|
|
unless there is something that has gone on beyond my consciousness, that title is a bit more than exaggeration. there have been certain occurrences, usually when something structural has been changed over the past twelve years, or the atmosphere between inhabitants has been... stretched... that "funny" things happen: personal objects come up missing for extended periods of time, only to resurface in most obvious places; bad things happen with unrelenting regularity; haphazard angles of poor carpentry, coupled with the quality of light through the windows bring oppressive moods. once, when my brother and i were children, we were left on the doorstep of one of my mom's drinking buddies. they piled in the car for a night of revelry, leaving his wife to look after us until their return. i can still see her stretching through the window, shrieking "you monstrous BEAST! etc., etc.," as they peeled out for the PleasureDome. obviously, she hadn't been informed of the intentions. or the imposition. and such a doorstep, too. the stereotypical english manor house, Virginia-style. MerrieMillFarm. nothing at all "merrie" about it, as it came to pass. playing with their kids in the huge yard, we came upon a capped well... which they informed us had been closed after someone had fallen in. that was of no comfort to the young. worse, still, was entering the house. immense. dark. infused with the black mood of the mistress (an artist, and a pissed-off one, at that), and something else. not much expense was wasted on lighting, so the whole of the interior was bathed in shadow, except for the kitchen. as warm and welcoming as the room was, that was where she accumulated her displeasure... and wished not to be disturbed. so, we investigated the rest of the house. i recall little else about the rest of the day, aside from cold, hostility, dark. then came night. my recollection returns when i remember the night. trying to sleep. awaking with sobs... and i have wasted few tears in my life. soon after, the partiers returned, with stories about the previous owners. specifically the one who was killed by an intruder, in the dining room... the darkest space in the house, that i had chosen to run rather than walk through during the day. where they had carved a star in a circle onto the wood flooring where he fell. sensitivity to something "other"? that's probably wishful thinking... searching for occult explanations for the obvious. but, some things defy rationality. for instance, the journal entry that i was prepared to write on Monday (the typical cathartic kind) has lost all of its pertinence, today. there were, and are, some pretty stinging barbs that drew blood and needed plucking. yet, thanks to time and distance, that insistent pain has faded. it will all come back the minute the tires crease crunching the gravel before the terrace to the front door. my wife remains within these walls after my departure. for the entire time that I'm gone. fearing to walk in the yard should someone speak to her. fearing to befriend anyone. fearing to make a move. there are some times that i expect to open the door and find a thin layer of dust on everything... no evidence of footprints... maybe dust on her, as well. these are just the kind of festering thoughts that pollute my head when i leave. and fade until my return. i just hope what we leave behind won't scare children in the future. |
|
|
