52
After his shower, Jon found Carlie sitting at the vanity brushing her hair. Walking up behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and began gently massaging. “Sweetheart,” Jon said, “I’m serious; I think we really should consider moving away from here.”
Carlie never moved her head, just her eyes. When she saw Jon looking at her in the mirror, she answered, “You know I can’t do that, and you know the reason why. I wish you would stop asking.”
“But you can now. Aunt Grace unwittingly made it possible. We can move the baby to the memorial she built for her. You see, that piece of property is no longer part of this farm. If your baby were there, she would finally be free of this house’s hold on her. I feel we owe it to her. She deserves to be free.
“You deserve to be free.”
Carlie thought about what Jon had said. He was right—if she moved her baby off the farm, they would both be free. “I’ll tell you what, Jon. Tomorrow I’ll call the funeral home. If it’s possible to move her to the property on Breckenridge Road, I’ll arrange to have it done. After it’s over—and only after—will I consider moving.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
The sun was warm on her exposed face and arms. From her vantage point underneath the three ancient oak trees, she could watch and hear the children as they ran, laughed, and played games in the yard.
The grass had yet to dry out from the early summer sun. It was so soft and comfortable; Carlie lay down, closed her eyes, and in a moment, was sound asleep.
The soft buzz of the children’s talking gave way to the sound of hushed laughter. Opening her eyes, Carlie found herself encircled by children of varying ages and dress. Three of the children stood out from the rest.
Lisa. (Date and location unknown.)
The oldest was a beautiful young girl. She wore her raven hair pulled back into a ponytail. A massive white bow accentuated her hair’s natural blue-black highlights.
The others were twin boys—one only slightly taller than the other—and they moved to the front of the group. Taking up their positions on either side of the young girl, they each took her hand and stood silent like identical bookends.
Carlie sat staring at the trio. She sensed that they wanted to tell her something.
“Please come. Sit with me,” Carlie said.
The boys were the first to react. The taller of the two boys pulled gently on the girl’s hand as he took the first step. The young girl hung her head slightly and giggled softly under her breath. She reluctantly shuffled forward at their insistence until the three were directly in front of Carlie.
“Please sit down,” Carlie said. “Talk to me.”
The trio sat down and crossed their legs Indian style. Carlie couldn’t remember the last time she had seen anyone sit that way. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pulled her knees up under her chin and waited.
The girl lifted her head and fixed her gaze deep into Carlie’s emerald eyes. “I am Lisa,” she began. Turning her head to the taller boy, she introduced him as Clinton, and his younger brother as Clifford.
“What can I do for you?” Carlie asked.
“Help us!”
The young girl’s request baffled Carlie. “How can I possibly help you?”
Turning around, Lisa looked at the other children standing behind her. Each made an indication that she needed to continue. “Release us,” she said.
Silently, the two boys nodded in agreement.
“How can I release you? Release you from what?”
“Release us from here,” Lisa said. “Take us with you. Please, we’re begging you.”
“I’m sorry,” Carlie said, “I don’t understand. How can I take you with me? I’m not going anywhere.”
A dark shadow passed over Lisa as her face began to change. Her childlike grin quickly distorted into something depraved and wicked, exposing black, rotten, and missing teeth. She no longer possessed the radiance of youth; her eyes were sunken and hollow, cataract-opaque.
Her pristine white dress seemed to unravel before Carlie’s eyes; ragged holes appeared out of nowhere. As the girl got closer, Carlie could not only see that patches of mold and dirt covered her entire dress, she could smell them. The air reeked of fresh dirt and the dusty aroma of mold spores. The beautiful white bow that had held her raven ponytail was now limp, yellowed, and half-detached and secured scattered thatches of what remained of her gorgeous hair.
Carlie stared at the children in disbelief. Watching the rest of the group as they moved silently toward her, she saw that all their clothes were tattered and filthy. Where fresh, young faces had smiled at her a moment earlier, ugly, hollow, decomposing masks glared down at her now.
The children’s splintery, dry-rotted fingers scraped across Carlie’s face and arms, leaving a trail of dust and detached skin as they grabbed at her.
The lifeless, rotting corpses of close to one hundred children quickly swarmed and overpowered Carlie, pinning her to the ground.
She wrestled desperately to escape their grasp. Forcing herself upright into a sitting position, she screamed “STOP!” at the top of her lungs.
Opening her eyes, Carlie found herself sitting on her own bed. But standing at the foot of the bed were Lisa, Clinton, and Clifford, staring down at her. Pushing herself against the headboard, she tried desperately to escape.
When the light on the bedside table turned on, the apparitions disappeared into the warmth of its yellow glow.
Jon wrapped his arm around Carlie’s shoulder and pulled her close. “My God, Carlie, are you all right?”
Up to that point, Carlie’s breathing had been fast yet still reasonably under control. But at the sound of Jon’s deep, resonant voice, she began crying hysterically. Burying her face into his shoulder, she said, “Get us out of here, Jon, please … before we end up dead.”