by Roger Hayden
“Who?” Mary asked.
“Pastor Phil. He brought a welcome basket for us. Can you believe it?”
“Wow, that’s nice,” she said, rocking back and forth on in the bed.
“I told him that’d you come down and say hello,” Curtis continued.
Great, she thought.
Curtis walked to the door whistling and told Mary to come down when she was ready. As he closed the door behind him, Mary pondered the arrival of their new guest. He seemed awfully interested in making their acquaintance. Maybe he was just a really nice guy. However, her instincts told her differently.
She wondered if she should mention the diary to the Pastor. He seemed familiar enough with the Bechdels, and she knew from the newspaper that he was a Pastor of the same church before the family was slaughtered. She’d have to see if he was on the up and up first. Then maybe he could provide her some answers in the unending mystery before her.
She walked down the hall to the stairwell and looked down to see the top of Pastor Phil’s white hair as he chatted with Curtis with his back turned toward her. He wasn’t wearing a suit this time, he was dressed more casual in checkered short-sleeved button-down shirt and tan Dockers. He pivoted on his heels while laughing along with whatever Curtis was telling him. In his hands he still held a basket of fruit with plastic wrapping over it. The Redwood welcome wagon in the flesh.
She slowly descended the stairs as Curtis looked up at her, causing Pastor Phil to turn and smile at her approach.
“There she is,” Curtis said.
Phil nodded as she reached the bottom, holding the basket out to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Malone. A pleasure to see you again.”
“Hello,” she said, unsure how to address him. He hadn’t told her his last name, but he sure seemed to know theirs.
“A welcoming gift from our church,” he said, basket still out.
Mary smiled and took the basket in both hands. “You shouldn’t have.” She paused, feeling the plastic crinkle in her hands. “That’s very thoughtful of your church. Thank you.”
“When was the last time someone ever gave us a welcome basket?” Curtis asked with a laugh.
Phil waved him off, feigning modesty. “Ah. It’s nothing. We just like to make our neighbors feel at home.”
Mary turned and set the basket on a nearby nightstand at the end of the staircase. She thanked him again, noticing his eyes wander around the grand foyer surrounding them, boxes, furniture and all.
“Just a beautiful mansion,” he said.
“Still have a ways to go,” Curtis said. His demeanor suddenly changed as he looked at his wrist watch. “Oh, and I gotta get back to work. Thanks again, Pastor.”
They shook hands as Curtis waved to Mary and hurried out the door. As much as she wanted to probe the Pastor, she wondered why Curtis had called her down only to quickly abscond to the front.
Phil looked to Mary while wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. There were several windows open and portable fans blowing throughout the house, but the outside heat was inescapable. “Air conditioner on the fritz?” he said with a smile.
“It’s the air conditioner that never was,” Mary said with a sigh. “We should have a new unit here in a couple of days.”
“One modern convenience at a time,” Phil said.
“You said it.”
From down the living room over, Pete and Earl entered the foyer carrying a tool bag and two more cages and chatting amongst each other. Their voices lowered as they tipped their hats to Mary and Phil.
“The wall doesn’t look too bad, ma’am,” Pete said. “A little drywall and you’ll never know we were in there.”
“That’s fine,” she said as they walked by.
“We’ll give your kitchen a good look,” Earl added.
“Don’t forget about the attic,” Mary called out as they continued on.
“Oh no,” Pete billowed, turning his head. “We’re saving the best for last.”
Mary turned back to Pastor Phil who stood patiently to the side with a polite and subtle smile. “Pest control,” she said.
“Ah, I should have known,” he said.
“Thank you again for the basket, it was very nice of you.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Your husband sounds pretty excited about the barbecue next Sunday. Can we count on your attendance?
Mary placed a finger against her lip and then pointed at him. “So you have an ulterior here motive, eh?”
Phil’s smile widened as he boasted a hearty, measured laugh that exposed him as a man of social tact. “You figured me out and uncovered my scheme.” He bowed his head like a royal subject. “Forgive me, madam.”
“We’ll put it on our calendar,” Mary said.
Phil looked up, pleased as Mary leaned in closer in interrogation. “You’ve lived her for some time, haven’t you?”
Phil’s smile straightened out as his blue eyes looked up in thought. “Well… darn near half my life has been spent in Redwood, yes.”
Mary paused, trying to choose her next words wisely. “And did you know any former homeowners of this mansion?”
“I did, actually,” he said. “Place has been vacant a long time, but I’ve known families who lived here at one time.”
“Families?” Mary said. She didn’t know of anyone else who had lived in the mansion, and the mere thought had her pumped to do more research. “So. You knew the Bechdel’s?”
For the first time since she had known him, Pastor Phil’s face went completely blank. He must have realized this and quickly tried to turn his lips up into a smile. “Yes. The Bechdel family. A terrible tragedy back then. Worst thing to ever happen in our humble town.”
Mary seized the moment and moved in closer as hammering continued outside. “Pastor Phil,” she said. “Is there something about this house we should know? I’ve heard things in the night, seen things I can’t ignore any longer, and we’ve only been here a few days. Do we have anything to worry about?”
Phil stared back at her, long and hard, in contemplation. She wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to respond, but she needed an answer for the sake of her own sanity. He then took a step back, motioning toward the door. “To be honest with you, Mrs. Malone, it’s an old creaky mansion that needs a lot of work. I’ve seen families come and go, some of them even going broke, trying to make this place into something it was never meant to be.” He paused and scratched his chin, looking around. “In the end, I think you and your husband will be fine. I can see it in you.”
Before she could say another word, Phil shuffled to the door, excusing himself. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Mrs. Malone. Have a wonderful day, and I hope to see you at the barbecue.”
Mary stood for a moment, stunned by his hasty exit. “Call me Mary,” she said as he neared the door.
“Sure thing, Mary,” he said with a wave and bright smile. She didn’t know exactly what she had said beyond her basic line of questioning. One thing was clear, Pastor Phil was being evasive. After he closed the door, she walked toward the living room prepared to see the damage done to the wall at her behest. Was Pastor Phil right? Would the house treat them any differently than the others? She wanted more than ever to find out before it was too late.
Chapter Nine
Sunday Barbecue
The new air conditioner was up and running, much to the collective relief of Mary, Craig, and the various work crews tasked with renovations. Painters, cleaners, movers, pest control, and electricians had been busy throughout the week modernizing the old mansion transforming its faded grimy, walls and dusty, spider-webbed interiors into something entirely different. Mary could hardly believe it herself. Their home was beginning to look downright livable in elegant fashion.
The attic had been cleared out of dwelling rodents who for so long had made the space there own. The pipes running through the walls had been nearly repaired, the septic system replaced, and the electrical wiring brought up to twenty-first century standards. N
o stone had been left unturned, and when Mary looked at the bright white paint covering the formerly brown-stained walls and shiny hardwood floors she could barely take it all in.
Empty of most boxes and modestly furnished with sofa chairs and coffee tables, the foyer looked unrecognizable from when she first saw it. It hardly resembled the scene of a mass murder some forty years ago, but that night was never far from her mind.
The downstairs study had been turned into her own art room where she could work under the sunlight of a large bay window that looked out into their shaded, fertile backyard and its long stone walkway through freshly cut crass and bushes trimmed to perfection. Her agent had lined up a new children’s book for her to illustrate. She had three week deadline and by mid-week she hadn’t even started.
Mary was doing her best to adjust, even though normality had long since recused itself to a different time and place. Redwood seemed the perfect town to live in, their mansion, a dream come true, but there was something lurking beneath the surface, troubling and grim, that she couldn’t shake off.
The week had rushed by, and by Sunday she couldn’t believe all the work that had been done on their home. Things were quieter with less people parading through the house, and Mary knew that she and Curtis would soon be the only two people inside their vast dream home, living like royalty without the bank account or prestige to show for it.
That morning, she had almost forgot their Sunday engagement at the Redwood church. There had been no visitors to their house since Pastor Phil’s unexpected visit, and when she opened the drawer to the nightstand to get her cellphone, she was greeted to the sight of the warped, burnt edges of the child’s diary that had captivated her the week before.
Curtis was just coming out of the bathroom after a shower when Mary quickly closed the drawer. She still hadn’t told him a thing about her discovery, and she didn’t know why. She stood in a T-shirt large enough to go down to the knees of her smooth, bare legs as he greeted her with an optimistic smile on his face.
“Morning,” she said back in a croaky voice. She hadn’t been feeling that well for the past few days, chalking it up to exhaustion.
“I hope you’re ready to testify,” he said, mimicking the movements of a preacher with his arms up in the air.
“Hardly…” she said, walking away from the nightstand. She had never seen him so eager to go to church, not the Curtis she knew. His angle, as she was it, was setting up a practice as soon as possible. There was no better way than to reach out to the church community of Redwood, of which there was a sizable amount within the congregation.
What she really wanted to do, beyond anything else was to dive back into her research about the mansion and the new town they had so hastily moved to. Even with the welcoming fruit basket, she had her suspicions of Pastor Phil. He knew things, he had to, and he had taken an interest in her and Curtis in ways that she couldn’t exactly pinpoint.
Curtis was already in the walk-in closet, searching for his best Sunday suit. He emerged in his boxers and white T-shirt holding two long-sleeved dress shirts in both hands with a tie hanging over each one. One shirt was light blue with gray tie, the other one a sterile white and blue tie.
“What do you think?” he asked her as she took a seat at the end of the bed, face tired and a stark contrast to his chipper morning attitude.
Mary’s had lay at her side as her straight, blond hair rested just above her shoulders, strands matted to her side from deep sleep. She was clearly not in the mood for outgoing social activity, but she put on her best face and told Curtis to go with the blue shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Nothing a big cup of coffee couldn’t cure.”
“I’ll make you a cup here in a minute,” he said, walking back into the closet.
As he continued talking, her eyes shifted back to the nightstand where the young girl’s diary was hidden. Mary suddenly realized that she didn’t even know the girl’s name yet. She had failed so far to find out as much as she could about the Bechdels. The week had been an exhausting blur, and in that time there hadn’t been any visions or anything out of the ordinary happen. Perhaps it had all been in her head. The thought was unsettling. She had considered the prospect of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder playing a role, especially after the miscarriage, but she had never felt so in-tuned to reality. She had to trust her instincts, and they told her that there was far more to the mansion and the town of Redwood than she could even imagine.
“It’s been a week, Mary,” Curtis said from the closet. “We need to get out and meet some people.” He must have sensed her apprehension about the entire affair before them. “We’ve worked hard getting this place livable, and it’s about damn time we venture out and enjoy ourselves.”
“I agree,” she conceded from the bed, looking around the room. Everything had been unpacked. The walls had been painted a fresh white with random paintings hanging around—one of them of an orange sunrise over the mountains that Mary painted during their vacation to Tennessee. On the dresser across from the bed, next to the flat screen television, was a framed picture of Mary and Curtis on their wedding day—smiling and lively with the world ahead of them.
Curtis walked out of the closet in black slacks with his blue dress shirt on and adjusting his tie. “Service starts at 10:30. We have a good hour. I can make us some bacon and eggs if you want.”
“Coffee’s fine,” she said with a faint smile.
Curtis looked at her with near suspicion as his own smile dropped. “You need to eat, Mary. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
She looked down at the floor, embarrassed. Her appetite, like many other things, had been waning since they moved into the house. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll save it for the barbecue.”
Curtis straightened his tie and nodded. “That’s fine and well, but you should really have some breakfast first.”
Mary rose from the bed, heading toward the bathroom as sunlight beamed in through the thin curtains covering the window. “Shower… coffee… and I’ll be good to go.” She closed the door not saying another word. She went to the mirror and wiped her hand across its foggy surface, staring at her reflection. There were noticeable bags under her blue, vibrant eyes, her lips were fixed downward in a permanent frown.
Strands of blond hair curled up at her chin as she took note of her gaunt cheek bones. The more she looked at herself, the thinner her face grew, almost as though she was fading away before her very eyes. Her face went thinner and thinner until she began wasting away to nothing as though some force was sucking the soul from her very being.
Mary backed away from the mirror, terrified, and then glanced back at her appearance. She was normal again. Gone were the large eyes among a skeletal face within the visible disappearing of mass against bone. She panicked, wondering if what she had seen was just another vision brought her current surroundings or something else. She went to the shower, pulling her T-shirt off, and turned the nozzles on, evening out the hot and cold water. Nothing felt right. She didn’t feel right. Troubling anxiety flowed through her no matter what she did. She had never felt so alone.
***
They drove to the First Christ Church of Redwood on a bright, sunny morning amidst the rolling green fields and lush forest surrounding them. The town, on the outset, was instantly comforting with its natural beauty and lack of anything resembling a major city. This was a place people moved to get away from it all, and it showed.
Its old-fashioned, Victorian nature was endearing. An earlier brochure given to Mary by Curtis heralded Redwood as a “family community.” All of that was fine. But Mary wasn’t interested in all the good things about the town. She wanted to find out its secrets for the sake of her own sanity.
Curtis was upbeat as always with his blue shirt, gray tie, and slicked-back dark hair. Gone was his five day’s growth on his bare cheeks. Wearing a neon coral summer dress and sanda
ls, Mary felt better after a shower and coffee. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail and she wore a light foundation of makeup upon her fair face. They were a young couple, married now for three years and she dreaded any questions she was sure to get while introducing themselves to the townspeople. They would probably ask why they moved into a mansion that could house a large family when they themselves had not children. She suppressed her anxiety as they drove to the church, hoping that she wasn’t being too paranoid. Curtis, however, easily saw through her silence.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“A little,” she replied, moving the passenger visor to the side to block the glare of the sun.
“Well you shouldn’t be,” he said. “There are good people in this town. I can feel it.”
Mary stared ahead, convinced that, for the most part, Curtis was probably right. But her concerns to do with the past and whatever secrets were buried within their home. If Pastor Phil seemed reserved in discussing the Bechdel’s, she assumed the same with anyone else. Maybe it was just something people didn’t talk about. Lost in her thoughts, she felt Curtis’s hand touch hers and squeeze.
“We’re going to be okay,” he said as the open two-lane, freshly-paved road sped by. “This will be a great start for the both of us.”
She squeezed back and nodded. “I hope so. I really do.” Ahead, the church was in view on the right. Its painted white exterior, modest size, and pointed steeple looked like something out of a storybook. Its front parking lot was full with a sign mounted in a square section of freshly cut grass. There was forest on both sides of the church, making it appear isolated in its own right.
Mary felt further anxiety when she looked at the dashboard clock. It’s was 10:35 and services had already began. The onus was on her, however. She had been in a morning funk and took too long to get ready. Taking notice of the time himself, Curtis assured again that they would be fine.
“We’ll find a spot in the back,” he said. “No one will even see us come in.”
Mary ran her hands down her face with a sigh. “I don’t even remember the last time we went to church. Remind me why we’re doing this again?”
