All the rationalization flew from his mind at the first sight of the dorsal fin cutting through the water a mere twenty yards from him. Warning! Danger! Get out of the water! his entire body shouted to him, the adrenaline coursing through his body like an electric shock. He was just turning in the opposite direction to swim to shore when, once again, the dream flashed to another scene, a much more recent one.
It was of two doors—the doors of Charm House that led to the dining room. But something was different about them this time for they were open, but the other side was dark and revealed few details. Even so, he felt the same level of danger and foreboding as he had from the other two scenes. There was danger here as well, but it accompanied a second feeling — one equally strong and demanding of his attention. Curiosity. He had to know what was behind those doors, no matter how dangerous it might be.
He awoke with a start in a cold sweat that had become his regular nighttime companion these last several months since returning from the war. He sat up in bed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He knew there was little chance of falling back to sleep, at least for a couple hours. His heart was racing too hard, and he could still feel the adrenaline rushing through his body.
Well, no time like the present to handle the curiosity. He remembered the old phrase his mother often recited to him as a child: “Curiosity killed the cat,” and his regular response back to her, “But satisfaction brought it back.” He would have satisfaction tonight.
He dug the flashlight out from the bottom of his duffle bag, threw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and slipped into his tennis shoes. They’d be quieter than the army boots he normally wore. He crept downstairs, testing his footing on each of the steps of the stairs to avoid any that might creak too loudly. He first confirmed that the doors were locked before walking over to the counter where he’d checked in. He rummaged through the drawers until he came upon a set of keys, then returned to try each one in the lock. He hit the jackpot on the sixth key that turned easily. He left the keys dangling from the door as he stepped in and closed them behind him. Turning around, he shined the light around the room, confirming that indeed it was a dining room as Miss Emily had indicated, but not one in the midst of renovation. In fact, it looked like it had been perfectly preserved in time, complete with dinner guests.
SIX OF THE EIGHT CHAIRS that encircled the mahogany table were occupied — each with a man dressed in the blue uniform of the Union Army. The customarily deep blue color was muted by a cocoon, like a caterpillar might form in the process of transforming into a butterfly or a spider might weave around its victim to preserve it after killing it.
Sebastian stared in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat as he jerked the light from one form to another and then to another. He stopped at the last form, which sat at the head of the table. He could just make out through the cocoon the epaulets on each shoulder indicating this one to be an officer. He continued to stare at the grotesque figure for several seconds, all his senses once again on high alert. Finally, confirming that all was still quiet, he walked slowly over to the head figure frozen in time. The man’s face was turned to one side as though engaged in a conversation with his comrade to his right. It was hard to make out the details of his face through the silk-like fabric of the cocoon, so after another moment of hesitation, Sebastian reached out to pull the material away from the man’s face.
He was shocked by the degree to which the features had been preserved through the decades by the cocoon, but even more dismayed when he recognized the face before him. He’d looked at a similar face in the mirror almost every day of his adult life. The officer was his great-great-great-grandfather — his namesake, the first Sebastian Haverstock, first lieutenant of the Union Army.
Clearly his ancestor had not been a deserter. He’d been taken prisoner by one of the most sinister citizens of the Confederacy, but who had that been? But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. As hard as it was to believe, Miss Emily had to be the culprit. Hadn’t she alluded to the fact that she knew the trials and tribulations of that time in history? But how could that be? How could someone live for well over a hundred years and still look so young and beautiful?
“I see you took my advice,” a raspy voice whispered from behind him.
Sebastian turned with a start to find Jasper standing just inside the doorway, where one door stood open just wide enough for the old man to enter.
“Yes,” Sebastian replied as he moved the flashlight beam from the old man’s face down to his chest so as not to blind him further. “But how did you know?”
“You’re awake,” came the simple reply.
“And if I’d eaten the soup or sipped the port?”
“You’d be asleep and well on your way to joining these gentlemen and several dozen others.”
“What is the hell is going on here?”
Jasper did not reply at first, but instead shuffled further into the room, closing the door behind him. Finally, he turned back to Sebastian and replied. “I’m not sure, but it appears that the house is considering a new custodian.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not interested in replacing you.”
The old man chuckled. “No, no. I’m not the custodian, merely her assistant.”
“You mean, Miss Emily is the custodian?” It was as much a question as a statement.
“Yep, for the past, oh, hundred and fifty or so years. I’m mostly along for the ride and to take care of some of the physical requirements around here.” He shuffled closer to Sebastian and in a conspiratorial voice whispered, “But their partnership hasn’t been going well lately, so it feels to me that the house is considering a change.” He cocked his head to one side and peered at Sebastian. “Let me ask you. You feeling any different since you’ve been here?”
“No, not really...” Sebastian started to reply, then stopped. “Come to think of it, I am feeling different. My right knee is virtually pain-free. So is my lower back. I’m feeling more rested and energetic as well.”
Jasper nodded. “Yep, just as I thought. The house wants you to take over.”
“Now wait just a minute. How can a house want anything? You’re pulling my leg, right?”
Jasper chuckled again. “If you say so. However, if you do decide to take the house up on its offer, you’ll need to demonstrate your commitment to the partnership.”
“And how would I do that?” Sebastian asked.
“By getting rid of the current custodian,” came the simple reply. “And if you think that’s too harsh, consider this. Our beautiful Miss Emily has killed dozens of people over these many years — brutally and without remorse. You’ll find the rest of the bodies in the basement. You will simply be bringing justice to the situation.” He turned to leave, but stopped with his hand on the door knob. “Just remember, I come with the package. I’ll take good care of you and the house. I just need a little ‘maintenance energy exchange’ — perhaps a little more than Miss Emily was ever willing to share.”
Sebastian paused to try to decipher what the old man had said, but when he went to ask what the hell a ‘maintenance energy exchange’ was, Jasper had already disappeared.
DESPITE the bizarre happenings of the night, Sebastian found he was able to sleep, though fitfully, as he dreamed of death and killing. As a soldier for much of his adult life, he was not a foreigner to killing. He’d killed several times while in Viet Nam, including during hand-to-hand combat, where he was able to look into the eyes of the enemy as he slipped his bayonet into the abdomen and then up into the heart, and then watch as the life force seeped from the young man’s face. But that had been in self-defense and in defense of his country.
But hadn’t Miss Emily already demonstrated her intention to end his life? Hadn’t she started all this when she’d killed his ancestor and his men? He’d not bothered to go down to the basement last night to confirm Jasper’s claim that dozens of other bodies would be found there, but he had little reason to doubt
the old man at this point.
Much to his surprise, he awoke to find himself well rested and energized despite the events of the night before. In fact, he felt better than he could remember feeling in years. Not only was the pain in his knee and lower back completely gone, but when he looked in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, he could swear he looked ten years younger. Granted, the last decade of his life had been hard lived, and it had shown on his face, but not today. Could this be how Charm House rewarded its custodian? Take care of me and, in turn, I’ll take care of you?
He was still undecided what to do as he strolled downstairs to breakfast.
MISS EMILY WAS JUST putting a plate of pancakes on the veranda’s table beside a fresh pot of coffee. She wore a housecoat straight from the Civil War era, but what was most noticeable about her appearance was that she no longer looked like a vibrant young woman, but had aged by at least a decade, and her mood reflected the change.
“You’ll need to be moving on as soon as you’ve eaten your breakfast,” came her curt comment without so much as a good morning or how are you doing.
“Why’s that?” Sebastian asked, trying not to stare at her, but finding his gaze returning to her haggard face, her hair dull with edges of gray.
Miss Emily whirled on him, her eyes ablaze with anger. “You’re not wanted here, Mr. Haverstock. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Well, I guess that’s a trait of us Haverstocks.” The words blurted out before he could stop them, and along with them, his own anger. “But then, that’s not always our fault, is it?” he continued.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied with a waver in her voice, then suddenly turned on him, thrusting out with her claw-like hands at his eyes.
Sebastian’s military instincts took over as he deflected her hands with one forearm and in the same motion, grabbed the knife that was part of the table’s place setting. Inside her defenses now, he closed the remaining space between them and, with one smooth motion, jabbed the knife into her, just under the solar plexus and then jerked it in an upward direction to her heart, just as he’d done with the Viet Cong. The result was the same. She gasped from the sudden pain, a look of shock on her aging face, then she slumped towards him. He caught her and slowed her fall to the floor. As he watched the light of vitality drain from her face, he whispered in her ear, “That’s for Lieutenant Haverstock.” As she lay on the floor, the aging process continued. He turned away. He preferred remembering her as he’d first seen her — a lovely southern belle inviting him for tea on the veranda.
Suddenly, Jasper was at his side. “We’ll take over from here,” the old man said. “Why don’t you take a walk and look over the grounds.”
Sebastian nodded. He no longer had much of an appetite. At the steps leading off the veranda, he felt compelled to look back one last time to where Miss Emily lay. He noticed a thin veneer of silk had already started to form on her still frame.
The next several days were busy for Sebastian as he started cleaning up his new home. Several places, the ivy had gotten out of hand and needed to be trimmed back, plus there were several areas in need of a new coat of paint. Finally, he built up the nerve to re-enter the dining room. where he found the former hostess once again serving her first guests — frozen in time for all eternity.
Babble
THE EXCITEMENT ANGIE and Brian Cagle felt at the arrival of their baby boy could be seen on the young couple’s faces for days after the delivery. In fact, the whole Charismatic Christian Church community located just outside the town line of Foster Flat was ecstatic with the arrival of their bundle of joy. Everyone who saw Baby Bobbie said he looked just like his mother, even though he had bright blue eyes while Angie’s were brown, and his head full of blonde curls contrasted with her dark brown hair. Still, Angie smiled politely every time the remark was made.
I wasn’t really into babies myself, having just broken up with my first boyfriend and vowing never to marry or have children. But my best friend, Kendra Gardner, well, she just loves children of all ages, and so she’s the one that told me about Baby Bobbie. The story may be strange, but I’m certain that it’s true because Kendra would never lie about such a thing—especially not to her best friend.
Mimi Rawlins
BABY Bobbie was a welcome addition to the Cagle family and the community until the strange babbling began at nine months of age. At first, Angie and Brian tried to convince themselves that he was just struggling to say “Da-Da,” or “Ma-Ma,” even though none of his utterings sounded the least bit like baby talk. They weren’t overly concerned. After all, everything else seemed to be progressing at a normal, or even slightly above normal, rate. He started rolling over on his stomach at six months and started responding to his name shortly after that. But around nine months, his normal baby talk began to sound like complete sentences, but in some language neither parent had ever heard. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Brian finally confessed he’d heard something similar years ago when his great aunt started speaking in tongues during a particularly inspiring church service.
He only confessed this to Angie after being confronted by Emily Kilpatrick, the much younger wife of Pastor John Kilpatrick, during one of her many visits to their home.
“Why, Brian, this is truly a miracle from God, don’t you know?” Emily said, as she gazed at Baby Bobbie with a mixture of awe and fear. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you? You’ve heard it before. I know you have. You were there on that miraculous night when the hand of God touched your great aunt.”
“What is she talking about?” Angie asked, as she walked into the room carrying a tray of mugs, with coffee threatening to slosh all over the floor.
Brian smiled nervously at his wife, then back to Emily. “Yes, I was there, but I don’t know that this is the same...”
“...Well, you know it is, sweetie,” Emily interrupted, as was her custom to do whenever she was excited, which was most of the time. “It’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. The Lord has simply chosen your son earlier than usual. I say hallelujah to that.”
“Brian, what is she talking about?” Emily asked again, this time emphatically demanding an answer.
“She’s suggesting that Bobbie might be speaking in tongues,” he replied, then coughed nervously.
“What in the...” Angie stopped herself with a nervous glance at their pastor’s wife. “I mean, what are you talking about?”
“Speaking in tongues,” Brian repeated impatiently. “Many charismatics consider it ‘sacred language,’” he continued.
“Oh, Lord, honey. Listen to you go on. Of course, it’s sacred language. Your son has been touched by the hand of God, and you’re doubting it. I can’t wait to tell Pastor John about this. He’ll be so pleased.”
“Ahh, I wish you wouldn’t say anything,” Brian said, as he walked over and picked up his son. “Least not until we know more.”
“Oh, sure, I understand,” Emily replied. “But it’s not something to be ashamed of, dear. It’s something to celebrate.” She took a sip of coffee, then placed the mug back on the tray. “Well, I need to run. Have several other families to visit before prayer meeting tonight.”
After she’d left, Angie and Brian stared at each other. “She’s going to tell, isn’t she?” Angie finally asked.
“Oh, yeah, you can count on it. By this time tomorrow, everyone will know. Shoot, I wouldn’t be surprised if the three major news channels weren’t sitting on our doorstep by morning.”
Brian looked down at his son, now asleep in his arms. “That would have been a good time to keep your special gift to yourself,” he said, as he gently rubbed the young boy’s head.
“Everyone come to the dining room. We’re about to bring Bobbie’s cake to him,” Angie shouted above the crowd noise as she placed the second candle onto the chocolate fudge cake.
Elder Jacobs leaned over to Pastor John and chuckled, “Hard to believe Babbling Bobbie has been with us two
years already.”
“What did you just call him?” Pastor John asked, with a scowl of disapproval. “I sure wouldn’t let Angie or Brian hear you refer to their blessed son in that way.”
“Sorry, Pastor, of course not,” Jacobs replied, his face reddening with embarrassment. “Let’s get a slice of that cake. Angie makes the best desserts in the whole community.” He quickly walked off to get away from Pastor John’s wrath.
Everyone filed into the spacious dining room, but despite its large size, there wasn’t enough room to accommodate everyone in attendance, so the overflow crowded around the entranceway to get a glance at the cake and the young boy who’d made such an impression on their community since his arrival.
Rumors of Bobbie’s gift had spread beyond their community as well. In fact, in the last year, the size of Pastor John’s congregation had grown by over fifty percent, which was one reason the elderly Pastor felt protective of this young miracle.
“Here it comes,” someone shouted, and a moment later, the crowd gathered around the kitchen door divided to let Angie through holding the oversized cake with two large candles burning on top.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...” everyone began to sing. Bobbie’s eyes grew larger as he saw the cake. He waved his arm in time to the beat of the song.
“He’s such a dear...look at him...what a smile...” everyone cooed over their favorite new addition. But, as the song ended, and Angie placed the chocolate covered cake in front of her son, something changed, first on Bobbie’s face and then radiating out to the crowd like a vibratory wave moving out from the epicenter of a major earthquake.
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Page 9
