by G. F. Frost
When she clicked on the pictures, the large images showed a face in the glowing mist. It looked like Marie’s face! It was definitely a woman’s face.
“You got it! You got it!” Massey yelled.
Father Patrick squinted his eyes as he pushed his face closer to the screen. Massey pulled the glasses off her nose and handed them to him. He looked silently at the photo.
“There was nothing there when I went out there. I was standing close, there was nothing! I don’t understand. It that a woman’s face? It’s a face, right?” I don’t like it. I swear to you, there was nothing when I walked to the graveyard,” he sounded desperate and confused.
“This proves it, doesn’t it, Father? We have proof. I’m not crazy. This stuff is really happening. I cannot believe it.” Massey peered at the picture.
“At least it’s a start. Now maybe I have something that I can take to the Arch Diocese to convince them,” Father Patrick said.
They flipped between the two pictures for over an hour. They said the same things again and again. Massey even printed a large copy of the photograph on photo paper so that Father Patrick could take it with him. They both were on edge. Massey soon brought blankets, a comforter, and pillows from her room. Father Patrick looked up and shook his head.
“We’ll pretend it’s a slumber party. I don’t want to sleep upstairs alone. Do you mind?” she asked.
He shook his head again. Actually, he understood perfectly. The pictures had a huge affect on both of them. As excited as they were to have something concrete to prove to themselves and others, they also knew now that something was really there. Something was haunting Lovesong House, but they had no idea what they should do.
“I’m going to go to New Orleans tomorrow and speak to some people who may be able to help us. I need someone to come back with me to bless the house and the grounds and cemetery,” Father Patrick said as he jotted notes in his note pad.
Massey nodded. She was busy making her bed on the floor in front of the fireplace. Father Patrick glanced at her as she worked and saw the bundle of soft blankets and comforters piled one on top of the other. He wished now that Massey had taken the sofa. He was exhausted and knew that he had to get rest at any cost to be fresh for the day he faced.
The small light over the stove was on so that they would not be in total darkness. It barely threw any light into the foyer from the kitchen, but it was enough to make them feel a bit safe. Massey knew that the young priest was as nervous as she was. She admired how he was standing by her. She knew he had a lot to lose.
Both of them had trouble going to sleep, but even as tired as Father Patrick was, Massey managed to doze off first. Massey once again slept like a baby, but Father Patrick experienced the worst dream yet. It lasted the remainder of the night, and it would be something that forever changed his life.
* * * *
As he fell further and further into the deepest part of his sleep, Father Patrick saw himself rising from the sofa and walking up the stairs of Lovesong House. He entered Theo and Massey’s bedroom and walked towards the mirror. He tried to wake himself because he did not want to see the figures in the mirror. He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. Something from behind him was forcing him closer and closer. His face was nearly touching the antique glass when he stopped. They came once more, and this time they came for Father Patrick.
Chapter Eleven
Marie again reached her small pale hand towards him, and as she reached through the glass, taking his hand with her cold hand, she pulled him into her world. Father Patrick resisted with everything in him, but he had no will of his own.
The world inside the mirror was dark and cold. Marie let Father Patrick’s hand drop and she floated towards her husband. Joseph smiled as his bride approached. They drifted farther away leaving Father Patrick standing at a distance, immobile and cold.
They turned to him and he saw tears in their eyes. The darkness around them fell away and a room with windows and furniture and wallpaper appeared. They were standing side by side in Theo and Massey’s bedroom, only everything had changed. The bed was different, the walls, the curtains. It looked new but very old. It looked expensive but otherworldly. They looked down into a cradle of some sort. Marie began to sob as she fell to her knees. Joseph reached down to comfort her. She began to scream. The sobs and screams became louder until they were unbearable.
Joseph tried and tried to pull his wife from the cradle, but she would not budge. He turned to the priest. His eyes pleaded for help. Marie turned to face Father Patrick. Her screams and wails were relentless. She floated towards him.
Father Patrick tried desperately to free himself from his confines and run, but he could not move. His feet felt as if they were glued to the black floor. He watched in horror as Marie moved closer and closer, screaming louder and louder until she began to tear at her face. She scratched and tore all the flesh from her face and only skull remained. She was holding the flesh of her beautiful face in her own hands!
“Help us, Father!” she shrieked as she clawed at her eyes. Father Patrick began to scream.
* * * *
Massey shook Father Patrick as hard as she could, but he was screaming at the top of his lungs. He was sitting up on the end of the sofa screaming. She couldn’t wake him. Suddenly, she slapped him hard in the face. He collapsed and began to cry.
“You were dreaming, Father. A dream!” Massey yelled before she realized what she was saying.
He ran to the restroom and bent over the toilet. He began to heave. Massey followed close behind. She pulled the small towel from its holder and wet it. Reaching down, she wiped his face. Father Patrick took the towel from her and sat on the bathroom floor.
“It’s beyond me, Massey! I don’t know what to do! I’m not strong enough!” he said as tears flowed down his cheeks.
“Come on, let’s go outside and get some air,” Massey said.
He stood and wiped his eyes as he followed her outside. The cool air and bright lights of the porch felt good. He sat in the rocker and looked at Massey. She told him to keep it to himself right now and to concentrate on anything but the dream. He could talk about it later. She began to tell him stories about her childhood, how she and Theo fell in love. She tried to think of anything that would get his mind off the dreams. Her heart broke for him. What she had done?
* * * *
By the time the morning light came into the parlor, Massey had gathered Father Patrick’s things and told him that she didn’t want him to return that night. She felt that she had dragged him into something destructive. She didn’t know what dreams had come to him last night, but she knew they must have been horrendous.
“I can’t leave you here alone with this. What kind of man would I be? What kind of priest? What kind of friend?” Father Patrick argued.
“You can come back, just give yourself a day or two,” Massey replied.
Father Patrick nodded and went to the barn to get his car. Massey hated seeing him drive away. She felt the weight that he was carrying under his collar. Her heart went out to the kind man. She honestly felt that her experiences with Father Patrick were just beginning. She had to help him, help her.
Theo called every day to check on Massey. He asked her how things were going, and she told him about the Thanksgiving part plans, and made small talk. She never mentioned Father Patrick. Even though Theo wouldn’t mind his staying at the house, he would be concerned about what they were going through. He would never believe her, and he would be worried. She had never kept so many secrets from her husband. It wasn’t a good feeling.
After making her daily phone call to Sadie, Massey went into the study and looked at the pictures from the night before. She wondered if Father Patrick had called the Arch Diocese. She wondered if he had made an appointment to see someone about the happenings at her home. She was concerned that she may be putting him in a touchy situation with the Church.
The face in the picture was clearly Marie. No on
e else would know, but Massey knew without a doubt. She recognized the dark eyes and sad expression. She sat down at the desk and looked again. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It made her heart race again. Is this why no one else lived in the house for very long after Tattienne? Had Tattienne seen things in the house too? Is that why she kept all the mirrors covered? Is that why she’d put Joseph and Marie’s special belongings away in a safe? Massey still had so many questions.
Father Patrick had not called, and it was getting late. Massey wanted to hear about his dream. Recalling the way he’d screamed in his sleep last night, she knew that it must have been frightful. She knew the feelings of terror those dreams brought in sleep and long after she awoke.
Poor Father, she thought.
Jenkins didn’t want to come back in that evening. Massey had to call and call him to get him inside. She didn’t feel very patient tonight. Dark was approaching, and Father Patrick hadn’t phoned. She didn’t know whether to call him or not. After all, she was the one who told him to stay away a while. Maybe he was just heeding her advice.
Massey stayed up late watching television. She loved having the company of old Jenkins, but she missed Theo. She always felt alone without him. The huge house seemed twice as big with Theo gone. Massey decided to go on up for her bath and get to bed.
She had stayed up much later than usual. The warm water of the bath made her sleepy. She almost fell asleep in the tub. After her bath, she only dried her hair partially. She got into bed in only a pajama top and undies. No one was in the house tonight but her and Jenkins. Why not be comfortable?
Jenkins was uneasy about something that night. He wouldn’t stop pacing and panting. He didn’t want to lie on his pillow beside the bed. Massey had to fuss a bit to make him settle down. He whined as he lay down. She snuggled under the mound of blankets and dozed off.
Massey had not wanted to think about the dreams that day. She tried to forget them or she knew that she would never sleep. If she had known what dreams were coming, she would have never closed her eyes. The past lives within Lovesong House were stirring again, and they were about to drag Massey into their realm.
* * * *
As her breathing became deep and rhythmic, the dream came. It started as usual. Marie and Joseph appeared to her, but this time they were within the mirror. They beckoned her as they had Father Patrick. As she came closer to the mirror, she noticed her home. She could see it from the drive, but it looked different. The oaks on each side of the drive were smaller; the ironwork around the porches was fresh and new. There were men working in the land behind the house. She could see that they were using hoes to dig through the ground.
Massey suddenly realized that she was seeing Lovesong House years ago. The old barn was painted red. It was new with horses standing near it. A carriage was inside. There were horses and cattle grazing on the adjacent land near the barn. Massey could see through the windows that there were people in the house stirring about.
An African American woman opened the front door and stepped onto the front veranda. She wore a turban on her head and an apron covered her long full skirts. She carried a large silver tray of drinks and sat them on a table. She was humming a tune as she walked to pluck a camellia from the yard. She placed it in a vase on the table. Massey watched in amazement.
The woman returned to the house and another woman came out. She was dressed in a full dress with a long billowing skirt. She wore a lace shawl across her shoulders.
Massey tried to step closer, but she could not move. The lady stepped to the edge of the veranda and looked out across the yard as if looking for someone. Her hair was very black and long with gentle curls pulled back away from her beautiful face. She reached a hand down to her chest and picked up a locket that lay upon the shawl. She smiled.
Massey gasped. She realized it was Marie. She was one of the most beautiful women Massey had ever seen. She walked delicately to a chair on the veranda. Once again, she looked across the lawn. As she sat back, she began to slowly rock the chair and sing. Her voice was soft and sweet. Massey recognized the song. It was the one she had heard in her home! She tried again to move towards the lady. She could not.
As Marie sat rocking and singing, she reached for the camellia on the table. She brought it to her nose and breathed deeply. Then, she lifted it to her hair and stuck it behind an ear. The white flower looked as though it were grown to be placed just there on Marie’s head. The black soft curly hair fell long across her shoulders.
The sound of horses’ hooves loping up the drive interrupted her lovely song. Marie stood up from her chair and waved. She ran to the steps and waved again. A tall, dark-haired man leapt from the horse and ran to her. He kissed her hand and then her lips, and swept her up into his arms, twirling her around. She laughed and sang to him as they swayed. When he gently sat her down, he took the flower from her hair and took a deep breath as he placed it before his face. Then, he stuck it back behind her ear and kissed her again. It was Joseph.
As he sat in the chair at the table across from Marie, he lifted a glass to his lips. They were speaking to one another and laughing. Massey could not make out what they were saying. He could not take his eyes off Marie. After a few drinks from her glass, Marie rose and walked to her husband. She lowered herself to the floorboards and sat at his feet. She looked up at him as she laid her lovely head on his knee. He gently touched her head and began to stroke it. After whispering a few words to her, she rose and he took her hand and walked with her to the door. Once at the door, they turned and looked directly at Massey and smiled. Massey awoke.
She rose up and sat up in the bed. She was not wet with perspiration. She was not trembling. She felt that she had just had a glimpse into the lives of Lovesong House long ago. She was mesmerized. The dream had seemed so real. Everything was vivid and in color, as though she was witnessing it as it had actually occurred. Even awake, Massey had the feeling that she had been there. A part of her wanted to go back.
The ceiling fan over the four-poster bed was churning the warm air as Massey slipped off the edge and pulled on her pajama bottoms. She walked over to the old mirror and peered into it. Only her sleepy eyes looked back. She laughed at the way her hair bunched like a bird nest on the left side of her head. Jenkins wagged his tail as she giggled. The mirror seemed harmless tonight. Thank goodness.
* * * *
The alarm clock numbers flipped over to four-sixteen, and Massey glanced towards the machine wondering what Theo was doing. She never knew what time it was in England. She thought about giving him a call. She decided not to. Dragging her feet across the cool floor towards the bathroom, Massey thought of Marie with her head on Joseph’s knee. She thought of the look in Marie’s eyes when she looked at Joseph. Massey understood that look.
“Damn, it was just a dream, girl. Get over it,” she said jokingly to herself.
Massey knew it was not just a dream. She knew there was more to it. She knew it meant something. She just knew it.
The bathroom tiles were cold, and Massey hurried across them and back to the bed as soon as she was finished at the toilet. She wanted to get back into the cuddly warm bed and go back to sleep. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep again. She slept until she heard the proverbial whine. Jenkins was Massey’s new alarm clock. She knew what his whine meant. “Wake up, Mommy, I gotta pee!”
She never got out of bed with the first whine. It took a couple more before she began to feel sorry for the big mutt. By the time she had her robe on, Massey heard Jenkins jumping at the front door. He ran outside as she walked to the driveway and retrieved the morning paper. She sat on the steps and opened the paper uninterested, but it gave Jenkins his time. Yawning, she called him in and began her day. She couldn’t get the dream out of her head. She decided today would be a good day to start a journal. It may be helpful, she thought.
It took Massey a while to find Theo’s favorite work boots. He had tucked them beside the washer in the laundry room. S
he pulled them on and tromped like Frankenstein in the heavy boots out to the barn. I was cold as she stepped outside, but the forecast called for sunshine, so she knew it would warm up before long.
Unlocking the barn door was easy now. Theo had replaced the rusty old lock with a new one. The mound of dirt that was once in the way, had been leveled, and Mister Grant had cleaned away all the wasp nests and cobwebs. Massey decided to open both the enormous doors to the barn and let the sunshine in. She loved looking through the antique tools and equipment. She couldn’t resist climbing up on the old tractor and sitting high on its rusty metal seat. She couldn’t imagine that this thing had ever run. It was ancient. She climbed down and began to look on the shelves and in the pieces of furniture still stored there. There was no sign of a safe.
After spending a couple of hours in the big old building, she decided there was not going to be any treasure found there. Mister Grant had done a great job of organizing the place. It would have made even Old MacDonald proud. She pulled on the heavy wooden doors until they closed. The padlock snapped closed and she turned the key. She didn’t have to spend much time searching there. If there were a safe, it was not in the barn.
Massey found Jenkins with his front paws up the side of an oak tree. He was poised and silent. His tail pointed straight behind him. He had something treed. Massey looked up the tree and saw a squirrel sitting on a branch not too far above them. It was swishing its tail and making a clicking sound at Jenkins.
“You’re lucky he can’t climb, Mister Squirrel,” Massey said to the small rodent as she looked up into the branches.
Jenkins gave a couple of sharp barks, and Massey jumped.
