“Shit”, he thought. “Why couldn’t the bliss have lasted longer?”
He threw his legs up onto the couch and lay down. The doll lay on his chest. His eyelids drooped within seconds.
Karen lay in bed, eyes wide open. This house had been everything they had ever dreamed of and yet they seemed to be descending into a feverish nightmare.
She wondered if James would come to bed or if he would stay downstairs. She listened for his silent ascension. There wasn’t one. She fought again the sleep threatening to take over. Karen was sure that every time her eyelids shuttered, she saw something in the room. She got up several times, pacing the bedroom with a cigarette and venturing a glance out the window, seeing nothing.
After several cycles of this, she allowed sleep to take her.
47
Karen stood in front of the car, studying it intensely.
It was a Ford Fairlane; not exactly the world’s nicest car, but it was better than nothing. She wanted something to ease her mind, and this seemed more than adequate.
“Kay, we can’t afford anything else...”
“I don't care as long as it runs,” Karen said without looking at her husband.
“We decided, folks?” A salesman approached; a big shit-eating grin on his face.
Karen smiled at the man but she felt a simmering contempt for him.
“What sort of deal can you do on this?” Karen asked.
James stood awkwardly between the salesman and Karen. She didn’t seem to need or want his help in the negotiations.
“Well now, ma’am...this beauty is not exactly top of the line but she isn’t---”
“Cut the bullshit,” Karen interrupted stolidly. “I haven’t got the time for it and you haven’t got the knack.
The shit-eating grin collapsed and the salesman coughed nervously. “I'm afraid I don't understand....”
“I am here to purchase a car. You have a car. I have some money; money that I am not willing to easily part with, but must. It is your job to give me a figure which his satisfying enough to warrant me reaching into my purse.”
The car salesman was speechless. He had always been the one to talk his way around the client, but here he was being played by a woman and her husband hadn’t said a Goddamn thing.
Women today, they don't know how easy they have it, Kevin, the salesman thought sourly. A couple of years ago, and she would have got a quick backhand for her insolence. Kevin missed the good old days.
The smile on the salesman face returned, if not a little less self-satisfied.
“You’re a woman who knows what she wants. I can respect that.”
Moving to the rear of the vehicle, he said, “I was looking at $500, but seeing as I like you, I'm willing to drop it to $250.” He beamed, visibly pleased with himself.
“Make it £200 and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Karen countered.
If the salesman had been drinking coffee, he most surely would have spat it all over Karen.
“Two hundred dollars?!” He choked.
“That’s what I'm willing to spend.”
“How ‘bout another car, then?” The car salesman said, making to walk for another, cheaper option.
Karen did not move. She stayed where she was; facing the car.
The salesman ran his hands through his perfectly coiffed hair. He looked like he would have heart attack at any moment. “You’re really low-balling me here, ma’am.”
“You don't have to take it.” Karen smirked.
Kevin, the car salesman, gave her a knowing look.
You know I have to take it!
“You’re breaking my balls!” He moaned.
Karen said nothing now.
“Fine. Two hundred...” He said quietly. He stuck his hand out reluctantly and Karen shook it firmly.
James looked astonished at what he had just witnessed.
“You should have seen your Mom today, kids! She was like Don Corleone in The Godfather!”
“Who?” Sophie asked.
“Nevermind...” James said with a smile.
“How much did you say you knocked him down by?” Marcus let his hand drift over the surface of the Fairlane. It was an off-white color, and the rust from just several years’ use was already beginning to show.
“He said it was $500, but I suspect it was less than that, especially when he said he would ‘give it to me’ for $250. I just told him £200. Take it or leave it.” Karen shrugged. She smiled a little however.
“You didn’t say that!” Marcus said.
He looked to his Dad. James shrugged. “She might as well have. She told him that if he didn’t accept two hundred, then that was that!” He laughed.
“Go, Mom!” Marcus held his hand up for a high five. Karen obliged.
Sophie examined the exhaust pipe as if finding something of great interest.
“What are you doing back there?” James laughed, coming round to join his daughter.
“Nothing.” She said, and skipped back into the house.
Strange, strange child.
48
Karen awoke with a start. She had the nightmare again. The girl, the boiler, the garbled warning. Sweat caked Karen’s hair over her face. She felt suffocated, strangled. She flailed at her face, trying to free herself from her own restraints.
Karen tried to slow her heart rate, reassuring herself the nightmare was just that, and she was safe. She whimpered when she had calmed her pulse, emotion, her only outlet from the terror. Karen threw the sweat-soaked sheets back. Her legs glistened with sweat. The cold floor was pleasant on her overheating feet; she toddled to the door and opened it.
Karen screamed and fell backwards.
The doll was sitting, smiling up at her from just outside the bedroom door.
Sophie appeared through the crack in her open bedroom door.
“Mommy? You okay?”
“Did you put Sandy outside my door?” Karen asked shaking, still not back on her feet.
“No.” The child shook her head. “Emma did!”
Karen barely avoided breaking down into uncontrollable sobbing.
“Emma...your friend?”
“Yeah...”
“Why would she put Sandy outside my door? Surely she realized it would scare me?” Karen said delicately.
“It was to protect you.”
Sophie was so matter-of-fact about this, it scared Karen even more. She got to her feet and carefully stepped over the doll. She moved towards Sophie who opened the bedroom door a little further. Karen took the girl by the shoulders. Sophie’s small heart face was worried.
“What do I need protection from?” Karen didn't really want the answer.
“The bad man!”
Karen nodded carefully.
“The one from the painting?”
Sophie nodded.
Karen kissed her daughter’s forehead and whispered, “Thank you, honey! Time to get ready for school!” She said and patted Sophie’s bottom as she rushed back into the bright room to change.
Karen started up to the attic. She knocked on the door.
“Marcus, honey? Time for school!” There was no reply.
“Marcus?” Karen opened the door.
He made his bed.
Had he gone down for breakfast already? Karen thought.
“Emma...” a voice whispered.
Karen almost fell over as she turned towards the voice. It seemed to have appeared from nowhere and everywhere.
She peered into the darkened corners, praying she saw nothing looking back.
“Who’s there?”
Who’s there?! Karen felt like stabbing herself. She had watched enough scary movies to know you didn't ask that question. In real life, I didn't seem that silly a question...maybe all those slasher movies weren’t so stupid?
The cold shivers passing up her back; were they fingers or simply her mind?
“Emma!” a voice echoed louder this time.
Emma!
“Wha
t do you want?” Karen whispered. It terrified her that an answer would come from the darkness.
Nothing.
The dark remained soundless, any eyes probing from the depths observed in voyeuristic silence. She backed towards the door, looking from left to right, focusing on the corners of the room.
“What are you doing?”
Karen yelped. Marcus was behind her in the doorway.
“Marcus, honey! I was just looking for you! Did you already get breakfast?”
Karen tried to maintain a calm and easy tone whilst her chest pounded with adrenaline and cortisol.
“Yea...” he eyed her suspiciously. “Dad was up early and I thought I would have something with him...”
“Good, good...” she smiled distantly. “Did you have enough?”
“Yea, I guess.” He added slightly.
“Go on down and get your sister her cereal. I’ll be down soon...”
She gave Marcus a gentle turn and push out of the door. He allowed her to lead him but he glanced back over his shoulder at his odd mother. She was looking back into his room now, her hands at her sides, fists tightly clenched. It looked like she was shaking.
49
When Karen joined Marcus and Sophie, the two children were almost finished breakfast. Karen sat for the remaining minute or so. She clapped her hands when Sophie finally put her spoon down.
“Time to brush your teeth! Chop! Chop! Don’t wanna be late!” She offered a neat smile.
The weather was still nice and she wanted the kids to get some fresh air. The car was to be used sparingly. They could only afford the gas every so often.
Karen walked the kids into town. The school was close to the large metal bridge near the house. Otter Creek Elementary and Blackwater Middle School were on the same grounds. Built atop the creek, their vine-covered fronts that had once seemed so quaint and beautiful to Karen now appeared alien and evil. The vines threatened the windows. Their strong vice grip on the building, strangled the once majestic brick work.
“See ya later, kids!” Karen kissed and waved the two children goodbye. Sophie skipped off inside giggling as she met her friends. Marcus lingered, not sure if he should leave his mother or not.
“Go on!” Karen shooed. Marcus gave her one last worried glance and strolled off.
Karen watched him disappear out of sight before jogging back up the long drive and onto the main road. Here she broke into a sprint.
At the house, she flung the front door open, not bothering to close it behind her. She pulled the kitchen drawers open until she found the yellow pages. She almost ripped the pages out as she searching manically for the ‘Mediums/Psychics’ section. Karen didn't really know what she was looking for.
The section was small but one ad still grabbed Karen’s attention. It was a large quarter sized page panel. It was a photograph of an elderly woman smiling at a younger woman. Her smile bitter sweet and a hand clasped by the younger woman. Below the picture was printed, “Time is not the only healer, Dubois’ Healing Medium”
Karen perused the rest of the section but her eye kept wandering back to the Dubois advertisement. Karen was cynical about the whole idea and she had dismissed ghost stories and hauntings. That was before Blackwater House.
She lifted the phone book and brought it out into the hall. She lifted the phone wholesale and set it next to her as she took a seat on the bottom step of the staircase.
Phonebook in her lap, she lifted the receiver and dialed.
The phone line burred. There was no answer. Eventually the voice of Alison Dubois sprang to life. She had a low whispering tone. Karen momentarily mused that she could moonlight as a phone-sex line operator.
“You’ve reached Alison Dubois. I'm unavailable at the moment but if you leave a name and number, with your reason for calling, I will get back to you soon!” A beep followed this.
“Hi!” Karen started. She didn't know how to word her problem. “My name is Karen Dawson. I...think my house is haunted...”
Karen felt stupid.
“My number is 555-6275836. Emm...thank you...” She hung up. Karen felt really stupid. She resigned herself that she would not hear back from this Dubois woman.
Karen leant through the banister and felt for the cigarettes she kept on the telephone stand. She grabbed the pack and pulled it through. She flipped the lid and put her mouth to one of the cigarettes. Karen drew her head back, a butt in her mouth. She took a match from the book she pasted to the side of the pack. She struck it and lit the end of the cigarette.
Probably a hack, Karen thought, trying to reassure herself.
She sat on the stairs, head in her hands, puffing at the butt in her mouth. She rubbed her eyes and let out of groan. It was a long guttural noise; a primitive communication to the environment of her fatigue. Suddenly a violent chirp erupted from beside her. She snatched the receiver up.
“Hello?!”
“Is this Karen Dawson? Alison Dubois returning your call.” That voice had returned; the cool, calming tones; cultivated or real, it was like a warm bath had enveloped Karen.
“Oh, thank you for getting back to me so quickly!” Karen said trying to sound desperate enough to require help, but not desperate enough to scam. She was still cynical of the woman’s legitimacy.
“I check my messages to make sure I'm not being prank-called or harassed. I only take serious, heart-felt cases.”
Karen nodded and then realized Dubois couldn’t see, so she added a quick, “Of course!”
“I could hear in your voice your genuine plight.”
“Thank you, Ms. Dubois. I appreciate your willingness to help me.
“Mrs Dawson, I can only imagine how the thought of having to acknowledge the problem is tough, never mind mention to anyone else. Luckily, I'm here to help.”
Karen could feel her smile down the phone.
“I do have a few questions to get me started; prepared for the house.”
“Okay.”
“Did a family member die recently?”
“No.”
“No...” Dubois repeated absentmindedly. She was writing something down. “Has any contact been made?”
“My daughter. She has been talking to what we thought was an imaginary friend. Now we’re not so sure. She claims to have seen a man as well. A ‘bad man’ as she calls him. He looks like the man who built this house.”
“Well sometimes children, who are very susceptible to extrasensory communication, misinterpret those communications...”
“The man who built this house killed two of his wives. His son, his son’s son...they all killed people...”
There was silence on the line.
“Hello?” Karen said, fearing a lost connection.
“I'm here...” the voice came back. Alison Dubois sounded somewhat shaken. “I think I need to visit with you...” She finally suggested.
“When?” Karen asked, relieved.
“Now.”
50
Alison Dubois was wandering around the grand house’s interior. She had strolled its perimeter and made several comments into her tape recorder. Karen followed her, puffing a fresh cigarette persistently.
Now Dubois stopped and examined the basement door.
“Something happened here,” she stated.
“Yes.” Karen breathed. “That's where my daughter said she saw the man.”
“What was she doing in the basement?”
Ms. Dubois sounded judgemental.
“The door was locked. She said someone opened it and called her down.” Karen saw the woman’s eyes widen.
“Where was everyone during this episode?”
My husband and I were outside for a brief time speaking with a burglar alarm repair man. We had one installed but night after night it went off with no explanation. None of the doors were opened and the security cameras failed to capture anyone approaching the house. It was as if the intruder---”
“Had been inside all along?” Dubois completed.
/>
Karen nodded. Tears welled.
Dubois placed a hand on Karen’s shoulder.
“I'm so scared!” Karen moaned. “This house is all we have. We’ve committed all we had to buy it. There's no going back...” She motioned with the butt fixed between her fingers. Ash broke off and fell to the floor.
Dubois stroked the woman’s face and soothed, “Everything will work out...you’ll see!”
Karen returned a faint smile.
“Shall we have a seat?”
Dubois held her hand to the entrance for the dining room.
Karen nodded, wiping her face against the back of her sleeve.
She followed Alison Dubois dumbly next door and took a seat at the head of the large wooden table.
Karen stubbed the cigarette out in an ash tray in the middle of the table.
Dubois moved to the windows and pulled the grand drapes closed, sealing the high ceilinged room in blackness.
There was the sound of rustling and then a quick scratch gave way to a flare in the black. Dubois’ long elegant fingers held a match. The light approached a candle set in the center of the table.
The wick caught fire and bathed the room in a warm circle of light, the corners still cloaked.
Alison Dubois sat opposite Karen. She took her shaking hands across the table. Karen closed her eyes.
“Spirit that resides here, we wish to converse...” Dubois intoned. A dark rick incantation unlike her natural voice. It was strong and monotonous.
“Spirit, we wish to know your desires! Why do you remain?”
There was silence again.
“What is your name, spirit?” Dubois bellowed.
Suddenly Karen felt Dubois’ hand turn cold. She was shaking. Karen opened her eyes. The medium was convulsing. The whites of her eyes showed as the irises rolled backwards. Karen stood up, knocking her chair over.
“Alison?!” She gasped.
“Don’t break the connection!” A raspy voice breathed.
Karen grabbed Dubois’ hands again.
She stared at the fitful woman before asking in a quivering voice, “What is your name?”
Blackwater Page 15
