As I pulled to a stop in front of an obviously abandoned two story house, Lori asked if I was sure it was the right place. I double checked the address. "Yeah. This is the place." We both stared at the greying farm house through the car's windows. "Looks like no one's lived here for years and years. Best cover your hair." I donned a baseball cap while she tied a bandana around her auburn locks. "Probably a few tons of cobwebs in there."
"Looks like it could use a lot more than cleaning," she said sliding out of the car, as I realeased the trunk. As I walked to the back of the car, I surveyed the grey peeling building. Someone had recently mowed the yard, but the walk was still choked with grass comeing up through it. Even from where we stood, we could see the windows were coated with dust and grime. We each took a box of cleaning supplies from the car and walked to the door. "Geeze, this place looks like it could be haunted," Lori murmered, as I placed the key in the lock. At first the door refused to yeild, then slowly it groaned open. Dust hung heavy in the air, coating everything. Even though the power was on, the dust muted the light to a dim glow. We could see footprints on the floors from where the realtor had walked through with someone, inspectors I guessed. We sat the boxes down, and looked about the foyer where we stood.
"Damn...glad we came on a bright day," I said, watching the dust mites swirl in the thin rays that managed to seep in.
"This place gives me the creeps, Jan," Lori didn't look too happy.
"Afraid of some wee ghosties lurking about?" I lightly teased.
"Shut up! You know that talk creeps me!"
"Sorry, Lor," I chuckled. "C'mon. Grab a wand and let's tear down the worst of the webs, as we get our bearings." So we began exploring, armed with extension dusting wands that allowed us to reach up a good 12 feet. Immediately off of the entryway was a very formal looking parlor. One wall was dominated by a fireplace whose mantle I guess was a good 15 feet long. In the corner stood a piano. The room was decorated lavishly, with paintings on the walls and statues here and there. The furniture was massive and impressive, even through layers of dust. We went through a doorway into a diningroom. A long table and chairs, was postioned under a chandeler. A sideboard stood nearby. "Now that is weird," I said pointing out that the table was still set, and the remains of same ancient meal was still evident.
Through another doorway we stood in the kitchen. Pots and pans still sat on the gas range. Over on the table sat a coffe mug and paper, stiff and yellowed with age. I made a mental note to check it's date later. Right now, I was battleing cobwebs, that I swear were trying to engulf Lori and me as we passed through. Lori popped open the next door on an ancient bathroom. The tub stood on clawed feet, and the toilet operated on what was known as a flush box. I reached up and gently pulled the chain, and was rewarded with a flushing sound. "Thank God it works," I murmered. Lori turned on the taps which at first ran rust but then cleared, on the sink. "I vote we clean this first," I said,"for obvious reasons." "Why?" Lori cracks me up sometimes.
"Because sooner or later we'll need to pee, dipstick!" Even she chuckled, "Oh, yeah..." Down the hall from the bathroom, we discovered another small parlor, which I guess, by today's standards would have been the family room. It too had a fireplace, but was much smaller than the first one. It's furnishings were not as grand either. It had a homey feel to it. This completed the circle and we were back in the entry way, looking up the stairs. "Probably bedrooms and storage up there," Lori said.
"Well, you wanna go up? Or handle down here first?" I glanced up at her, trying to gauge her nervousness. Lori does not like these kinds of jobs. She'd rather do offices or 'real' homes, as she termed residentials. When I had first mentioned this house she hedged, when I said to bring a sleeping bag as we might have to spend the night, she almost fainted. "Are you nuts?!" she cried. When I told her the sum they were willing to pay, she almost beat me to the car.
I picked up a box of supplies and strolled back to the bathroom, while Lori started in the kitchen. I heard her playing with the old radio sitting on the counter. "Hey, Lor? Don't throw out that paper on the table, I wanna look at it later." Her muffled 'ok' drifted back to me. By the time, I had finished the bathroom, she was still only half finished with the kitchen. I paused in the doorway, "Hey, I'm going out to the car, then I'll come help you. OK?" I was smiling at myself, that I was a pretty smart cookie, because I had the forsight to bring a roll of toilet paper with us. I had just fetched it when I heard Lori scream. I bounded back into the house and winged my shoulder on the doorway of the kitchen. Lori stood hands to mouth , staring at the oven's gapping door. "Lor? What is it? You OK?" My heart was already pounding from my sprint. She pointed at the oven. "What is it? A mouse?"
"I- I dunno," she stammered. Lori only stammers when really scared or upset. I grabbed a broom and carefully peered into the oven's yawning mouth. "I don't see anything but filth. What did you think you saw?" I looked questioningly at her blanched features. "Lor? Tell me."
Then color flooded her cheeks, "You'll think I'm a big baby...I ...well...I could have sworn I saw a head in there." Now, we have been friends for over a decade, and there isn't much we can't tell about each other with a simple look. I was there to help her through her divorce, and it was she who held my hand after I had been raped. We were truely kindered spirits, sharing each other's joys and sorrows. Her face told me she truely believed she'd seen a head in the oven. "Must've been a trick of the light or something... nothing there now. Why don't you go bring in the cooler, and we'll have some lunch and a smoke?" I picked up the oven cleaner, "I'll get this started." I shook the can and leaned over to begin spraying the inside, and promptly let out a yelp of my own. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I did not see a severed head sitting like a Sunday roast, in the oven, I told myself. It had to be the power of suggestion. "Get a grip, Jan," I whispered to myself. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw nothing more than an empty oven. "You ok?" Lori's voice came from the doorway. "Yep, must be the oven cleaner fumes," I lied as I started spraying.
We decided to finish the kitchen first, then to eat lunch. I ate my sandwich, while glancing at the yellowed paper, and Lori fiddled some more with the radio dial, until she got a station with rock n roll on it. " This paper is dated, March 15, 1936, Lor." Most of it was too faded to read, something about a labour stike, prices being unstable, rumors of war... hmmmm nothings changed much in 66 years. I carefully unfolded the paper to look at the bottom half, and froze. There staring up at me was the head from the oven.
His name had been Johnathan Whitaker, and his headless corpse had been found rotting in the back 40 by a fieldhand. Investigators had later found the head roasting in the oven. His wife, Emily, denying any knowledge of how it came to be there, had been taken in for questioning. Good Lord, an early day, Dahlmer? Lori asked me if there was anything interesting in the paper as I was gaping so, I said not much, then folded it and put it in the cleaning supplies box. Lori would freak if she knew.
I tested the dining room table for sturdiness before climbing up to clean the chandeler.
We had already cleared it, and Lori was tackling the dishes, in the kitchen. Since she is afraid of heights, it was logical, that though I was a good 4 inches shorter, it was me on a stepladder in the middle of the dining room table. I thought I heard Lori say something. "What?" I called out. "What what?" came back. "Thought you said something?" "Nope." I went back to cleaning. A few minutes later, I heard it again. Again Lori and I had the same exchange of words. The third time she asked me if I was getting high off the cleaning fumes and imagining things. I laughed and said could be. That's when I could swear, that someone pinched my bottom. I jumped a bit, and looked about. I shrugged it off, but felt as if someone was looking, no leering at me. I doggedly finished the chandelier and carefully climbed down from the ladder the slid off the table to the floor, dropping my rag as I did so. Grumbling I bent to retrieve the rag, then turned to lift down the ladder. Only it wasn't on the table , it was resting against the wall a good three feet away. That was a bit unnerving to say the least., as I could hear Lori singing off-key in the kitchen. I quickly joined her.
Together we tackled the small parlor, then the entry and grand parlor. Night was falling, and we brought in the sleeping bags and overnight cases. Neither of us seemed anxious to be alone, so we opted to stay in the small parlor. We didn't say anything, but I noticed neither of us closed the bathroom door all the way either, and we seemed to have an awful lot about nothing to say to each other.
We built a fire, and had dinner in front of it. Lori had brought the cooler from the kitchen into the parlor, while I was taking my bath. Both of us seemed to feel better as we had finally washed the cobweb's residue from our skins, and I know I had enough dust on me that the water had turned grey. So we sat companionably in front of the fire sipping beers, smoking cigerettes and B.S.ing in general, as we waited to be tired enough to sleep. We decided that in the morning we'd drive into town and have breakfast and stock up for the day, which promised to be busy as we hadn't even touched the upstairs.
We then intertained ourselves by poking through the writing desks drawers. This was not part of our job. We were mainly just to make the house clean enough for some antiqueing service to come in and shift through the things and aution it all off. That's when I found the thin red volume marked Diary. I flipped through it, then settled down to read what Emily Whitaker had thought about .
I really don't know what is to become of Johnathan and me. Once again, I have failed to carry my child to term. He tells me, that he knows it isn't my fault but God's will. Since this is my fourth loss, he says maybe we should stop trying. I know how badly he wants an issue of his seed. I have mentioned adoption, but he refuses that route steadfastly. I know it would not be the same as one of our own, but it would be someone to love.
I wonder if Johnathon regrets marrying me now. He use to say that I was a delicate flower, and not sure I could withstand the vigors of country life. Let alone the loneliness of being miles from anyone I knew. Yet he happily built this house, with expectations of a family...
February 7th
Dear Diary,
Johnathon brought young Amanda Willis into our home to nurse me as the doctor said I must have bed rest til the bleeding eases. She will also see to the cleaning and meals. She is such a beautiful girl, with raven hair, and emerald eyes. She smiled sweetly as she told me not to worry, she would look after Johnathon for me.
February 10th
Dear Diary,
Amanda refuses to look me in the eyes, when she brings my tray, or helps me to change. She has the air of a young woman in love. Often as I eat, she stands looking out my window until I'm done. I see by her carriage that she is seeing the object of her desire, but that is rediculous, as besides Johnathon, the only male here is Jeb, our hired hand, and he is old enough to be my father. Perhaps she is simply daydreaming of some love in town. When I ask, she simply blushes and hurries out.
Johnathon is being unbelievably sweet during this time. When he comes from tending the stock for his noon meal, he always stops up for a chat. He assures me that for a child, Amanda is doing a remarkable job of the house. I laugh that at 16 she is NOT a child. After all did we not wed when I was 17, ten years ago?
He tells me not to rush, and that I shouldn't get up before I feel that I'm ready too. The doctor says I still need to build my strength. I don't recall being this weak for this long with the others. He says it might be because I did carry this one longer... if only I could have carried it 5 more months...
Feb. 14
Dear Diary,
Amanda baked tiny heart shaped cakes today. Wasn't that sweet? Johnathon brought ours up on a tray. She had iced them with pink frosting, and put our initials J.W. + E.W. on them. Funny on his my E looked a bit like an A. But it was hard to tell as he had drawn his fork through it on his first bite.
He gave me a bottle of Lilac cologne. He remembers my favorite flower, that makes me so happy.
Feb. 15
Dear Diary,
I felt well enough, to journey downstairs today. How I wish I hadn't. I had made it to the landing, when I heard muffled giggling, and small cries of stop that. At first I thought Amanda's beau had come calling. Then I heard Johnathon say, "Make me." I moved to the dining room doorway, taking care not to be seen, and peered around the corner. Amanda was standing on the table dusting off the chandelier, and my beloved Johnathon was, ACTUALLY
making grabs at her!!! I felt color flood my cheeks. Not sure what to do, I hurried back up to my room, where I sobbed myself to sleep..
How? How could they??? Here under my roof? Oh, God, is he bedding her?
Is this my punishment for not giving him a son to bare his name?
What am I to do?
I stopped reading there for the night. Poor Emily, to miscarry, and find your husband carrying on with someone ten years younger? But what really stuck me was the similarity of Amanda standing on the table dusting while he grabbed at her, and my experiance... I groaned at myself to go to sleep...
Voices woke me. At first I thought Lori was talking in her sleep, but then I realized I was hearing several different voices. Two women and a man arguing. One of the women was crying and begging. I couldn't quite make out what was being said.
I reached over and shook Lori. " What?" There was a sharp note to her voice.
"Do you hear that?" Abruptly the voices stopped as she sat up. "No. No, I don't . Now go back to sleep." Within moments she was softly snoring again.
I layed there thinking, was it possible for a 'frail flower' to decapitate someone? Surely it took great strength to sever a head. Why not just divorce the cheating bastard? I didn't know much about the 30's, but I suppose back then it just wasn't done.
I did not have a restful sleep. Somehow the zipper on my bag kept sliding down, and I kept being exposed to the cool air. I'd wake with the uneasy feeling of having been touched, as I pulled the top part of my bag back over and rezipped.
In the morning, I tossed Lori my keys, "You drive. I've a headache," and I slid into the passenger seat. Neither one of us talk much before coffee, so the ride into town was quiet. We quickly located a small diner and went in.
Our waitress was a middle-aged woman with a bad bleach job. As she filled our cups, she drawled, "Ohhhhhhh, honey, I love your hair. What shade is that?"
"Mine?" I looked at the her toothpaste smile surrounded by too bright lipstick, " It's called natural."
"No! Really? Well, you are SO lucky. Mine cost a fortune." I bit back saying that she'd been ripped off then. "Anyway, you girls, know what you want?" Normally,
neither of us are big eaters, so my jaw almost hit the table as Lori ordered up eggs, pancakes, bacon and sausage. "Ummm...I'll have a belgin waffle and lots of coffee. Thanks." Usually we would have split the waffle. "Geeze a tad hungry are ya?" I asked Lori, as our waitress went to place our order.
"Yeah, just a tad," she ducked her head a bit and almost whispered, " I had SUCH a dream last night..." I sipped my coffee and waited for her to continue. "Well, you know that house gives me the willies. Something just isn't right there, but if I could have a dream like that , I'd sleep there every night."
"Oh my God, you're blushing, Lor...must've been a hell of a wet dream," I said teasing. Her, "yeah, it was," almost made me spew my coffee.
"You're kidding!"
"Jan, it was SO real. I mean, I know it was only a dream. But...man! Only one thing was really weird about it." She paused as our food came, and we both said thanks to the waitress. "Remember that head, I thought I saw? The guy in my dream looked just like him. Only he had a body. God, what a body."
I sat, with a bite of waffle poised midway to my mouth. "You romantasized a decapitated head? Sometimes, I just wonder about you girl." I recalled my feeling of having been touched in the night. Now Lori was telling me she'd had an x-rated dream of the highest order. We chatted about things left to be done at the house, and what we wanted to pick up for food. I gave up midway through the waffle, feeling stuffed. I sat sipping coffee while Lori polished hers off. Silently, I was asking myself if it was wise to go back there.
I drove us back to the house and we carried in the groceries. I fished in the bag and got out the can of WD40. I was not going to keep wrestling with the stuck doors in this place. I gave the hinges of the front door a few sprays. Entering the foyer, we both commented on what a difference the cleaning had made. Sun poured in through the windows, and gleamed off the washed and polished wood. I placed the groceries by the cooler and excused myself for the bathroom. "That's whatcha get for drinking a pot," Lori called after me.
I glanced at the mirror on my way out. I must have been in such a hurry it didn't register on my way in, but scrawled in vivid red lipstick were the words "GET OUT!"
"LORI!" I bellowed her name, "get in here! Now!!!!"
She was by my side in seconds, staring at the mirror, "What the ****?"
"That's what I want to know." I took a deep breath. " Evidently some neighborhood kid's idea of a joke. I'll clean it up." I started back for the cleaner and a rag, but heard Lori say, "WHAT neighborhood?"
After I cleaned the mirror off , we walked the entire downstairs together, looking for more vandalisim. Nothing else had been disturbed. We gathered out cleaning supplies and went upstairs. The stairway ended in a long hall, which ran between four bedrooms. We repeated our pattern of the previous day, going from room to room knocking down the worst of the cobwebs first. There was nothing remarkable about any of the rooms. One was more of a storage room then anything. Here, everything was either boxed up or covered with a sheet. Another room saddened me as it was obviously a nursery, and I knew it had never seen children. The third room served as perhaps a guest room, holding the usual amenities; bed, dresser, night stand. The fourth was the master bedroom. It was dominated by a large, ornate, four poster bed, whose matresses were so thick, there was a small set of stairs to aid in your getting into the bed. Heavy cherrywood dressers and vanity were present, as well as an upholstered chair. I looked at Lori, "You pick. Where do we start?" She decided that the storage room would be quickest and easiest, as there was really only the floor and windows to clean, and that was around the boxes and things. So it was morning eased into afternoon. By lunch time , we were down to only the masterbedroom left.
We may have even gotten that started before lunch, if it hadn't been for the carousel in the nursery. It had caught both our eyes, carved intirely of wood, and apparently hand painted, though the colors were now muted by age. "Do you suppose it still works?" Lori asked.
I shugged my shoulders, "Only one way to find out," and I carefully wound it up.
With- in seconds, we were watching miniature boys and girls riding miniature horses, up and down, and all around in a circle. We pointed out to each other, different things we noticed, such as a few kids were obviously strtching for the brass ring, which if grabbed, would win them a free ride. Here, one child clung to the pole with one hand while cluctching a cone of cotton candy in the other. Here was a little girl, with a gigantic bow on her head and one to match on her dress. We were entirely enchanted by it. It finally wound down, and we decided to stop for lunch.
"That last room shouldn't take too long," Lori stated.
"Nope," I agreed, "Neither should the cellar."
"Cellar!?" Lori's voice squeaked on the end, her eyes wide.
"Just gotta knock down some webbies and ****. No big deal." I took another bite of my sandwhich. " You want to take upstairs and I'll do the cellar? Save time." I know
Lori hates cellars, with a passion. She thinks rats are plotting how to get her in every corner, and every web contains a venomous spider. Except for the lipsticked mirror, we hadn't seen anything even remotely scary. I thought it was safe to split up.
I paused on the landing and looked out the window, as I was descending the stairs. I could see large grey and black clouds rolling towards us. "Storm's brewing!" I yelled up to Lori. She yelled back that she hoped it held off until we were done. Neither one of us really wanted to spend more time here than necessary.
I picked up a flashlight on my way to the cellar door, along with a bucket of rags and the dusting wand. I made sure that I clomped down the stairs, so any furry beasties could run and hide. I am not afraid of mice or other rodents, but I've no urge to get bitten by scarying them either. There was one hanging bulb near the base of the stairs and one at the top. They offered little better than no light. Holding my dusting wand like a jousting stick and twisting slightly from left to right, I cleared the stairwell of the worst of cobwebs as I descended down into the blackness. My flashlight's narrow beam revealed the usual basement mess. Piles of old newspapers and magazines stood like festering pimples on the floor. Rows and rows of canning jars graced the shelves of one whole wall. Here stood an old chest. Over there an ancient wringer washer, my mother had refered to as a mangler, because if not careful while wringing out the wash you could mash your fingers in it. Webs festooned most things like bunting from some Halloween party of old. I began in one corner and worked my way around the perimeter, feeling grateful, that I just had to knock out the worst of it, and not haul things out. A small wooden chest came crashing down off a shelf, and popped open. I assume it was not properly balanced and my dusting efforts had knocked it over. I stooped and shined my light on the contents; wee shirts, and swaddling clothes. Tiny spoons and other baby paraphinalia. Emily's preperations for the child who was never born. I felt a sadness creep over me, as I gathered the items up and placed them tenderly back in the box, along with a deep longing. I sighed and thought poor Emily. Again I wondered about what happen to her, if she had murdered her philandering husband , or was she set up for the fall.
The slamming of the basement door, shook me out of my revelry. "Hey!" I cried mounting the stairs to at a time. I tried pushing the dorr open, but it refused to budge. "Hey, Lori! Not funny girl!" I felt fear creeping up my neck as I began pounding on the door and lunging against it. I knew it wasn't Lori who had closed it, nor some errent wind. I pounded hard, kicked and screamed at the wooden obstical. I finally backed down a few steps and threw myself at it. Suddenly, I found myself laying prone on the kitchen floor, as if someone had thrown the door open suddenly. From above me, I could hear things crashing to the floor, and heavy footsteps, as if a struggle was taking place. I stood up, and was assaulted by muted screams. Oh! My God! Lori! I ran full tilt thru the dining room, and grand parlour, bounding up the stairs, yelling her name. My only answer was the screaming, and cries of my friend.
As quickly as I rounded the top of the stairs silence fell abruptly. Close at hand, I could hear thunder rolling, and see that the bedroom door was closed. "Lori?" My hand was shaking as I twisted the knob and eased the door open. "Lor?"
The room was in shambles. Bed clothes torn from the bed, bric a brac hurled about. The vanity mirror smached . "Lor?" I stared about, with my heart jack hammering in my chest. "Lori?" I strained my ears and could hear muffled mewling, as a small, scared child would make. I found her hiding in the wardrobe, amoungst the musty gowns, squashed into a corner, she huddled. "Lori?" I kept my voice as soft as I could. I reached in and touched her. "Lor? It's me, Sweetie. It's Jan. It's ok, I'm here." It seemed to take her an eternity to lift her head and look at me. Then with a small cry, she littlerally hurled herself, into my arms, clinging to me, as a drowning person might a lifesaver. "Lori, what happen?"
"Out," she gasped, "Out, now, " and she began pulling me towards the door. Her face bore hand prints as if she had been smacked, and her clothes were torn. Jesus Christ, what had happen? The questions would keep until we were at least down stairs, out of this room which felt as warm as an icebox. Again, I had the uneasy feeling of being watched as we made our way to the stairs. Behind us I heard the door slam shut.
Almost as if on cue, a large clap of thunder sounded, and the bellies of the clouds split open, issueing forth not rain, but golfball sized hail. Lori, issued a small cry, and I jumped at the sound, as we ran for the front door. Jerking it open, we both stared in dismay, as hail bounced everywhere, making a horrible din as it pounded on the roof, and smashed into my car. It was coming down so fast, and furious, we could barely see the car a mere three feet from the door. I glanced back nervously up the stairs. Who or what lurked there, I didn't know, but it seemed content to stay there, behind the bedroom door for now. I drew a deep breath, common sense was arguing both sides of the fence. We were not safe in the house. It would not be safe out in the car either. I stared into Lori's face, she had gone into a form of shock, and was incapable of helping me decide what to do. I don't know how long we stood in the open doorway, watching the hail pelt the ground and anything else in it's way, before Lori began to tremble. Instinctively, I led her away from the open door and into the back parlor. I laid her down on the sofa, and undid both sleeping bags, laying them on her like quilts. I scanned her for symptoms as best I could. Her pulse was rapid, and her breathing shallow. She seemed unresponsive, her eyes blanking staring. The red marks on her face were fading, and I didn't see bruises forming. I closed the double doors on either side of the room, and ran the broom handles threw the door handles. A crude but effective barricade. I dumped out Lori's purse looking for the cell phone. Did 911 exist out here in the boonies? I flipped it open, and dialed. Static and a low beeping filled my ear. Low battery. Damn! How many times did I tell her the thing needed to be kept charged? Now what am I suppose to do? Paniced thoughts, like scurrying mice scampered through my head. Calm down, I ordered myself.
I heard something thump on the floor above. I stared upwards as if I could pentrate the ceiling with my eyes, and see who was there. My mouth felt dry. Lori whimpered.
The hail's constant banging was diminishing, but now thunder rolled and lightening was cutting its jagged patterns. I stoked up the fire, and cursed myself for having dropped the flashlight somewhere. I sat on the edge of the sofa, and stroked Lori's hair. "C'mon, Lor...snap out of it." Minutes ticked by, each one seeming to last an hour, while I wrestled with myself, as to what to do. "I guess we have to wait out the storm," I spoke to Lori. "Then we'll haul ass to town. Get the sheriff or someone to come out here. I jumped with each flash of lightening, every crash of thunder. I got up and paced from one entry to the other. Would those handles hold if something really wanted in? Stop it. What if it wasn't a someone but a something that had attacked Lori? Stop it! Can you lock out ghosts? STOP IT! I screamed inwardly at myself. Control. Total, complete control, of yourself. Going to pieces wasn't going to help Lori or myself. Stop feeding your fears, dammit! I breathed deeply, and caught a soft scent . I sniffed again. Lilacs? Why on earth would I be smelling lilacs?
Lori stirred, mumbling. I went to her saying, "I'm here, Lor. You're ok. Talk to me..." She blinked once, twice. "Jan?" She sat up uncertainly. "Lor!" I cried out hugging her. "God, you had me scared, Girl."
She gazed about the room curiously. "Just us here, Jan?"
"Just us chickens. Why?"
"I thought...well I thought I heard a woman telling me to wake up," She smiled weakly at me.
"I've been saying that for a while now, Lor."
"Wasn't your voice," she frowned, " besides she smelled like lilacs."
"She did?"
"Yeah...and you smell of cleaners."
"Gee, thanks. You feel ok?"
She grew pensive, and gently touched her face. She turned towards the window." We can't leave in that. Can we?" She nodded indicating the storm. I didn't answer. "We got any beer left?"
"I'll see," I smiled at her sounding like the old Lori, as I rummaged in the cooler."Here, you go," I tossed her a can. She poped it open and took a long pull. "What happen up there, Lor?"
"You'll think I'm crazy."
"No, I won't. Haven't I always believed you?"
She nodded, and began her tale.
" I know this is going to sound totally crazy," Lori began between sips of beer. " But, shortly after you left the room, I got the feeling I was being watched. I know, you think I'm sortof paranoid at times. Sometimes, I think so too, so I tried to shrug it off.
I started cleaning the mirror, and this one smudge kept coming back. Only each time it got bigger. I was really rubbing it, when I thought I saw someone behind me. I turned, but I was alone. The room seemed to be getting colder. And that feeling of not being alone, got worse. Then I felt someone touching my hair, and face. I tried to run, but the door slammed shut! I couldn't open it! And- and I started screaming for you, Jan. Only you didn't come. Then all hell broke loose, in there. Covers being yanked off the bed, things being thrown... I was being grabbed and slapped. Only, I couldn't SEE anyone!" She drew breath, as a tear trailed down her cheek. " I remember hearing voices, only I couldn't hear what they were saying really. Just loud, angry sounds. I was slapped so hard, I fell to the floor. Something was on me, tearing at my clothes. I distinctly heard two words, 'bitch' and 'whore'. I kept screaming for you. Finally, I managed to crawl into that closet... God, Jan, have I gone crazy?"
I tried to smile at her. "No, I don't think so. I don't know exactly what is going on, but I'll get us out of here as fast as I can." Just then, a thin red volume flew off the table and onto the floor, causing us both to jump.
"What's that?" Lori gasped.
I didn't need to pick it up, "Emily's diary."
"Emily?"
It was my turn to do some explaining. I showed Lori the yellowed newspaper with the account of Johnathon's grewsome death, and told her what I had read of Emily's journal. "Do you think she did it?" She asked after confirming this was the same head she had seen in the oven.
"I dunno.. but something sure isn't right here." another roar of thunder shook the windows. "You ok?" Lori still seemed very pale and shaken to me.
"Yeah, just don't leave me alone. OK?" I nodded.
"Maybe, you're suppose to read more of that?" She nodded at the book in my hand.
"Maybe.." I flipped it open and looked for the passage where I had left off.
I have stopped drinking the milk that Amanda brings me every day. I am certain that it is poisoned. Why else would I be getting weaker?
I can't stand seeing the way she is with Johnathon. The way she brushes against him as she leaves the room when she enters. The sly glances they exchange, as if I am blind!
She has the gall, to confind in me that she is 'in love' with an older man, and as soon as they can she plans to run off with him! It is so hard to control my rage, and feign as if I haven't a clue, that it is Johnathon she speaks of. Does she really believe, that I can be done away with so easily? My mind is made up. I shall confront her, and demand that she leave here.
Feb.18
It was truely horrible. I finally screwed up my courage, and demanded to know if Amanda had been with Johnathon. She pled innocence quite well, even claimed that her lover was not him but our old hand, Zeke. I nearly laughed out loud. How stupid does she think me? We began to argue and didn't hear Johnathon come up the stairs. He demanded to know what we were fighting about. He asked if I had gone mad? Everyone was talking all at once. They both lied SO well. I lost my temeper and slapped Amanda calling her a bitch and whore. Demanding that she leave here at once. Johnathon pulled me off her and I hit him too. This led to his hitting me. Telling me to calm down. Amanda sat on the floor crieing with her blouse torn. I was shocked that I was capable of such violence. Shocked also that my gentle Johnathon, who has never even raised his voice to me before, had struck me.
I lay on the bed as he led her out of the room. Then I crept to the door and listened. I could just barely hear him speaking to her. Saying that this may be for the best, for her to leave. She protested, weakly.
Johnathon came back to the room and told me, he would be driving her back to town in the morning.
Feb.19
I watched Amanda saying goodbye to Zeke this morning from the window.
He didn't seem very happy about her going. I know they spoke often in the kitchen during the mid-day meal. I wish I could believe it was him she loved...
I am not sorry to see her go.
Feb.20
Johnathon still has not returned from town. He should have been back by now.
Feb. 21
Still no Johnathon nor word from him. Daily, I prepare a meal for us, and wait for his return. I have asked Zeke to go into town and see what he can learn.
Feb.22
Zeke says, they never made it to town. Young Amanda's body was found floating in the river, her neck broken. Dear God, where is Johnathon?
We've reported him as missing. He would not leave me without a farewell.
Feb. 28
Time passes so slowly. The police believe Johnathon, has simply left.
Rumors from town, have it that Amanda was killed by a jealous lover.
The story goes, that she was carrying on with two men, and it resulted in her death. I know the police have spoken with Zeke about his 'relations' with her.
I doubt that he had anything to do with her death, or Johnathon's missing. How dare they suspect Johnathon?
March 5?
Time has no meaning. Often I think I see Johnathon off in the fields, or hear him coming up the stairs. I try to believe he'll be home any moment, with an explanation of what really happened.
I continue to set his place at the table. Proof for him that my love never waned.
Or that I put any stock in these wild stories. It is ludicrious to think, that he learned she was not true to him and murdered her. No! It just couldn't be.
March 17
We buried my sweet Johnathon today. Zeke had found his remains out in the field, and reported it.
The police entered my home on the 15th. I had just finished setting the table and putting out the side dishes. All that remeained was to serve up the roast, that Zeke had so thoughtfully placed in the oven for me earlier.
The police insist that it was Johnathon's head... how could that be? It was a roast, I basted it myself.
They made me come in for questioning. Zeke too. Over and over I had to tell them I didn't know how the head got there. Of course they blame Zeke.
I had to tell them about Amanda's admittance to me, about them having an affair didn't I? Obviously he had seen them leaving here, and flew into a jealous rage, wrongly assuming that my Johnathon would have anything to do with that trollop.
"That's the last entry." I closed the book. Lori and I stared at each other .
"It doesn't make sense," Lori said. "She thought they were having an affair then says they weren't?"
"Well, she was unstable to start with having miscarried. Maybe, she just couldn't accept that he was cheating on her at the end. Convinced herself she'd been wrong all along. Or... maybe...just maybe, she wrote herself a clever alibi. Zeke was having an affair with Amanda. But what if Emily killed them both, and let him take the fall?
Guess, we'll never know for sure."
The room had gone cold. Again the scent of lilacs wafted in the air. Lori and I clutched each other as a woman materialized right before our eyes. She was of slight build, and clothed in 30's style. "Don't be afraid," her voice was soft and sweet.
Lori and I exchanged glances. "My name is Emily, and I died long ago. I have waited for a long, long time for someone to hear my confession, so that I may move on. Thank you." With that she was gone.
We stood there for a second, not sure whether to believe our eyes or ears. "Jan?"
"Yeah?"
"Let's get out of here. Now."
We walked out to the car in the pouring rain, each carrying a box of cleaning supplies.
I paused to lock the door behind us. Once we were underway, I asked Lori what she made of the whole thing. Her answer was clear and concise, "Jan, shut up and drive."
