House of Darkness House of Light Page 3

  In spite of assistance received, this ongoing skirmish drained the woman of energy and enthusiasm, effectively killing Carolyn’s spirit of adventure on a farm she once found enchanting. It became a noose around her neck which strangled any love she felt for a place at first adored. What she still perceives as a nightmare and a burden lingers as love lost in the minds of her children. It will always be “home” for those who continue mourning its loss. None of them were born there, at least not this time around, yet a connection remains strong more than thirty years after their departure. They often return there in a dreamscape which captures their imaginations after dark. Roger never fails to note his regrets when the subject comes up. All but Carolyn and Christine have gone back to walk the land and see the farmhouse now restored to its Colonial splendor, as a true original. Neither of them can bear to revisit the past yet their past will never leave any of the family behind for as long as they live, and so it is. ’Tis true, there’s no place like home… no need to click their heels. They need only close their eyes. No matter where they go, there they are, in a memory, a scent or a song; in a moment of recognition. Here they are, omnipresent… like God.

  “May the roof above us never fall in and may

  we good companions beneath it never fall out.”

  Irish Blessing

  comes and goes

  “The woman’s like the night, she comes and goes /

  She breaks my heart each day and never knows /

  And the time I spend in sorrow

  will match the time I live /

  And the time that’s left is all I have to give.”

  Dan Fogelberg

  Andrea came home with another new love in tow, nothing too unusual. Dan Fogelberg, not the man but his music, tucked securely beneath her arm, in a loving embrace. The album had been opened and placed on the turntable moments after she entered the parlor. Of course, as was her nature, she had happily shared Dan with her family. Let there be volume! Surely these picky spirits would not object or tamper with the stereo. This music was beautiful, even spiritual. Carolyn was moved by what she had heard, what had enticed her through the house, that is, until one song struck a chord of discontent. As she listened to lyrics which described her situation, it pained her, evoking many not-so-distant memories of nights spent in abject terror while a solitary entity provoked then threatened her. Seemingly coming and going in mere moments, yet there for eternity, all of their spirits seemed to travel like the wind but nobody had been fooled. There was an omnipresence about them which could not be denied and could only be described as a feeling but there was nothing out-of-sight-out-of-mind about them. Did they come and go as they pleased? Or was their circumstance quite the opposite, perhaps a fate worse than death? Impaired sense of direction? Were they already home?

  “The woman’s like an ivy on a pole / She wraps her twisted love

  around my soul / There will come a sudden

  winter when she’ll seek

  the warmth of day / And there’ll come a time when

  she will come to stay.”

  That is precisely what Carolyn was afraid of, that she would come to stay, essentially moving in on a mother of five, there to reclaim her position as the mistress of the house. By this time, Carolyn had been hobbled and humbled by pain of all sorts and the weakness she could not fight off was draining her of mortal energy. Standing silently in the corner of the parlor, lowering her head, sudden darkness overcame a lighthearted mood all present had shared. There it was again; an oppressive spirit had entered the room. What escaped Carolyn at the time was the fact that she had never relinquished the position in the first place and her nemesis was becoming a dark spirit. Had the ghost known as Bathsheba literally moved into their mother? The children watched as her bright smile curled into a grimace, once sparkling green eyes appeared hollow and vacant. An intertwining had occurred, much like tendrils of ivy climbing a pole. No mistaking this twisted love, its momentum appeared to be reversed, from the eyes down. As transformation, it was an eerie sight to see. They knew not who was with them as music frolicked through the air.

  Had an unholy spirit come to stay? Could it be true, she’d never left? Was Carolyn becoming consumed by a spirit, one with an eternal longing to feel the warmth of human flesh again? Did she crave the sensation of wrapping children in her arms or long to rest beside a man she loved? Lyrics as lovely as any ever written lashed at a mother’s mind as she listened intently. When it came to an end she raised her head and uttered only one word: “Haunting.”

  “The woman’s like the tide, she comes and goes /

  She knows the things that I can just suppose /

  And the time I spend in sorrow

  will match the time that she laughs /

  And the songs I sing cannot explain but half.”

  Dan Fogelberg “Comes and Goes”

  timely manners

  “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”

  Romans xii. 21

  Christine and Cynthia couldn’t help but notice how their belongings were being tampered with, as toys became a point of fascination. April and Nancy knew things in their bedroom were frequently displaced, later found in other places, moving by their own volition. How could something that was there in one moment, disappear in the next? Invisible spirit activity was rampant and included manipulating objects around them. It was commonplace, the natural in supernatural. There was a hotbed of kinetic energy in their farmhouse and an ever present sense of a potential energy; a prevalent something is about to happen sensation; particularly intense forewarning prior to manifestation. Stepping through time and space as tearing through dimensions is disruptive on either side of the perceived veil. If such quantum leaps exist, it must be a natural phenomenon, not some illogical supernatural event, as is frequently described; something beyond the corporeal realm, yet accessible, given the appropriate environment. More likely, it is an integrated function of energy being dispersed in different ways because it has accumulated. Ultimately, everything will be explained by physics or metaphysics. No mortal should presume to neither understand Mother Nature nor comprehend the complexities of the Universe. Discovery aside, anyone in the know will admit that we know nothing. Our existence remains a mystery.

  In spite of all the displacement faced from the inception, once they settled into their farmhouse, what had been packed then unpacked then thoughtfully rearranged was now being shared. What the children considered as intrusions by each other soon proved otherwise. When the phenomenon began to occur, their first inclination was to blame each other, an initial defensiveness among them contrary to their personalities. Quite strange, considering the amount of space shared had, at the very least, quadrupled. Essentially, there was plenty of room for everyone. Accusations and suspicions were running rampant and Carolyn could not understand why she suddenly had to be a referee, running interference between daughters who somehow always managed to get along in the past! It was disconcerting for the lot of them and as far as their mother was concerned, unnecessary. Intolerant of the discourse, she would not abide it for long. Unaccustomed to breaking up such arguments, Carolyn reminded her children how fortunate they were to live in an awe-inspiring farmhouse; a beautiful place in the country. They’d hang their heads in shame… and hush! Gratitude is the foundation of acknowledging a gift. Her girls knew the sacrifice made to provide them with a very special home place.

  These children knew about life beyond their borders. Underlying all else was a broad worldview, including knowledge of homeless, starving children and political oppression: war and pleas for peace. They’d received messages from their mother, assimilated by osmosis; a philosophy which would carry them farther than any formal education received. The woman knew precisely what it meant to be destitute, to have no possessions to misplace. She’d worked diligently to be certain her girls did not suffer that same cruel fate. Her divine intention had been to instill this abiding sense of gratitude as a fundamental element of her own
innate spirituality. Carolyn appealed to their higher Nature, gently persuading them to reconsider their rather base, caustic approach, adopting one far more gentile, insisting that they think outside the boxing match. Play nicely, girls! An untenable blame game had to come to an end; a tug of war that suddenly erupted between five siblings was entirely unacceptable. The cease and desist order issued had challenged them to find alternatives to settle all disputes. The ladies opted for peace long before they knew where to rightfully place the blame. Then the trouble ended as abruptly as it began. Returning to a more copacetic existence they effectively defeated an invasively negative influence: evil as a presence whose source had yet to be identified. The house had already begun yielding its lessons as fruit, ripe for the picking of a fight.

  Children must be taught. Guided. Directed. Within weeks, a significant if brief period of time, arguments subsided and dispositions brightened as these girls began to understand… their anger was as misplaced as their possessions. With each sighting the picture became clearer, more well-defined. A mystery unfolding before their eyes, witnessing a phenomenon of supernatural origin, events which could not otherwise be explained, also, could not be denied. The conundrum: by example, they were taught when to withhold and when to be forthcoming but they did not know which path to take. When Cynthia disclosed information to Andrea it released a pressure valve, nearly filling the frosty air with steam. It had been building within her for several months, threatening to explode. The child was so frightened and confused. Her relief was as real as her troubling report. Cindy successfully offloaded what was a heavy burden to bear, once placing the decision of whether or not to tell at her eldest sister’s discretion.

  Gently reminding her girls of what they already knew by heart, in heart, Carolyn’s subtle influence was repetitious and poetic, including a proverb of Cherokee origin. “Sharing and giving are the ways of God.” It was a phrase, yet it had encapsulated the source of her heritage, what she passed along to her young ancestors. Carolyn took great pride in her polite, well-mannered, naturally sweet-tempered children. She had seen to it; an ordinary selfishness found in most youngsters did not develop in her own. Instead, she bred into them a willingness to help others, an altruism rarely found in ones so young. Little wonder then, that Cynthia began leaving her bedroom and belongings behind for the benefit of a bereft child who, stepping through an inexplicable portal was coming over, crossing over to play. As Miss Manners personified, Cynthia’s supernatural inclination was to sharing. Once the manifestations became familiar and obviously posed no threat, fear subsided, replaced with a mortal compassion for an immortal soul. Had her mother known about this kindness extended, she would have been prouder still. However, Carolyn had taught all of her girls that it was sometimes necessary to withhold pertinent information, having done so by example, role-modeling as she did with her husband. Therefore the children received mixed messages. Until they knew precisely what was happening around them and could believe their eyes, none of them dared to divulge anything about their ethereal experiences with anyone, uncertain of how it might be perceived. Eventually they would share sordid details, though in some cases, it required thirty years to tell all. In this life, whatever is revealed is done so in a timely manner. No coincidences and no mistakes made because God does not make mistakes. It was self-evident; everything happens with purpose and reason.

  Not all of their household entities were quite as generous of spirit, not so anxious to return the favor. As considerate as these children had been of their presence, some of the spirits were want to reciprocate in a proper manner, by simply making themselves scarce when company arrived. Instead, this would be the time when all proper social manners lapsed into oblivion and at least one restless spirit would exhibit blatant disregard for basic rules of decorum. Though these children could be heathens when unleashed, they all knew how to behave. They could plow into food like starving tomboys straight from the trees, or work like lumberjacks alongside any man, though each one retained her young lady-like quality, when it mattered most. Mr. Kenyon found them endearing, as did anyone else who visited the farm, admiring their refined manners, good sense and sensibilities: Little women.

  Timing is everything in life, and apparently in death as well. It is difficult, if not impossible, to maintain any sense of normalcy when a spirit decides to make its presence known. Their “everything is fine here” approach unraveled like chenille throws as minds scrambled to explain away inexplicable events. It happened so many times, over and over again. The house would be quiet for weeks then suddenly come to life with an unexpected visit from a friend. Fran, Holly, Katy, Eddy, Sam, Cathi, Margie… the list goes on. Each one of them and more had profound, consciousness-altering experiences at the farm. It was as if the spirits waited for their gathering, poised upon the precipice, ready to pounce. Yes. It did appear deliberate and intentional. There were too many of them to assign any specific entities the blame but their family had suspicions. The more they got to know them over time, the easier it became to attribute the mischief-making to one or the other, not that it made much difference. The very existence of these spirits appeared to be punishment enough and no chastisement from a mortal soul could compare to an eternity spent in a place they seemingly could not escape. There was no stopping it, no controlling it. Behaviors (and misbehaviors) varied, crossing the spectrum between playful and benign to ugly and exceedingly mean-spirited. A vast array of incidents occurred over the course of a decade spent in a house alive with death. The spirits were not quite as conscientious as the human beings attempting to accommodate them; mortal souls who’d tried to share space, offering an allowance for the presence of those who had come before them. There were ghosts who did not care if they were disturbing others with their antics and those who would specifically target certain house guests, always with purpose and reason… adding Freddy to the list.

  ***

  Children must be taught though some do come by a kind and gentle spirit quite naturally. The understanding innate to these children was enhanced by complications posed by the house in which they lived. They had to choose how to react; to reconsider how they treated each other as well as a variety of entities manifesting around them day and night. Mind your manners, missy! Be thoughtful. Be generous. Be courteous. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you… as if you were the others. Cynthia’s heart broke when she’d heard the little girl crying for her mother, wandering and searching vacant space for a mom long gone, to infinity and beyond. Staring into a disheveled bedroom, the floor covered in toys was being navigated with ease by a little ghost lost. Cynthia closed the door then turned and walked away. She made a decision. Meanwhile, in the adjacent chimney closet, April made a friend.

  “As you think in your heart, so are you.”

  Proverbs 23:7

  for crying out loud

  “Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster,

  and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

  Friedrich Nietzsche

  Margie Bailey was fearless. She was strong and smart and beautiful with a round face full of freckles and flaming auburn hair, reminiscent of a bright autumn day in full splendor. Andrea’s friend, she’d come to the house quite frequently. They would light incense and play guitar, chanting the songs of Cat Stevens, learning the lyrics together. Music was a language they shared and spoke in, a mutual point of reference, the single most abiding attachment of many they shared. Even though Margie was older by several years, neither of them ever noticed what was essentially irrelevant. Cindy was fascinated by her. In rapt attention, she hung on every word the striking young woman ever uttered in her presence. One evening, this impressionable child was listening in a bit too closely and overheard a suggestion, one strictly made in jest. Cindy foolishly followed it as informed advice, resulting in injury, the most serious error in judgment she would make regarding an evil presence far more powerful than she could imagine. Do not listen up in smoke, little girl
… incense numbs the mind. As is true in life (and afterlife), where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire… resulting in collateral damage done.

  ***

  Lori George was Cindy’s best friend. Though her family lived just up the road, she did not come over to their house very often so, by open invitation, Cynthia went to hers instead; a welcome escape from their frantically busy farmhouse. The George family was even larger than their own and as bonds were forged, the Perron girls made friends with them at the bus stop on their first day of school. Robin, an animal lover, had so much in common with Andrea. Lori took to Cindy instantly. The girls were close but Lori had heard rumors about the farmhouse and just the thought of spirits spooked her out! Occasionally she would come over to play in the yard but rarely entered the dwelling. Whenever she did so, Lori’s stay was brief. Raw nerves would overcome the child and she’d head for the nearest door. Cindy understood. She wanted to do something about it so her friend would feel unafraid, more comfortable in their house. The girls talked about it privately and the devious duo developed their plan of attack. As far as an impatient kid was concerned, Cynthia would handle this herself, a formidable foe. It was war. The strategy was simple enough: call the spirits forth then send them on their way. Margie mentioned a book she read on the occult and told Andrea about something called a séance… Cindy listened up. Their family had lived in the house for about two and a half years when this incident occurred. Ten years old at that time, Cindy was just young enough to do something stupid and old enough to learn her lesson well.