by Cindy Winget
“I feel bad for the husband as well,” said Eleanor. “I think of his plight more often than hers.”
“His plight? But he was the one who let his wife die! What about her plight? He was so unfeeling and callous and ... and…” She couldn’t think of a harsh enough word to describe this arrogant man whose negligence caused his wife to pass away when he could have prevented it had he been more attentive to her needs and struggles.
“I know it seems that way at first, but I have read the diary many times now, and I have come to realize that he wasn’t in his right mind. It wasn’t his fault. The house made him do it.”
“The house?”
Eleanor nodded and turned to look at her. “Hill House. It has a power over people’s minds and emotions. It affects people in different ways. This man, so devoted to his work, so zealous about his craft, he let the house influence his passion and twist it into something manic.”
“Just like in my dreams. Everybody in the Crain family has gone insane.”
“Exactly. I don’t think it’s limited to the Crain family. It’s anyone who lives here.” Eleanor went back to staring at the portrait. “I’ve thought about this painting a lot and I’ve come to the conclusion that the house doesn’t like to be ignored,” she said.
“What do you mean?” asked Theo.
“Just what I said. Hill House hates to be ignored.”
Theo didn’t know how to take this. “Can you be more specific?” she tried.
Eleanor’s expression clouded over, her eyebrows furrowing. “Can I tell you something without you freaking out?”
Theo gulped but said, “Yeah. Of course. You can tell me anything.”
“I think Hill House has taken a liking to me.”
“In what way?” Where was Eleanor going with this? She wasn’t making any sense!
“I can see things.”
“See things? Are you trying to say that you are also psychic?” Theo asked, trying to wrap her head around what Eleanor was saying.
“No. I’m not psychic.”
“Then what?”
“Think about the portrait and the reason behind the woman’s death. Her husband ignored her. I know that, on its own, it’s not enough to prove anything, but I’ve been thinking about your dreams and how everyone goes crazy, and my first thought was that the house was an egotist. The first two nights we were here the house woke us up at night, not wanting to go eight hours without any attention now that new blood had arrived. Things calmed down a bit, and then Annabel showed up and the house once again woke us up that night with a plethora of paranormal activity. It’s like the house has to let each new arrival know of its existence.
“After those first two nights, I was terrified, and I began to mentally prepare myself each night. I would force myself not to think about the possible hauntings happening at Hill House and concentrate only on happy things before I went to bed. Then the house wrote that message on the wall about me.”
Theo was about to respond, but Eleanor stopped her. “There’s more.” Theo nodded for her to continue. “The night Annabel got here, I was compelled to give my will to the house and ever since then the house has been showing me things. Things I shouldn’t have been able to see…or hear.” She explained about hearing the conversation between Annabel and Miss Dudley. “I tried to get the voices to stop after that. Things started to get personal again with the message written on the wall with blood. Don’t you see? It was punishment for me ignoring the house!”
“That’s why you said those things that night? You submitted your will to the house because it made you?”
Eleanor blushed. “Well, it didn’t make me, per se, but I felt an overwhelming urge to say it and I gave in,” she said sheepishly. “I wasn’t frightened of the house anymore and I got the feeling that if I said it the supernatural things would end. Then Hill House would be mine. Then I could stay here permanently. I was wrong.”
Why would Eleanor think this? She truly was coming unhinged. Hill House would never belong to anyone. Not really. Not unless you wanted to live in a haunted house. Besides, it was owned by Hazel Sanderson. But she didn’t say any of this, she only nodded, as though she understood.
“Maybe we should leave,” Theo said. “If Hill House doesn’t like to be ignored, it would give it a dose of its own med—”
“Leave?” cried Eleanor in horror. “We couldn’t possibly leave! This is my home now, and I want you to stay here with me. We can be roommates, since you no longer have one.”
“Listen, Eleanor, we weren’t going to bring this up until tomorrow, but—”
“I’m going to go find Luke,” Eleanor said abruptly. “I have something I would like to say to him.” With that, she walked from the attic.
Theo frowned, knowing this was an excuse to get away before she could continue a conversation Eleanor didn’t want to hear.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Too amped up to fall asleep, and paranoid of having fear-laden dreams about being chased by an orangutan, Eleanor wandered the meandering hallways of Hill House. She soon found herself in the library. Strangely, she no longer felt the gripping fear she had always felt before in this room. Perhaps she would find a book to read.
While scanning the shelves for something appropriate, Eleanor glanced toward the top of the spiral staircase. She gasped as the visage of a lady came into focus. Eleanor watched as she walked toward the railing of the small landing, her long plum-colored dress sweeping the ground as she grabbed a length of rope, tied it into a hangman’s noose, and pulled it over her elaborately coiffed auburn hair. She stepped over the railing, her intent clear. The woman’s piercing brown eyes found Eleanor’s.
“No!” Eleanor cried. She raced up the spiral staircase but didn’t make it in time. The woman stepped off the balcony ledge and plummeted out of sight, the rope growing taut as the weight of the body descended. Eleanor cringed and looked away. The creaking of the rope swaying back and forth was the only noise in the room.
* * *
Luke’s eyes shot open. What had awakened him? It had sounded like a shout, but as he strained his ears, he heard nothing. Rolling over, he punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and lay his head back down.
Just as his mind began to devolve into dreamland, a noise entered his eardrum, forcing him fully awake once more. He sat up, listening. There it was again. Not a shout this time but a loud squealing, like the sound metal makes when it rubs against something hard. He stared into the darkness of his bedroom, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. When he heard it again, he leaped out of bed and stuffed his bare feet into a pair of slippers and put on his robe.
Stepping into the hallway, he followed the noise to the library where he discovered Eleanor standing upon the spiral staircase that wound its way up the turret. “Eleanor? What are you doing up there? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Luke! Help me!” she cried.
It took him a second to understand what she was talking about. As Eleanor attempted to make her way down the spiral staircase, a loud shriek pervaded the space. The iron screws that bolted the staircase to the wall were coming loose and with each step Eleanor took, the staircase gave a shudder of protest and began to wobble dangerously from side to side. She was trapped.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know! I couldn’t sleep so I came to get a book and I saw—” Eleanor cried out in fear as the staircase shuddered and shrieked once more.
“Hold still,” Luke commanded. “I’m coming up to get you.”
“Hurry!” pleaded Eleanor and she came to a standstill.
At that moment, Theo, Dr. Montague, and Annabel entered the room. “What’s going on?” Dr. Montague asked.
“See for yourself,” Luke replied as he hurried over to the spiral staircase and slowly began ascending.
“Luke, what are you doing? Stop. You’ll only make things worse,” protested Theo.
Annabel moved over and placed a comfortin
g arm around Theo’s shoulders. “It’s alright. He can handle this.”
Filled with confidence at having someone trust him, Luke continued his ascent. When he reached Eleanor, who was pale and wide-eyed, he grabbed a hold of her trembling hands and gently pried them off the iron railing.
“Slowly follow me back down the stairs,” he told her. Eleanor nodded, and when he began to step down, she followed. When the staircase gave out a squeal, she stopped, too petrified to continue.
“You’re alright, Eleanor,” Luke assured her. “You’ll be fine, but you must keep coming.” This time she shook her head. “Yes. You can do this.”
Eleanor began to once again step down the staircase. One side of the railing came completely undone from the wall, tipping over the staircase and causing them both to lose their footing. Eleanor grabbed a hold of the railing while Luke was flipped over the side. If not for his robe, which got caught on one of the iron hooks that ornamented the staircase, he would have plummeted to the floor.
“Luke!” he heard a shout from down below and recognized it as belonging to Theo.
“I’m alright!” he shouted back. Very carefully, he swung his body around and grabbed a hold of the railing, causing it to wobble alarmingly. With his free hand he unstuck his robe from the iron peg and then proceeded to hoist himself up. Just as he reached the apex of his ascent, the staircase screeched and another screw fell from the wall, causing the staircase to quake. Balanced precariously as he was, Luke leaned forward so that he would fall onto the stairs and not back the other direction.
“Come on, Eleanor. We have to hurry. This thing is about to come down.”
Eleanor, her features tight with fright, took his hand and together they began descending the staircase. Each step was hazardous, causing the staircase to sway and dip. “It’s not going to hold our weight much longer,” said Eleanor.
“Slow and steady wins the race,” replied Luke.
When they finally made it safely onto the ground, Theo ran up and threw her arms around Luke. She let go and did the same to Eleanor. “What happened? Why was the staircase falling? Why were you up there?”
Eleanor’s chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “I just wanted a book to read. I wasn’t tired. I don’t know why the staircase began to break.”
Theo hugged her once more.
“This is an old house and with only the Dudley’s around to take care of the place, it shouldn’t be too surprising that the old staircase gave way,” stated Dr. Montague.
Annabel spoke up then. “True as that is, I believe this house is trying to hurt you, child.”
Both Eleanor and Theo gasped. “H-hurt me?” asked Eleanor.
“Yes. I sense an evil presence in this room.”
“I thought I was supposed to be the psychic,” muttered Theo dryly.
Annabel ignored her. “I have been conducting my own research into this property, and I stumbled upon some information I think you may all find quite enlightening. When Theo suggested that Hill House was older than we knew, I decided to check this very library for answers. I have found several newspaper articles and books written about the very ground where Hill House now sits.”
“Really?” said Dr. Montague, his eyes brightening. “What did they say?”
“There was once an abbey here, but it burned down in 1786. The building was rebuilt, which is when Argus Crain and Lady Tremaine moved in, but it burned down again in 1830. Soon after, Egaeus Crain bought the property and built his dream home upon it.”
“I knew it!” crowed Theo. “I knew that it couldn’t have been Hugh Crain who had built the house.”
“Yes, dear. But that’s not all, I also found several newspaper clippings that claimed that Native Americans had been warning European settlers away from the spot for years prior to the abbey being built. They claimed that the ground was unholy and unfit for human habitation.”
“What does that mean?” Luke asked.
“I am suggesting that perhaps Hill House isn’t haunted, not in the normal sense anyway.”
“Of course this place is haunted! How can you say that after all we have witnessed?” demanded Dr. Montague.
“I believe that Hill House is home to a demonic presence,” Annabel theorized. “Something ancient that has always been here, and now when anyone dies on the property, they remain here, stuck in a kind of purgatory.”
There was silence at this shocking news.
“I think you should leave,” declared Annabel, looking at Eleanor. “As soon as possible. The house seems to be affecting you the most.”
Luke looked at Dr. Montague, gauging his reaction. This was the very thing that they had talked about, but he wondered if agreeing with his ex-wife would be too unbearable for Dr. Montague, and he would take back what he had said yesterday.
“No! I don’t want to leave! I love it here!” cried Eleanor.
“Love it here?” asked a surprised Annabel. “Even after all that you have gone through? The knocking, the ghostly visitations, the sinister messages to you, personally? What about these stairs nearly collapsing while you were on them!”
“I know. I should be terrified, but I’m not. Not really. I want to stay,” implored Eleanor. “It’s like Dr. Montague said, old houses fall apart. There could be nothing more sinister going on here than rusted screws.”
“I fear that Hill House is too much for you to remain and stay sane,” said Annabel. “From what I know about your background and how I perceive Hill House acts—”
“You can’t make me! You aren’t my employer. Dr. Montague is.” Eleanor turned pleading eyes upon Dr. Montague.
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid, my dear, that I agree with Annabel. You should leave this place. I am responsible for you. If anything were to happen to you…”
“I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions,” Eleanor said.
“John,” came a voice from the doorway. They all turned and found Valdemar leaning against the doorframe. “I have just been informed that Miss Dudley has passed away.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was a warm evening. Dr. Montague stripped off the coat he no longer needed and folded it over his arm. It seemed cruel for the weather to turn so pleasant on such a sad occasion. In light of the circumstances, Dr. Montague had agreed to let Eleanor stay one more day to attend Miss Dudley’s funeral and grieve with them all.
Roderick Dudley had spent the better part of the day building a plain wooden coffin for his sister’s remains. He insisted that no embalming be done upon the corpse, claiming that this was how it had always been done for his family. They didn’t like a lot of fanfare, and he would quietly and respectfully lay his sister to rest in the family crypt upon the grounds.
Dr. Montague watched a shiver run through Luke at the mention of the hidden tomb beneath the mausoleum. As saddened as Dr. Montague was at the death of Miss Dudley, he was rather curious about seeing the Crain family crypt.
The group silently gathered around the coffin and waited for Mr. Dudley to speak. Dr. Montague looked around at all the familiar faces. His gaze stopped on Valdemar. His friend stood inordinately still. No shifting of body weight. No scratching an itch or sniffing or anything a natural human did. And that infernal staring! Valdemar never blinked. It was strange. It was a constant reminder that Valdemar was no longer meant to be a part of this world.
Mr. Dudley fidgeted with the buttons on his coat, clearly not comfortable speaking in front of veritable strangers. He removed the felt fedora from his head and clutched it in his hands. His gaze never wavered from staring at the wooden coffin.
“My sister, Madeleine, was a good woman. She never complained and she loved to cook. We took care of each other after the death of our adoptive parents, and we had always been close.” Mr. Dudley’s voice hitched as he struggled to go on. He stopped to compose himself. “It had always just been the two of us…” Unable to continue, Mr. Dudley placed the fedora back onto his head and looked up, not meeting anyon
e’s eyes, but rather, stared off into the distance.
Not wanting Mr. Dudley’s words to be the only ones spoken, Dr. Montague added, “I have only known Miss Dudley—Madeleine—for a short while, but from the few conversations we have had together, I could tell that she was generous, and she loved her brother very much. And I agree that she was an excellent cook.”
“I will never forget her kindness,” said Theo. Eleanor nodded beside her.
When it was clear that no one else was going to say anything, Mr. Dudley nodded for Luke, Valdemar, and Dr. Montague to join him. The four men gathered around the makeshift coffin and hoisted it onto their collective shoulders.
Dr. Montague felt uncomfortable being this close to Valdemar. He didn’t even smell right. No hint of body odor even though the sun beat down on them. He was an abomination. Dr. Montague should have allowed his friend to die naturally, as was right and proper.
* * *
At the next possible opportunity, Dr. Montague went in search of Valdemar. He hadn’t wanted to talk to him during the funeral about such a sensitive topic. He found him in the conservatory, sniffing at flowers that were in full bloom, despite the late season. When Valdemar noticed Dr. Montague studying him from the doorway, he straightened up and spoke, “Regrettably, I can no longer smell the sweet fragrance of these roses.”
“That’s actually why I came to talk to you.”
“My loss of smell?”
Dr. Montague shook his head. “No. I think you should consider letting me unmesmerize you.”
“What? Why? Everything is going so well.”
“No. It isn’t. You’re dead!”
“Yes, but I can still move and talk. I still have an existence.”
“Can you truly tell me that you’re happy being this way?”
A look of deep contemplation and anxiety entered Valdemar’s expression. “Well…it’s better than the alternative.”
