House of Darkness House of Light (28 page)

A jolly man, Sammy sought then found the best in every soul and situation, scattering his natural joy like blossoms on breezes wherever he went. He had always attracted females in droves, including the five girls clinging to him as he began singing a sweet, old-fashioned tune, dancing with his fair maidens beneath the apple tree
.
“I’ll be with you in apple blossom time / I’ll be with you to change your name to mine / Church bells will chime / And you will be mine in apple blossom time!”
A grand old song, each child was charmed beyond measure, as was their mother. Why Sam was so happy mattered not; it rubbed off like chalk dust on all he encountered. It had been a marvelous day. Carolyn smiled warmly, watching her friend while he sang with April in his arms. Then, as any perfect dance partner would, he invited her to stand on his feet while Sam took the lead. All of them were ardently in love with this short, stout, jovial little gentleman, including Carolyn. He finished his round with the ladies in dappled sunlight shining upon the grassy dance floor below its resplendent branches, his lyrical voice ringing throughout their secluded valley. His was a full, deep voice; a pure tone rich in texture and nuance, one in perfect harmony with Nature. For all souls involved in this festive family outing beneath an apple tree, it was a lovely memory to make; a keepsake.

Staying for the day, Sam had a chance to leisurely enjoy all the farm had to offer. His walk to the river convinced him; no matter what was happening in that old farmhouse it was worth tolerating to have the rest of many blessings. His assessment of these spirit matters was based upon his own experiences. Therefore he was unaware of the true personality of the problem. Essentially, his ghost was peaceful and innocuous; mischievous. Sam’s error in judgment came in the form of advice imparted, borne of the assumption that he knew more than he actually did on a complicated subject. He told Carolyn to relax, not to worry; to simply ignore the problem. Later in the evening after dinner, Sam sat on the porch with his hosts discussing their plans for the future, all the while insisting they should not,
could not
sell this wonderland he’d spent the day exploring; it was inconceivable to him how they would even consider parting with the place. He had no idea of what would come if they remained. None of them did; circumstances provoking a fear of the unknown.

Carolyn had great faith in their friend. Accepting his encouragement she let her guard down. If she could only let go of this fear, her omnipresent anxiety, everything would be fine. Sam was certain of it. She had been making herself a nervous wreck in a constant state of agitation anticipating the next incident, with good reason. Carolyn agreed to dismiss the notion of selling the place, at least for the time being. Yet, lingering doubts, pure dread she attempted to dispel or suppress would continue to haunt a reticent mortal soul, working on her mind in destructive and insidious ways.

The sweet aroma of apple blossoms saturated the evening air. Sam became intoxicated by it as they’d walked the grounds again, returning to his favorite spot beneath the canopy of an apple tree. He plucked a few fallen petals from dew-laden grass, souvenirs to take home: always the hopeless romantic.

“Carolyn, you’ve purchased the
Garden of Eden
. Promise me you’ll never let it go.” Had a Jewish man been more familiar with precepts of Christianity he might have extrapolated some deeper implications based on this analogy. According to scripture the garden was not only beautiful; paradise on Earth. It was more complicated: a place riddled with danger, the evils of temptation; something wicked having to do with mortal desire, an apple tree and a snake. Carolyn stooped beneath the specimen, bursting with blossoms, preparing to bear its sweet fruit. Perhaps the tree of knowledge bore all the lessons she did not care to learn in this life…or the next, for that matter. God only knows.

“What are you looking for, my dear?” Sammy was willing to help.

“The proverbial snake; you know, the one supposedly lurking in the grass.” It is important to retain one’s sense of humor, especially when under duress; during times of trial and tribulation. So it is written. So it’s been said.

Twilight: Sam had to leave before dark,
fearful
of being lost in the woods. How ironic! While humming the same heartfelt tune he’d sung for his ladies, Sam scattered petals he gathered, blossoms reclaimed from the tree of life, all over the seats inside his Mercedes, departing with a promise to return soon. He had come to be with them at apple blossom time and his heart never left.

“There is nothing in the world more peaceful than apple-leaves with an early moon.”

Alice Meynell

 
kiss of death

“Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed;

/ The motion of a hidden fire / That trembles in the breast.”

James Montgomery

Another week went on by with no further interruptions; no incidents. Doors remained latched when closed. Flies: all gone. Everything was peaceful. The kitchen ceiling was a chore and a half but once complete looked spectacular. Hand hewn beams were exposed and the room felt larger, more welcoming; job well done. Roger worked the immediate area, seeking out new clients for his wares in quaint little villages scattered along the coast of Southern New England. Making his way home to Harrisville every night, Carolyn made no secret of it; she’d been comforted by his presence in the house. Spirits lifted. Her mood improved dramatically, much to the relief of her children.

Sam reassured them; attitude was everything when it came to spirit matters. She was beginning to believe him, absorbing sage advice into consciousness as spring days began blending together. Life became what she envisioned for her own the day she found their place in the country. Relaxing into a routine, everyone began taking for granted; this was how it would be. Mom: cheerful. Dad: home. It wasn’t Norman Rockwell but something resembling normalcy.

One balmy evening Roger surprisingly suggested they find a babysitter and go out on a date. Neither of them could even remember the last time they had done anything together as a couple. Dinner and a movie? A distant memory. Carolyn graciously accepted his invitation and began scouting for a sitter. A local teen came highly recommended by their neighbor. Carolyn made a call, grateful the young lady was available, especially on such short notice and on a Saturday night. Arrangements made, the excited woman chose a nice outfit from the closet, hopped in the shower then had a fine time putting on makeup for the first time in…forever. Five fascinated girls intently observed as their mother pillaged through a rather sparse collection of cosmetics, playing dress up alongside her at a mirror. She powdered their noses and painted their lips. The bathroom became crowded, loud with laughter; a rambunctious crew at a festive event: all the girls playing together…making up a fond memory.

Margie missed their driveway three times before pulling into the yard. Her father’s old beat up Chevy truck was full to brimming with junk, like a tinker carrying his wares in a covered wagon in olden days. It was Margie Bailey! Andrea was thrilled. They had spent time talking on the bus. Margie brought her guitar then taught Andrea how to play it in one night; a quick study. They became close friends over time. Margie was safe; someone who could always be trusted to keep a secret…a person of good character and stellar reputation: a great choice for a friend. The eldest child required a confidante.

Italian was the most romantic food. Roger was willing to see whatever film Carolyn desired, a deference she appreciated as they had such contrary tastes. Roger knew it probably meant seeing something British or even, God forbid; a “foreign language” film with subtitles. He considered it a risk worth taking, determined to provide Carolyn with a memorable evening. It was destined to become just that but for an entirely different reason. Carolyn does not recall where they dined and what film they saw that night, but she will never forget what happened when they came home. Date night had only just begun: a date with destiny for a mistress of the house…but with which one?

It was a quarter past midnight when they walked through the door. Margie was doing some homework. Gathering her books, the mother asked typically parental questions, inquiring about their kids’ behavior and the like. A good report eased her mind. Roger paid the charge, offering to drive Margie home, due to the late hour. Declining this offer, she reassured the couple she lived a mile away and would be fine. They could hear her rattling through their yard, tools sliding, crashing together as the rusty truck navigated through deep ruts in an earthen driveway…then she was gone.

Though their day had been long, this night would prove longer, still. Roger was sleepy due to a lengthy drive. From the farm
anywhere
promised to be a long journey. Rhode Islanders are provincial people. A ten-minute long ride always prompts a complaint of five minutes too far. For Roger, it always felt as if the place in the country was light years away from civilization as he had known it all his life. A city boy…forced to make the necessary adjustments. He crawled into bed while Carolyn went upstairs to check on their children. All was calm; very quiet. They were sound asleep, as was her husband by the time she’d returned. Within moments, she too would fall deeply asleep. Rest, dear woman, for you will need your strength.

Unaware several hours had passed; Carolyn stirred to a distinct vibration of footsteps crossing the wood of her bedroom floor. Sensing a presence beside her, presuming it to be one of the girls, she began to extricate herself from a heavy slumber, softly muttering: “What’s the matter, honey?” Stretching her arm out toward the sound, knowing she could instantly identify the child by touch, by the whisper of a voice in the night; there was no response. Opening her eyes, pale dawn light revealed the grotesque figure of a woman hovering above her. Carolyn was staring directly into the torso of an apparition which had usurped the bureau beside the bed, standing in its place. The sudden rush of terror pulsed throughout her body, jolting the woman awake; sending one horrified soul scrambling for cover beneath a cotton quilt.

The image of it leapt through her eyes into her mind, impaling her memory with a spectral wonder so vivid and compelling, it had to be processed in tiny patterns and fragments. As still shots…appearing in a series of freeze-frame photographs slicing into her consciousness; inescapable split-second imagery bombarding the senses, creating the complex memory from scraps and shards of a gruesome vision. Immobilized by fear; its petrifying cold cut like a blade to her bones; its noxious odor: utterly repulsive. With staccato-like precision, an incongruous concept underwent rapid-fire conversion into language as the overwhelmed woman absorbed details of an entity she observed; perceptions unfolding in mind. Exposing itself solicited scrutiny while breathing abject terror and loathing into its victim, forcing its putrid stench deeply into her breathless lungs. A description conjured was beyond mortal comprehension:

the dress rusty green jersey handmade hand-dyed fabric belt cinched at the waist with an oval buckle covered in same fabric vintage clothing a being from another time ugly beehive head a hornet’s nest broken neck snapped hanging to the side no eyes no mouth grey mesh cobwebs no hands no feet just floating above me cold so cold can’t breathe vile evil death no bureau gone coming closer cold can’t breathe so close too close wants to touch me don’t touch me head draped at an angle wants a kiss dear Lord Oh my God

There it stood, its cockeyed head leaning sharply forward at a crooked angle, broken neck; no question. Standing
inside
the bureau beside their bed, a solid wooden object, it had fused with the furniture for its own nefarious purposes.

The hideous creature approached silently, as if closing in to steal a kiss or claim a life. Carolyn heard herself shrieking as the spirit drew nearer but still, not a sound would come; nothing but a squeaky whimper would penetrate the frozen knot of vocal chords lodged within her throat. Digging her feet deeply into the covers beneath their quilt, Carolyn kicked Roger repeatedly, scraping his shins with her toenails. It drew closer. One black stick of an arm flopped down across her pillow as the entity leaned over, its head curiously cocked to one side, as if it was studying her. Terrified of being touched, Carolyn’s first instinct was to hide; an inclination to cower beneath the quilt, though she had kicked her share of it too far beyond reach. Breaking backward, frantically scampering away, Carolyn catapulted up against the headboard of their bed, crashing it into wrought iron hardware on the doors directly behind it, loudly enough to wake dead and living alike. Eyes sought a face…there was no face; only a swirling, rancid mass of rotting flesh resembling a desiccated hornet’s nest, covered in what appeared to be a mesh of blackened cobwebs; flimsy wisps of wiry hair clinging to the crown. Grabbing a fistful of disheveled hair Carolyn jerked Roger’s head severely back and forth in her desperate attempt to wake the motionless man. His body was limp…lifeless. His wife was sick inside, certain her husband was dead. Uncontrollable panic ensued, believing the intruder had killed him and was about to claim her; an intention to stop her heart: to literally scare her to death. An evil entity stalking its prey began moving in for the kill. As a spontaneous reaction she slammed her body up against the headboard. Sliding aside, she landed on Roger: fighting for some distance…fighting for her life. The woman’s silent screams were deafening; her mind manufacturing at full volume what her body had refused to provide. The wretched being floating cloud-like above her, inches away; becoming a part of whatever was in its way, on its way to a target. Aversion so intense, its repulsive odor overwhelming, it caused her stomach to heave reflexively. Carolyn fought for control; taking shallow, panting breaths, forcing out fine mist from her lips, obscuring the appalling view of what she presumed would be her bitter end. In those few dreadful moments it never occurred to her that she might survive this ordeal. The ghastly apparition aligned its hellish head with the face of its intended victim. In the last instant before contact Carolyn whispered the only words she could form or utter in a moment of pure panic. “God help me.” Gasping for air, grasping an edge of the covers with gnarled fingers trembling, she braced for impact. Yanking the blanket toward her had caused it to shift, falling off of Roger, revealing his torso; the shocking sight, momentarily diverting her rapt attention from the imposing apparition. She’d ceased breathing, her mind shrieking in horror; his back and shoulders, even his ribcage was scored; deeply abraded with scratches, as if he’d been clawed to death by a wild animal. Seeking out the entity, she knew she was next.