2 Minutes to Midnight (9 page)

It was too late. Jim smacked the man’s
appendage with the end of his shovel and the shriveled little
fingers broke like a sheet of slate. What tumbled out of the hand
fragments was a crystal pyramid about the size of a key chain car
door opener. Jim studied the tiny object like a child struggling to
understand a trigonometry equation.
"We need to get this guy and his artifact out of here now, before
anyone else shows up." Jim said.
Dean nodded and the two carried the petrified body to the back of
his truck and tossed a tarp over it before returning to the tunnel
and setting some charges.
"So, what are you going to do with it?" Dean asked.
"My sister works over at the college and she knows some guys in the
archaeology and human genetics departments. I figure maybe they can
take a look and let us know what we've got here, and then the two
of us can phone the press, and announce a petrified man for
sale."
"Yeah, good idea. You think it'll be that easy?" Dean asked.
Jim lifted a box of dynamite and carried it over to the hole.
"I wonder if there's more of em' still in there?" Jim asked.
"I don't care if there's an entire village buried in that mountain.
We need to make some progress or else it's our asses. Spangler's
gonna' to freak if he sees we've only dug forty feet." Dean
said.

Several hours later and many feet
forward, the two men were at the end of their shift, and were
packing to go home.
"It's Friday, and the college will be closed after six tonight, but
I'm gonna' to show this to my sister Petra, and maybe she'll
connect me with one of those super robots over there who can figure
this out," said Jim.
"It's half mine, so I'm coming too!" Dean said. He was helping Jim
load the truck with their gear.
"Of course, man. You're more than welcome to join me. Let's just
keep it until we figure out what this guy is."
Later that night Jim arrived at his sister's house with the
artifact and she met them outside under the cover of darkness where
no one would see the prize they had unearthed earlier in the day.
Crickets sang their night song.
"Hi Petra, good to see you." Jim gave her a hug as she joined them
by his truck.
"Hey boys, likewise. So, what's got in the truck? Let me see
it."
Jim tossed the tarp aside to reveal the curled up stone man.
"He looks like he's sleeping. Did you find anything else with
him?"
"Yeah, this crystal pyramid. He was clutching it in his hand, but
other than that I have no idea what it is or where he got it." Jim
brought it out of his pocket, shrugging.
"Over at the college science lab there's a bot that can date the
man, and maybe figure out the secret of your shiny toy."
Jim and Dean followed behind Petra until they reached the science
building, and once they were inside she located one of the sentry
bots named Karl.
"Karl, would you mind giving me a hand with a package in the back
of my truck?"
"Yes ma'am. No problem. How are you doing this fine evening?" He
asked.

Karl stood six feet tall,
was constructed of titanium, and had a cylindrical body. His head
was a cube with two blinking eyes, and as the college wanted to
present a friendly environment to students and faculty, he wore a
permanent smile. What the public did not see was the hidden
Electro-Muscular Disruption Taser in Karl's wrist, capable of
instantly stunning the largest men, forcing them to assume the
fetal position, all while crying and shaking in an instant.
"We're good, thank you for your help."
"It's a pleasure to serve you, Petra." Karl said.
Jim and Dean walked behind them a few paces.
"Does that bot strike you as creepy at all?" Jim asked.
"As a general rule, I don't trust anyone that smiles all the time,
especially a tin can." Dean replied.
Karl laughed up ahead.
"I'm actually constructed of titanium, from my nose to my servos,
and I'm with you there. I wish I could wipe this stupid damned
smile off my face without being labeled a
problem
by management."
Jim and Dean chuckled with Karl, exchanged a glance, and did not
say another word.
"Karl, do you know if Jensen is around tonight? I need him to check
this thing out." Petra asked.
"Yeah, he's over in the reptilian history wing. I'll ring him."
Karl said.
When they approached the truck, a man clothed in overalls and a
torn t-shirt, with long scraggly blond hair and cowboy boots was
standing beside the vehicle with a little box connected to Jim's
keyless entry.
"Hey pard', what the hell are you doing? That's my truck!" Jim
yelled.
The man seemed startled that anyone was around at this hour.
"Hey, uh, sorry man but you know how it is. I kind of need your
wheels." He shrugged.
"Sir, please drop the key code generator, and step to the sidewalk.
I am alerting authorities of your attempted theft now." Karl
said.
"Like I said, I'm awful sorry about this, but I gotta' get to
Florida and its too long of a walk." The man produced a
pistol.
"Whoa, be cool, brother!" Dean said.
"Sir, authorities are on the way, this is your last warning!" Karl
said.
"Well, I guess you better hand over the keys so I can be on my way
then. Who's got em'? And what's with that stupid grin on your face,
bot?"
A tense moment of silence followed.
"The faculty and administration at the West Virginia College of
Arts and Sciences feel that everyone should have a smile on their
face." Karl pointed at the man and two wires shot out of his
wrist.
They shot through the air with lightening speed, and before the
pistol-waving bum could react he had two electrodes securely
fastened to his crotch. Karl hit the juice and the scraggly haired
man dropped to the ground in a ball of shaking, twitching pain,
gibbering like an idiot. The effect of so much electricity moving
through his central nervous system caused a complete loss of bowel
and bladder control.
"Dude, you crapped yourself!" Jim laughed.
"Jim, get the gun!" Petra yelled.
He kicked it to the side just as a squad car of police bots rounded
the corner and took the man away. They scooped up the stinking mess
of a man and tossed him into the back of their squad car.
"Have a nice day, everyone!" One officer said. They could hear the
man's rights being read as the cops drove away.
"OK, can we please get this over with? The suspense is killing me."
Dean said.

"Thank you Karl, that was awesome."
Jim said.
"My pleasure. It's the smile that make takes them off guard."
Karl lifted the petrified man with care and carried him into the
building with Petra in the lead. Jensen met them in the hallway
outside the robotics lab. Jensen resembled Karl in almost every
way, but he wore a white lab coat and his expression was blank. He
stood blinking as they approached.
"Good evening, Petra. It looks like you've got something very
interesting for me." Jensen walked over to Karl, and took the body.
"Let's get this into the lab so I can scan it."
"I also brought this." Jim showed him the crystal pyramid.
"Interesting. That looks like a recorder." Jensen said.
"A recorder? What do you mean?" Dean asked.
"Well, we've been trapping live images inside crystals for some
time as a record keeping measure. They last forever, and won't
break down over time like magnetic tape or scratch easily like
plastics did in the past. They're great for storing important
records." Jensen said.
Jensen led them into the lab and placed the petrified man on a
table. He studied the worn, wrinkled lines of the man’s body, his
shriveled facial features, and the peaceful, sleepy expression that
was frozen on his face. Jensen moved his hands over the body,
emitting a red laser as they passed.
"You've got yourself a historical find here, people. This guy's
been dead for at least thirty-six thousand years."
Jim, Petra, and Dean all looked at each other excitedly.
"Oh my god! That's unbelievable, are you sure?" Jim asked.
“That’s way older than I thought humans had even existed on this
planet.” Petra said.
"I'm programmed to know these things, and my carbon dating system
is never wrong. He's been under ground for quite some time."
A tiny door opened up in Jensen’s abdomen.
"Can I borrow your pyramid, please?"
Jim handed it over without another word. Jensen carefully placed
the pyramid inside his body, and the little door shut.
"Ha! It’s just as I thought. A recorded message exists on this
device." Jensen dimmed the lights and a moment later his eyes lit
up like vehicle headlamps.
The laboratory room disappeared as the pyramid projected a
three-hundred sixty-five degree moving recording of the man holding
the crystal object, while a crowd of people walked up the hill
where he was standing. The sky above was like something out of a
Sci-Fi movie to Jim, Dean, and Petra, and it was like nothing they
had ever seen. The sky was aglow with the brilliant illumination of
two planets, a smaller one atop the other. The bigger one was so
large it filled the sky, while the smaller, red planet looked like
a small pupil in the center of a very big eye.
"Wow!" Jim whispered.

The recorder’s camera eye panned the
heavens.

"The large planet is Saturn, and Mars
is the eye you see in the center. It would appear the myths about
those planets might be true after all." Said Jensen.

"You’ve got to elaborate on that a
little bit buddy." Petra said.

"There is a myth in ancient lore that
Saturn was, at one time, the predominate sun in our sky. You see it
in Celtic symbolism, on pyramids, and on all kinds of religious
artifacts as a circle with another circle inside of it, and what
looks like fire or rays of light in between the two. Some postulate
that the fire is Venus traveling as a comet through our solar
system."

Jensen stopped talking as something
large raced across the sky toward Saturn, and as it did electricity
began to rain down on Earth in a violent array of destruction.
Without warning the ground shook violently beneath the gathered
crowd in the recording. Some of the people gawked stupidly at the
sky, some knelt to pray, and others panicked, all running past the
man with the pyramid recorder in his hand.

"Venus shot across the sky and caused
planetary disruption on a massive scale, and it wasn’t just earth
that was affected either. The combination of all three is the wheel
in the sky." Jensen said.
"Oh my God, this guy caught it on his crystal? Awesome!" Jim
said.

"As the comet moved further through
the sky the gravity and force of such a large celestial object
coursing between the planets caused the earth below them to quake
with thunderous turmoil."
Their exuberance turned to horror and dread as they watched large
areas of the earth split apart. Mountains of rock rose from angry
oceans causing, widespread tsunamis. A large city, with buildings
that were covered with glass windows and had massive spires that
reached the clouds, which appeared to be about three miles from
where the man stood, began to crumble in the tumult. Airborne
vehicles, resembling flying saucers, tumbled helplessly to the
ground as lightning bolts surged through them from within the
storm. Jim, Petra, and Dean watched the horrific scene unfold,
mouth open, eyes wide.

"I don’t want to watch anymore," said
Jim.

"I think we have to finish it though."
Petra said. Her tone was flat, and Jim could tell she shared his
abhorrence with this film.

In the distance they could see that
the city was now sinking into the ground as tidal water raged forth
from an angry sea. Faces of people panicking were frozen in silent
screams as they ran from their doom, while others clung to each
other crying as their world imploded. The man holding the pyramid
turned it to face himself and began to speak, but there was no
sound.

"Can you read lips, Jensen?" Jim asked
the room.

"I can. He’s speaking Spanish,"
replied Petra.

"Well, what’s he saying?" Nick
asked.

"Show the world we were here! He says
it over and over."

As the man spoke, behind him a mile
high tsunami wall of mud, rocks, and boulders rushed across the
landscape, tearing everything down that stood in its path. Moments
later, the recording was obscured and then the projection went
black.
"That’s all folks." Jensen said. "Unfortunately for all of you, my
protocols require me to report anything like this to the Hall of
Clandestine Affairs. As we were viewing this recording an agent in
their office was watching as well. Please remain calm, and stay
where you are, an agent will be here in a moment or two to clean up
this mess."
For thousands of years the details of that final horrific day lay
hidden under a mountain of rock waiting for two tunnel diggers to
uncover it. A day later the tiny pyramid was taken to an
undisclosed storage facility somewhere in the Northwestern part of
the United States, where it joined many other purposefully hidden
archaeological relics. Although Jim and Dean attempted to expose
the HCA for what they were, none believed their tale, and
eventually after the ridicule became too much they dropped the
subject. The Petrified Man was just another sensational article in
the National Enquirer buried on page six.

the horror of stanton
manor

The restless spirits of
Stanton Manor remain trapped within the house, but the unsuspecting
new owner will set them free, at a cost.

Nathaniel Stanton had been
a textile tycoon in the eighteen eighties as the post-Civil War
economy began to bounce back in Concord, North Carolina. The
resurgence in industry and wealth was due in large part to
revolutionary technological advances in cotton production, as well
as a prevalence of non-existent labor laws. Nathaniel employed men,
women, and children as young as ten years old. One benefit to child
labor was that if any of the machinery jammed up, their fingers
were small enough to get inside and work the small parts loose. He
was a hard man to work for, and disagreeable to a fault. Nathaniel,
concerned for his profits, ordered the plant’s rear and side doors
be locked during work hours to ensure none of his workers were
stepping out for unauthorized breaks.
Each morning, Stanton entered the plant at seven a.m., nodded to
his security guard, and tromped up a metal staircase to his office
that overlooked the plant floor. His office windows were covered
with blinds, allowing him to hide from public view as he watched
his workers toil below. If employees became lazy, or became
involved in too much conversation, he would ring the security guard
and have the person or persons involved reprimanded. Most of the
time punishment meant a half day of pay taken, or termination
depending on Nathaniel's mood.
Nathaniel Stanton had never met anyone like Owen Freemantle, or had
ever seen what happens at the tipping point of a man’s sanity, but
he was about to find out.
Owen Freemantle had a dark cloud hanging over his life. He had lost
his wife to cancer, his home to the bank, and due to the
depression, he had no money to care for his three children so, was
forced to place them temporarily in the custody of Ophelia Gray’s
Orphanage. Owen loved his children more than life, and had planned
to take them back once he could secure a residence. The textile
mill was the only company hiring, and although he had heard all of
the horror stories about the plant's owner, Owen accepted the job
of Firebeater, tending the boilers at Stanton’s Manufacturing’s
cotton mill. Three weeks after he began his new job Owen's life
took another drastic, downward spiral, from which he would not
return. In a horrifying turn of events, the orphanage caught fire
in the night and as Owen’s three children slept they were consumed
with the house. The fire department contained the blaze, and kept
fire from burning the houses next to it, but could not save his
children. All inside perished, and Owen's soul was crushed. That
day he lost himself in the blaze. Owen Freemantle was one paycheck
away from renting a house where they could all live. Stanton gave
Owen half a day off with pay to bury his children, but expected him
back to work that same day.
Owen returned to his job in the boiler room a zombie, a man on the
edge, his soul ground into the same dirt he buried his children in.
They were all he had left after losing his best friend Sally to
that damnable disease, and now Bobby, Tracy, and Delilah were
nothing but ashes. Stanton had forgotten all of this when he barged
into the boiler room and screamed at Owen for spilling grease on
the plant floor. Of course, Owen had not been there all morning,
but Nathaniel was famous for making examples of innocent people and
could not care less. “You there, Firebeater! What’s the meaning of
soiling my plant floor?!” Stanton screamed.
There were only a few workers in the boiler and those outside knew
enough to keep right on with their work,
if
they did not want to be next.
Owen remained silent and took the verbal lashing with his head hung
low. With a head full of fog, and lost in his sorrow, Owen did not
speak until the words "you’re fired" exited Stanton’s mouth, and
when he did speak it was just above a whisper.
"Sir, I’m not a violent man, and never have been, but you’ve caught
me at a particularly rare time in my life. I believe you’re going
to regret your actions. Good day, Mr. Stanton." Owen mumbled.
"Get the hell out of my plant!" Stanton screamed.
What happened next would become a local legend for some time to
come. Owen Freemantle had a complete mental breakdown after his
firing, but he knew exactly where Nathaniel Stanton lived in rural
Concord. In his rage, Owen decided he might fancy to burn Stanton's
house down. He plotted for several days without sleeping as he
daydreamed about seeing his family once more. On a Tuesday morning
in June Owen stood up, and began walking toward Stanton manor. His
plan had been to set the house on fire and run, but upon arrival
Owen noticed Stanton’s wife Carina hanging clothes on the line in
the back of the property.
Without a word he grabbed her around the neck with the crook of his
arm, and dragged the struggling, terrified woman back inside her
home. Owen hit her in the head with a cast iron frying pan that had
been lying on the oven, knocking Carina unconscious. The Stanton
children were playing down the road while Owen fileted Stanton’s
wife like a fish in her kitchen with a butcher knife. After she was
dead he began to rummage through the house and located a pistol in
Stanton’s study with six rounds in the cylinder. In a more tragic
turn of events, the neighbor, Tracey Atwell, happened to be
bringing the children back home for their lunch, and as she opened
the screen door the kids ran inside.
"Carina! We’re back!" Tracey sang.
Owen stepped around the corner without a word, leveled their
father’s pistol and squeezed the trigger four times. The two kids
dropped like rocks on the hard wood floor, as a shocked Tracey
Atwell stood gawking in the doorway, her body frozen by fear. Owen
shot her once in the forehead, and she fell over sideways with a
thump. Owen took her by the feet and dragged her body inside, while
a crimson pool spread on the porch, and floor.
Warm afternoon sun was setting as Nathaniel Stanton, in his 1889
Mercedes-Benz Wire Wheel, drove up the dirt road to his house
greeted by three grim faced police officers, an investigator, and
county coroner.
"Carina!" He yelled. The world moved in slow motion.
Nathaniel ran for the house, his face turning pale white as he
struggled against the restraining arms of two large police
officers. Terror for his family gave Nathaniel super human strength
and he broke free from the officers’ grip, and sprinted up the
front porch. He threw open the screen door and restrained a wave of
nausea from the overpowering odor of death inside his home. The
police had not been on the scene long enough to clear bodies, so
Nathaniel found Tracey Atwell, his neighbor, and Tommy and Joel his
two children lying in the foyer. Owen Freemantle swung from his
neck on the hallway chandelier like a demented pendulum. He had
used his belt to hang himself, and as Nathaniel’s beleaguered mind
took snap shots of his destroyed life he could not help but wonder
how Owen had managed to get so high up. He found his pistol on the
floor, numbly picked it up and walked into the kitchen. Nathaniel’s
end came when he discovered his wife’s body, limp and partially
dismembered.
"My dear, Carina…my poor, beautiful babies" He shed a tear, placed
the gun in his mouth, and as the officers barged in to stop him,
Nathaniel squeezed the trigger.
That summer the grisly Stanton murder suicides were the hot topic
of public conversation, but in time the horror of Stanton Manor
faded into myth, and then urban legend. Years went by and the house
remained empty, fell to disrepair, and became an attraction for
local teenagers, who dared each other to drive up to the old house
at night. The brave would get out of their car, walk up to the
front door and knock. Most would turn and run, but for those who
stayed longer than a few seconds there were accounts of a frowning,
spectral figure peering through the tattered living room curtains.
For generations, kids growing up in Concord called Stanton Manor
The Devil’s Playground. The old house also had a local reputation
for being possessed by the ghosts of the Stanton family, which had
made it unsellable. The house remained empty for over fifty years,
until one day Ron James bought the old fixer-upper for a
steal.
Ron was a middle-aged man, with graying hair and persistent five
o'clock shadow that he hoped made him appear younger. That was
difficult since the stubble was as gray as the hair on his head,
and most days it only gave him the appearance of needing a shave.
The new house place was going to be a gift for his wife and their
two young children, and he purchased it for fifty thousand less
than the market value.
Stanton Manor sat on twenty wooded acres and as time went on most
of the house was absorbed by kudzu and climbing vines sweeping up
and over the roof like a blanket. A weeping willow out back had
grown so large that it completed the image of a cliché haunted
house, but Ron had been a house flipper for years and never ran
from a deal, especially in real estate. So, against his wife
Adelaide's protests, Ron purchased Stanton Manor and left his wife
and children in Pennsylvania while he traveled down south to fix
the house for them. The family was going to move down with Ron as
soon as renovations made the house livable again. Ron's
construction crew cleared out the kudzu, put up new wood siding,
rebuilt the front porch, and then renovated the kitchen with fresh
tile. The old wood flooring had a large, permanent, dark stain
running from kitchen to foyer, and even though fifty years had
passed, it appeared as fresh as the day Stanton found his family
dead.
The bedrooms were next to be renovated, and then the sitting room,
library and finally all four bathrooms. Ron's contractors, run by a
man named Joe Casey, would only work during the day due to the
house’s reputation, and as soon as the sun began to set they
cleared out. Leaving by sundown was a stipulation written in their
contract, but Ron was just so happy to get anyone to work on the
house that he gladly accepted their terms. The idea that
superstition would keep anyone from earning overtime was beyond
him, but even with the workers leaving before sundown the entire
project was completed in three months. When Ron and his hired crew
were finished rebuilding the old manor, Nathaniel Stanton himself
would have been proud to move back in. Ron paid the crew their last
check as Joe, and his men were leaving on the final day of
construction.
"I wish you luck in your new home, Mr. James. I know this place has
a wicked reputation, but she looks like new and I think you’ll be
fine here." Joe smiled.
"Thanks, Joe. I'm not too worried about a few ghost stories.
Besides, if there are ghosts here, at least they now have a nicer
place to haunt. You guys did a great job. Sure you don’t want to
stay for a beer?"
Joe smiled, and glanced at the chandelier above their heads. He
noticed a slight sway in the breezeless entryway.
"I’m good, sir. Have a wonderful evening." Joe folded his paycheck
and put it in his shirt pocket before jogging to the idling truck
outside.
As Joe and his men left, Ron stood in the doorway watching them go.
He could begin moving in any day now. He called his wife to tell
her the good news as shadows fell across the foyer.
"Hi Adie! They just finished construction; you and the kids can
come out here in a few days." Ron said.
"That's great news, Ron. The kids and I miss you. We've got the car
packed and the movers should be here tomorrow." Adie replied.
"The drive should only take about a day, but I want you to take
your time. You know, stay the night somewhere. I hear Natural
Bridge is a pretty neat attraction, and the kids would love
it."
"OK, well, we'll see you in a day or two. I love you, Ron."
"I love you, too, sweetie." Ron smiled. When Ron hung up he looked
down and realized a painted, wooden child's ball had rolled against
his left foot.
Ron looked around for an intruder, but there was no one in the
house and it was almost dark outside. "Hmmm, must have been left
here by one of the guys."
He locked up, and drove back to the rented hotel room where that
night in a fitful sleep, his dreams were disturbed by the screams
of a woman, and the sounds of gunshots. The next day Ron was eating
at the Fast 49 Diner and asked a waitress behind the bar why his
crew seemed so freaked out about the Stanton place. She shrugged
her shoulders and quickly looked away.
"I can tell you why." Said a man from down the bar. He moved closer
to Ron, and extended his hand.
"Names Victor Washington, pleased to meet ya'." He said.
"Hi Victor, I'm Ron James. I just fixed the old house up for my
family."
Victor was about the same age as Ron, and had the thin look of a
man who survived on caffeinated drinks, cigarettes, and alcohol. He
wore an olive drab Army jacket, even though the temperature outside
was more than ninety degrees, and when he got close to Ron, the
odor of unwashed clothes tackled Ron's nostrils like an assault
squad. Victor sat down beside Ron, and when he opened his mouth the
foul stench, achieved only by those who ditched their toothbrush
long ago can master, rolled out like a fog.
"Every once in a while, when I was a kid, we'd roll up to the
Stanton place and dare each other to go knock on the door. If you
stood there long enough you'd see a ghostly figure in the window
looking out. If you stayed after seeing old man Stanton peering out
at you, you'd hear the screams from inside, and stuff crashing
around in the dark." Victor said.
"That sounds encouraging." Ron said.
"This boy we used to hang out with every once in a while went
missing one day. Johnny Bentwater was his name. He was gone for an
entire day before the cops went looking for him. They told his
mother Johnny probably just forgot what time it was, and stayed at
a friend's too long. Hah, ha. It was four days before they found
him in the basement of the Stanton place, shivering, and naked in
the dark."
"That's awful." Ron said.
"It gets worse. My old man was on the force back then and he told
me one night what his buddy Tom Peterson found down there. The boy
had been chained to a pipe, and his fingernails were torn out with
a pair of pliers. They never found out who did it, and although
Johnny told them what happened none of the detectives took his
story seriously. They said it was trauma from being kidnapped and
tortured."
"Well, what did he say?" Ron asked.
"Johnny told them he was up at the old Stanton place looking for
antiques or anything worth a damn to sell at the Saturday flea
market. While he searched around upstairs he heard a child's voice
calling for help somewhere in the house. He tracked the sound all
the way to the basement, and went down those dark steps into a kind
of hell I hope I never see, brother. He said a stair broke, and
when he fell his head hit the wall. That was it until he woke up
chained to that furnace pipe. Helluva thing really. He said he
heard whispers in the dark until the cops showed up to rescue
him."
"Is he...OK, now?" Ron asked.
"Hung himself a few years ago when his wife ran out on him. Bah! He
was never the same again after that experience." Victor shook his
head.
"I think I lost my appetite." Ron replied.
For the rest of the day he tried hard to find his happy place after
Victor's tale, but there were boogiemen running around in his mind.
His family would be moving into the house in a few days, and now he
was concerned for their safety.
"You want to hear some more stories about that place?" Victor
asked.
"Vic, stop being an asshole. You're freaking Ron out!" The waitress
said. Her nametag read Rita Wilcox.
"You know, Ron. They say that the same day Stanton killed himself,
the Devil moved into that house." Victor said.
"Thanks for that wonderful tale, Victor. I'm sure I'll sleep better
tonight." Ron said.
Several days before his conversation with Victor, Ron had bought
new beds for the house to ensure Addie and the kids would be
comfortable when they arrived. The deliverymen showed up just
before sun down, and after carrying the beds upstairs and helping
Ron put them together, they left with a nice tip for their trouble.
It was dark outside, and for the first time since purchasing the
house he was alone after sun set. Ron walked through the house,
stopped in one of the kids’ rooms, and after determining it was
move-in ready, he was going to call Addie If for no other reason,
to at least hear her voice. The story Victor had relayed earlier in
the day had spooked him, and his nerves were a little on edge. Ron
had a cigarette case packed with rolled joints, and this seemed
like an opportune time to relax a little.
As he lit one up, and took out his phone to call Addie. Then, Ron
heard the sound of sobbing from down the hall. He followed the
sound, his heartbeat increasing, the smoke slowing his mind. Had
someone come in while he was upstairs? He put the phone back in his
pocket.
The sobbing was growing louder as he walked toward the master
bedroom. Ron began to feel cold, like the air conditioner had been
turned on full blast. He flipped on the hallway lights and winced
as they flickered like a strobe. Ron rounded the corner to the
master bedroom, and flipped the light switch. When the room lit up
he saw that his bed had disappeared, and that Stanton's original
bedroom furniture was in its place. Their bed was a four post with
Victorian drapes made of silk, and the feet were carved head of
lions. Black and white portraits of long dead men and women hung
along the walls, pictures of a distant past. A fancy chair adorned
with hand carved roses had been placed beside the bed. Every piece
of furniture in the room had been constructed with the same
intricate pattern, and Ron felt as if he had stepped out of the
twenty-first century and back into the nineteen thirties. A
beautiful young woman, with long blonde hair was sitting at a
vanity on the far left of the room.