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“Don’t worry. I’ll be down in a minute. Of course, if you want to, you could just go on outside and wait for me there . . . if that makes you more comfortable.”
Claire said, “You don’t understand, Becca! Something made a noise downstairs. I hardly want to go through the downstairs to go outside.” Nervously, she crossed the landing again and looked down toward the main floor. Human or not, she wondered again and realized that she would be just as afraid whether it was human or ghost. If it were human ... what human?
“You could come up here?”
“Nah. I’ll just wait here for you.” Pausing, she looked down into the dark recesses of the house again, and then she added, as an afterthought, “How come in horror flicks they always have the girl run up the stairs? I always said I would never run up.”
Becca chuckled. “If you come up here, you aren’t running. You’re joining me.”
“But once up there, there is nowhere to run.” Claire tried to reason with herself. As for a human, perhaps a caretaker investigating the car in the drive, who would care that they were in that house now, anyway.
Long silent minutes passed by and she looked up the stairs wondering about Becca.. She hadn’t taken this long looking at anything in the rest of the house and now the silence above became as disconcerting as the silence below. “What are you doing up there?”
“There is a huge pile of stuff up here ... old papers and things ...”
“Becca, let’s just go. If you buy the house you can look later.”
“They might not be here later.”
Claire’s shoulders dropped in disappointment, and she exhaled every iota of air she had in her lungs, feeling the anxiety building. She’d broken out into a cold sweat and had goose-bumps on her arms. She could feel the hair prickle beneath her sweater. But, relenting on her previous determination not to go upstairs, she decided she’d rather be with Becca than standing here alone while some unknown something down below stalked her. Gingerly, she took the first step up just in time to see Becca step out of the attic doorway, shadow-like in the faint light. Claire breathed a sigh of relief, but strained to make the apparition she saw above solidify into her friend, Becca. “Are you ready to go yet,” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah. I’m calling the real estate agent on this one, for sure.”
Becca closed her eyes in relief, calming.
As Becca met Clair on the landing, she looked her over, and said, “Dang! You look as though you had seen a ghost!”
“I thought I did for a moment. I think it’s pretty spooky here ...”
“It is all in your head. There aren’t any ghosts. But if you imagine them, they’ll come.” She smiled. “See? We’re just fine. We can go now, though.”
As the two stepped out the back door Claire filled her lungs with fresh air. And, because she’d felt like a thief exploring the house this way, breaking and entering and all of that, she was especially relieved when Becca pulled the door closed with a solid thud behind them.
The two stood out on the back stoop and looked out over the land. The house, situated as it at the crest of the hill overlooking the valley below. In the distance, beyond sight and beyond a forest of trees, was the river. The house had been the original ranch house for all this land, now sold off, and on the property were a couple of small outbuildings, and a decrepit barn.
On the left, in the back, beyond the oak tree, was a small family plot. An old bent wrought iron fence surrounded a few lonely looking weather stained headstones. The gate stood open and hung crookedly. Tall grass threatened to hide everything.
Becca mused, “We ought to take a look around.”
Claire groaned. “Can’t we just go? You can explore them later with the real estate agent. I mean, you are going to have to pretend as though you haven’t already taken a look around the place, aren’t you? You are sure you are going to call the agency, aren’t you?”
“Sure. But while we are here, we might as well. It’ll be interesting to see if there is any old stuff around in any of them.”
“Old stuff?” Claire wished that she could just go sit in the car and wait.
But Becca was already heading down the back steps and through the tall grass toward the first of the old outbuildings. Claire followed to the edge of the walk.
Becca found the door to the place was padlocked. She took a moment to try to peer in a dusty window while Claire remained close to the house, watching her. A moment later and Becca was striding toward the barn enthusiastically.
“That old barn looks as though it’s about to cave in, Becca.”
“I know. Isn’t it awesome? For a while in college I used to go around the countryside photographing old barns. The older, the better. I even had a few displayed in an art gallery for a while. A lot of people love old barns.”
“Yeah, I remember. You’re good at photography. But if it is all the same to you, I’d rather look at your photos than the real thing.”
“It won’t take but a few minutes to look this place over.”
Claire watched the barn swallows swooping in and out after Becca vanished through the door. It looked typical enough. There couldn’t be much to it.
As Becca returned from the barn she tilted her head in the direction of the grave yard, “Want to come on out and explore that with me? Didn’t you used to make a hobby of visiting old graves and doing rubbings of the headstones?”
“Oh, that was only one summer when I went east with the family. I was just bored.”
“Well, come on. You can at least look it over with me–“ She stopped a few feet in front of Claire, tilted her head slightly in the direction of the graves and smiled. .
“Okay . . .” Claire dragged out as she stepped onto the narrow walk obscured by grass. The angle of the walk changed as they walked down the slight incline. The grave yard had been positioned on a natural outlook from which the hill fell away quickly to the valley below. It had a windswept and arid aspect to it–somehow spookily uninviting in Claire’s mind.
With its ornate wrought ironwork, topped by s-curved spear shaped points, the yard itself overgrown, the head stones moss and lichen stained, some tilting slightly and at odd angles to each other it seemed to have suffered more neglect than the interior of the house. It was the classic family plot.
The broken gate screeched as Becca pushed it open sufficiently to walk through. Claire followed her a little more closely now than she had before. Becca began to examine the various headstones, sometimes pointing out a name, or, in the case of a baby that was born and died the same day, the year. Her little grave was marked by a tiny childish angel not more than two feet high and she’d not been given a name. The most recent grave, the headstone rectangular and of plain polished granite, in the modern style, belonged to a Gertrude Mason, and the date of her death was in 1974. In comparison to its more ancient neighbors, it felt out of place. Most of the graves, however, shared a similar date, as most had died in November of 1902. And all but Gertrude shared the same last name:
Once back in the car, Claire asked, “Did you notice the dates on the headstones?”
“Yeah. I’m curious now. I want to know how and why and all about them.” Becca fastened her seatbelt and turned the key. The little car hummed to life.
“Its so sad that they all died within such a short time of each other. I wonder what they died of ... “ Claire had to grab the side of the seat again, as Becca stepped on the gas and the car bounced out of the rough drive and across the rutted gravel road, spitting gravel against the undercarriage.
“There were a number of deadly diseases that were common at that time.”
“We could check out the records, I suppose.”
“I’d like to do that. I will, just as soon as I get the time.”
“Let me know what you find out. I don’t know about you, but I started feeling really weird about the place once we took a look at the graves. The family plot was like the icing on the cake though, after the house, I mean. I was already spooked and then when I saw all those headstones I felt almost as though the house is a ... a memorial to them ... as though it has been kept just for that purpose ... as though it is a headstone itself–a marker for the whole family.”
“Interesting that you should say that. I was sort of feeling the same way.”
“There is a bleakness about this whole hill, too. It seems like a lonely place. I don’t like it.”
“I do. I like it more than ever. But I know what you mean about how lonely it feels. Hopefully, that is a sensation that will vanish just as soon as I stir things up by moving in. It fits right in with all that I most value–about lives lived and people who came before us. That’s why I’m a history buff, I guess.”
“How strange. I’d always just looked at antiques and old houses like things, just things. I never really thought about the people who lived in them and used them the way that you apparently do.”
Becca leaned back in the seat and smiled in a satisfied way, negotiating a curve in the road,. “I almost feel as though it is calling to me. I’ve never had such a strange feeling about a place before. Like ... I belong there ... and it isn’t just because I love old houses, I’ve been to plenty of them. This one seems to be almost calling to my very soul.”
“You are creeping me out!” Claire gave an exaggerated shiver. “And I’ve got goose bumps, too, just thinking about it. The place was strange enough for me without your saying that.”
Becca chuckled. “Silly. There aren’t any ghosts. There is no such thing. If you expect to hear noises, you will. If you see a fog, it is probably just a film over your eye. For me though the house is like a news story. I think of real people. I want to ferret out their lives. I can almost see them in my minds eye. Especially now that I have names and ages from reading the headstones. At any rate, I like to unravel those stories and I do whenever I can. I’ve even thought about compiling a book about it and I’ve kept notes on past investigations I’ve done.”
“I wish you'd investigate that horribly loud sound I heard when you were on the third floor--it had to be something big. Like a door was slammed . . ." Even now the hairs on the back of Claire's neck tingled against her collar and the memory seemed somehow to be prescient of things to come.
Claire said, “You don’t understand, Becca! Something made a noise downstairs. I hardly want to go through the downstairs to go outside.” Nervously, she crossed the landing again and looked down toward the main floor. Human or not, she wondered again and realized that she would be just as afraid whether it was human or ghost. If it were human ... what human?
“You could come up here?”
“Nah. I’ll just wait here for you.” Pausing, she looked down into the dark recesses of the house again, and then she added, as an afterthought, “How come in horror flicks they always have the girl run up the stairs? I always said I would never run up.”
Becca chuckled. “If you come up here, you aren’t running. You’re joining me.”
“But once up there, there is nowhere to run.” Claire tried to reason with herself. As for a human, perhaps a caretaker investigating the car in the drive, who would care that they were in that house now, anyway.
Long silent minutes passed by and she looked up the stairs wondering about Becca.. She hadn’t taken this long looking at anything in the rest of the house and now the silence above became as disconcerting as the silence below. “What are you doing up there?”
“There is a huge pile of stuff up here ... old papers and things ...”
“Becca, let’s just go. If you buy the house you can look later.”
“They might not be here later.”
Claire’s shoulders dropped in disappointment, and she exhaled every iota of air she had in her lungs, feeling the anxiety building. She’d broken out into a cold sweat and had goose-bumps on her arms. She could feel the hair prickle beneath her sweater. But, relenting on her previous determination not to go upstairs, she decided she’d rather be with Becca than standing here alone while some unknown something down below stalked her. Gingerly, she took the first step up just in time to see Becca step out of the attic doorway, shadow-like in the faint light. Claire breathed a sigh of relief, but strained to make the apparition she saw above solidify into her friend, Becca. “Are you ready to go yet,” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah. I’m calling the real estate agent on this one, for sure.”
Becca closed her eyes in relief, calming.
As Becca met Clair on the landing, she looked her over, and said, “Dang! You look as though you had seen a ghost!”
“I thought I did for a moment. I think it’s pretty spooky here ...”
“It is all in your head. There aren’t any ghosts. But if you imagine them, they’ll come.” She smiled. “See? We’re just fine. We can go now, though.”
As the two stepped out the back door Claire filled her lungs with fresh air. And, because she’d felt like a thief exploring the house this way, breaking and entering and all of that, she was especially relieved when Becca pulled the door closed with a solid thud behind them.
The two stood out on the back stoop and looked out over the land. The house, situated as it at the crest of the hill overlooking the valley below. In the distance, beyond sight and beyond a forest of trees, was the river. The house had been the original ranch house for all this land, now sold off, and on the property were a couple of small outbuildings, and a decrepit barn.
On the left, in the back, beyond the oak tree, was a small family plot. An old bent wrought iron fence surrounded a few lonely looking weather stained headstones. The gate stood open and hung crookedly. Tall grass threatened to hide everything.
Becca mused, “We ought to take a look around.”
Claire groaned. “Can’t we just go? You can explore them later with the real estate agent. I mean, you are going to have to pretend as though you haven’t already taken a look around the place, aren’t you? You are sure you are going to call the agency, aren’t you?”
“Sure. But while we are here, we might as well. It’ll be interesting to see if there is any old stuff around in any of them.”
“Old stuff?” Claire wished that she could just go sit in the car and wait.
But Becca was already heading down the back steps and through the tall grass toward the first of the old outbuildings. Claire followed to the edge of the walk.
Becca found the door to the place was padlocked. She took a moment to try to peer in a dusty window while Claire remained close to the house, watching her. A moment later and Becca was striding toward the barn enthusiastically.
“That old barn looks as though it’s about to cave in, Becca.”
“I know. Isn’t it awesome? For a while in college I used to go around the countryside photographing old barns. The older, the better. I even had a few displayed in an art gallery for a while. A lot of people love old barns.”
“Yeah, I remember. You’re good at photography. But if it is all the same to you, I’d rather look at your photos than the real thing.”
“It won’t take but a few minutes to look this place over.”
Claire watched the barn swallows swooping in and out after Becca vanished through the door. It looked typical enough. There couldn’t be much to it.
As Becca returned from the barn she tilted her head in the direction of the grave yard, “Want to come on out and explore that with me? Didn’t you used to make a hobby of visiting old graves and doing rubbings of the headstones?”
“Oh, that was only one summer when I went east with the family. I was just bored.”
“Well, come on. You can at least look it over with me–“ She stopped a few feet in front of Claire, tilted her head slightly in the direction of the graves and smiled. .
“Okay . . .” Claire dragged out as she stepped onto the narrow walk obscured by grass. The angle of the walk changed as they walked down the slight incline. The grave yard had been positioned on a natural outlook from which the hill fell away quickly to the valley below. It had a windswept and arid aspect to it–somehow spookily uninviting in Claire’s mind.
With its ornate wrought ironwork, topped by s-curved spear shaped points, the yard itself overgrown, the head stones moss and lichen stained, some tilting slightly and at odd angles to each other it seemed to have suffered more neglect than the interior of the house. It was the classic family plot.
The broken gate screeched as Becca pushed it open sufficiently to walk through. Claire followed her a little more closely now than she had before. Becca began to examine the various headstones, sometimes pointing out a name, or, in the case of a baby that was born and died the same day, the year. Her little grave was marked by a tiny childish angel not more than two feet high and she’d not been given a name. The most recent grave, the headstone rectangular and of plain polished granite, in the modern style, belonged to a Gertrude Mason, and the date of her death was in 1974. In comparison to its more ancient neighbors, it felt out of place. Most of the graves, however, shared a similar date, as most had died in November of 1902. And all but Gertrude shared the same last name:
Once back in the car, Claire asked, “Did you notice the dates on the headstones?”
“Yeah. I’m curious now. I want to know how and why and all about them.” Becca fastened her seatbelt and turned the key. The little car hummed to life.
“Its so sad that they all died within such a short time of each other. I wonder what they died of ... “ Claire had to grab the side of the seat again, as Becca stepped on the gas and the car bounced out of the rough drive and across the rutted gravel road, spitting gravel against the undercarriage.
“There were a number of deadly diseases that were common at that time.”
“We could check out the records, I suppose.”
“I’d like to do that. I will, just as soon as I get the time.”
“Let me know what you find out. I don’t know about you, but I started feeling really weird about the place once we took a look at the graves. The family plot was like the icing on the cake though, after the house, I mean. I was already spooked and then when I saw all those headstones I felt almost as though the house is a ... a memorial to them ... as though it has been kept just for that purpose ... as though it is a headstone itself–a marker for the whole family.”
“Interesting that you should say that. I was sort of feeling the same way.”
“There is a bleakness about this whole hill, too. It seems like a lonely place. I don’t like it.”
“I do. I like it more than ever. But I know what you mean about how lonely it feels. Hopefully, that is a sensation that will vanish just as soon as I stir things up by moving in. It fits right in with all that I most value–about lives lived and people who came before us. That’s why I’m a history buff, I guess.”
“How strange. I’d always just looked at antiques and old houses like things, just things. I never really thought about the people who lived in them and used them the way that you apparently do.”
Becca leaned back in the seat and smiled in a satisfied way, negotiating a curve in the road,. “I almost feel as though it is calling to me. I’ve never had such a strange feeling about a place before. Like ... I belong there ... and it isn’t just because I love old houses, I’ve been to plenty of them. This one seems to be almost calling to my very soul.”
“You are creeping me out!” Claire gave an exaggerated shiver. “And I’ve got goose bumps, too, just thinking about it. The place was strange enough for me without your saying that.”
Becca chuckled. “Silly. There aren’t any ghosts. There is no such thing. If you expect to hear noises, you will. If you see a fog, it is probably just a film over your eye. For me though the house is like a news story. I think of real people. I want to ferret out their lives. I can almost see them in my minds eye. Especially now that I have names and ages from reading the headstones. At any rate, I like to unravel those stories and I do whenever I can. I’ve even thought about compiling a book about it and I’ve kept notes on past investigations I’ve done.”
“I wish you'd investigate that horribly loud sound I heard when you were on the third floor--it had to be something big. Like a door was slammed . . ." Even now the hairs on the back of Claire's neck tingled against her collar and the memory seemed somehow to be prescient of things to come.
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