House of Darkness House of Light (19 page)

“You don’t believe a goddamned thing I’m telling you…” Carolyn shook her head in disgust.

“It’s not that…”

“Yes it is
that
! You think I’m delusional…I’m making all of it up just for the HELL of it! I have
never
lied to you, Roger. Not
once
in all these years have I ever told you anything but the truth…and you know it! How
dare
you question me now! How dare you suggest…”

“I
don’t
believe
in ghosts!”

“Roger, you don’t get it. Your belief or disbelief has absolutely no bearing on their existence whatsoever. They don’t give a damn what you believe!”

“There
has
to be some logical explanation for it…”And so it went, until the root ball was rotted and nothing would grow.

By the time Roger finally became a
believer
it was too late: needle and the damage done. A sharp point of contention evolved into the muck and mire of irreconcilable differences. Though they’d remain together for many years to come, a couple was no longer together in spirit. They shared a life, a house, a family and even a bed, yet a deep chasm of resentment developed in between them; no bridge wide enough to cover that expanse. No meeting one another half way. The more familiar Carolyn became with Roger’s bad attitudes and predispositions the less likely she was to try communicating with him on
any
subject. The abyss gradually widened, attaining a dark, immeasurable depth, like staring into what appears as a vacant black hole in the Universe. The Big Bang Theory: a huge explosion then silence and darkness. No sign of Light.

What a shame; a very sad turn for the worse. The negative energy seethed, oozing from every pore whenever Roger was confronted by that which he’d resisted a belief in; gradually transforming him. Unfortunately, his anger was not reserved for the supernatural culprits but spilled profusely onto anyone else in his path. By comparison, Carolyn tempered a reaction she could not disguise but frequently muted (for purpose of keeping the peace) by adopting an insouciant demeanor intended to counteract Roger’s irascible nature; her passive approach, measured and deliberate, to offset his own fiery outbursts. Recognizing the union as one of diametrically opposed forces, a war wife did anything necessary to avoid further enflaming the passions of her husband.

She was not the only one changing. As the months passed everyone in the family was adversely affected by manifestations and reactions alike. Anxiety and dread became a paranormal part of life; fear, an ever-present emotion. It was layered like phyllo dough used in a recipe for disaster: Roger was afraid his wife was losing her mind…then
more
fearful that she was
not
losing her mind but was instead
really
seeing what she’d claimed to witness. He feared for her health and well-being, mentally and physically. Her deterioration was increasingly evident to all; a specter far more frightening than anything their house had yet to muster. Carolyn’s rapidly aging and shriveling form was the most horrifying apparition of all…one everyone witnessed…all of the time.

Both feared for their children; Roger, because he sensed they were quickly becoming motherless and Carolyn, because of what these children might be observing. She was terrified; the incidents colored her world: shades of gray. Impenetrable shadows did not yield to the light. The more familiar Carolyn became with the characters of various entities, the less she understood about the true Nature of what was happening in this house. Roger would not listen; he did not know how. Resentment brewed; each stirred the curdling cauldron of incomprehension. It festered at the surface while coming to a boil. Toxic bubbles: not fit for human consumption.

All of the children feared for their mother and likewise feared their father’s unpredictable moments of spontaneous combustion, as it was Wrath of God: “This house smells like death!” exploding from within him more than once; they’d tremble when he yelled, hide when he hollered, becoming as invisible a presence as those with whom they dwelled. As the two of them fought their own battles the war of words escalated. Seven mortal souls got caught in the midst of an immortal experience, all ill-prepared for their transformation. It spawned a host of unholy emotions; reactions which threatened to intrude on a family which had been, prior to arriving at the farm, a rather peace-loving clan who enjoyed life together. Their idyllic setting was a mirage; the pursuit of happiness merely an illusion. A marriage riddled with conflict and distrust colored their landscape black. A pastoral tapestry Carolyn once admired was being torn to shreds, unraveling before her eyes, and yet she could not see the invisible manifestation: the changeling did not sense her own transformation. An exhaustive attempt to understand the many subliminal messages received incrementally began taking a toll on her soul. Too gradual a decline in assets to feel the fee being assessed…too distracted by the culprit to realize she was being robbed. Like common pickpockets, they were…thieves stealing youth from a beautiful woman one terrifying moment at a time.

There were some whimsical moments of clarity, such as the day all of her children gathered and began to sing a song Carolyn found poignant; perfectly appropriate to their situation. Andrea was teaching her sisters a tune she had learned in
Chorus
, staging a mini-musical production of “
The King and I
” on their expansive front porch; a wonderful scene. Words rang out as music through the house, beckoning a mother from the kitchen. Spring had arrived, allowing for open windows. Proudly peeking through from the dining room, Carolyn saw her chorus standing in a circle, shaking hands on the downbeat, as directed. Each one sang an assigned phrase; sweet and simple lyrics with a profound interpretation, as the subtext had not escaped an observant woman. During a few moments of childhood innocence playing out, while leaning on the windowsill, applauding her theater troupe, an insidious concept crept into Carolyn’s consciousness…a notion few parents ever have need to consider.

Resenting the intrusion, a grimace belied her joy; that glimpse of a shadow cast from the Light: Evidence of an intruder. As it leapt through her mind she dismissed it. An attempt to expel it from the class failed. She reconsidered its presence, wondering if it had come to watch the lesson learned, or teach one. Carolyn recalls feeling conflicted, plagued by negative thoughts which came in the most unexpected moments, yet mindful of the messages received. The lyrics said it all:
“Getting to know you…getting to know all about you…”
had struck an ominous chord. Why wasn’t she free to merely appreciate the moment? Why must its light be colored by darker thoughts? What purpose did they serve? Truth be told, she
was
getting to know “
them
”…getting to know all about them…like it or not. Smiling, she shook it off and sang along.

***

Fear is the only mortal emotion more powerful than love. As every member of the family continued to witness manifestations of souls with whom they’d shared space in a house alive with death; Carolyn’s terror turned into a hatred of souls past, and one present. Fear transforms what it touches, for better or for worse. Among dead and living alike, fear conquers love. Lesson learned:

In quarters too close for comfort, familiarity breeds contempt.

“It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them.”

Pierre Beaumarchais

 
cold as stone

“In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe

and enough shadows to blind those who don’t.”

Blaise Pascal

Spirits do not always seem to be aware of their surroundings, as if they’re just passing through on their way to somewhere else; as distant as they are present: remote, disinterested beings. When they did engage members of this family it was brazen; a dramatic spectacle, sometimes threatening in tone and demeanor. An attempt made to entice a girl to
come along
for a dimensional journey through time and space was no small spirit matter. Though negligible intrusions occurred frequently, just a part of the new paranormal, when major manifestations occurred it was quite enough to make mortal blood run cold, especially considering the fact that an appearance was often accompanied by a brutal chill associated with the passing essence of an immortal soul; Death.

Even after years in their presence no one in the family ever knew what next to expect; a visit could be highly disruptive, moderately annoying or entirely benign. With their inexplicable power to manipulate objects at will they often received acknowledgment and attention…simply by lifting up the telephone receiver or sweeping the bristles of straw brooms across a floor which clearly required some attention of its own. Disapproval was quite a common theme; sometimes it was a blatant reaction. One of the spirits preferred their kitchen be kept a certain way; another one preferred the musical genre of the 1940’s, singers and standards;
not
Rock n’Roll. Theirs was an omnipresent influence, even when it remained relatively quiet for extended periods of time. It was a strange way to live and let die; always sensing something unseen just beyond the shadows…afraid to look more closely…afraid of what might be there.

Nothing would happen for weeks, even months at a time, unless, of course an argument erupted. Such discord inevitably provoked some responses from the other side; the darker side. A few harsh words; all it took to unleash
some
reaction. Most of the spirits hated these altercations. One of them apparently thrived on this upheaval; the uglier, the better. It was not necessarily an overt acknowledgement in that moment; not a manifestation as entity. Instead, an object would suddenly fly across the room, perhaps as shock value to break up a disturbance
or
to prompt its escalation. No one was ever certain of their underlying motivations. Ultimately, it proved irrelevant, as any interruption served its purpose, altering the focus of an argument, silencing it completely. Often just sensing a presence was enough to quell a brewing storm; a sudden chill in the air, cold as stone in winter. The odorous whiff of death infiltrated; it lingered, functioning as a calling card of sorts…enough to redirect the rapt attention of those involved in any dispute, regardless of the subject matter.

Reconciliation eluded an unhappy couple; they’d frequently allow weeks to pass before properly addressing an argument with an eye toward resolution; hostility became an unwelcomed state-of-being during this difficult period. They maintained a certain physical distance, passing in silence like ships in the night; extending little else than a cold shoulder. At a perpetual impasse, no meaningful conversation occurred. Their house muted; a shrouded hovel. Roger would crash on the sofa or find a good reason to hit the road: Be gone! It was the kind of quiet known to shatter the nerves of children, keeping them fearful of saying the wrong thing, afraid of creating any disruption at all. A sad irony as side effect: they too hid in the shadows to avoid detection.

During these most tempestuous of moments, one familiar spirit repeatedly appeared. He would intently observe this household and its many occupants. An innocuous figure lurking in shadows behind an open door in the hallway, becoming the shadows as his translucent form disappeared in the moment of mortal recognition, as soon as somebody saw him he would vanish and then return when everyone was preoccupied. It was Manny; the spirit Nancy spied the day the family moved in; he was perched inside a doorway, watching Mr. Kenyon finish packing. Cindy caught a glimpse of him as well. Obviously he was not a threat but was instead a kind and gentle spirit; his mild expression was always one of bemusement or concern, depending on the circumstances. He was peaceful; a benevolent apparition who stood constant vigil, keeping a watch over mortals in his presence. Even though he never once attempted to directly contact anyone in the family or intervene in any dispute, his warmth transcended the pervasive chill of death constantly surrounding him. Manny was a sympathetic soul; his goodness evident to all who sensed this presence. Though he’d always seemed aloof and unattached to the places and spaces in which he appeared, visually distinctive facial expression indicated an interest in those he was observing. It was a passive/aggressive interaction; overt in its actual manifestation but placid once present. The girls were never frightened of him, considering him a rather protective influence, someone to watch over them, which he did with considerable frequency. As years passed, this warm, especially unobtrusive entity became a peripheral member of their family. He seemed to belong there; seemed to fit in the larger picture: as if in a portrait.

His was not the only integration which occurred, though, for the most part, the other spirits were more circumspect, far removed from those with whom they shared space, as if
mortals
did not exist. The Baker boys never noticed the presence of human beings. Not once. Not that they were evasive. Instead, they were oblivious to the family with which they shared common ground. It was strange to encounter them, usually on the landing of the bedroom stairs. They’d stare straight through those who witnessed them as the father and son serenely surveyed their fine property from the portal disguised as a window. Carolyn would soon
be witched
by their passive/aggressive behavior in her own bedroom, in the form of a chant and incantation delivered before dawn, intended to taunt and terrify; the threat issued by those who did not seem to notice the victim they haunted. Cold, they were, while carrying flames aloft.

***

Carolyn was often found brooding upon the hearthstone, on a solid slab of granite. As her heart became as cold as the stone beneath her feet, the woman considered a tear in the fabric, the shredding of a marriage, acknowledging a stark vacancy: black holes exist. Distance she felt from Roger had nothing to do with proximity or his travel schedule; it was as omnipresent as the spirits. Ultimately, she concluded the dissent between them was a matter of faith. He had no faith in her. In time, his disbelief would be countered with a mutual, identical sentiment. She had no faith in him: An overt alienation of affection.