Deadly Decision (12 page)

As I reached for the light switch, my arm brushed against something stringy, and I jerked in response, clawing at my skin with my opposite hand. Spider webs! I groped for the light switch and flicked on the overhead light. I looked toward the wall, along the floor, all the space that surrounded me. Where there was a web, there had to be a spider. Any remaining web must have been jerked from its location by my frantic motions; I couldn't find any trace of it.

I remembered the thick molding stretched along each wall, and how I had admired it. Molding. Spiders love to lurk along the floor against the molding. I slipped off one shoe and clutched it in my hand, and started to walk the perimeter of the room.

This time the webs touched my face. I ran to the middle of the room, swiping my eyes, my chin. More webs. My body jerked as though on fire.

I ran into the hall, panting. A glance toward Trina and Ted's room showed the door still closed. Listening, I didn't hear any sound coming from down the hall.

It has to be one huge spider. Or a nest of tiny ones. Gathering courage, covering my face with one hand and grasping the shoe with the other one, and entered the room. Nothing along the wall. Nothing under the bed. Nothing on the bed. Nothing.

I crawled into Barbara's bed and pulled the sheet up to my chin.

A neighborhood dog barked, and then another, and soon the noise of a yowling pack of canines filtered through the screened window. Rolling over, I buried my head in the pillow.

The wind churned. I flipped onto my back, tucking the sheet against me as I moved. The leaves on the trees swished like a woman's silk dress.

Or was it leaves? I held my breath, listening. Was someone in the house? There it was again, a faint sound coming from somewhere in my room.

Without moving, keeping my breaths even, I scanned the darkness.

Black tentacles stretched across the floor and crept onto the bed. I tried to shift, to avoid the darkness, but it slithered closer. My ears strained for the sound.

The air was thick, heavy.

No one was in my room. I knew it, just as I knew the darkness that pressed the air out of my chest was only the night. But I kept listening, my mouth dry.

Fear held me in its trap, just as it had every night since I changed rooms—not fear of what I saw, but of what I knew.

I knew I was not alone in the room, and it wasn't spiders that shared my space.

 

 

 

 

14

 

I ached to call Betsy, but dreaded her probing questions. Thinking about what had happened in the attic, how close I had been to pure evil, sickened me. I wasn't anywhere near ready to talk about it. I wasn't sure I ever would be. The memory alone terrified me.

The week passed in a blur. I had my tasks to do, and was making progress, but I was tired--not the kind of good-tired one gets from long hours of labor, but an exhaustion that a full night in bed does not fix. I dragged myself forward, barely remembering what I had done the day before, and caring even less.

Since breaking the ice with Ted a few days ago, so to speak, I found myself wandering every afternoon to his small workshop. My visits to his space allowed me to escape Trina's concerned gaze.

When I reached the renovated garage, I discovered a plastic chair had been placed where I usually stood. I didn't ask Ted about it, and he didn't bring it up. My son-in-law elevated himself a notch on my hypothetical totem pole.

The chair legs spread as I settled my bulk between the molded arms. “Mitch seems to be hanging around an awful lot for someone who doesn't live here anymore.”

“He's lonely.”

“So where's his family?”

“Doesn't have one, as far as I know. He became a ward of the state as a kid, and moved from foster home to foster home. That wasn't much of a life.”

“Sounds like your life.”

“I was one of the lucky ones. My foster parents loved me like their own.”

“They loved you so much you've been on your own since you graduated from high school.”

“Something bothering you, Bill?” Ted asked, staring at me.

Words built in me, and I couldn't shut them off even though my conscience screamed against it. “It just doesn't seem like love to dump someone when they turn eighteen and don't get child support checks anymore.”

Ted's face turned red. I had pushed too far, but didn't care. He had to get his head out of the sand. If he didn't understand commitment, how could he love Trina?

“You know that's not true. We've talked about my foster parents before. They waited until I graduated from high school to do what God called them to do.”

“Take off to the opposite side of the world?”

“They manage a safe house for missionary families in Ethiopia. Dad was the manager of Denny's for years, and anyone who ever came to our house always said they felt at home and welcome, thanks to Mom's hospitality.”

Ted returned his attention to the canvas. “I could have gone with them,” he mumbled. “They asked me, but I wanted to go to college, and they agreed I should follow my own dream.” He looked up, a challenge etched deep into his face.

“I'm just trying to understand Mitch.”

“Have you tried talking to Mitch?” Ted jabbed his brush in blue paint, and stroked pigment on the canvas, creating another picture of nothing.

The skin on my face itched, and I scratched at several days' growth of beard. I was still angry with Ted for refusing to accept that souls can linger. For some reason I had thought Ted was smarter than to ignore what was right in front of him. The voice of reason always won out over the unproven speculation of Christian beliefs. Why had my eyes been closed to the truth for so many years? Barbara might be messing with satanic spirits, but her words made sense. What happens to freedom of choice when we die?

Too many people have had paranormal experiences, myself included, to deny its existence. And every culture in the world believed you could contact spirits of the dead. Who was I to say the whole world was wrong?

“You still praying about the ghost boys, Ted?” I figured I had nothing to lose by trying one more time.

“I figured you had made peace with the experience.”

“What if people can linger after death?”

Ted sighed as he looked up “They don't. It's in the Bible.”

“But what if we're reading the Bible wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

The chair beneath me groaned as I leaned forward. “Think of the witch hunts in Salem. All those women burned to death because of superstition.”

“I'm not following you.”

“They didn't understand science. I read somewhere that the seizures the kids were having were caused by the bread. There was a fungus on the grain, and it caused the seizures. People back then thought seizures meant demon possession. We know better today.”

“What does that have to do with ghosts?”

“Suppose a hundred years from now, when we understand the paranormal better, that new knowledge gives us a clearer understanding of some of the scriptures?”

“I think the Bible is clear.”

My face felt hot. Why did Ted always have to argue with me? Why bother trying to explain anything to Mr. Know-It-All anyway. “If it's so clear, why are there so many denominations? And look at Darlington; must be a church on every corner. If the Bible's so clear, why aren't we all worshipping together, one big church family, instead of dozens of little groups doing their own thing?”

“Bill—”

“The truth is we don't know everything. Someone told me, and it makes sense, that if God created us to have freedom of choice, why would that freedom stop at death? You always talk about freedom of choice. Those words have come right out of your mouth.”

Ted looked at me wide-eyed, like he was staring at the devil himself. Good. Give him something to think about. “Don't we have a choice when we leave planet Earth?”

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Ted replied. “I don't know why anyone would want to stay here with Heaven waiting for them.”

“Just how much do you love Trina, anyway?” I hissed, and stomped out into the yard, Ted's eyes burning a hole into my back.

 



 

Trina wanted the door into the dining room widened and arched. It had taken hours to remove the frame, cut the plaster, remove old lath strips and studs from each side equally, and then mold the arch out of metal and plaster. I had just finished sanding. Now, all that remained was priming and painting. I looked at the nearly completed project. This was the first time I had arched a door, and had to admit it looked good.

But the mess was another matter. My morning's work had created soft white plaster dust that had settled over everything in the dining room, hall, and kitchen. When Trina got home, she would be upset. Strange how women expect things to be done without making a mess. Catching a reflection of myself in the window, I looked as white as I had always imagined ghosts to be, before my recent awakening. My new understanding of the paranormal gave me a one-up on most Christians and a knowledge that ghosts weren't necessarily white and filmy. Why wouldn't Christians move into the twenty-first century and embrace new information provided by modern technology? Instead, they remained shackled to old-world thinking, including my son-in-law and sister.

Betsy. My chest tightened. I wiped the dust off my hands on equally dusty pants and pulled the new phone, a gift from Trina and Ted, out of my pocket. I hit speed dial. Three rings.

“Bill.”

My tongue stuck to my mouth. “Bets, how are you?”

“I've been worried about you.”

“I sent her home.”

“Oh?”

“She acted weird when she went into the attic, like she had a seizure or something.”

“Did it upset Trina?”

“Trina wasn't there. It was just the two of us.”

“You went to the attic alone with her? After all we talked about? Bill—”

“I can handle myself, Betsy. I'm not stupid. You need to open your mind a little. Times are different now.”

Betsy sighed. The line buzzed with unspoken words.

“You were right, Bets. Barbara was trouble. I'll man-up and admit it. But she did help me realize there is a whole world out there our church is keeping us from experiencing. If you could have seen those ghost boys, you would understand.”

“What's happening to you, Bill? I never thought you would lose your faith.”

“I haven't lost my faith.” I wiped dust off my face, paced back and forth in the narrow kitchen. “At the first hint of a demon I—”

“You admit they were demons?”

“Not the ghost boys, later.”

“You've got to get some help, Bill.”

“I don't need a shrink.”

“You need a man of God. You're being deceived.”

Betsy was angry. I could sense her anger as easily as if she had been standing beside me.

“I can't talk about this. I'll keep praying for you.”

“I don't need your prayers!” The line was dead before I finished.

Hands shaking, I pocketed the phone.

As if the day couldn't get any worse, Mitch pulled his grinding truck into the drive. Trina stepped out the passenger side just as I opened the back porch door.

Trina waved to me from the side of the truck. “Hey Dad, come check it out!”

I walked toward the truck, brushing the dust off my hair and shoulders, creating a cloud of white. A visual of the shroud I was feeling.

Ted untied the ropes and pulled off the blanket. Underneath stood an old oak table and a stack of chairs with grape vines carved in an oval above the slatted backs. “The table looks great, honey,” Ted said, running his hand over the smooth wood.

Did I imagine it, or was Ted avoiding me?

As we unloaded the furniture, Mitch needed constant instruction on what to do: fold the blanket, pick up a chair and carry it inside. There were boys like him at school, ones who pretended to be simple, but were street smart. That's how they survived. Kids like that could sweet-talk anyone into anything, and then steal you blind. My fists clenched as I thought of what he could do to Trina. And Ted allowed Mitch to be here, in daily contact, sometimes alone, with the woman he supposedly loved.

I grabbed the other end of the table, and Ted and I struggled to get it through the kitchen door and into the dining room. Trina went ahead of us, clearing away the cans and rags I had left on the floor. My back groaned under the weight. Leave it to Trina to pick the heaviest table she could find.

“Looks like you're almost done, Dad,” Trina said, running her hand down the newly sanded doorway. “It looks great, even better than I hoped.”

She didn't mention the mess.

We lowered the table to the floor with a thump. I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead. “As heavy as this thing is, I bet there's hidden drawer.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Why hide a drawer in a table? I thought hidden drawers were in desks.”

“They made the drawers to keep the silver or linens handy, but not so handy as to let someone steal them.”

Trina sneezed. “I doubt you're going to find anything except dust and maybe a few dead bugs. You wouldn't believe where I found this—way in the back of the building, buried under old rugs. I think it's been there forever.”

“Look honey,” Ted said, “the table legs almost match the dark spots on the floor where some other table stood in the past. I bet if we move…” Ted shoved the table from one side, then the next. “It fits!”

Trina's mouth gaped open. “What are the odds of that?”

Regardless of Trina's pessimism about a secret drawer, I promised myself to check the table later. Not that I expected a treasure, but it was the thrill of the hunt. I taught woodworking. If there was a secret compartment, I could find it.