
“Then there’s no issue. You know I have to do this.”
Sara was clearly bothered still, but relented. “When will you go and who’s going with you?”
“I’ll leave in the morning. Just have to call in to work.”
“So soon?”
“The sooner the better.” She looked into her mother’s eyes, the irides of which had changed from their brown hue to a light, dull gray over the years. Aging had everything to do with it. “Will you be all right to take care of Rosie until I get back?” she asked.
“Rosie will be fine. How long do you plan on going for?”
“I don’t foresee being away for more than a couple of days, although I can’t say for sure how long I’ll be.”
Sara looked out of the window again. This time, her stare was not aimless; she was observing the yard. “I remember how your dad used to go and work in the yard every Saturday. Do you remember that?”
“I surely do.” Mira smiled.
“He used to love it so much, then when he couldn’t quite manage as well anymore, Bobby took over. That young man came here faithfully every weekend to help out your father.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I can never repay him for how he looked out for us before you and Rosie moved back home.”
Mira knew what her mother was feeling and wanted to tell her what she knew would make her elated. However, she held back, certain that the timing wasn’t right.”
“Are you gonna ask him to go with you?” Sara asked.
“You mean, to Newport?”
She nodded.
“No. He has to work. I won’t drag him off his job for this. I’ll be fine. I’m going alone.”
Sara knew Mira’s mind was made up. There was no point in arguing with her.
10
_________________
7:05 a.m. — the next day…
With a map in the front passenger seat, Mira was on her way to Newport. She estimated she’d take roughly five and a half to six hours to arrive.
The perfectly manicured landscape along the freeway was a calming and captivating sight to behold on that warm, sunny day. Instead of using the air-conditioning, she lowered the two front windows and the back ones only mid-way. The wind flying through her hair made her feel more alive than she’d felt for months since the very first sign appeared. She’d never forget that night at the clinic as she sat in her office making calls to inform patients of their test results. The buzzing sound she heard after hanging up from her fifth call, then the whooshing sounds seemingly emanating out of each of the four walls. Faces and scenes of so many people — happy, sad, terrified — men, women and children. The thing is they all started out content or happy, then the expression on each of their faces changed: worry seemed to surface initially, then fear, then dread. She couldn’t understand it, but it was the first thing that happened after Matilda paid Rosie that visit months earlier, mentioning something about “signs”. Mira was used to seeing apparitions, but this was different. These people were not reaching out to her in any way— she only observed their lives as if from a distance. So she knew their images were connected somehow to Matilda.
Then there were all the other odd events.
She grabbed her cell from the dashboard and dialed Bobby’s number. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Babe. I’m on my way to Newport,” she told him.
“Newport? For what?” He’d just barely rolled over in bed.
“It’s a long story; I’ll explain when I get back.”
“How long will you be gone?” He was now sitting up.
“I expect to be back by nightfall, if not tomorrow. It depends. But hey, while I’m gone, could you please check in on Mom and Rosie?”
/> “Sure. Sure, I will. So, you’re driving there or you took a flight?”
“Driving,” she answered, while noticing how the tall trees and greenery cast matching shadows onto the still lake below. The scenery was breathtaking.
He hated to hound her, but thought he’d ask anyway. “Are you travelling there to Newport for work or something?”
“Something,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You asked if I’m travelling to Newport for work or something. I answered that it’s the latter.”
Bobby was quickly waking up. “Yeah. Very funny, Mira!”
She chuckled. “It has to do with some research I’ve done. Just kind of putting some pieces together, you know?”
“Is it that same research you mentioned to me a while back about an urban legend or something relating to that area?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay, I see. Well, just be careful, okay? Don’t stop at any deserted-looking rest stops and make sure to keep the car doors locked during the drive. You can never be too careful.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“I love you,” he said.
“Love you too. See you when I get back.”
* * *
Mira pulled off the road a few times to stretch her legs and study the map, and only refueled the car once. At exactly 1:32, she turned on to Twindle Street and then made a right a short distance down into a yard with a long, narrow, gravel driveway. Immediately, something about the entire property stood out to her. She stopped the car suddenly, near the edge of the driveway, and stepped out. Standing next to the car, she quietly observed what stood before her.
“It… looks like the exact same house, yard… everything as the one in Mizpah,” she uttered softly. “The Sylvesters’ house.”
For a few moments, she was sure her eyes were playing tricks on her. The architectural style of the house, size, position it sat in on the property; the long, narrow, gravel driveway. Everything looked the same.
“This is so strange.”
She finally got back into her car and continued down the driveway, stopping a few feet in front of the porch. That’s when she noticed a man in the yard, weeding. He wore a straw hat, a green, sleeveless shirt and a pair of gray short pants. He immediately stood up as she exited the car and walked over to meet her.
That’s when she also noticed the black shadow figures, dozens - possibly hundreds of them weaving in and out of the trees, up and over the house and back down again, and through and through.
“May I help you?” the man asked.
Finally, looking his way again, Mira said, “Hi. Do you live here?”
He grinned. “No one lives here, Miss. This place hasn’t been lived in for at least twenty years or so.”
His revelation had taken her by surprise.
“Really?” She grimaced.
“I’m just the care-taker. Been so for about fifteen years now. Name’s Lou.”
“I’m Mira Cullen.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Cullen. These old knees ain’t as good as they used to be.” He grinned again. “But they manage to keep the weeds down.”
“I know what you mean.” Mira smiled.
“You from here or just visiting?”
“Just visiting.”
“Looking for someone in particular or you just wanted to see for yourself what all the ruckus is about?”
“What do you mean?” Mira was confused.
“I mean the ruckus about this house — the legend concerning the witch who used to live here and how she made the town pay for breaking her neck.”
Mira thought for a moment. She saw an opportunity. “I was wondering if I could take a look inside for a minute.”
The expression on Lou’s face dropped.
“Look inside? You want to go in there?”
She nodded.
“Are you serious?”
“I am.”
He appeared to be gathering his thoughts that had suddenly scattered moments earlier.
“You won’t happen to have a key, would you?” she asked. “I’m more than willing to offer you a few dollars in return for the kind favor.”
He studied her for a moment.
“Why you wanna go in there?”
“I just would like to see what all the fuss is about; that’s all. I’m not so sure that so-called legend is true. News about it has traveled far and wide.”
“You don’t need no key,” he replied.
“Sorry?”
“No one in their right mind ever enters that house after all that’s happened in there. Even homeless people and drug addicts avoid it like a plague. The owner hasn’t bothered to lock it in years. Feel free to go in if you dare. I’ll be right here when you come out. Hopefully, you’ll be intact and the curse won’t get you. ‘Nother thing you have to think about too if you venture inside is whether the curse will follow you home or not. Sensible people don’t take the chance. Know what I mean?”
“Thanks for the warning.” Mira reached into her pocket and handed him a twenty dollar bill, which he quickly snatched and shoved into his pocket.
As she made her way to the porch, he watched her closely.
She stopped when she thought of something. “By the way… what happened in here?”
“Murders. I heard every single person that moved in was brutally murdered — single parents, entire families. Believe me, there’s nothing good about this house,” he replied.
As he spoke about the murders, images of all the terrified faces she’d recently seen in her mind’s eye and ear-piercing screams flooded her brain.
She continued on and mounted the porch. Lou made the sign of the cross after she opened the door and stepped over the threshold.
The exterior of the house was in much better condition than the interior, likely due to the fact that the upkeep of the property was primarily focused on the outside. The old furniture inside were covered with dust. A mid-size Oriental rug was in the center of the living room floor and Mira immediately got the impression that when the house was inhabited, it was a happy, cozy dwelling for those who had moved in. She moved slowly along. The layout was exactly the same as she’d seen it in the Sylvesters’ home in Mizpah. The odds of that happening bewildered her. However, she considered the possibilities.
The silence inside was deafening— even her steps seemed to have no sound of their own. She reached the end of the hallway and entered the first bedroom. The bureau and bed were situated in the same spots as in the house back home. Every piece of furniture from the living room onward, as far as she could recall, in Bryant and Lucille’s house, matched what she was seeing there.
“Now this is odd,” she muttered as she swept a trail of dust from the bureau with her finger.
Now, it was time to check the final bedroom — the one on the eastern side of the house, just across the hallway. She remembered the stacks of boxes which crammed the matching room from the other house, but this bedroom was completely empty. Nothing at all was inside of it other than the flat, dark-blue rug which covered the entire floor. At the far end of the wall was a small closet space. Mira walked over to it and looked inside.
“My God!” She gasped, on looking to her right.
It was another portal, only smaller in size than the one she’d seen at the Sylvesters’ house. The pitch black, oval gateway surrounded by multi-colored rays seemed to bubble and vibrate in its place. She backed away quickly, fearing that by some weird chance, she might be swept in and taken somewhere she’d rather not be.
As she looked up, she realized that the shadow figures were all over the room now and just like in the other house, some were sliding in and out of the portal. Suddenly, the room was filled not just with the dark shadows, but with many men, women and children. Extremely sullen faces; some weeping and wailing, and others emitting blood-curdling screams. She felt like they were closing in on her as the shadow figures darted around even faster and faster now. Her head was sp
inning and somehow, she knew she had to get out of there. She made her way through the crowd as they, for the first time, beckoned her — pulling and tugging at her as she passed through.
“Please help us,” a little girl with remarkably sad eyes and long, black pigtails said to her in the doorway. As the girl turned slightly to the left, Mira saw the dent of a large blow to the left side of her head. Startled, she proceeded out of the room. Bleeding souls were lined off along both sides of the hallway and some were in the living room. She used the wall as support as she stumbled toward the front door. Light-headed or not, she was determined to get the hell out of there.
She overwhelmingly felt that toxicity itself had become ingrained in the house and each person who chose to inhabit it became its victim. The pungent air of brutality was strong as scenes of murder and mayhem flashed through her mind with every step she took. The frightening and saddening realization she encountered was that there was no otherworldly force that literally ended the life of any of the lost souls trapped inside the invisible fibers of that house; it was those once vibrant human beings who had done it to one another. Weakened in morality by the mere influence of unseen entities who rejoiced in their confusion and misery. She knew the culprits were the shadow figures – the messengers and deliverers of fear, worry, turmoil, heartache, torture and ultimately an existence without the use of air to breathe or a beating heart.
She finally made it outside the front door and nearly collapsed on the porch. Lou, standing nearby, dropped his rake and rushed over to her, helping her off the porch and over to her car. Outside now, the lightheadedness was gradually leaving her.
“You all right, Miss?” he asked, worriedly. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone inside that hell hole.”
“I’m all right.” Mira was leaning against the hood of the car. “You’re right. That’s some house.”
“It’s the devil’s house; that’s what it is. I been taking care of this property every Sunday and Monday for fifteen years and never set foot inside. The rumors about this place was enough to keep me right here outside where it’s much safer. Sure, I heard and felt some things out here, and took off down the street more than once, but I come back and everything is nice and quiet again. The problem is not outside; it’s inside.”
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 63