The alarm woke them from a peaceful sleep. John reached over and pushed the button on the clock. He couldn’t help remembering how Andrea had rejected him the night before. She’d never done that, and it dug deeply. He looked over at her and said, “You don’t have to get up. I can make the coffee.” He stood up and waited for her to say something, but she simply turned around and rolled over onto her stomach.
John went down to the kitchen. His feelings were still tainted with hurt and wonder. As he went about the task of making coffee, he tried to rationalize why Andrea had been acting so strangely. It had to be the stress of all that had happened in the house. He thought he might be making a little too much out of it, but his concern ran deep.
Determined to make things right again with her, he returned to the bedroom with a cup of coffee to help lighten the mood. A half-smile on his face, he walked over to the bed and looked at her with only one thought in his mind — How can I make her understand that we have to get out of this house? “Here, babe, I brought you a peace offering.” He held the cup out in front of him. She turned and glanced up at him. He could see the drawn look on her face, but tried to ignore it.
“You know, you look good this morning.” He hesitated. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you how you are.”
Even though the moment presented an opportunity for them to make up, Andrea said nothing. He wanted desperately to talk to her about the apartment but knew this wasn’t the time for that. “Well… I guess you want to get more rest, and I have to get to the office early this morning.” He stood looking at her for a moment, then set the cup down and left the room.
He was so frustrated with the situation, he was ready to take the apartment and tell her about it later. Maybe force her hand. Surely she wouldn’t let me move out without her? Somehow she had to come around to his way of thinking and give up the idea of staying in the house. Before leaving, John stood in the foyer for a long time, struggling with the thought of going back upstairs to tell Andrea he’d be going to take the apartment regardless of what she said, but his better instincts told him not to.
Upstairs in the bedroom, Andrea heard the front door shut and the car drive off. She glanced at the cup of coffee on the nightstand and stood up. She felt weak and dizzy. The room spun, and she fell back down on the bed. The ceiling above her circled like a top. She kept blinking in hopes it would stop, but it didn’t.
The light faded, and a darkness black as midnight came upon her, enclosed her. For a moment, she thought she’d lost her sight. Then out of nowhere came a beam of light that seemed to be hidden in a tunnel. Bitter, icy air generated from the opening of this strange tunnel. She wanted to scream, but nothing came from her mouth.
The light grew dim, and in an instant it was nothing more than a small flashlight beam. The cold air came rushing at her and gave her a tremendous chill. She hugged herself for warmth. Frightened and trembling, she forced a yell from deep within her. “No… help me! Someone help me!”
As suddenly as the tunnel had appeared, it vanished before her very eyes. The chilling cold died away. Turning her face into the pillow, she pleaded, “No more. Please, no more.” It was as though she had regained some sanity into her thoughts. The dreams were no longer of any importance. She only wanted it all to stop. Confusion and despair held her prisoner.
As she tried to compose herself, she got up and went down to the living room. Still shaking, she lay on the sofa, tucking a small pillow under her head. She closed her eyes for several minutes and became relaxed. To her surprise, a tranquil feeling took hold and soon she fell asleep.
Immediately, her dream lover appeared. This time they stood in the front yard, next to a large willow tree. He embraced her with both arms, kissed her on the neck, and then on her bare shoulders. Gently, he slipped the straps of her gown down her arms. She shivered with excitement.
With his strong arms around her waist, he held her close and led her up the stone steps to the front door. As they entered the house, she could hear that woman crying upstairs. “No!” she yelled. “Go away! I don’t want to hear you anymore.”
Angry about the interruption, she rushed over to the staircase, ready to yell once more. When she turned her head to look for her lover, he was gone. Hysterical, she ran outside to look for him, but he was nowhere in sight. She hurried back into the house and shouted, “Where are you?”
Once again, everything started to go around in circles. Her head swam, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, she lay on the sofa in the living room. She felt weak as she sat up. Struggling to her feet, she tried to look around the room, but her vision blurred and everything looked hazy. At least the spinning had stopped.
In a trance-like state, she managed to reach the kitchen for a cold glass of water, which had seemed like a good idea but didn’t help. She held tight to the back of a kitchen chair as she eased herself down onto the seat. She spread her arms out on the table and lowered her head to rest gently on the tabletop between them.
After a short time the spell began to pass, but it never left her completely. For the rest of the day she walked through the house aimlessly, sitting and then getting up to walk around again. She would feel tired and lie on the sofa from time to time, only to start dreaming all over again. Each time, she dreamed of him—some scenes vivid, while others were muddled and scrambled. It didn’t matter to her if the dream came to her clearly or not, just as long as she could dream about him. The only thing she had eaten all day was a bit of toast that John had left on the counter.
Many times that day, Andrea wandered up to the attic for no reason other than to be there. She would stand in the middle of the floor, staring into space for several minutes at a time. After that, she would go to the bedroom and change clothes, dressing in mismatched outfits consisting of clashing colors and things she hardly ever wore.
When John came home, he found her sleeping on the sofa. He placed his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. She opened her eyes but said nothing. As her eyes began to close again he said, “Hey, Andrea, come on, wake up.” He tried to sound happy, so he could try to talk to her once more about the apartment. “Come on, Andrea, I want you to know that I love you. I can’t stand to see you like this anymore. Please get up and talk to me.”
She opened her eyes wide and stared up at the ceiling.
John leaned over her and sniffed. The notion she had been drinking crossed his mind, but he detected no smell of alcohol. “I wish I knew what the heck was wrong with you,” he told her as he sat down on the sofa next to her. “I’m trying so hard to understand, but it doesn’t make any sense. We’re living a nightmare in this house, yet you don’t even want to talk about moving. Look what it’s doing to you, and to me.”
With much effort, she rose from the sofa, then walked out into the foyer and on to the kitchen. John followed her, keeping his eyes on her every move. She looked like she was sleepwalking. He had never seen her like this. It was so unlike her to completely ignore him.
The back door in the kitchen was open. A soft breeze came in, and the sounds of the birds outside had captured Andrea’s attention. She turned one of the kitchen chairs around to face the open door, and then sat in it.
“Andrea, did you take something today? What I mean is…a drug, or something like that?”
She continued to ignore him and sat there like he didn’t exist. John thought she looked like a statue made of stone. Anxiety ripped at him as he tried to speak to her. “I want to know, Andrea. Are you on something? Are you using some kind of drug?” He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed tightly enough to get her attention.
“Nothing, John,” she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. “I’m not taking anything. I wish you would leave me alone.”
“Then why are you acting this way?” John blasted back. “Do you realize how you have been lately? You’re not talking, you’re not eating, and you’re not you.”
Andrea repeated, “It’s nothing. Leave me alone.”
“Andrea. I need to talk to you without you shutting me out.”
She stared right past him. “You are talking to me. What more do you want?”
There was no point in continuing his pursuit of a two-way conversation with her, so he gave up, left the kitchen and went upstairs. He saw the mess in the bedroom and could hardly believe his eyes. The bed hadn’t been made, and clothes had been scattered all over the floor. The closet door stood wide open, with the wooden box sitting out in the room. Andrea had always been such a neat housekeeper — the appearance of the room shocked him.
Another hot summer day had come in full force, the humidity high and everything outside crying for rain. John put on a body shirt and shorts. As he dressed, he wondered if Andrea might have developed some mental problem after the move. Maybe the upheaval and all the strange things happening in the house had been too much for her. Maybe she was having a nervous breakdown.
He tried to stay pleasant as he came back down to the kitchen. “How about if I fix dinner tonight?” he suggested with a smile on his face. “I’m not a good cook, but I can make some scrambled eggs and sausage. How does that sound?”
She nodded, never turning her gaze from the back yard. “That would be fine.”
He proceeded to make the meager dinner as he’d promised and set the dishes on the table. “Come on, babe. Here it is.”
It was something to watch Andrea slowly turn her chair around, as though she were half asleep. As she sat at the table looking straight ahead, she picked up her fork and started to eat. It didn’t seem as though she was very interested in the food. John watched her as she took tiny nibbles, but to his disappointment, she only brought the fork to her mouth three times, and then pushed the plate away.
He tried to encourage her to eat more, but she refused. She stood up and started to leave, but he caught her by her arm. “Andrea, I want to talk to you.” She pulled away from him and kept right on going.
“Wait, Andrea!” John followed her down the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom, pleading with her all the way. “Andrea, please. We need to talk. You know I love you. You can talk to me.”
Andrea sat in the chair by the window, her favorite place in the bedroom, while John paced back and forth in a nervous frenzy. “About that apartment. It’s really nice, Andrea. I know you would like it if you would only go with me to see it. I think this would be good for us. We don’t need all of this work here, with this big old house for you to clean every day and the yard for me to take care of when I need time to relax after a hard day at the office. You could be involved with community groups again, like you did back in Chicago. You know…the church, the hospital, that kind of thing.”
She interrupted him. “No, John. The only reason you want to move is because of Anna, and what has been going on around here. I’m not going anywhere.”
It was the first real thing Andrea had said to him all day, but it was not what he wanted to hear. “You’ll have to face the facts one of these days. This can’t go on forever.” He fled to the living room, leaving her staring out of the window.
****
Soon the darkness of night began to close in on Andrea. The sun slipped below the horizon, and she began to think about sleep and dreaming about her lover.
John was quiet when he came up to the bedroom. He said nothing to her as he prepared for bed, apparently deep in thought. Andrea stayed in the chair by the window. After a half-hour, John sat up and looked at her. “Are you coming to bed?” A long, silent moment passed while he waited for her to answer. “Are you coming to bed?” he asked again.
Without saying a word, she stood up and walked to the closet. She stepped on the clothes lying on the floor. In a robotic motion, she took her clothes off and tossed them into the closet, where they landed on the floor. Then she went to the dresser and took out a nightgown from the drawer. For a few moments she stood still, holding it. Then she held the nightgown above her head and pulled it over her body.
Instead of going to the bed, she walked back to the chair at the window and sat down again. Aware of his desire to talk, she told him only to switch the light off. John reached over to the lamp on the bed stand and did just that.
In the silence of the darkened night, he soon fell asleep. She was pleased that he wouldn’t bother her anymore, at least not until morning. She had made up her mind — she would never leave the house, and he would never talk her into it.
After a while, she went quietly to the bed and lay down. A dream started the instant she closed her eyes. This dream, the best one of all, began with her lover making love to her. The heat of his breath touched her cheek as he whispered romantic things in her ear. “You are so beautiful, so lovely, my little one. I love you.”
They lay on the bed in an embrace. Andrea could not remember ever feeling such pleasure. He began to tell her of a wonderful place, painting a picture in her mind. A place so beautiful, with trees and a river running deep into the base of the mountains surrounding it. Colorful flowers. A river with water as clear and blue as the sky above it. Puffy, white clouds floated by. The vision was marvelous. She wanted to stay there forever.
Happiness flowed through her just being with him, but every dream came to an end with that woman crying. This one was no exception. The sound of the woman’s weeping overwhelmed Andrea, and she woke up. She wasn’t sure anymore if the sobbing woman was truly Anna. The only thing she knew for sure, she wanted it to stop interrupting her dreams—to stop coming between her and her lover.
****
In the days that followed, Andrea became more and more distant. Every morning John would get up, make the coffee, get dressed, and go to the office while she stayed in bed. When evening came, he would come home and fix dinner. He would try to talk to her, but his efforts were in vain. She would not listen to him or answer anything he asked. She wouldn’t answer the phone or take care of any of the household chores. Several times John came home in the middle of the afternoon to check on her, only to find her sleeping, or sitting in the bedroom by the window in a trance.
He was tremendously worried about her. Often, he asked her, “What’s wrong? Talk to me. Andrea, say something.” Only after he’d insisted for a long period of time would she utter a few words of resistance.
She wasn’t eating much, just a few bites of food at a time. Her condition worsened. She looked pale, and she’d lost weight. Dark circles framed her eyes. John knew he would have to seek help for her if she didn’t snap out of it soon.
On the second of August, a Sunday morning, John tried to talk her into going to church with him. “Come on, Andrea, we haven’t been to church in several weeks. The last time we went was when Peg and Tom were here. We used to go more often when we lived in Chicago. Since we’ve moved here, you’ve been so wrapped up in this house, you don’t even think about anything that once was important to you.”
John had never been a very strong churchgoer, but he felt compelled to attend Mass that morning, preferably with his wife beside him. He had high hopes that if she went, it might help the situation. He’d thought he could get her to go with him, but when he insisted on an answer she shook her head, ignoring his pleas.
Before he left, he brought her some toast and coffee, and said a little prayer that she would eat some of it. He set the tray down on the table next to the bed. “Andrea, here’s some breakfast. I’ll be home right after church is over. Try to at least eat the toast. You need to gain back some of your strength.”
****
He arrived at the church early and was able to park right in front. As he walked up the stairs to the entrance, he thought of what a beautiful morning it was, and how nice it would have been to have Andrea with him. The church filled up fast. The bells tolled three times, signaling the start of Mass.
When the service was over, he noticed the young priest who’d said the Mass standing in the vestibule, talking to people as they were leaving. John walked up to him. “Father?”
Father Clancy, a tall, slender man with thin blond hair, extended his hand to John. “Hello. You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked as they shook hands.
“Yes, and I wanted to talk to you…”
A lady with a young boy beside her walked up and interrupted. “Father, you’ll be glad to know that Billy is going to summer school now and is doing much better.”
Father Clancy smiled at them. “That’s good news, Billy. I hope you study hard. It will pay off for you.” Billy smiled and trotted along with his mother out to the parking lot. Once again the priest turned to John. “We’re happy to have you with us.”
“Father, my name is John Devon. My wife and I just moved here from Chicago.”
“Chicago, huh? I have some close friends in the Windy City. How do you like it here?”
“We like it just fine, Father, but I was wondering if I could talk to you… ah… not about the town, but… something to do with my wife, and the house we are living in.”
“Oh, I would like to spend some time with you, but I have a baptism in a few minutes, and I’m invited to have lunch with the family afterward. Call my office tomorrow and make an appointment to come in.”
“Father, please, I have to see someone today. Is there another priest here I could talk to?” John swiped the side of his head with an open hand.
“I’m sorry, but there are only two of us here, and Father Thompson has already gone for the day. He’s visiting his sister this afternoon and won’t be back until late. If you have a problem with your marriage, you should set up an appointment with him. You and your wife should come in together. Please call tomorrow.” Father Clancy smiled and walked away.
John left the church, disappointed and depressed. He’d wanted very much to talk to a priest. Somehow he thought he could get some answers, but how could he tell a priest there was a ghost in his house? What could he say about Andrea and the way she’d been acting? It became clear that he would have to work things out for himself. He had to bring Andrea back to her senses and convince her to move out of that house.
By one-thirty John was back home. Andrea, still in bed, had not touched the toast or coffee. He approached her with a frown. “Andrea, you must be hungry by now. Over the last few days you haven’t eaten enough food to keep a bird alive. I can fix you lunch. Or better still, you could come down to the kitchen with me and help make us a nice roast beef dinner. How about it?”
In almost a whisper, she answered, “No. I’m not hungry. You go ahead.”
“All right then, I’ll fix dinner myself.” He held back from shouting at her, but inside he was very upset.
John had often observed Andrea making a beef roast, so he believed he could do it too. But before he could start, the kitchen needed cleaning. It was a mess — dishes stacked in the sink, newspapers and mail piled up on the table. The floor hadn’t been swept in over a week, when he had last done it.
He managed to get everything done and put the roast in the oven by three o’clock. Andrea made no attempt to help him. Only once did she come down to the living room to sit on the sofa for a short time, then she went back up to the bedroom.
When the roast was done — not as good as Andrea would have made it, but it passed for edible — John took a plate up to her. “Hey, babe, look at this. Not bad, huh?” He set the tray with the plate he’d prepared on the bed. “Come on, try some of it and let me know how well I did.” He chuckled a little to show some lightheartedness.
Andrea sat up in the bed and looked at the food on the tray. When she started to turn away, John said, “Don’t put up a fuss before you even taste it. I spent the last couple of hours down in the kitchen making this for us. The least you could do is try it. It’s good.”
She speared a small bit of roast on her fork and lifted it to her mouth. Her eyes stared straight ahead as she put the food in her mouth.
“Well, how is it?” John asked when she took her next forkful. “Want some of the vegetables?” He pointed to the buttered peas and potatoes.
Andrea put the fork on the plate and laid her head back on the pillow.
“Andrea, if this keeps up, you leave me no choice but to call in a doctor. I’m getting really worried about the way you’re acting. There is something wrong here. I wish you would tell me what it is. Are you sick, or what?”
“Leave me alone,” she mumbled. “I’m not sick. I’m tired. I want to sleep.”
“Tired?” John shouted. “How can you be so tired when you sleep all the time? I hate to say it, Andrea, but you’re acting just like that crazy stuff we read in the ledger. Look what all of this is doing to you. This is even more reason why we should move out of here.”
Nothing he said seemed to move her. She didn’t even look at him when he spoke to her. Frustrated and feeling helpless, John went downstairs. Worrying about Andrea had become a constant thing for him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
He left Andrea alone in the bedroom for the rest of the day while he kept busy out in the yard. He came in and checked on her a few times. Usually, she was sleeping. He stood by the doorway of the bedroom, gazing at her in the bed. She looked peaceful, but the thought of her condition brought tears to his eyes. He agonized over the idea of calling in a doctor.
When evening came, John talked her into coming down to the living room. He opened a can of beer and sat in his recliner across from her. “Can I get you something?” he asked. “Maybe a nice glass of wine?”
Andrea only shook her head and stared ahead with glazed eyes. Silence filled the room. John struggled to gain control of his emotions — a mixture of fear, doubt, love, and anger.
Almost an hour went by before Andrea finally stood and started out of the room. “Where are you going?” John asked, but she didn’t reply. She just kept walking toward the staircase and slowly climbed to the second floor, taking the steps in a mechanical way. He was right back to square one with her, and he knew what to expect when it came time for him to go up to the bedroom.
The kitchen needed to be cleaned up from the dinner he’d made, and he wanted to put a load of laundry into the washer. While doing these unfamiliar chores, he thought a lot about the situation and decided he would call a doctor. The only problem was, what would he tell the doctor?