House of Darkness House of Light Read online

  Jane Roberts

  The Afterdeath Journal of An American Philosopher;

  The View of William James

  ~ a sacred source of pure enlightenment ~

  V.

  GHOSTLY CRIES AND WHISPERS

  “Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil,

  as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”

  Peter v. 8

  Sensory perception is a wondrous gift of Nature. Those who listen to the whispers of spirit will be tenderly guided along, while those who deliberately provoke the dead know not what they may receive in response. It requires an inordinate amount of courage, coupled with morbid curiosity. There is such a thing as begging for trouble. It seems to obey any request, as if by command. The children had been forewarned. They’d been unwilling to listen to reason, to voices of authority; far more susceptible to absurd notions and suggestions made by friends. There would be consequences… for every action, a reaction: science as equation. Disobedient heathens get what they deserve. You asked for it, girls! There is an indistinguishable line between bravery and stupidity.

  Be watchful. Be prudent. Be wise. Be gone!

  ***

  Their odyssey began as a pronouncement; the sad, diminutive clarion call. In hushed and somber tones, this communication, disguised as wind and rain, cloaked by the creaking of old clapboard, infiltrated the senses of those who had entered unfamiliar territory. In the quiet darkness of night they’d listen to the farmhouse, its whistling coos or high-pitched whining, whenever an ill wind passed through the eaves, or so they had all presumed. The busy and rambunctious household was a distraction during their days but at night the house spoke of its story to newly arrived inhabitants. During their first few months in residence, there was so much buzz and extraneous activity, the dismissal of uncommon noises was the norm. An adjustment period was necessary and no one in the family trusted their own perceptions of this house. A new place—new noises mindset explained away virtually every strange and foreign sound. The house was so big in comparison to where they had come from that the tightly compact Cape Cod in Cumberland now seemed, (as a distant memory), something no bigger than a beach bungalow. Sound was magnified and distorted within the massive structure. It was an echo chamber. It had a heartbeat. The house had an energy and a voice all its own; several, in fact. The interplay of shadow and light intermingling with its natural/supernatural sound became mesmerizing; a source of wonderment. They had willingly crossed the threshold, entering into the shared space, one filled with secrets and souls. Into a mysterious portal they ventured, finding it hypnotic by nature, casting its enchanting spells on those dwelling within its clapboard walls. There was no escaping the effect it had on a family who could not help but listen up in smoke: Attention class! Mere mortals could not ignore the gauzy haze gathering in rooms, masquerading as moonlight. Cloud cover hovering in shadow dance, an elegant disguise, Nature provided a cloak for an esoteric element of itself… very clever camouflage.

  Yet, there is no mistaking the cry of a child. Cindy would soon identify the face of the littlest ghost wailing for her mother. The moans seeping from deep within the eaves were, after some research, presumed to be the sick and pitiful sound made by Johnny Arnold, a man in the self-inflicted throes of a poisonous death. He suffered, departing life in excruciating pain; a haunting, desperate sound, as if he attempted to muffle his agony so to avoid detection. Was he unwilling to risk discovery before the deed was done?

  Soon enough chanted incantations would begin. Whispered words, barely perceptible, over time became audibly intelligible. The distinctly articulated statements made no sense at all to the child suddenly struggling just to be a child, striving to grasp and interpret the cryptic pleas, to determine a source. Cynthia heard the call of seven dead soldiers buried in the wall. Come to me, little girl. Telepathic messages, conveyed within the sealed mind field of sound surrounding each recipient, altering their state-of-being. During these encounters, what Cynthia often describes as being in the bubble, all external activity was deflected as a spirit shielded itself, protected from any intrusion. It soon became apparent to five children listening with new ears, observing with new eyes… they were not alone. They were never alone and would not ever be again. Such disturbing interludes were enlightening in this respect.

  Carolyn saw the little girl, dressed up in her green velvet finery, what she would later describe as the child’s burial outfit. A tiny cherub chanting with cohorts was seemingly oblivious to the terrified woman being targeted: Will drive ye out with fiery broom . . . will drive ye mad with death and gloom: their unholy chapter and verse… perhaps not so benign, after all. Footsteps in stairwells or whispers from walls, mournful cries of a child, the incantation of a crowd of souls resembling a coven of witches or the soft, soulful whine of a distant bugle—these were but a few of the distinctly disquieting sounds which they heard incessantly. Sensory perception is a gift, though as much a curse as a blessing… as a balancing act of God.

  Supernatural/psychic sound was not relegated to the farmhouse. Giggling spirits at play in the pine forest became an equally common occurrence, as if they assumed it was safe to reveal themselves in the presence of others their own age. Had they always been there? Was it something about these children which allowed their mortal eyes the ability to see all there was to behold? A heightened sensitivity developed, undoubtedly due to over-exposure. They lived among dead people. It was something none of them could ever afford to forget, not for an instant, to be on the safe side but there was no safe side. Anyone could see anything at anytime. Family pets often responded to things their humans could not see or hear, frequently alerting them to any pending manifestation. Accused of being alarmist by nature in the beginning, the dogs proved consistently reliable; keen senses quite telling. The self-doubt of mere mortals would dissipate with time. After awhile they did believe their eyes. The animals knew it all along, from the moment they arrived, precisely why they refused to cross the threshold. The sounds of silence came always with a message. “Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again, because a vision softly creeping left its seed while I was sleeping, and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains… the sounds of silence”. Everyone was beginning to understand. It was not the wind. It was not the rain. It was something else entirely, perhaps something wicked. Either they would have to find their way or forge a new path on this intrepid journey through another dimension while dwelling with the dead in a portal cleverly disguised as a farmhouse.

  Opposing forces were about to engage in a ferocious battle as adversaries waging war within the dark confines of the borning room, against the evil in an old house. Disobedient heathens would be severely tested, admonished for the deliberate splicing of dimensions. Foolishly doing so would mean taking a terrible risk as antagonists exploring treacherous boundaries of an inherently inconceivable realm. Overtly provocative behavior functioned as the clarion call, the command to be obeyed, essentially calling on all enemy combatants: for every action… a reaction. The children had no concept of the consequences, no idea of the power they were about to unleash as warnings went unheeded. It was destined to become a test of wills. Inviting disasters into their home, stupid girls got what they deserved. The ultimate wake-up call to arms, Cindy would be forced to fight for her own life in the darkness. Indistinguishable is the fine line between brave and stupid, and they brazenly crossed it. Hubris found in one so young, Cynthia was certain she’d identify then banish what had haunted them, day and night, for years. So confident and prideful in her assertion, the child arranged a get-together from the ages, for the ages. Her anger manifested as arrogance, pride as over-confidence. A mere waif decided to take on a demon in their midst. Everyone else thought that was somehow a good idea! Be watchful, girls. Be sober and be vigilant. Lessons learned the hard way. Mother always said: “all fun and games until someone gets hurt”. Best they brought the white flag along for their wild ri
de across the cosmos. This was not philosophy. It was physics.

  “The conflict of forces and the struggle of opposing wills

  are of the essence of our Universe and alone hold it together.”

  Havelock Ellis

  ~ a room with a view of the universe ~

  secrets and lies

  “If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not

  blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.”

  Kahlil Gibran

  Keeping secrets from each other, lies as sins of omission, was contrary to any previous behavior displayed by these siblings. Things had changed. Prior to moving to the farmhouse, these children always shared everything with each other, from triumph to tragedy. Nothing was off-limits in a discussion, even if the conversation was kept as temporary secrets between sisters. All of them knew how trustworthy their mother was and they would confide in her with ease; no fear of retribution. Eventually, Carolyn would be made privy to any and all significant events in their lives. Then she’d consider it, deciding if it was something serious enough to warrant their father’s attention or his intervention, often strictly handled on a need-to-know basis. If it was an issue she could resolve without him, Carolyn did so, simply to keep things peaceful and quiet. Never one of those you just wait until your father gets home mothers; she preferred to settle disputes on her own. Roger’s tendency to overreaction was something to avoid, so, if a minor incident happened there was no need to involve him. That is, unless he asked, in which case she was always honest with her husband; a hard fact that would become a major point of contention between this troubled couple. Carolyn took profound exception to his overt disregard for her opinions and blatant skepticism he’d express in reaction to her descriptions of the supernatural activity, experiences occurring all around them. It was insulting and offensive. She’d never given Roger any reason to doubt her voracity.

  All family dynamics evolve over time. This is a given. Children grow up. Even adults mature with age. As deep and abiding bonds alter, relationships change: love deepens or chasms widen. The family functioned relatively well until the move to a place in the country. Thus began an inevitable breakdown in communication. As the girls were exposed to the supernatural phenomena, they withheld information as a matter of course and did not share sightings with one another for quite some time. Truth be told, they did not trust their own perceptions; no need to disclose what each could not believe she’d seen. It created a covert atmosphere, a deceptive mindset among five siblings in an environment where everyone present was keeping the same secret.

  When the floodgates of hell burst open and the deluge began, the sense of relief was palpable amongst the group of girls who really had something to talk about! When the eldest divulged her concerns to the mother in a crisis of her own, it actually eased much of the low-level angst present in the house, effectively clearing the air of an oppressive and omnipresent fear. The secret was out. A comparative analysis of episodes proved beneficial for all those questioning their senses and, to some extent, sanity. As a rule, honesty is the best policy. Yet, when the father and husband, the one relied upon to protect and defend his family against all enemies, foreign and domestic, does not believe a threat exists, it makes for a rather convoluted report up the chain of command. Sometimes it requires bypassing the general entirely. Good God. Seeking assistance, they were forced to go right to the top.

  For all practical purposes, their secrets, lies as sins of omission, served to provide sufficient time to process events as they happened, to emotionally and intellectually absorb what had just transpired. By necessity, a brief but imperative pause for reflection accompanied every event. Keeping it private seemed the only thing to do. No one knew how to initiate such an absurd conversation, where to begin. Cindy uttered as holy words: “There are seven dead soldiers”. As encounters continued to accumulate, there came a gradual recognition, awareness that they were dwelling within a cosmic laboratory, in a living museum, an unusual place among a decidedly eclectic, often eccentric group of spirits who, for some reason or another, never left. As months became years, the unusual became rather commonplace, to such an extent, many ethereal encounters were barely even mentioned in passing, if discussed at all. There was no need. Everyone knew the drill. Natural: no longer so Super / natural. Manifestations became an ordinary part of life; the new paranormal. Seven mortals touched and were touched by immortality, traversing the spectrum from keeping the secrets to telling the tales, in some cases, thirty years hence. One important lesson was learned: all is revealed in its right and proper time. The Universe cannot keep a secret.

  “In the long run, there are no secrets in science.

  The universe will not cooperate in a cover-up.”

  Arthur C. Clarke

  make yourself at home

  “Where we love is home—home that our feet may leave,

  but not our hearts.”

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

  It is often said that hospitality is making your guests feel at home, even if you wish they were at home. The Arnold Estate was packed to the rafters and eaves and nobody seemed able to determine who was the guest or the tenant. Animosity was bound to brew as both camps outstayed their welcome. Even if they were a family, enough was enough. Carolyn wanted the house cleared out, cleansed of the presence that meant her harm. The trouble was two-fold: everyone present was home! These spirits had no place to go, or they would have gone long ago. Obviously, it was their home first. Retaining ownership as former (and current) inhabitants, claiming the space as their own, certainly complicated matters. As the presumed mortal mistress of the house, Carolyn wanted to stake her claim and was prohibited from doing so as a struggle of wills ensued. Eventually she would succumb in battle, losing the war.

  Mr. Kenyon used the common phrase, ushering the Perron family through the doorway, inviting them across his threshold, having already chosen this clan as his successor to this estate. Difficult to interpret who really belonged there, in actuality, the house was pre-occupied long before they arrived. To those crossing into strangely familiar yet uncharted territory, it felt more like “welcome home” than “make yourself at home” to those who sensed a vague permanence about this home place, right from the inception. There was no explaining how the children knew their way around when Mr. Kenyon gifted them with his unfettered access to the property. The grounds were enticing enough but it was as if the barn had called to them, as did the grand old apple tree, stone walls and a woodshed. Andrea had been put in charge of counting heads, a task she’d abruptly abandoned. No point in trying to keep up with everybody, as no one was going far and each knew where she was going. It was obvious. Theirs was an inexplicable mission of rediscovery. Though no one mentioned it that day, it has since been a topic of conversation within the family… for decades. Why did it feel so strange yet so familiar? Why did the sights and sounds and smells of the place seem lodged so far back in their collective consciousness? It was an ancient memory, a sensation shared by all and it remains a mystery yet to be solved.

  There was no arguing or bartering for rooms. Every one of the girls knew where they would eventually settle and on the day they moved in, there was no need to assign a space. Each child took her belongings to the room where she was destined to dwell for the next ten years of her life. No discussion. No complaints. The space occupied was where each belonged, where every child had lessons to learn from the messages received. It was no coincidence Cynthia gravitated to the middle bedroom upstairs, the most active spot on the second floor. It was located directly above the room Carolyn chose to share with her husband. He agreed it was the perfect place for them without saying a word. The house itself assigned the lodging, or so it seemed. Beds were assembled well before the truck was emptied and furnishings appeared sparse in comparison to where they had come from, but all made the most of the move. Roger did as Mr. Kenyon had suggested… he left the lights on at night. A solitary lamp in the dining room illuminated the path through
the center of the house, yet the light was all but swallowed by the surrounding darkness, requiring more light from the kitchen to navigate the structure safely. The shadows cast were not spooky but beautiful, the wallpaper often bathing by moonlight, being the natural images of a supernatural portal, so cleverly disguised as a farmhouse, as magical as mysterious.

  During the following decade many friends and family members would be warmly welcomed into the home, there to see the Light. It was odd how the spirits would pick and choose who to contact whenever they’d come to call. Fran and Eddy always created a ruckus with their presence, while Tim and Ray saw nothing unusual, in spite of so much time spent on the premises. There was no explaining it. When the house came alive with death, a blatant display of what was there all the time, some visitors were terrified and never returned while others were especially anxious to revisit the farmhouse with a personality or ten all its own. Apparently beckoning the souls with a history, some connection to it, others were profoundly and permanently turned away, rejected, never invited to return. Holly felt embraced by it while Lori ran for her life! Freddy felt threatened. Fran was impaled by blue light. Katy, queen of denial, made matters worse. Lenora’s time was too brief but she loved it there and longed to return. Perhaps she has…

  In time, Carolyn would come to know a sense of homelessness within her own walls. She eventually lost her will to fight on, unwilling to struggle for a place that rejected her on every front. It was a test of wills, conflict from the start. It had taken all the strength she possessed to battle her way back to her family. For all she’d lost, Carolyn found a new understanding of peace in the midst of war. Up went the white flag. Surrender, Carolyn. It became a battle to the death of her belief system. She was forced to call upon a higher power. Lo! And behold came her answer, the merciful savior who always intervened on their behalf. God help me crossed her lips spontaneously in times of crisis but the answer was far more significant than the question implicit to the plea. Is someone there? Yes. Listening, watching and coming. She was not alone.