I tuned Jeremy out. It seemed a bit odd to me that he would just start talking. And keep talking. “What made you decide to come here?” I asked.
“I heard Vermont was beautiful,” replied Jeremy, “And I’ve always wanted to visit the state.”
The answer seemed a bit vague to me, but then I wasn’t exactly forthcoming in specifics either. “Well it is pretty.”
“Why are you here?”
“Film,” I said, “I want to be an independent filmmaker.”
“Going to win any Oscars?”
I smiled in response.
“You know, not many filmmakers actually make it in Hollywood,” said Jeremy.
Why is it everyone felt they had to tell me that? Whenever I mentioned that I wanted to make movies, but not with a major studio, they felt obligated to remind me that my chances of success were nil. Really annoying if you ask me. It’s the same as telling the aspiring singer that they’ll never make it. Or informing a writer that they have one chance in a million in actually making the bestseller’s list. Don’t people realize that artists are artists because it is what they love? We don’t do it for the money. Not that I would complain if I managed to make a boatload of it, but that all comes later.
I finally realized that I had stopped walking and was staring blankly into space as I had a little soapbox session in my head. I started walking again hoping he wouldn’t say anything. But, of course, he did.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I said shaking it off, “I love what I do. I want to make movies. And I don’t care if the chances of failing are stacked against me.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have said anything.”
You think? I kept that part to myself. Ah, finally, we had arrived at the Candle Shoppe. Just a few hours of work here and I was off to the haunted house. I couldn’t believe that I was actually looking forward to that outing. “We’re here,” I said.
“Look,” said Jeremy, “You want to go out sometime? Say for coffee?”
Oh boy, here it comes. I faced him. He was neatly dressed with slacks and a button up shirt. His close cropped hair and freshly shaved face gave the impression of a decent young man worth dating. But, I didn’t like his pushiness and I already had a boyfriend. “You seem nice enough—“
“But,” he finished for me.
“I already have a boyfriend. We’ve been dating for a few months now.”
“You could ditch him and come out with me. Or date two people at once and decide between the two.”
That did it. I didn’t care if he was joking; I was a one boyfriend at a time kind of gal. There was no way I was going to go out with this guy.
“No,” I said firmly, “I’m sorry, but I’m in a relationship.” I quickly walked into the shop and let the door shut behind me in Jeremy’s face.
Chapter 3
The three of us pulled up in front of the Pen Mills Estate. The entire place gave me the creeps. It wasn’t even Fall and it already had a Halloween look about it. The trees hadn’t budded yet. Of course, the gray, cloudy day did little to assuage our nerves. The dry grass added to the abandoned look.
Greg parked the car on the far end of the driveway so it would not be visible to any who passed by. We stepped out of the car and stood on the front porch just staring at the front door. Whatever paint might have been on the building had faded. It seemed as though the world of color had never heard of this place.
“Ready?” I asked gripping my flashlight tightly.
“No,” said Jackie.
“Don’t tell me you actually believe this place is haunted,” said Greg.
“No, but,” Jackie’s voice trailed off.
“Let’s go,” I said.
I led the way through the entrance. Its double doors had elaborate carvings on them, which I’m sure were quite beautiful when people still lived here. The door creaked as I pushed it open. Not even locked. Go figure.
I flicked on the flashlight and stepped inside. Jackie and Greg followed close behind me.
Slam!
I whirled around. The front door was sealed shut. “What?”
“It wasn’t me,” said Greg, “It was the wind.”
“But there is no wind,” I said.
Just then a huge gale broke out whipping around the building. I looked around me not liking the situation. Dust covered every surface area. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling wavy gently in the drafty home.
Sucking up my courage, I moved away from the entrance and into the gathering room. At least, I thought it was the gathering room where guests were greeted. Furniture lay everywhere. Some of it was covered and some of it wasn’t. Talk about antiques. They must be over two centuries old. It was a wonder that no one had bothered taking it.
“Alright,” I said, “We’re splitting up.”
At that exact moment the most chilling wail sifted through the mansion. It rattled my nerves to no end. Jackie clutched Greg’s arm so tight that it turned purple.
“Wh…Wh…What was that,” said Jackie.
“Probably just the wind,” I replied.
“I doubt it,” said Greg, “It sounded like someone dying. Or being tortured.”
Jackie’s face turned ashen. I smacked Greg. He just stared at me stupidly until I pointed out Jackie.
“But I don’t think someone actually was,” he said quickly.
“Come on.” I moved away to the dining room.
“We’re sticking together,” Greg said.
I relented. There was no point in sending Jackie off by herself. “Then look around.”
We walked along the edge of the room in a line, my flashlight leading the way. Commemorative plates lined the wall next to us hanging precariously on the fading and peeling wallpaper. Each had a picture of birds on them. The birds ranged from sparrows and cardinals to blue jays and hummingbirds. For a moment I admired them.
“This is weird,” said Jackie.
She reached up and wiped a layer of dust from one of the plates. This particular one depicted a snail. It looked as though it did not belong. In fact, it didn’t. Why would anyone want a painting of a snail and then stick it among a wall full of birds? Jackie was right. It was strange.
The table sat in the center of the room. It was large enough for fifteen people to sit at comfortably. I tried to imagine the sort of gatherings that might have gone on here before the house was abandoned. A lone candle holder sat in the middle of the table. I picked it up. It felt heavy in my hand. Definitely made from real metal and not plastic like so many modern things are.
I looked at the bottom of the candle holder. A name was scratched on the bottom, but was difficult to make out. I handed it to Greg. “Feel this,” I said.
He weighed it in his hand with a contemplative look on his face. “It feels like real silver.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“It’s possible,” replied Greg. “This house has been here for a long time and belonged to a very wealthy family. Who knows the kind of treasure this place has.”
He handed the candle holder back to me. Something popped out of it and clattered on the hard wood floor. Upon further inspection, the candle holder had a secret compartment in it that opened from being twirled around. Jackie picked the item off the floor and handed it to me. It was a key. A very old looking key.
“Where do you suppose this goes?” I asked.
“Who knows,” replied Greg.
A piercing wail echoed through the house as the wind picked up outside. The shrillness of the sound sent chills down my spine.
“Can we please get out of here,” pleaded Jackie. “This place gives me the willies.”
“Willies?” I asked.
“Heard it on TV,” replied Jackie, “Now can we please go?”
I answered her question by leaving the room and moving down the hall. A door hung awkwardly on rusty hinges. I pushed it open and went in. This was obviously the kitchen. This place resembled a time warp. Many of the items in the k
itchen belonged in a museum. A giant hearth lined the far wall which obviously served as a way of cooking before the stove was invented. On my left stood a wood stove. I inspected it opening various compartments. Nothing.
To my right stood an ice box. A real icebox!
I can’t believe this place,” I whispered. “Look at all this stuff.”
Jackie pulled open the ice box. Its dark interior overflowed with cobwebs. “Is this—”
“An ice box,” finished Greg. “Think of it as the original refrigerator. See, you put a giant block of ice in the top compartment here and your food in the bottom compartment. Since cold air falls, it kept the food chilled.”
“I think I will stick with the modern fridge,” said Jackie, “At least mine has a water filtration system.”
“Not to mention its large capacity,” I said.
“What? I like my food,” said Jackie.
Creeeeeeeeaaak.
We all turned in the direction of the sound. More floor boards creaked outside the kitchen entrance. Jackie clamped her hand onto Greg’s arm. He pried her off when his hand began turning blue.
“What was that,” she whispered.
I walked out of the kitchen and back into the hallway followed closely by Jackie and Greg. Jackie’s sudden cries of panic stopped me cold. She twirled in a circle spitting and flinging her arms. “Get it off! Get it off!”
She had walked into a mess of cobwebs and got the sticky stuff all over her. Greg grabbed her arms forcing her to calm down. Together we picked the cobwebs off of Jackie as she tried not to imagine a bunch of spiders crawling all over her.
“I told you,” said Greg as she fretted about spiders, “cobwebs are abandoned webs. There are no spiders on them.”
“So you say,” spat Jackie.
Another chilling wail filled the house emanating from the second floor. Even I felt a little on edge from it.
“Those screams have got to stop,” said Jackie.
“Maybe it’s a banshee coming to get you,” joked Greg.
I glared at him in response as Jackie’s face went white once again. Way to go, I thought to myself, just scare the feces right out of her. “Let’s go,” I said as I moved to another room, which resembled a sitting room.
We each picked a section of the area. I found nothing but more dust and cobwebs. Peeling wallpaper lined the wall. It had turned gray as the pattern faded over time. It was probably really pretty when new. I reached up to touch its grainy texture. It had a basic design, but very elegant.
“Hey, Mel, come here.”
Jackie kneeled by the fireplace pointing at something. Instantly, I walked over there and shined my light on it. Gold glinted back at me. I picked it up and twirled it in my fingers. It was a gold bracelet, but not cosmetic. It was real gold. Delicate designs lined its edges.
“I think this is real gold,” I said.
“So what if it is,” said Greg.
“No, you don’t understand,” I continued, “I think this is treasure. You know, dates back a few centuries. But what is it doing here?”
“You know, things have been going missing all over town lately,” said Jackie. “The jewelry store lost a couple of very expensive necklaces the other day; totaling around ten grand.”
“You think this could be part of all this?” asked Greg.
“It’s possible,” replied Jackie.
I placed the bracelet in my jacket pocket. “We’re taking this with us.”
“If we get caught with that they’ll think we’re the thieves,” protested Jackie.
“Then, let’s not get caught with it,” I replied.
I studied the fireplace. Engravings of frogs and snails outlined it. I thought that strange. Most people put flowers or birds as engravings, not frogs and snails. Pen Mills must have been an interesting person.
But there was something about the fireplace that seemed very odd. I rubbed my fingers along the mantle. No dust. The entire house was coated in thick layers of dust, but this area seemed very clean. Too clean. Strange for a place that has been abandoned for several decades.
“Does anyone else think this area is too clean?” I asked.
Footsteps sounded above us. We all looked up. The steps walked across the ceiling and then back. They sounded heavy, like boots.
“Is anyone else here?” asked Jackie.
“No,” said Greg. “The only people who come here are teenagers looking for thrills. Those steps sounded like someone pacing. As though they belonged here.”
Jackie’s face paled. “Maybe this place is haunted.”
I smacked Greg again. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Not alone,” said Greg.
I sighed loudly. Maybe I should have come here alone. I left the sitting room and headed for the stairs. They curved forming a u-shape as they led to the second floor. Slowly, I walked up them. My flashlight shone on the steps revealing nothing unusual.
Creak.
I groaned as the wood step creaked under my weight. What is it about spooky houses and creaky staircases? It is very cliché. Yet, here I was in a creepy house with a creaky staircase.
We reached the landing within minutes. I waved the light about scanning the space. Nothing. Jackie grabbed my jacket as I headed down the hallway.
“Let go,” I said brushing her hand away.
“Don’t go down there,” she said to me, “it’s dark.”
“Which is why I have a flash light.”
I pulled myself away from her and headed down the hallway. Suddenly, I hated the dark. My flashlight only provided enough light for me to not trip over anything. It did little to stop my imagination from seeing ghouls and goblins in every corner.
I opened the door to the first room. It hung precariously on its hinges. More cobwebs and dust. I went inside. A dressing table lay at the far end. The bed was center stage in the room with its moth eaten covers. I noticed an oil lamp on the end table. Gently, I touched the wick. It felt cool, but showed obvious signs of having been used recently.
A noise sounded behind me. I quickly turned around and went back into the hallway. Jackie and Greg stepped out of another bedroom.
“There’s no one in here,” said Greg.
I wasn’t surprised. We were the only ones here. I motioned for them to follow me as I went into the third bedroom. This room resembled a suite. It was huge. A portrait of Pen Mills hung on the wall. I studied it for several moments. She really was beautiful when she was younger. In the portrait she wore a white dress with a little bow on the front.
“Is that her?” asked Jackie.
I moved closer to read the inscription on the front. Yep. I’d guessed right. “Yes,” I replied, “That is Pen Mills. The portrait itself had been painted in 1768.”
I pulled it away from the wall a bit. There was writing on the back. I shone my light right on it. “The secret is in the fireplace”, it said. Odd, I thought.
“Is there a cellar?” I asked.
“There is a small cellar which was used to store food. But it is accessible only from the outside,” said Greg.
“Are you sure there isn’t a hidden room someplace?”
“I don’t think there is. Why?”
I pointed to the inscription on the back of the painting.
“The secret is in the fireplace,” said Jackie, “What do you suppose that means?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, “But I want another look at that fireplace.”
I left the room and froze the moment I entered the corridor.
“Mel,” said Jackie. She stopped right behind me.
A man dressed in blue overalls and a straw hat came toward us. It wasn’t so much that he was there. I was more concerned by the axe he carried. He raised it high above his shoulder ready to strike. The cold expression on his face chilled me to the core.
“Holy—”
Jackie’s scream cut Greg’s outburst short. We bolted from Pen Mills’ room heading straight for the staircase. I flung my flash
light at him. It did no good. The thing went right through him thudding loudly as it hit the floor.
The heavy footsteps we had heard earlier followed us. Clearly, they belonged to the crazy man with the axe. We rushed down the stairs taking two at a time. None of us cared if we tripped and fell. Our only thought was of getting out.
Jackie was the first out the door. None of us waited to be told to get in the car. We scrambled into the vehicle and barely had the doors shut when Greg drove out of the manor driveway squealing his tires. He pulled onto the main highway. No one said a word as we headed back to town.
I think I had just been in a genuine haunted house.
Chapter 4
We went straight back to my apartment. After walking through the door we all slumped on the couch catching our breath. Did we really just see an evil spirit? Obviously, I believed in ghosts. After Rachel how could I not? But a haunted house? That was a bit much. And where was Timothy? He never did show up at the manor.
As if in answer to my unspoken question, Timothy popped in. “Where were you?” I demanded. I did not try to hide the anger in my voice. “You said you’d meet us there.”
“I know,” said Timothy, “But I got scared.”
“You’re a ghost,” said Greg, “How could you be scared?”
“Easy,” replied Timothy. “Ghosts are just echoes of their human bodies. That means they maintain many of their feelings and emotions that they had in life. In short, we’re no different than people. We just happen to be dead.”
A knock sounded at the door. I reached over and opened it. Standing there was a kid of about sixteen. He held a box of candy in his hands. “Does a Mellow Summers live here?”
“I’m her,” I said.
“I have a candy gram for you,” he said handing me the box of candy with a note attached.
“Who’s it from?”
“A Jeremy.”
I couldn’t believe it. Somehow that guy got my address. Then he sent me a candy gram even though I had told him that I was already in a relationship. Did the word ‘no’ mean anything to anybody these days?
I snatched it from the kid’s hands. It wasn’t his fault. He was just doing his job. “Thanks,” I said shutting the door.
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 02 - Frogs, Snails, and a Lot of Wails Page 2
