She’d known for years that her last living relative was eccentric. That’s how she had explained it to herself, and that made room to overlook a wide range of unusual, even absurd behavior. Sure, the old woman had moments of brilliance, but hadn’t Clarressa gone out of her way to notice those while underplaying the other? But now, with this fantastic, unbelievable story, could there be any doubt that something was loose upstairs in her grandmama’s mind? She could even imagine years ago when the break in reality had happened, in an effort to make it easier for the deranged woman, her great-grandfather had them set up this system of closed circuit monitoring just to make it easier for his daughter to cope.
“Clarressa, are you all right?” Her grandmother’s voice brought her back to the present. She nodded. “Yes, Grandmama. It’s just a lot to take in, that’s all.” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Oh, my, it’s so late. I need to go. I’m supposed to meet Joseph’s parents this evening and give them the good news.” Which was a complete fabrication. She’d already met them and shared the news. Maybe she was more like her grandmother than she wanted to admit...able to create stories on the spot to justify her actions.
“Okay, dear. I understand. Thank you for coming. Your visits mean so much to me.” She reached her hand out to the camera, and after a moment's hesitation, Clarressa placed her hand on the monitor like their two palms were touching. “All I ask is that you be aware, be on the lookout. You’re at the age I was when the sight first started appearing.”
“Sure, Grandmama. I understand. I’m sure it will all be fine.” Better to placate the old woman than question her story and get her all upset. She really would have to give it some thought as to whether to continue these visits, though. After all, she had her own life to lead now with Joseph, and med school would have its set of demands. She’d just have to see. Play it by ear.
She said her final goodbyes and rushed out of the visitors room and down the hall. She was almost out in the fresh air and free when it happened. She was signing out at the nurses’ station. Her hand lay on the book with the pen in it. She gazed at the nurse as she came from the back room to release the electronic door lock. Their eyes met, and even as the polite smile began to form on her face, she could feel the shift within her, followed a second later by an explosion of light around the nurse’s body.
Clarressa squinted her eyes shut, not believing what she’d just seen, but when she reopened them, the light was even more brilliant and the information it conveyed streamed into her awareness. The woman before her was three weeks pregnant with twins, and she had a slight heart murmur left over from a case of rheumatic fever as a child that would complicate the pregnancy.
She pulled her gaze away. As she fled the premises, she wondered if she’d just committed her first three murders.
Charm House
ONE OF MY FONDEST AND clearest childhood memories is of sitting on one of the many wraparound porches so popular in the South, eating watermelon, listening to the grownups debating various topics. On such lazy summer afternoons, a favorite question often bantered back and forth was which came first? Was Charm House named after an original family whose surname was Charm, that then resulted in the family modeling the house to match its new name, or was it such an attractive house that this most appropriate name just naturally arose to any who saw it? Not that many people ever saw it. Charm House sat on a dirt road off the main thoroughfare of Foster Flat, if the small town could be accused of having such a thoroughfare.
No, Charm House sits at the end of a long, ever-narrowing, almost unnoticeable road. One would think the two large stone pillars on either side of the road’s entrance would stand out more, thus making the entrance to Charm House more observable as well, but they’ve been covered by a thick growth of English Ivy for so long that few people even know they exist. But every once in a while, a small sign appeared on the side of the road:
Charm House
Bed & Breakfast
Vacancy
That’s all it said. Seldom was it seen for more than two to three days before it just as mysteriously disappeared. Those same long term porch sitters would nod knowingly and go on with their day of gossip and napping. It was from one of those porch sitters, my great Aunt Verbena, that I learned the true secret of Charm House.
Mimi Rawlins
IN its day, Charm House had been one of the most well respected and popular boarding houses in Western North Carolina. Even though it had always been off the beaten track, word-of-mouth spread, so it was rarely vacant. Then, the War of Northern Aggression had broken out at Fort Sumter, and the isolated location of Charm House proved to be an advantage. Even the large stone pillars that marked the entrance to Charm House camouflaged themselves under a veil of ivy, and the lone sign was removed. Many years later, that very same sign would appear on rare occasions for a few days at a time. The local residents would awaken to see the sign next to one of the pillars. They’d shake their heads knowingly and make sure their loved ones knew to stay away. A few days later, the sign would be gone, and the same residents would breathe a sigh of relief.
Such was the case on a muggy summer afternoon as Sebastian Haverstock drove his ’65 Ford truck along US 25 approaching Foster Flat. It was a day of regret for Sebastian. He regretted deciding to grow a beard after returning from his second tour of duty in Viet Nam. He regretted even more not taking the time to fix the air conditioning in his truck, ignoring the advice that “it’s a lot hotter down there” from the few people who knew of his plan to travel south.
But he was on a mission to find the truth of a rumor that had haunted his family for over four generations, and hopefully, in so doing, lay the groundwork to build a new life for himself.
At the moment, he was more aware of the heat and the constant ache in his right knee, where a sizable piece of shrapnel still resided. This chronic pain was topped by the stabbing pain between his shoulder and neck, as though someone had taken the bayonet from his duffle bag and planted it in his back. He also regretted not stopping at that gas station over fifty miles back, but he was determined to make it to Foster Flat before calling it a day. Then he saw the sign:
Charm House
Bed & Breakfast
Vacancy
He knew B&B’s tended to be more expensive than Motel 6’s and the like, and making a habit of staying at them would deplete his minuscule savings. That would jeopardize his mission before completing its objective. But he also realized he’d not seen anything resembling an economy hotel in the last two hundred miles.
Besides, he’d been good so far in pinching pennies. He deserved at least one night with a decent meal and a comfortable bed, not to mention the warm feeling of home that came over him as he read the sign. As he turned onto the narrow graveled road between the two hidden pillars, the feeling of coming home grew. Strange, he thought. I’ve never lived in the south or anywhere remotely like this place. Still, the feeling grew stronger as he pulled to a stop next to the most aptly named house he’d ever seen. Everything about it reeked of charm, from the steep Victorian style roof to the emerald green shutters along each window, to the light yellow paint that looked to be in need of a touch up if not a full new coat. Probably more expensive than I can afford, he thought, as he contemplated turning around.
The thought evaporated as the front door opened and out stepped the most exotically beautiful woman he’d ever seen, dressed to match the same period as the house itself. She reminded him of Vivien Leigh’s portrayal of Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind, complete with the flaming auburn hair cascading in ringlets down to her shoulders and the dark emerald dress that matched her eyes.
It felt like he’d stepped back in time to his great-great-great grandfather’s era, which, considering his mission, made this the perfect place to launch his investigation. As he lumbered from the truck, stretching his aching back and shoulders and gingerly flexing his knee, the sign on the side of the road slowly faded into oblivion.
SEBASTIAN conti
nued to stand next to his truck waiting for the needle and pin sensation of this sleeping legs to pass. He was about to reach into the back of the cab for the duffle bag of belongings, one of the few items left over from his tour in Viet Nam, when he heard a melodic voice from the porch.
“Oh, just leave your luggage for Jasper, and come on in. I’ve just brewed a fresh pitcher of iced tea with a sprig of mint from the garden. Won’t you join me on the veranda?”
As she spoke, an ancient black man with snow white hair shuffled from around the house towards the truck.
“Yea, you just leave that for me, sir. Ol’ Jasper take good care of it. You enjoy your tea with Miss Emily.”
Sebastian hesitated. He wasn’t used to people helping him, especially not someone who looked like he might have been a youngster during the Civil War era, but finally he nodded. Tea on the veranda with Miss Emily sounded too inviting to pass up.
“Maybe I should check in first.”
“Oh, poppycock, plenty of time for that,” Miss Emily said, with a shake of her head that set her curls bouncing. “Please, join me. Afternoon tea is one of my favorite times here at Charm House.”
As Sebastian slowly made his way up the porch steps, he felt his muscles relax as the blood started flowing again. Even his knee, which had ached pretty much continuously for the past eighteen months since returning from the war, felt better than he could recall in recent memory.
“And what brings you to these parts, Mr...?” his hostess asked as she poured him a tall glass of tea.
“Haverstock, Sebastian Haverstock,” he replied, feeling suddenly bashful around such a lovely lady.
“My, what a distinguished name,” Ms. Emily replied, as she offered him a dish with sprigs of mint and wedges of lemon.
“Yes, well, it once was, I guess.” Sebastian took a slice of lemon but passed on the mint. “It’s part of what brought me here, but it’s a long story. No need to bore you with it.”
“Oh, please, Mr. Haverstock, let me be the one to decide if it’s boring or not. Please do tell. We love our stories down here in the South.”
“Okay, but only if you promise to call me Sebastian.”
“Agreed.” Miss Emily poured herself a glass, took both the lemon and mint and dropped them in her glass, then sat down in the chair across from his. “You were saying?”
“My great-great-great grandfather fought in the Civil War and was stationed in these parts. He was only in his mid-twenties, but had already made a name for himself for valor and excellent leadership skills. He was one of the youngest lieutenants ever to receive a field commission, but then something happened. He and several of his men disappeared. They were eventually reported as deserters, but no one knew for sure what happened. They were part of Sherman’s March to the Sea and, well, no one had much inclination to investigate.”
“Until now,” Miss Emily said.
“Until now,” Sebastian confirmed. “I know it sounds crazy. It was all so long ago, but that black mark has followed our family around for generations. It’s time someone put it to rest.”
“I understand,” Miss Emily replied. “It was such a trying time for so many people...least that’s what I’ve read. I’ve always had a keen interest in that period of history. So, when I found this place still standing after so many years, I felt it would be fun to recreate a little sliver of history here. You could say it’s my memorial to the many brave men and women who suffered and died during the War of Northern Aggression.”
Seeing the reaction to the southern name for the Civil War on Sebastian’s face, she quickly added. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How careless of me. That’s what most people call it down here. Unfortunately, some wounds never seem to heal completely.” She smiled and gently placed her hand on his wrist. “Will you please forgive my thoughtlessness?”
Sebastian felt a warm tingle where their hands touched. It melted away his anger like an ice cube in the sun. “No offense intended, so none taken,” he replied, and was surprised at the level of disappointment he felt when she removed her hand from his.
“Whenever you’re ready to check in, just let me know,” Miss Emily said, as he rose from the table. “I must check on tonight’s dinner. I do hope you’ll be able to join me.” She pointed to a set of double doors. “I’m afraid our dining room is currently in the midst of renovation, so we’ll need to eat out here on the veranda. Will six give you enough time?”
“Six will be fine,” he replied, still enjoying the tingle of her touch.
“Good. Jasper will be along in just a few minutes to show you to your room. Until this evening,” she nodded, and with a swirl of petticoats, she glided into the house.
PREPARING these special dinners is an art form, Emily thought, as she studied the chalkboard she used to make up the menu. Each one needed to be specially prepared for the person who would be partaking in it. Too much of the wrong ingredient could be dangerous, while too little would simply delay the results, and she wasn’t interested in delaying anything.
“Especially not with our Mr. Haverstock,” she muttered. Something wasn’t right. She wasn’t sure why he’d been attracted here by the sign, but the normal feeling of rightness of such subjects appearing was definitely missing. “What do you have in mind?” she asked to the air, as she pulled an old coffee canister from the topmost shelf and gently measured out a couple teaspoons of its ingredients.
“This for the soup, and this...” she measured out two more teaspoons, “will be for the after dinner port...just in case.”
Haverstock was not a big man, but by feeling his pulse, she realized he had a strong constitution, so before putting the canister away, she added another teaspoon to the portion that would go into his soup. She’d keep an eye on his reaction and distract him from his meal if it became apparent she’d miscalculated.
“You know I really hate this part of our partnership,” she turned and spoke to the ceiling as though speaking to the heavens. “It’s such an inconvenience to my daily routine.” But even as she spoke she knew this was a necessary part of her life. If she wanted to continue to enjoy the benefits, she occasionally would need to suffer the inconvenience of such times. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad arrangement. Come to think of it, it was a more than fair exchange.
She went back to her dinner preparation, unaware of the eyes that spied upon her from the window.
THE light tapping on the door was so soft that Sebastian wasn’t sure he’d even heard it, but after a few seconds, it repeated slightly louder, followed by a gravelly voice. “Mr. Sebastian, dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”
Sebastian strolled over to the door. Opening it, he found a hunched over Jasper. “May I escort you down?” the old man asked, avoiding looking at him.
“Sure, Jasper. I’m looking forward to it.”
The two men started down the hall to the stairs. As they walked, Jasper asked, “Are you hungry, sir?”
“I’ll say. The egg biscuit I had on the road this morning is long gone.”
Jasper nodded and didn’t say anything else until they’d almost reached the veranda, where he turned to him and for the first time looked directly at the younger man.
“Sir, I’d avoid the soup and port.”
“What?” Sebastian asked, but the old man had already turned away and was shuffling down the hall to his quarters.
Had he heard correctly? Avoid the soup and port? What was that all about? Did the old man know his employer’s culinary limits? But what could be wrong with enjoying a little port after dinner? But there’d been something in the soft-spoken voice that demanded his attention. It reminded him of one of his commanding officers, who spoke in a similarly soft voice with a southern twang, but was able to convey a level of authority that few other men possessed.
So, despite his hostess’s insistence and his growling stomach, he deferred from eating more than a spoonful of soup and declined the invitation to an after dinner drink. As the course of the evening progressed, his
normally convivial hostess’s mood darkened, only confirming to Sebastian that whatever was going on, it was probably a very good idea he’d followed Jasper’s warning.
He excused himself as soon as he could, only to meet with a cold stare and an even colder, curt response to sleep well. Despite how tired he felt, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep a wink. As he strolled through the lobby, his gaze wandered to the double doors leading to the dining room that was supposedly in the midst of being remodeled. He wondered what was really behind those doors that Miss Emily preferred he not see.
THE dream started in the rice fields of Viet Nam as his unit patrolled through the area, attempting to flush out a suspected unit of Viet Cong. Every one of his senses was on high alert. He could feel the cold drops of sweat meander down his back. Every sound was a possible sign of an impending attack; every movement deserved closer scrutiny. His mind shouted, Warning! Warning!
Then the dream shifted to a much earlier time in his life. He was now a young boy, no more than twelve or thirteen. It was his first visit to the ocean, and even though the water temp was still cold, he’d vowed he would swim beyond the breakers. He knew he was a good swimmer, but swimming in the ocean was a whole different experience than swimming in a pool or even a lake, where the largest creature sharing the water would be a largemouth bass or a snapping turtle.
But the ocean was different. He’d heard stories about the many creatures that inhabited the ocean, from Moray eels to barracudas, to the most notorious of all — killer sharks. Still, he rationalized these were just stories that his friends had enjoyed sharing with him when they’d heard his family had planned their vacation on the Cape. No one really ever saw these ocean predators, right? After all, look at all the other swimmers enjoying a cooling dip. True, most of them were staying much closer to shore, but that was so they could enjoy tumbling among the breakers.
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Page 8
