by Roger Hayden
“I can,” Mary said. “This is the exact kind of community my husband and I were looking for.”
“It’s a long shot from Chicago, ma’am. I can tell you that.”
She felt restrained from revealing anything more to the man and making him even more suspicious. She wanted to tell someone about the visions she had, the unsettling feeling the mansion gave her, and her overall apprehensiveness, but Hal seemed all business, and that’s exactly how she decided to proceed.
“Can you direct me to nonfiction, please? As I said before, I’d like to read some history about the town.”
“Plenty of books over there?” he said, pointing to a row of wooden shelves in the corner across the room. “Lots of local authors there.” He then paused and looked up, pushing his glasses back. “Of course, if it’s records you’re looking for, you might want to visit the courthouse. They got an office of records there dating back a hundred some odd years.”
Great, Mary thought. She was beginning to have her work cut out for her.
“But you do have a newspaper archive here, correct?” she asked.
“Sure do,” Hal replied. He then paused and eyed her suspiciously again. “You sure you’re not a reporter.” Her face went flush as she placed her hands on the counter, ready to launch into Hal for his unwarranted suspicions. He took quick notice and reversed course with a laugh. “I’m sorry. Can never be too sure around here.” He pointed to a darkened room to side left behind panels of glass where stacks of newspaper where piled on shelves. “That’s our news room there.”
“Thank you,” she said, walking away. Even with her back turned, she could sense him watching her. Perhaps he was reaching for his phone to alert the others that a newcomer was snooping around; an outsider. She stopped at the newspaper room and glanced behind her, only to see Hal going back to his own paper. She sighed with a troubling thought. These people are making me more paranoid of them than they are of me.
She turned the light switch on as walked inside the room, about the same size as her walk-in closet at the mansion. There were two old beige sofa chairs with a circular coffee table between them where a reading lamp sat. There were four tall book shelves aligned on the side of the room filled to the brim with newspapers. Each shelf had a small printed label indicating the press year, and as she walked between the first two shelves, she already felt overwhelmed.
There was a history that the residents of Redwood seemed very protective of. Hal had made that much obvious, though she was curious how long he and his wife had lived here. Maybe if she got to know him better over the weeks, she could find out. She trailed the shelves examining the old, stacks of papers that had long turned yellowish and faded. There were papers dating back to the 1950s. Farther down the aisle she saw some as identified from the 1930s. It was remarkable to see so many old papers stored together in a dusty room. For the time being, however, she wasn’t concerned about those decades. She was looking for one particular decade—one particular year.
She reached the end of the aisle and turned to walk between the next one over, eyes scanning up and down for something of interest. In the middle should could see a label on one of the shelves for 1974-1975, encompassing over five shelves from top to bottom. “Well,” she said to herself. “Here we go.”
Suddenly, her cell phone rang from inside her purse. She paused and pulled the phone out. Curtis was calling her. She answered speaking softly even though there was no one in the library at the moment to disturb.
“Hey, babe. Did you make it to the library okay?”
“I sure did,” she said. “Currently standing in a stack of old newspapers.”
“Already in the thicket of it, eh?” His voice cut out a little as a gust of wind blew into the phone. “Hey, listen. Bob Deckers wants to take us to lunch. There’s a little diner here across the street open for business. How about you meet us for a bite?”
“That’s fine,” she said without hesitation. “I’ve got to finish what I came here for.”
“Come on, Mary. It’s Sunday. You’ll have plenty more times to go to the library this week.”
“Sorry, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll meet up with you when I’m finished.”
“And how long will that be?”
Mary paused and looked around the endless stacks of old newspapers surrounding her. “In a little bit. Meet you in an hour?”
Curtis sighed but held his tongue. “Okay. I’ll text you what they have on the menu.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, honey,” she said. She hung up as he offered a sad-sounding “bye,” and then went back to her search. She guided her hands along pile in the second shelf in front of her and pulled a few folded paper out of the stack almost by instinct. The papers were dated between June and July of 1975.
“Perfect,” she said, walking away toward one of the sofa chairs. She took a seat as a couple walked inside the library. She could see them through the pane glass in the window. They seemed friendly with Hal and walked off together toward the bookshelves. For some reason, Mary found that the people in town made her nervous. It seemed a natural reaction for anyone who was a newcomer, like herself.
She set the papers on her lap onto the floor and grabbed the first one, The Dover County Sentinel. Dover County, she had been told, was the county in which Redwood was located, but the town seemed to exhibit a boundary all its own. The closest town over, Jasper, was at least twenty miles away. Its headline displayed national news on inflation and gas prices. She flipped through the rough, dry pages feeling as though they would tear with the slightest force.
It was interesting seeing the advertisements for old television sets and refrigerators, right next to news articles with men dressed in vintage jean jackets and turtlenecks and women with their long yellow button-down dresses. As she flipped through more old news and captured moments of the past, her eyes stopped on one tiny article in the local section.
She recognized the man in the picture. He looked much younger than before, but there he was wearing a plaid jacket and tie, dark brown hair, but brushed back the same way as before. It was Pastor Phil, and he was standing at a podium with several microphones attached to it. The headline verified her suspicion immediately:
Local Pastor calls for Peace and Calm During Time of Tragedy
She brought the paper closer and read the article, completely engrossed.
“Following the tragic murders at the Bechdel Estate, Pastor Phillip F. Winstead led his congregation in vigil for the victims while urging the town not to fall prey to elements of darkness and fear.”
She lowered the paper, thinking to herself. It all seemed pretty straight forward with nothing suspicious on the outset. However, something told her there was more to the story than what she saw. She reached for another newspaper in the stack and pulled it out, completely engrossed. It was the exact paper she was looking for. “Massacre at the Bechdel Estate,” it said in big black letters. Her head rose as she looked around. The couple were strolling the bookshelves outside the room, Hal was still at his stool.
She didn’t know exactly what the articles would tell her, if anything, but she felt that she was closer than before. She grabbed the entire stack of newspapers and then stood up in haste, walking out of the room and approaching Hal once again.
“Do you have a copy machine here?”
His eyes rose up with their usual uncertainty. He examined her for a moment, hesitant, as she stood, arms clutching a stack of old newspapers.
“Back there,” he pointed.
She turned and could see a large copy machine next to the restrooms in the far corner, past the newspaper room.
“Ten cents a copy,” he added.
She set the stack down on the counter and fished through her purse, handing him a few dollar pills for change. He stopped and nearly sighed as his hands slowly went to the cash register and gave her a handful of change. She thanked him and went to the copy machine, feeling satisfied, even excited.
After a t
en or so minutes of fishing through relevant articles detailing Redwood or the Bechdel mansion, she made her copies, one by one, not even realizing that the hour she had told Curtis had already passed. With over twenty copies folded and jammed into her purse she brought the newspapers back to the shelves, realizing that her foray into the room was far going to be her last.
Before leaving, however, she scanned the bookshelves, looking for anything crime related in the nonfiction section. She came across a few travelogue books detailing the “Redwood experience,” and then oddly enough came to a few books on understanding the world of the supernatural. The books were all from small independent publishing presses, and she wondered if the authors were the very locals Hal had boasted about. Odder still was that she knew exactly where to look for every book that ended up in her hands. She’d never had such a seamless experience in a library before.
Hal’s eyes widened as she approached with ten books in hand, plopping them down on the counter. “This’ll be it for today,” she said with an exhausted smile.
“Well, all right then,” Hal replied, marking the books with his scanner. She had more than enough to keep her busy. For the time being.
***
Later that evening, Curtis and Mary took a breather in the master bedroom, admiring the setup. Their dressers and nightstands had been moved in. The bed frame was set up. Mary’s bookshelf was intact along with their television stand and flat screen, and most of their boxes had been unpacked. The walk-in closet was full of shirts, dresses, and pants on hangers along with their shoes, but there was still plenty of room left. It was the first, and only room they had deemed livable in the two days they had been at the house.
In the corner of the room, near the bed sat Mary’s stack of newspapers and books. She had showed up to the diner much later than planned, but Curtis gave her a pass. Bob, the realtor had to go to a meeting, and she never got to meet him. It was a small town, though, and she was sure she’d get the opportunity again soon enough.
“Well, we have one room almost ready to go,” Curtis said, falling on the bed, back first. He held up his hand, counting along his fingers. “That leaves us about… fourteen more rooms.”
“We don’t have enough furniture,” Mary said, pacing barefoot in a pair of black Yoga Pants and white T-shirt. The power had been miraculously turned on while they were out for the day and although the standing lamp in their room worked fine, there was a series of electrical issues throughout the house, leaving many of the rooms without power. Curtis had explained that this was to be expected.
Mary was beginning to miss the simplicity of their apartment in Chicago. She tried her best to understand Curtis’s vision and share it with her, but the endless amount of work ahead was exhausting to consider. Curtis sat up and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV and receiving a screen of white noise instead.
“That reminds me,” he began. “Cable and Internet should be out here tomorrow.” He turned the TV off and tossed the remote aside.
“You know a house like this is going to need permanent upkeep. How are we going to afford it all?” she asked, still pacing.
Curtis groaned and grabbed a notebook lying on the floor, flipping it open. “I’ve charted out our finances right here for the next year. Things will be a little tight through the summer, but as soon as I open up my own practice, we’ll be back in the green.”
Mary initially said nothing. Curtis sounded so sure of himself and confident of their future that she didn’t want to dispirit him, and she certainly didn’t want another argument for their second night in the house. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” she simply asked.
“Well…” Curtis said, flipping to the next page in his notebook. “The painters will be here to work on the interiors. Got an electrician coming out to sort out the bad wiring. Lawn maintenance begins their long slosh through our jungle of a backyard. Cleaners will be here to take care of the other rooms.” He paused, thinking to himself. “Is that it?”
“Sounds like plenty,” Mary said, taking a seat next to him in bed.
Curtis glanced over at her library find stacked next to the bed. “You never told me much about the library. Did you find what you needed?”
“It’s just a start but yet. The librarian was an older man named Hal. A bit off-putting at first, but I think he warmed to me eventually.”
“Who could resist?” Curtis said with a smile.
Some of Mary’s blond hair had fallen in strands from her hair tie in the back. Her ponytail reached just below her neck. Her face was free of makeup and tired looking. Curtis’s face was thick with stubble from the past few days. It was fair to say that they were both in need of a good night’s sleep.
“He suggested that I go to the office of records near the courthouse,” she said.
“To find what?” Curtis asked, curious.
She turned to look at him. “The history of this town. Of this house.”
“I knew it,” Curtis said with a laugh. “You are planning on writing a book.”
Mary smiled, not wanting to go into too much detail. “Maybe so.”
He took her hand, kissed it, and pulled her closer to him, kissing her soft lips. With a heavier embrace to follow, Mary backed up, holding him at bay. “Honey, please. We’re filthy.”
“I don’t mind,” he said with that look in his eyes.
It suddenly occurred to Mary that they hadn’t made love in quite some time. Not since she went to the hospital. Not since the miscarriage. The feeling in her bones was enough to go on. It was time. She fell back into his arms as they kissed with deep-seated passion. His hands caressed her back, moving her shirt up. She broke away and raised her arms as he pulled the fabric off and tossed it on the floor.
Mary awoke in the dead of night on her side of the bed, lying naked next to Curtis. The sheets were pulled up halfway, and she felt a dryness in her throat that she could no longer ignore. The room was dark beyond the blueness of the moon shadowed in through the open windows. The overhead ceiling fan was on, making a strange buzzing noise. The air conditioning unit needed to be replaced and Curtis had told her to expect a new unit there within the week.
Feeling spirited, not to mention thirsty, Mary rose and stepped out of bed, leaving Curtis asleep on his stomach. She grabbed her T-shirt and a pair of boxers lying on the floor and put them on. She wasn’t sure which lights in the house worked yet, so she picked up a flashlight next to the TV stand and left the room to venture toward the kitchen, where there was plenty of bottled water in their new refrigerator.
She crept down the hallway, flicking a light switch on the wall that did not work. She then turned on her flash light and continued down the hall. The house was quiet with nary a disturbance. The noise of their old city seemed like a distant memory. At the moment, Mary would have done anything to hear a car engine, a siren, or a train. She was tired of thinking of their new home as the Bechdel mansion. Maybe Curtis was right. It was so long ago, why couldn’t they just make the place her own? She then came to the stairs, hesitant to enter the black abyss below.
She never considered herself a fearless person. She knew when to stray from danger when it was right in front of her, especially living in Chicago, but if she was to be afraid to venture the house along, day or night, she feared that she could never make the transition work.
“Come on. What are you waiting for?” she asked herself in a soft voice. She pointed the flashlight down the stairs walked down, step by thick, marble step. She reached the foyer and was met with a series of unpacked boxes all over the room. The boxes casted shadows against the light which had her on edge. She couldn’t deny a slight pinch of fear coupled with her increasing heartrate. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was seeing things—figures against shadow that her mind gave life to.
She rushed past the stacked boxes and headed toward the dining room, closing in toward the kitchen. She flicked on the kitchen light switch in haste. A series of long fluorescent bulbs from above flickered
on, much to her relief. Their new stainless steel refrigerator hummed in the corner next to the dishwasher. She approached the fridge with the intent of grabbing a bottle or two and going back to bed, but the grumbling in her stomach told her otherwise.
She swung the fridge open and grabbed two water bottles from the middle shelf, setting them on the counter. Inside, the fridge was practically empty. There was half a tuna salad sandwich Curtis had gotten her from the diner earlier, a loaf of bread, and some cold cuts. Not wanting to spend too much time in alone, she grabbed the to-go box and closed the door. Sandwich and water in hand, she left the kitchen, leaving the light on behind her.
As she passed through the dining room, Mary felt more at ease and less afraid of the bare, looming walls along her way. She turned the flashlight back on, balancing her sandwich and drinks and suddenly heard an unmistakable sound coming from the foyer. She slowed her pace, and listened. It was the familiar scratching sound from before, coming from another room.
Rodents, she thought.
Pest control had done a sweep of the house earlier in the day, but their work was far from over. The scratching ceased and she continued on, when another sound stopped her dead in her tracks: the faint cry of an infant. She couldn’t believe it. She had to be dreaming. She slowed again and followed the sound, past the stair case and toward the rooms on the other side of the hall.
The crying grew louder with each step. Shining her flashlight ahead, she looked down and saw that her hands were trembling. As she stopped at the first door to her right, the crying became clearer. There was no door to muffle it. The sound was coming from the living room. She peeked inside, waving the flashlight around. The crying stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in unison.
What the hell was it?
She braved forward and entered the living room, clutching the bottles of water against her chest. Ahead in the corner, just beyond the beam of the flashlight, she saw something small huddled in the corner. It looked small and furry. Too large to be a rat or a feline. Too small to be human. The cries resumed. Whatever it thing was, it was most definitely making the noise.
