House of Darkness House of Light (27 page)

At its conclusion, Carolyn slumped back in her chair, intensity diminished by exhaustion. Roger was speechless. He rose very slowly then crossed to the window, searching his troubled mind for a response while gazing through the panes of glass. After a minute or so, he came up with something perfect:

“So you
really
don’t think it was a nightmare.” An attempt to shatter a dark spell cast met with some success. Carolyn allowed herself to grin. She looked at him and simply shook her head at his incorrigible, impenetrable skull.

Roger turned toward the window again, recalling what he had meant to tell her long before that morning, remembering this event while surveying their property with tired eyes. “You know, the day we moved in, old man Kenyon said something very strange to me.”

“No. I
didn’t
know.” No. He had not mentioned it to her before.

“He asked me to go for a walk…in the middle of a snowstorm…a walk.”

“I remember. I could barely see the two of you standing out on the hill.”

Roger sat down beside her again. She sensed his seriousness; on the verge of divulging something relevant to the difficult discussion though she didn’t expect what she heard. “He stopped me, took my arm then said, ‘For the sake of your family, leave the lights on at night.’ That’s all he said.” His wife was astonished; intuition validated. Mr. Kenyon did know more than he revealed; his statement confirmed her suspicion.

“He knows. Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“I didn’t think it was important. It didn’t make any sense to me at the time. He’s an old man.” Roger had not deliberately withheld such crucial evidence though he had failed the math portion of the test: 1+1=2.

“Mrs. Pettigrew said the same thing, after she saw the coat hanger hit me.” An equation quickly coming together: “She told me the Kenyons kept all the lights on…all the time. All night…every night.
That’s
why he was asking us questions about the house. ‘Swallows in the chimney’ my ass! He should’ve told us the truth
before
we bought this place!”

“Should’ve told us what? ‘Oh, by the way, this old farmhouse is haunted.’ You can’t blame Mr. Kenyon.”

“The hell I can’t! If he knew it had spooks then he should have told us so!”

“Spooks?” Roger was perplexed by her reaction. “Did it ever occur to you he may have some doubts of his own? Maybe he asked questions because he thought he’d gone around the bend, living here alone for so many years after his wife died. ‘Swallows in the chimney’ may have been how he explained it to himself for all we know. You can’t blame him about it. He’s a good man.”

“I know he is; I care about him too. But for God’s sake, we have children!”

Roger paused to take it all in. The man began questioning his perceptions.

“The desk you moved into the parlor…it was pulled out…or pushed away from the cellar door this morning; while I was moving it back the latch lifted. I had just closed it. I really don’t think it’s a matter of the floor being warped. This house settled a long time ago.” Roger briefly reconsidered his position.

“Thank you.” Though tempted to gloat, Carolyn kept it sincere. “All of this is pretty
unsettling
, if you ask me.”

“I’ve always assumed there was a logical explanation. Maybe there
is
and I just don’t see it yet.”

“Well, Roger…if ghosts actually
do
exist…then it
is
a logical explanation.”

“So, what do you propose we do?” Roger was genuinely seeking a rational suggestion, acknowledging something strange, though still unidentified.

“I want to put it on the market. I don’t think we’re safe here…any of us.”

“We have zero equity in the place. We can’t afford to be impulsive again.”

“Is that some kind of slam? I put money down on this because I thought…”

“Stop it. I know what you thought and I know why you did what you did.”

“We should leave lights on at night; maybe it’s what keeps them away.”

“We can’t afford it. The bill is already three times higher than it should be, for some ungodly reason.” Truer words were never spoken.

“Sam is coming this weekend. He told me to relax. I don’t even know
how
to relax anymore! I’m a nervous wreck all the time…waiting for whatever is coming next! Last night was the first good night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

“So, what else did Sam have to say?” Roger held his friend in high esteem, always taking the sage advice freely offered in abundance. He was willing to listen to anything Sam had to say but Roger was very surprised to hear of his belief in the spirit world. They had known each other for years but it was not a subject which ever found its way into one of their numerous conversations. Roger looked forward to the promised visit as a point of clarity.

“You learn to live with it. That’s what he said. I don’t know if I can learn to live with this and I told him so. He said, ‘When in doubt, do nothing.’”

“Now
that
sounds just like Sam.” Roger grinned, nodding as if knowing a secret and keeping it. “We should follow his advice. When he comes we will take a walk and have a talk together…the three of us. All right?”

“Don’t leave. I feel safe when you’re home. I can sleep when you’re here.”

“So I’ve noticed!” It was not a mean-spirited comment. “I’ll work this area for awhile; pick up some local accounts. I’ll be home every night; maybe late but home.” Carolyn was visibly relieved; a welcome appeasement.

“Thank you.” Grateful for a promise she knew he’d keep, it meant freedom from worry, safety in numbers and another set of senses bearing witness to events beginning to redefine a family. It meant her burden relieved by half.

“I had a really good trip. Tell you what; we’ll all go out for dinner tonight.
The Purple Cat
.” An evening spent out at an upscale restaurant was Roger’s salve for every mortal wound, at least an adequate distraction, as if prime rib was delicious enough to make them forget they were living with dead people.

“I’m a mess. Take the girls…and please don’t bring the fly swatter along.”

“And what was
that
about! You never talk like that. It scared the kids.”

“It’s what you do every morning while you’re home which scares the kids! Imagine how unnerving it is for them to have that thing flinging around their heads while they’re trying to eat? It’s worse than dealing with the flies!”

“I’m
so
neurotic?” The terse question causing Carolyn to pause while her husband reflected on her previous comments: “So…you’re a psychoanalyst?”

“Roger, this compulsion is very unhealthy behavior.”

“Well, it certainly is unhealthy…for the flies! Remember when you told me to kill them? You got pissed off because I wouldn’t chase them through the damn house, track them down and kill them. Remember? Do you recall when you told me how
unhealthy
it was to have them around the kids…how you didn’t want them to land on a pillow or in a plate of food? So which is it?”

Roger was right. She had vilified him for doing precisely what she’d asked him to do in the first place. Oh my God! He
was
listening to her, after all! As Carolyn softened her tone then lowered her eyes while speaking difficult but honest words, he expected an apology. “You’re obsessed with killing them.”

“Obsessed? Now I’m obsessed?” The dynamic had shifted, taking a sudden turn for the worse. Incumbent upon Carolyn to alter the nature of this uncivil discourse immediately, she did not have enough energy to argue with him.

“I really am sorry about that. I should not have said it in front of the girls.” Their joust required nothing less than an act of contrition on Carolyn’s part, something meaningful to quell the brewing storm; trooper to the rescue.

“You shouldn’t have said it at all.” Roger was stern with his mate.

Carolyn obliged, removing brisk wind from the billowing sails of a mighty warship. No bellowing allowed. An abrupt change-of-subject was called for; at least there were no flies breeding in the ceiling! Moving on…

Suggesting he take a week off to work on their house, finish what had been started overhead, Roger pointed up at the gaping hole leering down on them. Carolyn smiled, her sigh of relief subtly diverting a warship off course.

“You have no idea what a mess it made! The dust went everywhere! It was worse than the fireplace…this plaster is so old, when you touch the stuff it literally disintegrates! It turns into talc…but no flies up there. I looked.”

“So, we’ll clean up the mess…and April will gladly bless it afterwards.”

“She showed you? Did she do it backwards?” Roger nodded. Both laughed.

Once completing the thought, Roger’s facile mind focused on where to go with all those dangling wires. He realized there would be no place left to hide them once the plaster was gone, beams exposed. He began devising a plan. In a minute it was figured out…smart cookie. Roger left to check in with April and the fireplace while Carolyn brewed another strong pot of coffee, certain it was what kept her conscious. There was much more to discuss.

The fire had burned down to cinders and the kid was nowhere to be found. Roger looked around downstairs then followed a voice heard from a distance. Climbing the bedroom stairs, the sounds became more pronounced. Entering the middle bedroom, he paused, listening to his youngest; at play. April had apparently relocated and was now inside the chimney closet, at the far end of the room, its door left slightly ajar. A sliver of light shone through the crack, illuminating the floorboards of a darkened bedroom, creating the narrow path for him to follow. Quietly approaching, he could distinctly hear April happily chatting, explaining how this piece of one toy fits into another; how they lock together. So sweet: a charming child. Rather than interrupting her, he left his imaginative daughter to play being
teacher
. It never occurred to him that she might actually have a student with her…one discreetly hidden in the closet.

“Modern man’s besetting temptation is to sacrifice his direct perceptions

and spontaneous feelings to his reasoned reflections; to prefer in all

circumstances the verdict of his intellect to that of his immediate intuitions.”

Aldous Huxley

~ a tree of life as the lone survivor ~

 
apple blossom time

“Some tension is necessary for the soul to grow, and we can put that tension to good use. We can look for every opportunity to give and receive love, to appreciate nature, to heal our wounds and the wounds of others, to forgive and to serve.”

Joan Borysenko

An expected arrival, spring was painfully slow in coming; so long overdue. Even though the days became warmer, the nights were often frigid by dawn; frosty. Grass still crunched beneath their feet as the girls ran across the lawn, sliding their way all the way to the bus stop. Leaving their house bundled in coats, by the time they came home in late afternoon, the outerwear had been shed and it was time to wear shorts and pretend spring had sprung, including some playtime before dark; sunset a little later every evening: a blessing.

The mother’s mood lightened and brightened with each passing day. Roger kept his promise. He was returning home every night, even if he had to drive a hundred miles to do so. She felt a burden lifting, comforted by knowledge her husband would be there. For nearly three weeks, Roger had been like a fixture in the house. He stayed very busy, spending several days trashing the kitchen floor with debris from the ceiling above. It was the project promised, and then some. Enough time had lapsed for a skittish mistress of the house to develop a false sense of security as something far more dangerous took root: complacency. She’d thought of herself as impervious to any threat of harm, if her husband was there for protection. She was sadly mistaken: abandoned.

During this period a fascinating phenomenon happened. At the time of year normally reserved for common houseflies to
begin
emerging for their annual siege, those who had tormented the family all winter long suddenly vanished. They all died or disappeared in one day; the same day Carolyn confessed her experiences to her husband; a rather uncommon occurrence. The sound of an eerie silence was haunting; an absence noted. Though an in-depth discussion triggered changes, neither expected the outcome. By evening the windowsills were littered with carcasses, as if an overt acknowledgment of a predicament brought one aspect of it to an abrupt end; dispelling harbingers of doom and gloom, banishing the beasts back to hell to dwell with their father, the devil. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps their work was done.

Sam’s visit was delightful, as usual. After greeting the children he went for a long walk with their parents under the guise of touring the enormous barn. Carolyn showed him the antique scythe, pointing up to the spot from whence it came during her too-close encounter. He spoke with his friends about their house and its inhabitants, both living and those presumed dead, in his typical deadpan manner. He told ghost stories about an old haunted house on the hill near Brown University in Providence, his own home; informing them about his neighborhood, atwitter with supernatural activity. He used language with which they were entirely unfamiliar:
poltergeist
,
apparition
,
entity
peppered his description of an otherwise benign residence. Roger remained aloof. He did not consent to these hocus pocus theories posited by his learned attorney. Consistently maintaining his staunch opposition, his “there
must
be a logical explanation” approach, Roger was startled when Sam abruptly announced it: “There
is
a logical explanation. You live with a ghost; at least one spirit and maybe more than one.” (Where had Roger heard that before?) Sam dismissed his skepticism as naiveté, declaring him unsophisticated on the taboo subject he knew nothing about. Then he did his best to reassure Carolyn; if the house
was
haunted, the spirits posed no threat to her or the girls, finally concluding: if the ghosts intended to inflict harm on anyone, they would certainly choose Roger as their primary target! The extensive tour continued. Strolling along, Sam paused to marvel at the sheer volume of blossoms laden upon branches of the lone survivor of the storm of ’38; the apple tree halted his momentum. Carolyn told a story of her own, one borrowed from Mr. Kenyon, explaining how a dozen others just as lovely did not survive the ravages of an incredible hurricane, one which left most of little Rhode Island in shambles. She told an old friend how the barn was spared by dancing with the wind; a saving grace.