“I’d rather die than take advice from that Salem witch-bitch,” Barbara whispered to herself, always using her full first name, refusing to ever refer to her as ‘Mother’ or even by the requested ‘Dona’, which is what everyone else called her.
No matter, she thought, Patti will fix my hair right up…if I can get myself to just go inside. Her eyes moved over the elegant, three-story building that reminded her of the lovely Queen Anne houses in her hometown of Savannah, Georgia. It was painted in the same style, with an accent color on all the columns and windows. The difference was, the houses in Savannah were lovely pastels and bright hues of pink, blue, yellow, and green and the pretty wood details were made to look like white lace. This house, standing out from the rest of the Lafayette Street buildings, was painted a dark gray with a deep purple trim accenting the wood workings. The design was not intricate in the way the Queen Anne homes were in Savannah, but this house was striking, none-the-less, with its rounded, three-story tower, and half-moon window above the porch. The tower made her think of The Haunting, which she, Patti, and Stella had seen at least three times at the Paramount on Essex Street. This house was nowhere near the size of Hill House, but it was every bit as haunting in both appearance and personality.
At first, she was startled when she saw a face appear behind the darkened window pane near the top of the tower, but she quickly realized how silly it was when Patti opened it and waved violently.
“Well, are you coming in, or what?” Patti called down as Stella appeared beside her, the two squeezing out of the window frame like a couple of banshees trying to break free of the confines of their haunt.
“Yeah, come up here, we’re pulling out the Halloween decorations!” Stella hollered.
“Oh, that’s right, this is supposed to be Halloween Town, ain’t it?” Barbara called up to them. The two girls in the window giggled.
“Howl-o-ween!” Stella and Patti imitated the Southern drawl, putting emphasis on ‘howl’ in an exaggerated tease of her accent.
“Well, at least I know how to “park” my “car”. Some words have “r’s”, ladies!” Barbara called upward as she headed for the front door.
Barbara had never been inside Patti’s house, though she’d knocked on the door once, when she picked her up for a drive to Salem Willows in her father’s Thunderbird that summer. She’d moved to town in March of 1963, and met Patti and Stella for the first time at Mass in the Immaculate Conception Church. Father Joseph had assumed his sermon must have been quite moving that Sunday, as all three of the teenage girls had wept during prayer. He thought the girls would make a perfect trio of devout Catholic young women. Little did he know, the bond that joined them was mourning the loss of their shared musical idol, Patsy Cline, who’d tragically perished in a plane crash only a few days before. The three shook white-gloved hands, introduced by Father Joseph, who said, “You’ll be great friends. Patti and Stella come from fine, Catholic families.” Then, the girls had invited Barbara to ride with them to school the next day. It was as though the three were meant to be, and a fast and deep friendship quickly formed among them. Barbara had expected that Patti and Stella might actually be perfect little Catholic girls, but this was immediately proved wrong when they applied lipstick the color of candied apples while passing around a thin cigarette in the car on their way to Salem High. Once they pulled into a spot at school, Stella filled her bra with tissues and unfastened her top button. “You stuffing?” she’d turned toward Barbara in the back seat holding out a fistful of Kleenex. Coming from the strict, Southern Baptist household of her grandparents in Georgia, Barbara was relieved to finally have the opportunity to be a little bad.
After her mother’s death, Barbara had lived with her grandparents, until her father retired from the Navy. When he’d re-married and settled down with a newspaper job, a new wife, and an apartment in Salem, he sent for his daughter. New England was a world of difference from the strict lifestyle she’d led among the belles of the Deep South. Sure, she’d worn white gloves to church in Savannah, but the girls she knew there could only be taken at face value. They had pristine reputations and crystal expectations, and ratted on Barbara the second they saw her French kissing the pastor’s daughter after the homecoming dance that fall. She’d only been teaching her how, but they would have none of it, and she was no longer allowed to attend social events un-chaperoned. She’d spent many hours under the care of the pastor, who’d forced her to repent in a variety of ways that would “cure” her of her “unsavory desires” for “the fairer sex”. Barbara had desperately needed a change of scenery; she didn’t mind soiling her white gloves.
They had many words for girls like Barbara, none of them kind. They made excuses, saying the death of her mother and being absent a father had caused a psychosis. “Nothing the Good Lord won’t see fit to heal and forgive,” Barbara’s grandmother had said. She spent that winter break in what can only be described as the demon offspring of a psychiatric ward and a tent revival. The Trinity Home of Rest appeared every bit as tranquil as the name implied to anyone who hadn’t set foot inside. Barbara had spent just under a month confined to a room at Trinity Home, receiving shock treatments daily, between intensive prayer and group Bible studies. She’d gone in feeling it was all some sort of mistake, and she’d come out more lost than she’d ever felt before her time in Trinity Home.
As she climbed the three steps to the house, the door opened and Patti’s mother invited Barbara in, telling her to hang her coat in the closet below the stairs.
“Have you thought of a costume for Halloween, yet?” Mrs. O’Connor asked, shutting the door.
“I hadn’t planned on dressing up,” Barbara responded.
“Oh, but you must! This is Salem! We take Halloween very seriously.” Mrs. O’Connor smiled. Barbara was surprised, only the small children were allowed to dress up in her neighborhood back home. Here, it seemed that even the adults would be expected to have a costume.
“I hadn’t thought of it. Maybe Patti and Stella will have some ideas,” Barbara said as Mrs. O’Connor led her to the stairs.
“I’m certain they shall,” Mrs. O’Connor pointed upward, “They’re in the attic, all the way to the top.”
Barbara started up the spiraling stairwell, which made her think of the iron, corkscrew steps in The Haunting. Her mind inevitably went back to Hill House, between the creepy atmosphere of Salem, the land of witches, and the fact that she and her friends had started reading the book after their second viewing of the movie, it was never far from her mind. She pictured the second Mrs. Crane falling to her death, down and down the many wooden steps of the main stairwell. Stop that, Barbara thought, trying to clear her mind. When she got to the top, it seemed to get darker. Most of the windows on the way up had open curtains, but when she neared the third level, they were covered by purple velvet drapes, and the lights were out. She smiled to herself, knowing her friends were planning to startle her.
“Come on out, you two,” Barbara said as her eyes adjusted. The room was silent. She uneasily stepped forward and felt a chain at her shoulder. She instinctively pulled on it and a light came on. The small room at the top of the stairs was dusty and had a few pieces of furniture, covered with white sheets. There was a door, cracked open, which she assumed must lead into the attic. Of course, the room was dark, but the light shining in from the doorway allowed Barbara to make out the shapes of various boxes, chests, pieces of furniture, and several tailoring forms in varying stages of undress. Her eyes moved over each one until they landed on a thin figure at the back that seemed to move, slightly. She started toward the ghostly frame, which appeared to be clothed in a very old wedding gown, complete with a silk veil. As Barbara gained focus, she saw two eyes peering at her from beneath the veil.
“Boo!” Patti yelled. There was also a loud, blood-curdling scream from behind her, similar to the ones repeatedly used in the monster movies the girls loved to watch at the Saturday matinee.
“Gee, Pat
ti, you getting married?” Barbara teased.
“I could be persuaded down the aisle by Russ Tamblyn, isn’t he a dream?” Patti threw the veil back.
“Oh, he wouldn’t give you a second look. Hollywood boys need a little glamour.” Stella entered, turning on a lamp near the doorway that Barbara had missed on her way in.
“Just what are you implying, Stella?” Patti asked, pulling the veil back over her tawny hair.
“Glamour doesn’t come in a cocktail glass,” Stella replied, fixing her long, black ponytail in a half-covered mirror leaning against the dusty, papered wall. It was true, Patti was short and fragile-looking. Pretty, but lacking in that Hollywood glamour that Stella easily fit into with her expressive dark eyes and lovely, high cheekbones. Barbara admired Stella’s olive skin and full lips reflected in the mirror. When Stella caught Barbara’s eyes in the mirror, she winked, causing Barbara to quickly look away, a faint rose warmth rising to her cheeks.
“You’re right, Stella, the glamour is at the bottom of the bottle!” Patti picked up a half-empty decanter of gin from a nearby covered cedar chest. She took a long drink and handed the bottle to Barbara, who took a sip and passed it to Stella.
Barbara looked around the room. There were a few picked-through boxes of Halloween decorations, varying from plastic ghosts, jack-o-lanterns, and black cats, to paper witches and skeletons that were strewn about the attic. In one corner, among a jumbled pile of chairs and a pile of suitcases, sat an old phonograph, which Stella had begun fussing with. There were a few old pieces of clothing throughout the room, including a second, old-fashioned wedding gown and a very large 1920’s tuxedo jacket and top hat. Barbara immediately put on the top hat, which was so big, it slipped over her eyes. Patti lifted the hat from Barbara’s face, “Oh no, we’ve got other plans for costumes, my dearie!” Then she plopped down a pointy, black witch hat in its place.
“Really? Doesn’t that seem a bit unoriginal for a place like Salem?” Barbara asked.
“Not un-original, dearie!” Patti cackled, “Classic!”
“Surely we aren’t all going to be witches?” Barbara questioned, adjusting the crooked hat.
“Of course we are! Three witches make a coven!” Stella said as she placed the needle down on a record. A vintage album of Halloween tunes began to howl out of the old phonograph.
“Just the hats? That’s not much of a costume,” Barbara said, turning to examine herself in the half-covered mirror as Stella and Patti began to do the Charleston, giggling in their own witch hats. Patti looked especially silly in what was likely her grandmother’s wedding gown, beneath the pointy peak atop her head.
“No! Not just the hats, you chuckle head!” Patti sang to Barbara, taking her hands and pulling her into their little dance party. She spun her around and lifted the lid to another chest, which sat uncovered in the attic. “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!” She pulled out a handful of what appeared to be old stage attire, like something a show girl in Las Vegas might have worn in the 1920’s.
“There’s no way our parents would let us out in those!” Barbara said, holding up a bodysuit that was exquisitely beaded, but was little more coverage than a swimsuit with long sleeves. Stella held a similar number to her body and went to look in the mirror. The one in Patti’s hands had only one sleeve that was adorned with sparkly sequins and had the tiniest silk flair at the hips.
“Of course they won’t! That’s why we’ll tell them we’re all going to Stella’s after school to dress up for the party at Caroline’s. Stella will tell her parents she’s going to your house. We’ll stop for a soda downtown and wait until my parents leave for the Halloween ball, then we’ll go in and change!”
“There’s a Halloween ball?” Barbara asked, a little sad they weren’t going to it instead of sneaking to a party at the college.
“Don’t be a wet shirt, Barbie! My parents will be out all night. We’ll bring the party back here, where I plan to finally seduce Charlie in my very own bedroom, under my parents’ own roof. No way I’m losing it in the back of that old Studebaker he drives around. It always smells like his football gear.” Patti said.
“Losing what? Virginity hasn’t existed under that skirt since freshman year!” Stella teased.
“Nobody counts the first time if it’s over in three minutes or less,” Patti said, slipping out of the wedding gown to try on her costume.
“Oh, it counts,” Stella said, already half out of her pale pink, mink cardigan. Barbara watched her gracefully slip out of her pencil skirt for just a little too long. Luckily, Stella hadn’t noticed, or if she had, enjoyed being watched.
Barbara looked through a few other costume pieces in the chest: most were colorful pieces, some had matching gloves and shoes, none were black, like the one Patti had insisted she wear. As she sifted through the various clothes, she came across a stack of boxes at the bottom of the chest.
“What’s this?” Barbara asked, lifting them out of the rainbow of costuming.
“Oh, this stuff belonged to my Aunt Fancy. She was to become a nun, but when some dreamy fellow in show business told her she looked like she belonged in films, she left the convent and traveled all over the world doing vaudeville shows. That was before she went off the deep end and wound up at McLean. These costumes were mostly from Paris and Italy. Mother said she’d only wear the black ones at the end of her stage career. Something about her life becoming a ‘black hole’ after her lover married someone else,” Patti said while she fastened the back of Stella’s outfit. “I went to see her at McLean, once, before she died. She said it was her punishment for going against God’s will.”
“That sounds pretty eccentric. Her name was really Fancy?” Stella asked. Barbara was quickly reminded of the jolt of the shock therapy she’d received and felt immediately connected to Patti’s aunt Fancy.
“It was short for Francine,” Patti replied as she turned around for Stella to fasten her own bodysuit. By this point, Barbara had opened one of the boxes, pulling out an old Sawyer’s View-Master and a handful of the round reel cards.
“Wow! These are a gas!” Barbara held the View-Master over her eyes and pointed her head toward the light as she pressed down the lever.
“What’s in it? Let me see!” Stella said, holding out a hand for it. Barbara giggled and handed it to Stella, who gasped when she looked into it and saw a vaudeville clown. She tossed the viewer back to Barbara. Stella hated clowns. Barbara laughed.
“If you think that’s scary, get a load of what’s in the bottom box.” Patti smiled, reaching for it as she spoke. She opened a wooden case, revealing an antique Stereoscope, complete with a stack of slides that were browned and dusty from age and neglect. The tin visor had a simple floral design and a polished wooden handle which folded out from underneath. Patti handed it to Barbara and then flipped through the large stack of cards until she found what she was looking for. “Here!” She placed it at the far end of the Stereoscope and Barbara lifted it to her eyes.
The slide featured explicit scenes of what can only be described as Hell. The Devil was seated among ghouls and skeletons in merriment. Women with bared breasts danced about and caressed one another. They played musical instruments at the pleasure of Satan and his demons. Barbara quickly looked through the various slides that were labeled “Les Diableries”. She was utterly engrossed, barely noticing when Stella changed the music to something from a stack of modern records she’d brought from home. One slide showed an audience of skeletons viewing a jester performing on stage with a woman in a plague doctor’s mask; another showed the skeletons with eyes, angry and red, as they played hands of poker and drank heavily. The slides seemed to become more sinister as she flipped through them, totally losing touch with her surroundings, missing the ongoing conversation between Patti and Stella. On another slide, the bare breasted women were shown in the throes of passion, sharing a bed with Satan himself. A few of the women appeared to be making love with the skeletons and demons in the photograph. The next was the da
rkest of all, Satan’s army of demons and skeletons thrusting sharp swords and knives into the chests of the half-naked women, anguish in their eyes, blood pouring from their fresh, gaping wounds.
“Barb, hello? Anyone in there?” Stella flicked Barbara’s ear.
“Oh, sorry, these are just so strange!” Barbara looked up from the visor.
“Of course they are, they’re from France,” Patti teased, “Now, try on your costume, we have to make sure it fits.”
Barbara reluctantly sat the Stereoscope down, but left it out of the box, intending to return to it after trying her bodysuit for a fit. The costume was a little tight in the waist, the sleeves just an inch too short, but it would serve the purpose, and she’d only be wearing it for a night.
Stella had picked up the Stereoscope and began looking through them, giggling.
“What are you giggling about?” Barbara asked.
“The way these women are running around, naked and fondling one another—it’s just so over the top!” Stella laughed.
“You’re just saying that because you’ve never been to a college party,” Patti teased, implying they were headed into the arms of the Devil himself that Halloween.
“You don’t think it’s an accurate portrayal of the Devil’s fetishes?” Barbara asked, curious.
“Oh no,” Stella said, “The body wants what it wants. I just mean they’ve made the women look like giggling lunatics! No wonder they stab them all at the end.”
“Patricia!” Mrs. O’Connor called from downstairs, straining to yell over the music, as though she’d said it a few times before it was heard. Stella quickly pulled the needle from the record playing on the old phonograph.
“Yes, Mother?” Patti called back, sweetly, giving her no reason to climb the stairs and discover the bottle of gin and the revealing costumes on the three girls.
“Are you bringing the Halloween boxes down?” the motherly voice called back.
One Night in Salem Page 2
