Mira sat inside the car and reached for the bottle of water in the beverage holder. After taking a long gulp, she said: “Lou, would you happen to have a contact for the owner of this property?”
“Sure, I do! Think I’d be working here if I didn’t?”
Mira smiled.
“You’d have to go to a town called Mizpah to find her though – if you’d ever wanna see her in person.”
“She doesn’t live here in Newport?”
“Nah. Mizpah’s her hometown. She wires my money from there every month. I have a number you can reach her by though.”
Mira opened the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook and a pen. She handed them to Lou.
“Please jot down her name and contacts here,” she said.
“Uh, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Never learned to read and write, you see?”
“Oh, no problem. Just tell me and I’ll write it all down.”
He gave her the contact information and address for Latina Cosgrove. Mira thanked him and when she was sure all the dizziness had left her, she backed out of the yard and drove away.
As she was leaving, Lou made the sign of the cross again. “Nice lady. Sure hope nothing will follow her home,” he said, grimly.
11
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Mira decided to make a stop at a local convenience store before heading back home. She needed to replenish the car with a few light snacks.
“Hello, dear. How are you today?” a little old lady asked her at the check-out counter.
“I’m fine, ma’am. How are you?” She handed her the pack of chips, a Nutty Buddy and a liter-sized Sprite.
“Doing just fine. Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking? Pretty much, everyone knows everyone around here.” She grinned.
“I’m from a town called Mizpah.”
“Mizpah, you say?” the lady’s facial expression suddenly altered to a more concerned one. She started fiddling around with the cash register as if she was trying to work it for the first time.
“Is there something wrong?” Mira asked her.
“No. Nothing at all. The total is $5.43; includes tax.”
She now appeared to be a bit angry and no longer the sweet, old lady Mira thought she was.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mira pressed.
The lady handed her the grocery bag and her change. “I’ll be much better when you get the hell outta here. Nothing good comes outta Mizpah! See how one of you came here and destroyed this good, decent town? My mother told me stories about how one of you Mizpah people found your way here; polluted this place and put a curse on it where people fell ill to unheard of diseases; died mysterious deaths and there was a time where forty years long, the economy suffered. Took us a good, long time to catch ourselves.” She looked Mira dead set in the eyes. “So, the quicker you get outta this store and outta this town, the better!”
Mira backed away and quickly left the store. She hurried to her car, locked all the doors as she remembered Bobby advising her to do, then sped off down the street.
“Whew!” She wiped the pebbles of sweat from her forehead as she drove. She had a sneaky suspicion that many in Newport felt the same way the old lady did. In any event, she wasn’t about to take a chance stopping anywhere else in that town.
A half hour later, she heard the wobbling sound of a flat tire. It felt like it might be the front one on the left. She slowed down and pulled off the road, dreading the thought of someone stopping by to offer her assistance. Thankfully, she had a spare tire, but had never changed one before. How she wished in that moment, she had asked Bobby to accompany her to Newport!
She got out of the car and walked over to the front. She was right. The front left tire was completely flat. It had picked up a huge nail.
Standing there with arms folded, she wondered if she should attempt to change it herself. After all, she’d watched her father change tires before when she was a little girl. Everything she needed to do the job was right there in the trunk. She shook her head, then went over to the back and popped the trunk.
Just then, a pickup truck pulled up behind her and two Hill Billy-looking guys stepped out.
“Need some help there, little lady?” the driver asked.
Mira felt like she was between a rock and a hard place. These guys looked tough and as the old lady said, everyone in that town knew each other. They’d know right away she was an outsider. And suppose the lady had already started spreading the word about her being there? If those guys knew or even suspected she was from Mizpah, would she ever make it back home to her family?
“No, I’m fine,” Mira soon replied.
“You don’t seem fine to me from the looks of that tire,” the other guy commented.
“That’s no job for a lady,” the first guy said. “We’d be glad to help. Got a spare?”
Mira’s heart was beating faster. She was unsure of what to do.
The other guy went and checked the trunk. “Everything’s here,” he said, pulling out the spare tire, a jack and the wrench. “Relax, sweet lady. Have no fear. Terry and Rodney are here.” He smiled.
She nervously smiled back. “Thanks.”
Rodney, the driver, changed the tire in about fifteen minutes and placed the damaged one into the car trunk. Terry put back the tools.
“Well, all done now.” Rodney brushed his hands together. “You’re good to go.”
“Thanks so much, gentlemen,” Mira replied. “I really appreciate all your help.”
“Anytime,” Rodney said. Terry nodded slowly.
Mira quickly got behind the wheel of the car again. She switched on the engine and put the gear in ‘drive’.
“Drive safely!” Terry shouted behind her as she pulled off.
Relieved that the men didn’t question or attack her, she couldn’t wait to get out of Newport and back home. The entire drive, she routinely checked her rear-view mirror to see if anyone was following her. She even feared someone might pull up alongside her and force her off the road or shoot her as she drove.
The You’re Now Leaving Newport sign looked like Heaven on earth. She smiled widely and gratefully as she officially left the town.
12
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By ten o’clock that night, Mira was back home. Rosie was fast asleep when she arrived, but she went into her bedroom, pulled the covers up to Rosie’s chest and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. She’d thought about her while in Newport and could not imagine never returning to her.
She ran a warm bubble bath and soaked in the tub for about twenty minutes before retiring to bed.
The next day…
Mira barely slept the night before as scenes from the house in Newport crowded her thoughts. She felt she must go back to the Sylvesters’ house as something all night was pulling her there.
After dropping Rosie off to school, she headed straight for the Sylvesters’ residence. Her heart was heavy and stomach slightly queasy the entire time she drove. Not understanding the basis for the uneasiness she felt, she was certain it would only be relieved once she arrived there. It was like a dam on the verge of breaking.
Pulling into the yard, she was shocked to see both Bryant and Lucille’s cars parked in the driveway.
“They’re supposed to be at the hotel. What’re they doing here?” She grimaced, hastily releasing herself from the confines of her seat belt.
She exited the vehicle and proceeded up the walkway to the front door.
On the first knock, the door creaked open.
“Bryant! Lucille!” she called as she entered the house, but there was no response. Standing in the living room, she called again.
And again — nothing.
Sensing that something wasn’t quite adding up with their cars parked right outside and their front door left unlocked, Mira walked slowly down the hallway. She soon noticed something on the left inside the bathroom. It was Lucille. She was lying on the floor, facedown, in a p
ool of blood. Splashes of blood covered tiled walls to the left and right of the small space.
“Lucille!” Mira cried. With no time to waste, she proceeded to check for a pulse. Having witnessed gruesome scenes during her internship, she knew that even some of the most badly injured people who appeared that death had certainly come for them, bounced right back. She hoped and inwardly prayed it was not too late for Lucille. However, on her knees and attempting to find a pulse on her neck, she realized her finger had entered a wet, open space. She knew right away that Lucille’s neck had been cut. Checking her wrist, and having no idea why she hadn’t checked it first, provided confirmation that the woman she met only a few weeks earlier, had passed on.
“This is horrible!” Mira exclaimed. “What on earth happened here? Bryant!” She called, exiting the bathroom and walking along the hallway again. Her heart raced and everything inside of her urged her to flee the house right that second and call the police. Yet, against her own will, she turned the door handle of the bedroom on the left and looked inside. It was there, in that room, that she found Bryant. He was lying in bed, fully clothed, with white sneakers on. His right arm dangled outside of the bed and drops of blood settled on the carpet directly beneath. Mira hurried over to him and felt for a pulse. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping — but he wasn’t. It was clear to her that his life ended not long after he had slit his wrist. Evidence of dried blood was on his hand.
Mira was overwhelmed with emotion as she walked out of the room. Cautiously pushing the door of the bedroom to her right open, she was not surprised to still see the portal. But this time, there were no more shadow figures sliding in and out. And she knew there was no need for them to be there anymore since their mission had been accomplished. They were ultimately successful in persuading Bryant to murder the wife he loved and then to kill himself.
Mira exited the house, shutting the door quietly behind her as tears streamed down her face. If only Bryant had listened to me and left the house! She sadly thought. But at the same time, she sort of understood the battle that must have been raging within his own mind.
Seated outside in her car, she picked up her cell and dialed the police. “I’m calling to report two deaths in the residence of Bryant and Lucille Sylvester on 25 North Pinewood Drive…”
After making the call, she opened the book to the page where she’d jotted down the directions for Latina Cosgrove’s house. “Can’t wait for the police!” she muttered. “Someway, somehow I must get to the bottom of this before it’s too late!” She reversed out of the driveway and headed up the street, punching in Latina’s number as she drove.
Only moments after Mira left the Sylvesters’ residence, their little house that they invested their entire life’s savings into disintegrated on the spot, ultimately disappearing into thin air — cars and all. All that was left was vacant land with lots of bushes and a few fruit trees.
13
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Latina Cosgrove’s colonial-style home was situated in the heart of the suburbs. It was set on a half-acre of land which stretched far beyond the four walls of the tan-colored home. Bronze rails encircled the structure and a matching security gate was at the front.
Mira parked in the yard and made her way to the doorbell at the end of the walkway.
“I’ll buzz you in,” she heard a female’s voice moments later. Then a mechanism in the gate clicked and she watched it open slightly. Stepping onto the veranda, she continued to the front door which opened the instant she arrived.
“Doctor Cullen, please come inside,” the woman said at the door. She had long, shiny black hair, sea blue eyes and was in her late forties. The glittery black pants and blouse outfit on her tall, slender body produced multi-colored dancing lights each time the fabric moved. She was the perfect portrait of affluence, and inside the house was no different.
Mira was greeted by expensive European furniture throughout the living room. The tufted sofa was her favorite, although she knew it wasn’t the most comfortable style there was. The ceiling stood rather high, and was similar in shape to that of a prominent cathedral. That part of the house reminded her a little of Cornelius’ house after the senator and his family had nicely renovated it.
Something else about Latina Cosgrove’s home stood out: All around the main room were fancy, little mahogany tables with three lit candles on each one. There were ten tables in total and thirty candles in that rather large space.
Latina led the way to the couch where they both sat down.
“What can I do for you, Doctor Cullen? You sounded rather worried when you phoned me.” Latina crossed her legs.
“Miss Cosgrove…”
“Please call me Latina.”
“I happened to pass by your house — the one in Newport…”
“Yes?”
“Well, I was reviewing some historical facts concerning your house. I just have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no! Not at all. What would you like to know?” Latina replied.
“At what point did you acquire the house in Newport?”
“Didn’t you research that? It’s clearly in the public records. My grandfather, John, was the original owner in the late 1800s and I inherited the house from my father, upon his passing.”
“So, you were related to Stephen Anthers then?”
“Yes, he was my cousin. Unfortunately, I never got to meet him since, of course, I wasn’t born yet, but I understand he was beloved by my family. My grandfather allowed him to move to Newport and live in the house rent-free.”
“He moved there along with his girlfriend, Matilda.”
Latina leaned forward. She had a glare in her eyes. “Let’s cut to the chase, Doctor Cullen. You didn’t pay me this visit to chat about the history of our family’s house in Newport or about any urban legend talk surrounding it in that pitiful town.”
Mira was intrigued by her insight. “Miss Cosgrove…”
“Again, please call me, Latina.”
“Latina, a man by the name of Bryant Sylvester who lives — lived here in Mizpah indicated that he’d purchased his house from you. The house looks exactly like the one you also own in Newport.”
“What’s strange about that?”
“Nothing, really. Except that ever since moving into your house, Mister Sylvester and his wife have been having a lot of experiences that appeared to be of a paranormal nature.”
“Really?”
“Really. They’re now both dead.”
Latina sat back on the couch. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t understand what that has to do with me though.”
“When last have you been to Newport?” Mira asked.
“Must’ve been ages now. I don’t go there,” she said.
“You don’t? But you own a house there.”
“And I aptly maintain that house from here. Didn’t my grounds caretaker, Lou, tell you that when you were there?”
Mira wasn’t sure what information Latina could provide, but she knew there must be something useful.
“Look, I know why you’re here and I know who you are,” Latina said. “You, having psychic abilities, sense that there’s something off about the houses I own. What puzzles you is the power the house in Newport seems to hold — the ability to recreate or clone itself from one location to the other.”
“What are you talking about?” Mira was clearly baffled by that statement.
Latina got up and started to slowly pace the floor. She released a heavy sigh. “I don’t have two houses, Doctor Cullen. I own just one, besides this one I’m standing in, of course. The house in Newport is what I own.”
“So, you’re not the owner of the one here in Mizpah where the Sylvesters lived?”
“In a way, but what you don’t understand is the house you saw in Newport and the one here in Mizpah is the same house — not just the same architectural design — it’s the exact same house.”
She walked over
to a framed photograph on the wall. “You see, this fine young man was my cousin, Stephen. He had a heart of gold. He moved away from here to get his girlfriend, whom he loved with his life, to safety because people in this town were beginning to think she was a witch. You know how the history books say it was back in those days. He took her to Newport with him where they lived in my grandfather’s house, the one you saw, for a few years. They became a part of the community, made friends, then were ultimately betrayed. Stephen was killed while at work and his loving bride-to-be, Matilda, was hanged in the forest.”
“Yes, I know the story.”
“Do you know she put a curse on that town too?” Latina glanced at her.
“I do.”
“Well, I decided to exact my own brand of justice — not just against the people in Newport, but those here in Mizpah as well.”
“What do you mean?” Mira sat up straight.
“I’m no psychic like you and I don’t have telekinetic abilities like Matilda did, but I have a religion where justice reigns and the supernatural becomes readily available to me to enforce such justice.”
“You’re into Black Magic,” Mira said, evenly.
“The house in Newport, as I indicated, is cloned in various locations one at a time. It exists, apart from the main source in Newport, long enough for the inhabitants to be terrorized and ultimately die an untimely death, then the house disappears from sight and re-appears nice and neat, and void of anything belonging to the former residents, in a new location. For instance, if you return to 25 North Pinewood Drive, you’ll no longer see the house the Sylvesters lived in. It’s completely gone. The residents also disappear along with it — they become one with the main source.”
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 64