By Mobius Drayus
As I turned the key in the rusty deadbolt, my mind drifted for just a moment….This house which I had not seen since I was a child seemed as if to beckon me into the rooms of its forbidden darkness, the old Victorian whose façade had not seen human hands for 30 years spoke of its neglect. The low whispering voices permeated from its rotten millwork, speaking of the Maine winters which had plummeted its surface unrelentingly in its song of sorrow. And what of the gabled dormer that sits towards the back of the edifice on the fourth story? As children we could never find the path that led to its cold chamber…..All ancient hallways, stairs and pathways would never lead us to its ghostly secret. I remembered my mother laughing and pointing towards the dormer from the garden below and telling my sister Janis and myself it was just an attic window. But I insisted that it was not accessible by way of attic entrance, and that I had thought it was the bedroom of some kind of specter, but she would only smile and promise that she would indeed show me the room, and we would both look out of its stained glass and down into the garden were we are now standing. But she never did. She died a few weeks later in an auto accident, and then we all moved to Boston and lived with Aunt Rita, and there I stayed, the memories becoming lost in a fog over the years, but now I am back. The house became part of a trust for my older brother Robert who practiced as an attorney in New York, but he did not want the property, and turned its ownership over to me. But at a price, for I had to trade him for my beloved cottage that I owned in Long Island. What possessed me to ensconce myself within this rambling structure overlooking a foreboding gray sea? Even as its memories had faded to black. I pulled the key from the deadbolt and walked towards the back of the mansion through the overgrown brambles and other vegetation that had over taken this once manicured and peaceful garden. When I reached what was once the main garden I looked up towards the dormer. It sat like a sentinel within dark dreams, and seemed to move as if shadows drifted across its colored glass and leaded surface.
With a gentle tug I removed the dusty old sheet from the grand piano in the music room and began to study the old photographs that lined its mahogany surface, some frames were laying face down, but the old black and white photo with silver frame of my mother looked as if it were put there just yesterday…..Her blond hair set in a 1940’s style, and her lips curled in a doleful smile. I had not really considered her beautiful as a child, but as I gaze upon the image now I realize the beauty that only a man could appreciate. Her small nose, delicate hands and full lips propagated the illusion of sexuality, but my thoughts… hidden deep within were of my own design and not necessarily ones of social acceptance if brought to the surface. I did laugh lightly, but looked down towards the white cleavage set against a low cut black dress, and I did imagine my lips trailing along the soft warm flesh of her pale breasts and up towards her inviting red lips. I shook my head from side to side and dispensed the waking dream from my mind, and when I looked back at the photo it had changed to dusty gray glass with black tarnished frame, I felt a chill run though me, desperately clinging to my cold flesh. I backed out of the room slowly and sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase. I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands and felt the clammy skin on the back of my neck. It felt as if I had been drug behind a car on a rocky road to hell….“What dreams do I dream?” I began to roll the perception through my mind, but it only became like a hurricane out of control, the pictures moving across the endless landscape of my nightmares. I looked up towards the tall staircase and the multi landings above, “there is the answer....."
Here within the main living room is were I decided to lay my head for the evening, and after exploring a small portion of the house it was apparent that the upper floors had been compromised by roof leaks in almost every room, and found it strange that this old house had not fallen into itself after this many years…But I had heard there was a caretaker here up until his death two years ago, paid for life from my mothers estate. I have certain images of the man as our gardener, but all I remember is seeing him often bent over a planting. He most likely kept this place from completely rotting away over the years.
In the darkness of the room I began to examine in interest as the moon light played with shadows through the front windows and onto the gray walls, it captured the naked branches from the trees outside and brought them in and out of focus as the wind chased them with periodic gusts. Then along the upper corners of the 20 foot ceiling I noticed a different shadow that played by itself along the ornate cornice, it moved in separate and odd ways………It had absolutely nothing in common with the shadow trees. I cursed under my breath and lit another candle hoping this certain shadow would meld into the others. I closed my eyes and dropped the novel which I had been reading beside me in the chair.
“David…..” I awoke with the sudden acknowledgement of being spoken to. I sat up quickly in the wing back chair and craned my neck as to take advantage of the soft sounds that emanated throughout the house, the wind moving finger like branches along the window glass….The creaking of wood bending to the weather’s mercy. And low voices that always seemed to whisper, their origin never really known or perceived without deep concentration. I sat back in the chair and relaxed for a moment and reasoned that once again the dreams had come a little to close to reality for comfort. “David….Come with me…” The voice whispered. I jumped from the chair and knocked the end table over and across the hardwood floor. “Who’s here damn it….who in the hell….” I shouted. But I heard no reply. My heart began to race, I now knew that this was not a dream, the voice came from the darkened corners across the room next to the large hearth. The apparition slid silently across the floor and stopped midway near a sheet covered sofa. I sat and held firmly onto the arms of the chair and stared in inquisitive reflection, the site before me.
Her hair floated in the air as if she were surrounded by some invisible sea, lightly in servitude to unknown underwater currents. She drew nearer and my heart began to pound with uncertain joy and pain, the pure adrenalin of horror and disbelief in the event. Her pale flesh seemed to illuminate against the full moons glow as full dark purple lips separated slightly into a ghastly smile, not unlike the porcelain headed doll my sister used to cradle in her arms as a child. She knelt before me and laid her cold fingers on my face, her black eyes void of color, and only the reflection of my own shocked image stared back at me. I jerked my head back violently against the wingback chair, for within those eyes I could see my own soul exposed……….Or the essence of its creation and its end, a short horrifying glimpse into the what had been dark, now lay wide open much like a deep wound that constantly festers in its inability to heal. The apparition floated slowly towards the ceiling above and disappeared through the vaulted woodwork, I sat up quickly and headed for the stair case……….And on to the attic, to find……..No, to understand the phenomenon that had drawn me to it for all these years, the thing which was hidden.
