House of Darkness House of Light (57 page)

~ A restless spirit who can bear? ~

 
sink or swim

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Carolyn was essentially on her own. As she attempted to unravel a mystery and put the pieces of a puzzle together, she felt isolated and alone; no support from a skeptical husband. Thoughtfully considering all she had learned of the woman named Bathsheba, it occurred to her that she’d been accused of being a witch at a time in history when she could actually survive such an insidious accusation. Not long before her birth, women accused of witchcraft were all presumed guilty until proven innocent, methodology employed to determine their status often resulting in a horrific death. Draconian measures utilized, superstitious at its ignorant core, women were routinely being burned alive at the stake or thrown into the lake. Those who held these poor souls beneath a pool of water would draw their ultimate conclusions based upon whether or not the body floated or sunk: either way, she was dead. Victims, one and all.

Flagrant abuses occurred during this time in history, including those who’d perished just up the road. Salem was not so far away; on a road to hell paved with
good
intentions: to rid the world of powerfully evil women, accustomed to taking matters into their own hands. In moments of contemplation, she had decided to take her children there, to show them the stocks, to expose them to the barbaric history associated with a town where intolerance was the norm. A history lesson learned: men are often threatened by women. Witchcraft as a manifestation is predominately a religion. Wiccan is the worship of Nature as God. Practical magic is essentially creative, the oldest and most potent form of magic in existence. The casting of its spells and gathering of covens in celebration was condemned by those fearful of the inherent power of such practices. Fear…the foundation of actions more evil than anything a woman could cook up in any cauldron. If Bathsheba had indeed been falsely accused of practicing witchcraft, little wonder she spent her life resentful of those who wished her dead. Had she not been punished enough in life? That alone would be enough to keep any spirit Earth-bound, if for no other reason, than to clear her name in the chronicles of history.

Field trip! Carolyn convinced Roger that it was time; and a crime to live in the lap of history in a region of the country filled with such fascinations and not avail oneself of the lessons history is supposed to teach. Since their girls knew about Bathsheba she thought they should know the true history of New England…the land of their birth. He agreed. It was October during the season of the witch when they loaded up the car and made the drive up the coast to a place with homes older than their own. Andrea was thrilled by
The House of Seven Gables
; a big fan of Nathaniel Hawthorne. The museum was awesome and the tour was grand. On the way home daddy took a huge detour through Cambridge heading west into Lexington and Concord, all the while telling a tale their kids were learning in school. How cool! To see places they studied, visiting Walden Pond, Thoreau’s old stomping grounds; to see the house that Emerson built was astounding. They were amazed by how much he retained from his own childhood lessons in Catholic school; Sacred Heart Academy. To apply that knowledge where appropriate was incumbent upon them all.

“You can swim all day in the Sea of Knowledge

and still come out completely dry. Most people do.”

Author Unknown

 
a rude awakening

“A Fear that in the deep night starts awake / Perpetually, to find its senses stained / Against the taut strings of the quivering air, / Awaiting the return of some dread chord?”

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Lorraine Warren had a sense and a vision of a spirit she called Bathsheba, proclaiming her a purely evil entity, portraying her as one of those doing the devil’s footwork on Earth; one who deliberately killed an infant in the house, in the very bedroom where Roger and Carolyn slept. She likewise claimed to psychically intuit this spirit, sensing her presence within two specific rooms; assuring Carolyn she was demonic in nature: Satan’s foot soldier, at war with a living soul, attempting to capture what she coveted. Mrs. Warren identified Bathsheba as a nefarious and malignant force, feeding off the energy in their house, with an especially voracious appetite for husbands. Insisting this beast dwells in the cellar, near the well, directly beneath their bedroom, it was Mrs. Warren’s fervent hope the room be sealed and permanently abandoned. Then another suggestion: Stay the hell away from the well and out of that cellar!

***

Christine had literally reached the point of
no return
. Unwilling to tolerate the middle bedroom alone any longer, she decided instead to stake a claim on the bedroom her parents had formerly occupied then deserted for a renovated summer kitchen. Even though Carolyn tried convincing her otherwise, it was vacant and Christine insisted…she could not remain in the bedroom upstairs, directly above the one she’d chosen as a replacement. Cindy recently moved, claiming Andrea’s space as her own when their big sister went off to college. Though the girls always left the doors open between their bedrooms it proved insufficient to quell the fear. Within a few weeks of Cindy’s departure Chris began moving her belongings into an available space downstairs. Though she has never shared what scared the hell out of her, what scared her out of there, something happened…something wicked…prompting a rather sudden move; a necessary relocation. Convinced she would feel safer, being in much closer proximity to her parents, it made the child feel more secure to be on the first floor with them but no one understood why, not even Carolyn.
That
bedroom had been forsaken for a legitimate reason, as the space where all of the major manifestations occurred. Unaffected by the warnings, Christine reassured her mother she’d be just fine. Nancy then claimed the middle room as her own, leaving April behind in the room above the kitchen: musical bedrooms. None of them realized the truth of it yet…no matter where
you
go, there
they
are. No point in wasting time and energy on ineffective evasive maneuvers; there would be no escaping a savage beast when, once again, she decided to return and rear her ugly head.

Placing the bed precisely where her parents once had their own, Christine centered the headboard up against the side-by-side doors opening into their dining room, leaving plenty of space for all of her other belongings. Lying in bed she faced a set of windows overlooking the garden; an exquisite pastoral view revealing expansive pastures, far better than a portal provided overhead. By the time Chrissy completed her own renovation project, the bedroom had a whole new personality; her own. Transformed into a feminine oasis, though not overdone, it was elegant. No frills…Classic Christine. With her presence the room became inviting again. She’d soon receive an unexpected guest.

It had been several years since any manifestations occurred in the bedroom. Though spooky episodes and corresponding apparitions involved continued unabated, the room in question remained eerily quiet. A decidedly false sense of security set in, albeit superficially. They developed an “out of sight…out of mind” mentality; a natural defense mechanism: a coping skill. No one ever assumed their spirits were history, per se. Though they had been
gone
a long time they were by no means long gone; perhaps dormant…at last? If they’d only lost interest and then moved on; no such luck. Theirs was an invisible existence most of the time but that did not mean they weren’t there, watching and waiting: the Light of the World lurking within its shadows. Christine had always been as fascinated as she was frightened by what she saw and heard in the house. The child frequently exhibited admirable fearlessness regarding the spirits but something upstairs spooked her enough to abandon that space. At fifteen, Chrissy wanted and deserved a quiet bedroom of her own; a room with a view. It was the only other one available, so, a calculated risk taken.

Throughout fall and winter the house remained relatively docile; no acting up or acting out. During the following spring several incidents occurred but each was benign; no explicit threats issued or insinuated…then it happened. Christine had spent several months in a room with a history and yet, she slept peacefully; unafraid and undisturbed. They
knew
when defenses were down; Bathsheba knew it was time to make her presence known…again.

Yanked from the depths of sleep, Christine was awakened by the presence. Her eyes opened suddenly. Chrissy felt herself being watched and there
she
was, hovering over the child, moving closer and closer, as if leaning down to make contact, perhaps to kiss one she covets. This mind-altering experience: the making of a memory; that image as vivid now as the moment it occurred. Christine could not move…could not breathe. As she tells it, still with such reluctance after so many years have passed, her face flushes, her heart races simply remembering an entirely too close encounter which proved pivotal in her life. Trauma changes human beings. It shocks them into a new reality and nothing is ever the same. This event caused a psychological shift to occur in the child who’d been confident, unshakable in her pragmatic approach to the new paranormal; a visitation transforming her into a mass of quivering flesh.

The spirit moved quite slowly, deliberately toward the girl who could not squirm away. Her body jolting taut, it was all but frozen in place. Reporting an inability to breathe the frigid air in the room, Chris distinctly recalls many details of the entity as her eyes remained fixated on this apparition the entire time. Its manifestation occurred precisely the same way it had with her mom years earlier, in the same location, right beside the bed. There she was again, though Christine insists she sensed no overt threat, unlike Carolyn. Instead, she felt as if she was being lovingly attended to by something so repugnant it literally took her breath away. During the moments which followed, Chrissy recalls hearing herself scream; a frantic, shrill, wholly audible shrieking-out-loud holler for help. She distinctly remembers yelling until her lungs hurt and her nostrils burned. In actuality, Christine was redundantly uttering a single word in monotone: “mom…mom…mom…” Her cry was
heard
by several members of the family. Her mother came running, as did Nancy and Cynthia, both asleep upstairs, far beyond earshot of the plea. They heard her in heart and felt her fear; that mysterious connection again…as if sharing one mind.

This entity steadily approached until they were quite literally face-to-face. Christine closed her eyes. The next thing she remembered of the incident was her mother bursting into the room; vacant upon arrival, save a terrified child.

Even after Carolyn had grabbed tightly a hold of her daughter, Chrissy kept on chanting, “mom…mom…mom�� as the monotone mantra drew more help from above with this consistent repetition. The child appeared to be in shock. It was obvious to Carolyn. Something wicked had rudely awakened Christine in the middle of the night. She found her bundled beneath the covers. Gently rocking the youngster, reassuring her that it was over, assuming she was still in the midst of a nightmare, a mother knew it was a wide-awake nightmare.

Nancy and Cindy arrived seconds later. They took Chrissy out of bed then held on, guiding her trembling body into the parlor where they all huddled together. What Chris described instantly informed everyone of the situation; it was a visitation: manifestation. Her voice was hoarse…the tears flowing.

“Its head was leaning off to one side. It was round and it was gray all over it. I couldn’t see anything underneath it…no eyes or mouth…it looked like the cobwebs hanging in the corners of the cellar.” Christine gasped for air.

Carolyn suddenly felt sick. She knew precisely what it looked like and who it was; Bathsheba had come to call on her daughter…an uninvited guest.

“I smelled it but then I couldn’t breathe anymore. I couldn’t move at all! It kept coming closer and closer and I just kept screaming! I could hear myself! I could taste it in my throat! The arms were up like it was reaching out to me but it didn’t have any hands! Oh mom, it was floating over me, right next to me…right next to the bed!” Christine was overwhelmed. Her throat was raw. Cindy got up and closed the bedroom door then returned to her sister’s side.

“It’s all over. Come and sleep with me.” Carolyn was firm. Her girl needed to feel safe. Roger was away; plenty of room left in the king-sized waterbed. Encouraging her to come along, Christine followed her mother, as did Nancy and Cynthia. Reassuring all of them, a mother tucked three of her own into one bed then crawled in beside them. All cuddled together, Carolyn stroked Christine’s hair. A comfort zone established, she began falling asleep almost immediately. Poor thing, she’d been exhausted by the harrowing ordeal; such a rude awakening in the dark of night; a monster’s reach had again grasped the consciousness of a kid. There was an off chance if she didn’t dream about it, Chris might escape the vision of this apparition. Perhaps she would forget it while immersed in deep sleep, as so many dreams effectively dissipate this way, evaporating from the conscious mind once fully awake. A mother could only hope for such an outcome. The final conscious words she murmured to her family before slipping away proved to be supremely thought-provoking: “Mom, she didn’t mean to scare me…she wasn’t trying to hurt me.” Gone: Rest in peace, sweet girl, for at least a few hours. It was as if she’d collapsed into a coma. Chris had endured an episode of unmitigated terror; unspeakable fear. Carolyn pondered her words, the last to come regarding this visitation for almost thirty years. It was the first time she had referred to the entity by gender, identifying it as a female. Prior to that point, she had referenced the specter only as “it” throughout her breathless description. Astounded that she did not perceive it to be sinister in nature, Carolyn would later question her daughter about the statement made regarding the apparition. It was too late. Christine had shut down…internalizing the disturbing event: Friend or foe?