|
Category:
Horror
Publisher: Vanilla Heart Publishing
Pages: 197
Copyright: October, 2009
ISBN-13: 9781935407416
As the movers pulled their furniture from the van, Joanna carried Sabbath in her prison inside the house, placing her out of the way in the corner of the kitchen.
“There, there, kitty. You are safe here and you won’t get trampled on in all the activity going on here. How do you like your new house?” She added.
Sabbath gazed around her new surroundings, as much as she could from the mesh opening in her prison. I can see only this place where people consume food, she thought. So how can I tell if I like it yet? She sniffed the air and found it somewhat stale, with no one having been in the house for days. She also sniffed something else in the air. A presence, unseen, as yet. Sabbath also heard the faint rustle of taffeta skirts passing by and she rumbled a low warning that was muffled by the activity of furniture being moved inside the vastness of this new place. I’m not yet sure of what this all means, but my gift of sight will soon be present. As it was in the other house. Yes, this is another house where the death smell lingers.
Lowering her head, Sabbath closed her eyes and pondered the situation until she fell asleep.
Prologue
1890 – Ames, Texas
Emily Harris smiled contentedly as she put the last stitch in her embroidered pillowcase.
Emily could hear her three children playing in their attic playroom; every once in a while a shriek pierced the silence of the house, indicating the boys were once again teasing their little sister.
She smiled, set down her needlework and moved to the kitchen where she began supervising dinner preparations. Cyrus would close his office soon and the children would no doubt be hungry within the next hour.
In the attic playroom, Ben and Lewis were indeed torturing their little sister.
“Come on, Lucy. Don’t be a sissy little girl,” Ben taunted. He pulled a large steamer trunk from its place in the corner to where Lucy was standing.
“Here, Lucy. Stand up on this. This is the Outlaw’s horse.”
At ten years of age, Ben’s stature allowed him to dominate most other children, and he took advantage of his size whenever possible. Especially when he towered over his siblings. Now, he easily grabbed a rope dangling from the beam above.
“Yeah, Lucy,” Lewis echoed. “Come on.”
Lucy eyed her brothers with suspicion. Her five-year old instinct told her this was not a good thing for her to be doing; yet she didn’t want to appear a baby in their eyes. Her brothers were not only her playmates, but also she idolized them as being the smartest, best looking children on the block, and she was eager to please them.
She climbed up on the trunk and stood, eyeing the rope Ben held in his hand.
“You mean you want me to put this rope over my head?” She asked Ben
“Yeah. Put it on, Lucy. Here, I’ll help you.” He moved behind his sister and looped the rope over her head. “We’re playing Outlaw. And how can we play Outlaw if we don’t have somebody to be the Outlaw?”
“Girls aren’t outlaws,” Lucy bargained.
“Yes, there are some girls who were outlaws in the West,” Ben informed her.
Lucy considered this, coming from her smart brother, Ben. If Ben said so, it must be true.
“Okay,” she conceded. “I’m the Outlaw.”
Lewis snickered, mainly to impress his older brother. “Yeah, an outlaw. A girl outlaw, in a prissy blue dress.”
Ben ignored him, as he always did. “Good. Okay, we don’t have a rope hanging from a tree, just the ceiling beam, and you’re not on a horse, but this trunk can be your horse. “
Lucy’s blue eyes rounded in curiosity. “What’s gonna happen now?”
“This is your horse. You know, the way they did it in the olden days. They would string up the outlaw on his horse, and then they’d whack the horse and make him bolt, and the outlaw would die by hanging.”
“Uh….I don’t know,” Lucy’s voice quavered.
“Sissy girl,” Ben countered.
“Yeah, sissy girl,” Lewis echoed.
“But won’t that hurt?” Lucy’s stance wavered.
“Naw. We’re just pretending. You can pretend hurt, if you want to. You’re a real good pretender, right?”
Lewis nodded at his brother and they both pushed the trunk out from under Lucy’s slipper-clad feet.
“Okay, you outlaw,” Lewis shouted, taking off an imaginary hat and dusting his trousers with it.
Lucy moaned softly, then came a gurgling noise. She raised her hands to her neck, flailed her slipper-clad feet while her eyes screamed in terror.
Lewis, surveying his sister’s plight asked Ben, “Should we cut her down? It looks like she’s not just pretending.”
“Naw. She’s a good pretender. Remember how she got you last week down in the cellar, when she pretended to trip over a box and hurt her knee? She cried real hard, and pretended like she was really hurt, bad. She’s good at that.”
“Well… if you say so.”
Lucy flailed her feet harder, no doubt with her last conscious thought hoping her feet would connect with the trunk, but it was far removed. Her hands struggled with the rope for a few seconds, she continued to make noises, and then her eyes closed and she was still.
***
Emily closed her sewing box, thinking how she loved her new house, so generously built by Cyrus before their marriage some eleven years ago. She remembered their marriage ceremony, which had been lavish and well attended by the powerbrokers in the county and state. Emily was attired in a white silk gown with long train and veil made of Chantilly lace, imported from Ireland. Her mother’s pearls adorned her slender neck and her black hair, caught up in decorative combs at the sides, allowed only a slender tendril to escape on either side of her porcelain face.
The wedding was held in the large parlor, with French doors open to the garden at the side of the house. The scent of gardenias hung heavily in the spring air, adding to the aroma of myriad floral sprays set around the house. Emily gazed about the scene before she descended the staircase on her father’s arm. Everything was perfect, she smiled to herself. Her wedding would be perfect. Her marriage to Cyrus would be perfect, and she would have perfect children. Emily repeated her vows in front of the assemblage and the bishop of the Methodist Church, serenely confident that she would lead a charmed and perfect life.
Three children arrived rapidly: Ben, Lewis and Lucy, and Emily couldn’t have asked for anything more. Ben, the eldest, was a mirror image of his father. An unruly shock of sandy hair fell over his blue eyes that seemed to see through a person clear to his soul. Active, intelligent and opinionated, Ben was the ringleader in all their games played in the attic playroom that Emily had furnished especially for her privileged children. A large rocking horse from England, hand-carved, larger than most, dominated the large room. Surrounding the signature piece were stuffed animals: a giraffe, a giant turtle and a camel. Raggedy Ann and Andy leaned alongside one book-lined wall and maps of the world adorned the other three walls of the attic room. Three small school desks were pushed against the walls, along with a large steamer trunk containing even more toys and books.
Lewis followed his older brother’s lead in their playtime and learning. Also blue-eyed, his hair coloring was lighter in color than Ben’s, and he seemed more compliant than Ben, less adventurous and perhaps a bit more inclined to be quiet and studious.
Lucy. Ah, Lucy. Stunningly beautiful little Lucy. In sharp contrast to her brothers’ fair coloring, the little girl’s dark eyes and black, curly hair captured everybody’s attention. She talked early, walked earlier than her brothers, and followed their every move with glee.
Even unto the point where she now hung limply from a rope thrown around a ceiling beam, her brothers solemnly eyeing her.
Emily strode through the door, drying her hands on her apron, saying, “What are you children doing up here? Didn’t you hear me calling you for ----?”
Her voice trailed off when her eyes came to rest on the girl hanging from the beam. The little girl’s fair complexion had turned beet red, her blue eyes closed in finality.
Emily screamed, her face turning white. “ Lucy!
“What happened? Boys, get a knife so I can cut her down. Now!”
Ben shrugged in response to Lewis’s head shaking in a gesture of “I don’t know where a knife is.”
Without waiting for the boys to respond, Emily frantically dragged the trunk to beneath Lucy’s feet. Stepping up on the trunk, she struggled with the noose, finally taking it from the girl’s neck. A red burn mark shone vividly in the sunlight streaming in the uncurtained window.
“Lucy,” Emily coaxed, “Lucy, wake up! Let me see you open your eyes.”
But there was no response, no breath in the child. No movement. It was no use.
Hugging her daughter tightly, Emily began rocking back and forth, crooning softly, “Lucy, oh my little angel. . Oh, God, what happened?”
Lewis began picking up their wooden toys: a steam engine, a horse, and what passed for an Indian. “We were just playing, Mama. We were playing outlaws and cowboys, and Lucy was our outlaw.”
“You mean you did this?” Emily paused in her rocking long enough to absorb what her son was telling her. “You did this?” she repeated.
“We thought Lucy was just pretending,” Ben offered, “you know, like she always does. She’s a good pretender-er. I’ll bet she’s just faking right now.”
“What have you done?” Emily repeated, then her voice rose to a shout. “You killed your sister! She’s dead!”
Ben paused in his task of rounding up the toys and putting them in their toy box. He gazed steadily at his sister’s limp form. “We didn’t do anything. She was our outlaw, and she’s the one who stood up on the trunk. We told her it was just like the olden days, and the trunk was her horse, and instead of whippin’ a horse, we pulled it out from under her feet.” He looked up at the roof beam where the rope still hung. “We didn’t know it would hurt her, Mama, honest we didn’t.”
“Yeah, Mama, we didn’t know it would hurt her.” Lewis said solemnly.
But Emily said nothing, continuing to rock her dead child.
Ben moved closer to Lucy and poked her shoulder vigorously.
Lewis and Ben looked at each other. What do we do now? Their faces asked each other.
Ben broke the silence by asking, “Is dinner ready?”
CHAPTER ONE
Email To: PamSpray
From: Joanna Elliott
I know this will come as no surprise to you, but we are moving from the House of Death to a cute Victorian-style house in Ames.. The attic playroom will become my office, if we can get The Beast (my desk) up the stairs and into the room. The attic is the cutest thing, with a hobby horse and a large, colorful carousel horse and jack-in-the-box, all left there by the original owner’s children, untouched through time.
Rather than creeping me out (after all, what could creep me out after having lived with bodies buried in the root cellar) rather, they can keep me company as I toil away on the novel you have extorted from me. (Grin.) I wrap a few things, then think of something I want to write, so I write for a while, then resume packing.
Sam will have a shorter commute from there to his office, and the move will certainly increase his patient base from Slocum’s, as everyone in Ames seems to have a pet of some kind. Jason is looking forward to the move, too; he has a new dog now, another mutt, this one named Buddy, and they are getting along just like he and Mournful did. He can walk to school there, instead of standing out on a lonely country road where he could get kidnapped again.
Sabbath continues to be a source of comfort, leaping into my lap at odd times, purring while I stroke her, then she jumps down to go do whatever it is cats do. I don’t think she’ll like the move, though. Sam says cats don’t like changes of any kind, especially a new residence. We’ll have to watch her carefully after we get to the new house so she doesn’t escape and try to come back to the old house.
Although, I don’t know why any living creature would want to come back to this old house. At first, I thought the remote old farmhouse was charming, and I loved fixing up the sunroom as my office, which, as you remember, Sabbath appropriated as her own private spa.
But you know the things that started to happen right after Sabbath came to live with us. Sam joked that she used to belong to an old witch named Granny Copes who lived in the huge old house on the hill outside of Slocum, and she had named her Sabbath because she found her on that sacred day.
But Pam, you won’t believe this. I soon began to realize maybe Sam and the town folk weren’t joking, because the cat started having --- uh, the best I can describe it is -- visions, right in front of me…..shimmering, wavering visions of people seated in the living room, watching television, and then – this is the kicker, Pam – Sabbath finally showed us that some woman had shot the two people in the living room. She came inside, leveled her shotgun at them and fired, killing them both.
I saw it, Pam. Just like I was watching a movie, but more. Sound, smell…everything. And Sabbath was the projector.
Town folk had wondered what happened to the former owners of the farmhouse, Wand and Ralph Spencers, but that old Wilma, Wanda’s sister, brushed off any of their concerns, saying they had probably taken off somewhere in their car and run off a cliff or something.
Little did we know she had buried them in the cellar under the sunroom. Under my office. No wonder Sabbath sniffed and scratched at the oval rug covering the trap door. But we didn’t find this out until much later.
After Mournful was poisoned, I called Sheriff Pollard. He seemed to be on the verge of discovering what was going on out here when, danged if it didn’t beat anything, he was killed in a car wreck. I’m starting to talk like a native now….J
I’m sure if the Sheriff hadn’t been killed, he would have prevented Jason’s being kidnapped by that crazed old woman.
Thank God Jason had the resourcefulness to jump out of the old bat’s car as she was bringing him home to kill us all. Wilma swerved to avoid something, which turned out to Sabbath, and you know how the saying goes if you have a black cat cross your path it’s bad luck….Well, she went crashing her car into the huge old pecan tree in the side yard. The crash killed her.
When the officials came to investigate, I told them my outlandish story (and I’m sure by now you’re thinking the Texas heat has gone to my head) and said if they would dig up the root cellar, they would find the remains of Ralph and Wanda Spencer.
Even after the bodies were removed, I couldn’t live here any longer than necessary. I don’t want to raise any child in this house. Oh,yeah. I’m three months pregnant! We started looking for a new house right away, but selling this farmhouse is going to be a problem; who wants to buy a haunted house?
But we’ll leave that up to Tommy Joe Greenleaf, the agent who sold me this house in the first place. If anybody can sell this house, Tommy Joe can. I don’t know why he isn’t selling used cars and making a fortune, but houses are his forte. And I’m going to start looking, anyway, even if this house doesn’t sell right away.
Well, this isn’t getting anything done. But I wanted to check in with you and let you know the status of the novel and about our move, which will no doubt delay much heavy-duty writing for a while. But I’ll make up for it when we get settled, I promise. This new office I’m planning will be just as conducive – or more – to writing as the old one. If I can huff and puff my way up to the attic as my pregnancy progresses.
Your psychotic author,
Joanna
Chapter Two
Three months had passed since those terrible events that had marked Joanna’s family forever.
The bodies of Ralph and Wanda Spencer had been recovered from the cellar, the door sealed shut, and their bodies buried properly in the town’s cemetery.
Wilma Foulkes’ charred body, extracted from the burning car, had been taken away, and with no family to mourn her passing, given up to cremation and burial in a pauper’s grave.
Jason had passed his sixth birthday with a small party at school, and his unusual quiet demeanor was slowly returning to his normal lively self.
Joanna stood at the kitchen sink, gazing out at the large pecan tree. Her auburn hair glistened in the early morning sunrise, her slim figure leaning against the countertop. She was thinking how grateful she was for her family to have survived Wilma Foulkes’ murderous rampage.
The farmhouse had been put up for sale, but Tommy Joe Greenleaf had his doubts that it would sell to anyone in this small community.
“Nobody wants to buy a haunted house,” he had boomed in his deep voice as they sat in his real estate office. They were ready to negotiate, if necessary, in order to get out of the house.
“It’s not haunted,” Sam corrected him.
Joanna looked at her husband, grateful for his support through all the last few months. The news media, as well as the town’s residents, had blown the horrific story, bad as it was, all out of proportion. “The house is haunted by evil spirits,” was one of the more bizarre stories. “I heard old lady Foulkes is still hanging around, “ was another. “And that cat’s name – Sabbath! Whoever heard of naming a cat something like that? Well, you know, the dang cat onct belonged to that old witch up on the hill; you remember, she mixed up potions and did black magic? Maybe her evil spirit moved in with the cat!” And on and on went the gossip.
“Whatever.” Tommy Joe shrugged, the shoulders of his green plaid jacket moving expansively. “I’m just sayin’, you’re gonna have a hard time findin’ anybody around here to buy the place. Maybe we can advertise it out of town…or out of state. But even then, they’re bound to find out the history of that house.”
“Do what you can, Tommy Joe,” Joanna said. “And if you find anything here in town, be sure to let us know.” She stood to leave and Sam stood with her.
“Yes, ma’am. Three bedrooms. An office, if possible? Say, when’s that baby due?”
“Is nothing secret in this town?” She grinned in spite of herself. “In six months.”
“Well, I hope we can find you something soon. The market here is pretty slow right now, though…” his voice trailed off as he fingered a thin notebook of local listings, none of which had appealed to either Joanna or Sam.
“All right. We’ll keep looking, too. Even if we have to move to another town, okay? You might have something somewhere else….” Joanna’s voice trailed off.
“Right, Ms. Kelly. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
Sam and Joanna strolled down the street to their car. “Well, that was a fruitless visit,” Sam remarked. “I’m thinking maybe we’ll have to look over in Ames. They could use a good vet over there, too.”
Joanna nodded. “But I hate for Jason to have to change schools so soon after moving here from New York. That was hard on him, and now that he’s settled, I don’t want to move him again.”
“I know,” Sam said as they entered the car. “We’ll just have to trust that something comes up soon.”
The ride home was silent, each with their own thoughts.
While Joanna was delighted to find out she was pregnant, she was also almost sick with fear about having to raise her baby in the “haunted” house. It was bad enough that Sam and Jason had to live there, too, she thought, but the baby would undoubtedly pick up on the atmosphere of doom. If he or she hadn’t already been affected.
As they reached the house, Joanna set her chin in a defiant gesture.
“I’m not going to wait for Tommy Joe to find us anything The sooner we can leave this house, the better. I’m going to go looking on my own.”
Sam nodded. He knew there would be no persuading her that she would just be wasting her time, but what harm could be done by her just looking? She would soon give up and return to her writing, which she had all but abandoned in the last few months.
Or, he thought, she just might find something.
“So what are you doing today?” Sam asked her over coffee the next morning.
“I’m going to run some errands in town,” she replied. “And who knows, I might find us a house.” She shrugged.
“Well, that would be great Gotta go. Got a sick lab puppy to take care of.”
Joanna felt the familiar brush of Sabbath’s fur against her leg. “She doesn’t like it when you talk about another pet,” she reminded her husband. “Sabbath is a jealous cat.”
“Sabbath is a bewitched cat,” Sam said solemnly. “If it hadn’t been for her, we wouldn’t have known about the Spencers’ bodies being buried in the cellar.”
Joanna nodded. “She really does have a gift of prophecy.”
As Joanna watched Sam’s lanky body stride toward his van, Joanna scooped the cat up, stroking her. “Are you ready for your breakfast?”
The cat gazed at her solemnly. Of course I am ready for my breakfast. Don’t I always get my breakfast this time of morning?
“Here you go, Sabby,” Joanna soothed, pouring Kibbles into her bowl. “How would you like living in another house, huh? A bigger house, one that didn’t have bodies under the sunroom? “ She sighed. If I’m going to get another house, I’d better get started looking.
She found herself driving down the highway a short distance toward Ames. She knew virtually nothing about the town, but it was larger than Slocum and it might have what she was looking for. She found a drugstore in Ames and bought some more pre-natal vitamins and some anti-nausea medication. It was probably the vitamins that were making her nauseated, as well as the usual morning sickness, but she wanted her baby to get the best care possible, even if she herself was subjected to bouts of vomiting. And not just in the morning, either. With Joanna, morning sickness soon turned into “all day sickness.” But she hoped it would stop as her pregnancy progressed and the weather turned cooler.
She turned the corner to cross the street when she happened to glance down a side street toward an area of town she was unfamiliar with. Struck by a sudden urge to explore unknown territory, Joanna followed her instinct, striding purposefully into the unknown neighborhood. Large shade trees lined this street. Neat, small homes indicated a devotion to family life and order, and somewhere close by, Joanna smelled the aroma of fresh-baked apple pie.
Her mouth watered even as her stomach heaved. Oh, no, she thought as she braced herself against the drug store’s brick wall. Not now. The nausea passed and she breathed deeply. What am I doing? she asked herself.
Then she saw it.
The perfect house. Her heart beat faster. Her eyes took in the splendor of the three story, Victorian house, in good condition, at least outwardly. Gray trim, soft green paint. Trees lining the driveway, front yard neatly trimmed, fenced with fancy iron railing.
It had a sign in the expansive front yard: “Gifts and Antiques.”
But no “For Sale” sign.
Undaunted, Joanna opened the gate to the yard and marched up the walkway to the massive front door. She raised the brass knocker and pounded it firmly, admiring the etched glass panels in the front door. What am I doing? There’s no For Sale sign.
The door opened and an older woman peered out at Joanna. Soft graying curls framed a pale face; blue eyes gazed straight at Joanna.
“Yes? The shop isn’t open just yet.”
“Oh, I’m not here to look at your antiques,” Joanna said breathlessly, before she lost her courage. “I’m just wondering…I love your house. Is it by any chance for sale?”
“I haven’t thought about selling it, but come in. I’m Martha Harris.” She led Joanna inside to a large parlor, furnished in antiques and lighted softly by windows looking out on the side garden.
“Would you like some tea?’ her hostess inquired. Joanna nodded, now aware that a request for “tea” meant a tall glass of iced tea. As a transplant from New York, she had learned a lot in the few months she had been in the Texas Hill Country.
Martha excused herself briefly to speak to someone in the depths of the house, then she returned and seated herself across from Joanna.
“Please excuse me for barging in on you like this,” Joanna said, her hands running nervously over the purse in her lap. “I’m Joanna Elliott --- Kelly, that is. My husband is Sam Kelly, maybe you know him? The vet? We live at the old Spencer house east of Slocum.
“Ah, yes. I heard about the troubles out there. So you are looking for another house, then? I can’t say I blame you for not wanting to stay there, after all that…unpleasantness.”
Martha paused as a young woman entered the room carrying two glasses of iced tea tinkling softly on a silver tray. “Thank you, dear,” she said as the girl set the tray on a low table. “I’m afraid this is sweet tea,” she turned to Joanna with a glass in her delicate hand. “That’s the only kind we make here, you know.”
Joanna gave a little laugh. “Yes, that’s one of the first things I learned when I moved here.”
She sipped gratefully at the cold beverage.
Martha studied her over the rim of her glass. “Tell me, Mrs. Kelly,” she began, only to be waved off by Joanna’s hand.
“Oh, please call me Joanna. Even if I am a married woman, with a six-year-old son and three months pregnant with another child, I’m still Joanna. I think that’s another Southern tradition, too, right?” She smiled.
“You’re correct, Joanna. And please call me Martha. Even though,” she raised her hand at Joanna’s feeble attempt to protest, “here in the South, we generally call our elders Miss or Miz as a term of respect.”
“Yes, Miz Martha”.
Seniority established and civilities out of the way, Martha and Joanna sipped their iced tea; then Martha went straight to the point. “Why did you come to my house this morning, Joanna? It’s not listed for sale. . What made you think anybody would want to sell this house?”
Joanna found herself stammering again. “I don’t know. I’m as puzzled as you are. I was walking from the drugstore and looked around the corner and down the street where I had never been before, and I just fell in love with this house. Something about it…and I know it was a wild impulse, and I’m babbling, I know, but you’ve been very kind to talk to me, and thank you for the iced tea….” She stood up, gathering her purse to her shoulder.
“Actually, I’ve been expecting you,” Martha said softly. “Or someone like you. Please, sit down.”
She walked to the French doors and opened the drapes to the morning sun. “I’ve been alone in this house for many years, running the gift and antique shop to gain a little extra income and keep me busy, but in the past few years it’s become increasingly difficult to maintain the house. As you can see, it’s very large, and old, and needs some repairs and I’m getting up in years where it’s a physical challenge to make even small repairs, not to mention a financial burden. So I’ve been thinking, it might be best to sell the house.
“You’re the first to ask.”
Joanna began breathing again. “Do you have time, Miz Martha, or would you be willing to show me the house?”
Martha nodded. “Of course, dear. Please excuse the mess….”
Joanna was amused at the old Southern tradition of apologizing for the way a woman kept her house, even if it were spit-shine clean, which this one was.
“Well, right now, of course, we’re in the parlor. That’s an old fashioned term for a living room, but I think it fits, don’t you?”
She indicated with a nod of her well-coifed graying head the ornate furnishings, the Oriental rug, molded fireplace and heavy chandelier hanging in the center of the large room. “My family spent a great deal of time in here, and I believe a couple of the children were married in this very room.” She gazed wistfully at some unknown memory and Joanna was suddenly struck by the possibility that Martha Dixonmight yet change her mind about selling the house.
Joanna prompted, “Very nice.” It was Joanna’s turn to indicate with her head that she would like to look further.
Martha broke her reverie, smiling softly at Joanna. “Forgive an old woman, my dear. Of course, I’ll show you the other rooms now.”
Their feet sounded mute on the cherry wood floor planks as they crossed the spacious entry hall; Martha stood before a solid mahogany wall, which Joanna soon realized were sliding doors as, with a gentle push, the petite woman opened the doors.
Joanna gasped at the sight of sparkling brass, cut glass and china objects placed in showcases.
“Now,” Martha admonished, “you don’t have to keep the gift shop. I haven’t opened the doors for weeks at a time. It was once my great grandfather’s medical office. Cyrus Harris was the only physician within the county at one time.”
“Oh, my! And now it’s a gift shop! I’ve never had any retail experience, but I’ll bet I can find someone in town who can run it. Maybe even Jolene?” She speculated. Jolene had done some baby-sitting for Joanna when she first began dating Sam; actually Sam had suggested his receptionist’s sister could baby-sit. And Joanna liked the girl and knew she would be trustworthy to run the shop.
“Ah, yes. Jolene. I’ve known her since she was born. A good choice.
Martha stepped back into the hall. “The kitchen has been updated and the bathrooms have new plumbing and fixtures, too,” she said as they walked.
Joanna peered into the spacious kitchen.
A good-sized table sat in the middle, prompting Joanna to ask, “Will you be leaving some of the furniture? I mean,” she blushed, “if you do decide to sell, wherever you go, you probably won’t need as much furniture, will you?”
Martha nodded as they began ascending the massive stairs, running their hands along the mahogany rails. “Oh, you’re correct about the furniture. I am, as they say, thinking of ‘downsizing’ to a small condominium, The Enclave, at the edge of town.”
Joanna was keenly aware that their voices echoed in this high-ceilinged area. She shivered in spite of herself.
“ You must come see them and approve of them for me.” Martha continued. “Would you do that?”
Joanna smiled her agreement. “It sounds lovely. I’ve seen the brochures Tommy Joe Greenleaf has in his office.”
“Ah, yes. He’s a good man. I hope he continues to do well in this area.”
They paused on the landing and Martha indicated the four bedrooms and their baths; very large rooms with huge lace-curtained windows where sunlight could spill inside most of the day. One for Sam and me, she thought, Jason across the hall, one as my office and one as a guest room.
“And now, here’s something your farmhouse didn’t have. We have a lovely finished-out attic that children throughout the years have used as a playroom. Come up.”
She led the way up steep, narrow, wooden stairs and Joanna’s heart thudded with some kind of excitement, yet tinged with fear, although she wasn’t sure exactly why. And then, she saw it: A huge room with toys scattered about, with sunlight filtering through a large window, and it appeared to have been updated as well, with plenty of electrical outlets for her computer and printer, Joanna suddenly realized. “My office,” she said aloud.
Martha nodded. “Are you sure the toys won’t be in your way?” She indicated a large wooden hobbyhorse, a red-and white painted Jack-in-the Box that lolled its huge head lazily, and an antique crème-colored carousel horse, with gold and red trim. Stacked around the corners were Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls, grinning crookedly, wooden trains, baby carriages and brightly colored boxes that undoubtedly held even more treasures for children of all ages.
Joanna breathed, “They’ll be just fine. They can keep me company; they seem almost real.”
Martha chuckled. “That’s what all the family members have said.”
They slowly descended the stairs, then down to the ground floor where Joanna bid Martha goodbye, saying, “I’d like to bring my husband by to look at the house, if you don’t mind. Tomorrow evening?” She was aware she almost pleaded.
“ Of course, Joanna. Come around seven o’clock. I’ll be happy to meet him.”
Joanna practically skipped down the front steps through the front yard and out the gate. I think I have a house, she thought, almost giddy with delight. Then came the sobering thoughts: I hope she doesn’t change her mind about selling it.
And I hope we can afford it.
Excerpt
“What have I done?” Joanna breathed quietly. “Come on, Sabbath,” she said, reaching down to the cat carrier and unzipping the case. “ Let’s go explore this house, so you can get acquainted with it. Sam says you probably won’t like being in a new place; that’s your nature, but I think you’ll like having a house without bodies in the cellar.” She chuckled as she urged Sabbath out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
Joanna had long known that a cat has its own agenda, and there was no way to “herd a cat.” Yet Sabbath looked up at her with questioning eyes and docilely followed Joanna down the hall, into the big parlor and the adjoining gift shop, where she dutifully sniffed and marked her territory by rubbing against the paneled walls.
Then Joanna urged her up the massive staircase, which seemed familiar somehow, and then she recalled the memory of having lived in such a home with a woman who had been very kind to her, but had died, leaving her locked in the house for a long time. Sabbath had been only too happy to make her presence known to the realtor when he entered the house. And this man had taken her to the V E T place where her People adopted her. But gone was the old lady’s house, and gone was the house with the Death Smell. Sabbath was not unhappy to be in this new place, but she sensed something was very wrong.
Still walking through the upstairs part of the house, Sabbath followed her Person and approved of each room. Here was where the Female and Male Persons slept, and across the hall was where the Boy Child slept and played. There were rooms that were yet unoccupied, but one was being prepared for the arrival of another Child.
This next room was called “The Nursery.” The Boy Child would now have a sibling, and Sabbath momentarily remembered she had siblings, once, a long time ago, but they were No More. She alone had survived the dank, cold waters of the creek while her siblings cried weakly and then were silent.
Yes, a sibling would be good for the Boy Child.
Then Her Person led her to another set of stairs, where Sabbath balked. Something told her not to go up those stairs. She paused, swishing her tail to test the atmosphere around her, and it was not good. She looked up at her Person for confirmation of what she sensed, but it was useless. Her Person urged her on.
“Come on, Sabbath. Come on up to my new study. You remember the sunroom at the other house, don’t you? You liked to lay in the sunny windows while I wrote. This room is just a bit different, of course, but you’ll get used to it.
“Come on.” She started up the stairs while Sabbath considered the command. Her Person wanted her to go up those stairs where a presence hung in the air. But Her Person did not know that. At least not yet. And, Sabbath knew she had to be an obedient cat for a change and humor the woman. So she threw aside her cautious nature and entered the room above.
There were familiar things in this room that comforted Sabbath. The woman’s desk, chair and Infernal Machine were in place. Her comfy chair. The portable television. All of these Sabbath recognized and approved of.
What she wasn’t expecting were the items standing about the room: She drew back. A large carousel horse, brightly colored, a rocking horse, rather the worse for wear, and a Jack-in-the – Box, with the clown permanently outside the box, grinning perpetually at nothing. A few boxes, some of them brightly colored or wrapped in shiny paper, a large trunk and a couple of old school desks filled the rest of the room.
Sabbath backed away. I’m wary of these new things among those I know.
Joanna sat down at her desk, urging Sabbath to come sit on her lap.
“It’s okay, Sabbath,” she soothed. “Will you come up here with me while I write? I need some company, you know. It’s not like the old sun room, but this is a lot bigger and has some things you will get used to.”
Sabbath leaped into Joanna’s lap, not because she was expected to, but because she sensed danger here. She needed comfort. The atmosphere was charged with evil.
Sabbath sighed, which Joanna took as contentment.
In reality, Sabbath was thinking, We thought we would be safe here. What happened in this house?
Sabbath lay in her Person’s lap for a few moments until Joanna stood, unceremoniously dumping her to the floor. “ Okay, Sabbath. Back to the kitchen. I have dishes to unpack and put away. And, cat food for you, too. Come on.”
As they retreated from the attic room, Sabbath peered into the haze developing in the middle of the room. A scrap of blue, she wanted to tell her Person. Look at the scrap of blue, hanging in the air.
But her Person had already begun her descent and Sabbath followed, leaving her sense of doom behind the closed door.
Chapter Five
Joanna slept late the next morning, while Sam fixed his own breakfast and went to the office. She found his note when she finally struggled out of bed and wandered downstairs to the kitchen.
She smiled at his consideration. He knew she was bone-tired and let her sleep.
She poured a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, admiring her work from yesterday. The kitchen was all ready for dinner, the living room – or parlor – was straightened around with the furniture placed to her satisfaction, and of course, the bedrooms just needed clothing to be put away out of the boxes.
She felt, rather than heard, the quiet of the house.
And she knew, somehow, she was not alone.
She sensed someone, or some thing, was in the house with her. She noticed then that the house was very cold, especially in the living room. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the house, Joanna thought. Poor heating unit.
She shook off the feeling, showered and dressed and remembered her agreement with Sam that she wouldn’t lift anything heavy but unpack only small items.
Joanna set about undoing the many boxes and distributing their possessions throughout the house.
While she was in the parlor, she realized that the mantel clock had stopped. It would be nice to hear its ticking and its deep chiming of the hours. She opened the back of the clock and glanced at her watch so she could set the hands to the correct time.
My watch has stopped, too, she thought in annoyance. Well, she could look at the bedroom clock, but she realized the bedroom alarm clock had not been unpacked yet and was still inside one of a myriad of boxes.
She wondered idly how Sam had awakened in time to make it to his office without the alarm clock, and then she remembered his uncanny ability to sense time even without an alarm clock. He loves his work, so he wakes up, just like that.
Then she thought of calling the time and temperature number.
“Time: eleven thirty-two,” the mechanical voice intoned. She hung up before it gave the temperature, as it was cold enough in the house and Joanna didn’t want to know the temperature outside.
She set the hands of the clock, gave the pendulum a gentle push to get it started, and was gratified to hear the sound, counting out the minutes as it had done for a hundred years or more.
Reality intruded as the time registered on her conscious mind. “Where has the day gone?” she said aloud while striding into the large hallway where more unopened cartons had been stacked.
Sometime later she stopped for a light lunch.
It must be past one-thirty, she thought as she walked into the warm kitchen. While she made a sandwich and waited for the soup to heat, Joanna stood at the bay window admiring the view of the town.
I so love this house. I’m so glad I found it.
She sensed a presence. As if confirming her feeling, she heard Sabbath rumbling low in her throat.
|
