by Sharon Hays
A high-pitched scream rang through the house, sending chills through her body. Maryanne felt an ethereal presence. She knew there was no escape. A cold, clammy hand accompanied the foul breath. The fingers felt her hair and touched her face. Maryanne’s body was cold and shaking. “Don’t touch me. You’re scaring me!” She began to cry, pleading for mercy from this abhorrent, half-human creature.
Maryanne buried her face in the musty bedding, crying and praying that someone would hear her, and come searching. She felt helpless and hopeless. Terror wrapped itself around her, taking her to places she had never imagined.
Calloused fingers moved away from her hair, touching her hand. She felt cold and clammy hands, with claw-like nails at the tips of its wretched hands. Her screams echoed through the eerie emptiness of the house as she tried to pull away. The sweaty hands pulled back, and the creature shuffled away from the bed. She could hear the uncanny creaks as the door slammed shut. The lock clicked, and Maryanne knew there was no way out. It was gone. The smell was gone. She was alone once more in the chasm of a demonic house, crying into the night, into the darkness. Fear engulfed her. She lay motionless for several minutes, until she knew the creature was gone. Her body was weary and shaking from fear. She pulled herself up from the bed, and made her way to the door, barely able to function. The door would not open. She went to the window but it was useless to try any more. It was shut fast from paint for years there was no hope for opening it. If she did, how would she climb out a two story window? Looking down onto the landscape, she knew there was no way out. She lay back on the bed and cried until sleep finally overtook her, giving her solitude from this living hell…
14
Back at the real estate office, Joan was trying to reach Maryanne. She was becoming concerned, and she called Officer Tratnik.
“Hi Steve. I hope you are not too busy to talk a minute.”
“Joan, what’s been happening?”
“It’s about Maryanne. Against my warnings, she insisted on going to the Valencia Manor again, even after all of the bizarre experiences she has been having. It is as though she is compelled to go into that house. I haven’t been able to reach her. She left several hours ago, before ten a.m., and I have not heard from her. I am seriously worried. I’ve left messages and called at least six times. Something is not right. She said she was going to be out of there by dark, since the lights haven’t been turned on yet.”
“How ‘bout I run over there just to check. I’m sure she’s okay. I was going on a break anyway. I’ll call you when I find her. Try not to worry too much.
“Thanks, Steve. I appreciate your help. Call me as soon as you hear anything!”
“Will do. Talk to you soon.”
Joan felt relieved, but still deeply concerned. She closed her office, and returned home. Steve left for Valencia Lane and arrived at the Farthington Manor. All was dark, except for the familiar lamppost that leaned lazily across the sidewalk. Steve parked in front of the Manor and saw Maryanne’s car in the side drive. Flashlight in hand, he walked toward the front entrance, stumbling on the broken stone walkway. He shined the flashlight onto the porch, lighting up the entrance, and pushed the lever on the right door, putting both hands against it, moving the heavy portal until it opened enough to edge his way in. Pointing the light into the room, he found his way inside. As he moved around the room with his lantern, it illuminated the huge mirror, causing a ghostly reflection. His light fell against the fireplace, sculptures, and the large portrait of John Farthington. He continued upward along the staircase. Familiar unnatural shadows skipped from wall to wall. He took each step carefully, holding onto the balustrade.
“Maryanne! Maryanne! It’s Steve Tratnik… Where are you? Hello! Are you in here?” He shouted out to her as he made his way up. The squeaky stairs make him uneasy and unsure of their safety. He held tighter to the balustrade, and then reached the landing and stood, overlooking the room, shining his flashlight downward. He felt the cold chill of an unsettling presence.
“Maryanne! Maryanne!” He called into the darkness, his voice echoed against the walls of the vacant room. “Where are you? Are you all right? If you cannot talk, make a noise. Hit the wall. Something! Anything! Hello! Hello!” Steve was beginning to worry. Something was very wrong here. He thought possibly her car had stalled, and she left on foot or called a cab to pick her up, and was at home by now. Trying hard to remain calm and make sense of this, he dialed Joan to see if she had heard from her.
“Hello, this is Joan, Steve. Did you find her?”
“No, I called to see if you’ve heard from her. Her car is here, but I’m inside and don’t see her anywhere. I’m still looking, but getting a little concerned. Would you call her house to see if she made it home? If she doesn’t answer, call the hospital. I’ll keep looking here. I may call the department and have them send some help over. Talk to you soon. Call if you hear from her.” He hit number two on his cell and dispatch answered. “Sally, Officer Tratnik here. Let Sheriff Olson know I’m at the Valencia and need backup. Miss O’Donnell seems to be missing and I’m not sure yet, what is going on here but doesn’t look good.”
“Got it, Steve. Right away.”
As he talked, he continued making his way upstairs and along the balcony, and pushed doors open, one by one, hoping to see Maryanne, but she was nowhere to be seen. He forced open a door, revealing the antique iron bed, and he flashed his lights on a pile of bedding. . The stench of the room was sickening. Fanning the room with his flashlight, he pointed it on the floor and under the bed. He found the camera, not aware of whom it belonged to. He slipped it into his pocket and left the room.
Circling the light around the balcony, he found his way to the next door and the next. Searching the rooms meticulously, he found no sign of Maryanne. As he neared the landing for the second staircase, he saw the broken railing and checked to see if she was lying anywhere injured or unconscious. There was no sign of her. At the base of the stairs where the banister had been broken, a flash of shiny metal drew his attention. He went down the staircase and found a silver pill case, adding it to his collection of various items he discovered as he continued searching the house. He noticed the dust had been interrupted by something being dragged across the floor and toward the stairs.
His cell phone rang and broke his concentration. “Hello, Steve here.” “This is Detective Corolla. I’m on my way. Got your call. Be there in a few.”
“Thanks, Jim. I’m inside…Just come on in. I can’t find anyone here, but Maryanne’s car is parked in the drive, and I found a few items that could be hers. See you in a few.” Click. Steve began combing through the lower rooms, checking the kitchen, dining room, and the back porch. He went into the library, and there were bookshelves filled and overflowing, with old and tattered books in disarray, that had not been touched in years. Nothing to indicate she was anywhere in the house He called out to her several times, and then sat down on the bench in Florida Room and took out the camera. Looking at the photos, he studied quite a few recent shots, one of Maryanne. . He saw a picture of the room he had searched with the bed, positive she had been in the same room in the last several hours. Searchers yesterday took photos of the same rooms, but he noticed some things were not present in today’s photos. Maryanne had to be in this house, so he began to look further. He walked back up the staircase to the room where he found the camera and began combing every inch of it. The closet was empty except for garments hanging on hooks, and reeked of dead animals.
Detective Corolla arrived. Steve looked out the window overlooking the drive when he saw the lights of his squad car. He could see Corolla approaching the door. His chunky frame was unmistakable in the darkness, as his shadow fell against the side of the house. The door was open so he walked inside and called out.
“Where are you, Steve? Corolla here.”
“I’m in here, Jim, upstairs on the right.” Steve came out the door and waved the flashlight down at Detective Corolla. Jim was standi
ng at the foot of the staircase, nervously aiming his flashlight around in the darkness.
“This house is really something. Kind of a spooky place, if you ask me.” Detective Corolla looked the house over in amazement. “I have never been in here before, Steve. We really need to get some lights on in this place. I am going to speak to the chief tomorrow and find out when they expect to get it done. The order was sent in two weeks ago! They said it had been finished, but doesn’t look like they did much of anything.”
“I know, Jim, but the wiring in this old house is really messed up. They worked on it, but haven’t been able to figure out the problem yet. I have combed this house and can’t find Maryanne. I did find a camera that she was using to photograph the place, and a few items that may or may not be hers. She isn’t here as far as I can tell,” Steve said, “but we’ll order a search here in the morning at first light. Let’s check the rest of the rooms down here before we leave though. I am going to need a couple of men to watch the place tonight, just in case someone turns up.”
They scoured through four more rooms with no sign of her. Steve looked at his watch. “It’s almost one in the morning, and she’s been gone since ten a.m. yesterday. No one has heard a thing from her. Scares the hell out of me, ya know? Let’s get out of here, and we’ll start again tomorrow with a full team. We’ll comb this place again.” Steve led the way as they headed out the front door to their cars.
“I’m sending a team here to spend the night on guard, just in case.”
“I appreciate you taking time for this, Detective. Talk to you tomorrow. I am officially off, but I’m going to Joan Bishop’s to let her know what’s going on. You can reach me on my cell.” Steve shook Jim’s hand and walked toward the car.
Officer Tratnik stopped at Joan’s to fill her in on the latest developments, and her lights were on, so he knocked on the door.
“Joan, it’s me, Steve. Are you still up?” The door opened and Joan threw her arms around Steve, breaking into tears.
“I should have never told her about the listing for that damn Valencia Manor. It’s my fault she went there in the first place.”
“Take it easy on yourself, Joan. It’s not your fault. It’s a house, for cryin’ out loud! Nothing more, nothing less. We’ll find her. There’s an explanation and we have to stay calm until we figure it out.” They walked into her house, his arm around her.
“Can you stay here tonight, Steve. I am so worried. What if something should happen to her? I would never forgive myself. Please stay, keep me company until I fall asleep.” She wiped her eyes and sat down on the sofa.
Steve sat beside her and draped his arm around her shoulder. “I can stay as long as you need me, Joan. However, I have to leave for work by seven in the morning.” He went to the kitchen, and returned with a bottle of water for Joan. They were both exhausted, and before long, they were sleeping soundly.
Sunlight streamed through the front window, warming the room. Steve woke to find Joan sprawled along the sofa with her head in his lap, sleeping peacefully. Carefully, he scooted out from under her and supplemented a small pillow, so as not to wake her. Glancing at his watch, he had plenty of time to run home, shower, and make it to work. Placing a small knitted blanket across Joan, he quietly closed the door, locking it behind him.
15
Sun, streaming through the window heated the room, making Joan uncomfortable, and she stirred, pushing off the cover. Moments later she opened her eyes, realizing she was not in her bed and remembered Steve had been sitting beside her. They had fallen asleep, but she felt comforted that he had stayed.
Joan got up and turned on the coffee pot. Moments later, she delighted in the comfort of her shower where she stood for what seemed like half an hour in its relaxing pleasure. Wrapped in a huge towel, she approached the mirror and wiped off the steam with the edge of her towel. She was still worried about Maryanne. Now it was time to get on with the day. She finished dressing, blow-dried her hair, quickly painted on her makeup, and by eight she was sipping a cup of coffee and munching on a croissant. Taking her last drink, she hurried out the door, momentarily running back to get her cell phone. Dialing Maryanne again, there was no answer, and the message box was full. A sick feeling came over her again, as she stepped into her car and hurried off to work.
Her phone rang. She picked it up. “Maryanne! Is that you?”
“No, Joan. It’s Steve. I’m just checking in to see if all is well with you. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you. I knew you were exhausted, and I really think you needed the extra rest.”
“Thank you, Steve. It was thoughtful of you. I have been thinking about Maryanne, and tried calling her again. Mailbox is full, and I am still worried sick.”
“They are searching the house for clues, as we speak. I am about to go over there. I can call you as soon as I hear anything. Take care of yourself, Joan, and try not to worry too much. All will be fine, I’m sure.”
“Your positive attitude gives me comfort. I will be at the office, call me…anytime. I’ll be working all day on a couple of closings. I may run to city hall. Just know my cell is on twenty-four seven. Thanks again, Steve.”
“Bye, Joan. Will do. I’ll be in touch.”
Glancing into her rear view mirror, she checked her makeup before getting out of her car.
Entering her office brought back memories of where this all started. She sat at her desk and opened her brief case, trying to get interested in her work without much luck.
The phone rang, and Joan quickly picked it up, hoping for good news. “Hello, Bishop Realty, may I help you?” Joan heard a soft breathing for a moment, and then it hung up. Joan checked the ID, to see it was a private number. Thinking it must be a wrong number, she blew it off and continued paperwork that smothered her desk. So much to do today, she thought as finally her organizational skills went into automatic pilot. She had always been great at multitasking, so things were rarely left undone for too long in Joan’s business. Now she could finally concentrate.
Dialing another client she waited for an answer, hoping to reach him so the day could be complete and all appointments organized. She wanted to finish by five o’clock.
“Hello, this is Brad!” A deep, masculine voice answered.
“This is Joan from Bishop Realty, Bradley. I’m calling to confirm our meeting today at four o’clock. Are we still on?”
“Oh. Yes, Joan. I will be there a little before four. Can we make it fifteen minutes earlier?”
“Fantastic! It will be perfect for me as well. I will see you then.” She hung up the phone and dug deeper into the paperwork. By noon, she had completed all the details, and she was out the door. Lunch break was the perfect exit. Kill two birds with one stone, she thought. She ran across the street to the deli, grabbed a bottle of water, and ordered lunch. She sat in the corner at a small table and noticed Mrs. Dirkshire walking through the door. She immediately got up and approached her…
“Hello, Irene! I’m very pleased to see you.” She gave the sweet woman a quick hug. “Would you like to join me? I have a small table here. Can’t stay long, but I would love to chat with you.”
“Joan, it’s a pleasure to see you. I would love to join you. Go sit down, and I’ll be there in just a few. I’m having a latte and veggie roll.” She walked carefully, with the aid of her cane to get her lunch. Joan picked up her tray, took it to the table for her, and pulled out a chair for Mrs. Dirkshire.
“Thank you, Miss Bishop. You are very kind.” She beamed across the table, Joan thinking how her sparkling eyes reflected the lovely character of this special woman.
“I have been going through the paperwork on your brother’s place, and it has been very mysterious to say the least!” Joan commented across the table, as Mrs. Dirkshire sipped on her latte.
“I know the house has its secrets, and hopefully we will be able to sort them all out with no more problems.” The gray haired woman peeked out from behind the steaming latte, an
d half heartedly smiled.
Joan had not informed her of the latest incident, concerning Maryanne’s disappearance. She decided not to, considering her age, thinking she would wait to see what developed before presenting such a frightening scenario to Mrs. Dirkshire.
“Oh, Miss Bishop, there are a few things I forgot to tell you. I have a little problem with my memory sometimes, but not serious, you know. Just that age thing we all get as we mature.” Maryanne understood she wanted to be treated as a completely full functioning person, even though some people seem to think age plays too big a part in losing capabilities. She knew better when it came to Mrs. Dirkshire, for sure.
The woman began to enlighten Joan about the couple who owned the Valencia Manor, long before her brother John came into the picture. “According to my best information of the Bonicellis, they had a daughter, as I explained. She was just a young child when the gossip about a possible accident concerning the child was all around town. This goes back, you know, so details may be a little sketchy. I know I talked to you about this before, but I was hoping you could do some checking on this, and find out what really happened to her? I have wondered about that for years now. If you find out, would you please let me know?” Then, just as quickly as she came, she took another bite of the veggie roll, got up, took her cane and the worn satchel, and scurried out of the Deli. She looked into the window as she passed, and waved. Joan sat for a moment processing the information. She had already done some research on the Bonicellis, but had not found anything significant to prove what actually happened to the child. Joan decided she would further investigate the death, and see if something turned up.
She emptied the trays as she was leaving the deli, with her cell phone in hand and leather bag across her shoulder, that was filled with paper work she had to complete today. Time had gotten away from her, and she rushed out to her car across the street. It was one—fifteen, and city hall was still on her list of to dos. Joan climbed into her late model Mercedes and headed to Broadway and city hall. As she entered the office, she recognized Liz, whom she had known since she started her real estate business.
