The Elm House Read online

  “That’s great, mom!” Brad said.

  “I’m so proud of you, dear,” John said to his wife, squeezing her hand with a big smile. He leaned over and planted a smooch on her lips and looked at her with admiration.

  “I’m happy for you, too, mommy!” Jesse said.

  It appeared to Brad that Jesse wasn’t any longer in hot water with mother. After all Jesse’s only about eight years old, how could a parent possibly stay angry at a child for so long? The answer is simple. They can’t, or they shouldn’t at least.

  Mary returned back to her pose, staring into plate—almost searching for something, like clues or piecing a puzzle back together—and slowly digging into her food. Brad thought she appeared almost in autopilot, going through the emotions of the day. She sighed, got up with the plate in her hands.

  “Hon, are you okay?” asked John.

  The plate shook in Mary’s hand as if she’d been trying to fight off something, dwelling inside her. Something begging to be unleashed, Brad guessed. Then… that’s when all hell broke loose. Almost like a dam inside Mary broke free and gave way, and everything poured out of her.

  “No, it’s not!” She tried to hold back her tears as her hands trembled more. The fork made a “clanging” sound against the ceramic plate as her hands trembled. Mary’s eyes were puffy and watery, alright. A bit of snot tried to escape her nostrils too then… then she let it all out.

  “I want to get out of this god damn house!” she yelled, smashing the plate onto the wall. Jesse jumped from her chair, and Brad knew something hit his mother hard today. John rose on his feet to console his wife. But Mary placed her hand out to prevent him from embracing her.

  “I want us… us to leave this damn house… before we get hurt.”

  Now, she’s talking! Brad thought. Yes, let’s get the hell out of this house. Absolutely, I’m on board.

  “Honey, let’s just settle down. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” John said.

  “Logical explanation?” Mary’s eyes shot fire at John. “Logical explanation?”

  “You want a logical explanation?”

  “I would like one, yes! I’m sure there’s an explanation,” John said. His voice seemed a bit shaky, Brad thought. Never mess with a woman’s wrath.

  “How’s this for an explanation… how in the hell can I explain to my own husband and kids… that I saw our dead babysitter? Flesh and blood… like you… standing in front of me.”

  “I… I… I don’t know…maybe, stress?” John shrugged.

  “Stress? Stress?”

  Oh, well, father’s asking for it now. The look in mother’s eyes is something I would run away from. Yes, I would seriously run and hid from those fire-blazing eyes that she’s shooting at father.

  “Honey, I’m sure it’s stress. It has to be. Let’s not forget—”

  “Let’s not forget about my aching heart over my grandmother’s death. Is that it?” Mary shot back. “Oh, no. Its whenever things go my way that I fall to pieces? Is that it?”

  The look in her eyes seem pretty damn violent from where I’m standing. A violent storm, alright.

  “We need to leave this house.”

  “Dad, this house is evil,” Brad said.

  “Brad, stop it.” John placed his hand in front of him.

  “But dad… mom’s right. Tiffany’s trying to help us,” Jesse said.

  Dig! Dig! Before it’s too late! Brad remembered Tiffany telling him. Tiffany’s helping us, against Archon.

  “There’s an evil spirit called—Archon. Dad, you have to listen to us,” Brad said.

  “What? Archon? Okay… everyone! Timeout for one second. Stop with all this nonsense. It’s all nonsense. Everything you’re saying right now. It’s complete nonsense.”

  Oh, father’s belief system is completely shaken and stirred. He’s going to crack-snap-and pop any day now. Then… then he’ll see that we’re not all mad inside this damn house.

  “Not one more god damn word out—” John covered his mouth, shook his head, and he made the sign of the cross.

  “Sorry, God for taking your name out in vain.”

  He breathed in, seemed to recollect himself.

  “All of you need to relax. There’s no Archon… no Tiffany… this house is just a house. That is all, and I better not hear one more peep out of any of you.”

  “Are you serious?” Mary said.

  “Yes, I’m serious. Whatever you’d seen today was your imagination,” John said. “Don’t think I won’t call Dr. Heinen. I will. Maybe, you need to see your therapist again. You’ve been acting funny, lately.”

  When someone is afraid of something they fear, they tend to lash out in undesirable ways. Johnny boy will still have to meet his fear—face to face—one day.

  On that night, Brad tossed and turned, trying his damndest to drown out his parent’s argument.

  We need to get out of this house.

  That notion, Brad was all aboard for, and his father would have to realize it sooner or later.

  Tiffany wouldn’t be stuck in this house if there wasn’t anything important. She’s trying to help us.

  Dig! Dig here.

  Brad contemplated on going outside in the frosty air, outside and start digging. But for some reason, he only desired one thing—sleep. His mother and father arguing back and forth didn’t help much. But eventually, his parents stopped arguing. Total silence filled the air, before Brad could hear footsteps approaching the hallway then down the hallway stairs. They weren’t heavy footsteps, but the footsteps were lady-like footsteps. Perhaps, his mother decided to sleep the night on the living room couch. At times—after Brad’s parents had a good argue, his mother would often spend the night in the living room. Next morning, usually, they would bury the hatchet. But they may not this time. No, not this time, they won’t bury the hatchet. Brad’s father needs to wake up and smell the coffee.

  In the morning, John wrapped his arms around his wife as she finished with the last breakfast plate. And he gave her a smooch.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, hoping—at least—it would sooth the stormy tides. But apparently, his charm wasn’t enough as Mary pulled away. Her rejection stung his heart, and John knew that getting into her good graces wouldn’t be easy.

  Oh, I’m a goof, John sadly thought to himself. Please, baby, don’t push me away. It kills me inside.

  “Don’t,” Mary warned.

  “I’m trying to make it up to you,” John said. “It’s silly… the argument that we had. It was all silly.”

  One thing I’ve learned from my old-man is to never argue over silly things, he thought.

  “It isn’t silly. You didn’t take me seriously. And I still want us out of this house.”

  John sighed and groaned.

  “But…”

  “No, but or any excuses. We’re going to pack our stuff and get out.”

  “No, we’re not. We don’t have that type of money to ‘just move into another house’,” John said, seemingly upset and frustrated.

  “We’re moving!”

  “No, we’re not. We’re staying. There’s no such thing as ghosts or anything of that. No such thing.”

  “Stop humping the damn bible.”

  “Fine, if it will make things easier. I’ll get a priest to come over. How’s that?” John asked. His voice tone raised a bit but not too much. But there was a sternness lodged inside his voice.

  “Priest or not… we’re moving.”

  “Will you just admit that you’re just stressed out?” John asked. “How hard could that be?”

  “Is it too hard for you that your dear bible may had left things out? Hm? Maybe… like… left out—oh, I don’t know… the fact that people may had edited out—that ghosts exists out of the bible, perhaps?”

  “Don’t speak bad about the word of God. The bible doesn’t lie.”

  “Oh?” Mary asked, turning around after placing the last dish inside the dish rack. “So… tell me, this. Since
, you’re an expert and all. Why are gays considered condemned by God?”

  John lifted his shoulders, shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” John said.

  “They’re not. King Henry or one of those old English kings placed that in the bible. Did you know that? Did you know—the bible you hold dear to your little chest at heart… has been revised so many damn times?”

  “Stop this nonsense… you’re going to go to Hell. Don’t talk like this. Don’t!”

  “Oh?” Mary asked, raising her eyebrows upward and spreading a grin across her face. Almost like she was about to deliver a fatal blow to John’s weakened belief system.

  “Truth hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  Without even thinking or batting an eye. John’s hand raised high in the air. He stopped himself, though. Just in the time, John realized what he was about to do. Then he broke. Boy, did he snap-crackle-and pop—alright. He stumbled backwards a bit, shaking his head. Perhaps, he was surprised by his own temptation to slap his own wife. He just didn’t want to slap her. John wanted to hurt her enough to put her in her place. John was so aghast at the thought of hurting her, he went into the garage through the kitchen side door.

  What is happening to me? Why am I feeling this way? John thought.

  That dumb bitch spoke out of line. You need to make sure she realizes that.

  No!

  This isn’t up for discussion. Now, go back in there and show her who’s boss.

  What’s happening to me? John worriedly thought.

  She spoke ill against your God. Now, you march back in there and show her to never disrespect you again. Or… your kids will soon disrespect you. You don’t want that, now do you?

  John frantically searched for a pack of smokes hidden inside his tool shelf. He sighed after finding one, placing a cigarette between his lips and flicking the flint on his old zippo. He opened the garage door and headed out in the frosty air.

  Keep on avoiding, and she’ll steal the kids away from you. You need to lay down the law.

  Go away. Wait… I’m talking to myself… why am I? Am I going insane? No, I’m not. I’m perfectly sane.

  She’ll take your kids away, and she’ll force you to live on the streets. She’ll take everything you have.

  Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

  John stopped for a moment. The voice was gone from his head. He sighed. He made a sign of the cross on his forehead.

  God, help me. Please, give me your grace.

  John’s tough, alright, but he would soon break under Archon’s persuasion. The games have already begun, and John is—it. Buckle up, Johnny Boy.

  Mary stood out on the back porch. Her one arm across her stomach, and her other hand held a cigarette to her lips. First time ever, John had ever raised his hand to her. She’d never expected him to reach his hand back to slap her. Sure, they had arguments like every married couples do. But when a man hits a woman, he’s no longer a man. No longer a caretaker, a man is when they hit a woman. Mary saw the restraint in his eyes. She could see the horror (at the thought of hitting her) buried deep within his hazel chestnut eyes. Mary even seen the shock, at the thought, were too—inside his eyes. Mary did fear the worst to come, though, and her gut instinct told her to get her kids and husband out of this damned and tainted house. Women have the best intuition than men, at times. They have an all-knowing-sense about things, sometimes. Perhaps, they’re made that way, and men should really listen to women. But men—stubborn to the core—sometimes feel they’re always right, no matter what.

  Maybe, I’ll give a few days to think about moving, Mary thought, taking another puff of her cigarette. She peered closer to the grass. Almost like Mary saw something. There was something, dug into the cakey mud. Footprints leading a trail towards the toolshed. The toolshed that was supposed to be torn down last month ago.

  Johnny darling, you’re always procrastinating. Mary chuckled. She remembered vivid memories of several occasions where John would put off doing “what he planned to do” for months at a time.

  Back at the old house, John said he’d get new windshield wipers for Mary’s car. A month later, she got impatient and purchased the windshield wipers. Not only that, she watched a video on how to install windshield wipers. Came back into the old house with a fat grin, Mary did.

  “Hey, Mr. Mechanic. Weren’t you suppose to put new windshield wipers on my car?” Mary teasingly asked John, inside their old living room.

  John slowly looked up with shocked eyebrows. He was about to spring to his feet.

  “Damn, I forgot. I’ve been so busy,” he said.

  “Forget about it, I did it.” A prideful smile spread across Mary’s lips. The look on John’s face brought Mary to a chuckle. But she was rudely brought back from her day dream when a cold draft of wind pressed against her back. Mary shivered as she stomped out the cigarette on the porch.

  The cold wind pushed a bit harder against her back, again. Almost like the wind was hinting to her to look inside the toolshed—but maybe not. Mary entered the house, saw the droopy face of her husband and embraced him.

  “It’s okay,” she said, placing her head on his shoulder. “Let’s just give it a few more days, and maybe… you’ll decide it’s time to move.”

  Mary kissed her husband’s lips.

  “What are we going to say to the bank?” asked John. “We moved because my wife saw a ghost?”

  “I’m going to Colin’s house?” Brad interrupted them.

  “Okay, have fun,” John said, nodding at Brad.

  “Dad, are we going to move?” Brad asked, leaning against the kitchen door frame. “Please?”

  John too a deep inhale then exhaled.

  “I don’t know.” John shook his head. “Your mother and I are talking about it.”

  “I hope we do,” Brad said before turning then heading out of the front door.

  “We’ve put so much money into this house,” John said.

  “I know,” she said.

  John sighed. “Maybe… I don’t know… maybe… we’ll figure something out. Maybe, we’ll get a priest for the time being to bless the house. I don’t know,” he said.

  Mary smiled, kissed his lips.

  “Sounds better,” she said.

  But I don’t think a priest is going to help, Mary thought. Oh, Mary, you’re one smart gal—alright. A woman’s intuition is the best toolset ever.

  “How’s this? We both go to a priest and ask,” Mary said.

  They’re not shopping for a nearby exorcist or anything. But she learned from previous occasions on how to deal with John’s procrastination. A simple, “let’s do this together”, nudge gets him out of the old procrastination-wheel. Or another simple, “hey, can you show me how to…” helps Johnny boy get out of his old procrastination-wheel.

  “Alright,” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

  “In two hours, we’ll head over to a church, come back home… and… maybe… we can have alone time,” Mary said.

  Just to add the cherry on top of the cupcake, Mary added the whole sex-in-the-package deal. Now, Johnny boy couldn’t refuse such a delicious desert.

  “Alright,” he said.

  And there we go, and Johnny boy is out of his old procrastination-wheel and ready to head out the front door. Atta girl, Mary.

  CHAPTER 17

  After three days had passed, a priest from Saint Mary’s Catholic church had arrived.

  “Is your room cleaned?” Mary asked Brad.

  “Yes,” he responded.

  Mary looked at her wrist watch, a present John had given her over Valentine’s Day, and said, “He should be arriving shortly.”

  “Why is a priest coming?” asked Jesse.

  “The priest is coming to make the home happy,” said Mary.

  Make the home happy, Mary thought. I hope so.

  A couple of knocks sounded against the front door.

  Mary headed over to the front door and greeted the pri
est with a smile. Her hand outstretched, shaking the priest’s hand.

  “Hi, come in. I don’t want you to get a cold,” Mary said.

  It was only a few days short of Brad’s birthday, and it was pouring cats and dogs outside. Germs and viruses come marching in full speed on those cold days. Heck, winter time is every virus’ favorite holiday; people are prone to be vulnerable, and their bodies become safe havens for those viruses. Never wash hands under cold water, viruses shield themselves.

  The priest entered the house, looked around.

  “You have a beautiful home,” he said. His voice sounded dry as if he was feeling under the weather. He smiled warmly, exposing his pearly white teeth. “Is the family present?”

  Mary nodded her head.

  “Yes, this way,” she said, leading him into the living room.

  As they entered the living room, the priest nodded at each family member. John stood up from the sofa chair and greeted the priest with a firm handshake.

  “Hi, father. I’m John,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Father Brian.”

  “Are you really a father? Do you have any kids?” asked Jesse, tilting her head slightly.

  Father Brian smiled widely, shook his head.

  “No, I’m married to God. So, I’m a Father—in God’s eyes.”

  Great way to confuse a kid there, Father Brian.

  Jesse appeared trying to process the information that Father Brian said, but her mind returned an access violation of writing to memory exception error. The infamous (sudden computer application crash, and the laziness of a programmer not catching the exception with a try and a catch code block) 0xC000005 error response code. But that type of application crash would be second ranked, and BSOD (blue screen of death in early operating systems) would proudly stand in first place.

  “He can’t marry a woman, and he’s taken his vow to God,” Brad explained to Jesse.

  “Oh,” Jesse said. “Am I married to God?”

  They had a hearty laugh as Jesse joined in laughing.