Mind Fray

by Alexie Aaron

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ve got Max’s permission to bring in the PEEPs vehicles. He says he doesn’t care if the five o’clock news is filming this; he wants his house back. He and Kim will be staying with her mother and step-father in Plainfield until we get this sorted,” Burt reported and nodded to Mike who stood up.

  “This investigation, we are going to change a few things. Due to the violent nature of the entity, Mia will not be entering the house. No one is to investigate without Stephen Murphy at their side. Murphy, I’m counting on you to keep yourself energized. This thing is powerful. Powerful enough to stay hidden from Mia and my super gut.”

  “He’s nodding,” Cid confirmed. “He’s happy that you’ve put Mia on ice, too.”

  Mia whirled around and glared at the ghost. He just folded his arms and didn’t make eye contact.

  “Audrey, you may also want to avoid putting yourself in a front position,” Mike said. “And before you think it, I’m not being a chauvinist; I’m just making a suggestion based on the power I felt on the other end of Mia when I was trying to free her. This thing is nasty strong.”

  Audrey pushed down her original comments and asked, “I can go in there as long as someone else leads and follows?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have any problem with that,” she said.

  “Mia and I have a theory that the entity may be using our own fears against us,” Mike said.

  The computer beeped, and a scene from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban filled the screen.

  “I think Jake’s asking if it’s a boggart,” Ted said.

  “This boggart seems like a pretty good match,” Mia said. “I don’t know if thinking it into a silly creature is going to see you through a manifestation though,” she mused. “On the other hand, if you see something that comes from your nightmares, then I’d back off.”

  The monitor flashed Freddy Krueger’s picture on the screen briefly before going back to the PEEPs logo.

  “I think he’s made his point,” Ted said. “And gets the Bella Lugosi award for this meeting.”

  “No, it’s a mind flayer,” Cid spoke up.

  Jake produced a picture of the illithid. It had the body of a wizard but the head of an octopus with four tentacles.

  “OMG I hope not,” Mia said and asked, “What is it?”

  “It’s a creature of the Underdark. It feeds on brains basically,” Cid said.

  “From what lore?” Mia asked interested.

  “Dungeons and Dragons,” Cid answered.

  “Damn, competition,” Mia joked, got up and took the Lugosi figurine from her inbox, stopped by the monitor, and said, “Better luck next time,” to the ghost in the computer before handing the figurine to Cid. She sat back down.

  “People, I don’t think these creatures have any basis in reality. Do you?” Mike asked. He looked at the nerds first then the two females who looked skeptical but open-minded. “Come on, boggarts and mind flayers? What are we, in junior high school?”

  “Excuse me if I may point out that authors and game creators get many of their ideas from the ether. And in the ether lurks these evil things…” Mia said.

  Cid handed her back the figurine.

  Burt shook his head and redirected the conversation, “Audrey, what can you tell us about the Madisons’ house and the house that used to stand next door?” Mike asked and sat down.

  “Both houses were built in 1967. Jake, if you please?” she asked.

  The three monitors displayed a black and white photo of the Madisons’ house and its twin.

  “They were part of a housing boom. The brick and stone ranch homes were primarily three bedrooms and had one and a half baths, although I understand the Madison house went through a partial remodel in the late nineties. They each had a full basement and an attached two car garage - suburban dwellings for the up and coming middle class. The Madisons’ house went through four owners before they purchased it. The one next door: one owner before it was demolished.”

  “Why was it demolished?” Cid asked.

  “After the original owner, a Rodney Tarr, died of lung cancer, his heirs tried to sell the home for a year before they rented it to a Nila and Gene Smaltz. The Smaltzs left after three months. The house was again rented, but the renters left just a week after moving in. The house garnered a bad reputation and stood unoccupied for another five years. The heirs decided to have it torn down and the basement filled in. The heirs then tried to sell the empty lot, but there were no takers. They lost it to the township for back taxes a few months ago. It’s the property of the township. I inquired if we could do a little poking around there and received permission,” Audrey said and extracted a piece of paper and gave it to Mike.

  “The house on the other side of the demolished one,” Mia paused, gathering her thoughts, and continued, “Did you find anything that would stick out as paranormal?”

  “The house is owned by Irma Mullens. She has been there for thirty-five years. I think we may want to interview her, but on the paper side of things, her house looks harmless. No one would live that long in a house if they were being tormented, in my opinion. Before you ask, the other houses adjacent to the lot have had varied occupancies but no history of problems that I could find.” Audrey waited for this to sink in before continuing, “Now on to the Madisons’ house. The attack on Kim and Max is the first occurrence that would fall under paranormal. It was purchased originally by a Derick Bonds. He perished in a car crash on vacation visiting his sister and her family. I was able to interview the other two previous owners on the phone, and they had no problem with the place. One couple: the husband was in the military and was transferred, and the other couple just needed more space. Oh, the wife of the military man, a Mrs. Haupt, did say that she wasn’t comfortable with an empty house next door to them and was relieved when they moved. The property was kept up, but she got a bad feeling whenever she was puttering near the lot.”

  “So we have a witness with a bad feeling about the house before it was demolished. We also have history of people leaving the house early in their lease. Were you able to contact any of these renters?” Burt asked Audrey.

  “This is where things get interesting. When I contacted the leasing agency that handled the Tarr home, the receptionist was new and handed the phone to an older associate. Evidently the agency had a big problem after the last renters left. I believe a lawsuit was filed. I have a call in to get a copy of the paperwork on this. The renters claimed that the agency knowingly rented a known haunted house to them without disclosing it. This was before legislation was put into effect concerning a house’s history.”

  Mia turned around and looked at Murphy. “You mean we could sue April for our house being haunted?” Mia teased. Murphy stuck his tongue out at her and resumed his stoic expression.

  “There’s more,” Audrey said, her voice excited. “I found out that another house stood on the property before the ranches were built.”

  Jake obliged Audrey, and the photocopy of the cover of a pamphlet was displayed. The house was a two-story, prewar clapboard with shuttered windows. A covered porch ran across the front of the building. The front door was open. A Copperplate title dominated the top of the cover: THE HOUSE OF DOOM.

  “Well, that’s direct,” Cid said. “I take it something happened in this house.”

  “Oh yes. At first when I found the booklet, I thought I had someone’s amateur try at fiction writing. But upon further exploration, this is the firsthand account of a visitor to the house as told to the author, Mildred Styles.”

  Audrey got up and passed a copy of the booklet to each of the investigators. “Mrs. Styles’s grandnephew was overjoyed to sell these to me at a dollar a pop. Evidently, he has six boxes of them in his storage shed. He didn’t have the heart to destroy them. Great Aunt Millie was a favorite of his.”

  “You could have just summarized the material,” Burt complained, thumbing through the pages.

  “I
could and can, but after reading it, I thought that the house may be better understood with Mrs. Styles telling the story.”

  Mia nodded and opened the book to read.

  The House of Doom

  As told to Mildred Styles by Captain Henry York.

  I had visited my dear friend Major Fletcher and his wife Michelle before when they lived in military housing, but this was the first time I had been invited to spend the week with them in their new home in the Mid-Western United States. Vern Fletcher and I had been comrades in arms. It was the two of us, Fletcher and York, maintaining the supply line to our troops in North Africa. We may have been desk jockeys, but we did spend many a night sweating over manifests together.

  After the war, I went home to Hartford, Connecticut to Jennifer, and he to his wife in Chicago, Illinois. After a few years of correspondence, I decided to take the couple up on their generous invitation to visit. Me, having just lost my dear Jennifer to cancer, I was ready to be distracted by a new setting. The Fletchers promised me a peaceful retreat. Their new home was away from the bustle of the busy city, and they seemed quite pleased with its location and amenities.

  I arrived by train to find the major waiting for me. I remember he looked a little wan. I dismissed it at the time as him no longer sporting the deep tan we both developed under the African sun. We fell into immediate conversation about my trip, and he seemed genuinely interested in the train ride from the coast. He was concerned that the nation was shunning travel by train when it could be accomplished by their automobiles or a trip on one of the large civilian air carriers. I wasn’t keen on air travel. The cost was dear, and I liked being able to relax, knowing I wasn’t going to plummet to the ground at any moment. We laughed at my fears, considering the amount of time we both spent in the back of military planes and survived.

  Michelle greeted me with open arms. I found her to be a tense but affable woman. Her smile would have seemed more genuine if her eyes hadn’t darted away from my face when she welcomed me to their home. They put me in the second floor guest room. It was a large, wallpapered room, furnished lavishly with an old four-poster bed, an upholstered chair, table, and a large wardrobe that dominated the wall opposite the bed. Looking back, the wardrobe seemed out of place in the décor of the room. I opened the doors to find it divided by a built-in set of drawers and a rod with a few hangers on which to hang my shirts.

  The first night, we dined in the small dining room on roast chicken. I complimented Michelle on the bird, and she in turn said I should address my compliments to their new electric range. Evidently its constant temperature was the trick to producing a moist but well-cooked bird. As she talked, I couldn’t help but notice that her eyes continued to flit around as if she was trying to take in the room all at once.

  When the major and I fell into reminiscences of the military days, Michelle excused herself to the kitchen where she was to prepare our dessert. She wasn’t gone long when we heard her screaming. The major and I vaulted from our places at the table and ran into the kitchen where we found Michelle cowering in the corner, her face white and her eyes streaming with tears. She was, at the time, unable to speak but a few garbled syllables. Her outstretched hand pointed to something on the wall behind us. I spun around and didn’t see a thing. The major however, shouted, “Oh no, not again! Why can’t you leave us in peace?”

  “I don’t understand,” I asked frantically. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s right in front of you! Make it go away!” Michelle’s hysterical voice pleaded.

  Still not understanding the problem but worried about the sanity of my hosts, I picked up an iron fry pan from the stove top and waved it at the empty wall and said, “Be gone from this house!”

  I looked back at my hosts, who fell into each other’s arms, the wife sobbing and the husband trying to comfort her.

  “Is it gone?” I asked.

  “Yes, you did the trick. It’s gone,” the major answered. He led his wife to a chair and motioned me to come over. “Be a sport and bring the brandy and a couple of glasses,” he instructed.

  I looked around me and found a decanter with what I assumed by the deep amber color to be half-filled with brandy. I grabbed three glasses and brought them to the table. The major poured us generous amounts. He didn’t speak until he had drained his glass. “Henry, I’m sorry to bring you into this, but we are at our wit’s end.”

  I sipped my drink and motioned with my hand for him to continue.

  “You see, Michelle and I are being haunted by my dead mother. She died while I was away serving. Michelle was staying with her parents at the time.”

  Hiding that I wasn’t a believer in the spirit world, I calmly asked, “Did she die in this house? Is this her house?”

  “No no, she died of natural causes at the convalescent home.”

  “Pardon me for being ignorant, but if she died peacefully, why would she be haunting both of you?”

  “We don’t know!” Michelle wailed.

  “Are you sure it’s her?”

  “She’s dressed in the twinset and tweed skirt I gave her before I left to spend time with my parents.”

  “No, dear, you must be mistaken,” the major corrected. “She’s wearing the dress my sister made for her. She was wearing it the day I left for North Africa.”

  The two of them seemed to be puzzled by the details of the woman who was supposed to be haunting them. I suspected they were having me on for a moment, until I saw him come out of the corner: Eddie Brown, my mortal enemy in grammar school. He waved his fist at me. I got up, picked up the skillet and waved it at him. He disappeared.

  “You saw her,” accused Michelle.

  “No, I saw Eddie Brown,” I stated.

  “No, it was mother,” the major insisted.

  We waited for the ghost to come back. We had drained the brandy before any of us contemplated leaving the security of the kitchenette.

  The dishes were left for the morning. Our hostess was in no state to do her duty, and the major and I were in the cups. I followed them upstairs and bid them a good night’s rest. I remember putting my pajamas on, but how I ended up in bed was beyond my drunken mind to remember.

  The next day, I awoke to find a gloriously sunny day awaiting me. My head was a little worse for wear, but I managed to wash and dress for the day with only a few winces at the hollow-eyed reflection that greeted me. I followed my nose down to the kitchen where Michelle was frying bacon. I saw that the kitchenette was adorned with a colorful cloth and platters of eggs and pancakes lay waiting. I sat down, and she filled my cup with a strong coffee. We didn’t speak during this. I think both of us were afraid to bring up last night’s occurrence.

  The major came in whistling a tune and smiled before proclaiming, “What a wonderful day!”

  We agreed, and the three of us tucked in for a good breakfast. Only once the last strip of bacon was digested, did I dare to ask, “What are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea,” Vern admitted. “Until now, no one has seen what you’ve seen.”

  “We can’t leave. The house is all we have,” Michelle said.

  “You can come and live with me. My house is empty, aside from myself.”

  “My job,” the major said.

  “My family,” Michelle said sadly.

  I listened while they listed why they couldn’t think of moving to Connecticut but thanked me for my kind and generous offer.

  “Well, then I think a priest must be brought in,” I announced.

  “A priest?”

  “It seems to me, the house is possessed by a demon,” I reasoned. “Aren’t priests supposed to deal with that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t know. I’m Methodist,” the major clarified.

  “What would the neighbors say if we had a priest in our home?” Michelle said with her hand on her mouth.

  I didn’t know what to say. I ended with, “Perhaps think about it.”

  The major and I then left for a r
ound of promised golf, leaving Michelle to clean up the breakfast dishes. It was a great day for the sport. I admired the new course we were playing on and bought a few rounds of drinks to thank my host for the opportunity to play on his country club’s green.

  Michelle seemed more rested when we returned, and that evening, there was no reoccurrence of the ghost.

  The next few days were devoid of activity. The major remarked that I must have frightened the spirit away. We enjoyed the rest of the week without checking out each dark corner of the house. I was packing my valise when I noticed a scrap of paper tucked in the back of one of the wardrobe’s drawers. I removed the drawer and found the piece of paper to be much larger than I anticipated. It was but a corner of a handbill that had been jammed behind the drawer. I unfolded the creased paper carefully. As I smoothed out the handbill, I was aghast to find that even though I read it over and over, the contents would not stick in my mind! I remember a face. I can see the block letters of the script, but I’ll be damned if I can tell you what it said.

  I took my find to my hosts who were breakfasting in the kitchen. I set it on the table and asked them what it said. The major looked at me as if I were the village idiot, but Michelle placed a calming hand on my arm as she looked at the paper. She opened her mouth and was, like me, struck dumb.

  “Give that to me!” Major Fletcher said with so much anger in his voice that it surprised me. Never had I heard him speak to me, or anyone for that matter, in that tone of voice. He picked up the paper, and just as the words were formed in his mind, they were forgotten just as quick.

  To this day, I can draw you the picture on the handbill. I remember that it had a title printed over a drawing of a strange looking chap. He had a very elaborate mustache and thick beard. I remember his strange eyes. The eyes bore into you, made you forget the words you read. Under that were more words, and at the bottom something was written in pencil. Those words I could remember and read aloud. That message I will never forget.

  He is already in your mind!