In a Dark Place: The Story of a True Haunting

by Ed

  "Oh, shit, you listened to Stephen too much. He's sick, Carmen. You know that now. He's very sick, and the things he said he saw and heard, those were just symptoms. That's all, nothing more."

  "Oh, come on, Al, you mean you can explain all the things that have happened in our house? You mean nothing has happened in there that has scared the hell out of you? Because I don't mind saying I've had the hell scared out of me by quite a few things! I mean, what just happened in there? What was that noise? What shook the windows? What was that?"

  Al's lips curled into an angry sneer and she heard him grind his teeth. "Look, I don't wanna hear this shit, okay? I don't wanna hear it! Anything that happens in this house can be explained, you understand me? Don't start sounding like your goddamned crazy son!"

  Al spun around and left her standing there in the night, alone. She looked up at the window one more time, but saw nothing. Then she followed Al inside.

  Within the next hour, everyone, one after another, still puzzled and more than a little nervous, decided to go to bed.

  Carmen went downstairs with Michael and Peter where, earlier that day, Al had moved Stephen's bed back into Michael's bedroom. She could tell they'd been upset by the explosive sounds, even though they weren't saying anything, and she certainly hoped they hadn't overheard any talk of that green glowing woman in the window upstairs; that would really scare them. She was afraid they weren't going to want to sleep downstairs—she didn't want that to start again—so she wanted to make them feel as comfortable as possible.

  Once they were in bed and quietly listening to music on the radio on the nightstand between them, Carmen gave them each a goodnight kiss, went back upstairs, and checked on Laura and Mary.

  Laura was sitting up in bed wearing a gray T-shirt three sizes too big for her and reading her Bible by the light of the bedside lamp. Mary was curled on her side, a mere lump beneath the covers.

  "Is she asleep?" Carmen whispered.

  Laura shook her head. "I don't think so. She just..." She looked over at her sister. "I don't think she wants to talk to anybody."

  "Oh. Well, how are you?"

  She shrugged, then hesitated a moment before speaking. "Aunt Carmen, remember what I said about this house? About...how it makes me feel?"

  Here it comes, Carmen thought. "Yes, I remember. And you think those sounds tonight confirm your feelings."

  She nodded. "And I heard what you said to Uncle Al about that woman upstairs. Aunt Carm, I think there's something really weird about this house. Even if...you don't believe me."

  "Well, Laura." She sat on the side of the bed and touched her niece's arm. "Even though I don't like to admit it, I'm beginning to think you just might be right." She nodded toward the open Bible on Laura's lap. ''But that'll help. That always helps."

  "I know," Laura said.

  Before leaving the room, Carmen went to the cot where Mary was curled up, motionless and silent. She placed a hand gently on Mary's shoulder and said, "You asleep, honey?"

  Mary shook her head against the pillow.

  "Are you okay?"

  She nodded against the pillow.

  "You're sure?"

  Mary rolled over and faced Carmen. "Are you mad at me 'cause I want to leave, Aunt Carmen?"

  "Of course not! I understand perfectly. I'd probably want to leave, too, if I were you. Tell you what, you just get a good night's sleep and Aunt Lacey will be here to get you in the morning, okay?"

  She nodded and rolled back over.

  Carmen waved at Laura as she left the room and went to Peter's room where Stephanie was sleeping. The lights were on and Stephanie was sitting up in bed.

  "I don't feel sleepy, Mom," she said.

  "Well, would you like to look at a book? Or color? You can listen to music, if you keep it low. You want the radio on?"

  "Oh...I think I'll just color a little while."

  "Okay, sweetheart. You do that."

  When she left Stephanie, she felt better about going to bed, too. She was more worried about everyone else than she was about getting any sleep herself.

  In the bedroom, she found Al already asleep. That made her feel better. She couldn't imagine any conversation that night being a good one, not after the incident with the green woman upstairs.

  Carmen undressed, brushed her teeth and put on her nightgown, then quietly crawled into bed, careful not to disturb Al from his sleep.

  Laura was reading the Twenty-third Psalm—the most encouraging and comforting part of the Bible to her—when she thought she felt something moving over her bare legs beneath the covers. She frowned and kicked her legs, stopped...waited...and felt nothing. She went back to reading.

  It happened again, something crept right up her left thigh and she began to kick.

  It stopped.

  Goose bumps crawled over her skin. It didn't feel like a twitching nerve or even an insect.

  It felt like fingers.

  When it happened again, it started at the very top of her thigh and moved upward rapidly.

  She gasped loudly when she felt the sensation of fingers pressing between her legs with great determination.

  Laura sat up straighter and threw back the covers.

  There was nothing there but her legs, which were spread and trembling.

  Once again, she felt fingers between her thighs, probing and, a second later, entering her even as she watched and saw nothing.

  Laura shot out of bed and ripped off the blankets and sheet with her. She searched the bed carefully, went over every inch of the mattress, searched the folds of the sheet, the blankets, but there was nothing in the bed. There was no sign that anything had been there.

  She considered waking Aunt Carmen, but what good would it do? She had no proof that something had touched her. If she told anyone, they would think she'd fallen asleep and had been dreaming, plus it would be embarrassing to bring up.

  Instead, Laura put her pillows on the floor, pulled the covers down with her and lay down beside the bed.

  It was a long time before Laura went to sleep, and even then, she had some very ugly nightmares.

  Stephanie was coloring the pictures in her coloring book when she saw something move silently and uneventfully through her room.

  She was first aware of it as a dark movement in the corner of her eye and looked up from her coloring book to see a shapeless blob that closely resembled a dark shadow...except for the fact that it was moving out of the wall and passing through the center of the room, a shadow cast by nothing, dark and yet transparent, its globular shape changing liquidly as it moved, until it passed through the bedroom door smoothly, without a sound, and was gone.

  Stephanie showed no reaction, but she could feel her heart beating rapidly.

  She considered waking someone, telling them...but why? Stephen tried to tell them for so long, and they wouldn't listen to him. Why would anyone listen to her? She reached over and turned on the radio, cuddled down beneath her covers, heart still pounding in her throat, and continued to color the picture in her book. Michael lay in bed listening to the slow, regular breathing of his brother, wishing he could fall asleep, too.

  He'd left on a small night-light in the corner because he just didn't feel very comfortable about being in the dark tonight.

  He was staring up at the shadowy ceiling when he first heard the whispers. He couldn't understand what the whispering voices were saying, he couldn't pinpoint the source of the whispering— but it was definitely there.

  With wide eyes, he looked all around the room as he lay rigid in his bed.

  The whispering sounded urgent; one voice spoke, then another, as if they were exchanging secrets of pressing importance.

  He stared at nothing for a long time, listening.

  Then it stopped.

  He wondered if he should go upstairs and wake his parents, but then he remembered how Stephen's stories had been received and decided against it. Instead, he just lay there in bed, unable to sleep, waiting for the whisperi
ng to start again.

  Then Peter began to scream as if he were dying, writhing in his bed as if in pain.

  Carmen sat up in bed, startled from sleep by her son's screams.

  She reached over and shook Al, trying hard to waken him.

  "Al, wake up," she hissed, "c'mon, wake up!"

  But he didn't budge.

  "Al, get up!"

  Nothing.

  She stopped and listened. The screaming had stopped, but she heard faint, muffled voices. She got up and went downstairs to find Michael and Peter talking.

  "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked, hurrying to Peter's bed.

  He looked up at her, his eyes puffy, cheeks striped by tears, and said, "I was stung! Something stung me! Like bees! Like when I was stung by that bee!"

  "Were you dreaming, honey?"

  "No, no! I wasn't dreaming!"

  She pulled back his covers and unbuttoned his pajama top to look him over. She saw nothing. No marks, no welts.

  "I don't see anything, Peter," she said quietly.

  "But something stung me!" he shouted. "Something stung me over and over!"

  "I don't see anything, sweetheart. Maybe you were just dreaming."

  His eyes squinted and his lips curled upward as he began to cry.

  "I'm sorry, baby, but I don't see anything."

  He just continued to cry silently, tears trickling down his cheeks.

  "Would you like me to sit here with you until you fall asleep again?"

  He nodded silently.

  "Okay. I promise I won't go away until I know you've gone back to sleep. Okay?"

  Another nod.

  Carmen looked over at Michael, who was sitting on the side of his bed, watching with concern.

  "I'll stay here awhile," she whispered.

  "Good," Michael said with a nod, slowly getting back into bed. " 'Cause, Mom? Whether you think so or not, there's something really weird about this house...and I'll get to sleep a lot easier if I know you're here."

  Carmen smiled and nodded and whispered, "Okay, honey." But deep inside, Michael's words made her feel as cold as ice.

  Carmen awoke suddenly at a little before five in the morning and was unable to go back to sleep. The house was quiet; nothing had happened to disturb her sleep.

  She got up, put on her robe, went to the kitchen and made some tea. She went through her stack of magazines in the living room until she found the one Tanya had given her. She opened it to the article on Ed and Lorraine Warren and read it carefully and slowly as she sipped her tea at the dining room table.

  Later, a while before she knew everyone would start to get up, Carmen started a big breakfast. As usual, it wasn't long before the aroma of eggs, bacon, and coffee had wafted through the entire house and, one by one, sleepy-eyed and yawning, everyone followed their noses to the dining-room table.

  But no one spoke. There were no "Good mornings," not even any sleepy, mumbled greetings. Even Peter, who was usually the most boisterous member of the family so early in the morning, was silent.

  An invisible dark cloud grew over the table as everyone ate in silence. Tension built as forks and knives clanked against plates and jaws chewed behind tight lips.

  Finally, Carmen put down her fork, swallowed her food and locked her hands together beneath her chin, elbows on the table's edge. She spent a moment running her tongue back and forth between her upper lip and front teeth, trying to buy some time. And then:

  "You know, since last night, I've been thinking—"

  "Yeah, I know, and I don't wanna hear it," Al said quietly without looking up from his plate.

  "No, please, just give me a second, here." She cleared her throat. "I've been thinking that maybe, um, maybe we were a little quick to, you know, punish Stephen the way we did... to dismiss what he was saying about the house...about there being something, you know, something weird here."

  "Yeah, that was it," Al said, his voice more stern, "that was what I didn't want to hear. And I don't wanna hear any more of it, understand? That's just plain bullshit. Stephen was sick, he is sick, and now he's being treated. He just spooked us with all his stories, is all."

  "Then how do you explain those sounds last night?" Carmen asked.

  "I don't know, but I'm gonna look into it. There's gotta be some explanation."

  With her hands in her lap, staring down at her plate, Laura said in a near-whisper, "I kept...feeling something...touch me...my legs and...and..." She suddenly sucked in a breath and closed her eyes a moment, then lifted her head and looked at them. "It was a hand. Touching me. Like a man would touch me, only...rough and...and angry."

  "I saw something move through my room last night," Stephanie said while chewing a piece of bacon, speaking in that casual, offhand tone that only a child can use when talking about something so bizarre. "It was like...a shadow. A big shadowblob. Didn't make any noise, just moved in through the wall and out through the door."

  Al dropped his fork angrily onto his plate and stopped chewing, his eyes darting from one to the other of them at the table.

  "Look, I'm not in the mood for this, okay?" he whispered unsteadily. "I can't wake up this morning, I feel like I've been drugged, so just...lay off, okay?" He picked up his fork again and continued to eat.

  "So, that's why you wouldn't wake up last night, huh?" Carmen asked.

  "What?"

  "Last night, when Peter started screaming. I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge. He said he was being stung."

  "It hurt, Dad!" Peter piped up. "Like bees! It was like bees was stingin' me all over!"

  "You were dreaming!" Al barked, making Peter flinch and fall silent.

  "I heard whispers in the room," Michael said timidly. "Voices whispering somewhere in the room."

  He threw the fork down this time, pushing away from the table and slapping his napkin down beside his plate.

  "Goddammit!" he snapped. "I'm going to work."

  He left the room, said good-bye to no one and, in a little while, they heard the front door slam.

  Eventually, everyone continued eating and, as they did, Carmen said, very quietly, "Don't worry, kids. I believe you. And sooner or later, your father will, too."

  Nothing happened again until that evening, as if whatever presence had taken up residence in the house only came out in the later part of the day, when the daylight was replaced by long, dark shadows and the moon was making its way into the sky.

  Dinner was over and Carmen was clearing the table, where Al was still sitting, drinking a beer and reading the paper.

  Stephanie and Peter were watching television in the living room and Michael was, as usual, in his room doing homework.

  Mary had gone to her aunt Lacey's to stay.

  And Laura was in the bathroom. She'd hung her robe on the back of the door and was standing before the mirror in her bra and panties brushing her hair slowly.

  She could hear the sound of the television set and the children's voices in the living room.

  She heard Aunt Carmen's muffled voice from the dining room.

  Then, as she ran the brush through her hair again and again, she felt something tug on her bra strap from behind, as if someone were trying to snap the strap against her back. But when she looked in the mirror, of course, she saw no one behind her. She spun around, but she was alone in the bathroom.

  She didn't move for a moment, frowning and suddenly feeling very cold. Then she continued to brush her hair.

  A coarse hand slid between her legs and clutched her inner thigh.

  Laura gasped and shouted, "Hey!" She spun around and jerked herself away from the hand—or what felt like a hand—but it stayed with her, groping, thick fingers pressing upward against the material of her panties, clutching at the elastic around her upper thighs.

  Another hand moved up over her stomach to her breasts, squeezing them roughly, painfully, then curling its fingers beneath Laura's bra and pulling.

  "Help, please, God, help!" Laura screamed, thro
wing herself at the bathroom door. She turned the knob and pulled. It opened a few inches but, almost as if someone were pulling it hard from the other side, the knob slipped from her hands and the door slammed shut loudly.

  "Aunt Carmen!" Laura shrieked as her panties tore away from her, as her bra snapped and was flung to the floor. "Somebody, Uncle Al, please, help me!"

  Al let the newspaper slip to the dining room table and put down his beer while Carmen dropped a casserole dish into the sink and both of them dashed toward the bathroom.

  "What is it! What's the matter?" Al cried, hurrying down the hall.

  Peter and Stephanie hurried in from the living room and Michael pounded up the stairs as Al tried the door. It wouldn't open.

  "Laura, you all right?" he asked. "Get away from the door and I'll—"

  "I'm not by the door!" she screamed in a ragged, sobbing voice. "Help me, help me, please God, please help me!"

  Al took a few steps back, then bounded forward, slamming his shoulder against the bathroom door with a heavy grunt. It did no good. But before he could do it a second time, the explosive pounding started again, rattling the windows and jittering the pictures on the walls. There were no pauses between them this time; they came again and again and again, deafening, so loud and deep that they could feel the sounds in their bones.

  All the lights in the house began to flash off and on simultaneously.

  "Mommy!" Peter screamed, pressing himself against Carmen and hugging her legs.

  Stephanie joined them on Carmen's other side and cried, "What's happening?"

  Michael simply huddled against the wall, eyes wide, fists clenched.

  "I don't know what's happening, sweetheart," Carmen shouted, putting her arms around Stephanie and Peter, "but you'll be all right, I promise!"

  Al threw himself against the door again. And again. But suddenly he screamed in pain, doubled over clutching his stomach and fell to the floor. Carmen dropped to her knees beside him with a gasp.

  "What, Al, what's the matter?"

  "I've been stabbed!" he said through clenched teeth, his voice raspy. "My God, I've been stabbed!”

  Carmen reached for his hands and gently pulled them away from his stomach, expecting blood; or some sign of injury.