The Haunting Of Bechdel Mansion (14 page)

Chief Riley cocked his head back and
scratched his face. “Well… All can say ma’am is that there’s one
cold case that’s just never seen the light of day. But from what
I’ve seen we’re certain that nothing like that is going to happen
in Redwood again.”

“
Pretty cryptic there, Chief,” Ramirez
added.

“
I’m asking for your help,” Mary said,
determined. “Is there something I should know?” She paused as his
blank expression showed a clear unwillingness to elaborate. “This
upside down cross is just the latest in the strange occurrences
that have happened since we moved in.”

Deputy Riley flashed a look of sincerity. “I
can tell you this, ma’am. You’re not the first family to raise
concerns about this old place.”

“
Families? What other families?” Mary
asked, shocked.

Riley looked at the ground as though he has
said too much. Ramirez seemed just as surprised to hear the
news.

“
When? Who were they?” she demanded.
Her raised voice caught Curtis’s attention as he turned from the
door and approached, asking the officers if everything was okay.
Mary’s fierce blue eyes remained on the two hesitant
officers.

“
Bout ten years ago a family moved in
here,” the chief said. “Weren’t here very long from what I
hear.”

“
See,” Mary said to Curtis. “I told
you there was something going on with this house.”

Curtis held his arms out. “So? What’s so
uncommon about that?”

“
Why has it been vacant for so long?”
Mary responded. “Because no one
wants
to live here. There are forces in the
house not to be reckoned with.”

Curtis scoffed and then tried calm Mary by
touching her arm. “Mary. Honey, that’s ridiculous. Think about what
you’re saying.”

The chief and his deputy took a step back
and motioned to the Cruiser, eager to not be caught in the middle
of any argument.

“
Wait. Please,” Mary said, reaching
out to them. The Chief stopped again with a near sigh. “Do you
remember their names? The people who lived here?”

The chief shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am.
Don’t believe that I do.”

Mary turned back to Curtis. “The realtor.
Mr. Deckers. Maybe he has the records. An old mortgage or deed or
something.”

Curtis simply walked away, unwilling to
entertain the notion any longer as Mary approached the two
officers, confiding in them. “I’m not trying to pry, Chief. I just
want to know why no one wants to discuss this mansion. Pastor Phil
had the same reaction. In your honest assessment, do you believe
that my husband and I are in any danger?”

The chief thought to himself, perhaps too
long. “No ma’am. I don’t believe that you’re in any danger. Like I
said before, that was a long time ago—”

“
That’s what everyone keeps telling
me,” she interjected. “Do you either of you have the slightest
belief in the supernatural?”

Chief Riley looked down with a sheepish grin
as Deputy Ramirez nodded slightly. “My wife… She used to dabble in
that stuff all the time,” the chief said. He suddenly switched to a
more serious tone. “But you shouldn’t worry about it. There are no
ghosts here. Just a nice, friendly town.” He smiled, exposing two
rows of pearly white teeth.

“
Have a good day, ma’am,” Ramirez said
as they turned away and walked back to the Cruiser. A police star
was painted along the passenger side with Redwood Police Department
written in big letters. She thanked them for coming out and stood
there as the chief started the car and drove, leaving a faint trail
of dusk passing over her as she contemplated her next
move.

***

Mary woke up the next morning to find Curtis
up and seemingly out the door in a pair of slacks and a dress
shirt. They hadn’t said much to each other the day prior, now he
was leaving without even telling her. Something was up.

“
Where are you going?” she said,
rubbing her eyes.

He stopped at the door and turned with a
faint smile.

“
It’s Monday,” he said. “Got to go to
work.”

Mary rose from the bed, tossing the covers
to the side. “What are you talking about?”

Curtis walked back to the bed with his
sarcastic smirk. “I may not have an office, or an assistant, or any
clients, but I’ve got to start somewhere.” He strolled toward the
bed and leaned against one of the end posts. “Don’t you agree?”

Mary looked around the vastness just within
their master bedroom. “Why not just open an office in one of the
rooms? We’ve got plenty of them.”

“
I need to be out there,” he said,
pointing out the window. “Out in the public. I plan to look into
office space today.”

Downstairs, they both had separate
studies—Curtis with his oak desk, legal books, and computer and
Mary with her drawing table, tablet, and art work handing on the
walls. Her office was her workspace, whereas Curtis worked outside
the home, and with one car between them, she was pretty much stuck
there throughout the day.

“
The electrician should be here later
today to look at that bad wiring in the kitchen,” Curtis
continued.

“
Okay,” Mary said, getting out of bed
with a stretch. “Good luck today. The courthouse could be looking
big city public defender. You never know.”

“
That’d be three steps back for me,
but it’s on the list.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
small card, holding it out to her as she examined it, smile
widening. On the car was a mid-section profile of Curtis in a nice
suit smiling with an American flag backdrop with his name and
number advertising Malone Law Firm.

“
When did you have these made?” she
said, looking down with wonder.

“
Just a prototype of what’s to come,”
he said.

“
Law offices downtown?” she said,
handing him the card back. “That’s pretty vague.”

“
Yeah…” he admitted with a laugh.
“Like I said. Just a prototype.”

Mary wrapped her arms around him and hugged
him. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

He rubbed back with his own apology. “It’s
okay. We’re going to get through this together.”

“
I’ll tell Pastor Phil what
happened.”

“
Don’t worry about it,” Curtis said.
He looked into her eyes with genuine conviction. “I’ve been doing
some thinking… Obviously I want all of this to work, but if you
have real concerns about this house…” He then paused, shaking his
head with a compromise that shocked her. “…If you’re uncomfortable
here, we can always cut our losses and sell the place.”

Her mouth nearly dropped to the floor.
“You’re serious?”

“
Of course I am. I moved us here, and
if this doesn’t work out it falls completely on me. ”

Part of her suspected Curtis of employing
some kind of psychological reverse trick on her where she would
have no choice but to embrace their life in Redwood. Could she
alone be responsible for uprooting them again to another town or
city where the same problems may or may not persist? His hazel
eyes, however, said differently. He looked completely ready to do
whatever she wanted.

“
No…” she said. “I want to give this a
chance. You know that I have my reservations, but I just want
answers.”

“
And I want to help,” he said, taking
her hand. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“
Of course I do,” she said.

He then glanced at his watch and stood up to
leave. She couldn’t believe he had nearly snuck out of the room the
first time. “I’ll call someone to paint that crap off our door
today too.”

Mary waved him off. “No, that’s all right.
The painters left some buckets in the garage. I’ll take care of
that today.”

“
If you prefer,” he said with a quick
hug and kiss on her forehead. “Call me if you need
anything.”

“
What time will you be home?” she
asked.

He went to the night stand and grabbed his
wallet. “Later this afternoon. I can’t believe I almost forgot
this.” Distracted, he then turned to her. “We’ll work out this car
situation too. No mass transit here, that’s for sure.”

“
We don’t have the money for another
car,” she said.”

He stopped at the door, hand against the
frame and spoke with reassuring calm. “We’ll figure something out.
Love you.”

“
Love you too,” she said.

He was out the door in a flash as she stood
there in her a gray Hanes T-shirt and underwear. Their heavy
curtains blocked most of the sunlight outside and the room was
still somewhat dark. A glance at the alarm clock on the stand next
to her bed showed it as being ten past nine. She had the entire
mansion to herself and the entire day to do whatever she wanted.
Though, she knew the most important thing was to begin the
illustrations for the next children’s book.

She slipped into a pair of sweat pants
hanging from her night stand and walked out of the room in her
slippers. Her old routine, back home was to go for a morning job,
three times a week. No such routine had been established yet at
their new home. That Monday was the first day she had been in the
house alone, and the surreal strangeness of her quiet surroundings
was undeniable.

She walked down the empty hallway toward the
staircase, passed rooms still empty with their doors halfway open.
The house was seemed peaceful and undisturbed, but as she descended
the staircase, she heard a faint ticking noise.

She entered the low-lit foyer curious and
headed toward the kitchen where, in between two sofa chairs near a
front window stood a vintage grandfather clock. Its oak exterior
was elaborately carved in a leaf cluster ornamentation. She
stopped, dead in her tracks. She could swear beyond anything that
she had never seen the clock before.

Where did it come from?

When did they put it there?

Am I losing my mind?

Behind thick glass, a golden pendulum swung
back and forth with weights hanging from two chains as the clock’s
mechanics ticked from the inside. Two long clock hands were
displayed over the clock face, indicating the time as eleven past
nine.

She remained in awe at the impossible sight,
ready to retrieve her phone upstairs and call Curtis. She broke out
of her trance and turned toward the stairs when the clock suddenly
chimed, loud and abrupt, startling her. She grabbed the railing and
flew up the stairs as the clock continued ringing out like a waring
bell.

She hurried down the hall and into her room
where her cell phone rested on the TV stand, plugged in to a nearby
outlet. From downstairs the clock went quiet just as quickly as it
had rang. Silence followed. She held her phone, listening. She
swiped the screen and made the call. After three rings, Curtis
answered over the car speaker phone.

“
Hey. What’s
up
?”

“
Hey,” she said. “Just a quick
question. When did we get a grandfather clock?”

“
A what?”
he
asked.

“
A grandfather clock. You know the big
antique clock in our foyer. Where on earth did it come
from?”

There was silence on the other end as she
waited for a response.

“
Honey. I don’t know what
to tell you. What clock are you talking about? We don’t own a
grandfather clock.”

“
Of course we do,” she said with
certainty as she made her way back down the hall and towards the
stairs. “It’s in the foyer between the chairs. I was standing right
in front of it a moment ago.”

“
You got me,”
Curtis said.
“Maybe one of the
movers…”

“
What?” she asked. “Placed it there by
mistake?”

“
I don’t know, Mary. I’ll
look at it when I get home. Makes no sense to me.”

She went back down the stairs, prepared to
describe every detail of the clock, but by the time she reached the
bottom step, the clock was gone.

“
Impossible…” she said
softly.

“
What’s wrong?”
he asked, detecting her frightened tone. Her eyes darted
around the room, trying to find it. After a stunned pause, she
spoke. “Nothing. I-I’m sorry I bothered you. Have a good
day.”

“
Okay, honey. You
too.”

She hung up and held the phone at her side,
staring ahead. There was no way she could have imagined it. The
clock was real. She had seen it with her own two eyes. She had
heard it. Its loud tolling was unmistakable. She shuttered to think
that it was a figment

She hadn’t had any visions since last
weekend when she saw the figure of a man standing in a window on
the second floor. She had begun to feel more comfortable, but the
grandfather clock was bringing it all back. Perhaps the house only
spoke to her when it wanted to. Perhaps she wasn’t in control of
anything.

“
What do you want from me?” she said,
voice echoing through the halls.

She waited patiently, receiving no response,
not even the slightest pin drop.

“
This is pointless,” she called out,
looking around and pacing the foyer and living room. “We’re not
moving. My husband wouldn’t agree to it, even if I asked him,
despite what he told me earlier. So if you’re trying to scare us
into living, it’s not going to work.” She paused and began a slow
stroll to the kitchen, feeling defiant against whatever forces were
at play.