The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

***

Sarah Jones made her way down the stair from the principal’s office, a hall pass in her hand. News travels fast in a small community like Converse and Principal Stephenson had read her the riot act for her “foolishness” the night before. Now she was on her way to Freshman English and it was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. Passing by Mrs. Drake’s Algebra class, she noticed Allen Parker’s empty seat and she had a sinking feeling in her gut as the weight of the horrors they’d witnessed bore down on her.

She felt responsible, of course, for Allen being in the hospital. He’d gone into the Winger House because she’d asked him, no begged him to. And he almost died there. They all did. Dale had told her to sit tight, to let them do some research, but she just couldn’t let it go. And she couldn’t drag the boys into this any deeper. But she had to do something.

Sarah kept walking past her English class, down the next flight of stairs, and out the front doors of the high school. It was overcast and rain was imminent, but that was the furthest thing from her mind. She walked with purpose, down the steps and across the manicured lawn, through the gate in the north fence and she kept on marching past the Church of Christ, her eyes lingering on the towering spire of the Methodist Church a few blocks away.

“They’ll have what I need,” she muttered.

Sarah Jones had waked that morning with a throbbing headache, but there was more than that, for she rose with intent. As she dressed for school she’d mulled over the kernel of a plan that had come to her in her sleep. She had never been one to put much stock in dreams, but this was different. In this dream she’d been visited by an old friend.

“Sarah.”

Dream Sarah was standing in the middle of the clearing in the small copse of woods that enveloped Little Pipe Creek, not far from the tiny cemetery where she and her friend used to go to be alone. She missed her friend terribly and as that friend now spoke to her from the shadow of an old willow tree, Sarah was at once overjoyed and terrified, because the darkness seemed so pervasive and complete… and her friend seemed very much at home there.

“Hello, Tracy. I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t know why, it’s not like I’m far away.”

“Are you dead?” Sarah asked, afraid of the answer.

“No, silly, I’m somewhere else. After what happened with my mom and all the rest…” Tracy Larson’s voice trailed off. “Look Sarah, I haven’t long.”

“Why not? Are you being held against your will? I could help, if you’d only…”

“No, Sarah. I’m fine. I’m with people who care about me.”

“Then what is it? Why are you here?”

“I’m here, Sarah because you’re in danger. You mustn’t go back to that house, Sarah. Promise me, you’ll stay away from there.”

“I can’t do that, Tracy. Cassidy needs me.”

“You’ll do her no good if you get yourself killed. Trust me, there’s an evil in that house that would stop at nothing to drag you down with it. You can’t fight it, Sarah. It’s too strong.”

“Then I’ll have to be stronger.”

“Sarah, you’re not listening to me… Sarah… Sarah…”

And then she was gone and Sarah was staring at the ceiling thinking about what her friend had said. If she was anything, it was strong willed. Sarah Jones didn’t know how to back down, and now, as she made her way up the steps to the Converse Methodist Church, she prayed that her will was strong enough.

The great thing about small towns was that virtually no one locked their doors and this place of worship was no different. All was silent and still. Her heart thundered in her chest and she swallowed hard against the maddening fear that was taking root. Why, she wondered, what is there to fear here, in this place of God? But it was the fear of questions that plagued her. Fear that if she gave voice to what was in her heart that she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. And she feared that her cousin was already lost, like Tracy.

Sarah Jones knew that she couldn’t go through that again.

Walking slowly across the foyer, ears straining to hear the slightest noise, Sarah slipped into the assembly as quiet as a church mouse. The aisle stretched out before her, leading to the holy altar. She’d never been much of a churchgoer. She’d been raised Methodist and had attended services as a child, but after the divorce her mother quit coming and then it just became easier to sleep in on Sunday mornings. She wasn’t really even sure that she believed in God. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe, just that she had questions that the church was in no position to answer.

So why was she here? There it was, nagging at the back of her mind. This was her master plan? Standing before the altar of God she had little faith in, she was suddenly floored by the thought. Her eyes lingered on the basin to the east of the altar as she took the clear plastic bottle out of her purse and dipped it into the holy water.

Sarah began to weep as she filled her empty vessel. The metaphor was not lost on her. There was no denying that there was something horrible in the Winger House. Something so foul that it defied death. If such a thing could exist, then why not God? She tightened the cap onto the bottle and slid her secret weapon back into her purse.

Holy water, she thought. I just snuck into a church to steal holy water so that I could do battle with the forces of darkness. Am I out of my mind?

“Perhaps.”

Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to face the voice that came from the back of the assembly. He was tall and handsome, with curly blonde locks that spilled out from beneath a black fedora that matched his suit. Swallowing, she zipped her purse shut and stepped away from the altar.

“You scared me,” she said with a nervous quiver in her voice.

“Scared you? The girl who is planning on confronting Bifrons of the Tombs with nothing more than some after-school spunk and a liter of holy water? Why, I’d have thought someone like that would be fearless.”

“How do you…?” she stammered. She looked toward the side exit and wondered if she ran how far she could get from him before he caught her. “Who are you?”

The man removed his hat and smiled.

“My name is Landon Connors and I’m here to help you.”

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

***

Dale Parker fed coins into the vending machine, pressed the E5 button, and waited for the chocolate bar he’d selected to drop. The machine whirred, metal coils spun, but the candy just hung there, unmoving, teetering on the edge of the precipice.

“Great.” He popped the front of the Plexiglas a few times with the butt of his hand before resorting to banging hard on the side of the machine, giving in to the frustration that had been building all night. Staring at the object of his compulsion, Dale couldn’t help but feel the symmetry. He hit the vending machine as hard as he could until finally the candy bar toppled into the awaiting cradle, along with a bag of chips and a few packs of gum. He smiled as he retrieved his prize, leaving the rest for the next contestant in this comedy of errors.

As much as he hated to admit it, he and Allen were in way over their heads. He’d tried calling his father, but all he got was the elder Parker’s voicemail. Typical when he was working a case. The last thing a paranormal investigator needs is a cell phone ringing just as he’s sneaking up on a werewolf’s lair. Not that Dale necessarily believed in werewolves, though he’d heard stories, or rather he’d overheard stories, mostly from his father’s Nightstalkers colleagues when they’d had a few too many.

The Nightstalkers were a loose confederation of like-minded investigators, occult detectives who walked the fine line between the known and the unknown. If it went bump in the night, the Nightstalkers were there to investigate, gather evidence, and, if need be, do battle with whatever manner of paranormal phenomena that reared its ugly head. The Nightstalkers were scientists, explorers, hunters, and sometimes, out of necessity, executioners. It was a hard life, but Stephen Parker had always made his family his first priority and he’d been thrilled when his sons showed an interest in his work, even if their mother disapproved.

Dale made his way back down the hallway toward his brother’s hospital room, pausing to admire a pretty young nurse chatting with an orderly near the elevator. She looked familiar and it took him a few seconds to realize it was Cheryl Larson, and that didn’t make any sense at all. Cheryl Larson had been missing for the better part of year, along with her younger sister Tracy.

Converse had been rocked by the serial killings of more than a half dozen high school students and a handful of adults that included a State Trooper, a Catholic Priest, and Harriet Larson, mother of the two missing girls, Cheryl and Tracy. The F.B.I. had pinned the Halloween murders on Aidan Sinclair, an eccentric millionaire with a fascination with the occult, but Dale’s father had been convinced that, while Sinclair was involved, that there was far more to the story. Dale knew that he’d done some snooping around, especially what with there being missing children involved and all, but he soon dropped the investigation. He hadn’t gone into to much detail. His father had just said that there were more pressing cases that required his attention. It had struck Dale as odd and out of character at the time, and now, spying on a very much alive and breathing Cheryl Larson, well, odd and out of character just got underscored.

As he watched the young woman coyly smile at the orderly, sliding her fingers down his forearm, and cocking her head in that way that girls do when they’re drawing their prey in for the kill, Dale couldn’t help but wonder if the Halloween massacre was tied into the Winger House somehow. Aidan Sinclair had owned the place, after all. If he was as heavily into the occult as had been reported, maybe he had conjured something up in that place and let it loose. Of course none of this speculation explained Cheryl Larson. Could she have been involved with Sinclair? And if so, what was she doing here at Duke Memorial posing as a Nurse?

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

***

“So, you want to talk?”

Sarah Jones looked up from the teen magazine she was absentmindedly flipping through and considered her mother’s proposition. Talk? Sure, there was plenty she wanted to talk about but she didn’t have the foggiest idea where to start. Not that it would have mattered. She knew that her mother didn’t really want to talk. She was in the mood to lecture, and that was something that Sarah was certainly in no mood for.

“Not particularly.”

“Well, I just got off the phone with your aunt…”

Uh oh, here it comes, Sarah thought to herself. “And…?” She sat up on the side of her bed, head cocked in preparation for what was sure to follow.

“What were you kids thinking? I told you to stay away from there, Sarah. My sister and I may share the same blood, but she’s different from us, and to go up there and stir up a hornet’s nest isn’t doing anyone any good, especially Cassidy. She’s going through a terrible ordeal, the poor girl.”

“That’s just it, mom, Cassidy is going through something terrible and no one’s doing anything to help her.”

“We’re not going to go through this again. Louise has hired the best doctors that money can buy to look after her daughter’s well being, and though I may not have the resources that she has, I have to look after my daughter too.”

“I’m fine,” Sarah mumbled.

“You most certainly are not and your attitude, young lady, needs an adjustment.”

“My attitude?”

“That’s right. As of now, you’re grounded.”

“Mom, please. You don’t understand, Cassidy’s…”

“Enough, Sarah,” he mother barked. “You’re grounded for two weeks. No extracurricular activities. No cell phone. No internet. And you’ll have absolutely nothing, and I do mean nothing, to do with those Parker brothers. Understand?”

“This is ridiculous. You’re not even listening to me.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah, but it’s time I put my foot down and got this house back in order. It’s time we stopped living in the past and letting it dictate our direction. Tomorrow begins a new day, and I aim to see to it that we put this all behind us and start fresh.”

“Mom, don’t do this,” Sarah pleaded. “Cassidy needs me. She needs us.”

“No. What Cassidy needs is to be left alone so that she can get better. Now, it’s late and a school night. Get to bed and we’ll talk about this tomorrow evening once cooler heads have prevailed.”

Mildred Jones closed her daughter’s bedroom door and left the girl to fume. Sarah slid off the bed, went to her desk, and turned on her laptop. After entering her Windows password, she brought up the web browser only to be met by a screen that said the webpage she was looking for was unavailable offline. Her mom had already turned off their router.

“Argh!” she grimaced, pushing the laptop away from her and onto the floor in frustration. She glanced at her cell phone sitting on the charger by the bed. It was probably turned off as well. Not that it mattered. She had no one to call.

Sarah Jones felt lost and alone. All she was left with were tears, shed as much from anger as from the sense of a quiet desperation that was growing inside her. She threw herself onto the bed, staring mutely at the popcorn ceiling overhead, praying for sleep to come and take her away.

 

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

***

Dale Parker sat quietly in the chair beside his brother’s hospital bed, reading through the book he’d come away from the Winger Estate with. It was a leather bound journal, handwritten on yellowed vellum by Lewis Percival Winger himself. Much of the writing inside was in some sort of code, with arcane symbols drawn with an uneven hand, but there were also bits and pieces of prose and poetry, and a lengthy work that was, perhaps, an unpublished novella. While the hospital monitors chirped and beeped, he lost himself in the story that was written within its pages.

The silence was unbearable, like a weight crushing the very breath from his lungs. Solemn and melancholy, Lawrence Weaver had sought to drown the oppressive feelings with a smooth Single Malt, culled from his private stock. The Scotch had been aged as long as he had, fifty years this past March, but the spirits did little to raise his. There was no time for him, no place for him in this world, and none that waited in the hereafter. He had bartered away any chance for happiness in the here and now and squandered any hope of salvation.

“So be it,” he barked, downing his glass and tossing the empty vessel into the vacant hearth of the fireplace. “Who wants to live forever anyway?”

“Certainly not you.”

Weaver rose from his chair with a start. He was in a sealed room; the chamber door barred against entry, yet here stood a figure most unwanted. Draped in a black cloak that billowed about him as if it were a sentient thing, the fiend smiled at his prey’s distress.

“Villain,” Weaver spat. “Your very presence is an affront to me. I command you to be gone, unclean spirit.”

“Your command over me has ended, Lawrence Weaver, as per our agreement. Or have you forgotten? Shall I produce the document to which you signed your name, in blood no less?”

“Damn you and that infernal document, demon. I was a child when I signed away that which I would now cling to with my very last breath.”

“Is that so?”

“I will not go quietly, blackheart!”

“I see. What I have come for is mine already, but if it is a sporting chance that you desire, a false hope that our contract might be nullified, then by all means, we shall see to it.”

“A sporting chance? Yes, that’s it exactly. That’s all I ask. Give me a chance to undo that which I have done. I cannot be made to pay for youthful ignorance and folly.”

“Oh, you’ll pay, Lawrence Weaver, in blood most sweet.”

With a subtle gesture, the figure caused a conflagration to erupt within the confines of the fireplace. It crackled with eldritch energy, fueled by the impossible creature that even now discarded its cloak. Crossing the room, it took down the twin sabers that were displayed above the mantle, tossing one to Weaver and cutting at the air with the blade he retained. It sang with a haunting melody, the cold steel alive in the fiend’s expert grasp.

“Surely you jest, Bifrons of the Tombs,” Weaver winced. “A duel? This is your idea of a sporting chance?”

The figure’s vacant stare cut into the man’s soul as deeply as any blade could. There was no sympathy there, no compassion. Within those black orbs there was naught but the promise of death.

“Yes.”

The fiend sprang forward, the saber slicing through the electrified air with a powerful stroke that, had it found its mark, would have surely split Weaver in two. The man had only just raised his weapon, deflecting the blow, but a shockwave raced through his arm, jarring him and shaking him to his very core.

This was it then, Weaver thought, to the death.

It was to the death.

Staggered, Weaver was driven back. With each attack, the man was only just able to defend, but the ferocity of the blows was sheer agony. Never once did he rear his weapon in offense. The tireless assailant rained down on him cruel strike after cruel strike, filling his opponent with a crippling desperation.

With a mind-numbing flourish, the fiend disarmed Weaver, his saber clanging against the stone floor, far out of reach. The tip of the figure’s saber stopped short of a killing stroke, hovering beneath his chin, drawing but a warm stream of blood. The fluid rolled down the cold steel, arcing along the tempered groove and kissing the bronze hilt like a shy lover would, chaste beneath an enchanted moonlit night in a forest of sinister promise.

“Our contract, Lawrence Weaver, has reached its fruition. Your soul is ripe and ready to be served upon my master’s table.”

“Please, grim Bifrons, a bit longer. I beg of you.” Tears rolled down the man’s cheeks. Exhausted, but filled with fear and the crush of desolation, Weaver was less a man, whimpering as a child would.

“You disgust me, Weaver. Did I not keep my end of our bargain? Did I not fulfill my promise to you?”

“But I had no idea that…” His voice broke and his bladder gave way along with his knees. Dropping to the ground, his head bowed low in grim resolution. He was shamed. In his fantasies he had been a brave and honorable man, one who he had always believed would be able to face death with his head raised high, but this was just a fantasy. In the end he was a pathetic wretch, begging for a chance at one more day.

Even as he silently pleaded, he was forced to wonder why he bothered. He was undeserving of life. He had wasted his time on earth, descending into hedonistic debauchery. He had been cruel to nearly everyone who had crossed his path. What would a reprieve from death gain him, but the promise to deliver more misery upon his fellow man? Better to have it end now, in dishonor and shame, than to sink any lower, if that were even possible.

“Listen Lawrence Weaver. Do you hear it, there in the distance? The thundering waves call out to me. They call me home. And they are calling to you as well. It’s a haunting song those waves play, enticing me to leave this dance behind and lose myself in its melody, rising up into the dark and tumultuous clouds, perhaps to rain down upon another who is a better man than you. Once long ago, I could taste the essence of you. Your soul was alive and held the promise of a cup filled with a sweet nectar, but here now you are a bitter and vile brew, unworthy of my consumption.”

“You’re… you’re releasing me from our bargain?”

“I have no want of you. I’ll see your soul cast into the fire, unmarked by heaven or hell. You will cease to exist, for there is no sustenance in you, for angel or demon or any of the Host. I despise you and consign you to utter oblivion.”

The fiend’s eyes glassed over. Black orbs gave way to the red hue of the fireplace’s blaze and it was a dragon’s breath that Lawrence Weaver felt upon him.

“The Old Ways are lost. They hold no sway over mortal men.”

The figure’s hands grasped the head of Lawrence Weaver, its eyes burrowing into his flesh. Weaver screamed in agony as all that he was and would ever be was consumed by hellfire.

“Mores the pity.”

And with that the figure was gone, carried away on an ancient wind.

“What’s that?”

Dale jumped in his seat, startled by his brother’s voice.

“Don’t do that,” he said, sitting up straight and setting the journal aside. His heart was thundering in his chest. Not surprising considering all that had transpired in the past few hours. Dale crossed the room to stand by his brother’s bedside. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine, and you didn’t answer my question. I know when my brother’s head is wrapped all up in knots.”

Dale picked up the journal and dropped it into Allen’s lap. “It’s some of Winger’s writings. Most of it’s useless, written in some kind of coded language.” Allen flipped through the book. “Some of the sigils seem familiar. Stuff I’ve seen in dad’s library, I think. I’ll investigate more thoroughly once we get out of this place. The rest of it is bits and pieces of stories. One of them’s almost complete, it’s story of a man who had sold his soul and was trying to win it back. I don’t know… I get the feeling it’s important.”

“Well, no sense in getting too caught up in it. Mom told me that Detective Franklin read you the riot act and essentially told us to not butt in where we’re not wanted.”

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.”

“We’ve never stumbled onto something like this before either. This is definitely up dad’s alley. Chasing ghosts is one thing, but this is far beyond anything we’ve ever experienced.”

“I don’t know, Allen. I’m not sure I can let this slide. There’s a young girl in that house that needs help now, not later.”

“Not to mention the fact that she’s smoking hot.”

“That has nothing to do with it. She needs our help.”

“Well that’s just too bad.” The boys turned to see their mother in the doorway, hands on her hips. “Dale Parker, you should be ashamed of yourself. Look at your brother. And on a school night? Really, I don’t know what you were thinking. You’re both lucky to be alive.”

“I know mom, but the Martins’ are in trouble. Big trouble,” Dale said. “Someone’s got to help them.”

Mrs. Parker joined her eldest son at Allen’s bedside, placing her hand on the boy’s forehead while her eyes scolded Dale. “Someone, maybe, but not the two of you. It’s bad enough your father trots off to parts unknown on this foolishness. I’ll be damned if I let you both put yourselves in harm’s way chasing phantoms. I had a talk with Joe and he told me what happened in that house, or more accurately what didn’t happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Allen asked, sitting up with a grimace.

“Detective Franklin thinks we imagined everything that happened in the Winger house,” Dale said. “He says it was some form of hysteria.”

“Hysteria? It sure as heck wasn’t hysteria that beat me half to death. Joe Franklin knows us. It’s not like we’re some potheaded rejects from a Scooby Doo cartoon. Why would he say that?”

“I don’t know, Allen. Maybe he’s under pressure from his bosses, or maybe even Security Forces out of Grissom. Cassidy’s dad is the base commander.”

“Or maybe you boys are in over your heads and he wants to make sure nothing happens to his best friend’s kids?” Evelyn Parker looked worried and tired. The weight of the evening was bearing down on her. Dale watched as her eyes looked over Allen’s battered and bruised body. He was lucky that it wasn’t more serious.

“Or maybe nothing. Man, that ticks me off,” Allen huffed. “We didn’t imagine this. Mrs. Martin was not herself. She was a crazed maniac and impossibly strong. I cleaned her clock good with a brass candlestick. By all rights she should be dead, but she just kept coming like some kind of monster.”

“Allen Parker that will be enough. I can’t hear any more of this. I can’t. This is over. Do you understand me? I won’t hear another word on it. We’re going to pretend that none of this ever happened and when your father gets home, he’ll deal with it. Understood?”

“Yes, mother,” the boys said in unison, each lying through their respective teeth.

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

***

Dale Parker was relieved to see Detective Joe Franklin standing beneath the exterior light outside of the Winger Estate. Detective Franklin was one of his father’s oldest friends and had been a valuable ally in the elder Parker’s research. He and Sarah made their way along the roadside and passed through the main gate leading up to the house.

“A little easier this time in, huh?” Dale said.

Sarah didn’t respond. She was still in shock. Dale couldn’t blame her. He was a bit in shock himself. He had helped his father on a number of cases but he had never experienced anything like this.

He waved to the detective as they drew near. Franklin wore a gruff expression on his face and that worried the young man. Dale hoped that Allen wasn’t hurt worse than he’d appeared to be before he’d gone to call for help.

“Evening Dale,” the detective said, offering his hand.

“Good evening, Detective Franklin. Thanks for getting here so fast. Is Allen okay?”

“The boy’s fine. He’s been admitted to Duke Memorial and your mother’s on her way.”

“I can’t tell you how great that is to hear. After everything that’s happened tonight, I wasn’t…”

“Dale, that’s where things go sort of south for me,” the detective interrupted. “Your story doesn’t exactly play out as you told it to me on the phone.”

“How so?” Sarah asked. She stepped forward, trying to look past the man and into the house. “Where’s Cassidy? Dale said he left her with Allen.”

“And you are, Miss…?”

“Jones. Sarah Jones.”

“Right,” the detective said, glancing at a small notepad. “You called in the 911.”

“That’s right.”

“According to dispatch, you claim that your aunt, Mrs. Martin, was attacking Allen Parker and you and he entered into a struggle with her, that Parker in fact struck her repeatedly to the face and yet she kept coming. That’s when you ran for help.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything you want to add, Dale?”

“Just what I told you on the phone. When Cassidy and I came downstairs, the place was covered in blood and Allen was pretty roughed up. I caught up with Sarah down at the Kenyon place after she’d called emergency response. Then I called you.”

“Walk with me, kid,” the detective said. He put his arm around Dale’s shoulder and led him through the front door of the Winger house.

“No, no, no… this isn’t right,” Dale said, taken aback by the state of the Great Room. “I don’t understand.” There was no blood, no piece of furniture out of place, no candles… in fact, the whole room was well lit by chandeliers overhead and what shadows there were clung to the corners without menace. “Joe, this place was dripping in blood. I swear to you… this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Where’s Cassidy?” Sarah said from the doorway.

Detective Franklin turned to face her. “She’s in her mother’s room. She didn’t want to go upstairs. In fact, she was in near hysterics. Mrs. Martin administered a sedative to calm her down.”

“A sedative?” Sarah was livid. “Are you kidding me? That’s what started all this mess.”

“Dale, Cassidy Martin has some deep rooted psychological problems.” The detective motioned for them to follow him upstairs. “From what her mother told me, the girl’s borderline schizophrenic. Do you understand? She hears voices. Sees things that aren’t there.”

“But we saw them too. I heard…” Dale responded, climbing the marble steps after his father’s best friend. Sarah was right on his heels. “Are you saying we imagined all this?”

“Suggestion is a powerful thing, Dale. I’ve seen it happen to seasoned veterans on the force. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us.”

“That’s bull,” Sarah muttered.

Detective Franklin stopped before Michelle’s bedroom door. It was whole and unmarked from their earlier escape. The detective turned the knob revealing an undisturbed room. Everything was perfectly placed. Even the bed appeared freshly made. He led the two young people inside, pausing by the window seat.

“Does this look like a room beset upon by unseen forces?”

Dale looked at Sarah who was dumbfounded. “No, sir.”

Reaching down, the detective picked up Dale’s backpack and tossed it to him. Taking a quick inventory, he was surprised to find everything inside and in its place. He added the items from his pockets and the book that had struck him in the head. No, he’d not imagined that. It still throbbed where he’d been struck. Still, none of this made any sense.

“Take your things, Dale, and get yourself to the hospital and look after your brother and forget all about this place. Understand? I’m not saying nothing is going on here, but what I am saying is that this is business best left to your father, and even then, he would need to be called in by the family, not by some worrisome teenager who suspects something is wrong.”

“You’re right, of course. I guess we just got overly excited.”

“That’s a load of —“ Sarah fumed. She pushed Dale hard in the shoulder and gave him an eyeful.

“Sarah, it’s alright. Let’s get you home and we can discuss it tomorrow after we’ve all had a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” the detective said.

He led the two out of the room and down the stairs. Dale and Sarah took it all in, every bit of well lit nook and cranny. They walked slowly across the marble floor, through the front entrance, and out into the chilled night air.

“Come on, “ Dale said, “let me give you a lift home, then I’ll head over to check on Allen. You’ve got school tomorrow, after all, and your mom’s probably worried sick.”

“Whatever,” Sarah muttered, sauntering off toward the iron gate.

“Thanks again, Detective. I appreciate your being straight with us.”

“You’re a good kid, Dale. Make sure you dad gives me a call as soon as he gets back from Wisconsin.”

“Will do,” Dale said. He broke into a jog to catch up with Sarah who was walking along the berm of the Frances Slocum Trail. “Hey, wait up.”

“Don’t talk to me,” she said, eyes on the road passing under her feet.

“So you think I handled that wrong back there?”

“That detective is full of it and you know it, Dale Parker. What we saw back there— what happened to us — it was…”

“Real? Yeah, I know, but we weren’t going to get anywhere butting heads with the police. If we’re going to be of any help to Cassidy, we’re going to have to dot all our i’s and cross all out t’s.”

“And mind our p’s and q’s too, I suppose.”

“Exactly,” Dale said, smiling. “Look, we made some headway tonight. More than you might think. At least we know for a fact that something unnatural is going on in that place. Now we just have to put a name to it and then we can figure out how to stop it.”

“And what about Cassidy? We can’t just leave her there.”

“For now, we have no choice, but I promise Sarah, we’re not through yet. We’re going to get her out of there, and we’re going to put an end to whatever has that house in its grip.”

“Another Parker promise?”

“Hey, we’re full of ‘em.”

“You’re full of something.”

 

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

***

Allen Parker slowly opened his eyes only to see an angel sitting beside him. He tried to sit up but the pain was overwhelming. She looked down at him and smiled warmly, but her eyes were full of worry and fear. If the pain had not been enough to let him know he’d not just woken from a nightmare, those eyes told the tale. The same fear that gripped him now haunted her as well. He was lying in the cool grass, a jacket under his head as a pillow. The Winger House was several yards away and that was almost enough to send him crawling as fast as he could muster.

“You’re awake,” the angel said, reaching out to lay her hand on his shoulder. She had long black hair and dark eyes, with skin so white it almost glowed in the dark. “Your brother went for help. My name’s Cassidy. Cassidy Martin.”

“Sarah’s cousin?”

“That’s right. Do you know where Sarah is, or my mother?” Her voice quivered and she was on the verge of breaking down. “There was… so much blood back there, something horrible happened. Please, is my mother all right? Was she hurt?”

“Cassidy, I…”

“What happened in there? Please, you’ve got to tell me.”

“Look, I don’t know what to say… I’m not really sure…” Allen was fumbling for the words. How do you tell someone that their mother was possessed by some kind of evil spirit and that you beat her face in with a candlestick and she barely batted an eye? The sound of sirens saved him from continuing. “That must be the cavalry.”

The night was suddenly ablaze with flashing red and blue lights, dancing on the moist landscape, though, Allen thought, he could have done without the blaring siren wail of the two state police cars and the emergency rescue vehicle that pulled into the Winger drive. Still, it was a relief to know that this night was almost over. How he was going to explain any of this to the police however was beyond him? He suddenly felt extremely sad for the girl hovering over him now. His physical pain was nothing compared to the pain she was about to face.

He heard the paramedics coming toward him and watched as Cassidy stood up, backing out of the way. Allen’s eyes drifted toward the Winger house and he saw the front door open, a figure appearing there, silhouetted by the light spilling out from within.

“Cassidy?” he heard a frantic voice call out. It was Louise Martin. Allen struggled to get to his feet, even as he watched the young girl run toward the house.

“Cassidy! No!” he cried, but she was racing across the lawn. And then she was gone from sight as the paramedics loomed between him and the mansion. “You’ve got to stop her,” he moaned. “Don’t let her go in that house.”

“Calm down son, we’re here to help you,” one of them said. He knelt beside Allen, forcing him to lie back on the ground. “The officers will take care of the young lady. Let us have a look at you.”

“You don’t understand…” Allen began, but the paramedic ignored him.

“Let’s get him ready for transport. This kid’s a mess.”

“You’re not transporting me anywhere,” Allen said. He began to struggle against the paramedic, desperate to get up. “You can’t let that girl anywhere near her mother. She’s not herself… she’s…”

“Listen, kid,” the responder said harshly, “you’ve probably got a concussion, a broken forearm, and if I were to guess, several broken ribs.” He forced Allen back down while his partner came around the other side, a hypodermic prepared. “I don’t know what went down out here, but we need to get you to a hospital, sooner than later.”

“My brother, where’s my brother? He’ll know what to do.” He fought against the much larger medic, thrashing wildly, trying to break the man’s grip. “That woman’s a demon,” he raved. “She’s got to be stopped… she’s got to be…” Allen Parker began to fade as he was injected with a sedative.

“What do you make of this, Mikey?”

“Beats me, Geoff,” the paramedic said, helping his partner lift the boy onto the gurney. “Drugs, I suppose. He sure seems crazy.”

Looking over his shoulder, Geoff Turner had an uneasy feeling. “I don’t know Mike. You hear stories about stuff out here, ghosts and such. Maybe the kid got spooked?”

“And maybe you watched too much Sammy Terry growing up. No such thing as ghosts, rookie.”

“So you say.” Turner took another look back at the mansion and the silhouettes framed in the doorway. His eyes drifted up to a third story window where the curtain parted and something watched as they wheeled the Parker kid across the lawn toward the ambulance. He swallowed hard and pushed the gurney just a little bit faster. The quicker they got away from this place the better, he thought.

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

***

 

“Get away from him!” Sarah screamed.

Staggered by the scene before her, Sarah Jones shook with a wave of conflicting emotions. She’d bolted in through the front door, intent on pleading for her cousin’s life, only to find her aunt in the throes of madness, towering above Allen Parker with a pistol in her hand, ready to fire.

Louise Martin whirled about, swinging wildly with the revolver. It grazed Sarah’s forehead, just above the temple, sending the young girl flying backward into the piano, blood spilling from a now open wound. Allen struck out with his legs, catching Mrs. Martin in the hip and the woman fell forward into her niece.

Allen rose clumsily, dazed from the pain coursing through his body. Everything was going so fast. He limped toward the two fallen women and helped drag Sarah to her feet. The teen clung to the boy and he protectively edged her behind him. This was far from over.

“Sarah,” he said, fighting to remain as calm as possible, “get out of here. Head for the neighbors and call for help.”

Sarah stood frozen, her eyes glued on her aunt. Louise Martin lifted herself up off the floor, her own eyes blazing like wildfire. She smiled with a wicked sneer, like an angered beast that had cornered its prey and was ready to feast.

“Sarah,” Allen pleaded, “go!”

Sarah Jones couldn’t speak, but she found the courage to do as the Parker boy said. Her head throbbing in pain, she dashed for the open door, the promise of escape looming before her. Just before she reached the door, it suddenly slammed shut, as if by its own accord. She fell against it, fumbling with the doorknob to no avail. It wouldn’t budge. She screamed, beating at the door with her fists.

“You didn’t think it would be so easy, did you?” Mrs. Martin sneered. She moved from side to side like an animal preparing to strike.

“Who are you?” Allen asked. His ruined knee filled him with excruciating pain, but he swallowed it as best he could, his adrenaline pumping fresh energy into him.

“Poor little boy, so afraid. You’re on the verge of crying out for your daddy, but he can’t save you, now can he? No, he’s off hunting a fox in the henhouse while there’s a wolf right at his door, and he’s left his children to mind the farm, now hasn’t he?”

“How do you know that? What are you?”

“Me? Why child, I’m your worse nightmare. When something goes bump in the night, well that’s me. And I’m tired of these games, boy. Be a good little hunter and just lie down. I’ll make this quick.”

Allen’s eyes darted left and right. The shadows seemed to be closing in and he was having trouble concentrating. He was in over his head. He knew that. He had to get Sarah out of here. He had to get himself out. But he was out of options. This thing that was possessing Louise Martin was probably going to kill them and there was nothing he could do to change that, but he had to try.

“Sarah,” he said with a quiver in his voice, “keep trying that door.”

“What?” she said choked with tears.

“Just do it.” Allen reached back to the secretary and snatched up a brass candlestick and lunge toward the Martin woman. He swung as hard as he could and bashed her in the side of the head, tearing through the weak flesh and sending blood spraying everywhere. He struck her again and again, crying as he did so, terrified and repulsed by what he was doing.

Sarah fumbled with the door until it finally opened and she ran out into the darkness, screaming bloody terror, her feet carrying her across the lawn as fast as she could go. Allen glanced back and almost smiled. It had worked, but his victory was short lived as Louise Martin’s’ hands grasped him by the shirt and drew him in close. She had a smile for him, grinning wickedly through the face that had been pummeled into hamburger.

“We’re not through yet, young Parker,” she said. She lifted the boy easily overhead and slammed him to the ground where he sprawled in the copious amounts of spilled blood. Mrs. Martin kicked him hard in the side, cracking several ribs.

Allen cried out in agony. With all his might, he fought to remain conscious, but he knew it was a fight he was losing. There was so much blood that he thought he was swimming in it. “Run Sarah,” he mumbled, “run.”

“She’ll not get far, little man,” Mrs. Martin said. She leaned down and rolled him over to stare him in the face. She dipped her fingers in the blood on the floor and drew something on his forehead. “You’re marked now boy. That means you’re mine. I can come and get you anytime I want you. Think on that when sleep calls to you. I’ll be there, in the dark, in the shadows, and I can have you whenever I want.”

She rose from him and spat, her ruined face looking down on him triumphantly. Louise Martin turned and walked out through the open door, laughing, leaving Allen with his pain and his fear. The shadows continued their advance and he felt like they were taunting him, mocking him. Horrid faces, black on black slithered within their depth. He tried to rise but couldn’t. His leg was grinding and it was all he could do to just breathe. His side was on fire, his lungs a conflagration. It took all his strength to roll over, but from somewhere deep inside, he drew an inner strength that had him crawling through the blood toward the stairway. If he could just get to the stairway, he thought, he could get up and maybe, just maybe, he could get outside and to help. He was almost there when he heard his brother’s voice and he surrendered to the pain and all went silent and dark.

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

***

 

Dale decided to make use of the time he had before Sarah returned with her aunt and, hopefully, paramedics. He opened up his book bag and took out his flashlight and K2 meter. The K2 was an electromagnetic field detector designed to measure electromagnetic radiation put off by electrical devices. Paranormal investigators, long suspecting that spirit entities utilized this stored energy to manifest, began using these meters to detect and communicate with the living impaired.

Dale walked slowly through the room, thankful that the batteries were still strong in the device. The EMF had a running light meter across the top that would flash through the spectrum from soft yellow to red. Dale paused and listened intently as he noticed the meter flash yellow.

“Is there somebody here?”

The meter flashed again, this time into the red.

“Hello?” he said, spinning slightly to his left so that he was facing the bed. The meter flashed red again. “My name is Dale. I mean you no harm. Do you understand?” The meter flashed red again.

“Okay, I’d like to communicate with you. I want to ask you some questions. If the answer is yes, can you make this device in my hand react like you have been doing? Would you like to speak with me?”

The meter flashed red.

“Terrific. Are you the spirit that was throwing things earlier?”

No response.

“Okay, are you male?

No response.

“Female?”

The meter flashed red.

“Are you an adult?”

No response.

“A child?”

The meter flashed red.

“Look, I’d like to help you. Would you like for me to help you?”

“Yes.”

Dale jumped as Cassidy Martin sat up in bed, looking pale and distant. It was she that spoke. He walked toward her with the K2. As he neared her body, the meter spiked, revealing an electromagnetic source coming from the teenage girl.

“Cassidy?”

“Cassidy is sleeping now. My name is Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth, are you possessing Cassidy’s body? Is she okay?”

“She is for now,” the spirit said, “but I don’t know for how much longer. He doesn’t like her very much.”

“Who doesn’t like her, Elizabeth? Can you tell me what’s happening here?”

“No time,” she said, suddenly looking frightened. “He’s coming back.”

“Who, Elizabeth? What are we facing? What’s –?”

The girl collapsed back onto the bed as the bedroom door flew open, a blast of cold air swirling into the room, chilling the young investigator. He felt a buzz in his pocket and fished out his cell phone. It was flashing “1 New Message” on the main screen. Ignoring the notice, he tried to dial out, but the battery was too weak. Then the K2 meter’s lights went out, it too was drained of power. He checked his flashlight and noted the same.

“Oh man,” he muttered.

Dale stepped from behind the bed as a new wave of chaos had descended on the room. The blankets were hurled into the corner and they twisted about as if caught in a whirlwind, loose papers danced on the air, tossed about by the unseen force, and the furniture began sliding to and fro as a result of the maelstrom of paranormal activity.

“What’s happening? Make it stop!” Cassidy was screaming now, in a different voice than what had spoken before. Dale slid over the bed and grabbed the girl, drawing her into his arms as the bed began to rock back and forth.

“I’m here to help you,” Dale shouted above the roar of the unnatural wind. “We have to get out of here.” His bag had been tossed aside and its contents scattered. Dragging her with him, Dale made for the door. A book slammed into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground, Cassidy with him. Without thinking, he grabbed the book and, helping the girl to her feet, the two fled down the hall and around the corner to the wide balcony that overlooked the living room downstairs.

“Oh my god,” Cassidy said, looking down on the scene beneath them. There was blood everywhere, across the marble floor, dripping from the piano, smeared on the front door which was half open… and a young man was covered in it and crawling toward the stair.

Dale’s eyes widened.

“Allen?”

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

***

Dale dropped from the overhanging branch of the old oak, landing on the inside of the Winger Estate grounds. He took a quick survey of the area, making sure they weren’t seen, then motioned for Sarah to join him.

“I’m afraid,” she called down at him. She sat perched nervously on the thick arm of the tree growing along the edge of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the property.

“It’s alright, Sarah. I’ll catch you. It just looks far down. From here, it’s nothing.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re on the ground.”

Dale made another quick look around. It would be dark soon. The first kiss of twilight was spreading across the sky. “Look, I can go on without you. Just head on back to the car and wait for us. We’ll be along shortly.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll do it.” Dale set his book bag aside and held his arms wide for her. Pushing off, she sailed through the air and into his arms, both of them tumbling backward onto the wet lawn. Sarah rose up, sitting on Dale’s chest. She smiled at him, patting his cheek. “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Easy for you to say.”

They brushed themselves off and, after retrieving his bag, Dale led them across the yard to the back of the house. Using the hedges for cover, they watched the windows for signs of life, but all seemed dark and quiet within.

“Which is your cousin’s bedroom?”

Sarah looked up and pointed toward the second floor window nearest them. “I’m pretty sure that’s it, in the Northwest corner,” she said. Dale crept forward to get a better look. “How are we going to get in there, sneak in through the back door?”

“Nope,” Dale replied. “We’re going to climb the trellis.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Look, the windows cracked. We can be in and out, and your aunt will never know we were sniffing around. Hopefully your cousin will shed some light on…”

“Hold on, I get the fact that you want to talk to Cassidy, but I don’t see how we’re going to help her. Something’s in there. Something attacked her. What are we going to do to fight back?”

“Alright, Sarah, I’m going to humor you for a minute. We’ll assume that what you believe is true, that there is some form of entity in that house that means Cassidy harm. If that’s the case, we have to find out what we’re dealing with before we can help her. We’re here tonight to find out what’s happening. We’ll deal with a solution after we’ve determined the source of Cassidy’s torment. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

“Sarah, you don’t have to explain yourself. Let’s get up to Cassidy’s room and take things from there.” Dale tightened the backpack on his shoulders and, testing the vine covered trellis’ strength, pulled himself up and began the climb up to the second story window with Sarah right on his heels.

Dale made the climb in short order. He took a quick look around at the grounds below them then peered into the dark room. There was a nightlight in the far wall socket that cast a dim glow on the room. He could make out the shape of a body in the four-poster bed. The door was closed and he couldn’t hear any noise coming from within. He leaned back and held a finger up to his lips, signaling for Sarah to keep still and quiet, then he set himself to raising the window as silently as he could. Pulling himself up and into the open window was a little more difficult than he’d anticipated, but as he dropped to the floor inside, he was pleased that he’d been as quiet as he had been. Cassidy didn’t stir, so he reached out the window and helped Sarah in after him.

While Sarah crept over to the bed, Dale removed the book bag strapped to his back and moved to check the bedroom door. Trying the knob, he found it held fast. Either it was jammed or they were locked in, and it was this latter option that made him uneasy. Hearing an audible gasp behind him, he turned to see Sarah backing away from her cousin’s bed. He came up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder and she screamed. Dale was quick to put his hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. The risk of being discovered had just been amplified.

“Be quiet,” he whispered, removing his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sarah didn’t respond save to point toward her cousin. Dale walked toward her, instantly feeling the sudden drop in temperature as he neared the bedside. His breath became visible as he knelt down to take a look at the sleeping teen.

“What the–?”

Cassidy Martin was pale and near blue. Touching his hand to her forehead, the girl felt like ice. But this wasn’t what had startled Sarah. The girl’s eyes were wide open, but vacant, as if they had born witness to something so horrible that she’d been frozen in state, forced to never take her eyes from the horror of it. He checked her vitals. Her pulse rate was weak, her breathing shallow, with a slight rasp, painful and alarming. He patted her cheeks but she was unresponsive. Now he was worried.

“We’ve got to get her out of here, to a doctor,” he said. He unclipped his cell phone from his belt and prepared to dial 9-11. “What the…?”

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

“My cell… the battery’s dead. But I took it off the charger as Allen and I left our place. It should have a full charge.”

Sarah pulled hers from her pocket. “Dale… mine’s dead too.”

“Now what?”

“ I guess I’ll have to go downstairs and face my aunt. You should stay with Cassidy, you know, just in case.”

“Do you think she’ll listen to reason?”

“I don’t know, I mean, she locked Cassidy up in here, didn’t she?” Sarah handed Dale’s book bag over to him. “I knew something was wrong.”

“You did the right thing bringing us in on this,” Dale said. “We’ll get Cassidy some help and figure out what’s going on. I promise.”

“You Parker boys and your promises.” Sarah sat down on the window ledge, prepared to climb down the trellis. She looked back, almost mournfully. “If you’re not careful, one of those promises will surely be the death of you.”

The House Above Seven Pillars, Chapter Six

The House Above Seven Pillars
A Parker Brothers Mystery
by Bob Freeman

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

 

Chapter Six

 

Allen Parker rapped on the door to the Winger Estate, looking nervously about. This was not his idea of a good time and all he could think was how much he’d rather be in his brother’s shoes right now. He felt like a sacrificial lamb led to the slaughter. He gulped, realizing that the analogy was probably not the best one to be floating around in his head. Not at this place anyway.

He caught the movement of shadow through the window and stood up straight, anticipating someone coming to the door. Footsteps on the other side, soft falls on hardwood, he thought. Why was he feeling trapped? His feet were whispering for him to turn and run even as the doorknob slowly began to turn. It paused and the boy’s heart skipped a beat. There was a murmur of voices, as soft as the footsteps had been. The entire world seemed to slow to a crawl as the turn of the doorknob renewed its course, the click of the latch retracting thundering in the growing twilight. There was a menacing creak as the door opened, moving back and away from him in a painstaking arc. Allen Parker had never felt more alone than in that instant.

“May I help you?” The voice was almost lyrical, feminine and mature, with an unmasked sultriness that unnerved the boy even more. She seemed wantonly attractive in the ill light of the home’s interior, backlit as it were by the fireplace and an array of candles, the scent of them, vanilla, and that of the wood mingled with the woman’s perfume.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Allen said. He began to take a step back even as the woman came forward. Shadows danced across her face from the porch light. Her eyes were bloodshot and he caught the hint of alcohol on her breath. “My name is Allen Parker. My, uh, car broke down up the road a ways and I was wondering if I might use your phone. I can’t seem to get a signal on my cell.”

“Is that so?” The woman, who Allen presumed was Sarah’s aunt, Louise Martin, slithered backward, clinging to the door and opening it further. “I’m not sure it would be in my best interest to invite such a strapping young man into my home at this hour. My husband won’t return for quite some time. What would people say? And for that matter, could you even be trusted?” She opened the door wide and slid to the side. “Who knows what a young man like you might have in mind?”

“Uh, ma’am, I can assure you I, uh, just need your phone, if that’s all right with you?” Allen swallowed hard. This was so not going the way he’d planned, or, to be more accurate, the way Dale had planned. Not in the slightest.

“Of course,” she said, sauntering away from the door in a serpentine path. She took up a highball glass perched on the edge of a grand piano that sat patiently beside the wide stair leading to the second floor. “It’s there by the secretary. Can I get you a drink? A brandy perhaps?”

“No,” Allen responded. “I’m not old enough to…”

“Drink? My boy, if we were in Europe you’d already be a seasoned alcoholic.”

“Thank you just the same, ma’am.” He picked up the receiver and dialed his brother’s cell number. It rang six times and then Dale’s voicemail picked up. Something was wrong. He should have answered. It was part of the plan. He started to dial again when a hot breath across the back of his neck froze him where he stood.

“If not a drink, then maybe I can interest you in something else?”

Pressed up against the secretary, Allen twisted around to face the lady of the house, though he was certain that “lady” wasn’t exactly the most accurate of words to describe Mrs. Martin. He was unnerved as Louise Martin’s’ eyes met his. They were cold and vacant, her lips locked into a sinister sneer. Desperate for some space, Allen raised his arms to try and separate them, but Mrs. Martin pressed harder against him, her own hands groping at him. Then he saw it… something behind her… beyond the glow of the fireplace… in the shadows.

Allen pushed Mrs. Martin away and crept toward the darkened recess where a built-in bookshelf stood watch, seemingly an afterthought in the busy furnishings that surrounded it. But no, this shadowed corner was alive with activity as black shapes undulated within the fetid darkness.

“What are you?” the boy said, walking cautiously toward shelves. “Are you the spirit that’s tormenting that poor girl upstairs?”

“What are you carrying on about?” Mrs. Martin fumed. She grabbed Allen by the shoulder and spun him around. “You didn’t come here to use the phone. You’re here for Cassidy.”

“Look, I…” A hard slap across the face silenced him.

“You’ll not get her,” Mrs. Martin raged. “You’ll not take her from me!” Her hand drew back to deliver another blow when a scream from upstairs caught both of their attention.

“Mrs. Martin, we need to…”

“We need to do nothing.” She walked to the secretary and opened one of the lower drawers, withdrawing a revolver, a .38 from the look of it, and pointing it squarely at Allen. The boy raised his arms in surrender, eyes darting for a quick escape should she opt to fire as Louise Martin backed her way to the stairway, pistol leveled on Allen’s chest.

“Listen to me and listen to me well, if anything’s happened to my daughter I will hunt you down and bury you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t be down here when I return or you’ll be sorry.”

The woman, frantic, turned and raced up the stairs leaving Allen alone with his own form of panic. He dug his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed his brother, but just as with the Martin’s’ landline, Dale Parker didn’t answer.