Chapter Two
The Leah Leeds Memoir
(Excerpt)
There is a memory from the earliest stage of my life that recurs every so often throughout my adult existence. It flashes through my mind, and I can see it clearly in its chronological sequence, but not enough to fully comprehend its precise significance. It comes to me sporadically throughout my life, as though somewhere inside me a switch is being turned on and off. I’ve arrived at the conclusion that this memory represents my initial diagnosis as a seer, and the first time I had ever heard the phrase ‘third eye.’
It concerns a trip to Arizona that my parents had taken me on when I was five. We’d gone there to visit my grandparents (my mother’s parents), and one day my father, Paul, took me with him to the desert while my mother stayed behind. I can still clearly see the blazing, blinding sun and feel its burning heat on my tired little face as he carried me, and still hear the short, tiny puffs of breath that blew the blonde bangs from my small heated forehead. The upright cacti and swerving dunes of sand still set the scene to perfection in the memory’s replay.
He carried me a short, but grueling distance to a large dwelling tent much like the kind you’d see at revivals. My father stopped a short way from the entrance, and almost on cue, a man of Native-American descent with the kindest smile I’d ever seen, emerged from it. He was over six feet tall with long, black hair that was subtly streaked with gray and pulled back into a ponytail. His features were soft, yet what I would later describe as stoic, wise. He nodded to my father and then smiled at me.
“Greetings,” he said to my father, and Dad replied in kind. My father put me down on the ground next to him, and from the corner of my eye, I saw his open hand motion toward me.
Then, the wise man walked over to me. I felt an overwhelming goodness about him, a lack of fear the closer he came to me. He loomed over me with wide smiling eyes and then squatted in a kneeling position in front of me.
“Your little one,” he said to Dad, not asking but asserting.
“Yes,” Dad replied.
The man looked deep into my eyes, almost forcing mine to meet his.
“Child, would you walk over there with me for a moment so that I may show you the incredible sights of the desert?” He’d pointed only a few feet away and moved his hand upward in a sweeping motion across the forming horizon.
“Your Daddy will wait, right here,” he said.
I felt safe with him and in a way, strangely honored to be the center of attention for those few moments. I nodded.
His touch was soft and almost relaxing as he took my hand, and we walked a distance of some ten feet away. Again, he swept his hand outward across the wild and spoke.
“Child, what do you see?”
I looked out at the desert, unsuspecting.
The flashing visions were quick, mere seconds, but enough to identify what I saw. Buffalo ran wild across the desert floor, and then as quickly as the vision was shown to me, it was removed from my sight.
“Buffalo,” I said, identifying an animal I’d already known at that young age.
“Yes, yes, child,” he said, soothingly. “Now, look at me.”
With his soft touch, he turned me by the shoulders toward him. He was still smiling as he dropped his hands to his knees and leaned over me.
“Now, tell me what you see when you look at me.”
It was only seconds before the sight appeared behind him. It was of a man who looked much like him yet slightly older, dressed like what I called as a child, ‘a real Indian.’ He was dressed like a chief: a full headdress of red feathers, garbs made of various skins, and hunting tools strapped to his side. I noticed dark brown war-paint beneath his hardened eyes as he lifted his head upward in exaltation.
“What do you see, Child?”
“The man with the feathers,” I said.
He repeated my words in a questioning tone, probing for more.
“Yeah, you know the one with the painted eyes, the real Indian.”
The wise man rose upward, throwing his head back in laughter as his smile widened, exposing big, white teeth, and a laugh that roared through the desert. The vision of the chief disappeared. He hugged me, and we walked back toward my father whose eyes awaited questionable news.
He was still laughing when we got back to where Dad was standing. Though he couldn’t have heard us, Dad laughed nervously out of some anticipated relief. When the wise man finished laughing, he put his hand on my father’s shoulder and looked him in the eye, and then he looked over at me.
“Child, go over and sit on the chair in front of the tent for just a moment, please? I want to talk to your father, but I promise I won’t take him from you long.”
I walked over to the front of the massive tent, where a small, black wooden chair with red and turquoise painted carvings had sat in front. While I sat and waited, they thought I couldn’t hear them, but their voices had carried enough for me to pick up certain words...
“I knew it! What does she see?”
“Buffalo...ancestor.”
I silently stepped off the chair and inched closer toward them as their backs were turned to me. I wanted to hear more because I couldn’t hear everything they were saying. I was only a few feet behind them, and now their voices became clearer. “A very powerful third eye.” The wise man’s voice was direct and all-knowing.
“Third eye...What is Third eye?”
Instinctively, the wise man turned around and saw me behind him, and once more, he joyously erupted in laughter. He picked me up and hoisted me into his arms.
“What’s the matter, child, didn’t you like the chair?”
“It’s spooky,” I said, and the laughter continued.
He turned with me toward my father.
“Come back and see me?”
He placed me in my father’s arms and touched the top of my head.
“Bless you, child. May you never be touched by what your third eye reveals to you.”
Then he said something to my father in a language I didn’t understand. I now suspect it to be Aztec or something similar. Dad had studied many languages in his Harvard days. We left the wise man, and the trip to the desert was forgotten, except in my memory where it recurs to this very day.
I have now come to the conclusion that Dad obviously suspected that I saw things, more than just on the basis of a child’s imagination, yet I don’t know why. Something must have occurred long before our trip to the desert to make Dad take me there. It explains why he later became so adamant to get me out of Cedar Manor. Once he realized the place was haunted and that I was seeing things within the house, he fought hard to get me out.
Unfortunately, I may never know what that early instance was because my father has been left mentally destroyed by what terrorized us in Cedar Manor. He refuses to speak of the house or anything connected to it.
I later learned that the man’s name was Tahoe. He would hold many answers for me, but at this time, I’m unable to locate him. I’ve learned that he was a recluse of sorts, a loner, a free bird, and I’ve found that a computer search does not do justice in the quest for a cloistered spiritualist who’s easily a septuagenarian by now.
It would be only months after that desert trip that we would move to Cedar Manor...
* * * *
She’d been marveling at the words before her, captivated by the tale so mesmerizingly told, at the time, by a mere nineteen year-old. Then, something snagged her eye before the end of the first chapter. Susan put the book down, threw back the covers, and leapt out of bed.
Tahoe...
She knew that name; she’d come across it during her studies in Parapsychology.
Tahoe...
If she was right, the fact that Leah had an encounter with him was a striking revelation. She ran to her home-office and searched the many bookshelves, scanning the titles with her finger until she found what she was looking for—a thick blue and white hardback tome. She flipped through the pages until she found his picture.
The man was featured in an article of the book—a man fitting the same physical description of which Leah wrote: Native-American descent, laughing eyes, friendly face. The article dealt with the fact that this man was one of the most powerful psychics in the world. He saw the dead, heard the dead, spoke with the dead, and saw the future, the present, and the past. The height and the extent of the abilities of this psychic paragon rambled on for at least twenty pages. His name was Tahoe Manoa; one of the world’s most gifted psychics had briefly entered the world of Leah Leeds.
This little fact could only mean one thing: if this man was the one who diagnosed Leah Leeds as what she is today, then what Leah saw tonight in her dream had most likely occurred—or was about to. She threw the book down on her desk, ran back to her bedroom, slipped off her robe, and changed into street clothes. She had to get out to Cedar Manor and take a look—just in case.
Within minutes, she was inside her brand new, navy-blue Chevy Malibu, cruising through the upper crust cul-de-sac where she lived. She’d junked the red Ford Taurus—too many bad memories attached to that car, not to mention she’d cracked the frame during that chaotic episode a few months back. Soon, the winding residential roads set the scene before her.
She turned left onto Cedar Drive and slowed down as she covered the two-mile stretch. How quiet and cozy it all looked: pristine houses blinking bright Christmas lights of white, blue, green, and red, while some indoor lights slept softly in comfortable dimness. How odd that at the end of this road stood a fortress of terror and evil.
The wind whistled through the almost closed windows of the Malibu, until she wound them up completely using the button. It was seconds later when the blue and red combination of flashing lights caused her heart to drop to her stomach. Three police cars were parked outside the gate, but she noticed something worse—an ambulance.
“Oh, God, she was right!” Susan briefly slipped into a moment of self-abuse and degradation. Why hadn’t she taken Leah’s word to the fullest extent, especially after she’d witnessed her capabilities firsthand? She’d done the same thing with Sidney. Why did she continuously cling to the skeptical side of herself, always hoping for the more logical explanation to come forward? Things had drastically changed lately; she should have known better.
As she stopped the car, she decided to play it cool, make herself appear like the good doctor stopping to find out if everything was okay. She wouldn’t mention a word about Leah. After all, it wasn’t her story to tell, and she would get answers much quicker this way. She wasn’t going to mention being the head of the Paranormal Research & Investigative Society, either. She wasn’t about to rouse their groundless and speculative suspicions. Susan exited the car as a police officer approached her outside of the open, black-iron gate of the main entrance.
Other officers were streaming the gate with the familiar yellow and black ‘Crime Scene’ tape that she’d seen quite enough of recently. Beyond the gate, she could hear a deep sobbing—a young girl. She quickly noticed two young people, two more officers, and a team of paramedics attending to a gurney. It was difficult to see much in the dark, even under the blue moonlight that shadowed winter’s soft clouds. She met the approaching officer face to face.
“Hello, Officer. I’m Dr. Susan Logan, Psychiatrist, and MD at University Hospital. I was driving by and saw the ambulance. I thought I could help. What’s happened here?” She casually looked around, sporting an unsuspecting look meant to further her cover story.
“Glad to meet you, Doctor,” he said, “Detective Tom Goddard.” Between the whipping snow and the dimly lit night, it was hard to see his face, but he was a pudgy man of medium build with graying hair. The demeanor of his voice spoke with seemingly quick directness. “Unfortunately, there’s been a tragedy here tonight, Doctor.”
Her heart skipped several beats, and she swallowed hard to catch her breath. Those last few words forced her to maintain her composure and uphold the blank, professional expression she wore falsely on her face. Suddenly, the paramedics wheeled the gurney past her. She felt her body go weightless and almost sway. The gurney was completely covered, hiding and strapping down what lay dead beneath the blankets.
A death had occurred here tonight. Why hadn’t she acted immediately when Leah called her? Could she have stopped this? What was she going to tell Leah in the morning? Her knees quivered. Beyond the gate, the young girl’s sobs continued to ring out through the night.
“Apparently, three neighborhood teenagers decided to go ghost-hunting, here at Cedar Manor. One of them tried to climb to the top of the canopied entrance to get to that gable window up above—a dangerous feat obviously. He didn’t make it. The ladder slipped out from beneath him and he lost his grip, fell to the platform below.”
“So, you think it was an accident?” Susan’s voice sounded shamefully hopeful.
“Of course, Doctor, but not if you hear those two tell it.” He motioned over to the teens. The girl was being comforted by her male friend and a female officer. Susan’s eye lingered curiously on them, knowing she had to intercede. “It’s good that you’re here, Doctor. They both need someone to talk to about this. Neither of them is making any sense in detailing what happened here, tonight.”
Maybe they’re not making any sense to you, Detective. She quickly aborted the thought from her mind.
“Yes, I’m sure I could be of some help, Detective. I’d like to talk to them privately if I may, somewhere where it’s warm, obviously.” She smiled light-heartedly and shivered, all in the effort to convince him of mundane intentions. “Would my office be acceptable? I can make sure they get home.”
“Not a problem, Doctor,” he said. “They can make their official statements tomorrow, when they’re a little calmer. Perhaps you can make heads or tails out of this, tonight? It would be of tremendous help.”
That’s why I’m here, Detective.
“Of course, Detective,” she said, quelling her thoughts and watching as the paramedics loaded the gurney with the dead teenager into the ambulance.
“I’ll follow you to the hospital, with them in tow, and then you can take it from there.”
She agreed.
“I’m telling you that’s not what happened!” The young girl’s voice belted out at the female officer, and Susan rushed over to quiet her. She didn’t want her saying anything more, not in front of them. She would handle this from here...
* * * *
Snake and Hollywood sat in Susan Logan’s office, a roomy, comfortable domain with a plush satin couch, a coffee table, and several snug lounge chairs for visitors. The teens bickered in nervous dispute about the shrink who was still outside in the hallway talking to the cop.
“That woman is a shrink, Snake! Why do you think we’re here? They think we’re crazy!”
“So, what can she do? We’re telling the truth! We know what happened; we were there!”
“It doesn’t matter!” Her voice became louder. “They think we’re crazy, and after she hears what we tell her, she’ll put us both away!”
“No one thinks you’re crazy.” Susan’s voice suddenly filled the room as she’d silently slipped through the door. “And no one is going to put you away, least of all me.”
The two were seated on the couch, and Susan pulled up one of the lounge chairs to sit facing them.
“Now that we’re rid of him,” she said, “I have some things to tell you, and I want you both to listen carefully. Everything that the three of us discuss in this room is going to stay classified, understand? We can call it doctor-patient confidentiality, but I’m going to need your discretion as much as you’ll need mine. So, nothing of what we’re about to discuss ever leaves this room, understood?”
Snake and Hollywood remained quiet, their eyes wide in both skepticism and surprise. She had their undivided attention.
“My name is Doctor Susan Logan—you can call me Susan. Yes, I’m a shrink, but I’m also a Parapsychologist. Since you’re both apparently fledgling paranormal investigators, I’m sure you’re aware of what that is. But more importantly, I’m the Director of the university’s Paranormal Research & Investigative Society.”
Their eyes became even wider at this fact that had just fallen into their laps—someone who would listen.
“Why don’t we begin with you telling me your names?”
Snake looked at her, then at Hollywood, and back to Susan again.
“I’m Snake, and this is Hollywood,” he said.
Susan laughed lightly.
“I take it those aren’t your real names, correct?” she said.
Snake shook his head.
“What are your real names?”
“I’m Michael Stone,” Snake said.
“I’m Holly Bates.” Hollywood’s voice was cautious and quiet.
“Snake and Hollywood it is then.” Susan smiled and continued on a more serious note. “I once had a patient who lived in that house; as a result, I’m far more aware of its history than both of you. My former patient narrowly survived that house, escaping it only with a thin strip of his sanity intact.
“His five-year-old daughter had already been gifted with an extremely powerful psychic ability, and as a result, the malignancy that dwelled in that house played and fed off of her unique talents. She was an unwitting victim, almost falling prey to whatever it was in that house that wanted to possess her.
“Her father got her out, but only just before her mother committed suicide. Normally, I wouldn’t be telling you any of this, but that five-year-old girl is now an investigator with the society, dedicated to solving the mystery of that house as it directly affects her to this day. She’s going to need your help. I need the two of you to describe to her everything you witnessed tonight, after you tell the police that it was dark, and difficult to see, and that you could have been mistaken. Is that understood?”
Snake and Hollywood looked at each other for a brief second, their eyes still wide in astonishment at what they were hearing. Lying to the cops who didn’t believe them anyway was one thing, but the looks on their faces silently confirmed to each other that they knew to whom she was referring when she said ‘her.’
“You don’t mean—” Snake asked hesitantly, but Susan answered quickly.
“Leah Leeds, yes that’s who I mean.”
“Of the Leeds House?” he said. “So, she’s real? All that stuff really happened?”
“She’s very real, and yes, much of what you’ve heard is true and probably more. But, remember, nothing we discuss in this room ever leaves it, understood?”
They looked at each other and quickly nodded. Susan continued.
“Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened there this evening—from the beginning. What had the three of you gone there to do?”
“Well, we’d heard all of the stories,” Snake reluctantly began. “And we wanted to go ghost-hunting, you know, to find out if any of it was true, to see if we could see anything.” He looked over at Hollywood, who began sobbing.
“And my guess is that you did see something, am I right?”
Snake nodded and Hollywood’s sobs became louder.
“Tell me how it all began,” Susan said.
They told her about how they’d originally planned the excursion around Halloween, but the cops had been watching the house.
“So, you weren’t there at that time?”
“No,” Snake said. “We couldn’t get near the place.” They watched the curious expression wrinkle the shrink’s face. They told her about how they’d postponed it until tonight, how they’d snuck out of their houses and met along Cedar Drive.
“Yes, Jimmy did show up with a six pack,” Hollywood said. “But, that’s not how it was. That’s not what happened!” She told of how the police only seemed interested in what they’d found in Jimmy’s bag that he’d thrown atop the canopy, and of course, how he’d reached the top. Then, they’d discovered the ladder.
“Then why don’t you explain it to me, Hollywood?” Susan’s voice was coaxing and comforting.
“After we got there,” she said, “Jimmy showed us a ladder he’d hidden around the side of the house, so we could try to get in.”
“Yeah,” Snake said. “But, we didn’t know this. We didn’t think he was planning to climb to the top. We just thought we’d get in through one of the doors somehow—maybe even find the secret entranceway to the basement.”
They watched the shrink’s eyebrows arch upward.
“But, Jimmy always had to do stupid shit,” Hollywood said. “Excuse my language, Doctor, but he was always goofing around or trying to be a daredevil or a jackass, and tonight was no different.”
“He almost made it, though,” Snake said. “He was going to try to get in through one of the gable windows and come down and unlock the front entrance. He almost got to the top of the canopy, and then we saw it.”
Snake’s voice quivered for the first time during the discussion.
“What did you see, Snake?” Susan leaned forward, her tone now inquisitive.
“It was some sort of shape,” he said. “It moved, but it didn’t look like anything at all. It was just a shape at the top of the canopy, standing right above his head.”
“It was black,” Hollywood said, “a solid, black mass. We couldn’t see through it. I could see the snow flying around it, almost evading it, like it wouldn’t touch it. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem human. It killed Jimmy tonight. It moved over his hands as he clung to the roof of the entrance. It made him fall to his death; we saw it!”
“What happened to the ladder?” The shrink asked this next question, seeming to almost know what the answer would be.
“It fell into the snow,” Hollywood said.
Susan sat back, the color of her face drained to a pale wan, and she sighed before she spoke.
“Again, I want this to remain in this room. I need you to avert the truth from even your parents right now, as your parents have been notified. If this gets out, there will be media hype, interest from the police, and possibly even a lawsuit over Jimmy’s death, though against whom I wouldn’t know. Either way, it’s going to be unwanted attention that none of us can afford right now. If you listen to me and do as I instruct you, I can make this go away. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“We just wanted them to listen,” Hollywood said, “to find out what did this to Jimmy.”
“Unfortunately, the police will never do that for you. They’re not inclined to believe you, nor equipped to help you with this situation. Fortunately for you, I and the team are. And I assure you, Leah Leeds will be getting to the bottom of what happened tonight, once and for all.”
“Doctor,” Snake said, until she corrected him, insisting on being called Susan. “Susan,” he continued. “Will the cops be charging us with anything?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “They could’ve charged you with breaking and entering, if you’d actually entered, but that didn’t happen. Trespassing would also be an option, but Leah Leeds would never allow that to happen, even though it isn’t her property. And, your friend was the one who brought the ladder without your knowledge and climbed to the top of the entrance. I can’t think of what they could charge you with. Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it now. Remember, I’m going to treat you both as my patients even though you may not be, technically.”
“You can do that?” Hollywood asked.
“Of course I can,” she said. “You’re both minors and have been through a very traumatic experience. I’m a ‘shrink’ as you called me.”
They found her easy to trust.
“So, when are we going to meet her?” Snake asked, looking at Hollywood as he did so.
“Leah Leeds?” she asked. “Well, I’m going to need you to be here at my office, first thing tomorrow morning. I’m bringing you with me to the society’s headquarters at the university. You’ll meet her then and tell the team exactly what you’ve told me and anything you didn’t recall tonight, agreed?”
They nodded. Then she spent another ten minutes briefing them on what their story would be to the cops and to their parents, at least, for now. They would reaffirm that it was dark, that Jimmy had brought alcohol, (which he had), and that it was hard to see amid the falling snow. This was the story they would tell, at least until all was settled, and the mystery was behind them.
* * * *
It was now six-thirty in the morning, and nearly three hours had passed since she drove the teens home, first arriving at the Stone house and explaining her contrived role to Snake’s now awakened mother, then seeing Hollywood home and waiting until her father arrived. She’d suggested to both parents that she thought it best if both teens would be at her office in the morning when their thoughts would be more focused and clear. Then, they would further their discussion of the night’s events. Losing a close friend was one thing, but actually witnessing that person’s death was another. Their grief served as a perfect cover.
Now, after the late breaking of a baby-blue dawn, Susan stood under the newly risen winter sun as it glowed above the highest heights of the great house, lighting and displaying the vintage house in all of its glory. Now, she saw it up close, not briefly against the eerie backdrop of a night sky, or quickly from the road in a hastened glimpse. She had permission to enter the site past the police tape that draped the front iron-gate. She walked down the limestone pathway and stood immersed in front of its eerie opulence even under the sun.
It stood grand, erect, silently beckoning yet masquerading as a voiceless fortress in the morning sun. She marveled at the sturdy structure bathed in its chocolate hue, the Colonial arches and gables, the short but reaching spire that pointed upward at the winter sky. Here is where the third eye of Leah Leeds had budded and sprouted wide like a wild dandelion, where a child became the prey of the many hidden evils that dwelt behind its walls. Here is where a young mother took her life under the spell of possession, and where a young husband and father lost his mind, leaving his daughter to fend off the visions and demons that now enveloped her adult life.
She wouldn’t stop Leah from reentering this house, but she could be there by her side, a prospect that had not been possible with Paul. She wasn’t going to let what happened to him happen to his little girl. The meeting at the university was scheduled for nine o’clock; she would arrive with the two young people who had experienced last night’s terror at this house. They would all discuss the night’s events, the next plan of action, and how they were going to move forward. She stood staring, prepared as the determination grew inside of her. She would be there to help destroy the evil of this house—once and for all.