by BoJenn
“Tell me more,” Cat whispered, still in her hypnotic daze.
“Your Mum did love you dearly, Little Catherine,” Eleanor so tenderly related. “She was kept from mothering you, as the Dubois heritage and manners of formality deemed that maids and nannies provided for your needs, leaving no room for another way—for your mother’s preference. Your mother could only smile at you from a distance. But, she longed for you, Catherine. Her name was Catherine, as well—as you know. And, the arguments you overheard were about you and…Thomas. She wanted to raise you two, but your father's family…” Eleanor addressed her directly, then, looking into Catherine’s eyes. “Catherine, dear, who is Thomas? In your mind, I want you to see that locket you have. Look at it, and the picture of the boy. Who is that boy?”
“Thomas?”, Cat whispered.
“And, who is Thomas?”, Eleanor pried.
Tadhg and the ghostly little Thomas listened intently and watched. Thomas was getting upset. “She doesn’t remember me?”, he whispered so quietly but pleadingly to Tadhg.
Eleanor hushed them with a look, but assured the boy with her smile that all was well, and to keep his patience.
Tadhg decided to try to talk with his mind to Thomas. “It must be said that ghosts do not comprehend the same as they once did when they had ears of flesh and a working human body. Sometimes they are confused with the human world, and they do not realize they are ghosts.
“I know I’m dead. I figured that one out when the other ghosts told me I was dead,” Thomas easily told Tadhg using only his mind. Tadhg heard Thomas when he said, “other ghosts”, but he would ask him later as not to disturb the session.
Thomas listened above, on the ceiling with Tadhg, as Cat tried to describe the rest of what little she remembered of her childhood.
“Catherine, who was Thomas?”, Eleanor prompted, again. “In your mind, take the locket in your hand, and look at it. Tell me, what you remember about this boy, Thomas.”
Cat gently maneuvered the locket’s antique clasp trying not to break anything, as it was old and fragile. Even in her visualizations, she knew she must use a delicate hand and careful precision. She stopped for fear of breaking the locket, while in Eleanor’s deep hypnotic trance. But then, as soon as she had opened it, she squinted, and her face reflected pain and discomfort from the memories she saw there.
Eleanor studied Catherine’s face, well aware that Tadhg and Thomas were watching from overhead. She caught a glimpse of Tadhg putting a comforting hand on Thomas’ shoulder, holding Thomas back a bit so he’d remember not to disturb the process. It was important for Catherine to remember everything she could, on her own.
“Look on the back of the picture; what does it say?”, Eleanor asked.
Catherine flipped it over in her mind. “Love, Thomas. Nobel Manor. Spring, 1955,” she recited from the locket, her eyes still closed. Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Thomas?” A tear then fell down her fair cheek.
“What is it?”, Eleanor asked. “What, dear one, do you remember?”
“I'm not sure?”, she questioned. Lovey whimpered. He sensed Catherine was struggling so hard, and it was obvious the little pup didn’t want Cat to hurt. Eleanor gave the hush sign to Lovey. He put his head back on the couch.
“Thomas.” Tell me what you see with Thomas, dear…” Eleanor waited.
Tadhg and Thomas watched in anticipation. “Thomas was your brother,” Eleanor said, at last. “You played all the time together. You weren't allowed to have friends unless they were from pure bloodlines. Think. Think. Think. Go deeper, deeper, Catherine. Do you remember Thomas?”
“If Mum didn't have pure bloodlines, then why did he marry her?” Cat skirted the question, while she slipped deeper into the trance.
“She was from nobility, but not like your father’s. His bloodline was ‘pure’ unlike your Mum’s, but her heart, dear, her heart was royal. Come now; focus. Who is Thomas? The time has come. You must try to remember.” Eleanor watched Catherine fidget in anguish.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Cat started to cry.
“You must stop the session. She’s having too much turmoil, Eleanor. We will try again later. Let’s let her rest,” Tadhg intervened.
“No,” Thomas said. “Wait.” The ghostly Thomas approached Cat on the sofa and bent to whisper in her ear. “You don’t remember me?”, Thomas asked, sadly.
Cat put her hands to her head. “Stop. Stop. Please, stop.” Her sobbing began again.
“No, Thomas, it is too painful for her right now,” Eleanor whispered to him.
While Cat rested, Eleanor spoke to her spirit. “Soon, you will open Box #3,” she told her. Eleanor left Catherine sleeping on the couch. She covered her up with the comforter. There she stayed for the remainder of the day, into the evening, and until early morning.
Eleanor turned to Thomas who was hanging near Tadhg and said, “Be patient. In time, all will be known. You will not be forgotten. I promise.”
The Denial
Catherine fidgeted, from time to time, while lying there on her green velvet sofa. She did not want to open Box #3, and she squirmed thinking about it. Reasoning why she should fear the box, and why she shouldn’t, caused her great discomfort. After all, she didn't know anything about the box, so why did it disturb her? “I won’t get up. Then, I won’t have to open it,” Cat decided. She fell asleep again while fretting.
During her watch, Eleanor tried to read. She started with “The Hobbit” by Tolkien. “I’ve never read this. I heard it was good,” Eleanor mumbled to herself. Both women remained quiet the rest of the evening, but, situating herself close by, Eleanor kept an eye on Catherine as she fitfully slept.
Eleanor finally looked at the clock. The time was 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. She kept reading, but every once in awhile she would look at Catherine, just to see if she was resting quietly. She knew that, soon, Catherine would have to face her past, or surrender to the devils who wanted to take her soul.
Little Lovey came and laid his puppy dog head on Eleanor’s lap. He had tried his best to comfort Catherine, but Eleanor whispered, “No, Lovey. Not now. Let her sleep.” His devotion was pure, and he had vowed to Eleanor and Tadhg never to desert her, even if she left him. Lovey was true blue like all dogs. His loyalties were noble and, if needed, he would bear harsh punishments, but he hoped, as they all did, that cruelties would be forfeited to goodness. After all, no living creature wanted to bear such human burdens, frailties or tragedies, but he would, if the need arose.
Lovey tried again to snuggle Cat. It was almost midnight. Catherine pushed his affections away. She screamed at him, “Lovey, get away! Leave me alone!” Lovey slipped away, tail between his legs.
Sometime, in the early morning hours, Catherine’s demeanor changed. Her body grew contorted and twisted when the voices from a distant past began to yell and scream, during her sleep. It was about 4:00 a.m. She was ruminating about thoughts of Thomas—who he is or was, and why he was important. Distant memories rolled over and over in her head. “What did Eleanor say? He’s my brother?”, her questions tormented her. She could hardly regain her state of relaxation. Cat was a grown adult woman, now wiggling like a schoolchild about to face a test for which she was totally unprepared. The voices of accusation seemed to scream at her. Cat put her hands up to her ears trying to stop the voices—“Wake up, loser. We knew you couldn’t pass the test.” Cat heard their laughter. The voices laughed louder.
On the other hand, there, quietly undisturbed sat Eleanor. She concentrated on the Tolkien tale to truly empty her mind of thoughts and ideas that would hamper the situation. She was involved in her book. But, the spirits and various entities were restless. “Where’s the boy? The old woman thinks she will get away with this. Find the boy!”, the devils and demons were saying.
Thomas stuck close to Tadhg. And, Tadhg reported to Eleanor the negative activities that were taking place within the manor. One room, where the activity seemed the strongest, was u
pstairs in a room across from Catherine's bedroom. “They’re looking for Thomas,” he said to her mind. Eleanor was preoccupied with Bilbo Baggins. She laughed inappropriately. “Eleanor, it’s serious; it’s not funny,” Tadhg said, grabbing her shoulders. “Stop reading that book!”
“What’s the problem, Tadhg?”, Eleanor responded, as if she were drunk.
“Stop reading that book. You’re not yourself. The devils are active upstairs. They’re looking for Thomas,” Tadhg insisted. He took the book from her, put it down and closed it. It’s getting close. The time is narrowing in. Time to go to work. The reason we came here. Remember?”
Eleanor snapped out from the fantastic journey the book had provided. “Oh, what an adventure! Now, say it again? The spirits want Thomas?”
“No, the devils do,” Tadhg answered, straight to the point.
Thomas, now pretty adept at using his mind to manifest his words, told Tadhg and Eleanor that the upstairs room Tadhg was talking about had been seldom used, and that it held antiques and old furniture made for young boys. He said, “My sister, Cat, wondered, from time to time, why her parents had boyish furniture; after all, she was the only child. And, I heard her talk out loud one time, to herself, about why there was that furniture in there. Even so, she just left the room as it was, as it had always been, and almost never even opened the door. The room ‘gave her the creeps’, she said, every time she did go in there, so I didn’t like to go in there either.”
Tadhg asked Thomas if the room had been his and was it where he had spent most of his time?
“I think it was my furniture when I was a real boy,” Thomas said, “but I stayed with Catherine day and night because that room frightened me.”
Tadhg asked, “Other than Catherine saying the room was ‘creepy’, did you ever see anything in there or hear anything creepy, yourself?”
Eleanor listened to Thomas. She contemplated every word he said, and then told them, “Tadhg, find out who they are and what they know. Be very invisible, Thomas. Go with Tadhg. You’ll be okay if you shield yourself.”
“How do I shield myself?”, Thomas asked so sweetly.
Tadhg said, “Just like I told you. Use your mind. Create a shield. Don’t talk up there. Only talk to me in…French?”
Thomas said, “Oh, you speak French?”
Eleanor asked, “Does Catherine speak French, as well?”
“She used to, but I don’t think anymore. She doesn’t remember,” Thomas recalled.
“Yes, speak to me in French, Thomas,” Tadhg reiterated. “That will confuse the devils for a little while, but they learn quickly. Mostly, Thomas, use your mind as your shield, and be careful not to forget.” Tadhg took him by the shoulder and looked into his apparition eyes. “Stay close. I won’t let them harm you. Use your mind to talk only French to me, got that?”
“Yes, I got it,” Thomas responded.
Catherine picked up the magnifying glass from the nearby round table. She held the picture of Thomas in her hand, with a tissue for her tears. Lovey kept putting his head on her lap, whining for her attention. “There is no time for a needy dog!”, Cat said. She put Lovey down on the floor. Thomas’ photo was held in the palm of her left hand, as she surveyed it with the magnifying glass. Trying to remember a faint, distant memory, she gazed at it for some time. The boy’s smile seemed to invite her inside the locket; it was as if he had come alive. Then, the image moved and said, “Watch! Look! Pay attention!” She thought, “Who is this boy?” She looked at the picture closer, to see him move in it, again. Then, she simply dismissed the idea of it, blaming the peyote tea she had the day before. “Hallucinating,” she told herself. But, the locket’s contents began to magically move from within, while it laid on the table. She saw it and picked it up again. “Who are you? Are you Thomas? Do I know you?” The image came to life. The young boy smiled at her as he waved.
What Cat didn’t know was that, Thomas, the boy ghost, had brought the picture life by practicing, again, what Tadhg had taught him. He had come floating down from overhead, and shrunk himself to merge with the picture so he could give the appearance of the photo coming to life. Cat, startled by the movement, gasped aloud, abruptly sitting back. “Did you see that?”
However, Eleanor had gone into the kitchen. She wasn’t aware that Catherine had awakened; but, when she heard her exclaim, she went rapidly into the den where Catherine was sitting up on the couch. In a motherly tone Eleanor told Cat, “I want you to rest as much as possible. Alright, dear?”
“Why? I just saw the picture move. It came to life. The boy. He waved at me.” Cat replied in a disgruntled fashion.
“First of all you’re reliving your past, and your past was not timid or tame. Please, just rest to keep your mind relaxed.” Eleanor picked up the picture. She examined it. “It stopped moving dear.”
“He moved. He kept moving! I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m just tired. It’s all in my mind! I fabricated it?” Cat was fuming. “Say I’m tired and need a rest one more time,” she threatened. “Why not make another cup of hallucinogenic tea for me? Isn’t that what you want? You want me to be so messed up I don’t know if I’m here or there? Why? Tell me why? What does it benefit you? I don’t have anything but my life. Do you want that, too?”
Eleanor hesitated before answering. “Yes,” she thought to herself. She was tired of fighting, and persuading and convincing—Catherine was exhausting her. Perhaps she wasn’t prepared at all to help her. Maybe Catherine was God’s final lesson to her. She finally responded, “I’m not here for your things, your home, or your soul. But, in your home, there are forces that are ready to collect your soul.” The look on Eleanor’s face showed as much frustration and anger as Catherine’s. “The rest that I suggested was to help you get through your painful memories. The tea did make you relax. It didn’t make you hallucinate. The dreams were significant of your childhood. Believe what you want. I’m almost finished here.”
Eleanor arose from the couch with utter dismay. And, Cat knew Eleanor was almost finished with her.
Later that same morning, the two women worked around the house, doing minor chores; their conversation was minimal, short and to the point. Eleanor wasn’t going out of her way to be mothering and affectionate. Cat was quietly putting the china away; but, she did wonder, if Eleanor were to leave soon, if the china would ever be used again? Eleanor prayed and sang hymns to herself. Cat listened to Eleanor sing the old hymns. Her voice was unusually beautiful. It was purer than any of the opera singers Cat could remember hearing. The quality was heavenly. In fact, her voice was unlike any other sound she had heard before. She had often thought that the music of Eleanor’s hymns sounded familiar, like the ones she’d heard long ago bellowing out of the church from one denomination’s service or another. Now, however, she realized they were really in a totally different language. Cat moved to a different room, away from Eleanor, so she could join in the singing. She knew some of the songs—in English.
The ghostly Thomas followed her, though she wasn’t aware of his presence. He heard Catherine singing hymns they used to sing when they were children. His voice joined hers, too, although she didn’t know it. And, together, their voices also made a heavenly tone. Eleanor peeked around the corner to listen to them. How lovely. Eleanor gave Thomas the thumbs up signal, and she smiled at him.
The rest of the day was somber, and the manor was unusually quiet. They had lunch, not talking to each other. After lunch, Eleanor said, “I’ll clean up.” Cat went into the den.
After putting logs on the fire, and getting it blazing again, Cat got comfy on the couch, Eleanor joined her. She picked up “The Hobbit”, and began that adventure again.
Cat was beginning to feel very guilty about how she had been treating Eleanor. Perhaps she had been too rude and not hospitable at all. She wondered when Eleanor would leave. She didn’t want her to go. She knew that when she put the china away. But she did feel like Eleanor was leaving soon. She hesitated, but
knew she had to make things right. In her heart, she knew Eleanor was good and kind and had come to help her. But she couldn’t allow herself the possibility of being hurt ever again. She had been vulnerable, but now she had protected herself too much. Eleanor was leaving. The more she thought about it, the more she knew it. She must break the ice and apologize. “Eleanor, I’m sorry for being rude and insolent.” Cat hoped her statement would settle any ill-will she had provoked. “It would help me to understand who you are? Please? I need to understand, for me—for my peace.”
Eleanor explained the situation at hand. “I never expected control. I only surrender to a higher path that, sometimes, seems wrong and questionable to those I serve. But, simply, I am a servant who is employed in an army for centuries. I hold high rank amongst the other angels, fairy godmothers, guides, guardians and witches—whatever you might want to call us.” Eleanor began to explain in the most down-to-earth method she could. She captured the broad explanations and touched on those implied, specifically related to Catherine’s situation. “The title isn’t important,” she added.
“Please, go on,” Cat requested.
“You are a royal subject dear, whose crown sits crookedly, and your scepter is lost.” Eleanor gave the poetic metaphorical explanation.
“Please, keep it simple, Eleanor. I don’t feel royal at all; and, yes, I have lost my scepter, I guess. Cat didn’t roll her eyes this time. She remembered not to because she realized that Eleanor explained everything in parables which were mysteries to her.
