by Cailyn Lloyd
The doorbell rang, but before Brenda turned around, the door swung open and three women burst in, giggling like schoolgirls. They were briefly quiet but giggled again as they surged into the living room. A tall blonde swaggered ahead of the others, snapping her gum.
“Hey, Bren, got anything good this time? Vibrators? Dildos? Oops, sorry, Mrs. A, didn’t see you sitting there.” The woman laughed rudely.
Carol threw her a withering look.
Laura came to meet people and make friends but doubted she would like this woman. She remembered seeing her before at the White Birch in a studded black leather jacket and frayed jeans, projecting the same cocky attitude.
Brenda struggled up and introduced everyone. The blonde was oddly named Murphy; the other two, mousy-haired and otherwise nondescript, were Kelly and Lisa.
Murphy turned to Laura, smirking, and said, “So you’re Laura MacKenzie…”
That dangling sentence was so laden with implications, Laura felt she could reach out and grab it. The other two girls exchanged a glance. Laura felt uncomfortable, out of the loop.
What was Murphy about?
An answer surfaced from her subconscious—Lucas was having an affair and they knew about it, but she dismissed the idea. Lucas may have been distant, but an affair? No way. Especially with the likes of Murphy. But her conviction wavered. Wished she was sure of herself.
The tension passed as more people arrived. Within ten minutes, the room was full of boisterous women trading the latest gossip and bitching about their husbands. At first, no one seemed interested in drawing Laura into conversation, and she questioned her decision to come. She felt bored and uncomfortable. Leah disappeared and Laura went to find her, surreptitiously checking the rooms and the housekeeping. The house was reasonably clean. Maybe she would leave Leah for a few afternoons. Brenda seemed nice enough, and her boys were well behaved. Leah was content playing with the other children so she let her be.
Walking back to the living room, Laura caught a snippet of conversation cut short when the women saw her. “That Laura MacKenzie is pretty enough—”
She pretended not to notice and sat down, feeling uneasy about the undercurrents in the hidden shoals of this party.
The doorbell rang. Brenda escorted a woman into the room who looked sixty-five, maybe seventy, and walked with a cane. Her face was pleasant, clearly pretty in an earlier day, her straight grey-brown hair framing her face in schoolmarmish fashion. Still, she was older than most of the women and seemed out of place, yet was warmly greeted by all. She was introduced to Laura as Sally.
Sally stared for a moment with piercing, intelligent eyes and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Laura.”
Laura shook her hand. Was this the Sally that Carol had mentioned?
She sat near Laura, on the other side of the maple end-table, in a matching brown armchair, which had remained empty, as if reserved for her.
“We were sorry to hear about your brother-in-law,” Sally said. Condolent murmurs passed around the room. “How is he doing?”
Laura was growing uncomfortable with this line of conversation, and with the strange respect Sally enjoyed.
“It’s been hard. He’s still in a coma, nothing has changed…” Laura paused. Sadness and guilt welled up inside, and she struggled with it, trying to conceal her feelings.
Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Brenda passed around samples of the latest kitchen items, demonstrating a few of them as she went. It was noisy and chaotic as the women examined and played with the items while carrying on conversations of local gossip and upcoming events. Laura joined in the cooking conversations and quietly absorbed the local gossip, the usual mix of fact and fiction, envy and contempt. Laura didn’t care for this banter, and much of it was meaningless, knowing none of the players involved. Laura noticed that Sally talked little but appeared to absorb everything. A catalogue and order form made the rounds.
Brenda stepped over and asked Sally if she needed anything, and Sally asked for a cup of tea. The tea arrived a few minutes later. There was a brief lull in conversation.
Sally spoke. “So, Laura, how is that house treating you?” Her voice was pleasant, almost hypnotic. Laura turned to her with a start. The question, innocuous as it seemed, was loaded with implications Laura could only guess at. There were whispered murmurs: “Don’t know how you can live there…” and such.
Laura was now the focus of attention. The idle chatter faded.
Sally, her head cocked inquisitively, waited for an answer.
“How is the house treating me?” Laura asked, puzzled by this rather odd question. Felt her stomach tighten with a wary sensation.
Sally sat, fingering the handle of her cane, then said, “Yes. I’m curious. I wonder if you’ve heard any of the stories people tell about that house.”
She tried to look nonchalant. “Not really.” Wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Sally stared with those large eyes. “Well, there are some who say the MacKenzie house is haunted. Most people in this town wouldn’t go near the place if their lives depended on it. Maybe it’s foolish superstition, maybe not, but since you’re here, I wanted to ask how you feel about it.”
“It’s fine…I mean, it seems all right,” Laura said, in an unconvincing tone, chilled by the question. Sally spoke with a preternatural air about the house. Laura could see it in her eyes, feel it in some kind of wave from this strange woman. The room was so quiet she could’ve been heard the whistling of a pin falling. Sally reached over and placed her hand on Laura’s. Laura felt a sudden surge, a charged warmth, pass up her arm. She became lightheaded.
Sally spoke, “I lost a dear friend there, you know. Forty-some years ago. It seems such a long time ago, but I still remember that summer well because of the heat.” Sally’s expression became dreamy, her voice soft but fervent. Laura heard the voice of a younger woman, saw her face as it was that summer, in a different time and place. The room and the present faded away.
“Tom Wolff and I started dating that year. He was in love with Elizabeth MacKenzie—everybody knew that—but when she left, I was happy to step in. He was a good man, and I think he was going to propose on Labor Day.”
Sally smiled self-consciously at the fond memory, then her expression darkened. “And then, for reasons no one understood—chasing vandals maybe, I don’t know—Tom went over to the house that day. They found his tractor parked near the house. I knew he was in trouble. So I called the sheriff.”
She stopped, near tears, her memory and pain of that day evidently still vivid.
Laura leaned in. Spoke softly, “So what happened to Tom?”
“They never found him. Haven’t to this day.” A tear slipped from her eye as she stared into space. Sally’s hand slipped from Laura’s and, as it did, Laura felt a brief lapse of consciousness as the room canted sideways. A subliminal image flashed in her mind, too quickly to discern. More than an image, it seemed like a video in ultra-fast forward.
Speaking in a flat monotone, Laura said, “I know what really happened.”
Laura looked up as the room came back into focus. The faces of the women around the room were uniform in appearance—pale, staring at Laura and Sally with a collective expression. She couldn’t decide what it was. Fear? Awe?
“I don’t know why I said that.” She had a vague impression, as she had in the past, but nothing tangible. If she could’ve become invisible and slipped out on the breath of the wind, she would have, but she felt trapped here and unable to move. Exhausted, a headache probed at her temples.
Sally looked pale, weary. Laura heard Leah screaming in one of the bedrooms. She jumped up to find her, grateful for an excuse to leave the room. The room erupted in an excited jumble of voices. Laura found Leah struggling with two older boys who were shoving her into a closet and trying to shut the door.
She pushed them aside, scooped up Leah, and walked back to the living room, praying for the strength to leave with her dignity intact.
; The room quieted. Sally stood and Carol was helping her with her coat. Sally put a hand out to Laura, who took it hesitantly. “I’m going to go. I suddenly feel tired.”
“Me too.”
“It seems we have something in common.” Sally looked at Laura with a piercing gaze.
“I’m not sure I understand?”
She leaned in. “Oh, I think you do.”
“Can I see you again?”
“Yes, if I can help. I live in the brick house next to the old hotel.” She squeezed Laura’s hand. “Part of the answer is up the road in the cemetery. I’m not sure why. Just a hunch, but I’ve learned to trust my hunches over the years.”
Laura said her goodbyes. Everyone remained cordial after that strange moment, surprisingly. She drove home, shaken and confused by her meeting with Sally. What had just happened? She didn’t understand it; couldn’t even describe it lucidly.
It seems we have something in common.
No!
Laura preferred to deny that she understood what Sally meant. The seizure thing she could live with. The other thing? She didn’t want it. Still, she hadn’t forgiven herself for missing the clues about Nate even as she tried to deny that she was psychic at all!
Was she psychic?
It seems we have something in common.
Sally’s ramblings about the house were disturbing as well. Was it superstitious nonsense? The disappearance of Tom Wolff was a fact. That story was the last clipping in the macabre album. That alone meant nothing. People disappeared all the time without the help of the supernatural. Tom Wolff was probably long dead and resting in the woods or at the bottom of the lake and yet, Sally insisted the house was responsible. Ridiculous. Why read more into it?
But there were Elizabeth’s enigmatic words: It ends here.
Elizabeth evidently blamed the house too.
What ends here?
Truth was, the disappearance of Tom Wolff, Sally, the album, the suspicions about the house, the knives, and the doors all added up to something. Something important. Until now, Laura had been playing the denial card. That needed to stop. Time to face this head-on and figure out what that something was.
The house was quiet when they walked in. Laura didn’t want to be alone and missed Lucas acutely, but he was gone. It would be just the two of them so she pushed her anxieties aside and focused on Leah. On the sofa, she tickled Leah and they both laughed and giggled while they changed her into warm footy pajamas. They played peekaboo, followed by their daily word game.
Leah pointed, pursed her lips and said, “Ga-ma.”
Laura pointed at her and said, “Leah.”
She turned her finger on herself and said, “La-la.”
Laura enunciated her name. “L-e-a-h.”
“Le-ah.”
Back and forth they went, saying simple words. Soon Leah rubbed her eyes. Laura cradled her in her lap and read from a book. When she finished, Leah was asleep. Laura carried her upstairs and tucked her into the crib, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. All this served as a diversion from events at the party earlier. She needed a little downtime. Tomorrow she would start digging to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the house.
Laura grabbed a comforter and pillow from her bed and walked downstairs. After pouring a glass of wine and stoking the fire, she curled up on the sofa in the Hall and read a book, waiting for Lucas. Sleep came and she vaguely remembered Lucas walking in and tossing a log on the fire before stumbling upstairs to bed.
Near dawn, she dreamt of a carnival, a tent, a woman in vivid clothing dealing cards; tarot cards, dealt in a descending line:
The Magician
Death
Wheel of Fortune
The Fool
Judgement
Laura knew nothing of Tarot but the cards were labeled. Still, she didn’t understand what any of it meant. Of course, Janice Foster would know, but Janice had never called her back.
Without turning, the woman shook her head and said, “This is bad.”
Thirty-Six
Laura awoke with a start, certain someone was watching her.
Right there, on the sofa. Except the sofa was empty.
She looked around. The room was also empty and otherwise dark; the fire reduced to a few dull embers, the baby monitor silent. She smelled coffee and saw a light in the kitchen. Laura slid off the sofa and shuffled into the kitchen.
Lucas was at the table, his back to her, cup in hand, staring into space. She walked up behind him.
“Morning.”
He didn’t move. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Lucas?”
He jumped suddenly, spilling his coffee. “What?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” He turned to look at her. His eyes were reddened and glazed; he seemed confused.
Laura said, “Rough night?”
“Guess so.”
Laura poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream and Splenda, and sat at the table next to Lucas. “Been awhile since we’ve had coffee together so early in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
Why did she feel like she was sitting here with a stranger? He didn’t even look at her, just stared off into space.
“Going hunting today?”
“Yeah.”
“Going to the White Birch later?”
“Probably.” He shrugged, still avoiding her gaze.
Her anger swelled, and she tried to rein it in. It seemed important to open a line of communication before it was too late, before their relationship passed an invisible point of no return. It wasn’t anger so much as a sense of loneliness and desperation stealing over her. She felt lonely, even with Leah in the house. She wanted comfort, advice, strength, and most of all, a sense of belonging, to a family, to Lucas. She needed to draw him back before they grew too far apart. There was a problem with the house and she didn’t want to face it alone.
Laura stood and walked behind Lucas, leaning against him, running her hands lightly up and down his chest. His shoulders tensed.
“How about something different tonight? A nice dinner, some wine, and then some—”
“Nope. There’s a big game tonight. Maybe tomorrow.” Lucas stared into space, almost trance-like.
Her anger flared. Monday Night Football? She was being pushed aside for Monday Night Football? Laura took a deep breath, forced her resentment aside. She didn’t want to fight even though she felt cheap trying so hard to gain his affection. She needed to succeed, then thought, so why wait? She pressed against him. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait until tonight then.”
“Christ, is that all you think about?” He pushed her away.
Laura flushed. “Screw you, Lucas! That isn’t all I think about. At least I think about something besides myself all the time. I understand that Nate’s situation has been hard to take—”
“You don’t understand shit.” Still staring into his coffee.
“I understand you’ve been taking it out on Leah and me. You wander around the woods all day, then go down to that dump and drink all night. You have a family, Lucas, or have you forgotten?” She defiantly put her hands on her hips.
“Yeah, and if you had your way, when I wasn’t servicing you in bed, I’d be scrubbing floors and playing nanny.”
“Fuck you, Lucas!”
“Truth hurt?”
God, he looked so smug she wanted to slap him. “That isn’t even close to true and you know it! What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“Maybe I’m tired of being nagged.”
“Lucas, we’ve hardly spoken in the last month. When have I had time to nag you?”
“Oh, you’ve managed—like now. Case in point.”
“If you were a little more sensitive—” Laura jabbed a finger at him.
“If you were a little more this—if you were a little more that,” Lucas mocked. “Fuck you, Laura. I don’t need this.” He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, stormed out of the room and down th
e stairs. A moment later, the lower door slammed.
Laura stood rigid in shock, wounded by his cruel words, his tone, his angry body language. While the man who stormed out looked like Lucas, he wasn’t the man she married. Lucas had never spoken to her like that. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. A change had been evident since Nate’s accident and had accelerated in the past week. She thought of the women at the party, the talk, the looks.
Was Lucas seeing someone?
She didn’t know.
Laura put her coffee down and walked up to her bedroom in an aimless shuffle, trying to hold back tears, miserable their conversation had gone so awry. Between the house and Lucas, maybe it was time to pack her things and leave. Dana was coming tomorrow. She would have someone to talk with, and maybe Dana could talk to Lucas.
Unable to push past this sudden sadness, she crawled into her bed, tired of the single in Leah’s room, and fell asleep.
An hour later, Laura woke to a familiar sound, Leah crying for rescue from her crib. It was just after eight, and her sleep had been deep and dreamless. Her earlier melancholy had mostly dissipated. She slid out of bed and walked to Leah’s room. The little blonde scamp was jumping up and down at the side of her crib when Laura walked in. Leah shut the tears down and beamed.
“Ga-ma, ga-ma, ga-ma!”
“Come on, you. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
Laura made grape jelly on wheat toast, cut into squares. She marveled that Leah never refused them. While she ate, Laura mulled over the strange meeting with Sally last night. It almost felt like a dream now.
It seems we have something in common.
No denying it anymore. Sally seemed so calm and casual about it. No big deal. Maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps she had been running from her own shadow all these years. On the other hand, this gift had been no help to her.
I know what really happened.
Except she didn’t; had no clue why she said that.
At face value, Sally’s story seemed whimsical. The man she loved went missing. Had a young, despondent Sally had written something supernatural out of an inexplicable but natural event almost fifty years ago? Certainly, it was easier to blame the house than the man or circumstance.
