“Yes,” Dad replied.
The man looked deep into my eyes, almost forcing mine to meet his.
“Child, would you walk over there with me for a moment so that I may show you the incredible sights of the desert?” He’d pointed only a few feet away and moved his hand upward in a sweeping motion across the forming horizon.
“Your Daddy will wait, right here,” he said.
I felt safe with him and in a way, strangely honored to be the center of attention for those few moments. I nodded.
His touch was soft and almost relaxing as he took my hand, and we walked a distance of some ten feet away. Again, he swept his hand outward across the wild and spoke.
“Child, what do you see?”
I looked out at the desert, unsuspecting.
The flashing visions were quick, mere seconds, but enough to identify what I saw. Buffalo ran wild across the desert floor, and then as quickly as the vision was shown to me, it was removed from my sight.
“Buffalo,” I said, identifying an animal I’d already known at that young age.
“Yes, yes, child,” he said, soothingly. “Now, look at me.”
With his soft touch, he turned me by the shoulders toward him. He was still smiling as he dropped his hands to his knees and leaned over me.
“Now, tell me what you see when you look at me.”
It was only seconds before the sight appeared behind him. It was of a man who looked much like him yet slightly older, dressed like what I called as a child, ‘a real Indian.’ He was dressed like a chief: a full headdress of red feathers, garbs made of various skins, and hunting tools strapped to his side. I noticed dark brown war-paint beneath his hardened eyes as he lifted his head upward in exaltation.
“What do you see, Child?”
“The man with the feathers,” I said.
He repeated my words in a questioning tone, probing for more.
“Yeah, you know the one with the painted eyes, the real Indian.”
The wise man rose upward, throwing his head back in laughter as his smile widened, exposing big, white teeth, and a laugh that roared through the desert. The vision of the chief disappeared. He hugged me, and we walked back toward my father whose eyes awaited questionable news.
He was still laughing when we got back to where Dad was standing. Though he couldn’t have heard us, Dad laughed nervously out of some anticipated relief. When the wise man finished laughing, he put his hand on my father’s shoulder and looked him in the eye, and then he looked over at me.
“Child, go over and sit on the chair in front of the tent for just a moment, please? I want to talk to your father, but I promise I won’t take him from you long.”
I walked over to the front of the massive tent, where a small, black wooden chair with red and turquoise painted carvings had sat in front. While I sat and waited, they thought I couldn’t hear them, but their voices had carried enough for me to pick up certain words...
“I knew it! What does she see?”
“Buffalo...ancestor.”
I silently stepped off the chair and inched closer toward them as their backs were turned to me. I wanted to hear more because I couldn’t hear everything they were saying. I was only a few feet behind them, and now their voices became clearer. “A very powerful third eye.” The wise man’s voice was direct and all-knowing.
“Third eye...What is Third eye?”
Instinctively, the wise man turned around and saw me behind him, and once more, he joyously erupted in laughter. He picked me up and hoisted me into his arms.
“What’s the matter, child, didn’t you like the chair?”
“It’s spooky,” I said, and the laughter continued.
He turned with me toward my father.
“Come back and see me?”
He placed me in my father’s arms and touched the top of my head.
“Bless you, child. May you never be touched by what your third eye reveals to you.”
Then he said something to my father in a language I didn’t understand. I now suspect it to be Aztec or something similar. Dad had studied many languages in his Harvard days. We left the wise man, and the trip to the desert was forgotten, except in my memory where it recurs to this very day.
I have now come to the conclusion that Dad obviously suspected that I saw things, more than just on the basis of a child’s imagination, yet I don’t know why. Something must have occurred long before our trip to the desert to make Dad take me there. It explains why he later became so adamant to get me out of Cedar Manor. Once he realized the place was haunted and that I was seeing things within the house, he fought hard to get me out.
Unfortunately, I may never know what that early instance was because my father has been left mentally destroyed by what terrorized us in Cedar Manor. He refuses to speak of the house or anything connected to it.
I later learned that the man’s name was Tahoe. He would hold many answers for me, but at this time, I’m unable to locate him. I’ve learned that he was a recluse of sorts, a loner, a free bird, and I’ve found that a computer search does not do justice in the quest for a cloistered spiritualist who’s easily a septuagenarian by now.
It would be only months after that desert trip that we would move to Cedar Manor...
* * * *
She’d been marveling at the words before her, captivated by the tale so mesmerizingly told, at the time, by a mere nineteen year-old. Then, something snagged her eye before the end of the first chapter. Susan put the book down, threw back the covers, and leapt out of bed.
Tahoe...
She knew that name; she’d come across it during her studies in Parapsychology.
Tahoe...
If she was right, the fact that Leah had an encounter with him was a striking revelation. She ran to her home-office and searched the many bookshelves, scanning the titles with her finger until she found what she was looking for—a thick blue and white hardback tome. She flipped through the pages until she found his picture.
The man was featured in an article of the book—a man fitting the same physical description of which Leah wrote: Native-American descent, laughing eyes, friendly face. The article dealt with the fact that this man was one of the most powerful psychics in the world. He saw the dead, heard the dead, spoke with the dead, and saw the future, the present, and the past. The height and the extent of the abilities of this psychic paragon rambled on for at least twenty pages. His name was Tahoe Manoa; one of the world’s most gifted psychics had briefly entered the world of Leah Leeds.
This little fact could only mean one thing: if this man was the one who diagnosed Leah Leeds as what she is today, then what Leah saw tonight in her dream had most likely occurred—or was about to. She threw the book down on her desk, ran back to her bedroom, slipped off her robe, and changed into street clothes. She had to get out to Cedar Manor and take a look—just in case.
Within minutes, she was inside her brand new, navy-blue Chevy Malibu, cruising through the upper crust cul-de-sac where she lived. She’d junked the red Ford Taurus—too many bad memories attached to that car, not to mention she’d cracked the frame during that chaotic episode a few months back. Soon, the winding residential roads set the scene before her.
She turned left onto Cedar Drive and slowed down as she covered the two-mile stretch. How quiet and cozy it all looked: pristine houses blinking bright Christmas lights of white, blue, green, and red, while some indoor lights slept softly in comfortable dimness. How odd that at the end of this road stood a fortress of terror and evil.
The wind whistled through the almost closed windows of the Malibu, until she wound them up completely using the button. It was seconds later when the blue and red combination of flashing lights caused her heart to drop to her stomach. Three police cars were parked outside the gate, but she noticed something worse—an ambulance.
“Oh, God, she was right!” Susan briefly slipped into a moment of self-abuse and degradation. Why hadn’t she taken Leah’s word to
the fullest extent, especially after she’d witnessed her capabilities firsthand? She’d done the same thing with Sidney. Why did she continuously cling to the skeptical side of herself, always hoping for the more logical explanation to come forward? Things had drastically changed lately; she should have known better.
As she stopped the car, she decided to play it cool, make herself appear like the good doctor stopping to find out if everything was okay. She wouldn’t mention a word about Leah. After all, it wasn’t her story to tell, and she would get answers much quicker this way. She wasn’t going to mention being the head of the Paranormal Research & Investigative Society, either. She wasn’t about to rouse their groundless and speculative suspicions. Susan exited the car as a police officer approached her outside of the open, black-iron gate of the main entrance.
Other officers were streaming the gate with the familiar yellow and black ‘Crime Scene’ tape that she’d seen quite enough of recently. Beyond the gate, she could hear a deep sobbing—a young girl. She quickly noticed two young people, two more officers, and a team of paramedics attending to a gurney. It was difficult to see much in the dark, even under the blue moonlight that shadowed winter’s soft clouds. She met the approaching officer face to face.
“Hello, Officer. I’m Dr. Susan Logan, Psychiatrist, and MD at University Hospital. I was driving by and saw the ambulance. I thought I could help. What’s happened here?” She casually looked around, sporting an unsuspecting look meant to further her cover story.
“Glad to meet you, Doctor,” he said, “Detective Tom Goddard.” Between the whipping snow and the dimly lit night, it was hard to see his face, but he was a pudgy man of medium build with graying hair. The demeanor of his voice spoke with seemingly quick directness. “Unfortunately, there’s been a tragedy here tonight, Doctor.”
Her heart skipped several beats, and she swallowed hard to catch her breath. Those last few words forced her to maintain her composure and uphold the blank, professional expression she wore falsely on her face. Suddenly, the paramedics wheeled the gurney past her. She felt her body go weightless and almost sway. The gurney was completely covered, hiding and strapping down what lay dead beneath the blankets.
A death had occurred here tonight. Why hadn’t she acted immediately when Leah called her? Could she have stopped this? What was she going to tell Leah in the morning? Her knees quivered. Beyond the gate, the young girl’s sobs continued to ring out through the night.
“Apparently, three neighborhood teenagers decided to go ghost-hunting, here at Cedar Manor. One of them tried to climb to the top of the canopied entrance to get to that gable window up above—a dangerous feat obviously. He didn’t make it. The ladder slipped out from beneath him and he lost his grip, fell to the platform below.”
“So, you think it was an accident?” Susan’s voice sounded shamefully hopeful.
“Of course, Doctor, but not if you hear those two tell it.” He motioned over to the teens. The girl was being comforted by her male friend and a female officer. Susan’s eye lingered curiously on them, knowing she had to intercede. “It’s good that you’re here, Doctor. They both need someone to talk to about this. Neither of them is making any sense in detailing what happened here, tonight.”
Maybe they’re not making any sense to you, Detective. She quickly aborted the thought from her mind.
“Yes, I’m sure I could be of some help, Detective. I’d like to talk to them privately if I may, somewhere where it’s warm, obviously.” She smiled light-heartedly and shivered, all in the effort to convince him of mundane intentions. “Would my office be acceptable? I can make sure they get home.”
“Not a problem, Doctor,” he said. “They can make their official statements tomorrow, when they’re a little calmer. Perhaps you can make heads or tails out of this, tonight? It would be of tremendous help.”
That’s why I’m here, Detective.
“Of course, Detective,” she said, quelling her thoughts and watching as the paramedics loaded the gurney with the dead teenager into the ambulance.
“I’ll follow you to the hospital, with them in tow, and then you can take it from there.”
She agreed.
“I’m telling you that’s not what happened!” The young girl’s voice belted out at the female officer, and Susan rushed over to quiet her. She didn’t want her saying anything more, not in front of them. She would handle this from here...
* * * *
Snake and Hollywood sat in Susan Logan’s office, a roomy, comfortable domain with a plush satin couch, a coffee table, and several snug lounge chairs for visitors. The teens bickered in nervous dispute about the shrink who was still outside in the hallway talking to the cop.
“That woman is a shrink, Snake! Why do you think we’re here? They think we’re crazy!”
“So, what can she do? We’re telling the truth! We know what happened; we were there!”
“It doesn’t matter!” Her voice became louder. “They think we’re crazy, and after she hears what we tell her, she’ll put us both away!”
“No one thinks you’re crazy.” Susan’s voice suddenly filled the room as she’d silently slipped through the door. “And no one is going to put you away, least of all me.”
The two were seated on the couch, and Susan pulled up one of the lounge chairs to sit facing them.
“Now that we’re rid of him,” she said, “I have some things to tell you, and I want you both to listen carefully. Everything that the three of us discuss in this room is going to stay classified, understand? We can call it doctor-patient confidentiality, but I’m going to need your discretion as much as you’ll need mine. So, nothing of what we’re about to discuss ever leaves this room, understood?”
Snake and Hollywood remained quiet, their eyes wide in both skepticism and surprise. She had their undivided attention.
“My name is Doctor Susan Logan—you can call me Susan. Yes, I’m a shrink, but I’m also a Parapsychologist. Since you’re both apparently fledgling paranormal investigators, I’m sure you’re aware of what that is. But more importantly, I’m the Director of the university’s Paranormal Research & Investigative Society.”
Their eyes became even wider at this fact that had just fallen into their laps—someone who would listen.
“Why don’t we begin with you telling me your names?”
Snake looked at her, then at Hollywood, and back to Susan again.
“I’m Snake, and this is Hollywood,” he said.
Susan laughed lightly.
“I take it those aren’t your real names, correct?” she said.
Snake shook his head.
“What are your real names?”
“I’m Michael Stone,” Snake said.
“I’m Holly Bates.” Hollywood’s voice was cautious and quiet.
“Snake and Hollywood it is then.” Susan smiled and continued on a more serious note. “I once had a patient who lived in that house; as a result, I’m far more aware of its history than both of you. My former patient narrowly survived that house, escaping it only with a thin strip of his sanity intact.
“His five-year-old daughter had already been gifted with an extremely powerful psychic ability, and as a result, the malignancy that dwelled in that house played and fed off of her unique talents. She was an unwitting victim, almost falling prey to whatever it was in that house that wanted to possess her.
“Her father got her out, but only just before her mother committed suicide. Normally, I wouldn’t be telling you any of this, but that five-year-old girl is now an investigator with the society, dedicated to solving the mystery of that house as it directly affects her to this day. She’s going to need your help. I need the two of you to describe to her everything you witnessed tonight, after you tell the police that it was dark, and difficult to see, and that you could have been mistaken. Is that understood?”
Snake and Hollywood looked at each other for a brief second, their eyes still wide in astonishment at what they were hearing.
Lying to the cops who didn’t believe them anyway was one thing, but the looks on their faces silently confirmed to each other that they knew to whom she was referring when she said ‘her.’
“You don’t mean—” Snake asked hesitantly, but Susan answered quickly.
“Leah Leeds, yes that’s who I mean.”
“Of the Leeds House?” he said. “So, she’s real? All that stuff really happened?”
“She’s very real, and yes, much of what you’ve heard is true and probably more. But, remember, nothing we discuss in this room ever leaves it, understood?”
They looked at each other and quickly nodded. Susan continued.
“Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened there this evening—from the beginning. What had the three of you gone there to do?”
“Well, we’d heard all of the stories,” Snake reluctantly began. “And we wanted to go ghost-hunting, you know, to find out if any of it was true, to see if we could see anything.” He looked over at Hollywood, who began sobbing.
“And my guess is that you did see something, am I right?”
Snake nodded and Hollywood’s sobs became louder.
“Tell me how it all began,” Susan said.
They told her about how they’d originally planned the excursion around Halloween, but the cops had been watching the house.
“So, you weren’t there at that time?”
“No,” Snake said. “We couldn’t get near the place.” They watched the curious expression wrinkle the shrink’s face. They told her about how they’d postponed it until tonight, how they’d snuck out of their houses and met along Cedar Drive.
“Yes, Jimmy did show up with a six pack,” Hollywood said. “But, that’s not how it was. That’s not what happened!” She told of how the police only seemed interested in what they’d found in Jimmy’s bag that he’d thrown atop the canopy, and of course, how he’d reached the top. Then, they’d discovered the ladder.
“Then why don’t you explain it to me, Hollywood?” Susan’s voice was coaxing and comforting.
“After we got there,” she said, “Jimmy showed us a ladder he’d hidden around the side of the house, so we could try to get in.”
The Third Eye of Leah Leeds Page 3
