by Vic Kerry
Now he topped the last stair to the third floor of the old home. The third-floor hallway was lit in a soft, glowing violet light. The source of it seemed to come from behind a closed door midway down the hall. The thin light gave the whole scene a dim, tainted appearance. No furniture lined the hall. Only candle sconces hung from the walls. This part of the house seemed devoid of electricity. The carpet looked more worn than any in the rest of the house. Many feet had passed over it many times. David followed in the unseen footsteps as he made his way to the mysterious door.
The handle was not brass but glass. The beveling on it made it feel like a giant jewel. It turned, but the door would not budge. David looked at the handle. Amethyst light shone through a keyhole. He’d never peeked through one of these, but he had to know what was in the room.
Just like in every old, scary movie he’d ever seen, the keyhole revealed what was on the other side of the locked door. There seemed to be no source for the light, but he saw an empty room with a large portrait hanging on the opposite wall. The painting looked like Alistair Marsh, but the dress appeared much older, Civil War era perhaps. People or things seemed to be standing behind him. David couldn’t make it out through such a small peephole.
“I thought I told you not to wander around the halls at night,” Marsh said from behind him.
David jumped to his feet. His heart beat much faster than the alarm clock in his room could. He turned to his host, who was dressed in a red silk robe and holding a candle in a candlestick.
“I couldn’t sleep because a purple light shined into my room. It was coming from up here. I came to see if I could put it out.”
The flickering candlelight played on the angles of Marsh’s face. He looked sinister with deep shadows on his cheeks and eyes.
“I don’t see any light,” he said.
David looked down. No light seeped from the crack at the bottom of the door. “It was just there. I even saw a picture of one of your ancestors hanging on the wall.”
Marsh shook his head. “We don’t use this floor of the house. It’s never even been wired for electricity. I think maybe you were dreaming and perhaps sleepwalked up here. Let me take you back to your room.”
“I’ve never sleepwalked before,” David said. “Things seem so real.”
“Sometimes old houses can do strange things to people.” Marsh put his hand on David’s shoulder. “That is the reason I warned you to be careful of this place.”
“I really don’t think I was dreaming. I have no idea why I would concoct such a dream.”
“Tomorrow, when you are rested and the sun is up, I will show you that nothing is in that room and dispel your doubts that you were just dreaming.”
David nodded his agreement and followed Marsh back to his room. As he lay down on the sofa, no purple light seeped from the cracks in the ceiling. He heard Marsh lock his door and hoped his host only did it out of worry. He had had nightmares since Anna died, but never walked around the house in his sleep. The locked door scared him too. Marsh was a stranger, even if he had been hospitable. David decided to wait and see what happened.
He closed his eyes and listened to the tick-tock of the Baby Ben. It sounded like a clock again, not a heartbeat. Everything had been only a dream.
Just before he drifted off to sleep, David thought he heard footsteps on the floor above him. Had someone entered the empty room? He tried to rouse himself, but sleep had become too irresistibly strong.
The creaking of the bedroom door awakened David. He sat up to see Thomasine walking in with a tray. She walked across to him and started to lay it across his lap. The tray was wider than the sofa. She glared at him.
“Sorry,” he said, slinging his legs around and sitting properly on the sofa. “I could’ve come down for breakfast. There was no need for such formality.”
“No formality. The master always eats in bed. All the guests do as well.”
Before she could sit the tray on his lap, David caught the corner. “What is breakfast?”
She glowered at him. “Porridge, melba toast, marmalade, and kipper with coffee.”
“I think I’d rather not,” he said. The sound of the breakfast put a brick in his stomach. “I’ll just take the coffee.”
David took the china teacup from the tray. Thomasine looked disgusted and started out of the room. She stopped by the dresser and placed the water pitcher and glass on the tray. She slammed the door.
He felt a bit of relief that the unpleasant maid was gone and took a swig of coffee. The unexpected bitterness of chicory nearly made him spew it on the floor. Fortunately, the liquid was tepid enough for him to swallow it before making a mess or burning his gullet out.
David walked to the dresser and left the coffee there. Thomasine had said that Marsh took his breakfast in bed. This might be the best opportunity for David to sneak up to the third floor and look back into that room. Now that morning had broken, he knew he wasn’t dreaming or sleepwalking, despite what Marsh had said.
David went to the small carpet bag he’d brought up from his car the night before. He kept a change of clothes and pajamas in it so he didn’t have to unload his entire car when he’d stopped for the night during his wanderings. The toilet kit came in handy. A quick shave with his electric razor while looking in a small hand mirror cleaned him up enough as did hitting his hair a lick with his travel brush. David changed into a pair of black slacks and blue long-sleeved shirt. The top of his white undershirt peeked out from the open button at the neck. He felt he was ready to investigate what he’d dreamt last night.
The hallway was empty when he crept into it. In the morning light, the corridor looked a little livelier, but still felt heavy and sullen. He eased down the hall, back to the staircase. Everything was as he remembered it from the night before.
Pans clattered from the main floor. David paused midstep. He heard Thomasine cursing and could tell she was well beneath him. After a few more eternal seconds, he started up the stairs.
At the landing, things looked different than they had last night. Heavy tapestries draped the walls, covering where the candle sconces would have been. The fabrics lay flat against the wall with no sign of a bulge that would have denoted hidden fixtures. A large candle chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling.
David looked at each tapestry as he walked down the hall. They all depicted ocean scenes. A schooner broke up on rocks on the first hanging. The next showed dark, bent figures emerging from the frothy waves. He stopped at where the door to the mysterious room was supposed to be. A tapestry hung there. David pressed his hand against it. Solid wall backed the hanging. He pushed the edge aside and found that a wall was indeed behind the hanging.
The tapestry dropped back in place as he let it go. The picture woven into the cloth was another maritime vignette. A schooner tossed up on fitful waves. The sky behind it glowed purple. It actually seemed to glow. David touched the stitching. It felt coarse like the rest of the thread used in the hanging.
“Trying to see if you were indeed dreaming?” Marsh said from behind David.
He started and turned around. His host stood with his arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face. David smiled.
“It seemed so real,” he said. “I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t.”
“I told you that this is an old house and many dreams and nightmares float around its halls.” Marsh flourished his hand toward the stairs. “My car is waiting to take us to the church. The other elders are meeting us there.”
David walked toward the stairs. “You aren’t mad at me?”
“Curiosity is a powerful thing, Reverend Stanley. I cannot fault you for that. I probably would have investigated myself.”
They walked down the stairs. David passed the second floor and headed to ground level. “It killed the cat, though.”
Marsh laughed. It was a pleasant sound. “True. Fortunately, you aren’t one.”
They stepped onto the hardwood of the ground floor. Marsh led
David through the kitchen to the back door. They went outside. A fine mist washed over David’s skin as they walked to an idling Lincoln Continental that had been around at least since the Nixon presidency. The black paint looked showroom-floor fresh, however. The squat man from the gas station walked around the car and opened the door for Marsh, who sat down in the backseat. Thomas—David remembered the name from the patch on the attendant’s uniform—closed the door. He walked back to the driver’s side. David walked around and got in the back with Marsh.
Black leather covered the bench seat. Marsh stared straight ahead as the car began to roll. A piece of glass separated the driver from the passenger compartment. David had seen something like that only in movie limousines.
“This is a very nice car,” he said, mostly to make small talk.
“Yes. Thomas keeps it in fine condition. I’d hate to buy a new one.” Marsh never looked at David.
“Thomas works for you too?”
“You know Thomas?”
“I stopped in at the gas station yesterday. He’s the one who gave me directions to your house.”
Marsh nodded. “His family has been servants to my family for centuries.”
“Centuries?”
The other man finally looked at him. His eyes studied him. “Yes.”
“You don’t find that weird?”
A disquieting smile stretched across Marsh’s lips again. “Not really. It is our way in this town. We keep the old traditions and hold family very important.”
“To the point of keeping families as servants?”
“Yes. Thomas’s family came over from England as servants to the Marshes. When we moved from New England to Tennessee, the tradition continued. It helped to keep us from that horrible exercise of slavery that destroyed so many powerful families.”
David looked out the window as they passed through the town. A few people walked the broken sidewalks in the misty morning. Most looked short and stocky like Thomas and Thomasine. The small café served a few of the dumpy people. The car turned and headed up the mountain toward the church.
“Everyone looks alike,” David said without thinking.
“Only the servants. They marry within themselves, so there are a lot of similarities. You will notice that none of the elders look alike.”
“Is the town population just your servants?”
“We have few outsiders now that the road has been all but forgotten.” Marsh looked out the window into the swirling fog. “It is better that way. My beloved Louisa was an outsider. She came to an unfortunate end.”
“Do you mean that she was murdered?”
“No.”
David wished that he hadn’t come to the town, but when they stopped before the church building, he felt the tug of God’s hand on his heartstrings. His faith seemed to fill him again when he saw the place. A few men dressed in raincoats and large-brimmed hats milled around the graveyard. Despite what Marsh had said, they all looked very much like soggy brown sacks.
“The elders,” Marsh said as Thomas opened the door. “They are checking on their ancestors. It is something we love doing. Our past is very important to us.”
Marsh stepped into the mist. David got out of the car and walked to meet him at the opened gate. They walked in side by side. The other men turned as soon as they crossed into the churchyard as if the elders had sensed them crossing that line.
“Gentlemen, may I present to you Reverend David Stanley? He wishes to pastor our congregation,” Marsh said.
The first elder walked to him. Beady eyes stared from under the brim of the hat. A piggy nose that showed too much nostril turned up to David. The second elder stepped over, examining him from behind round glasses perched on a thin nose. All took their turns looking him over.
“I am Horace Stovall,” the pig-nosed elder said.
“My name is Ebenezer Hollingsworth,” Eyeglasses said.
“Dmitri Covington,” the third, bland-looking elder said.
“I am Nahum Fernwell,” the final elder said.
Of all the elders Nahum appeared the oldest, but with the garb the men wore, it was hard to tell.
“I have made the reverend aware of a few things, like the importance of family, but I have left everything else to be discussed today,” Marsh said.
“How did you gentlemen get here?” David asked.
They all looked at each other as if they had been asked the dumbest question imaginable.
“They were driven here by their drivers, just like us.” Marsh pointed to the road. The Lincoln was gone. “The road is not wide enough for our cars to stay parked on the shoulders. A gas tanker is due any time now. We wouldn’t want our cars or gasoline destroyed.”
“I understand. I met the truck when I came in yesterday. It was an antique.”
The elders murmured to themselves. He didn’t like the sound. They seemed bothered. David decided he needed to be more careful if he was to get the pastorship of the church.
“Since you hold family in such high honor, I think that the first thing I should do for services Sunday is have a decoration,” he said. “Why not celebrate the deceased by making this cemetery look beautiful?”
“Ancestors,” Horace stated. “They are not deceased.”
“I’m sorry,” David said. “We can still celebrate their lives by decorating their graves.”
“Markers,” Nahum said. “Graves are for the dead. These are our ancestors.”
David had no idea what these men meant. All the headstones he’d glanced at so far had birth and death dates on them. He would play along. God pulled so hard on his will he thought he might pass out from the overwhelming desire. He stepped onto the entrance stoop.
“I would like to see inside,” he said.
“I don’t recall a minister so excited about our faith,” Dmitri said. “Ever.”
“God has called to me about this place and this church.” David looked at the elder. “I’ve been struggling with my faith for a long time. This place revives it.”
“So he knows nothing about our ways?” Dmitri asked Marsh.
“I plan on talking to him after he sees our church,” Marsh said. “I’m sure his enthusiasm won’t have waned after that.”
The conversation between the two men piqued David’s interest. Something seemed off about it. He wondered if they practiced some strange version of Christianity. Perhaps they handled snakes. He didn’t like the idea of that but felt he could convince them that it was better to handle metaphorical serpents. He noticed that the elders spoke and held themselves better than the other townspeople.
Marsh stepped past him, carrying a large iron key in his hand. He unlocked the door and swung it open. The heavy iron hinges ground together with teeth-jarring metal on metal sound. A rush of stale air hit David in the face as he walked inside.
A very small vestibule gave way to the sanctuary. Small, solid oak pews lined a narrow aisle. The space between pews left little room for legs if the people were as tall as Marsh. David ran his hand over the smooth, oiled wood of each bench as he passed.
The only light in the room came from the leaded windows, but a large candle chandelier hung from the ceiling about where the spire steeple jutted from the roof. He figured that the metal spire helped to hold up the chandelier.
“How do you light the candles?” he asked, staring at the chandelier in wonder.
“With a long match,” Nahum said, obviously as a joke, but sounding devoid of humor.
“We have an altar boy for that,” Marsh said.
David looked at him. “So this is a Catholic church.”
“Not exactly,” Dmitri said.
“Episcopal?”
“Not that either,” Horace said.
“We have our own altar boys. We don’t hold to an orthodox faith,” Marsh said. “After you’ve had time to settle in, I will educate you on the esoteric nature of our faith.”
David’s jolliness wavered. “I don’t know if I can satisfy your needs.
I have a very specific form of preaching. It might not match yours if your faith strays far from mine.”
“You should have vetted him,” Dmitri said.
“Perhaps you would like to be the minister with Decoration Day so near,” Marsh said. “You are the most versed in Scripture, Dmitri.”
“No,” the other man answered.
Marsh looked at David. The gaze provided no comfort. “I have total confidence in your abilities, Reverend.”
“So you like the idea of a decoration day?” he asked.
“Believe it or not, our decoration day is this Sunday every year,” Ebenezer broke his silence. “We were afraid that we might not have a preacher for it.”
“How lucky I happened upon your town when I did,” David said. “God works in mysterious ways.”
“Indeed he does,” Marsh said. “Let’s continue the tour.”
Marsh walked past David, directing his attention to the pulpit. Carved vines snaked the sides of the oak podium. Tiny spikes like briar thorns jutted from the carvings. David imagined they represented the thorns used to make Christ’s crown. Now that he thought about the symbol on the steeple, he imagined it represented the Star of Bethlehem. The people of this congregation might believe in celebrating the birth more than the death of Christ, which he could work with. The fears of having to dance holding a copperhead began to fade.
They passed the pulpit and stared down a short stack of steps. A large, open vat sat beside them. David looked into it, expecting to see water, but instead saw deep blackness.
“Is that the baptistery?” he asked.
“No; it is the pit,” Marsh said as if that made sense.
“Pit to what?” David asked.
“To the unknowable,” Nahum said.
David took those words and placed them into his memory. Tonight he would have to mull that over to figure out what it meant. The elders liked to be cryptic, and he was sure that this wouldn’t be explained. He was correct.
