House of Darkness House of Light (38 page)

There was a long period of calm; several months during which nothing of consequence occurred; nothing noteworthy…so peaceful and quiet Carolyn’s fears began to subside. She’d gained a few pounds, looking healthier than she had in quite awhile. The house became dormant. Its doors stayed closed. The telephone did not lift up or float away from the receiver; the refrigerator was sealed tightly. No perceptible footsteps on stairs. The temperatures remained fairly constant. Had whatever it was wreaking havoc simply given up? Given in? Had they accepted the presence of mortals in their farmhouse? Hardly.

Easter marked the last attempt made to be part of the congregation at Saint Patrick’s Church; the morning they’d discovered the depths of discrimination within the parish. Slightly late for Mass, they assembled in a pew at the back of the church. Heads turned. A few people sneered. An elderly woman seated in front of them, sporting a fresh bottle of blue hair, turned around in her seat then stared at the family, shamelessly leering at Carolyn. Turning toward the altar this presumably Christian woman growled out the hateful words: “Satan worshippers.” When service was over, the Perrons left their church, for good; an awkward priest made mention to Roger, suggesting he seek another place of worship. Treated as if they were pagans who’d crawled in from the woods; rather than offering help, he too shunned them, based on rumors. Indiscreet, instead of fulfilling the role of spiritual advisor he chose to be judge and jury, tacitly expelling them from a parish with a few thoughtless words. Obviously confused about that separation of church and state thing, a chronic condition in Rhode Island, he was clearly unsure of what century it was, but at least no one got drowned in the lake or burned at the stake. In a cloistered community ignorance often abounds. There are those who wear it as a badge of honor.

***

After Carolyn nearly went up in flames, she altered her hearthstone habits, keeping some distance because there’s warm and then there’s hot! So few of the paranormal anomalies occurred, she nearly forgot about the threat, even though their dog still refused to cross in front of the cellar door, regardless of any enticement. Complacency is dangerous leaving one woefully unprepared.

June rolled around, as gorgeous as their first at the farm. Old gardens were resplendent with fragrant blooms; an old apple tree full to bursting with pips. They were still enjoying the succulent fruit from the previous year when new buds appeared. Days were warm; children excited about a pending vacation. Their mother; perplexed about but grateful for this stark absence of activity, as the once omnipresent problems seemed to vanish; not just invisible: Gone. Perhaps it was safe to stay at the farm after all.

Remnants of previous encounters still lurking in the recesses of her mind, she was able to exert more control over the impulses by banishing imagery at will…whenever it reared its ugly head. Carolyn found it ironic; the closer she felt to God the more she abandoned religion, as mutually exclusive concepts: revelation. Refusing to seek another church she chose instead to go within, to explore her own spiritual Nature from the center of a more welcoming place. Resentful of Catholicism, a religion she’d been forced to embrace in context of marriage, compelled to convert by a mother-in-law who would never have it any other way, Carolyn felt liberated by tacit dismissal from the church. It excused participation altogether. This mother’s prayers were reserved for her grand garden spot while her children practiced the presence bedside or in the woods they worshipped by Nature. Roger turned the soil; rows were planned and planted. Carolyn worked countless hours in its rich, black earth, relishing each moment while teaching her children how to plant and tend the garden as the circle of life; engaging imaginations. She taught her young to worship the cosmic secrecy of seed…absorbing its treasures by
cosmosis
: a new theory.

Soon thereafter Carolyn experienced the most horrifying encounter she’d ever have in the house. Roger was there; the couple went to bed as usual after the news and slept peacefully through the night. Just before dawn disturbance erupted in the bedroom; Carolyn awoke to a distinctly violent vibration in her headboard. Their bed was moving. Disoriented in the darkness, she could not understand what was happening until the room became frigid; a foul, familiar stench flooding the space, filling the air with something toxic: un-breathable. The woman could barely move her body. Her boggled mind was fully alert.

Swoosh! The room was suddenly ablaze with light; an ominous fiery glow, illuminated by flames on top of torches carried by the dead. As unbearable as it was to watch, Carolyn could not look away; her gaze transfixed on objects which meant certain death to her family. She expected her heart to stop. This would be their end. So many of them! Perhaps eight or ten spirits standing in the bedroom, each holding a wooden torch with something atop it resembling brittle broom straw, each fully engulfed in a ball of fire. There was nowhere to hide. The house was humming with a reverberation Carolyn could feel in her sternum. It was deafening, loud enough to muffle a mother’s screaming if she’d had a voice to use but the woman knew she’d been muted. She yanked on Roger’s hair, shoving him repeatedly, jerking the covers from a cold, limp lifeless body. Again, his back had become serrated, scratched beyond mortal recognition by the claws of a demon. A precise cadence emerged, established by the perpetual pounding of torches striking a wooden floor. This primitive syncopation echoed throughout the house. Their rhythmic chant; a torch song incantation uttered in tandem by spirits who didn’t seem to notice the victim cowering in her bed which had been dragged to the center of the room. There they stood, gathered together in front of both windows, encircling the bottom of the bed, a small child posted at each side of the footboard. Carolyn’s rapt attention remained focused on the fires; she listened to their words, what they had come to warn, only as an afterthought, as flames leapt toward the ceiling. Fire was her enemy…her greatest fear.

“Beseech thee, leave! Afore ye go, beware the flame, the fiery glow.

Was mistress once afore ye came and mistress here will be again.

Will drive ye out with fiery broom.

Will drive ye mad with death and gloom.”

Mesmerized, as if suspended in some type of post-hypnotic trance, Carolyn stared at this group of lost souls, appearing as a coven of witches engaged in a ritualistic initiation ceremony. Their language spoken grew louder, shaking the structure, rattling the glass in its windows. The apparitions included two children, a young girl and an even smaller boy. It was difficult to distinguish their features due to the intense glow of flames; a haze, obscuring her view. She saw a few of them grinning, as if attending some festive event. An entity emerged from the crowd and began her approach. Carolyn recognized her as the one who’d come before, the same spirit who petrified Cynthia in her own bedroom. She began slowly floating forward as many other spirits continued chanting the incantation, impaling words into memory. Her movements were tediously slow and deliberately threatening; Carolyn could never mistake this entity’s evil intentions. It was reading her mind. She had time enough to run if only her body would allow her to escape. She could not. In complete panic, during the fraction of a second she’d spent considering flight over fight, the bedroom door slammed shut, effectively trapping her inside. Flames leapt up from straw on top of torches, yet there was no heat, no smoke in the room. It burned like wildfire, lapping toward the ceiling with every brutal blow, each strike of the floorboards resulting in the torches being raised once again, in preparation for the next heavy blow. The drumbeat was relentless, deafening as they stood beside her and still, the demon advanced. An emaciated figure: no hands or feet, snapped at the neck; death by hanging, or so she presumed. This time though, it had a face as hideous as anything she had ever seen. The eyes were black: hollow sockets peering into her soul. The nose appeared to be rotting off. What remained of that grotesque appendage was nothing but a few pieces of decaying flesh dangling loosely beneath a mesh of cobwebs. Its horrid sight and smell caused Carolyn to wretch. Its mouth, drawing closer to her with each passing moment, uttered these threatening words with pleasure. As this wicked creature smiled, reveling in the terror expressed on the face of it victim, it revealed a set of chipped and jagged yellow teeth protruding from beneath thin, shriveled lips. Carolyn was certain she would lose her mind before she lost her life. None of the others even acknowledged her presence. The spirit crept and conjured around her bed as light of dawn began to break, illuminating a gruesome scene in lurid detail. Leaning over then in toward its victim, the apparition issued the threat it had come to deliver; with purpose and reason, a message received…loud and clear:

“Was mistress once afore ye came and mistress here will be again.

Will drive ye mad with death and gloom. Will drive ye into Satan’s tomb.

Thus has been spoken, thus has been read.

Take leave of this place or ye too will be dead.”

Suddenly the bedroom became flooded with thick acrid smoke; an ominous haze surrounding the emerging beast. Carolyn’s aversion to this dark demon was so intense violent tremors began to erupt throughout her trembling body, traveling uncontrollably through her frozen limbs, responding to the jolt as if being struck by a bolt of lightning. She lurched forward in bed, inexplicably drawn toward that which repulsed her. As Carolyn was about to receive the kiss of death, the apparition slowly withdrew from her then began to encircle the bed again, floating toward her husband. Arriving by his side, it hovered over him for a moment then glanced upward, those black vacant orbs staring through her. Grinning again, baring its evil along with its fangs, the creature leered at a paralyzed woman while leaning in toward her man. Roger was the one; the recipient of a kiss bestowed. Carolyn closed her eyes. She prayed, speaking words in mind which would save both of them. “Lord, be with me now.” Whispering the 23
rd
Psalm: “I will fear no evil…for Thou art with me.” No question. It wanted her to observe what it was about to do to her husband.

The identical sound announcing their arrival, the combustion of flames in the bedroom, occurred once again. Carolyn waited, certainly knowing fire would consume them all. She could not move her mouth but instead, prayed from her soul. “Bless me Father. Take me if you must but spare my children. Dear God, I beg of you…have mercy on us all.” Her prayers had been more potent than any words the woman had ever uttered in her lifetime; silently or aloud. Moments passed; she dared to open her eyes. Roger turned over, groaning in pain. She peered through tear-drenched eyes to behold the vacant bedroom. Flames extinguished. It was over. They were gone.

The bed was in the center of the room. Soft, warm breezes filtered through open windows, fluttering lace curtains. Rancid odor and bone-numbing chill began to dissipate in thin morning air. Carolyn wept as she never had before, sobbing uncontrollably, thanking God redundantly for sparing all their lives. It took some time for her to gather herself enough to climb out from beneath the covers. Certainly still in shock, stumbling toward the parlor, arriving at the loveseat she glanced toward the clock. Roger recently tinkered with the old family heirloom and had gotten it running again. The pendulum was still. Again, it had stopped, precisely as it had at her first visitation; at 5:15 a.m.

Though immediate peril had passed, Carolyn could not dispel its imagery. Wandering the house, upstairs to check on their children, they were all asleep and seemed undisturbed. She came downstairs then went into the kitchen to brew a strong pot of coffee. While standing alone in the pantry Roger walked up behind her. His presence so startled the woman, she dropped the container of coffee on the floor, spilling it everywhere. She instantly fell to her knees, distraught, attempting to reclaim what she could. He did not realize she was crying, far too concerned with pressing issues of his own.

“The goddamned bed is sitting in the middle of the bedroom again and my back hurts like hell!” He watched as her torso lurched, heaving in sorrowful spasms. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He offered to clean up the mess. Carolyn stood then looked directly at her husband. Streaked with tears of her ordeal, the expression on her face frightened him. Roger grabbed her in his arms then held her there until sobbing subsided. He knew something terrible happened. He had never seen his wife so upset. It took time for Carolyn to be able to speak. When she did it was to ask him to escort her into the bathroom. He thought she was sick but when the door was closed she took the man over to the mirror, exposing deep, bloody abrasions to the cold light of dawn. He too felt panic. She might have described the man as “white as a ghost” except Carolyn knew for certain the ghosts were not white at all. Shaken and stirred, Roger trembled, asking if she knew what was happening. Yes. She did know. While cleansing the wounds she told him a tale still omnipresent in her mind, the details of which were destined to remain part of her life for the rest of her life. At this moment Carolyn can close her eyes and conjure the image again, as if the manifestation had occurred only a moment before. Once something so extraordinary is witnessed, there is no escaping the memory.

Though Carolyn had been angry with her husband after the first visitation, falsely accusing him (albeit privately) of abandoning her to the forces of evil, powers that be; it was not the case this time. She felt compassionate instead; sympathetically tending wounds as he cringed in pain. He too was its victim; unconscious and unwitting. Though she couldn’t comprehend what occurred, she realized it was not his fault. Reserving her blame for the spirits, she knew instinctively he had somehow been placed in the bubble, a suspended state of being, rendering him virtually helpless, not helpful at all…as if he was dead.