“People have been seeing things, hearing things, out here for years."
“Promise me Timmy. Promise that whatever happens, you won’t come out!”
Betty looked her five year old in the eyes willing the fear away. The resolve she portrayed was only surface deep. Inside she was just as terrified as her little boy. Gripping him tightly by both arms, she waited for him to acknowledge her.
“Promise me baby!”
“Yes..yes mommy. I promise.” The tears were finding their way to the surface as he looked back at her.
“Good. That’s a good boy.” Betty got up off her knees and quickly nudged him into the furthest reaches of the closet. She kissed him on the forehead and closed the door. He curled up into a ball in the dark corner covering his ears as best he could.
He heard his mother clumsily drag papa’s old hunting rifle out from under the bed and walk out of the room.
Christina Malloy stared out the dirty tow truck window as the swamp swept by outside. The swift blur of trees had a hypnotic affect, quietly lulling her into one of her many mind drifts. She caught herself at the last second, forcing herself back. She didn’t want to get lost right now, she was afraid of what she might see. She reassuringly clutched the small spiral notepad in her lap as she looked over at her escort.
“Is it coming up soon?”
Jacob was a lot older than she expected but when she asked for someone to drive her out to the house, she knew she wouldn’t have many takers. After about ten minutes, the smell of the cigarettes on him had dissipated. Either that or she had just gotten used to it and couldn’t detect it anymore. It was so strong when she had met him in town that its accompanying headache nearly floored her.
“Not too far now.” He looked over at the attractive young woman sitting next to him.
Christina noticed the stare but didn’t think much of it. She hadn’t seen anything in his aura to indicate malice. As disgusting as it was, it was just a glance and nothing more. She could deal with that as long as he took her to the house.
“Mind if I ask you ma’am, why you want to go there?” his eyes uncomfortably darted forward again as Christina looked at him.
“What do you know of the house?” she perked up a bit.
“Just what people say.”
“And what have they said?”
“Are you some kind of reporter? We had a guy from that National Questions rag come out a couple of year’s ago.” he glanced to the notepad in her lap.
“You could say I have an interest. What do they say?”
“Place is haunted. No one comes out here anymore. People get hurt.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes ma’am I do. I heard too many stories to not. I’ve seen people that have had things done to them.”
The old truck complained as it made a curve to the left. Jacob jabbed the stick into first and switched his feet on the pedals. He turned off the road and began driving through a high grass field. The give in what was left of the shocks didn’t help as they continued.
“Where are you going?”
“To the house, like you wanted right? There is no road to it. It’s just through the next grove.”
“What kind of stories?” Christina kept her balance with one hand pressed against the dash while the other grasped the window handle firmly.
“Sorry?”
“You mentioned stories, what kind?”
“People see things, hear things. Screaming, that sort of thing, out here for years. People have even died out here.”
The rusty old truck slowly twisted between the trunks of the last stand of trees and stopped. Christina sat up in her seat as she saw what was in the clearing ahead. The house was old, of that there was no doubt. Even from this distance, she could tell part of the roof had caved in and several years of vines had left their mark on its broken shell. She was amazed that it was still standing at all after the silent war nature had waged on it.
She opened the door and stepped out. She heard the driver side door open.
“Can you stay here?” she sensed hurt pride in Jacob and looked over to him. “If anything happens I’ll need you to go for help okay.”
A mix of relief and self-importance briefly flashed on the old man’s face. “Yes ma’am, I can do that.”
“Thanks.” She looked at the house again but this time she really looked. “Are you sure this is the right place? I thought the house was on stilts.”
This land’s only been here for about thirty years or so. Before the Army Corps of Engineers began messing things up at the beginning of the twentieth century, this whole area was swampy most of the year. They made so many modifications to the Mississippi that all that silt has been building up in this area for decades. Every year we lose more and more marshland.”
“I see. I’ll be right back.”
“Excuse me ma’am.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but, do you think I could get that money you promised me now?”
Christina stared at Jacob for a moment then began fishing through her purse. She handed him a twenty. “Half now, half when I’m back in town, right?” She stared him down.
Jacob reluctantly took the money from her. “Right. I’ll wait here.”
“Good. Thanks. I shouldn’t be too long.”
She walked toward the house searching for its aura. She had seen them around old buildings and objects with a history. The first time she had noticed aura’s on anything but people was on her sixth grade field trip to Boston’s Bunker Hill. There had been a lot of blood spilled on that field and instead of green grass scattered with yellow dandelions like her classmates had seen, it had glowed deep, muddy red when she looked at it.
The house had no aura to show her. She walked up onto the now ground level porch and noticed the rotting, wooden rocking horse resting on its side near her feet. The elements had been unkind to it as well as every other part of the house over the years. She only really knew what it was because of the dreams she'd been having of it. She peered in through the dark opening that used to hold a door and slowly let herself be taken inside. Jacob sat in the tow truck forty yards away, thankful that she had not wanted company.
Christina glanced around the room. Streams of light lit up the rotting floor in various spotlights as if she were watching some sort of odd woodland play. The musty dampness that hung in the air almost choked her. She took deep breaths to compensate. Her allergies would thank her later of that she was sure. The materials used to build the house had been reclaimed by nature. She could see patches of moss, flowers and other plants fighting for the warmth of the pockets of light.
A bang to her left made her jump. She searched the darkness and was greeted with the beady little eyes of a mother opossum and its babies. It hissed at her and scurried through a chewed hole in the wall; the babies all waddled after as fast as they clumsily could.
A large owl swooped down low almost knocking her over on its way outside. It was clear that no one had been in the place in quite some time. She carefully made her way up the landing steps to the second floor. The stairs complained under her weight but held.
The first room on the right caught her attention. She reached for the knob and it twisted off in her hand. She began to bend down to put it on the floor but then stood back up remembering the encounters downstairs. She gripped it tightly as the thought of a wolf or some other big animal rushing her occupied her thoughts. The rationality that an old wooden doorknob might save her didn’t register. She pushed the door open and carefully entered.
The room was well lit. The ceiling was missing and the sun poured in freely. It made sense as she looked at the big decaying holes in the floor, how the sun had gotten down into the first level. She took a few steps forward avoiding the irregularly shaped chunks of missing floor.
A large gust of wind nearly knocked her over. She dropped the knob and caught her balance. The door slammed shut behind her. She faced the closet in the corner of the room.
“I know you’re here.”
The wind shot at her again. This time it fiercely wrapped around her, whipping her hair into her face. Small pieces of the decaying house flew around her taking sharp little stabs at her skin. She brought her hands up to shield her eyes. The horrible screaming of the wind deafened her.
“I’m not leaving! Do you hear me Timmy! Show yourself!”
The wind abruptly died as quickly as it had been born. A red hue of light shone through the decayed closet door. Christina took a step forward.
“Tim?”
She heard the crack as the section of wooden plank along the wall behind her ripped off and flew at her head. She ducked just in time to watch it sail across the room searching for the other wall. It smashed into it with such force that it became embe dded in it. A large section of it hung out at an angle pointing at her like a long bony finger saying she was it.
She stood back up. The piece of wood tried to wrench itself out of the wall readying itself for another pass.
“Tim, I know what happened to you.”
It fought its way out of the wall an inch.
“I only want to help.”
It freed itself with a loud crack, the plaster caked around its entry wound falling to the floor.
“I can show you your mother!”
The board froze then fell harmlessly to the floor.
The door to the closet slowly opened and a frightened little boy of five stepped out. Christina stared at his aura as it turned from red to bright white.
“You know where my mother is?”
“Yes. I do. I can take you to her. But I have to take you back first.”
“No! I can’t go back! I can’t!”
“I know it’s painful but you don’t have to worry. No one can hurt you anymore.”
The longing in the boy’s eyes touched Christina.
“You’ll be with me?”
“Yes.”
He stared down at the floor for what seemed an eternity then slowly looked up at her. “Okay.”
Christina got down on her knees. “Can I see your hands?”
Tim held them out to her. She slipped hers gently over them and closed her eyes.
Tim watched the room around them as it began to spin. The holes began to disappear. The grass and plants seemed to reverse their growth, quickly shrinking until they were completely gone. The roof closed over. Then the wood of the house began to repair itself. The spinning increased until they stood in the middle of a colorful blur. When it was done, they were on the porch of the house as he remembered it. He looked over to see a small boy sitting on a white wooden rocking horse. His mother stood over the boy smiling.
“Momma!” Tim shot over to her. She didn’t look up at him. He looked at the boy and realizing it was him, turned back to Christina with questioning, sad eyes.
“She can’t see or hear you. Do you remember this day?”
“No. I don’t! Why can’t she see me? What have you done!” His aura flashed red.
“You were playing on your rocking horse. The one your father gave you the day he left for war.”
Tim stared at Christina through hateful eyes. “No! Make it go away!”
He froze as he looked past her. Christina turned around and watched as three men dressed in confederate gray approached in a small boat. One of them was standing in back waving with one hand and holding the end of a push pole in the other. Tim turned to his mother again as he heard his twin’s voice.
“Papa! Mommy it's papa!”
“No Mommy! It’s not papa! Don’t believe him! Go hide!”
Tim helplessly watched as his twin and mother threw the long mooring rope down to the water eagerly waiting for the boat to come into full view under the low branches of the mangrove marsh trees.
His mother’s smile faded away as it did so. “It’s not papa Timmy. Let’s get inside now.” She ushered Tim’s twin inside the house locking the door behind.
“What’s wrong mama? Papa’s back.”
“Your papa’s not back Timmy. We have to find a place to hide.”
His surroundings spun around him in a dizzying flash. When it stopped, he found himself on the second floor landing. Christina stood next to him. He looked to his closed bedroom door listening to the muffled words beyond.
“Promise me baby!”
“Yes..yes mommy. I promise.”
“Good. That’s a good boy.”
He listened to the rustling of his mother pushing him into the closet and pulling the gun out from under the bed. He then turned around and watched the three men come up the stairs.
Tim instinctively ran behind Christina.
“It’s okay Tim. They can’t see you.”
He faced his own door as it opened and his mother staggered out with the rifle pointed low. She stared past him and Christina. Her arms shook as she tried to hold up the heavy weapon.
“Get out of my house!”
BLAM!
The shot startled him. He spun around to see the first soldier with his gun drawn. Smoke escaped from the barrel. His mother fell first to her knees then onto her stomach. Tim swore she looked right at him on her way down.
“Mommy!” He ran to her side.
She, along with the soldiers, disappeared. He looked up at Christina searching through tear drenched eyes.
“Your mother died that night defending you from those three men.”
“No! She’s not dead! She’s alive!”
“You waited for your papa to come for you. Waited in the closet like you promised, but he never came. Your father died too Tim. He was killed at the battle of Baton Rouge in 1862. He was in one of the last Confederate land forces to advance that day. He was one day away from coming home.”
“He couldn’t come back for you. Neither could your mother, until now.”
“You’re lying! He is coming for me!”
“They’ve both come back for you Tim. They’re here now waiting to take you with them. You haven’t been able to see or hear them because you still don’t know.”
“Don’t know what.”
“You died too Tim. You died in that closet waiting for your father. I know it's hard Tim. You were only five when it happened. Only when you believe will you see them.”
Tim began sobbing uncontrollably. Christina walked toward him as he turned away. His body hugged the floor where his mother had been. He felt her hands touch his shoulders and shrugged them away. He looked up to yell at her again and stared into his mothers face.
“Momma?”
“It’s okay baby. You don’t have to keep your promise anymore. I’m here for you.”
He looked past her to his father standing proudly in his uniform. “Papa?”
“Son. You’re alright, everything’s alright.”
He stood up with his mother’s help and hugged her as hard as he could. The stored up tears of a hundred years poured out of him. His father came over and they both hugged him tightly.
Christina stood off to the side. The tears welling up in her eyes, blurred her vision. She watched as Timmy’s mother and father looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back as she wiped the tears away then opened her notebook. The page in front of her was full of sentences. She briefly scanned them until she found the one that started with the word Timmy and crossed it out with her pencil.
She watched as the three of them faded from view. The hallway grew dark again and the walls decayed showing the signs of age that one hundred years will do.
She walked back into the bedroom and opened the closet. In the corner, curled up in a ball, was the small skeleton of a boy.
Willa Goodheart, honest and hard-working white collar worker finds herself connected to a police investigation for a serial killer; and she hasn't a clue why - that is, until she begins digging.
Following several murders, means, motive, and opportunity all point to out-of-work actresses Bootsie Kittredge and Babs Harrison. Their claims of righteousness and lack of guilt seem fabricated, thanks to a cheerfull announcement made to the patrons
Jerry Lowenstein, an octogenarian and a nice guy, has written a fantastic mystery/ suspense novel that takes place just after WW2 on and near Bikini Atoll. He actually witnessed an atomic bomb test. Can you imagine that?
