22
After a long day of reading, neither Carlie nor Jon had found the journal entries they were looking for. The contents of the cases were stacked in smaller piles around the living room. It was becoming a tiring, thankless job as they dug through and read excerpts from each journal to find the set of books that followed Edith’s life story in sequence.
Jon’s eyes were burning from reading Edith’s tiny script for so many hours. He finally stood up and stretched his aching back. “Carlie, I’ve had it. I can’t do this one more minute. You know, if we stop right now, all of this will still be here in the morning.” To emphasize his point, Jon swept his arm across the living room.
Carlie looked around the room. There were stacks of journals everywhere. Each stack represented a period of time or a specific event. She had managed to find journals that were from the house era, but some were Edith’s and some belonged to other families that had lived in the house after them. Without knowing what had happened from the time the two kids arrived in Iowa, none of Edith’s journals made any sense at all. Exhausted, Carlie agreed with her husband. They had been at this for nearly twenty hours straight.
Lifting Carlie to her feet, Jon escorted her into the kitchen. “Give me an idea of what sounds good, and I’ll fix us some dinner.”
“Spaghetti sounds good.”
Once their dinner was simmering, Jon sat down at the table with Carlie. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I’m at a loss. It’s not about the journals. I know we’ll find what we’re looking for eventually. It may or may not be exactly what we hope to hear, though. What’s bothering me now is the increasing severity of my nightmares, not to mention what happened to you this afternoon. Do you have any idea how bad you scared me? I thought I had lost you.”
Jon knew without even looking at Carlie that this was not the time for levity. Besides, he didn’t feel very funny at the moment. “I know. I thought for a second that you had lost me too. I don’t think it was another panic attack. This was something entirely different, and to be honest, it scared the living hell out of me.”
During their meal, they looked at each other frequently, but neither could think of anything to say.
After dinner, Jon cleaned up and headed up the stairs to catch up with Carlie.
The clock on the nightstand clicked silently from 11:59 to 12:00. Jon turned in his sleep—possibly due to the invisible weight that compressed his side of the bed, or perhaps because of Carlie’s relentless jerks and twitches.
A hollow voice whispered into his ear, “Please help us.”
Jon’s eyes flicked open. He sensed more than he felt that someone was sitting on the bed next to him. Reaching his arm out from under the covers, he waved it through the darkness, but no one was there.
He felt a slight breeze as whatever or whoever it was moved in the dark.
An invisible finger gently moved his hair away from in front of his eye.
Jon held his breath.
He felt someone exhale a breath of cool air against his right cheek. The sensation gave him the chills, sending goose bumps down his arms.
Again, a feminine voice whispered into his ear, “Please—please help us!”
“Who do you mean? Who are us?” he whispered.
“Aaaallll offff uuussss,” exhaled the voice, as it faded into the night.
Jon lay perfectly still, his heart pounding as he waited to hear more.
Carlie placed her hand over his right shoulder, causing him to jump. Nuzzling up to his side, she whispered into his ear, “I heard. How are we supposed to find out who she is referring to when she says us?”
Jon stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. He could visualize Carlie watching him—waiting—expecting an answer where there was none.