by Cailyn Lloyd
There was a handwritten note beneath the article.
It ends here!
It did, as those words were the final entry in the book. The remaining seven pages were blank. Laura studied the note, the penmanship, noting something familiar about it. A shiver passed through her like an arctic breeze as recognition came to her with a stunning jolt.
It was Elizabeth’s handwriting, she was certain. Laura ran to her workshop, grabbed her purse, and pulled a small handwritten note from an inside pocket. A lovely note from Elizabeth, welcoming Laura to the family.
There was one common word—here. The writing was identical.
This book, this bizarre collection belonged to Elizabeth? The mystery surrounding the woman only deepened.
Why had she collected all these bizarre stories and articles? Centuries of them!
You know why.
She was beginning to understand. While Elizabeth’s beliefs seemed out of character, it was possible to understand her feelings about the house. Elizabeth evidently believed in some deeper process at work. Distraught by the death of her husband, had she spent years collecting this ‘proof’ of some imaginary evil stalking the family?
Imaginary?
The woman in the hallway last night, the haunting, the ghost, whatever label she attached, she had looked perfectly real.
Did Elizabeth imagine a curse? Some unknown malevolence? The book an attempt to tie anything that happened to any MacKenzie anywhere together in a supernatural plot or conspiracy? Or was the book the symptom of a mental disorder?
The simplest explanation was usually the truth—except there was no obvious truth.
All these years later, Laura felt compelled to buy this box at an auction. Why? To learn something about the house? Or something about Elizabeth? To even consider that, she had to accept that she possessed some psychic ability. She wasn’t comfortable with that. She did know that she wouldn’t be showing this to Lucas. It would send him over the edge. Lucas had no tolerance for the paranormal, and he was already upset that his mother hadn’t told him about the house.
A solution popped into her head, a single word.
Exorcism
Yikes! Where had that come from?
This morning she had accepted Ashley’s story about harmless old Mrs. Moskopf and now she wanted to call in an exorcist. She sat, frozen, no longer able to think.
After an interminable period sitting in a catatonic state, Laura closed the scrapbook and placed it at the bottom of the box, covering it with the other albums. She pushed it to the corner of the room, behind the painting.
Out of sight. Out of mind. Laura was now glad she’d made plans to visit Dana because she suddenly wanted a few days away from the house.
Soft footsteps in the hall.
She tensed.
“Laura?” It was Ashley.
With a sigh of relief, Laura said, “Yes?”
“Leah’s awake. She was asleep when I got back so I laid her down.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Gotta go. Nate and I are going out for drinks and dinner.”
* * *
Laura decided to prepare a nice dinner—lamb chops, a salad—and open a fine Malbec. Nice to have the house to themselves. Leah was playing underfoot while she prepared the lamb. Maybe she would oblige and go to bed early, a thought accompanied by a pleasant tingling in her mid-section.
Her afternoon funk had faded. Maybe she had overreacted. She shook her head. An exorcism?
If anything, Elizabeth had needed one.
Laura then chided herself for thinking badly of Elizabeth. The contradictions were confusing; she wished Elizabeth were here to explain them.
The front door slammed.
Lucas walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Um. Smells good. Where is everyone?”
“They went out to dinner. It’s just us.” Laura finished tossing the salad. Leah sat at the table, coloring.
“And Leah,” he said, perhaps sensing her mood. He pecked her cheek. She could smell beer and something else. Smoke.
“She’s going down early tonight.”
He smiled and set the table.
Dinner was good, the chops grilled perfectly, the wine excellent, Leah content and eating well without fussing.
It felt good, intimate, the conversation easy. A perfect moment until Laura asked, “So what’d you do today?”
“Caught a couple of bluegill this morning. Hardware run in the afternoon.”
“What’d you get?” She fiddled with her salad, felt the conversation edging off course, tried to stop herself—
“Stuff.”
—but couldn’t. “Really. I didn’t know the White Birch sold hardware.”
Lucas stopped eating, fork hanging in midair. “Been checking up on me?”
“Of course not. It’s been obvious, and I think it’s time for it to stop. You never had any need to sit around in bars before.”
“I never had the time.”
“Still, what’s the deal?”
“I didn’t think I had to explain myself.” He tossed his napkin onto the table.
“You don’t, but—”
“Sounds like I do! What else do you want to know?”
Laura was exasperated with the pointless argument, frustrated with Lucas and angry with herself. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted Lucas to make love to her, needed him close to her. She balled her napkin up and threw it at him playfully. “You’re really a jerk sometimes, MacKenzie.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you’re a fucking bitch sometimes.”
He threw the napkin to the floor and stormed out.
Leah dropped her fork and started crying.
* * *
Shaking from adrenaline, Lucas drove up the driveway and down the fire lane, more angry with himself than with Laura. He’d never spoken to her that harshly and didn’t know where the sudden irrational ire had arisen from. Still, he made no attempt to turn around, had no urge to apologize. He was driving toward Lost Arrow, toward the White Birch Inn where he would surely run into Murphy—a relationship creeping perilously close to an affair. Just as he’d been unable to contain his temper a moment ago, he found it impossible to turn around. His phone rang, but he didn’t recognize the number.
Area code 414.
Probably a robocall. He stabbed Ignore.
Twenty-Five
Late that night, Laura wandered the house like a ghostly apparition, the hallways a maze of shadows and grey moonlight. She heard muffled voices and cries from the rooms she passed but ignored them, afraid to look, imagining disturbing stories from the album playing out in sepia. The quality of the light slowly changed, shadows and grey tones vanquished by crimson light from the east. Laura walked to the dining room as dawn drew near, stopped and stared at the east window. The sky glowed red, a crimson-tinged mackerel sky.
Beautiful. Ominous.
As the light grew stronger, the glass itself became luminescent, glowed intensely red, pulsing as if blood ebbed and flowed through the panes. Laura backed away. There was something wrong with the window. Evil seemed to emanate from it. Soon, the whole room was bathed in red, the light within the glass forming words, like credits at the end of a movie. A silly proverb:
red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning
The window shattered with a loud crash and weightless glass showered her like snowflakes.
—and then she was awake. Lucas was already up and running out the door.
Laura sat up, confused, feeling anxious, “Where are you going?”
“Downstairs to find out what the hell is going on.” Lucas looked angry. Down the hall, a door slammed.
Laura realized the noise was real, had woven itself into her dream. She grabbed her bathrobe and threw it on. Running out the door, she bumped into Nate and Ashley rushing down the hallway.
“What the hell was that?” Ashley asked.
“I don’t know, I was sleeping.”
“Weren’t we all,�
� Nate said.
Downstairs, they found the bar and screen over the hearth had fallen again—the supports had turned—despite Lucas’s insistence that he had secured the bar with wire. A framed print had also fallen to the floor.
“The MacKenzie ghost strikes again,” Ashley said in a dramatic voice.
“Might be something to it,” Nate said. “I’ll check the basement. Make sure we don’t have a live intruder.” He took Ashley’s arm. “Let’s go, Princess.”
“Fuck it!” Lucas snarled and walked back toward the stairs and up to bed. Laura followed silently. When she laid down and closed her eyes, the strange proverb again appeared inside her eyelids:
red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning
Wasn’t it sailor’s warning? She fell asleep wondering what they had gotten themselves into.
* * *
Laura and Leah left for Illinois a day later, on a gloomy Sunday morning, cold rain falling from dark quilted skies that reflected Laura’s somber mood. Leah fell asleep leaving Laura alone at the wheel with her thoughts, the fight with Lucas foremost in her mind. She had started things, no doubt, but the way he had spoken to her was inexcusable. They were still not talking so she was glad she’d made plans to visit Dana. She missed her daughter and needed a few days away from Lucas and the house.
A churning anxiety had been growing in her belly in the past few days, the sinister return of her epilepsy the source of much of it. She feared the drugs, especially Dilantin, and hated the side effects.
She had conflicting emotions about Elizabeth and the bizarre scrapbook. Why had she gathered all those gruesome stories? Evidently, Elizabeth had been adept at concealing an obsessive and superstitious nature Laura struggled to understand. What did she suspect?
A silly question. She thought the house was haunted.
Laura wondered if she was right, an unsettling feeling that lingered since she had seen the old woman in the hall.
Ghost. The word kept popping up, unbidden, in her thoughts. Was she being influenced by suggestions from Elizabeth and the townspeople that the house was haunted? What other explanation was there for the old woman, the sudden rash of slamming doors, and the fireplace screen that kept falling on its own accord? For that, she had no answer.
Farther south, the clouds scattered, and the sunshine lifted her mood as they neared Naperville. Dana owned a well-maintained Craftsman-style house purchased two years before; Lucas and Dana had then remodeled the kitchen with new oak cabinets and quartz countertops. Dana opened the door and smothered Laura with a hug, then grabbed Leah and pretended to devour her with kisses. They spent the afternoon in the sunny kitchen, gabbing and gossiping, drinking diet sodas, stopping occasionally to entertain Leah when she became bored with her toys. The change of scenery and easy conversation was a tonic, and Laura felt the anxiety within her easing. Dana prepared a Caesar salad, and Laura sautéed chicken for dinner.
They laid Leah down at eight o’clock in the portable crib and retired to the living room with two glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay. Dana had arranged a grouping of sofas, chairs, and tables in a rough semicircle, focused around a Sony 60-inch flat screen TV like a miniature amphitheater. The walls, sparsely decorated with a few small prints and mirrors, made Laura feel that despite the abundance of furniture, the room wasn’t quite finished.
Dana set her wine down and leaned forward. “Okay, Mom, let’s have it.”
“What?”
“I’m glad you came, but you obviously have something on your mind. You’re doing that thing with your lip and playing with your hair.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“Afraid so.”
Laura sat, chewing on a fingernail. She was a churning mess of emotions. Driving down, she had decided to say nothing, but now she felt a strong urge to talk. Dare she let this out? While she debated internally, Dana tuned in a soft rock station and sat patiently, sipping wine. Laura did a quick breathing exercise. Played with her hair. Side-glanced Dana nervously.
Then she talked.
The house. The album. Lucas. Everything. Once started, she could not stop until she had spilled every bit of it. She seamlessly segued into her childhood illness. The telling was cathartic.
Dana sat there, alternately frowning, wide-eyed, mouth agape. Taking it all in. Silent, letting her mother talk until Laura stopped and said, “That’s about it.”
“That’s it?” Dana looked astonished. “That’s it? Jesus, Mom! That’s crazy!”
Laura felt naked, exposed. Her biggest secrets revealed. She hadn’t realized the weight she still carried from those days long ago. She stood and wanted to run from Dana’s incredulous expression, feeling she had made a mistake, but Dana grabbed Laura and drew her into a comforting hug.
“Holy shit, Mom! You kept that inside all these years?”
Laura wiped her eyes with the back of her hand; hadn’t realized until now that her eyes were damp with tears. She nodded.
“Jesus. Why?”
Laura shook her head. She had been afraid to tell this story, a fear that now seemed silly. It didn’t sound quite so awful now. It felt good to have it off her chest. “I—I don’t know. I had such a miserable time in school. Now it seems so…inconsequential.”
“Shit. You don’t have epilepsy—well, maybe you do, I don’t know—but you’re genuinely psychic, lady.” Dana gazed at her with sincere wonderment.
Laura frowned. “I doubt that.”
“What? It seems clear to me from your story.”
“I don’t believe it.” Nor did she want to—though that wasn’t entirely true. She was reluctant to acknowledge it, to give it a name. It felt safer to keep it hidden in the dark and pretend it didn’t exist. She couldn’t even imagine trying to explain this to Lucas. It had driven her mother away. What would he think?
“Okay, so maybe I don’t understand what it would be like,” Dana said, “maybe I’d feel the same way.”
Laura crossed her arms in a hug and shrugged.
“So how have you kept it at bay for so long?”
“I don’t know…willpower, dogged stubbornness?”
“And you were just telling me how weak you felt? It took a lot of courage to deal with all of that.” Dana stared at Laura with rapt affection. “I’ve always known you were strong, but I’m in awe.”
Laura smiled self-consciously. She didn’t feel strong, but having shared this with Dana, she did feel free, unburdened. Why hadn’t she trusted anyone before now? Perhaps Lucas wouldn’t have understood, but why hadn’t she trusted Dana or Ashley?
“Well, you didn’t give it to me.” Dana said wryly.
“You can have it.” Laura waved her empty glass at Dana.
Dana refilled their glasses and they settled back into the cushions.
“I just don’t understand why it’s coming back.” Laura said.
Dana looked thoughtful. “I think the answer is obvious.”
“What?”
“You guys moved into a spooky old house with some rough history,” Dana said with tipsy animation. “It’s probably loaded with psychic energy or whatever they call it. Have you thought about bringing in some ghost-hunters?”
“No!” Laura snapped.
Dana looked taken aback. “Why not?”
“You sound just like Ashley. It’s nonsense, parlor tricks—unless you believe in that stuff.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve avoided the subject.”
“What are you afraid of, Mom?” Dana put a hand on Laura’s arm.
“What do you mean?”
“You have a rare and marvelous gift, and you’re running from it.” Dana said. “Maybe you just need to learn how to use it.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start. And yes, I am afraid of it. It doesn’t seem natural.” Laura leaned back and crossed her arms. “What good is it?”
“That I don’t know.” Dana then smirked. “Maybe you need to meet some other psychics.”
“Really. How could I have a child with so many bad ideas?”
“I’m serious!” Dana protested.
“Hmm.” Laura was thoughtful. “Far as I know, no one’s formed a support group for us poor misunderstood psychics.”
Dana laughed. “Then you’ll just have to start one.”
“Psychics Anonymous,” Laura said. “Hold it—if we’re psychic, no one would be anonymous, right?”
Dana clapped. “Very funny, Mom.”
Laura giggled. She was tipsy. She drew serious again, wanting to talk it all out. “So what’s your theory for the old woman I saw?”
“Maybe it’s just like Ashley said, a harmless haunting like what’s-her-name? Miss Moskopf?” Dana smiled. “I think it’s kinda cool. I’ve gotta come up to Amityville and visit.”
“Oh, you’re funny kid.” Laura kicked Dana playfully in the shin.
“If it really bothers you, what about an exorcism?”
Laura eyed Dana critically. “Seriously?”
“Why not?”
“It sounds crazy.” Laura wrinkled her nose. “Makes me think of that movie and the girl spewing vomit everywhere.”
“Oh, then I think it’s a great idea.” Dana laughed.
With Dana silent for a moment, Laura pondered the idea of exorcism. Until now, an abstract idea from an old movie to her. Did the church still perform exorcisms? She decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask Reverend Drew when she returned home. How would she broach the subject?
Silent for a moment, Dana said, “So what about the epilepsy?”
“I have an appointment tomorrow with my neurologist.”
“Oh, so you didn’t really come to see me.” Dana feigned hurt feelings.
“A little maybe.” Laura shrugged.
“Love you too, Mom.” Dana reached for the wine bottle. “So Ms. ESP, what am I thinking right now?”
“That we should get pleasantly drunk.”
“God, you’re good.”
Laura laughed but her unease returned.
Lucas was still a jerk, she still had epilepsy and some freak psychic thing, and their house was probably haunted.
Perfect.
Twenty-Six
The following morning in Lost Arrow was cloudless and warm, unusually so for Wisconsin in October. Nate, anxious to finish the exterior before the real cold set in, was completing final repairs on the stucco high up along the eaves on the south side of the house. Only one section remained, at the apex of the gable next to the chimney. Out back, a crew was putting finishing touches on the roof of the barn. Jim Mayhew had declined the job.
