The Haunting Of Bechdel Mansion (11 page)

Mary seized the moment and moved in closer
as hammering continued outside. “Pastor Phil,” she said. “Is there
something about this house we should know? I’ve heard things in the
night, seen things I can’t ignore any longer, and we’ve only been
here a few days. Do we have anything to worry about?”

Phil stared back at her, long and hard, in
contemplation. She wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to respond,
but she needed an answer for the sake of her own sanity. He then
took a step back, motioning toward the door. “To be honest with
you, Mrs. Malone, it’s an old creaky mansion that needs a lot of
work. I’ve seen families come and go, some of them even going
broke, trying to make this place into something it was never meant
to be.” He paused and scratched his chin, looking around. “In the
end, I think you and your husband will be fine. I can see it in
you.”

Before she could say another word, Phil
shuffled to the door, excusing himself. “It’s been a pleasure
talking with you, Mrs. Malone. Have a wonderful day, and I hope to
see you at the barbecue.”

Mary stood for a moment, stunned by his
hasty exit. “Call me Mary,” she said as he neared the door.

“Sure thing, Mary,” he said with a wave and
bright smile. She didn’t know exactly what she had said beyond her
basic line of questioning. One thing was clear, Pastor Phil was
being evasive. After he closed the door, she walked toward the
living room prepared to see the damage done to the wall at her
behest. Was Pastor Phil right? Would the house treat them any
differently than the others? She wanted more than ever to find out
before it was too late.

Chapter Nine

Sunday Barbecue

The new air conditioner was up and running,
much to the collective relief of Mary, Craig, and the various work
crews tasked with renovations. Painters, cleaners, movers, pest
control, and electricians had been busy throughout the week
modernizing the old mansion transforming its faded grimy, walls and
dusty, spider-webbed interiors into something entirely different.
Mary could hardly believe it herself. Their home was beginning to
look downright livable in elegant fashion.

The attic had been cleared out of dwelling
rodents who for so long had made the space there own. The pipes
running through the walls had been nearly repaired, the septic
system replaced, and the electrical wiring brought up to
twenty-first century standards. No stone had been left unturned,
and when Mary looked at the bright white paint covering the
formerly brown-stained walls and shiny hardwood floors she could
barely take it all in.

Empty of most boxes and modestly furnished
with sofa chairs and coffee tables, the foyer looked unrecognizable
from when she first saw it. It hardly resembled the scene of a mass
murder some forty years ago, but that night was never far from her
mind.

The downstairs study had been turned into
her own art room where she could work under the sunlight of a large
bay window that looked out into their shaded, fertile backyard and
its long stone walkway through freshly cut crass and bushes trimmed
to perfection. Her agent had lined up a new children’s book for her
to illustrate. She had three week deadline and by mid-week she
hadn’t even started.

Mary was doing her best to adjust, even
though normality had long since recused itself to a different time
and place. Redwood seemed the perfect town to live in, their
mansion, a dream come true, but there was something lurking beneath
the surface, troubling and grim, that she couldn’t shake off.

The week had rushed by, and by Sunday she
couldn’t believe all the work that had been done on their home.
Things were quieter with less people parading through the house,
and Mary knew that she and Curtis would soon be the only two people
inside their vast dream home, living like royalty without the bank
account or prestige to show for it.

That morning, she had almost forgot their
Sunday engagement at the Redwood church. There had been no visitors
to their house since Pastor Phil’s unexpected visit, and when she
opened the drawer to the nightstand to get her cellphone, she was
greeted to the sight of the warped, burnt edges of the child’s
diary that had captivated her the week before.

Curtis was just coming out of the bathroom
after a shower when Mary quickly closed the drawer. She still
hadn’t told him a thing about her discovery, and she didn’t know
why. She stood in a T-shirt large enough to go down to the knees of
her smooth, bare legs as he greeted her with an optimistic smile on
his face.

“Morning,” she said back in a croaky voice.
She hadn’t been feeling that well for the past few days, chalking
it up to exhaustion.

“I hope you’re ready to
testify
,” he said, mimicking the
movements of a preacher with his arms up in the air.

“Hardly…” she said, walking away from the
nightstand. She had never seen him so eager to go to church, not
the Curtis she knew. His angle, as she was it, was setting up a
practice as soon as possible. There was no better way than to reach
out to the church community of Redwood, of which there was a
sizable amount within the congregation.

What she really wanted to do, beyond
anything else was to dive back into her research about the mansion
and the new town they had so hastily moved to. Even with the
welcoming fruit basket, she had her suspicions of Pastor Phil. He
knew things, he had to, and he had taken an interest in her and
Curtis in ways that she couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

Curtis was already in the walk-in closet,
searching for his best Sunday suit. He emerged in his boxers and
white T-shirt holding two long-sleeved dress shirts in both hands
with a tie hanging over each one. One shirt was light blue with
gray tie, the other one a sterile white and blue tie.

“What do you think?” he asked her as she
took a seat at the end of the bed, face tired and a stark contrast
to his chipper morning attitude.

Mary’s had lay at her side as her straight,
blond hair rested just above her shoulders, strands matted to her
side from deep sleep. She was clearly not in the mood for outgoing
social activity, but she put on her best face and told Curtis to go
with the blue shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing her lack
of enthusiasm.

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Nothing a big
cup of coffee couldn’t cure.”

“I’ll make you a cup here in a minute,” he
said, walking back into the closet.

As he continued talking, her eyes
shifted back to the nightstand where the young girl’s diary was
hidden. Mary suddenly realized that she didn’t even know the girl’s
name yet. She had failed so far to find out as much as she could
about the Bechdels. The week had been an exhausting blur, and in
that time there hadn’t been any visions or anything out of the
ordinary happen. Perhaps it
had
all been in her head. The thought was unsettling. She had
considered the prospect of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder playing a
role, especially after the miscarriage, but she had never felt so
in-tuned to reality. She had to trust her instincts, and they told
her that there was far more to the mansion and the town of Redwood
than she could even imagine.

“
It’s been a week, Mary,” Curtis said
from the closet. “We need to get out and meet some people.” He must
have sensed her apprehension about the entire affair before them.
“We’ve worked hard getting this place livable, and it’s about damn
time we venture out and enjoy ourselves.”

“I agree,” she conceded from the bed,
looking around the room. Everything had been unpacked. The walls
had been painted a fresh white with random paintings hanging
around—one of them of an orange sunrise over the mountains that
Mary painted during their vacation to Tennessee. On the dresser
across from the bed, next to the flat screen television, was a
framed picture of Mary and Curtis on their wedding day—smiling and
lively with the world ahead of them.

Curtis walked out of the closet in black
slacks with his blue dress shirt on and adjusting his tie. “Service
starts at 10:30. We have a good hour. I can make us some bacon and
eggs if you want.”

“Coffee’s fine,” she said with a faint
smile.

Curtis looked at her with near suspicion as
his own smile dropped. “You need to eat, Mary. Don’t think I
haven’t noticed.”

She looked down at the floor, embarrassed.
Her appetite, like many other things, had been waning since they
moved into the house. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll save it for the
barbecue.”

Curtis straightened his tie and nodded.
“That’s fine and well, but you should really have some breakfast
first.”

Mary rose from the bed, heading toward the
bathroom as sunlight beamed in through the thin curtains covering
the window. “Shower… coffee… and I’ll be good to go.” She closed
the door not saying another word. She went to the mirror and wiped
her hand across its foggy surface, staring at her reflection. There
were noticeable bags under her blue, vibrant eyes, her lips were
fixed downward in a permanent frown.

Strands of blond hair curled up at her chin
as she took note of her gaunt cheek bones. The more she looked at
herself, the thinner her face grew, almost as though she was fading
away before her very eyes. Her face went thinner and thinner until
she began wasting away to nothing as though some force was sucking
the soul from her very being.

Mary backed away from the mirror,
terrified, and then glanced back at her appearance. She was normal
again. Gone were the large eyes among a skeletal face within the
visible disappearing of mass against bone. She panicked, wondering
if what she had seen was just another vision brought her current
surroundings or something else. She went to the shower, pulling her
T-shirt off, and turned the nozzles on, evening out the hot and
cold water. Nothing felt right.
She
didn’t feel right. Troubling anxiety flowed through her no
matter what she did. She had never felt so alone.

***

They drove to the First Christ Church of
Redwood on a bright, sunny morning amidst the rolling green fields
and lush forest surrounding them. The town, on the outset, was
instantly comforting with its natural beauty and lack of anything
resembling a major city. This was a place people moved to get away
from it all, and it showed.

Its old-fashioned, Victorian nature was
endearing. An earlier brochure given to Mary by Curtis heralded
Redwood as a “family community.” All of that was fine. But Mary
wasn’t interested in all the good things about the town. She wanted
to find out its secrets for the sake of her own sanity.

Curtis was upbeat as always with his blue
shirt, gray tie, and slicked-back dark hair. Gone was his five
day’s growth on his bare cheeks. Wearing a neon coral summer dress
and sandals, Mary felt better after a shower and coffee. Her hair
was tied back into a pony tail and she wore a light foundation of
makeup upon her fair face. They were a young couple, married now
for three years and she dreaded any questions she was sure to get
while introducing themselves to the townspeople. They would
probably ask why they moved into a mansion that could house a large
family when they themselves had not children. She suppressed her
anxiety as they drove to the church, hoping that she wasn’t being
too paranoid. Curtis, however, easily saw through her silence.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“A little,” she replied, moving the
passenger visor to the side to block the glare of the sun.

“Well you shouldn’t be,” he said. “There are
good people in this town. I can feel it.”

Mary stared ahead, convinced that, for the
most part, Curtis was probably right. But her concerns to do with
the past and whatever secrets were buried within their home. If
Pastor Phil seemed reserved in discussing the Bechdel’s, she
assumed the same with anyone else. Maybe it was just something
people didn’t talk about. Lost in her thoughts, she felt Curtis’s
hand touch hers and squeeze.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said as the
open two-lane, freshly-paved road sped by. “This will be a great
start for the both of us.”

She squeezed back and nodded. “I hope so. I
really do.” Ahead, the church was in view on the right. Its painted
white exterior, modest size, and pointed steeple looked like
something out of a storybook. Its front parking lot was full with a
sign mounted in a square section of freshly cut grass. There was
forest on both sides of the church, making it appear isolated in
its own right.

Mary felt further anxiety when she looked at
the dashboard clock. It’s was 10:35 and services had already began.
The onus was on her, however. She had been in a morning funk and
took too long to get ready. Taking notice of the time himself,
Curtis assured again that they would be fine.

“
We’ll find a spot in the back,” he
said. “No one will even see us come in.”

Mary ran her hands down her face with a
sigh. “I don’t even remember the last time we went to church.
Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

Curtis jokingly scoffed. “We’re trying to
fit in. It’s that simple.” He slowed the car and turned into the
parking lot as Mary’s could feel her heart rate increasing. The
church seemed inviting enough, maybe it would be good for them. She
knew that she needed to shake off her suspicions and embrace the
small-town life before them. Something, however, kept holding her
back.

They parked in the far corner where Curtis
had found a spot. They exited the SUV and walked hand in hand
toward the church where they could hear the faint hum of an organ
playing inside. A sloped cement walkway with a railing running up
the middle led to the double doors of the church, with two elegant
door handles on each side. Curtis pulled the door open for Mary,
revealing a red-carpeted lobby where an older woman was seated in
one of two chairs separated by a glossy table with bouquet
arrangement. The woman looked up and smiled at them, her white hair
trim and her large glasses magnifying her pupils.