All Those Who Came Before

by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

  Abigail pivoted to him. “Well, I have some gossip. I was at Claudia’s earlier. We had cake and coffee and a nice talk. I asked her about the Theiss house and, since she didn’t know much more than what I’d already learned, she sent me to pick the brain of Irma at the fabric store. Irma, Claudia recalled, had known the Theiss kids fairly well. But as I mentioned before, Irma wasn’t there. I’ll have to catch her on another day when her shop is open.

  “Anyway, my news has to do with Claudia, or, in this case, her husband. You’re not going to believe this. Ryan is embarking on that African photo safari he’s been going on and on about for years. He’s leaving tomorrow and will be out of the country for three weeks.”

  Instantly, everyone forgot about the ghosts and the murder house. “Good for him,” Myrtle declared, her hands enthusiastically smacking the table. “Ryan is finally taking his grand trip. Africa! Lions, tigers and bears, oh my. I heartily applaud him for his bravery, or his lack of intelligence, take your pick. Heck, I wouldn’t go there myself and chase man-eating beasts for mere photographs. Any place that has animals that could maul or eat me, I stay out of.”

  “I don’t think there are bears in Africa.” Glinda was grinning at her aunt.

  “No matter. There are other man eaters out in the African veldt. Cheetahs, hyenas and snakes, too. Hippos. Those hippos are really mean critters. I hear they hate humans. They attack whenever they see one and they can run really fast, too, for their size.” Myrtle was on a roll now. “I hope Ryan takes a gun with him. A big gun. A couple of guns. Maybe some dynamite.

  “But, peril aside, what an adventure. Africa. I’d love to go on that trip if I could be in a protective bubble or something that would shield me from all the ravenous critters. My whole life I wanted to ride an elephant. Wowee, though. Those elephants are big. I don’t know how I’d get way up on their backs. I’d have to have a ladder or something.

  “Is Claudia going with him?”

  “What do you think?” Abigail had produced her sketch pad from the art bag she carried most places with her.

  When she opened the tablet and was studying the drawing Frank saw what she’d been working on that morning. The murder house. She’d portrayed it in a stark manner, the gloom around it menacing, as if she recognized its dark soul. It was a scary picture.

  “I think,” Myrtle pronounced her judgement with a chuckle, “Claudia would rather book a trip to Hades before she’d travel to the wilds of Africa. She’s not much of a nature girl.”

  “You’re right about that.” Abigail had taken a pencil from her bag and was playing around with the sketch in her tablet. “She told me about the same thing. But she wants Ryan to have his dream so she’s sending him off with a kiss and a smile, but inside she’s terrified of something happening to him. I felt sorry for her and comforted her the best I could.”

  Abigail directed her next comment to Frank. “With that in mind, I invited her for supper on Friday. Is that okay? I told her she’s welcome at our house any time she feels lonely.”

  “Okay with me. I hope you requested she call first.” Yet he said it with humor because everyone knew how proper Claudia was. She’d never dream of just dropping in on a person without asking first.

  “With Claudia? That goes without saying.”

  Frank nodded. He’d turned his head and was watching an elderly man shuffle into the diner. The old guy, wearing overalls and a baseball cap on his white head, was showing something in his upper pocket to everyone he met. People were giggling and pointing. Frank thought the man’s name was Alfred, he’d never asked for his last name, a retired electrician, and Frank had seen him often around town. Nice guy. A bit odd, but amiable.

  “Whoopie, a party. Glinda and I are invited, as well, right, Abigail?” Myrtle’s pie had arrived and the woman was, in between words, stuffing bites of it, savoring each one, into her mouth.

  “Of course, you’re both invited. If Frank agrees we’ll make it a barbeque, because he’d be the one doing the meat grilling. When the evening gets cooler, we might play lawn darts, cards or board games if anyone wants to. I’ll call Kyle and invite him. Laura won’t be there, of course, she’s in Chicago at her summer art gallery job for a few more weeks. We’ll see her soon enough when the summer’s over.”

  The invitation appeared to satisfy Myrtle so she concentrated on gobbling down her pie. One of these days, Frank mused, that old woman would turn into a piece of pie. Or a donut. She could never seemed to get enough of either of them.

  Frank had ordered a cheeseburger, it had come the same time as Myrtle’s pie, and he was eating it as he listened to everyone’s conversations. Glinda evidently wasn’t hungry. She was only having a cup of hot tea.

  The old gentleman who’d been showing something in his pocket to everyone had picked up a to-go order at the counter and, bag in hand, was making his way out of the restaurant. He halted in front of Frank and, bending over, let Frank peek at what was in the pocket. A tiny brown head with round beady eyes and twitching whiskers peered out at Frank.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Frank chuckled softly. “It’s a baby squirrel.”

  “Yup,” the old man said with a mischievous lift of his lips, “my cat caught him a couple of weeks ago and brought him to me. He was so little-bitty and looked so helpless in my cat’s jaws I had to save him. I took pity on him. It’s a wonder my cat, Bosco, didn’t kill or eat the tiny creature. Most times Bosco does. Kills and eats them, I mean. I’m just taking care of the little guy, fattening him up, until he grows up some. He has to be able to survive out there. Then I’ll rerelease him into the trees behind my house, where he belongs. He must have been shoved out of the nest for being a runt.

  “When I got to him, Bosco had deposited him on the ground; he was barely alive, flopping around on his belly like a fish out of water. I didn’t think he’d live. I took him home and nursed him, and he did live. He’s become quite the mischievous cut-up lately. We’ve become great friends. I named him Rocket, because now he moves pretty quick. He zips here and zips there. He climbs everything. He’s something, ain’t he?”

  The squirrel was making funny squeaking noises in his pocket hidey hole.

  “He sure is,” Frank replied. “That was kind hearted of you to rescue him.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” the old guy said. “He’s just so cute. He likes my pocket, seems to feel safe inside there, so I brought him along to pick up my lunch. He has attached himself to me. Must think I’m his new daddy or something.” He gently patted his pocket. Inside, the squirrel poked back through the material, still chattering away.

  “Ah,” Abigail exclaimed, looking too, as the squirrel peeked out at them again, “you’re right, he is a cutie.”

  “Ha, it’s just a rat with a fluffy tail,” Myrtle grumbled, making a disgusted face. “You wouldn’t think it was so cute if it was only a rat.”

  “But it is adorable, Auntie,” Glinda tossed in her opinion. “It’s a baby and all babies are cute.”

  The squirrel had stuck his head in and out of the pocket a couple more times, a tiny furry Jack-in-the-box, gawking at all of them with its large ebony eyes as if they were the attractions and not it. The rodent made more weird squawking sounds as it stared around at the humans, then disappeared into the pocket once more. The old man produced a peanut from another pocket and waved it enticingly over the opening. Poking its head out one final time, the squirrel chattered a bit more, then snatched the peanut in its mouth and popped back into the pocket. Munching noises ensued.

  Everyone laughed. Afterwards the squirrel man waved goodbye, shuffled from the diner with his bagged lunch and his tiny pet, and out into the fading light.

  Abigail resumed her sketching. She hadn’t ordered anything, except coffee. She seemed intent on her drawing, but came up for air long enough to inquire of Glinda, “So what do you have planned for the rest of the day, Glinda?”

  “I have three clients scheduled for tarot readings beginning at seven o’clock. Whic
h means I’ll be leaving here in the next ten minutes or so.”

  “So...anything else,” Abigail asked, “going on in your life these days?”

  Myrtle and Frank’s attention zeroed in on the psychic. Frank guessed what information Abigail was trying to fish out of the young woman. Possible marriage news.

  “Yes, for you nosy romantics...I am seeing Kyle later tonight. He is over most nights, as I’m sure you all know. Thanks to my blabby aunt here.” Glinda bestowed a sly grin on those around her, and sent a sarcastic glance in Myrtle’s direction. “He has been at Doc Andy’s office most of the week learning about the practice, its patients, and planning how he’s going to redecorate and equip the office there when it becomes his. There’s so much to do and plan.”

  “Yeah, and Kyle has been spending a lot of nights with us lately,” Myrtle quipped with a pleased smirk. “We’re a right nice family already, if you ask me. I like having a man in the house. Been a long time since I have. It’s interesting. Besides, he’s handy with a hammer and can fix any electrical problem the old house has. He’s good with the computers when they give us trouble, too, especially when the Internet acts up. You all know how I love the Internet.”

  “All right, all right,” Glinda declared, gathering her purse and rising to leave. “I do have real news. Since it appears we’ll be together on Friday night...Kyle and I will have something important to announce to everyone.”

  “Hot dog! I knew it. They’re setting the date,” Myrtle pronounced gleefully, rubbing her bony hands together in glee. “Yippie, we’re going to have another wedding. About time, Missy. Oh boy, wedding cake. I love wedding cake.”

  Them Myrtle stopped talking and sent a questioning glance Glinda’s way. “That is what you’re going to announce on Friday, right, Niece? That you and Kyle are getting married? Real soon?”

  “Patience, you’ll just have to wait until Friday to find out what the announcement will be. Kyle wants me to wait until we’re all together.

  “Auntie,” now her attention was centered on Myrtle, “do you want to walk home with me?”

  Frank, having finished his food, took the clue from Glinda’s action and also came to his feet. “Glinda, it’s way too hot out there for anyone to be walking anywhere, especially your Aunt Myrtle. Since Abby is in her own car and I have my truck outside, I can drop both of you off at your house. Whenever you’re ready to go.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Frank. We accept the offer of a ride. Thank you,” Glinda said. “I walked here today, but, you’re right, my aunt doesn’t need to be out in this heat.”

  “I’m ready.” Myrtle also stood up. Everyone paid their bills and began to disperse.

  Frank spoke aside to Abigail, “I’ll meet you at home, honey. Drive carefully.”

  “I will. Meet you at home, Frank.”

  Frank exited the diner with Glinda and Myrtle and drove them home, his thoughts busy the whole time on what he’d absorbed from the Bracco files. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  But all Myrtle could yak about was how evil the Theiss house was and that he needed to keep Abigail away from it.

  “Something bad is going to happen to her there, Frank,” Myrtle groused out loud. “I just know it. We got to save her. Keep her away from that house. You both need to help me do that.”

  Glinda sat silent on the other side of Myrtle, a heavy thoughtfulness on her features, as she tilted her head in the window’s direction, which somehow bothered Frank even more than Myrtle’s words.

  “Oh, Myrtle, you know how Abigail is. She’d die for her art.”

  “Ha, well, that house might just be the death of her. I did caution her there’s bad juju there. I felt it both times I was near it. Talk to her. Ya hear? I’m hoping she’ll listen to you.”

  “Yeah, like she always does.” Frank snickered. “I’m afraid when she’s put her mind to something, she’ll find a way to do it, consequences be darned.” He was watching the road ahead as the truck took a gentle right turn.

  Glinda was quietly observing the passing scenery, her mind somewhere else. Myrtle went on prattling about this and that, mostly nonsense to do with spirits and such, as she usually did. That old lady sure could talk. And talk. And talk.

  Yet Frank couldn’t deny his inner voice was nagging at him. He couldn’t get the Theiss house out of his thoughts, either. He hadn’t felt right not telling Abigail what had happened to him there and what he’d thought he had seen. He’d hesitated to say anything in front of Myrtle and Glinda, feeling somewhat silly...a grown man afraid of an empty house. But it might make a difference, if his wife knew he’d also sensed something wasn’t right at that property on Suncrest; that he’d seen, experienced, some odd things.

  So, when it was only the two of them, he had to talk to Abby about it. Tonight. This foreboding wouldn’t leave him alone until he did. He had just the tiniest of hopes she might give up her obsession to paint the place if she knew how he felt. Like Myrtle had said, there were lots of other empty creepy looking houses around Spookie to paint. She could pick one of them.

  THAT NIGHT AFTER SUPPER she and Frank relaxed on the porch in their rocking chairs, letting the night’s breezes cool them off, when he once more broached the subject of the Theiss house. He was worried about her, she understood that, so she played along and listened to what he had to say. To her, though, everything he could present as reasons for her to avoid the Theiss house, wouldn’t make a difference to her. All would be moot points, because she knew she had to keep painting that house. She had to. She’d made her mind up. The house called to her and she could not resist.

  A thought came to her: the house wanted her there. It wanted her to capture its loneliness and sorrow on canvas. It had something it wanted to say. It had a secret. A grand secret. It was a whimsical notion, but there it was. The house needed her.

  “Frank,” she was holding his hand, “I know you–everyone it seems–don’t like me going out to that house. They don’t want me to be there. At all. I’m sorry you feel that way. But it won’t take me long to do the original sketches and I’ll complete the paintings at home. So I won’t be there that much.”

  “It’s more than a feeling, honey.”

  She stiffened, not liking the sound of that. “Then what is it?”

  After a hesitant moment, he forged ahead. “You know Myrtle and I were out at the Theiss house today looking for you before we came into town?” Frank’s face, in the light sifting through the porch windows, appeared wearier than normal. Lately, she’d seen the strain in it, and along with other more alarming physical signs, she was becoming worried about him. His eyes sometimes had pain in them. She had mentioned her concern only days before and he had promised he’d make an appointment with his doctor soon. She might have to make sure he did.

  “She told me that you two were out there. She said I had already left.”

  “You had. Myrtle was so scared of the place; she wouldn’t get out of the truck. I got out to look around, though, and Abby, I have to confess I experienced something a little...disturbing there.”

  “Something disturbing?” She held her breath waiting to hear what she was already sure she didn’t want to hear.

  “You know I don’t categorically believe in the supernatural, in ghosts, malevolent entities, and such things, not like Myrtle does. But I stared down into that derelict well in the Theiss’s front yard and...I swear I saw something strange in it. Something flickered in the dirty water for a fraction of a second and then vanished into the darkness.”

  “Maybe it was a fish?” She tried to make light of it.

  “Fish don’t live in a well.”

  “Could be it was a snake?” The thought made her queasy, because she was terrified of snakes. “Or a squirrel that got trapped in the water?”

  “No, Abby. I don’t know what it was I saw, but it spooked me. It looked a bit like glowing eyes...in a distorted face.”

  “Your reflection then?”

  “I know my own
face.” Frank’s reply was firm. “It wasn’t my face. That wasn’t all I saw. As I was scouting around the building I thought I saw someone, not much more than a human looking shadow, scuttle around to the rear of the house.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t chase after him, her or it. The ground around the Theiss residence doesn’t encourage aimless meandering. That place is a scrapheap spiked with broken glass, jagged chunks of concrete, and sharp edged metal. I wouldn’t hike around it without hip high boots, heavy gloves and a machete. Definitely a machete for the snakes.” In the faint light his grin was instant, but fleeting. He didn’t much care for snakes, either.

  “I also thought I saw someone standing on the porch when I drove away.”

  “Someone standing on the porch? Who was it?”

  “I couldn’t tell. It was just a second’s glimpse. Just another shadow.”

  Abigail realized that was the moment she should have told him about the voice she’d heard say: Don’t go. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. If she confessed he wouldn’t want her to return to finish the paintings, and she had to finish. The house was beckoning her even now. The canvases would be phenomenal and people would travel from all over to admire them. It would seal her artistic legacy. When she was done, along with displaying them in an art gallery, she’d put them into a classy picture book and sell it on the worldwide web. Make a fortune. So she said nothing about the voice. After all, a voice couldn’t hurt anyone; couldn’t hurt her. Right? Right.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m not going to trudge around reconnoitering the property. I’m not going to explore the depths of the well,” she stated. “I’m just going to sit in the front yard, sketch and paint the house. When I’m done, I’ll leave. Like I said, I’ll do most of the work at home. Safe.”