In the Shadows of Fate

by Rick Jurewicz

  She sat up quickly, trying to get her composure.

  “Yes, yes. That’s right. I am doing a writing project for a class, and it would be a great help if I could visit the house and the grounds. I’m trying to get a feel for the history of the area and its part in the early mining days of Michigan,” she told Thornton.

  “Ken didn’t say too much about it really. But, I would suppose you are in luck. It’s in the contract that my firm has with the current owners of the property to pay a monthly visit. It’s a few days early, but my schedule was clear today, and after Ken called I figured that I could come up this morning,” he told Miranda.

  “That would be great. Thank you so much,” she said.

  “I am actually on my way there now. Do you think you could meet me at the main gate to the home in about 20 minutes?” asked Harry.

  “I can be there, yes. Do I just follow the main road in and it will take me there?” she asked.

  “All the way to the end. I will see you shortly,” said Harry.

  “Alright, thank you again. I’ll see you soon,” she said.

  “Okay. Buh-bye.”

  Miranda went to the bathroom sink to throw some water on her face and wake herself up. She wasn’t prepared for the call so early, and now she could feel the anxiety building inside of herself. The feeling made her very unsteady. There was no real reason for the tension she was feeling, she thought, except for the fact that she was walking into a place of great sadness and tragedy. But this tragedy was connected to things about herself that were just beginning to come to light. That was enough in itself to feel tension about. She grabbed her jacket and headed downstairs.

  Although she had a fondness for the Wellmans at the bed and breakfast, she had preferred to avoid them that morning. They reminded her a lot of her own parents, but she didn’t have time for the small talk this morning. She hopped in her car and headed up the road. The carcass of the wolf was gone from the spot where Dean had dragged it, although the blood trail from where it was moved could still be seen somewhat on the road. Following the road straight through town, she noticed several buildings that looked like they had been closed or abandoned for several years. Galestone was as close as it comes to being a ghost town without it crossing that line completely.

  When the buildings in town came to an end, the road narrowed somewhat and she followed it another quarter-mile to a large, wrought iron gate. The gate was tightly clasped in the middle of two large, swinging 10-foot-high doors. The chains were padlocked onto the gate door near where the clasp held it firm. When the two gate doors were joined, as they were now, a large letter ‘G’ was formed, written in a sort of fancy calligraphic script.

  Looking up at the large black fence, Miranda found herself once again searching for some fragment of a memory that might put down any doubt that she may have had that this wasn’t all some wild goose chase brought to life by a crazy dream. Although the memory did not come, at this point she knew better than to have such thoughts. Even without knowing for sure, the feeling that she had inside was telling her that something beyond her had led her to this place.

  The sound of a vehicle came from up the road, and Miranda got out of her car and waited for it to come fully into view. A black Cadillac Escalade pulled up beside her car, which seemed tiny beside the Caddy. A man that Miranda guessed was in his sixties, with thinning grayish-brown hair wearing a grey sports coat and black trousers stepped out of the Escalade, and walked around the vehicle to greet Miranda, stretching out his hand to her.

  “Miranda? Harry Thornton,” Harry introduced himself.

  “Hi. Nice to meet you,” Miranda responded. “I just want to thank you again for allowing me to do this.”

  “Well, it is kind of an unorthodox thing, and to be honest, I hadn’t decided to allow it until I saw you. There are a lot of people that like to pull stunts for all the wrong reasons. People get strange kicks about visiting places looking for ghosts or who knows what. A few years back a bunch of kids from Arlo drove down here and busted through the old lock and chains I had on here. Someone from town saw the cars drive on through up towards the house later in the evening, and thought it seemed suspicious. Turned out the kids were up there drinking, smoking dope and playing with Ouija boards. The police came and cleared them all out of there, and I bought bigger chains. You don’t have any intentions of that sort here, do you Miss Stratton?” asked Harry, his face crooked with an impish grin.

  “I can assure you that I don’t. I’m hoping just to get a chance to look around, maybe take a few pictures…all to use in my article,” said Miranda.

  Harry paused and eyed Miranda curiously for a moment. “Well then, I can take you up to the house. You can wait in my vehicle while I unlock the gates.”

  As a habit, Miranda didn’t get into a stranger’s car, but she didn’t feel she had any reason to fear Harry. He seemed like a man that took himself and his job seriously, so she actually felt lucky that he was allowing her the opportunity to see the house at all. Harry got back into the Caddy after the gates were secured open, and pulled on up the driveway. It was long and twisty, so Harry proceeded slowly.

  Harry reached into his coat pocket and removed his cell phone.

  “Reception is very spotty out here with all the rocks and valleys. Excuse me while I check my voicemails, if I can actually get a good enough signal,” he said. He held the phone up to his right ear for a few moments, and put it back away in his pocket.

  “I figured as much. Most likely I’ll have better luck at the house. It’s more open up there,” he said.

  Miranda said nothing. Her mind was somewhere else entirely. She looked ahead as they climbed up the final incline of the driveway. The driveway opened up into a large circle that rounded in front of the Gale house. In the center circle of the driveway was a stone fountain, about 14 feet across with a statue in its center of a man with enormous feathered wings on his back, which Miranda took to be an angel of some sort overgrown with vines and weeds. The statue had its right knee brought up to rest on the rocks beneath its foot, and the angel leaned its right arm down upon the knee with its head tilted towards the ground, as if it were in mourning or deep in thought.

  The house was, or at least had been in all its glory, a beautiful Victorian style home, no doubt inspired by the family's early European history. It appeared to be built entirely out of wood instead of using local stone or brick, three stories high with a large covered porch that spanned the entire front of the main structure of the house. Windows had lined the front of the lower and middle levels, with two dormers at the third floor that had arched windows in each. Most of the windows had been broken out, no doubt due to the fire, and some probably over the years by vandals that had made their way past Harry’s security efforts.

  The sun had risen behind them in the east over the trees now, and as it illuminated the front of the house, much of the extent of the damage could be seen just from the front of the house alone. It was amazing that any of the house had survived such a blaze. The rear sections of the house, especially the upper levels, were almost completely gone. Harry and Miranda exited the car and stood looking up at the shell of the formerly majestic dwelling.

  “Quite a shame, isn’t it?” said Harry, looking on at the house.

  “It looked like it had been a beautiful place to live once,” Miranda said pensively.

  “Oh, this house was a masterpiece. Francis Gale had a hand in every step of the design and building of this place. He was more than just a smart businessman, you know. He had a keen eye for art and design. Many of the paintings that hung in this house were painted by Francis himself years ago. Beautiful, beautiful paintings of the landscapes around this area and on the Lake Superior shoreline,” said Harry.

  “You've seen the paintings yourself?” asked Miranda.

  “I did indeed. I had been to this house several times before the fire. I handled some legal affairs for Tom and Victoria from a few years before the fire up until the surviving
family left the area. Mostly just a few trust issues and such, and a few lawsuits from people who thought they had more coming to them than they did after the mines closed. No one who worked for the Gales. Just some of the connected industries, the trucking companies and such. None of it really amounted to anything. After most of the fortune was gone, and then with Thomas Gale gone, in light of the scope of the deaths and the trial that followed…well, no one wanted to push things any more after that.”

  “Who owns the property now?” asked Miranda.

  “Specifically, it’s hard to say. Our firm gets a check every six months from an LLC owned by a larger corporation, just to oversee the property and make sure people are not abusing the lands and resources. It happens like that a lot. Land speculators buy up all sorts of land under one company name or another, trying to throw snoops off who might be trying to gauge the true value of land and not jack up the prices if they think one person is after it all. All we do is receive a check and do our monthly runs. It’s actually really easy money for us!”

  Miranda pulled her camera from her inside coat pocket and stepped towards the house. She stopped a few feet away from where she started and looked back at Harry.

  “Do you think it would be alright if I took a look inside the house? Just inside the door. Maybe get a few shots,” she asked.

  Harry looked apprehensive about this request.

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. The remains of the home were not considered structurally sound after the fire, and I am sure after all these years it’s far worse for wear,” he told her.

  “I promise I will watch myself and be careful. I won’t venture too far inside,” she told Harry. “You can come and be my chaperone if you’d like,” Miranda said playfully, trying to lighten up the situation.

  “Alright. You go on ahead and just be careful. My firm would probably have my hide if they knew I let you in there, so you can just keep it between us," Harry said with a sharp wink. "I am going to try and check my messages again. Don’t go too far inside. If you were to get hurt, I would have hell to pay. And by the way, anything you use in your article, I know nothing about. How you got here, how you got in. It’s all on you. Do we have an agreement?”

  “Of course. And I will be careful, I promise. Thank you,” she said to Harry, smiling.

  Miranda started off to the door, while Harry watched her carefully as she moved closer to the house and farther out of earshot. The look on his face became more serious now, as he moved around the other side of his vehicle, still keeping an eye on Miranda the whole time as she moved in through where the front door once was, now gone from its hinges.

  Harry dialed his phone, now with almost full reception. It was the same reception that he had had when he pretended to check his messages on the way to the house. After a few short rings, the call was answered.

  “Yes?” said the cool, even toned voice at the other end of the line.

  “There has been a development,” said Harry into the phone.

  “What sort of development?” asked the voice.

  “I am sending you a photo I took a short time ago,” said Harry. His voice sounded anxious and serious.

  “Of?” asked the voice, with a hint of annoyance at Harry’s vagueness.

  “It regards what you have really been paying me for all these years,” Harry replied.

  Harry sent the picture he secretly took of Miranda in the Escalade with his cell phone camera to the faceless voice across the airwaves, and waited for some time before he was spoken to again.

  “What is her name?” asked the voice, whose words seemed to slow and deepen in tone. This was unnerving to Harry.

  “Miranda Stratton. She came to Galestone telling people she is working on an article about Michigan mining history. What do you think?” asked Harry.

  “It’s her.”

  “How can you be sure of it?’

  “I KNOW it is her,” stated the voice, now sounding icy and almost frightening. Harry felt a chill come over him from the sudden change.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Harry.

  “She could be lying about her name. At least part of it. I want you to stay on her. Follow her. Are you in Galestone now?” asked the voice.

  “Yes. We are at the Gale house,” Harry said.

  “I am sending a couple associates to meet with you. In the mean time, find out everything you can about her through your resources. EVERYTHING. Where she lives, who her friends are; I need everything. Do you understand me?” asked the voice.

  “I understand. I will stay on her,” Harry assured.

  “I want to know what she has discovered already. How did she find out about the Gales? And who else might know,” said the voice. “Everything hinges on this girl.”

  “I will find out everything that I can, I assure you,” Harry said, trying to mask some of the apprehension he was feeling from the call. The line disconnected before Harry could say any more.

  Miranda stepped inside the doorway of the Gale house. It was mostly dark, although the ceiling of the first floor was very high, allowing more light into the rooms. She glanced back again at Harry before taking a few more steps inside and proceeded down a hall to the right side of the building. She stepped slowly. Debris was everywhere over the floors, and much of the surfaces inside of the house, protected from most of the wind and the rain, still had a film of old ash glazing them. Large sections of wall and ceiling had been burned through on the lower levels, but something seemed to have caused most of the destruction to be contained in the upper levels. It was as if the fire climbed the walls like a slithering predator, attacking the sleeping family in the top floors of the house.

  There were two doors that Miranda first came to in the hall. To the right was a door that was open, and the room appeared to be some sort of a study or office. It was the open doorway to the left that drew Miranda’s attention the most.

  She stepped into a large room, and immediately she felt a chill up her spine. With all of the debris covering the floor, it wasn’t until she ran her foot along the surface of the floor to push some broken wood and ash aside did the color of the once brilliant marble floor break through the years of being hidden from the world. Her eyes darted around the room, and she could see the spaces where the paintings had once lined the walls. She knew what every one of them had looked like, because she remembered everything from her dream. Stepping further into the room, she could see across the way a large section of ceiling that had fallen from the floor above, now laying atop an object ahead. Fear crept in the back door of her subconscious. For an instant she felt frozen where she was, not sure if she could continue moving forward. It was like walking into a dream or a nightmare, but one that fear itself was the only true thing to be afraid of. But there was also a fear of the unknown; a fear of finding answers that quite possibly should not be found.

  She finally moved closer to the area where the ceiling had fallen from above. She put her hand on it to try to move it aside. It moved far easier than she had anticipated. When it shifted, a raccoon hissed at her from underneath where it had been hiding. She let out a short scream, quickly trying to muffle it with her hand and not attract the attention of Harry outside. The raccoon darted in the opposite direction, far more afraid of her than she was of it, although she couldn’t have been convinced of that in the moment. In the spot where the second floor had fallen laid the remnants of the white piano that she had dreamed of so many times over the years. She half expected the man playing it to be there as well. Perhaps some charred skeletal remains that had been missed or left behind, but there was no one else there with her.

  Atop the piano there was a rectangular spot roughly the size of the box she had received in the mail. The space looked as if it had not been touched by ash and had sat empty for a very long time, now thick with dust and droppings from mice. Miranda stared at the empty spot for several seconds and found herself feeling empty in that moment. She had come full circle, and she had nothing e
lse to go on. She knew that the box came from this place. She knew that she had been here as a young child, although she still had no memory of it. The box and the tape had found their way to her, but she still didn’t know how or why.

  There was a hallway leading out of the room down to where what once was a large glass double doorway leading to the backyard gardens of the estate house. The doors had either been knocked away or removed after they had been badly damaged from the fire, leaving the way clear to see into the rear garden area behind the main house. All that Miranda could see from this distance out the doorway was overgrown and unkempt hedges, and part of what looked liked a large, round stone fountain, dry and covered with what looked like bird droppings. The grass around the fountain was long and intermixed with all sorts of weeds, and it had looked as if there once had been flowers growing about in beds that were now dead and weed ridden as well.

  Miranda looked about the debris of the room. At first, there was almost nothing that seemed discernable or whole until she saw the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from beneath an overturned end table. She moved the table to find that the page was almost completely intact, save for one corner that was singed by the fire. Beyond that it was a full sized 8 1/2 x 11-inch sheet of paper with a small amount of water damage. She picked it up and turned it over to see if there was anything on it worth seeing. As it turned out, it was that and more.

  Miranda fixed her eyes on what was a crayon drawing of a little stick girl in a blue dress. The little girl in the picture was drawn with black hair, and held the hand of a taller girl with blonde hair, also drawn as a stick figure. Both were smiling, and overhead in the sky shone a bright, large yellow sun. Then, for the first time, something of a memory started to come back to her.

  She could remember fragments. She could see herself sitting on the floor with her crayons coloring this very picture. Looking up from her crayons and paper, Miranda watched the blonde girl come over to her and kneel down beside her.