Rhayven House (12 page)

Twelve

     Ian felt himself drawn to the Gold Church again the next day and to the cemetery. Was there a connection between this place and his house, the family who'd built the house in which he now lived? He'd most likely never be able to discover anything, given the amount of information lost or the lack of information to begin with. Just look at the luck he had tracking anything down about the house.

     A walk amongst the tombstones to regenerate his creativity would do him good, unless his mind started to think about premature burial again. He had to get over that. It never happened anymore; maybe the trepidation Ian had was a remnant of a previous existence.

     Whether or not there was anything skittering around in the leaves, there were little noises that didn't sound normal—like he would know what normal sounded like in a cemetery.

     Just as he thought he was about to jump out of his skin, someone called him. Funny. He knew his phone hadn't worked the last time he'd been out here. He looked at the caller ID. Belle.

     “Hey,” he said.

     “Am I interrupting anything?” she asked.

     “Nope. What’s up?”

     “I found something I think you’ll be very interested in,” she said. “A nice book on the Gold Church. There’s mostly photographs, some from pretty far back, and some information—stuff that’s pretty much well-known, but I think you’ll like it.”

     Yeah, he’d like it. “Will you keep it back for me, please and thank you? I can swing by and pick it up a little later.”

     “You got it, my friend.”

     They said their goodbyes and Ian put the phone back in his pocket and looked around the cemetery once more. Shivers tap danced down his spine.

     Why did he put himself through this? Goddamned cemeteries always dredged up his fear of being buried alive.

~ ~ ~

   
 
Belle greeted him warmly when he walked through the door of her shop. “You make fast time. I wasn't expecting you quite yet.”

     “I had to run errands in town anyway,” Ian said. Each time he came in, the shop looked so bright and cheerful.
Must be the sunlight bouncing off all the crystals, he thought.

     “Forgive me if this comes off as an insult, but you look tired,” Belle said, concern in her voice.

     He smiled. “You know how it is; first nights in a new place can be sleepless, plus I have that pesky deadline for my book.”

     “Yes,” she nodded, “but it isn't healthy to allow yourself to get so rundown.” Moving gracefully over to the counter, she picked some things up and walked over to him. “Take this.”

     Ian asked, “What's this?”

     “Agate to protect from bad dreams, malachite to stimulate inner imagery, and amethyst to help you with your insomnia.”

     “I don't know what to say except thank you.”

     “Keep them by your bed and each night, before you lie down, take them between your palms and rub them gently. Like this.” Belle demonstrated and then held the crystals out to him.

     Accepting the stones she handed him, he felt the warmth radiating from them as if they'd been exposed for a prolonged period to a heat source like the sun.

     “It's perfectly normal,” Belle said, as if picking up on his thoughts. “Put them in your pocket for now and don't forget what I told you.”

     “Yes. Of course, I will put them on my nightstand and rub them in my palms each night before bed.” He smiled at her as warmly as he could. “I appreciate your concern as well as your kindness.”

     “Very welcome. And now about that book.” She motioned for him to follow her to the counter area.

     “I'm interested in finding out more.”

     “Like I said, it's mostly photographs, although some are quite old, with some captioning,” Belle explained as she opened the book to show him. “More of a coffee table book for looking rather than reading, to be honest.”

     “That's okay.” Ian turned the pages, taking in the pictures from different time periods, going back several decades, but not all the way back. “It's a shame there isn't more about the congregation who built the church way back when.”

     “Are you thinking they may have been more of a cult than an actual church?”

     Looking up at her, Ian said, “No, not at all. I didn't mean any disrespect.”

     She smiled at him. “A perfectly legitimate question, one I'm sure has been asked many times over the years.”

     “My interest is purely personal; meaning I don't intend to incorporate the information into a story,” Ian said as he continued to thumb through the big book. “Any information is good; I was hoping for more on the original builders.”

     “So have a number of people. Seems like that info is nowhere to be found. It's my understanding there were no church records on the premises when the city took over the abandoned property.” Belle went about her business as she spoke, moving items from one place to another, stopping to stroke the white cat relaxing in the window. “There was at one time a pamphlet put out by the city. I'm sure it wouldn’t add much to your research, but you might be interested in it anyway.”

     “Exactly when was the Church abandoned and when did the city take over the property?”

     “You have that information at your fingertips, my friend,” she gently reminded him.

     “Of course. One other question: Has there ever been a connection between my house and the Gold Church? Perhaps my house was built by a member or...” He shrugged to let her know he was open to suggestions about his theory.

     “Not to my knowledge, but then there isn't a whole lot known about your old house,” Belle said as she stopped what she was doing to turn and look at him, “if we admit the truth of our ignorance. It seems you've placed yourself in a very mysterious position.”

     Ian laughed. “So it seems. Thank you for finding the book; I'll take it.” Ian also selected some of the crystals from the bowl on the counter. He liked the clear ones—he didn't know much about any crystals except for the ones Belle had given him—and thought they'd look great in a bowl on his coffee table. “And maybe some of the hanging crystals, so I can put them in my windows to refract the light like you've done here.”

     Smiling, Belle said, “Wonderful choice. I think you'll find they can help inspire a harmony in your home and bring about a state of calm.”

     On a whim, he almost asked her if she had a stone that would help with his ghost situation, and then he thought better of it.

~ ~ ~

     When he got back home, Ian hung the crystals in the windows of his living room and kitchen. Immediately, they captured the afternoon sunlight and began arcing a rainbow of colors around those two rooms. He liked the prisms of vivid colors splashing against surfaces. He easily understood how the crystals could help instill harmony in a home, restore a peaceful balance.

     Bringing the pretty back was scientifically proven to boost a sense of serenity, and it couldn't hurt to introduce crystals to the environment. At best, their attributes would help soothe the situation; at worst they'd be innocuous so they couldn't hinder. Ian stared at the colors dancing around on the walls as the crystal slowly turned in the window. Already, he felt calmer and more at home than he had in the last few days. Maybe there was something to all the stuff about the harmonics and healing energies of certain crystals and stones and the like. Had to be something to it or the belief wouldn't have persisted for a couple hundred years.

     All the thinking, made Ian realize how hungry he was, especially since he'd skipped breakfast.

     He began raiding the refrigerator to see if there was anything he could started immediately munching on. As much as he enjoyed eating, inversely that's how much he despised actually cooking—he'd did it when he had to and the results were always pretty good, but he didn't have to like doing it. He once again thought of subscribing to one of the services that sent you prepared meals and all you had to do was heat them up.

    
Rewarding the lazy
, that's how Ian looked at it.

     Pasta always had a place in his fridge and he really didn't mind eating it cold—unless it was lasagna and then he had to heat it up. He found the bowl of spaghetti he knew was in there and stood over the sink, looking out the window as he ate.

    
It's as good as it gets,
he thought as he chewed. This was why he'd wanted to move out here—to enjoy the beauty and peace of nature any time he wanted.

     Later he'd get back to work on the book. Right now, he wanted to enjoy the silence and the spaghetti.

Thirteen

     Getting ready to step out of the shower, Ian grabbed the big red towel he always kept on the rack within arm's reach of the tub. That way he could get most of the water off him. He saw it as soon as he stepped onto the mat beside the tub to finish drying off.

     There on the mirror above the sink, written in the steam on the glass:

N

E

V

E

R

NEVER FORGIVE

O

R

G

E

T

     Unexpected, but not shocking or scary. He'd seen it once before, downstairs on the coffee table, spelled out in grains of wax. The air closed in around him.

    
Three Fates
, she whispered, her feathery voice coming from everywhere at once.

     “I know the mythology. What about them?” Ian questioned as he slowly turned in a circle, looking for a sign, a shadow, something of her presence.

     Any communication from her felt odd and heavy, but it was what he asked for, wasn't it? He told her to talk to him. Not necessarily threatening, the tone of her voice, not when she was in this sane frame of mind.

    
Three Graces
, came her voice again, seeming to float out of nowhere on the air. Faint, very faint.

     This better not become a habit with her every time he got in the shower. “You’re confusing me. Is that your intention?” he asked as he ceased turning around. He came to a stop in the center of the room.

    
Three Sorrows
, her voice whispered, so close it seemed to come from behind him, but still light, as if she was leaning over his shoulder and whispering into his left ear.

     “Sisters, all of them. Are you giving me some kind of esoteric clue? You’re only confusing me more.” Ian wanted to massage his temples to ward off the migraine the ghost was giving him.

     The air in the room felt so thick, like nectar, and warmer than it should have been—much warmer—and more claustrophobic. Usually whenever she was around, she brought the cold with her.

     Nausea set in and he hoped he could resist the urge to vomit. His stomach rolled and rumbled. She might not have been the direct cause; it could very well have been his reaction to her communicating with him in such a direct, verbal manner.

     At least she didn't scare him this time.

     He no longer felt her so close to him and wondered if the nausea faded so quickly because she distanced herself from him.

     “Where did you go?” He wrapped the towel around his waist. No sense in him standing completely naked while talking to a ghostly presence. “I don't understand what you're trying to tell me.” Ian pleaded, “Wait.”

     And then it all went away, including her presence. He felt her leave, like the room cleared after being full of smoke or something. Her presence vanished and he was left alone, wearing nothing but the towel.

     Because people feel the most vulnerable when they were naked and exposed, Ian wondered if she'd chosen that exact moment for the same reason. She hadn't threatened him in any way, but he felt shaken by the experience. If she kept attacking—well, not technically attacking him—in the shower, he was going to get a complex.

     At least she was talking directly to him now. Not as a scary specter, but as a normal lady—although in a manner more than a bit cryptic.

     He'd asked her to do it, but never thought it would happen. Part of him kept wondering what the clues she kept giving him meant.

     Fates.

     Graces.

     Sorrows.

    
Holy hell.
That settled it. He was calling Toby and asking him to come and stay for a while. He needed a witness, someone else to see and hear and tell him he wasn't completely off his rocker.

     In the meantime, maybe he could come up with a name for her, this female spirit. He ought to call her Vivian Darkbloom—an anagram of the name “Vladimir Nabokov” which the author came up with to name a character based upon himself in two of his works,
Lolita
and
Ada
, or
Ardor.

    
Ian decided the name fit and he liked it.