The Haunting of Pitmon House

by Michael Richan

  To tell you what happened, I need to take you back almost forty years, to when I was young. At the time, Keith Pitmon, my uncle, was doing well in business. He hadn’t built Pitmon House yet, but he was successful and considering a run for Congress.

  My father, Gary, was Keith’s younger brother. My mother, Mary, had the gift. She taught me how to use it as a youth in my teens. I believe my father knew of the tutelage, but never spoke of it.

  One year, when I was in my twenties and still single, we were attending a summer family retreat outside of Traverse City, sponsored by Keith’s family. The entire clan was there, enjoying the wealth that had come their way because of Keith’s dealings in the aluminum business. He made a habit of summer reunions once he had the money to fund them, and I think this was the third or fourth of what would be a string of them that went on for many years, until he lost everything.

  All of Keith’s siblings were there, with their families. Keith’s older brother, Louis, was there with his wife and two children, a girl who was fifteen and a boy who was close to my age: Dominic.

  Louis always seemed sycophantic to me, always trying to ingratiate himself with Keith, more so than any of the other siblings. His wife was a quiet, demure woman who was very kind to us as an aunt, and I remember the daughter, Kendra, as being similar in nature.

  Dominic, however, had always been an odd duck. Whenever I interacted with him at an earlier age, I found him to be a strange mix of spoiled brat, bully, and a person utterly lacking in real self-confidence. He was a half year older than me, and when we were very young, that age difference was enough to put him in charge. We got in trouble a couple of times for escapades he led and forced me to participate in; one time, it was playing with matches behind his parents’ garage; another, he decided to play doctor with one of the caged rabbits on their property, and he forced me to participate as he butchered the animal.

  In all cases where we were exposed, his father blamed me as the influence that led Dominic to commit reprehensible acts, unable or unwilling to see the fault in his offspring. Reports of the acts were relayed to my father, who disciplined me for my participation. I learned early that associating with Dominic would lead to bad outcomes, and I avoided him as much as I could. Still, he showed up at almost every family function, his father desperate to demonstrate his family’s loyalty to anything Keith requested, and the adults never seemed to monitor or restrict Dominic or their own children’s involvement with him, perhaps for fear of displeasing Louis, who many believed had Keith’s ear. Things were different back then; children were allowed to run free most of the time. Parents seemed unconcerned about the fears that plague them today. Certainly at one of Keith’s reunions, the adults were of a mind to relax, enjoy the scenery, have a few drinks, and let the kids out of their hair for a while.

  On this particular occasion, we were staying in a gigantic summer home next to a lake. There were cottages surrounding the main house, all filled with members of the family. I’d guess there were over a hundred people there, not counting the servants Keith hired to provide food and keep drinks prepared for the adults. Besides associating with family that I enjoyed, I found it easy to avoid Dominic with such a large group. Still, I noticed him here and there, as unnerving as he’d always been. I made sure we never made eye contact, and if it seemed he was coming in my direction, I found ways to dodge him and engage with groups that I knew he wouldn’t want to join.

  On that particular summer excursion, something unusual and wonderful happened to me, something that became one of the most magnificent and important things that ever occurred in my life. I had found a way to escape from the others, and was resting on the private beach near the lake. It was late afternoon, and no one was around, which was fine with me — I wanted some time to enjoy myself, and I wanted to drift in and out of the River, enjoying the sensation of moving between the real world and the unseen. I mentioned that my mother had the gift and taught me; by the time of this trip, I was well versed in its use and knew how to operate within it discreetly. As far as I could tell, no one else in Keith’s family was gifted like my mother and me, and with Keith’s candidacy for a congressional seat, everyone in the family was on strict notice to remain discreet and to never give cause for any aspersions, so it was unlikely anyone would admit to such abilities, and I certainly wasn’t going to.

  As I lay on the beach, enjoying the view of the water from both in and out of the River, I noticed a woman rising from the lake, as though she’d just swam in from another part of the shore. I hadn’t noticed her arriving until her head crested the water a few feet from the bank, and as she rose, her body becoming slowly exposed to the air, I was taken with her intense beauty. At that age any partially-clad woman was likely to be attractive to me, but this woman was beyond attractive — it felt magnetic, like an animal allure that made my mind euphoric and my sex aroused. I sat up and watched as she walked on shore. She pulled on her long hair, squeezing the water from it. She noticed me staring, and came over to me.

  “You alone?” she asked. My mind raced. I felt my heart beating rapidly. In my throat were a million cotton balls, sucking up all of the moisture, making it impossible to speak. I nodded instead.

  She extended a hand, and I took it. She was warm and soft. I asked where we were going, and she pointed to a boathouse a hundred feet in the distance. I felt my heart leap in anticipation; it felt like the type of thing you dream about, but here it was, playing out. I remember thinking that perhaps I had fallen asleep on the beach, and would wake up at any moment, but the sensation of the rocks under my feet reminded me that I was wide awake, and about to have some type of encounter.

  As we entered the boathouse I looked around, concerned that someone from the family might see us go in. There was no one; we had the beach and the boathouse to ourselves.

  Inside we engaged in a passionate union that I can only remember as transformative. Talking about it now, I can’t accurately recall how long we spent in that boathouse, but I do recall at least four orgasms, and the faint smell of marine fuel, mixed with the sweet odor of the Wisteria that grew all over the structure.

  When we parted, I begged her for her name, and a way to reach her. She walked back into the water, and said she’d return the next day. I watched as she swam away, descending below the surface. I hurried back to the house, where I arrived in time for dinner. I was in a state of ecstasy the entire evening, and was questioned about my dreamy countenance by several cousins. I lied and said I was merely in a good mood, but the truth was I had never felt so incredible. I wanted to see her again, and I made plans to escape from the organized family activities of the following day so I could be on the beach when she arrived.

  We met several times after that. Each was as good or better than the first time, and I found myself falling in love. She told me her name was Sydney, and that she lived in a house on the lake nearby. Although I begged her for her address or some way to contact her, she would never tell me.

  On the last day of our stay, I managed to spend some time with Sydney in the boathouse, and we enjoyed each other’s bodies for a very long time — I remember telling her how devastated I was that I would be leaving the next day, and I didn’t know how I would get on without being able to see her. We talked for a long time. She wouldn’t give me any way to contact her, no address to which I could write, or a phone number to call. She said she knew we’d see each other again at some point, and that was that — she swam away that day, leaving me in tears on the beach, heartbroken. I would have swum after her, but I knew she wouldn’t have it. She’d been in charge of our brief affair from the beginning, and as we separated, the terms were still all under her control.

  As we returned home, others noticed my melancholy mood. I told them I was sad to be leaving such a beautiful place. I think one or two of them realized something special had happened to me while we were there, but most of them just rolled their eyes, happy to be free of the obligation of attending Keith’s reunion — as gr
and as it was — and happy to be returning to their regular lives after the vacation.

  A year went by. To my delight, the summer family retreat the next year was to be held at the same location; apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought the accommodations and surrounding beauty were exceptional. I arrived excited to meet Sydney, anxious to make my way to the beach. After the first day, most of the others engaged themselves in activities closer to the house, and the beach saw little use, like the previous year.

  I waited for hours, hoping to see her head rising from the waters, but she didn’t appear. After a while I decided to walk to the boathouse, to see if she was there.

  When I entered the boathouse, my heart sank. Sydney wasn’t there, but someone else was — Dominic.

  At first I thought I had surprised him, as he was acting very strangely — more oddly than normal. I soon realized he was playing a game with me, trying to get me to talk about why I had come to the boathouse.

  I prevaricated and tried to change the subject, but he kept mentioning how secluded the boathouse was, and how it would be a perfect place for a tryst. After a while I wondered if perhaps he was coming on to me, and trying to gauge my reaction. I tried to offer signals that would dissuade him, and decided to leave.

  He stopped me. “I know what you did here,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Last summer,” he said, walking toward me. “With that animal. I saw you through that window.” He pointed at a small pane in the boathouse door.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.

  “I saw you fucking it,” he said, approaching. “At first I thought it was sick, but the more I watched, the more it intrigued me. And I think I may have met a kindred spirit.”

  He reached out to touch me, and I stepped back. I certainly had no interest in men, and had there been the slightest interest, it would not have been directed toward Dominic. At the time I was confused as to why he thought he could approach me in this manner. I told him to back off.

  He took the hint immediately, and I saw his eyes shift as he decided how to react. It was as though he mentally shifted to a different plan.

  “I wonder how the family would react to learn what kind of a pervert you are,” he said. “Fucking an animal. I’m sure you’d be very popular with Uncle Keith.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice rising. “I saw you in here, doing it. I’ll spill it all to my father and Uncle Keith. You’ll be a family embarrassment, a pariah.”

  I decided to stop evading the subject and take him on directly. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time someone in this family had an affair. I’m not married; they won’t give a shit. You’re just jealous. And there’s a good chance they wouldn’t believe you, anyway. You’re not exactly credible, Dominic.”

  “I have pictures!” Dominic sneered. “To my recollection no one in the family has ever been accused of bestiality, but the pictures I have will prove there’s a first time for everything!”

  “Bestiality?” I replied. “I don’t know what you think you saw, Dominic. Perhaps you’re so twisted you wouldn’t know a beautiful woman when you saw one.”

  “I know a hairy beast when I see one!” Dominic said. “And I’m sure the family will recognize your cock, sliding in and out of it!”

  “What are you talking about?” I said. “I had sex with a woman last year, so what? I’m proud of it. I won’t be blackmailed.”

  Dominic pulled the photos from his back pocket and handed them to me. They were in black and white, and I examined them, slowly feeling my stomach give out as my mind began to numb. In each picture, I was engaged in the most grotesque intercourse with some kind of animal. Its hair was evident, and some shots even showed hooves. I wondered how he’d doctored the photos, but as I looked at each of them, I realized they were genuine. His camera captured something that my mind did not. Whereas I had seen and made love to what I thought was a beautiful woman, Dominic’s camera had captured scenes of graphic perversion. I was horrified.

  While I was trying to reason inside my head and make sense of the previous summer versus the pictures in my hand, Dominic was badgering me, asking what my mother would think when she sees them, asking what Uncle Keith would do when he saw them, asking me what would be left of my life after he exposed me. I knew Dominic’s weirdness wouldn’t be a defense I could rely on; the pictures were damning. They weren’t what I experienced, they weren’t what I actually did — or, at least, what I thought I did — but I’d come off like a lunatic if I tried to insist the person I had engaged with was a woman, not an animal. Dominic’s pictures would win that argument, even if they felt queasy about the fact that he’d taken them.

  “What do you want?” I asked, fearful that Dominic was about to demand sexual favors.

  If only that had been the case.

  Whereas the previous summer at the lake had been like a paradise, the ensuing days following my confrontation with Dominic were a living hell. Dominic wasn’t interested in sex with me, although he did seem to take delight in seeing me nude. His interests were sadistic. He was after humiliation and torture.

  I’m ashamed to say that I submitted. To me, the scandal that would follow the revelation of the pictures was far worse than the indignities I suffered at Dominic’s hand over the next several days. He would require me to meet him in the boathouse, where he would strip me, tie me up, and then inflict pain. He would scream insults at me, reminding me of the things he’d witnessed the previous summer, and whip me with various things he could find; a length of metal chain, a broken rubber belt. When he ordered me to become aroused, if I did not comply to his satisfaction, he would slice into my skin with a straight razor on my chest, drawing blood. Then, when I had completed his request, he would hold my member in his hand and press the blade to the base of it, threatening to mutilate me. After an hour of such abuse, he would untie me and set a time for the next day, reminding me that tardiness would result in a photo making its way under Uncle Keith’s bedroom door.

  To say I was in hell was an understatement. I tried to figure out a way I could bring an end to the torture. I tried reasoning with him; I think he knew of my gift, and he might have even believed the story I told of her appearing as a beautiful woman, not an animal — but he wasn’t about to let me off the hook for it. I began to plot ways I might gain some kind of upper-hand on him, but nothing seemed to be viable. I considered ending it by killing myself, but didn’t have the heart for it. I also considered ways I might put Dominic out of the picture permanently. I was young; murder wasn’t something I had any knowledge of how to accomplish. So I suffered from day to day, enduring humiliation and wounds to my flesh.

  The solution presented itself the last day of that week, just before we were preparing to depart for home. Dominic had unwisely insisted on another boathouse rendezvous while people were packing, and I joined him, hoping it might be the last encounter and the issue might die down or go away with our departure from the summer house.

  Dominic seemed intent upon some kind of climax to the week. He’d readied several tools he’d collected from around the house, and once he had me naked and tied up he showed me each of them, brandishing them in front of my face and sliding them over my body.

  He seemed even more extreme than he’d been the entire week, as though he knew we’d be physically separated soon, and he wanted to deliver a particularly painful experience. I began to lose my mind with fear and anxiety, and when he produced a blowtorch, I lost it completely.

  I had always kept my mouth shut during the previous torture sessions, since Dominic liked seeing me stifle the urge to yell; it made him feel even more in control. Now I couldn’t keep quiet any longer, and I screamed loudly.

  He buried a dirty rag in my mouth within seconds, silencing me. “You like the idea of the torch, huh?” he asked, wrapping tape around my head to hold th
e rag inside my mouth. My muffled screams were now a fraction of what they had been, and I knew no one would hear me. I tried moving to loosen the ropes, but this resulted in him becoming more irate.

  “You’re making me very angry,” Dominic said, lighting the blowtorch. “I think the blowtorch is exactly what you need to learn who’s in charge. I think you’ll like the warmth on your skin. It’ll feel like the insides of that beast you were fucking. Shall I start here with your cock?”

  He ignited the torch and I screamed, twisting and turning, trying to break free. It was no use; I was tied down solidly and silently. I could twist against the ropes for hours and still wouldn’t be free.

  “Let’s save the cock for later,” he said, lowering the blowtorch to my foot. At first I felt only heat, but it quickly changed to a searing pain. I could smell my flesh burning as he held the torch to my ankle, raising it to my shin. It was agonizing in a way I can barely describe.

  I screamed and screamed into the rag, but it only made Dominic more excited. “You really like it, don’t you!” he said. I shook my head no, but he ignored me. “I know you do. You’re a sick little bastard who thinks he’s better than everyone else because you can see things. Can you see how your skin is turning red? How the first layer is peeling back already?”

  Dominic’s pants were tented, and I knew he was in such a delirious state of sick excitement he was never going to stop. I was seconds from passing out from the pain when I saw Dominic look up, and lower the blowtorch from my leg.

  The rest of it was a bit of a blur. Dominic’s father, Louis, had come into the boathouse, looking for him. From what I learned later, Dominic had become so obsessed with the idea of torturing me one last time, he forgot his family’s departure schedule. I have no doubt that Louis would have tried to reframe the event as something other than what it was, making me the villain and Dominic the innocent, except for the fact that moments after Louis walked into the boathouse, he was followed by my father, who was also looking for me.