Authors: Sandy DeLuca
Darkness Conjured (6 page)
I swear I hear laughter coming from Amelia Leech’s portrait.
“Bye, Jen,” I tell my sister. Nobody’s going to tell me how to live my life.
My sister moves away from me, wet boots sloshing on the rug, her expensive coat
dappled with moisture. I don’t walk her out. I merely sit here, listening to the radiator hiss and ghost
sounds in the walls.
dappled with moisture. I don’t walk her out. I merely sit here, listening to the radiator hiss and ghost
sounds in the walls.
* * *
In November my clothes were tight around my stomach. I was lost in a fantasy
world and thought I was either sick or stressed out from working too many
doubles at Lou’s.
world and thought I was either sick or stressed out from working too many
doubles at Lou’s.
I went to Westminster Mall with my sister Beth when she came home for
Thanksgiving break. I donned an oversized coat and slid on a pair of flats. My
ankles were swollen. The tight high heeled boots I liked to wear on shopping
treks were out of the question.
Thanksgiving break. I donned an oversized coat and slid on a pair of flats. My
ankles were swollen. The tight high heeled boots I liked to wear on shopping
treks were out of the question.
Always one to head straight for form fitting sweaters and skinny jeans, on that
day I checked out warm socks and gloves. Beth checked out the miniskirts at
Shepard department store.
day I checked out warm socks and gloves. Beth checked out the miniskirts at
Shepard department store.
“You gaining weight?” She asked when I began thumbing through size eight cords with elastic waists. I’d never weighed more than a hundred five pounds. I’d been a size four since I was sixteen.
“I don’t get a chance to eat right anymore. I work long hours, gobble fries and burgers
in between. And let’s not talk about Luke’s homemade pies.”
in between. And let’s not talk about Luke’s homemade pies.”
Beth eyed me suspiciously. “You ate stuff like that before. Never gained a pound.”
“Maybe my metabolism changed or something.”
“Maybe. Why bother working so much? Dad just takes most of it.”
I shrugged. I thought about money I’d stashed. I bit my tongue. Dad had a way of finding out things from my sisters.
Beth tugged on the wool scarf around her neck. “Thank goodness I got into college with scholarships. I mean, maybe I’d be working with you if it weren’t…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Meg. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s alright. You were the smart one. You deserve to be in college—to have a good job later.”
She touched my arm. “You’re smart, too. You just have to believe in yourself a little more. Maybe
this summer we can sit down and go over options. See what kind of financial aid
is out there. You’d have to start at junior college, but it’ll work out.”
is out there. You’d have to start at junior college, but it’ll work out.”
“Beth, I think I might be sick—or something worse.”
“What’s wrong?” She yanked my arm, pulled me out of the store and into the entrance of a tiny
tearoom next door. We sat on a bench beneath a Mary Cassette print; a woman
cradling a fat-cheeked child.
tearoom next door. We sat on a bench beneath a Mary Cassette print; a woman
cradling a fat-cheeked child.
“I haven’t had a period since August. I mean, I’ve gone two or three months before, but it’s different this time. I’m scared.”
She leaned back on the bench. “You still seeing that Berle kid?”
“No, not in a while. He got drafted.”
“Anyone else?” Her voice was a whisper.
Holiday shoppers whisked by with bundles and children scurried to see Santa who’d just arrived at The Outlet Company store.
“Around the middle of August I was with this guy, a trucker, but it was one time.
I couldn’t be pregnant from just once.”
I couldn’t be pregnant from just once.”
Her eyes flared. “Yes, you could.” She sighed deeply. “You’re in trouble and you’re pretending like life is going to go on like nothing is happening. This isn’t like you. You were the tough one.”
“I just got lonely, Beth. I got close to somebody who wasn’t straight with me.” I told her when a woman holding a toddler’s hand walked by us.
“Why didn’t you get checked out?” Beth’s eyes were filled with tears. Her hand trembled when she touched my fingers.
“I couldn’t get to the clinic downtown. Did you know they stopped the bus run? I mean, I
couldn’t ask Dad.” I let out a tiny sob and then told myself not to break down.
couldn’t ask Dad.” I let out a tiny sob and then told myself not to break down.
We sat there in silence. Beth sobbed like a child and I stared at Christmas
decorations hanging around the tearoom arch. Silver angels sparkled and
snowflakes shined. For a moment it looked as though an angel’s eyes mocked me, that blood dripped from its white halo, but it was just lights
reflecting.
decorations hanging around the tearoom arch. Silver angels sparkled and
snowflakes shined. For a moment it looked as though an angel’s eyes mocked me, that blood dripped from its white halo, but it was just lights
reflecting.
Reality hit me on that November day as I held my sister’s hand, as we watched mothers wheeling babies in strollers and toddlers skipping
towards a fat man dressed in red. I longed for that innocence, for that
unquestioning faith, but I’d lost it and it was time to move on to the truth.
towards a fat man dressed in red. I longed for that innocence, for that
unquestioning faith, but I’d lost it and it was time to move on to the truth.
* * *
It’s early evening and I’m still pissed at my sister Jen. Her life would have been different if she’d followed her heart.
I make my way down the stairs and hear Marsha speaking softly to someone in the
hall. The words are muffled by Davika singing in the kitchen and Mr. Greely
hammering in one of the offices.
hall. The words are muffled by Davika singing in the kitchen and Mr. Greely
hammering in one of the offices.
A few more steps and I realize my father is here. I hear his voice, low and
measured. I guess the news of Jen’s failed attempt at reasoning with me reached him. He’s here to scold me. I wonder what engages him in conversation with Marsha.
measured. I guess the news of Jen’s failed attempt at reasoning with me reached him. He’s here to scold me. I wonder what engages him in conversation with Marsha.
I reach the bottom stair and see my father seated in the main hall. Marsha
crosses her arms when she sees me approach. Her voice is menacing. “Oh, Meg, I was just about to come up to get you.” She sighs, looks to my father and then cringes when Davika sings louder than
before. “I’ll leave you two to chat.”
crosses her arms when she sees me approach. Her voice is menacing. “Oh, Meg, I was just about to come up to get you.” She sighs, looks to my father and then cringes when Davika sings louder than
before. “I’ll leave you two to chat.”
She moves away. There’s something off about the way she walks. As though she floats away, casting
elongated shadows on the furniture and walls. I swear I hear bones creak and
low hissing as she enters her office and slams the door.
elongated shadows on the furniture and walls. I swear I hear bones creak and
low hissing as she enters her office and slams the door.
Suddenly Davika is silent. The hammering has stopped as well.
Now I look to my father. He’s haggard. I know he hasn’t sleep in days. His clothes smell fowl. He gazes up at me and then his eyes
drift to my belly.
drift to my belly.
“What’s going on? Your sister Jen is upset.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“I don’t want to stay here. It’s a bad place. You can’t make me stay.”
I expect an argument and deep rage, but my father remains calm. Too calm as he
tells me, “There are lots of bad places. Lots of dark things. Sometimes you think you’re doing the right thing. Offering yourself to the light, but it blasphemy. It’s a lie and that lie gets you in the end.”
tells me, “There are lots of bad places. Lots of dark things. Sometimes you think you’re doing the right thing. Offering yourself to the light, but it blasphemy. It’s a lie and that lie gets you in the end.”
He rises.
“I’m keeping the baby, Daddy.”
He smiles at me, but his eyes are vacant, as though his soul—his vibrant persona—has deserted him. “I’m not sure how it’ll all end up, but you pray, kiddo?”
“I’m not sitting around praying.”
His smile chills me this time. I notice there’s blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. His teeth are tinged with something
brown. “Talk to the angels, not like I did, but just talk. Maybe they’ll help. Just maybe...” He reaches into his pocket, removes car keys. “I used to carry around cards. Platonic symbols painted on cardboard. I thought
they were magic. I don’t think angels want to make it that complicated.”
brown. “Talk to the angels, not like I did, but just talk. Maybe they’ll help. Just maybe...” He reaches into his pocket, removes car keys. “I used to carry around cards. Platonic symbols painted on cardboard. I thought
they were magic. I don’t think angels want to make it that complicated.”
At that moment Mr. Greely enters the hall. He doesn’t speak, just nods at my father, winks at me and then makes his way up the
stairs.
stairs.
My father watches until the old man is out of sight. and then speaks again. “Bye, Meg.”
“Daddy, my prayers don’t get answered.”
“If you look hard enough you’ll see angels. I want to believe my girl will see them.”
Now I’m convinced my Dad has lost it. “Angels can’t get in here.”
“They’re closer than you think.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then we’re all doomed, aren’t we, Meg?” He bows his head, slips his hands in his pockets and leaves me.
I hear Marsha laugh as my Dad slams the door. I know I won’t see him again. He’s on his way to Hell and he just came here to tell me goodbye.
Alone now.
Always alone.
* * *
I’m sitting on a faded brown sofa in the upstairs den. My feet are propped on a
lopsided coffee table. A small TV sits on a worn wooden stand. The volume is
turned down. The news is on. Grainy scenes from Viet Nam flash before me. There’s several overstuffed chairs scattered around the large room. There are windows
to the right and left. Small watercolor paintings of flowers and birds hang on
the walls. There’s a payphone in between. I tried calling Ken on it a few times. No answer.
lopsided coffee table. A small TV sits on a worn wooden stand. The volume is
turned down. The news is on. Grainy scenes from Viet Nam flash before me. There’s several overstuffed chairs scattered around the large room. There are windows
to the right and left. Small watercolor paintings of flowers and birds hang on
the walls. There’s a payphone in between. I tried calling Ken on it a few times. No answer.
I hear somebody running in the hall. A door slams in the distance. The furnace
kicks in. I swear something floated past the windows.
kicks in. I swear something floated past the windows.
The running sounds are closer. I see a shadow stretch across the threshold, a
low sinister laugh and heavy breathing. I grip the edge of the sofa.
low sinister laugh and heavy breathing. I grip the edge of the sofa.
I touch my belly and feel the baby move as Flora bursts through the door. Relief
fills me, but fear is etched across Flora’s face. Her cranberry maternity top hangs to her knees. She’s wearing bright pink stretch pants underneath, white sneakers and her hair is
tied back with a tie dyed scarf. She joins me on the sofa; sitting down heavily
and then crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes dart to the door and then
at me.
fills me, but fear is etched across Flora’s face. Her cranberry maternity top hangs to her knees. She’s wearing bright pink stretch pants underneath, white sneakers and her hair is
tied back with a tie dyed scarf. She joins me on the sofa; sitting down heavily
and then crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes dart to the door and then
at me.
“I put the board back where I found it,” she tells me. “I heard something in the library—a girl—she was saying, ‘Help me, help.’”
“Probably Marcy Long busting your balls.” Wind beats against the windows. I shiver
“They locked Marcy in her room. Sedated her. I overhead Marsha telling Irene
Dugan that Marcy got out of control. They found three more knives in her room.”
Dugan that Marcy got out of control. They found three more knives in her room.”
I feel a pang of sympathy for Marcy, but I feel worse for Flora. She’s shaking. Her face is wet and red from crying.
I hug her and she tells me, “I’m so scared.”
“Calm down. Don’t let this place get to you,” I tell her.
Flora jumps when the phone rings.
I rise from my seat, make my way towards it. I think of Marcy Long alone in her
room, perhaps surrounded by ghost girls.
room, perhaps surrounded by ghost girls.
The ringing seems to grow more menacing as I draw nearer. I grasp the receiver
and electric currents pulse through my hand. I say, “Hello.” Into the mouth piece.
and electric currents pulse through my hand. I say, “Hello.” Into the mouth piece.
A haunting voice answers me.
“Help me. Help me…”
I quickly place the receiver back on its hook. I’m spooked as the voice continues to call for help from someplace in my head and
then from below.
then from below.
Flora is by my side. She’s tugging on my sleeve.
“I just saw something—a face peeking in the window.” She’s shaking.
“Get a grip.” I put my arm around her. The phone rings again. We stay close until it stops
and then we hold hands moving out of the den and into the dimly lit corridor.
We’ll stay together tonight.
and then we hold hands moving out of the den and into the dimly lit corridor.
We’ll stay together tonight.
I hear Flora whimper and wonder if one day we’ll be calling for help, lost between life and death—ghosts in this house of mystery.
“I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Flora.”
“Promise?” She pouts and then a tear, like unblemished crystal, forms at the corner of her
left eye.
left eye.
I can’t promise a damn thing.
6
I volunteered to help with the chores. It’ll make time pass quicker. Maybe I won’t think about Ken so much.
I’m in the library, dusting off books and shelves. There’s a small couch in the midst of the bookcases. The floor is hardwood, shiny,
with no scratches or scuff marks. There’s an open closet behind the couch. Books are stacked on its floor. There are no
windows here and there’s a pungent musty smell. Most girls don’t take advantage of the knowledge stored here. There are thick volumes on
quilting and sewing. Literature books take up two bookcases and there are
Science Fiction, Horror and Fantasy books, too.
with no scratches or scuff marks. There’s an open closet behind the couch. Books are stacked on its floor. There are no
windows here and there’s a pungent musty smell. Most girls don’t take advantage of the knowledge stored here. There are thick volumes on
quilting and sewing. Literature books take up two bookcases and there are
Science Fiction, Horror and Fantasy books, too.
I grab a copy of
Paradise Lost
, by John Milton. I notice there are explanations and notes accompanying Milton’s poetry and some of Blake’s art. I slide the book into my pocket.
Paradise Lost
, by John Milton. I notice there are explanations and notes accompanying Milton’s poetry and some of Blake’s art. I slide the book into my pocket.
I know the Ouija board is nearby, probably behind a classic by H. G. Wells or
Lovecraft.
Lovecraft.
I feel its presence, a dark spirit that wants to be heard and set free. I feel
other things here, too. Memories of the Amelia Leech Home. Specters struggling
to survive the passing of time.
other things here, too. Memories of the Amelia Leech Home. Specters struggling
to survive the passing of time.
I try to shrug off words and feelings inside my head as I move about, dusting
and straightening. I can’t reach the high shelves and I look around for something to stand on. There’s a utility ladder in a corner. It’s about five feet high, enough so that I can clean several of the high shelves.
and straightening. I can’t reach the high shelves and I look around for something to stand on. There’s a utility ladder in a corner. It’s about five feet high, enough so that I can clean several of the high shelves.
I drag the ladder to a bookcase and then carefully climb the steps. I run my dust rag over book tops, over wood. I sneeze and feel the ladder
wobble.
wobble.
“Help me…”
I freeze. The voice is coming from the closet. I tell myself it’s one of the girls messing with me. Or maybe it’s my imagination. I know different when a dark foreboding fills my gut.
The voice grows louder. “Help me. They beat the drums so I won’t hear.”
The ladder shakes. I press my hands against the shelf, trying to brace myself. I
carefully step downward, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.
carefully step downward, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.
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