“What is he?”
She saw Martha lean forward. More of her body came through the opening in the wall. He was…a version of my husband.
“A version?” Eliza asked, confused.
My husband was a man named Wallace Beno. Horace Lyons was a version of him.
“I don’t understand.”
My husband was gifted, like you and me, Martha replied. Just after Wanda was born, he became involved with a strange group, a cult. I had no interest in it and wouldn’t allow Wanda to become involved, but he travelled frequently to their gatherings, at a place called the Eye Shrine. One day, when he came back, he was different. Something had changed him. He left me and his daughter almost immediately.
I followed him. I wanted to know what had happened. I discovered he had changed his name to Horace Lyons. He tried to evade me, but I stuck with it, dragging Wanda with me. The change was so sudden, I felt I had to understand it or I’d go crazy. When I interacted with him, I realized Horace Lyons wasn’t really my husband. He looked like him and talked like him, but only part of him was really Wallace.
“I don’t understand what that means,” Eliza said.
I didn’t either, at the time. I followed him all over the Midwest. I’d spy on him, and have Wanda do some of the spying, too. We noticed he always had that toy with him, that kaleidoscope. When we trailed him to this boarding house, I saw a chance to shake things up a bit, and I urged Wanda to sneak into his room and steal it. It turned out to be a huge mistake.
“He shoved his own daughter down the cesspool in response?” Eliza asked. “If he was her father, how could he do that?”
I think by that point he didn’t even recognize Wanda as his daughter, or me either…he’d transformed into Horace Lyons, and he viewed us as people he never knew, crazy people who were following him.
“You think the cult brainwashed him?”
Yes.
“So Wanda disappeared,” Eliza asked, “and you bought this place?”
I did. I assumed she had the kaleidoscope with her, wherever she was. I wanted to find her, and having the place to myself to search seemed the best way to do it. It also allowed me to keep Horace away.
I couldn’t find her, and I couldn’t find the kaleidoscope either. I knew Horace would try to search the property if I didn’t find a more permanent way to keep him out, so I decided to become a vorghost, hoping to create a vortex here. I closed the place and boarded it up. The fact that Wanda was still here, somewhere, and that cursed kaleidoscope was here too, made it impossible for my vortex to take. It didn’t help that I did it poorly; I didn’t really understand what I was doing. I was acting desperately. The vortex never properly materialized.
“How did you wind up in the wall?”
I put myself here, she said. When I realized the vortex wasn’t correct, I was worried I might not be able to control it properly, and Horace might be able to penetrate it. I sought the help of an expert — something I should have done in the first place. She helped me construct an alternative. She helped me wall myself up here.
“And you’ve managed to keep Horace out, all these years?”
Yes, at least physically. He achieved some inroads, however.
“Such as?”
I’ve kept the place haunted, to help keep people away. When Horace physically died, he designed a way to influence the ghosts here. He did it slowly; he was so quiet about it, I didn’t even realize it was happening. Over time, he turned them all against Wanda.
“Why?”
Since he couldn’t physically come onto the property to search for the kaleidoscope, he knew it would have to be located by someone still alive. He set a trap. He knew normal people would be scared away by the haunting, but he was hoping that at some point gifted people might show up, and interact with the ghosts — and be led to search for my daughter.
“He used us?”
Yes.
Eliza paused, thinking about the events of the past few days. “Now what he said to me makes sense. He wanted us to locate Wanda. The way he got us to focus on her was to turn all the ghosts against her, so they would talk about her. He also knew the kaleidoscope wasn’t on her, physically, so he guessed she had hidden it somewhere, and he hoped when we rescued her from the cesspool, she’d tell us where. Once he realized we had unearthed it and removed it from the property, it became simple for him to steal it back. We not only found it for him, we made it easy for him to take.”
So it would seem, Martha said. I tried to scare you off that first night, but of course someone who’s gifted doesn’t scare as easily as a normal person. I’ve never really had control of what the vortex has done to this place, so I couldn’t stop you from entering the haunting, and interacting with the ghosts.
“My god,” Eliza said, feeling her stomach sink. “We were played.”
You were, Martha said. At least you found my daughter. She’s gone now, isn’t she?
“Yes,” Eliza replied. “She told me what happened, and departed. It seems the other ghosts have moved on, too.”
That’s a relief, at least, Martha said. Unfortunately, Horace has won. Now that he has it back, he can keep pursuing that twisted faith that destroyed my husband. I’ve failed.
“I’m sorry for the role I played in it,” Eliza replied. “I wish I had known.”
There’s no reason for me to stay now, Martha said. If I could do it again, I wouldn’t have searched for my husband. I should have just moved on with my daughter. He abandoned me; I should have taken that as a sign that pursuing him wasn’t going to lead to anything fruitful. Martha’s eyes centered on Eliza. Part of me wants to beg you to find Horace, and stop him. But I won’t ask you to do that, you’d just be doomed to my fate. Don’t let a man drag you into anything dark, my dear. Don’t follow me. Stay strong, and never delude yourself, like I did.
Eliza saw Martha’s eyes close, and she felt an overwhelming weariness press down upon her lids. Everything darkened, and Martha’s image slowly receded until she felt irresistible sleep descend, forcing her mind to shut down.
When she awoke, she saw sunlight streaming through the windows. She turned to the nightstand; the clock read 7:38.
Power’s back on, she thought. Then she corrected herself. It was never off.
She got out of bed, wiping at the sleep in her eyes. When she stood, she turned to look at the spot she’d interacted with the night before.
A giant hole had been ripped in the wall; wallpaper and plaster had fallen into the room.
Lying on the ground was the crumpled remains of a woman, thin and mummified, her long black hair spread across the floor.
Martha, Eliza thought, kneeling next to the body. Poor, poor Martha.
Chapter Seventeen
Eliza walked up the stairs, stopping to drop into the River and scan as she went. Everything downstairs had returned to normal — normal for the River — and she was checking out the upstairs just to be thorough. So far, the place seemed fine; no dark edges, no blue mist. It all appeared exactly as she would expect it to appear — looking exactly like itself, with no variations.
And no ghosts.
She finished her scan upstairs and walked back down, finding Milton in the kitchen. He was cleaning up from breakfast.
“Well?” he asked, his hands in the sink.
“Are your guests gone?” she asked.
“They went back to their room,” Milton replied. “Seemed happy with everything.” He lowered his voice. “I checked their door very early this morning…no scratches!”
“Good,” Eliza replied. “I can’t find anything out of place, Milton. Everything seems completely normal, the exact opposite of how it was when I first arrived.”
“So, you think that might be it?” Milton asked, turning off the water in the sink and drying his hands on a dishtowel. “Problem solved?”
“I think so,” Eliza replied. “At least, whatever had been happening here. I think it was all coming from Martha, from her broken-do
wn vortex. Some from Horace, but primarily Martha. With her giving up, I think it all dissipated.”
“That’s a relief,” Milton replied, sitting at the table with her. “Now I might be able to make a go of this place!”
“There’s a small issue,” Eliza said. “Her body.”
“Body?”
“She clawed her way out of the wall last night,” Eliza replied. “She’s lying on the floor in my room. The wall’s a mess. I covered her with a blanket.”
“Do you think I should report it?” Milton said. “Or just bury her somewhere in the forest?”
“I’d tell you to bury her, but Don knows about Wanda’s bones. I don’t think Don would be a problem, but you never know who he might mention it to. Probably best to report both of them.”
“I can say there was a smell in the room from Martha,” Milton said. “How do I explain crawling into the cesspool?”
“Maybe you discovered the openings and dropped something in by accident? Needed to get it out?”
“Yeah,” Milton replied. “That might work.”
“The bodies are so old, you’ll never be suspected of anything,” Eliza replied.
“Do you want me to keep your name out of it?”
“If you can,” Eliza replied. “I can’t very well tell the cops how we figured things out; they’d never believe the truth. And I’m horrible at lying.”
“I won’t mention you or Robert or Granger.”
When Milton said Granger’s name, the mood changed a little, dampening their excitement at having exorcized the problem.
“Granger’s death is a heavy price to pay for fixing things here,” Milton said. “His brother will never forgive me.”
“Granger made up his own mind about things,” Eliza replied. “You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.”
“How about Robert?” Milton asked. “Heard from him yet?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Milton offered. “I realize you probably never had a moment of relaxation the whole time you were here.”
“I have to get back to work,” Eliza replied. “I think I’ve used up all of my sick leave.”
“Let me reimburse you,” Milton said, rising from the table.
“No,” Eliza replied. “That’s not necessary.”
Milton left the room and returned after a few moments with a checkbook. He sat next to her and opened it, sliding a clipped pen from its cover. “The least I can do.”
“Really, Milton, no,” she said as he scribbled on the check. “I didn’t do it for money.”
“I know you didn’t,” Milton replied, ripping the check from the checkbook and handing it to her.
She didn’t take it.
“I know you didn’t,” Milton repeated. “That’s why I feel such a debt of gratitude to you and Robert. And Granger. This is only a way to cover your expenses. Take it.”
She took the check and looked at it: three thousand dollars. She handed it back. “That’s ridiculous. No, I won’t take it.”
“Yes, you will,” Milton replied, closing the checkbook. “You’ve saved this place and my entire investment. Now I can build up the client base once again, and make a go of things. Do you know how valuable that is to me? Do you realize what you’ve done? That check doesn’t begin to cover it. I only wish it were more.”
“At best I’m out a hundred bucks in gas and a few meals,” she said, trying to hand it back.
“And your sick pay,” he replied.
“You must think I’m paid pretty well,” she laughed. “I don’t make this kind of money in a month!”
“I’m not taking it back,” Milton said. “If you think it’s too much, just bank the excess and save it for the next time someone needs your help. How about that?”
She looked at the check. Three thousand dollars would come in handy right now; part of her wanted to rip the check up in front of Milton, but another part wanted to save it for Shane, her younger brother, just in case of an emergency at home.
“Thank you,” she said, opting for the latter.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “And you have a standing invitation to come and stay here gratis any time you like. So long as I still own the place, of course.”
“That’s very generous,” she replied, rising from the table. “I’m going to pack up.”
“I’ll meet you at your car.”
Eliza left the table and walked back to her room. She had her toiletries back in her bag within seconds. Before she left, she turned to look at the blanket on the floor once more; under it was a lump that seemed hardly big enough to be a human being.
“Goodbye, Martha,” she said, and opened the door. “I’m sorry for how this all played out.”
In the driveway she found Milton, waiting by her car. He handed her a small paper bag with handles.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Cookies,” he replied. “It was always my plan to send people off with cookies — you know, kind of a marketing thing. Most left so angry or dissatisfied, I thought it best to just let them go, but since things are returning to normal, I’m going to try again.”
“Well, thank you!” she said, looking down into the bag. “Looks like chocolate chip!”
“And some oatmeal,” Milton replied. “I was so excited, I way over-baked.”
“There are worse things than having too many cookies around,” she replied.
They hugged, and Milton opened the door for her. She got inside and started up the car.
“Will you let me know when the funeral is?” he asked.
“If I find out.”
“Why wouldn’t you find out?”
“I don’t know. Right now I feel completely cut off. Robert might not have a funeral for him.”
“Well, if there is a service of some kind, I’m sure I’ll see you there,” Milton replied. “If not, I’ll see you the next time you come up for a vacation or something.”
“One way or the other,” she replied, and gave him a smile. She backed the car out of the driveway and left, driving slowly away from the B&B, watching it recede in her rear view mirror.
As nice as he is, she thought, I have no desire to return to that house anytime soon.
●
Over the course of the next week, she made exactly three more calls to Robert. He didn’t answer each time, so she left a voice message on his machine.
The first two attempts to reach him were much like the previous attempts: “Hi, hope you’re OK, I’d really like to hear from you to know you’re alright,” that kind of stuff. After ten days had gone by without a reply, she decided to try one more time. She wrote out her thoughts before she called, wanting to be sure she said everything that she needed to say, intending the call to be her final attempt to reach him if he didn’t respond.
The message she left hit the machine’s time limit twice, so she had to call back and leave a part two and a part three in order to say everything she wanted to communicate. Feeling already hurt and confused over how he was handling things, she worded things very carefully. She tried to convey a sense of support and caring, but at the same time let him know that she had reached the end of her rope; she’d tried to reach him multiple times, and now she was leaving the ball in his court. If he wanted to speak to her, he’d need to make the next move.
When she hung up, she thought of a half dozen other things she wanted to say, but knew she wouldn’t be calling back.
She didn’t subscribe to the Madison newspaper, but managed to wrangle the one at work each day, and check to see if an obituary would appear. It never did. Robert was unlikely to publicize his father’s death, anyway.
One evening in frustration she drove into town and parked across the street from the industrial space that was Robert’s home. She considered going to the door and knocking, but that would be at odds with what she said in her final message, and decided against it. She hoped she might see him
entering or leaving the building; it would be a relief just to know that he was still alive. It wouldn’t make things any less painful, but at least she would know he hadn’t dropped off the face of the planet.
She waited for an hour, examining her emotions while she waited. After a while she began to feel like a stalker, and decided to drive home.
Arnie, she suddenly thought. I’ll try him.
She drove to his house. It was just beginning to become dark. Lights were still on inside Arnie’s two-story craftsman, so she decided to knock.
Arnie opened the door. “Eliza!” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Do you have a moment?” she asked. “I’m kind of at my wit’s end about Robert.”
Arnie’s expression changed from surprise and delight to concern. “We’re just about to sit down to dinner. Why don’t you come in and join us.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”
“It’s not an interruption,” Arnie replied. “It’s just me and Pat, and there’s plenty. Come in. We’ll eat, and then we’ll talk.”
Arnie introduced Eliza to his wife, who seemed immediately accepting; Eliza assumed Arnie had already filled her in on what had happened with Robert. They ate dinner around a small table in the kitchen. They didn’t talk about Robert or Granger, instead discussing House on the Rock, Arnie’s cars, and the Packers. Eliza wasn’t much of a fan, but she knew enough to carry on a conversation.
As the meal wound down, Pat began to clear plates from the table. Eliza rose to help, but Pat insisted that she sit.
“I’m just gonna make you some room,” she said, pulling plates and leaving glasses. “Then I’m gonna go into the other room and watch some TV and let you two talk.”
She was gone within seconds, and Eliza turned to Arnie. “Thank you for dinner. I didn’t mean to crash.”
“I know you didn’t, and I’m glad you agreed to stay.”
“Is there a funeral? Do you know? Robert won’t return my calls. I haven’t heard anything from him at all.”
“You’re not the only one,” Arnie replied. “I have no idea if there’s going to be a funeral or if there already was one. Robert called me the day after I ran you home, and told me I needed to clear my stuff out of the space. Said to leave my key in the garage. So I did, I went over and moved my car and my tools. He wasn’t there. I left my key, like he said. Not a word since.”
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