by Judi Calhoun
The semi-full moon broke loose of the clouds, illuminating the sleeping neighborhood. I levitated light as a feather, compelled by some supernatural force gliding me down the dark streets like a ghost. My bathrobe flapped in the breeze and my hair tangled…I didn’t bother to yank it free.
I was on Hemlock Street, next to Homestead Cemetery. A swirling mist carried me past a mailbox... Kellogg embossed in gold lettering…and up the driveway.
Two sizable white stone pillars held the black iron gates that closed the world out from this wealthy estate. I looked up to see vicious eyes watching my every move. Slowly I realized the fierce lions’ eyes were only stone sentries guarding the entrance. The gates made no noise as they opened to me and I drifted up the winding path.
A Tudor-style mansion sat behind scattered tall bushes and a dense entangled mass of vines. The dark diamond-paned windows shed no warmth of home.
Carved walnut doors creaked as they opened without human hands. The house was urging me inside, drawing me into the foyer and up the stairs. A cool veil of mist rushed over me, circling around, urgently pushing me toward voices raised in anger. I could smell death, almost taste it in my mouth. I was propelled into a spacious bedroom.
At the foot of a king-sized bed, a shadowy figure of a blond man was crouched over another man, the weight of his knee pressed into his stomach.
The blond man easily pinned the victim lying on the white carpet, as he bucked and struggled for freedom. His hands were bound over his head, tied to the bedpost with a red silk necktie.
“Take my wallet!” He pleaded. “I have money, lots of it.”
“I don’t want your money,” said the blond attacker. “I want you dead.” He pulled out a large Bowie knife and held it above the man’s chest.
“Why? Why kill me?” he asked.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said calmly. “I just need a house and I like yours.”
Everything inside me screamed with a frustrating desire to save him. I reached for my sword, realizing too late that I didn’t have my weapon.
The psychopath raised his knife. I tried to yell at the maniac, but my tongue was silent. I watched in shock as he thrust the knife into the man’s chest repeatedly.
For one brief moment, the helpless victim thrashed wildly, wailing in utter anguish. With one last spasm, his body lay very still, his blood oozing onto the white carpet.
I covered my mouth. I started to sob as horror washed over me with the stark realization that the man was dead.
Moonlight spilled into the bedroom as the murderer stood up, his clothes splattered with the dark stains of blood. I wanted to step back and run, but I could not move from that spot.
He lifted his eyes, leering directly at me. He frowned and a puzzled expression crossed his face. Slowly, his black eyes widened with recognition.
He saw me!
My world disappeared.
I awoke drenched in a cold sweat, hyperventilating... I had just witnessed a murder?
The trembling would not stop. I reached for my water on the nightstand and gulped down shaky mouthfuls of the cool liquid. I fought the sobs that were building in my chest. I attempted to calm my nerves, yet I failed miserably. I kept thinking about those eyes…murderous eyes now swiftly slipping from my memory. I fought to recall every detail of his face…Think! I needed to know who this madman was…like a misty vapor, it faded away from my mind, too quickly.
I pulled my sketchpad from my bag and frantically sketched his dark, hate-filled eyes…pupils almost black. Why couldn’t I see the rest of his face? Exhausted, I let my head fall back on the pillow. His words echoed in my brain; “I just want your house.” He didn’t even know the man before he ended his life.
I lay awake for hours, debating with myself about calling the police and reporting the murder. Of course, it was just a nightmare. I wondered why I’d been having so many lately?
Mom came home an hour early. In a daze, she dropped down onto the sofa. Her usual radiant smile was gone.
I always wished I had mom’s full lips, smooth, dark complexion, and petite figure. I took after my dad being on the ultra thin side, with large, green eyes. Like me, dad had been a quiet, deep thinker. What bothered me, though, was that he always appeared to be holding back, keeping secrets; at least it felt that way to me. Mom didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps they got along so well because she trusted him so completely for every little thing.
Over the lonely years without dad, we had developed a trusting and somewhat close relationship; in spite of her need to become annoyingly overprotective. Lately, she seemed to lose her good judgment when it came to matters of the heart. Every blind date led to more, painful rejections and her broken heart was turning her almost bitter.
I walked into the living room, hearing her mumbling to herself.
“What’s wrong?”
“Awful, I can hardly believe it.” Her sad face stared helplessly into my worried eyes. “He’s dead. Everyone’s talking about it ...another murder here in our small town.”
I placed my hand on mom’s shoulder. “Was it someone we know?”
“I did. I knew him…not very well. Do you remember me telling you about Mr. Kellogg? I sold him that mansion over on Hemlock last year.”
I was thinking, the name sounded familiar.
“What happened, was it a robbery?”
She frowned and whispered. “He was stabbed repeatedly…murdered!”
Something was moving fast in the back of my mind. My dream... my nightmare, vividly playing like a movie in my head. The shadowy blond man with the knife... the victim begging for his life. My hand shot up to my mouth. All my blood just drained into my feet.
“Honey, you okay?” Mom asked, frowning.
I brushed my hair back from my face, trying to pull myself together. “I’m okay.” I swallowed hard.
She had that, what on earth is wrong with you look on her face.
“Honest, mom, I’m fine,” I lied, wanting to run to my room and sob.
“Did you know Mr. Kellogg?”
Her question stopped me cold.
“No…I.” I stammered. “I never...” Really, what could I say? I watched the man die? Suddenly I was desperate to know exactly what time it had happened. I dropped down to the sofa, my fingers fiddling with the zipper pull on my hoody.
“Mom, when was he murdered?”
“The police said late Wednesday night. A little past midnight I think.”
My breath caught in my throat. The same exact moment that I had floated down Hemlock and into that mansion in my dream! I was trying to look normal, for someone freaking out inside and about to vomit all over her shoes. “I had a dream...” It just came out. Shut up! I covered my mouth, not trusting myself to be quiet. My freaky nightmare coming true would be way too weird for mom to understand. It’s weird for me, and I deal with monsters almost everyday.
I felt her gaze locked on me. “You had a dream?”
“Umm...it’s nothing. Mom. Did Mr. Kellogg have any family?” I asked quickly shifting the focus off myself.
She sighed. “He had a brother in Alaska. He doesn’t want the property and since Rick and I originally sold him the house, his brother is giving us the deal. I sure hope we can find another buyer in this economy.” She shook her head. “Oh, listen to me. A man is dead and all I can think about is my agent fee.” Her eyes met mine again. “You look so pale, Bee. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m okay mom. Really. So how did your date go last night?” I was getting a lot better at changing the subject.
“Same old story,” she said. “He turned out to be another creep. I just can’t seem to find a guy as good as...”
“I know-” I said. Dad, her one true love.
She’d suffered another bad date, which meant only one thing; she will need ice cream to ease her pain. Seeing all these disastrous love affairs mom had lately I began to wonder how she ever managed to find my dad in the first place, but she had found him-or he found her- and
now dad was the standard by which she judged every single guy.
“The jerk was married.”
“At least you found out right away.”
Mom sighed. “Maybe I have my sights set too high. After all, every one of these guys has a Ph.D. and yet I find out they’re cheating on their wives. All losers...right?”
“Right,” I said, touching her shoulder.
“Thanks for listening Bee.”
My parents had nicknamed me Bee or Little Bee long before they bought our farmhouse. We lived a short time with Grandma who kept bees. My crib sat in front of an open window. One morning, to mom and dad’s horror, they found me covered in bees…laughing. Not one of those bees stung me, so that pet name stuck all these years.
“I think I’m feeling a little better now,” said mom.
I yawned and moved toward the stairs.
“Before you go, can you check the freezer for B and J?”
I headed for the fridge, my mind in a trance. I tore the lid off Ben and Jerry’s Triple Caramel Chunk. I placed the ice cream in mom’s lap, kissed the top of her head, and started again for the stairs, feeling numb from the revelation that my dream was not a dream at all. I had actually witnessed a murder.
In my room, I fell across my bed with thoughts of the knife stabbing Mr. Kellogg’s chest. Blood filled my brain. The blond man’s words came back to haunt me. I need a house.
I sat straight up, the realization hitting me like Wile E Coyote’s anvil. Whoever buys Kellogg’s house has got to be the killer. Has to be! Maybe. Or maybe the killer was already hiding in the house. I shuddered and glanced out the window, trying to picture him sleeping in the bedroom where Mr. Kellogg died. One thing was certain; thanks to mom’s job it would be easy to find out the new buyer’s name.
As I got ready for bed, a feeling of dread enveloped me. The thought of closing my eyes was creating all kinds of new fears. Maybe I’ll just stay awake all night ...no sleep, no nightmares. Another brilliant idea brought to you by Jefferson High’s student body president. I rolled my eyes.
I needed sleep, if for no other reason then to help maintain my crumbling GPA, and to stay sharp, because I figured I was missing something vital. Whatever it was, most likely, it would take some time to figure out, so I had better pay attention and maybe getting some, spiritual help wouldn’t hurt.
* * *
Chapter 5
