I followed her into the small living room. The only time I had been in Sandra’s house had been the time I told her Jimmy was dead. The room was small, with a dining room off the back to the right, and a door to the bedroom hallway on the left side wall. She had placed a couch against the back wall. Two chairs flanked the front window. A large bookcase covered the right wall. The room felt warm and welcoming, the kind of place one could come and relax.
“I remember where I saw you from,” she said, motioning for me to sit on the couch. Open on the couch laid a photo album. “That’s why I was going to stop by.”
Setting the plate of cookies on the coffee table, she sat beside me, and picked up the photo album. Flipping through the pages, she stopped about half way.
“Here, look at this.”
She pointed to a black and white photo of a man sitting on a porch swing. Dressed in trousers with suspenders, and a dress shirt, he appeared to have been focusing on something beyond the range of the camera lens.
“Looks like this must have been taken about fifty years ago,” I stated.
“It was, but take a good look. Do you notice anything?”
I studied the picture. A feeling of recognition tickled my brain.
“It’s an old picture of Uncle Carl.”
I looked again, more interested in what the house had looked like fifty years ago than the person. There was a swing on the porch, and a window off to the side. The photographer had caught a corner of the steps leading into the yard. Not much to see.
“You look enough like Uncle Carl to be his son.”
I turned back to the grainy picture, this time examining the man.
“It isn’t real clear,” she said, “but the resemblance is there. I was looking through the album this morning at…”
Her voice caught, and I glanced up to see her blinking back tears.
I wondered if I should offer her my handkerchief. I wanted to put my arm around her, but hesitated. What if I was being impulsive again, and would regret it later? Where was Trina when I needed her?
“I was looking at pictures of Jimmy. I appreciate what you saw in the attic, Bill, but I still think he’s alive. I don’t know what your vision meant, but perhaps someday we will understand.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Here I am blubbering all over. I’ll get us some iced tea.”
“Really, I don’t need to stay…”
“Of course you do. I’ll just be a second.”
Sounds came from the kitchen--glasses rattling and the refrigerator door opening then closing. I looked again at the man in the picture. In a way, he resembled my father.
A thought hit me. I glanced toward the kitchen, and then flipped through the album’s pages. I had only seen one picture of Jimmy; maybe in other pictures he would not look as much like my ghost boy. Maybe I hadn’t seen Jimmy Roberts after all!
Nothing would make me happier than to tell Sandra I had not seen her grandson, and her hope that he was still alive was not unfounded. I skimmed the pictures; most were scenes with happy people I didn’t know. But there were a few I recognized, all of Jimmy.
I had wanted to be wrong, but there was no doubt. Jimmy was one of my ghost boys.
Not a ghost. Spirits of humans do not remain. Jimmy is either my imagination or a demon. Spirits of humans do not…
The room began to spin. Caught in a vortex, I gripped the arm of the couch to keep from falling. Glimpses of the attic pushed through: scenes with the two boys.
The attic faded and the room settled back into normalness. My heart raced as I searched for papers tossed around, furniture out of place, anything that would validate what I had just experienced, but the room was tidy just as before.
A cloak, invisible but heavy, fell over my shoulders. Muscles contracted under the deathly cold. As I tried to shake off the unearthly force, it settled more firmly around me.
My special room at Trina’s would have protected me. This wouldn’t happen there. I clenched my jaw to prevent my teeth from chattering as the invisible fabric hugged me tighter and tighter.
I sensed Sandra’s return. She started talking about Jimmy, how he liked to visit his uncle, how he loved to explore Williamson Park, how he ate whipped cream on his pancakes instead of syrup. The more she talked, the more tightly the black cloak pulled around me until I could barely breathe.
Panic grew, but knew I had to stay focused. I couldn’t succumb to whatever was happening to me.
Shivering under my invisible cloak, I centered my thoughts on Sandra. I liked the woman. But my attraction to her was different than Barbara, different from any woman I had known lately. However, a barrier loomed between us. She wanted her grandson to come home, and I knew it would never happen. Sitting in her living room, struggling with a blackness that was freezing my soul, I understood what Judas Iscariot must have felt.
“Jimmy’s parents are dead, you know.” Sandra’s voice sounded hollow, as though coming from the bottom of a deep hole. I glanced toward her, expecting the spot to be empty, but she was still there.
“They…a car accident when Jimmy was four.”
I clung to fragments of Sandra’s conversation, trying to maintain my sanity.
“Lived here with me…I lost my husband before Jimmy was born…came here to live… there was just the two...Jimmy was the last…bloodline. Uncle Carl never married…Clara, was Carl’s sister. She only… my husband David. And we only…son. That makes Jimmy…end…southern bloodline.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. I wanted to hold her, to stroke her hair and tell her everything would be all right. I wanted to take her pain away, but I couldn’t. I was imprisoned within my own nightmare, suspended between two realities.
“The police…out of clues. Even with… they’ve still stopped…for him.”
I clung to the sight of her like a drowning man to a lifeline. If I glanced away, even for a second, she would disappear, and I would be transported to a place of constant torment.
“I instantly liked… Ted. Somehow… house was meant to belong to them… when the realtor approached… young couple looking for a house to rent… bed and breakfast, I rented it… everything… not sure they got… deal there.”
She smiled and touched my arm. The feel of her fingertips burned into my flesh, and the tightness began to dissolve. Breathing came easier, and warmth seeped back into my veins.
I escaped Sandra’s house for the protection of my room. But my darkened sanctuary felt wrong. The soothing comfort that always greeted me was not there. I collapsed onto the bed, needing to think about Uncle Carl, about the flashback, about the icy cloak, and yet not wanting to.
What’s happening to me?
Grabbing the pillow, I closed my eyes against the movement: shadows that were just beyond the corner of my vision, just beyond reason.
19
The time had come to confront our fear of the attic. Although for each of us the nightmare was different, we equally dreaded the task that lay ahead of us.
Trina had asked Sandra to join us. To my surprise, she accepted. I’m not sure I would have wanted to go back to the place where someone I loved had been imprisoned.
As Sandra entered the kitchen and caught a glimpse of me standing by the coffee pot, her face crinkled into a smile. Three days without seeing her seemed like an eternity.
“Watch your step,” Ted said as he led the way up the attic stairs.
“At least it’s not so hot yet,” Trina stated. “Good idea to get this done early, Dad.”
Did demons sleep? I hoped so. He had to be in the attic; I’d searched the rest of the house to no avail. The coffee soured in my stomach as Ted led us up the attic steps. Sandra followed him, her laugh a little too shrill. I trudged up behind her with Trina pulling up the rear, a little too close.
As we gathered at the top of the steps, my tension increased. I had spent the night trying to decide on a plan of action should the demon appear, but dawn had come before I made a decision m
ore detailed than shoving the girls down the stairs and leaping after them.
With Trina, Sandra, and Ted for company, and the sun forming horizontal pillars through the small dormer windows, the attic looked more like a second-hand furniture store than a haunted memory. Still, I perused the space, holding my breath. What if I was exposing Trina to evil? I regretted never having come to the attic to try to ‘feel’ for the demon. Truthfully, there was not enough courage in me to confront it alone. Now I would have to face whatever happened.
“I haven’t been up here in years,” Sandra said as her eyes roamed the room. I watched her carefully. Her face tightened and her steps were hesitant, revealing her tension in spite of her attempt at normalcy. She didn’t ask me to point out where I had seen Jimmy’s ghost, and I didn’t offer.
Crates and trunks lay scattered around the dusty floor. An assortment of dressers and chairs were layered with boxes. Half a dozen gray sheets—perhaps they had once been white—took the shape of whatever was hidden beneath them. Could the demon have physical form and have secreted his vile body beneath a dusty sheet?
“This is a hopeless mess,” I grumbled, tension filling my throat. Besides harboring a demon and nightmares, the place was a jumble of randomly placed junk. It would take hours, maybe days, to sort through all of it. The more time we spent in the attic, the greater the risk.
“Let’s explore!” Trina shouted gleefully, unaware of my rising fear. “Just think, we could find a long lost family treasure or something.”
Sandra forced a laugh. “‘Or something’ is more like it. There’s over a hundred years of excess belongings up here. I don’t think anyone has ever taken anything out—just added to it.”
“Isn’t there some story of a family treasure?” Ted asked.
“You’ve been talking to Mitch,” Sandra replied. “He asked me about the family treasure, but it’s only a Darlington legend. The family never had a fortune, but people like to make up stories.” Hands on her hips, she added, “pick a spot and let’s get going. Tape a number on the container, and write down on your tablet what’s inside.”
My heart beat double-time as the others wandered in separate directions. How could I protect them if they scattered beyond my reach?
Shadows swayed around me. Closer to the roofline, details disappeared in darkness. I needed to keep alert.
Ted ran a finger across the top of the closest trunk. “Looks like this one hasn’t been opened for years.”
“These must have belonged to your uncle,” Trina said, wandering toward half a dozen trunks that had been pushed together. “There isn’t much dust on them.”
“Uncle Carl was too crippled with arthritis to make it up these steps.”
“Maybe you and I can work together,” Trina said, looking at Sandra. “One of us can number the trunks, and the other can write.”
“That’s fine with me.”
Hurrying to stay close to the women, I pretended to show interest in an adjacent stack of boxes. “So what’s with Mitch?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “How did you come to hire him?”
“Uncle Carl had needed help for a long time. I contracted with one of the home health agencies, but they sent a young girl. He really needed a man, and someone to stay with him at night.”
“This one looks like it’s full of old curtains,” Trina murmured, rooting through the opened trunk.
Sandra turned to her paper. “Trunk one: curtains.” As Trina moved to the next trunk, Sandra returned her attention to me. “Mitch showed up at the church one day and asked if there was any work he could do. Pastor Steve gave him some odd jobs, like painting and yard work.”
Ted chuckled from across the room. “The pastor has a soft heart. Did you know he has three dogs, all strays?”
I thought of my impulsive confession at Sandra’s party, and Pastor Steve’s offer of help. It had been spontaneous, but maybe he really wanted to help. I wondered how willing he would be if he knew I could be harboring a demon.
“So how did you end up with Mitch?” Trina asked. “Magazines. Why would anyone save magazines in one of these beautiful trunks?”
“Trunk two: magazines,” Sandra mumbled. “Pastor Steve knew we were looking for help, and Mitch needed a permanent place to stay. Mitch wouldn’t come to church, but Pastor Steve told me he and Mitch were doing a Bible study together. Uncle Carl liked Mitch, and Mitch was good with him.”
“So how did he end up working at the garage?” I asked, hoping for a clue toward the boy’s real agenda.
“A friend of his works at Smyth Garage and told Mitch the owner was willing to train Mitch to do some of the easier jobs, like changing oil and rotating tires. There isn’t a whole lot in Darlington for a young man to do, so when Mitch told me about the offer, I agreed. His garage hours were during the day, and Uncle Carl mostly needed help at night. He did this for over a year before Uncle Carl died.”
“These two trunks are empty,” Ted stated, standing on the edge of several trunks, all pushed together. My gut lurched. “Let’s check all those trunks,” I suggested.
Trina and Sandra walked toward Ted as he opened the next trunk.
I knew what he would find. “Nothing,” Ted said, shoving the lid wide to expose the empty interior.
“Nothing in this one either,” said Trina.
Could this be Mitch’s game? Stealing while the old man slept?
“Let’s stack all the empty trunks to one side,” Ted said.
Was there a hint of concern in Ted’s voice? Good boy. He’s getting it. Mitch is not sweet and innocent like they thought.
Ted moved toward the side where I had seen the ghosts. When the girls stayed in the middle, I headed to the opposite end where most of the furniture was located. Even though less light penetrated that part of the attic, it kept the stairs between the girls and me; easy to shove Trina and Sandra toward them should I need to.
“Looks like more linens,” Sandra mumbled, marking her trunk. “We can sort through them later.”
The girls headed to the next trunk.
A few of the old wooden pieces were quality-made, and Sandra could get a good price for them if she decided to sell. I was sure Trina could use several downstairs. Pushed against a rafter, an oak dresser, complete with marble top and beveled mirror, caught my attention and I headed toward it.
The air cooled, but rather than being a relief from the heat that was building up in the enclosed space, it felt more like the lack of life. Goose bumps rose on my arms. Cold fingers walked up my spine. My chest squeezed tight as I scanned the dark space in front of me. Movement: blackness darker than the attic’s darkness. Space void of light.
Ted’s voice came from across the room. “Sandra, here are the old pictures we told you about. I’ll carry them downstairs for you.”
“Thanks honey.”
“Ah…Bill…”
“What?” I barked, not turning my eyes from where I had seen the shadow. Instantly, grayness replaced blackness. The cold dissipated, as though it had never been there. I scanned the attic for the shadow. That’s when I saw Ted’s face. It was oddly pale.
“You might want to see this,” he added.
The last time Ted wanted me to ‘come take a look’ was when he had found green threads in the floorboards. I didn’t think he had seen the ghost, but a sense of déjà vu settled over me.
“What did you find?” Sandra asked. She headed in Ted’s direction.
The girls reached Ted before I did. Synchronized they turned and looked at me with expressions identical to the one that covered Mitch’s face almost every time he saw me. What could make Mitch, and now Trina and Sandra, act like they had seen a ghost? Ice ran through my veins. I dreaded what I was about to see.
A crash sounded in the back of the attic where I had been standing. It’s moving! I ran toward the girls, grabbing each of them by the arm.
Sandra stared at me strangely, and then shook off my arm. My heart leaped to my throat as she headed in the dire
ction of the sound. I raced after her. She stopped in front of the chest that stood closest to the rafter.
My eyes darted around the darkened space, searching for blackness, movement.
“Here it is,” Sandra said. “One of the boxes fell off the chest.” She leaned pointed toward a box on the floor
I picked up the box. Too heavy to fall by itself.
I noticed that no one was talking. The room was deathly quiet, everyone looking at me. What had Ted found?
I walked back to the other side of the room. Ted’s eyes were directed at the top of a chest. He had found a large framed portrait.
I gasped. Impossible! It was a picture of me from a costume party a couple of years ago. I stared at it, disbelieving. I needed more light. Lifting the heavy frame, I walked to the dormer.
I remembered the event. Betsy had made our outfits. She had been a southern belle and I had gone as an old-time gentleman, complete with fake beard.
“He could be your twin,” Ted stated, following me across the room. “Look at the shape of the face, the eyes…”
Then the truth dawned on me. It wasn’t me; it was someone who resembled me. “This is why Mitch looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. He’s seen this picture.” I turned to Sandra. “Who is he?”
“A better question is,” Sandra responded, “who are you, Bill Iver?”
20
Sandra came again the next day. Ted and I hauled the trunks out of the attic. With each trip, I expected the evil spirit to appear, and by the time we had made a dozen trips, my gut hurt from the continual tension, and my legs and back hurt from the work.
Although the demon seemed to be following me, today he remained quiet. Why would a monster choose to hide when he could be frightening the daylights out of all of us again? Ted might think the bulb burned out because of the heat, and Sandra might think the box fell off the chest by itself, but I knew better.
I thought about what Pastor Steve had said at Sandra’s party: Satan waits patiently to destroy God’s children.
Deadly Decision Page 13
