“You don’t have to tell me anymore unless you want to...for now all I need is to see the newspaper articles...if it’s okay, I can speak to you another time.” Karen placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Yes, darling, that would be best...” The librarian hobbled to a cabinet and after a minute of searching returned with the film. She loaded it into the large box-like computer. The hooded screen enclosed around her tiny head. There was scrolling for a short time and then the librarian’s face appeared from behind the huge screen.
“I have it, my dear. Just call me when you’re finished or if you need any more help. I'm Ms. Christie, by the way.”
Karen thanked her for her help and sat in front of the screen. The heading on the scanned paper read ‘Blackwater Scribe’. Beneath this front page header was a photo of her home. It was like her first sight of it, though somewhat unfamiliar; ‘crime scene’ tape surrounded it. The photo was black and white but Karen knew the tape would be yellow. It captured men in suits and uniforms mid-stride coming in and out of the house. They bent over items on the ground. Bags of abnormal shapes were arranged on the lawn. Another bag was being carried out of the house. This one was long and regular. The shape of a human. An intact one at least.
The article read as follows:
Tragedy has struck the picturesque town of Blackwater today. Howard Clark, great-grandson of Henry Clark, murdered his wife and four small children before killing himself with what is believed to have been his own gun.
Reports suggest that the family were not killed with the patriarch’s rifle but in fact an axe was the suspected murder weapon. Law enforcement officials have not yet confirmed this suspicion.
Officials have stated that on the evening of March 20th, a male in his late-30s entered his family home and proceeded to kill his wife and four children. The assailant then committed suicide.
Mary Clark was found next to the body of her infant daughter, Dorothy. While the other three children, Benjamin, Howard Jr., and Jessica, were discovered in their bedrooms.
Locals have expressed their shock at this heinous crime. Bartholomew Craig, a local business man said, “I've known Howard since he was a young kid. He was always running around, getting up to no good. He stole a candy bar out of my store once. I caught him but his father pulled a lot of strings to keep it out of the press. I'm not surprised.”
Judd Reynolds, proprietor of Reynolds’ Antiques and Second Hand Store, offered a different opinion, “That house is evil. Like his father before him, and his father before him, that house has done something to them. They were good men and then they weren’t. The Howard I knew would never have done something like that.”
Blackwater House has had its fair share of drama since its construction. Founder of Blackwater, Henry Clark, great-grandfather of murder suspect Howard Clark, was suspected of homicide. Two of his three wives died under suspicious circumstances, as well as his infant son.
Karen sat back in her chair. She felt cold. She ran back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Em...Ms. Christie...I’m finished with this paper but I have questions about something in the article...if you don’t mind.” She grimaced.
“If I can help, dear...” and with that, the two made their way back down the stairs.
Once they had returned to the screen, Karen pointed to the section of the article where it mentioned Henry Clark.
“I would like more information on Henry Clark. The article says there was suspicion around him after the deaths of his wives. He was married three times? What happened to the third wife?” Karen asked as delicately as possible.
“She ran away. I suspect she found out about the others, or maybe that he planned to kill her too. She was not local like the other two. She had been a beauty queen in Burlington. The girl was 16 when she met the 60 year old Clark, who had been a sponsor at the event. She bore him a daughter but she took the child when she ran away. No one ever saw her again. There was suspicion for a while he had killed her too but I think that subsided.” She nodded solemnly.
“And what about the wives that died, what happened?” Karen pushed.
“The first wife, she is the one that gave him a son. He was Howard’s grandfather. She drowned in the lake. Her son found her when he went swimming...”
“How horrible!” Karen was open mouthed.
“Yeah...didn’t help that Clark beat the boy when the mother wasn’t there to protect him. With his mother gone, it was open season on the poor lad.”
Karen was speechless.
“His second wife, Josephine, she had a son as well. Lucas. He died in a scalding accident...”The librarian gave Karen a look. It said everything Karen was thinking. Bullshit. “Couple of months after that, Josephine dies.”
“Let me guess, under suspicious circumstances?” Karen said wryly.
“You betcha!”
“How did she die?”
“No one knows. No cause of death was determined, at least none that wasn’t quoted as ‘heart condition’. The girl was barely out of her teens. She had been through childbirth. There was nothing to cause her to have such an attack.”
“So what do you think happened?” Karen leant forward, intrigued but also terrified.
“Poison. He must have been slowly killing her. I suspect after Lucas died, she became a lot less agreeable.”
“I can imagine. Poor girl...” Karen shook her head solemnly. “Did something happen with Howard’s grandfather and father? Judd Reynolds referred to them in the article.”
“That whole family was troublesome...there was always some scandal or mystery surrounding them. Missing or mutilated livestock ‘round the area, vandalism...accidental deaths...” Ms. Christie raised an eyebrow towards Karen.
“Accidental? You mean suspicious...like before?” Karen could not believe what she was hearing. She didn't want to hear anymore and yet she couldn’t resist.
“The grandfather, Cornelius, he had been in the woods behind the house with a friend. The story goes that the friend had kissed, or maybe done more, to a girl with whom Cornelius was in love. A fight ensued and Cornelius stabbed the friend with a branch!”
“What?” Karen exclaimed and then caught herself. Library, she scorned herself. “What?” she repeated, quieter.
“I know! Henry, of course, swept the whole thing under the proverbial rug. Gave the parents money, I heard. Cornelius ended up marrying the girl too.”
“And that was Howard’s grandmother?”
“Exactly.”
“So what happened with Howard’s father?”
“He was like Cornelius; he started off stealing things. He graduated to murder as well though. He killed his brother.”
“Oh come on?! How did he get away with that? Surely his father was angry about it being within the family?”
“I'm sure he was...but the Clarks were not ones to let a scandal get in the way of their power. He simply buried the boy and that was it. With no other party to contend with, he could easily cover it up.”
“How---I don’t know if I want to---how did he kill him...?” She put her head in her hands. She didn't want to know the answer.
“Rumor has it; he drowned him in the septic tank...” Ms. Christie tensed her jaw.
Karen was speechless. She felt drained. She felt as if she would never smile or be happy again.
“Do you want to see any other articles, dear? Maybe those from the other family ‘tragedies’?” The librarian bent down to look in Karen’s pale face.
Karen looked up. She felt like she would vomit. “No. I should go now. Thank you.” She stumbled out of the library and into the midday sun. It felt so odd being out on a lovely day whilst inside a storm was brewing.
31
Karen returned to the house and waited for James and the children. He had agreed to pick them up from school, seeing as he was still organizing the practice. When he returned at lunch time with a sleepy Sophie, Karen accosted him almost immediately.
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“Did you know about the murder in this house?”
“You mean the previous owners? No, of course not! I would have told you. You would have found out eventually so what would be the point in lying?”
“Well, I went to the library today and found the local newspaper from the time. He killed them with an axe!!” She tried to remain calm but she was becoming irate. “And that's not the end of it. His father killed someone! His grandfather killed someone! His great-grandfather, you know the one the whole town freakin’ worships! He killed someone!” Karen was having a panic attack.
“Calm down, Kay!” James wrapped his arms around her. “There's nothing to worry about. That was years ago...there’s nothing to worry about! That family is long gone!”
“James! It’s not the Clarks I'm worried about, it’s the house!” she had grabbed handfuls of his shirt and was shaking him.
James fixed her with a toxic look. “Now listen! There is nothing wrong with this house! It is just a house! It’s the house you’ve always dreamed of. It’s the house we have dreamed of! Calm down!”
With that, he turned and left the kitchen where she had frantically grabbed him.
Karen did not know how to feel. She had never seen James act like that, especially since his renewed love for her and the family. It scared her.
There was a noise. Karen sat up in bed, straining her ears.
“Jay! Jay!” he didn't rouse. “James!” she shook him. Still nothing.
Karen slowly lowered herself out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor. She listened again. She made her way to both sides of the hall, checking on Sophie and Marcus. They were both sound asleep. As she left Marcus’ room, she heard it again. The noise that woke her was coming from downstairs. She crept down, the minutest creak now amplified in the imposing dark. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Karen paused again. She looked around her and tip-toed towards the kitchen.
This requires a knife, she thought.
As she passed the basement door on her right. She heard it again. Her heart sank.
Oh God no! Not the basement!
She opened the door; the creak, making a din in the pitch black. She descended the basement steps, pausing every step for the sound of movement. When she reached the bottom, she noticed a young girl standing by the furnace; her back was turned to Karen. In the moonlight streaming through a tiny corner window, Karen could see blue-black stains on her nightgown.
The light bulb’s pull cord was just in front of Karen. She yanked on it. A warm, yellow glow permeated the basement and as it lit the woman, Karen could see the black stains were red. It was blood.
The young girl turned. Blood streaked across her face and torso. The front of her gown was torn and a symbol was carved into her flesh. Maggots squirmed and dropped out of the gangrenous wound.
“Me for a web!” a screeching dead voice said.
Karen awoke. Sweat beads rolled down her face and neck. Her back was soaked.
32
The next morning, Karen returned to the library.
“Hello again dear, feeling better today?” Ms. Christie asked, her kind face smiled at Karen.
“I think so, Ms. Christie. Thank you for asking? I'm looking for foreign dictionaries. I heard something and I don’t know what language it is.” Karen tried to sound as relaxed as possible but her heart was beating at a life-threatening speed.
“They are upstairs. If you turn back on yourself and walk to the end.” She pointed to the balcony above them.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome, my dear.” And with that the old woman returned to her book.
Karen retrieved as many dictionaries as she could find; French, German, Spanish. She searched through them but could find no words or phrases that matched the dead girl’s warning. Karen obviously didn't know if it was a warning. It could have been a plea for help. This was a dream after all; it could just be gobbledegook! It could have been anything, but Karen knew it wasn’t a recipe for lamb casserole.
Karen decided that Blackwater Library might not have the answers to all her questions. She drove to South Burlington Library. She hoped their extensive collection would provide her with some much need answers. Karen was able to acquire more dictionaries in less common languages. She tried Arabic and Hebrew. Neither seemed to match what the dead girl said. Karen wondered if she had even heard the girl correctly.
Maybe it’s not a different language at all, maybe it’s a name? Karen contemplated.
She decided a call into Blackwater City Hall might help solve it.
As she was leaving South Burlington Library, she passed an aisle labeled ‘Local History’. Karen diverted herself into the stacks. She traced her finger along the titles until she came to a book labeled ‘Blackwater: The Town Built On Marble’. She pulled it out and examined the front cover. It showed the Main Street and its Marble Statue of Henry Clark. This photo melded into another of a mining drill. Karen took the book to a table nearby and sat.
She opened the book and started reading.
Henry Clark had been a local boy of Weybridge. He had come from poverty, like most of the farming families in town. When he was a teenager, he fell into a cavern. As he explored the cave system, he discovered a hard crystalline rock that sparkled in the little light that was present. He broke some off and put it in his pocket. He thought he could sell it for a couple of dollars. When he returned to the surface, he showed his friend who informed him it was marble. Henry went on to found a town upon the marble mine he discovered. He named the town Blackwater.
Karen looked up from her book and pondered what she had read so far. This suspected serial killer built the town and yet they worshipped him.
Or did they fear him, she thought suddenly.
By the time Karen had returned to the house, James had already returned with Sophie. Marcus would be home any minute. James did not look pleased.
“Where have you been? I've been worried sick!”
“I went to the library,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Again? What were you looking for this time? More morbid articles?”
“Actually I was looking for foreign language dictionaries. I want to take up another language.”
“What?” James was looking around him for an imaginary supporter.
“I also did a little light reading on the founding of the town. Is that okay with you?! I wanted to know what all the fuss was about over ‘marble-face’ down there.”
“Is this ‘cos of what you found out about the house? Goddamit, Kay, those things happened years ago!”
“Aren’t you just a little freaked out?”
“No...not really.” He looked unsure.
“What about that attic? Doesn’t this revelation make you a bit curious about it now?”
“If you want to break into the room, be my guest...but when you don’t find anything, you gotta promise me you’ll put a stop to this nonsense, okay?”
Karen bit her tongue. “Okay,” she said finally.
The doorbell chimed.
James padded out of the kitchen, leaving Karen to seethe. He returned a moment later.
“Who was it?”
“No one.”
“But who was it really?”
What’s the big deal in telling me? Karen thought self-righteously.
“I told you. No one. There was nobody at the door. Must’ve been some kids playing a prank; ring the bell and run away.” He rolled his eyes. Karen wasn’t so sure.
33
Karen awoke that night shivering. She looked out to the woods. The window was open. She jumped out of bed and the cold floor sent her shivers off again. She tried to pull the window down but the wind from outside was so biting it made it difficult. She kept retreating into the room to garner more courage. Karen put all her weight into it and finally the window shut. She looked out at the storm. Leaves whirled in mini-tornadoes on the ground and the trees swayed violently. She stared out into the dark; shadows and shape
s. She scuttled back across the freezing floor and burrowed her way under the covers, fetal positioning to garner heat. As she warmed and began to drift off, content and cozy again, she questioned herself over the window being open. She was positive she had closed it before bed.
Saturday morning blared through the kitchen window. Sunlight blinded Marcus as he came in. “Mom, can I have pancakes for breakfast?”
“Course, honey! I picked up blueberries at the market yesterday. I was gonna make a pie with them but...” she stuck her tongue in her cheek.
“Well, I guess you could make blueberry pie instead...” he smirked.
“How do banana pancakes sound instead?”
“Someone say banana pancakes?” James entered, licking his lips.
“Ehehe! Nonono! You're having plain oatmeal. That belly of yours is getting a little squishy!” She poked James playfully. He rolled his eyes.
“Worth a try, babe.” He chuckled.
“I want pancakes too!” Sophie melodized.
Karen stroked her young daughter’s face. “Oh course you can, you little cutie-pie!”
Sophie grinned toothlessly.
She had lost a few teeth during playtime in kindergarten. Sophie fell as she climbed a small tree during recess. She kneed herself in the mouth, knocking out her two front teeth. She had cried all afternoon until Karen arrived. Karen explained to Sophie that her teeth were meant to fall out. At least her ‘baby’ teeth were, and Sophie was much happier now.
The Dawsons packed a picnic and went out onto the lake. James had bought an old row boat from Judd. The old timer had suggested they would enjoy it. Karen had criticized James for being hustled by an octogenarian hillbilly, but when she had seen the great condition it was in and how it completed the view of the Lake from the landing window, she decided it was a good idea after all.
“This is lovely, Jay...what do you think, guys?” she said smiling at Marcus and Sophie.
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