House of Darkness House of Light (70 page)

As Cindy became more familiar with the apparition, she would often leave the bedroom, so to allow the child to play with her toys, something the spirit would never do while Cynthia was present. That’s how the mortal discovered who’d been moving objects around her room. Upon her return, an hour or so later, everything had been rearranged. She could hear the child babbling and chattering, happily at play. This kind gesture yielded many valuable insights, reducing an initial resentment of having her things
toyed
with down to zero. Remember? To share and share alike: Do unto others as though you were the others. It only seemed right…because it was the only right thing to do.

With maturity came the ultimate realization. There was nothing to be done for or about it, nothing she could do to help this child…Cindy was and would always be the witness to her misery, unable to affect any positive change in a situation which occurred centuries before Cindy was born. The torture of it; listening and watching and knowing she was helpless. It was all too hopeless. The child died. It’s why she was there. Once upon a time Cindy was tempted to tell the little girl to go away and leave her alone, as if the youngster was invading her world. She grew to understand the true Nature of the dilemma. She learned to feel sympathy for the little darling then learned her sympathy was wasted. The poor creature did not know anyone was there or felt sorry for her; a painful ordeal was only hurting Cindy and comforting no one else.

With her understanding came an emotional withdrawal, severance as an act of self-protection. A mere mortal, the child whose heart was too big and too broken to care anymore began to remove herself from the bedroom whenever the girl appeared. Though the two had never interacted, Cynthia considered
her own
presence to be the intrusion, having changed her mind about who was invading whom. The spirit from the eaves had been there long before the Perron family moved into the farmhouse. In deference, as well as a need to extricate herself from the despair, Cindy took another bedroom…the instant her eldest sister left for college. Believing the change of venue would lessen her exposure and its impact, she was wrong. Still, when Nancy gave all their toys away to another family of deserving souls, without explicit permission to do so, Cynthia became absolutely furious. Though she had outgrown them those toys
belonged
to someone; a sick little girl not of this world. By taking them all away, an injustice was done, inadvertently depriving a spirit of what little the girl had to occupy eternity. Apparently, Cynthia still cared, after all.

“Just because
I
don’t play with them anymore doesn’t mean they weren’t being played with! My God! You gave away all
our
childhood memories!”

Disheartened; devastated by her elder sister’s misguided act of generosity, Cindy thought Nancy was too insensitive or too obtuse to conceive of this as an error in judgment; oblivious to the needs presenting in their own house. According to Cindy, the spirit children should have been their
first
priority: Misplaced loyalty. Adversely affected on behalf of the little girl from another time, Cynthia began a deliberate disengagement from an assortment of souls, living and dead. An evidently diminished capacity for tolerance, a prolonged period of quiet resentment followed. Far less attentive to others in her midst, Cindy went into seclusion; as self-imposed exile. Isolating herself within the confines of a bedroom claimed, ignoring this spirit when she’d pass through, wandering their bedrooms as she always had before, Cindy blocked her out. Whenever she heard this tiny child crying at a distance, as a lone voice from deep within the eaves, she would pause and reflect upon the hopelessness of it all, then turn up the volume on her stereo and resume whatever it was she’d been doing: sad case dismissed. It was certainly not the end of supernatural experiences and in some ways, it was only the beginning. As one of several attempts made, plans concocted to remote-control a paranormal environment, this approach would ultimately prove to be ineffective. Cynthia’s innocence had sadly disappeared with their treasured toys; remnants of a childhood lost with one grand, sweeping, pure-of-heart gesture of generosity.

Stepping across the threshold into adolescence, claiming another’s bedroom as her own; it was a bold initial step toward adulthood, one Cynthia would be punished for taking, interpreted as a rejection. Forsaking childish things, the youngster focused her attention inward, spending more time alone in thought. During this introspective period she devised a plan to rid the house of spirits. Too confident at too early an age, Cynthia would discover what a mistake it was to assert herself, to presume any knowledge or control, as the foolhardy endeavor undertaken was bound to cost her dearly: hazardous to one’s health.

***

April was equally disillusioned; hurt by Nancy’s generous act of God. She withdrew as well. Cindy’s response was prompt and to the point; anger. April reacted differently. She’d wept, though not for herself; she sobbed for a little boy she loved. Their sorrow was palpable; one could taste tears in the water and hear sighs in the air. So many pieces of their history were suddenly gone; a pathway into history instantly vanished. Their shared space was no longer cluttered with all the familiar objects of childhood. Nancy did not understand what she’d done to deserve being shunned. She was mourning the loss of her sisters. Nobody spoke to her for weeks…go away, little girl. Carolyn had no choice but to intervene; the tension was intolerable, the rift, grown too wide. Dissention in the ranks, Carolyn ordered the end of uncivil discourse. Make peace-not war. No replacing what was gone, no way to make amends: reality. Accept it. Move on. Counting the losses…regrets all around.

Recalling this incident and its aftermath with sorrow transcending the years as they pass, it is beneath the weight of aged remorse that Cindy now reflects upon a sick little girl who cries for her mother. Perceived as a lonely child in life and death, the grown woman now looks back on a childhood riddled with doubts and irreconcilable emotions; questions never answered. Why had she responded so emotionally to the spirit’s presence when she had already seen Manny and was not so adversely affected by him? Were there two children? Twins, perhaps? Why did she so eerily resemble Cynthia’s eldest sister? Was there a cosmic connection between them, one familial in Nature? Oh, God!

“With all things and in all things, we are relatives.”

American Indian Proverb

 
told you so

“Every sweet has its sour, every evil its good.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Katy was skeptical, in spite of the fact that she’d witnessed several unusual events occur in their old farmhouse. It never kept her from coming back but it always caused her to question the explanations. She was the pragmatic sort, like Roger in that respect. There were elements of Katy’s personality Cynthia found annoying, as she’d all but accused her so-called friends of lying about what they were experiencing; of making it up as they went along. A figment of presumably overactive imaginations: Sticks and stones. Cindy remained as defensive; resentful of her callous attitude and thoughtless words. After a few years of unsolicited, often rude commentary, contrary opinions, the casting of aspersions and vapid doubts; at last…Redemption! Sweet, sweet revenge!

The ladies were preparing for school. Early morning light was filtered by a dense fog; then soft rain began falling. Cindy was seated at the kitchen table, brushing her hair in front of a portable makeup mirror. Katy spent the night, again. She and Nancy were in the bathroom. Nudging one another for space, bowing before the almighty mirror they playfully pilfered through cosmetics from Carolyn’s collection, as teenage girls are prone to do from time to time.

From the corner of her eye, Cynthia noticed the telephone receiver…lifting itself off the cradle. Holding her breath, not making a sound, she observed as this manifestation continued; hovering, as something invisible manipulated the object. It was mesmerizing. In spite of the fact Cindy had seen it happen before, (on numerous occasions), it was still, as always, a remarkable sight. Suddenly their house guest emerged from the bathroom. Cindy stopped Katy with a flash of the eyes, having only time enough to whisper: “Look!” Katy’s gaze was fixed on the floating phone. There it was. Proof. At last. Hallelujah!

Cindy was delighted! Admittedly taking certain perverse pleasure pointing it out, Katy stood in the doorway; transfixed and immobile. She watched as it happened; a telephone receiver, in midair, moved slowly away from the wall unit, floating like a feather on a breeze then lingered there, suspended in the thin spring air. An expression of pure panic on Kate’s pale face: priceless. It didn’t matter how much makeup she applied; she went as visibly white as
Casper
, another ghost she did
not
believe in! During this singular moment of total perfection, because timing is everything in life and in death, Cindy felt compelled to quickly quip, “Told you so!” As the gloating child spoke, an invisible co-conspirator assisted, deliberately drifting the receiver toward the wall unit, lining it up above then letting it drop with a jolt into the cradle with a distinctive sound uniformly produced. No mistaking it for something else. Cindy did not allow her smug satisfaction to surface…yet. Instead, she rolled her eyes disdainfully, returning to her task as if nothing unusual happened. Truth be told, it
was
nothing all that unusual.

Standing inside the alcove, Kate could not speak. She could not even move. After a few moments she bolted back into the bathroom, directly by Nancy’s side, barely able to express what she’d just seen in the kitchen.

“Did you see that?” Frantic, Katy pulled Nancy away from her reflection.

“See what?” Distracted, preoccupied by meticulous application of mascara, Nancy showed no particular interest in whatever had spooked her friend.

“The telephone!” Kate explained at light speed while she still had Nancy’s diverted attention. Shrugging her shoulders, Nancy ignored the alarm in her best friend’s voice, presuming it to be another sign of arrested development. Kate knew she was a guest in the house of the spirits and no major newsflash was necessary just because the phone was floating in midair…again.

“Told you so; things like that happen all the time.” Nancy refocused on her long, lovely eyelashes. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she concluded: “Don’t be scared. It’s no big deal…don’t make it one. They won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t believe what I saw…and I don’t believe in ghosts! It’s a hoax!”

“Then
don’t
believe it!” Nancy stopped what she was doing and turned to face a friend. “I don’t care if you believe it or not, and neither do the ghosts! Think whatever you want. I really do not care!” Her statement was blunt but sincere; to the point. “I’ve never lied to you, Kate. Stop accusing me of it!”

Stunned, Kate quietly gathered her belongings from the vanity, repacking the bag she brought with her for the night. Quickly piling her books inside it, she left without saying another word. Cynthia reserved a satisfied smirk until the kitchen door closed, though it pained her to do so, wanting to gloat in the worst way. She deserved it; she had it coming and it finally arrived, courtesy of a playful spirit who’d yearned for acceptance from a skeptic: told ya so!

Walking to the bus stop alone gave Katy some time to think about many of the accusations she’d made; to reconsider a staunch, inflexible position she had maintained for several years. By the time the girls arrived, their friend had revised her overall approach, politely receiving them, chatting happily, as if nothing even happened. An attitude adjustment was called for and Katy appeared to comply. In time, she would admit that fear kept her in denial.

Katy really was freaked out and could not wait to get out of that farmhouse, leaving abruptly, with no intention of returning. Months later she came back with a newfound respect and a dangerous fascination. This bizarre incident she witnessed broadened a closed mind and she willingly accepted the word of her friends, shedding her skepticism as a snake sheds its skin. There were no further intimations of dishonesty, no more sarcastic comments…no future need of “told you so” among cohorts as a conciliatory, apologetic truce was struck between them. Kate would later admit she was too afraid to believe in
their
spirits because then she would have to accept what occurred in her
own
old house; forced to believe something it was far more comfortable to deny. Humbled as she was by this experience, she was likewise ashamed of a false accusation levied time and time again, testing the bounds of decency and true friendship, almost trashed. Comments were retracted. Charges were dropped. She took it all back, and rightfully so. There were no doubts left in her mind: this farmhouse had spooks. Oh God! They do exist! No one was lying to her.

Sticks and stones: For future reference, Katy was reminded that words are weapons, too; name-calling does hurt! Liar! A war of words was over as an obvious pause for reflection had done her some good. Friendships preserved in spite of this trial, Katy became a believer. In time, she would be the one to initiate some dangerous name-calling up of the spirits, without the benefit of a telephone, invoking the name Bathsheba. Anyone home? Leave a message!

“I have a great deal of company in the house,

especially in the morning when nobody calls.”

Henry David Thoreau

 
bloodbath

“Do the thing we fear and death of fear is certain.���

Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Come on, girls. That wood won’t cut itself.” Too bad. Those were the few words everybody had come to dread, including the hard-working father who spoke them aloud. The novelty had worn off. Roger’s gruff voice functioned as the clarion call to comrades in arms, weaponry consisting of an axe and an over-worked chainsaw; their mission involved the militaristic massacre of a dozen dead trees out in the woods. A surge ensued. Present arms! Carry logs. Load that truck. Heave Ho! Let’s go! Charge! Their work was never done.