Maddie Ann s Playground

by Mackenzie Drew

  Stumbling toward the heart of the church, they found a light switch on the wall. Everything lit up like Christmas. They hurried to find the right light switch, so not to attract attention from the nearby neighbors and finally found a soft overhead glow. The claustrophobic chapel felt confined, the benches close together, butted against each other. The room smelled like Claire’s basement—mildewy and wet. Jennifer gagged the moment she took a deep whiff. She placed the hem of her hospital gown over her nostrils and scampered through the aisles looking for a good place to rest.

  “This place looks abandoned,” Jennifer said, swiveling her head to and fro.

  “Nope. They hold services every Sunday. This is where the po' folks go,” Claire explained. “You're used to the grandeur of St. Teresa's, you spoiled brat.” She grinned.

  Sensing the strain on Jennifer's tired, worn out body, Claire found a pew for Jennifer to lie on where she huddled for warmth. These fall nights got downright frosty.

  “I could eat a big, fat, juicy steak right about now, with a baked potato and a good-sized salad. After food, I want a big fluffy pillow and a blanket to ward off the chill. And maybe some clothes. I look and smell like, a bag lady.” She shook her head and laughed. “I know I'll never see a pillow or designer jeans or a good meal again.”

  Claire chuckled. “You'll live to see all those things and more, my friend. Food no longer interests me. I haven't had anything decent to eat since, oh, let’s say, the morning of the Halloween party. Wait, I forgot about my grandpa fixing me breakfast one morning. But I realize you still need to eat. We'll rest here a bit, and then see if we can't find you something. There's a small kitchen on the other side of the rectory.”

  They held each other and laughed. If only it could stay this way, but while it lasted, it was Heaven. Claire watched over her as Jennifer closed her tired eyes to rest.

  ***

  The phone rang, jarring Cindy out of her sleep. She reached for it, panic making her heart thump harder. “Hello? Jennifer, is that you?” Silence, then, a voice.

  “Mrs. Cravens, this is Father Donovan from St. Theresa's. Look, I hate to bother you at this hour, but I need to come over and talk to you.”

  Glancing at the clock, it read 1:30 a.m. She jumped out of bed with the cordless in her hand and rushed into the bathroom, closing the door. “Would this have anything to do with Jennifer,” she whispered. “Is she all right?” she asked frantically.

  “Yes, it's about Jennifer, but I don’t know where she is, Mrs. Cravens. She did come to see me today, but she ran off before I could call the authorities. Listen, I can’t talk to you about this over the phone. I need to see you in person,” he said.

  “Do you know where we live?” She nodded, saying, “Okay, come to the kitchen door on the east side of the house.”

  Cindy put on her housecoat and slippers, taking care not to wake Steven, then went downstairs to put on a pot of coffee. She couldn’t figure out why Jennifer went to Father Donovan or what she told him. But whatever it was, he said it couldn't wait until morning. Worried sick where her daughter slept for the night, she could only imagine the worst. After Jennifer told her she had Clair with her, Cindy felt even more convinced that maybe Claire remained alive this entire time. While the coffee brewed, Cindy paced until she heard a knock at the back door. She jumped, and rushed to let in Father Donavan. He stood in her mudroom wearing a weary pall, a huge bandage over one black-and-blue eye.

  “Father, please come in. Let’s go in the kitchen,” Cindy said leading him into the house.

  She grabbed two cups, poured the coffee, and sat down. Father Donovan looked worn, like someone had beaten him. Whatever made him leave the sanctuary this time of night must have seemed important.

  “Father, what happened to you? How do you feel?” she asked, concern scowling her eyebrows.

  “I'm fine, just a small car accident. I hate to bother you so early in the morning, but they released me from the hospital and I needed to talk to you. Is your husband at home?”

  “He's sleeping. No reason to disturb him, but I'm glad you're fine. What can I do to help you, Father?” She placed a paper napkin in her lap, trying to appear calmer than her heart led on as she changed the subject.

  “Jennifer came to me yesterday for help. I tried calling you, but there was no answer on your home phone. She shared something disturbing with me that I’m not sure how to explain. Mrs. Cravens, she claims someone murdered Claire and those other four girls. Jennifer said a child named Maddie Ann is responsible for their deaths.” He slowly and deliberately told her everything Jennifer had said to him yesterday afternoon.

  Distress lines spread across Cindy’s face as she listened to the story. She doubled over her arms and rocked back and forth, like she'd taken a hard blow to the stomach.

  “Mrs. Cravens is everything okay?” Father Donovan asked, patting her back.

  Waving a hand at him, she rose, leaning against the chair and taking a deep breath. “Of course, I've heard of the silly curse, but this is stunning news. What you’re saying is that Jennifer knows who killed all her friends? When? How? I mean, this can’t be true. She has permanent retrograde amnesia so this…this story of hers can’t be true. She lied, Father,” she said, her voice filled with desperation. “She's ill.”

  “I am deeply concerned for Jennifer’s safety. That’s why I had to see you in person, Mrs. Cravens. Maybe you can enlighten me. Personally, I can’t make sense of any of it.”

  Holding her face in her hands, Cindy sat there, speechless.

  “If the curse of Old Creek Cemetery is real, Jennifer is in big trouble and I fear for her soul. If this is all in her imagination, she's still in dire straits because she's alone out there. I didn’t mean come here and frighten you, but I thought you needed to know about this. We have to find her before she gets the entire town in an uproar,” he added.

  “Steve and I called the police already and they are searching for her. I did receive a brief phone call from her last night. She didn’t say much but that she was fine, and she had an old friend with her. She said she was with Claire,” she added.

  “That is a possibility we have to hope for. Jennifer and Claire have always been so close. If Claire is alive, I can't see them staying away from each other. They were inseparable in Sunday school. Unless, Claire is dead. If so, then Jennifer's plight is more dangerous than we can imagine.”

  “So father, where do you suppose she is? I can’t imagine her being at Old Creek Cemetery; I can’t think of where she'd go.” Cindy began to believe Claire was alive and influencing Jennifer to run. Or maybe she was one of the evil ones trying to get to her.

  ***

  A bad feeling shot through Claire’s chest.

  “Jennifer, wake up. I hear a noise. Come on Jennifer, wake up,” she pressed.

  “Okay, I’m awake. What’s wrong?” Jennifer mumbled. Trying to keep her heavy eyelids from slamming shut again, she sat up, moving closer to Claire. She rubbed her eyes.

  “They can't come in here Jennifer. Don’t worry. We’ll hear them scratching, yes, but there’s no way they can step into the House of the Lord.”

  Jennifer sat back against the wooden bench trying to relieve the tension in her neck and shoulders.

  “When can we leave? We can’t stay in here forever, or at least I can’t. Then what?” she asked, listening to scratching and scraping of long fingernails on the tall stained-glass windows in the chapel.

  “Good question. I don’t know,” Claire replied. She giggled and poked Jennifer in the belly to make her laugh. Claire had her hands tied. She knew the pastor of the church would come in and find them. They had to hide until they could figure out what to do next. “Hey, do you have a watch?”

  Looking at her funny, Jennifer pretended to glance at an imaginary watch. “Yeah, it's two hairs past a freckle. Did you forget where I've been?”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, we need to find out what time it is. Did you notice the time?” Jennifer shook her head. Th
ey rose off the bench to go in search of one. Time became of the essence. Fumbling through a dark, narrow hallway, they found an office.

  “Go,” Jennifer, insisted, pushing her through the doorway.

  “I’m trying to find the light switch.” Feeling around on the wall, Claire found it and flicked it on.

  “Wow, look at all this stuff,” Jennifer said as they entered the room. Every wall contained bookshelves with religious artifacts, from statues to beads and pictures. There wasn't an inch of free space on any shelf. A large desk covered in papers held court in the center of the room.

  Fascinated with all the trinkets, Jennifer forgot what they were there for.

  A heavy thud from above their heads jerked Claire's attention. “Let’s find the clock and get out of here.”

  They found a watch sitting on a bookshelf that read 4:30 a.m. The sun would rise soon, and Jennifer feared someone would come in and discover their sanctuary before she and Claire had a chance to get out.

  “Now that we know what time it is, we have about two hours. If we wait until full sun-up, I don’t think they’ll bother you in the daylight,” Claire told her. She seemed so certain of that. “Evil hates daylight,” she said confidently.

  “Maddie Ann accosted me in the garden of Father Donovan's church yesterday. We're not safe even during the day, I fear. Oh, Claire, what are we to do?”

  “Well, we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it,” Claire said, resignation obvious in the set of her shoulders.

  The girls watched the sunrise from the basement window. It rose over the tops of the trees beyond the parking lot. Jennifer stood in awe, as the pink streaks faded to a bluish white sky.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Jennifer said, her patience worn thin. Jennifer heroically tried to appear as the brave soldier Claire expected and climbed out the window first.

  “Come on, it’s not so bad,” Jennifer said. She closed her eyes, and took in a big whiff of fresh morning air. Took out the last sentence.

  “I’m coming already,” Claire replied. She grabbed the sides of the window casing and pulled upward onto the blacktop of the parking lot. “Why can’t you fly or appear and disappear from one place to the next?” Jennifer questioned.

  Claire rolled her eyes and grinned. “Because, I want to act like a normal human and flying isn’t normal,” she said. “If I hold on to normalcy, it might make you feel better about me being dead.”

  Without warning as Jennifer stood with her back against the street, sharp claws penetrated the flesh on her shoulders. Maddie Ann dragged her across the parking lot, before Claire could rush to her aid. “Claaairrrre….! Help me!”

  Agony screamed through Jennifer’s mind as her bare back raked across the blacktop. The more she struggled, the harder Maddie Ann fought to seize her tightly in the grip of death. Fear raced through her soul. The foul, hideous fiend glaring back at her caused the hairs on Jennifer’s neck stand up. Maddie Ann no longer had blonde-hair, or appeared like the innocent-looking child she’d seen in the church garden. She now took on a hideous creature look, with fanged teeth, fiery red eyes, and flesh that reeked of decaying rot. The hissing sounds coming from deep within her throat sounded like beastly calls, signaling to the others that she drew near her evil domain, her prize at bay.

  Jennifer’s heart raced out of her chest as Maddie Ann yanked her closer, took flight high above the ground, soaring through the bright dawn sky.

  Claire scurried to get to her feet, and yelled out to her dear friend, “Noooo! Jennifer, I’m so sorry.”

  Watching as Jennifer screamed in fear, Claire began to rip at her hair in grief for her best friend. She knew she could do nothing to stop the slaughter. Now that Maddie Ann had her talons into Jennifer, she couldn’t escape. Falling to her knees as the tears rolled down her face, Claire began to shout in anger, pointing the bitterness towards herself.

  “Oh, my God…I’ve allowed Jennifer’s death to become a reality. The only thing I had to do was keep her safe, and I've failed.” She shook her fists at the sky. “Why did you fail me?”

  Crouched down on the blacktop praying, The Rocks jabbing painfully into her knees woke her from her trance. How's that for reality, she thought. Pain.

  Suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

  “Father Donovan, I’ve got to go to him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  By 3:00 a.m., Father Donovan sank into overstuffed goose down pillows and fluffy blankets of his seventeenth-century English oak canopy bed. He felt relieved. The unfortunate accident left him with bruised ribs and assorted contusions, and rendered him exhausted and almost useless. He fingered the cut above his eye that had needed seven stitches to close, seeing again in his mind the moment the windshield shattered from the impact of the dump truck's wide nose. The dashboard and steering wheel had crumpled into his torso like aluminum foil, leaving his thighs bruised and battered as well. He escaped without broken bones.

  But by far, his beautiful old black Buick took the worst insult. He totaled Betsy. The towing service sent her straight to the scrap heap. He'd loved and babied that car for thirty years. Now, he resigned himself to taking taxis, like the horrific contraption he'd flagged down to take him to Jennifer's parent’s house, or he saw himself depending on his assistant, Linda, for the near future. Maybe his parishioners would take pity on him and replace it. The cops said that after an investigation, if it showed his fault, the dump truck's insurance company wouldn't pay, and they might even sue him and the Catholic Church. He remembered the light being green when he went through it. He cringed when he thought about the accident, so he closed his eyes to the outside world and thought of Jennifer.

  The child was out there alone and ill. He knew it took courage on Jennifer's part to tell him what went on in the cemetery, and he wondered if she'd told her doctors or her parents the same story. Frustrated at his new physical limits and facing a long recuperation, Father Donovan knew he had to find her. He only hoped the authorities found her soon. This entire affair could blow the lid off this town. He popped two of the pain pills the emergency room had given him into his mouth, washed them down with a glass of fine Chablis that he stored in the cabinet in his room, and closed his weary eyes.

  ***

  Claire's mind felt as spongy as angel food cake. The stress nearly caused her to go over the deep end, yet she was a spirit. How would one's mind do that if they did not exist in the flesh? She couldn't fly, let alone think straight. She slapped her own face and shook her head, trying for clarity. She had to keep it together. Her best friend’s life depended on her. She looked at the bright morning sky, counting on the hope that Maddie Ann wouldn't kill Jennifer right off. She'd lose her playmate if she did, and Claire knew she wanted a playmate more than anything. Grandpa told her that much. Claire needed reinforcements. She had to break the rules and go to an outsider, Father Donovan. Without the ability to get her message through to Father Donovan, Maddie Ann or the black souls would mangle Jennifer. She had to find him.

  Claire flew over St. Theresa’s, searching. She needed to find the priest’s room. She came face to face with a hundred windows or so in the entire building. At this point, her flying ability came in handy or else she’d have to search on foot for hours. As she peeked into each double window, she caught a glimpse of the varied items stored away in the old church. One room had a huge broken organ scooted back against a wall with pipes sticking out all over the place.

  One storage room had row after row of flattened folding chairs stacked against the walls. In yet another room, dozens of robes, boots, and children’s school desks sat in perfect rows. Claire shook her head and continued with her search. She had a bound to find Father Donovan’s room somewhere inside the monstrous building.

  She'd about lost all hope when cottage style windows greeted her at the corner on the third floor. Did she find the right room? She hoped so. What would she discover hiding in this room, a circus? She peeked through the thin panes of glass and, lo and be
hold, Father Donovan lay snuggled down beneath the warm covers with bazillion pillows encasing his body. What in the world would a man want with all those pillows?

  Hoping to rouse him, she pushed open the windows causing a big racket as a brass vase crashed to the floor, and a gust of cool wind ruffled the covers on the huge carved bed. Claire had never seen such a big bed in her entire life. Four people could fit comfortably in there.

  “Who’s there?” Father Donovan asked weakly, rolling over to the sun streaming through the wide-open window.

  Claire oozed into the ornate room. The priest wiped his eyes and sat up when a gold light fluttered to the floor, and spread out like an ocean mist, covering the Oriental rug in front of the window. Claire stepped toward him out of the mist and focused on appearing.

  “Please, I won’t hurt you. It’s me, Claire Barton,” she whispered.

  Pulling the covers to his chin, he had the sense to look frightened at her transparency. She walked over and sat down on his bed beside him. “Father Donovan, I need your help.” She took his hand in hers. “I know this is going to sound strange, but something bad has happened to Jennifer. Maddie Ann snatched her an hour ago, and headed toward the cemetery with her. Now I need you to help me save her soul.” She sniffed and started to cry. She couldn't help it.