The Tree Goddess
Tom Raimbault
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © Tom Raimbault 2010, 2011
License Notes:
Copyright © Tom Raimbault 2010, 2011
All rights reserved! No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission from the author!
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer:
This work is 100% fiction. All scenes and events within these pages have been an invention of the author's imagination, and to his knowledge never occurred in reality. Any resemblance to the reader's own experiences is purely coincidental. The towns of Mapleview and Sillmac, along with any of their associated legends, histories or events are completely fictional and have never been inspired by real places or real events. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Dedications:
To Bear (my wife) and my two daughters, Megan and Lauren.
To my Mother and Father.
And to my Grandmother who enjoys my writings. I hope she likes this one, too!
Table of Contents:
Preface
Prelude: Painting on a Bottle of Wine
Part One: The Mausoleum
Part Two: The Thing in the Crawlspace
Part Three: Hello?
Part Four: The Ring
Preface:
The light of a candle flickers, bobs and sways throughout the hours in a darkened, old house. Perhaps it sits at a dusty table in an attic or some corner of the basement. At the table, nothing more than a pen scribbles on sheets of paper by a seemingly unguided force.
This is the sight you might expect to see at some haunted house in the darkest hours of night. And this is the time of night when the material was written for this novel. 2:30 in the morning, I would sometimes joke with myself and wonder if I wrote as if something from the coffin, dead. Yes, arising during the witching hour can certainly lead one to feel drained of all life; especially as the day progresses long into the afternoon hours. But those many hours alone in the dark of night had proven to be the most precious moments of creativity.
Looking back at the entire growth of The Tree Goddess, I believe the initial spark that put the story in motion took place while my wife, kids and I were packing up boxes to move into a new residence. At the time, my 9 year old daughter (oldest) was cautioned of a box of fragile centerpieces that I claimed to be expensive antiques. Only being silly with the child, in truth, the items were cheap and could easily be replaced. Challenged by my daughter that the claim was fiction, the stories I made up for each item were enough to draw laughter from the wife and kids.
Writing off and on for a number of years, a website was created to showcase my short stories and unusual essays. Halloween week had always been a special celebration on the site as it featured spooky, Halloween-related material. And in the spring of 2009, the plan was to make Halloween really special with some fantastic, original material. The stories that were centered on the box of fragile items which entertained my wife and kids while moving were planned to be developed into detailed writings. Spending some weeks, 5 short stories were written. Upon their completion, I realized that they were all related. In fact, with only a few alterations, the same characters could have appeared throughout.
But writing a novel is no easy task! The Tree Goddess had been written not once, not twice, but three times! After my second try, it was realized that I needed to further develop the craft of storytelling. Since I had done much technical writing in my job, the first two drafts of the Tree Goddess were nothing more than technical papers with logical presentations that attempted to describe the bizarre and supernatural happenings of Mapleview.
My story book, Freaked out Horror was the training ground where I created a collection of strange and morbid tales and then added a macabre tone, something which I had never done before. It was written after my 2nd attempt of writing the Tree Goddess. Satisfied with what I had written, I was confident that the 3rd attempt of the Tree Goddess would prove successful. Now, in 2010, the novel is complete and ready to be released. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy the completed product.
But there is one thing that I need to call to the reader's attention. Being that there are four disappearances in the fictional town of Mapleview, I found it necessary to divide the book into four parts. It's only right to venture into each character's past and reveal the events which led to another disappearance in Mapleview. As you read part one, the story will unfold with Mary, who purchases the historic Trivelli house from her aunt and has some bizarre experiences. Towards the end of part one, we witness the first disappearance of Mapleview. But then part two will venture 10 years into a new character's past. Towards the end, that character’s decade will track back into the running story of the book so that we resume where part one had left off. Had I not partitioned the novel this way, it would have been confusing for the reader. And had I given a proper, sequential three decades of the events in Mapleview, the work would have been extremely boring and lengthy. Presenting it as four parts is best.
Recently, I took a family vacation to the Black Hills of South Dakota. During this trip, I was fascinated with not only the mountainous, western landscapes that were highlighted by pines; but also the history of the area. Towards the end of my stay, I was very, much aware that the Black Hills region was victim to General Custer's invasion and then a gold rush which further contributed to the interesting history of the area. And there were so many antique buildings, mining shacks and caves; each with stories of their own. One could become an expert of local history just by living there.
Returning home to polish my final draft of the Tree Goddess, I soon realized that there are history buffs who know many details of our nation's history. I thought of this while noticing that the story goes into great lengths, describing the setting of the novel along with the region's history. Wolves populate the dense forests, and of course, tribes of Native Americans had populated fictional Mapleview, long before the town was established in 1830.
But it's important to know that Mapleview is fictional! Don't bother trying to solve exactly where in America Mapleview is located. The very fact that Mapleview was founded in 1830 might lead an expert to pinpoint an area in this country that was settled in during that timeframe. And then one might conclude that dense forests shouldn’t be located in a particular area, or that wolves are not indigenous to a certain imagined part of the country. Again, Mapleview is fictional; and so are the accounts of its history.
I hope you enjoy this novel. And to all my readers who have read my daily edits all of these years: this book contains the material that was originally supposed to run on Halloween week of 2009.
Tom Raimbault
Frankfort, Illinois
July 16, 2010
Prelude: Painting on a Bottle of Wine
On a Saturday, mid-October night a beautiful woman accompanied the man she had been falling in love with to his duplex condo in the rural town of Robin Creek. It was about an hour drive from Mapleview.
It was a typical night out, absolutely wonderful as the hours flew by like minutes. Many have experienced the blissful moments of falling in love, when we desire to spend every waking second with that special someone. During this moment, Dana hated the idea of going home for the evening to endure the absence of this wonderful man for the week. He had business matters that needed attention on Sunday, and most likely would not see Dana until Friday. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to go back to his place, let him crack open a bottle of wine and spend some more wonderful time together. It was, after all, what had been suggested.
A peculiar painting, somewhat comical and somewhat grotesque, was displayed on a bottle of red wine. It was one of those inexpensive wines that one might find on sale at a discount store. Perhaps to give it more appeal, the bottle was indicated as special, limited-edition for Halloween. The orange background along with jack-o-lanterns suggested a spooky, autumn theme.
But the subject of the painting was silly! It was nothing more than a half-tree, half-human creature that was recognizably female with firm, shapely thighs; large breasts and woman-like arms.
The bottle sat on a coffee table in a candlelit living room and enjoyed on that Saturday, mid-October night.
"Hey, I actually know the guy who did the painting for this bottle."
Dana was used to his wild stories, created just to amuse her, and at first assumed this was one of them.
"No seriously! And the artwork is really no laughing matter. The actual story behind the painting was gruesome enough, and because the vineyard wanted to release a limited Halloween edition, they figured it would be the perfect artwork."
Dana looked at the picture on the bottle and was a bit confused. “I don’t get it. When I think of Halloween; I think of ghosts, witches or vampires; not a half woman, half tree thing.” But as the conversation continued, it was pointed out that the vineyard added a couple of jack-o-lanterns on the picture and highlighted the Halloween tone with an orange background. The story behind the painting made it worthy to be Halloween material.
Dana drew closer and took another sip of her wine. "Okay, so what's the story behind the painting?"
"Well, it all started with a mysterious disappearance that took place in the town of Mapleview."
The very mention of Mapleview perked Dana’s interest, “The Mapleview disappearances? I remember those from the news.”
Part One:
The Mausoleum
Chapter 1
You pass through them while driving on vacation; the peaceful, historic towns surrounded by miles of forests, lakes, mountains and untouched wilderness. And yet some of them appear to be thriving communities complete with every convenience and luxury one would expect to find in the city or suburbs. Such towns have been known to generate income from a yearly flow of tourists. Or they can be occupied by individuals such as artists, writers or people who travel much in their jobs. This is the sort of town Mapleview is.
Founded in the early 1800s, it offers a place for people to get away from it all and finally live in an area that values peace, quiet and communion with nature. But there's an unknown, dark side to that wonderful town where most people would only dream of living. Some attribute it to a mysterious sentience that blankets the town in a wilderness deep in unknown history. Some explain that the legendary Trivelli house continues to curse the area since the well known tragedy that took place in the 1830s. Other residents adopt a more sensible theory and state that many of the people in that town are simply crazy.
There's a private section of forest near the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve in Mapleview that has been owned by the Trivelli family since 1832. One must travel uphill on a half-block driveway to get to the historical house. The house overlooks the actual lake that is in Hidden Lake Forest Preserve, and has become an icon to residents of Mapleview who gaze up to the old house on the hill. As mentioned before, the house has a terrible legend that really seems to be fed by those who continue to tell the story.
Although the story in this book is focused on the time when Mary owned the Trivelli house, it is probably best to give a very, brief account of the last person’s experiences who resided there, just to understand what Mary had walked into.
It was two years before the sale of the legendary, historic house of Mapleview, and two years before the series of mysterious disappearances. Terri was the last tenant of Loraine Trivelli. Loraine inherited the historic house that had been passed down for generations.
Terri drove on a Saturday morning through the heavily forested highways with nothing but miles of wilderness and seclusion to surround her. Finally reaching Mapleview Road, she soon found the oversized, historic house and ascended the half-block driveway where Loraine Trivelli had greeted her.
Loraine was a friendly, older woman; perhaps in her early 60s with an air of grace and of following all things that were proper. She led Terri into the home and provided a tour of the place which most people only dream of.
“It’s a house that was built in the 1830s and has been passed down through the generations. As you can see it’s fully furnished, many of the pieces antiques. If you decide to stay, I only ask that you make no changes to the decorating and structure as this is a historic landmark to the town of Mapleview.”
It was a beautiful home in a quiet town, and just the place for Terri to rediscover her talent for art. How could she turn down such a place?
“So what brings you to Mapleview, if you don’t mind me asking?” Loraine was always curious of her potential tenants.
“I’m an artist, just looking for a quiet place and some inspiration.” Peace and quiet was something that Terri most certainly needed, considering the stress and near nervous breakdown experienced at the company just outside of Chicago that specialized in biomedical manufacturing. The wirey-thin, middle-aged blonde who served as a punching bag to management and the FDA alike could no longer take the damage. Threats of being fired because of production mishaps, and threats of heavy fines from the FDA inspectors were squeezing the very life out of her. There was no reason to stay as she had other talents and plenty of finances saved up. Many people left the company under similar circumstances. It was just Terri’s turn.
“Oh, I get plenty of artists and writers who stay here for a year or more so they can complete a work.” It seemed to Loraine that her historic house was the ideal place for people like Terri to live, offering peace and quiet in the communion of nature.
But then Terri hinted towards a question, hoping not to offend Loraine. “It’s so nice here and peaceful. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to leave after a year or so.”
Loraine wasn’t going to take Terri’s curiosity personal. Although she desired to keep renters for longer periods, the legend and stigmatism of the house eventually pushed tenants away. She was lucky to have a renter like Terri who needed a quiet place to stay. Loraine very calmly speculated, “Oh, I suppose people want to move on. Not much happens here in Mapleview. I’m sure after a couple of years; you might want a new environment for inspiration as well.”
Again, the historic house was beautiful and sat in a quiet town. It was just the place for Terri to rediscover her talent for art. How could she turn down such a place? The rental agreement was filled out that very day.
***
Certainly not expecting inspiration to immediately hit her, Terri spent some time getting acquainted with the historic house and the small, charming town of Mapleview. As a gentle reminder to creativity's subconscious, Terri did set up her oil canvass in the living room, just in front of the old piano with antique vase seated on top. The vase was certainly in need of fresh flowers, and her oil canvass was in need of inspiration.
The Trivelli house overlooks the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve and backs into a narrow, wooded path that descends to the bottom of the forest. Returning from her first nature hike one morning, Terri took sight of the historic house from a distance and realized that it had been built on throughout the 150 years or more since its original construction. She could see the very center of the building which revealed the possible appearance of the home as it would have looked in the 1830s. That was the moment of initial inspiration. The canvass was brought outside, some distance from the house, and the brush strokes began to take form.
It was an interesting painting as seen on the cover of this book. The exclusive colors were blue and light-gray, ignoring the lush greens and browns of the forest world. Terri was unable to create a clear, discernable image of the house and attributed the stymie to the fact that she was painting the building as it looked 150 or more years ago. The end product was eerie, dark-toned and suggested a haunted environment. Maybe the inspiration was a bad idea. Terri decided to bring the painting inside and work on it after dinner that night. But the house, itself, seemed to welcome the painting. It almost complimented Terri and congratulated her on the fine work!
Terri became obsessed with the imagined presence that adored her artwork. It was necessary to personify the presence that was drawn as tall and dark, wearing a suit and seated at the piano bench. Just like the painting of the house, his face was made barely discernable; but there were subtle characteristics of being handsome.
One could almost consider Terri's art as a medium that attempted to understand the paranormal presence in the home. All paintings created after the attempted personification became increasingly horrific; which illustrated various rooms with walls to include bodies trapped behind them, along with ghostly people who pounded to escape.
Terri suffered from a lack of sleep, lost her appetite and remained obsessed with the horrific paintings. The final two were much too disturbing to mention; but it can be said that they reflected her pain and loss of life that had been brought on by the legendary, historic house. With her realization, she escaped and never returned to the town of Mapleview.
As for Loraine Trivelli, it was just one of many tenants lost. For years she rented the house out to people, needing a quiet place to do their art or write their novels. These were usually people from out of state and unaware of the terrible legend of the Trivelli house. After some time, these renters would become outraged that they rented a stigmatized property and terminated their rental agreement with Loraine.
Upon inheriting the home to herself at the death of her father, Loraine thought that using the house as a pricey rental property would be an excellent source of income. But since the renters were far and few between, the house was more of a burden, so she decided to sell.
***
Loraine's niece, Mary, heard word of her aunt’s plan to sell and immediately offered to purchase before it went on the market. She cashed in on some investments and paid for the house in full, as she did not want to lose the home she always wanted since a little girl. This, of course, disappointed the local Realtors who had already been talking to Loraine.
Mary didn't care about the legend of the house. It was a beautiful, historic house and the perfect place to enjoy her soon-to-be husband and raise a family. Her wedding was two months away and she and her fiancé, Daren, decided that taking up residence in Mapleview would be a great idea. Daren traveled the country; demonstrating innovative, new medical equipment and could set up residence anywhere. His job only required quick access to the airport. Mary planned on getting her old job back at the flower shop in town.
"Are you sure you're going to be happy here?" Loraine and her niece, Mary, came back to the Trivelli house after their closing in town. Mary now had full-ownership, and Loraine accompanied her niece back to her new home just to make sure she was happy. The house was fully furnished with beautiful, antique furniture that had been accumulated in the Trivelli family for over 150 years. It was a sweet deal for Mary; simply buy the house, settle in and get married.
"Why wouldn't I be happy here? This has been my house ever since I could remember. I've always wanted this house."
"Well, it's stigmatized and might have some sort of curse. I'm actually glad to get it off my hands."
"It's a legend! And really it shouldn't be a legend. It was just a tragic accident!" For years, Mary believed her aunt had a neurotic obsession with the supposed curse of what was now Mary's beautiful home. And the last thing she wanted to hear on the day of the closing was that her dream home had such a stigmatism.
But Loraine continued, feeling she needed to set her niece straight of the supposed legend of the Trivelli House. "Just a legend? I'm well aware of the legend. Grandma and Grandpa Trivelli built this house and lived here when Mapleview was just a half-block of stores about a mile away from here.”
Considering that people of previous generations had married at 18 (or younger) and immediately had children, it was very possible to have five generations within a span of 100 years. For that matter, a long list of “greats” could prefix Grandma and Grandpa which could be redundant when mentioning them. To remedy this, Loraine, and anyone else who spoke of the tragedy, simply called the original owners of the Trivelli house from 1830, Grandma and Grandpa Trivelli.
Aunt Loraine continued her story to Mary, “One winter, Grandpa came down with a life-threatening flu and was in bed with a very, high fever. Grandma went outside to get some firewood and according to Grandpa, his wife's voice could be heard, screaming, buried beneath the noise of a wild pack of wolves. In his words, they dragged her off into the woods! Grandpa was too weak and sick to get out of bed; so sick, in fact, that it wasn't until early spring when he reported the disappearance of his wife to police.
And I'm sure the Mapleview police were just as slip-shoddy with their investigations, then, as they are now. According to their daughter who was young then, but sleeping during the supposed night that her mother was dragged off by wolves, her father was a binge drinker and had seasonal depressions. She said he would become violent and beat his wife in the night. I don't think wolves dragged Grandma Trivelli off as the legend claims; nor do I think that Grandpa was in bed with a fever.
According to their daughter, earlier that day, her father came home smelling of booze and started a huge fight with his wife. Then he went down into the basement to get an axe. When he came upstairs, he proceeded to chop up the kitchen stove into tiny pieces while laughing. It was the most God-awful sight. And when there was nothing left, he looked at his wife and said he had an early Christmas present while raising the axe and implying she was next. But it was all in good fun for Grandpa Trivelli. The surprise was he had a brand, new stove for his terrified wife. Imagine chopping up a stove while laughing, just to surprise the one you love with a new one. And imagine doing all of that while deathly ill with the flu. Their daughter said she heard plenty of fighting and beatings on the night that her mother was supposedly dragged off by wolves."
Mary was amazed and further convinced that her neurotic aunt grew steadily worse as the years progressed. For someone who wasn't alive when these supposed events took place, she knew everything!
Aunt Loraine was completely absorbed in discovering family history and continued with the knowledge she had. "I believe Grandma Trivelli was murdered in this house because of a generational curse that was put on the women in this family. I've been researching the history of this curse, but it seems that many of the women in our family die horrific deaths throughout the centuries. And the husbands are all heavy drinkers… borderline psychotic..."
Mary could tell what was coming next. She was going to get “the talk” about marrying Daren. It was almost as if her aunt’s voice had increased a notch in volume to make a point.
"It's why I have never been married. Are you sure that Daren is the right man for you? Seems like a nice man but..."
Mary quickly cut her off. "He's fine Aunt Loraine! And yes, I'm sure I'm doing the right thing. I don't build my life around legends and family curses while dwelling in what happened before I was born."
"Well, I suppose you're right. I just want to make sure you're happy and want to clear my conscience of selling you a place that I feel is stigmatized. But as long as you are okay with it; welcome back home Mary."
One might think that Aunt Loraine is as Mary believes: obsessed to the point of neurosis and eagerly misconstruing of vague facts to mold reality. But in Aunt Loraine’s mind, she firmly believed that there was something wrong with that house and simply needed to clear her conscience of selling it to her niece.
***
Mary sat out on the deck that overlooked the lake that night while talking to her fiancé on the phone. "It's so quiet here. You're going to love it. Daren I can't wait until you spend a night. It's the perfect house and town for us. You're still coming out here this weekend, right?" It was then that Mary noticed that Daren was not himself and finally voiced her concern, "What's wrong? I can tell something is wrong?"
Daren finally broke the bad news to Mary. "Well, they’re sending me out to Missouri, tomorrow, to demo a unit at a weekend convention. I'm not going to be able to come out this weekend. I'm sorry."
Needless to say, Mary was disappointed but remained understanding. It was, after all, Daren's job that made it possible to live in the beautiful, historic house and live in the town of Mapleview.
There was much to do in the new house. Although fully furnished and in livable condition, it was necessary to sort through her smaller, personal belongings; put clothes away; and of course, stock up on food. When Daren finally moved in, the same would need to be done with his personal items. And of course she would be confronted with the challenge of explaining that not everything needed to come with him!
It's an interesting house when considering the construction. The initial building was a small dwelling for Mary’s grandparents (from the 1830s), but had been added on throughout the 150-some years while owned by the family. Several additions along with modernized utilities helped the home grow into a rather large, historical house. And one of those modernized utilities that Mary looked forward to was the shower. She recalled enjoying it while staying at the house during her teen years.
Mary finally stepped into the shower after her long, exhausting day. The shower was a drug for Mary that cleared her mind of everything, placing her mind at ease. She forgot about wolves dragging her grandmother into the forest. She forgot about husbands chopping up furniture in the house and murdering their wives. And she somehow found herself to be understanding that Daren had an important job which required his presence over the weekend.
Two hours into her night’s rest, Mary was startled awake by a vivid and terrifying dream. Holding out her hands in defense; one was grabbed, held down on a table and quickly chopped off, yielding startling pain. Now awake, Mary could hear a violent storm outside while she quickly turned the light on to examine her hand, thinking she had injured it while sleeping. No injuries were noticed and it moved fine. Perhaps she bumped it on the nightstand in her sleep.
Mary turned the light back off and laid in bed while listening to the storm. A woman must learn to hide like a frightened, little girl when trapped by an angered man. All her days and nights should be spent attentive to his moods and hoping that this morning, this afternoon or this evening won't be a sudden metamorphosis into an evil monster. And now he was coming for her, up the stairs, to punish panic-stricken Mary who could not escape.
But Mary did nothing wrong! How could this man be angry with her?
That's the point: such a man has no rationale for his change of mood!
"Crash!" It was a starling noise downstairs that forced Mary to spring from her bed. It was best for her to hide! He was really angry this time and was prepared to hurt her. As Mary hid and crouched in the dark closet, a flood of speculations entered her mind. Most disturbing was the realization that when he finally found the intimidated, little girl; the punishment would be far harsher. Hiding was forbidden, and so was protecting the face or other parts of the body during beatings.
Light: Mary needed to quickly flash on one of the lights. That would pull her out of whatever hallucination she was having. It must have been some half-awake / half-dreaming thing. There was no one living with her, and as a grown woman, she wasn't about to hide from any man who intended to punish her. A sobering flood of light and a few gentle smacks on the face pulled Mary out of the trance. But she still had the crashing noise downstairs to investigate. Hopefully a tree branch didn't blow through the window.
Once downstairs, Mary found everything completely intact and undisturbed. But she wasn't about to go down into the basement at night. As Mary recalled, the basement was very scary for her when she visited the house as a little girl. She would wait until morning to go down and investigate.
Perhaps she could have called Daren before going back to sleep. Mary was certainly in need of the welcome sound of his voice after the startling dream and sudden, unexplained hallucination of an angry man coming to deliver punishment. But what was this? Daren did not answer his phone. Where was he on that late, Thursday night that was now Friday morning? It was 1:20am on her clock which meant it would be 12:20am where he lived. Daren didn't have to leave for the airport until 8:00am that morning. At least that was what he told her on the phone when breaking the bad news about Missouri.
She called his cell phone, but Daren still did not answer. She texted him. “Hello???? Where are you?????”
But there was no reply.
Attempting to call her fiancé certainly did help her forget about the frightening episode as she was now worried about Daren. Did he get in an accident? Was he out on a date with some woman? Now all she could do was lay awake and wonder why her fiancé wasn't answering his phone. She called two more times throughout the night but could not reach him. She finally fell asleep around 4:30am.
Mary awoke the following morning with nauseating adrenaline, wondering if Daren was okay. She called his home and cell, but there was no answer. Where was he? She heard of this phenomenon before; a significant other moves away which spells the end of what appeared to be a beautiful love. Still, she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Daren being unreachable. But was he hurt?
Since it was now morning, Mary felt safe to go downstairs in the basement and investigate anything broken. She was now fully convinced that the loud crash was only part of last night’s hallucination. But still, it was best to ensure that all was well. If you've ever been in a basement of an old home, it’s unlike the ones we see in modern dwellings. And really the basement of Mary's historic dream-home was not a basement at all. It was a cellar that provided just enough headroom to walk around in and seemed to be made for storage only. The floor was a collection of large, flat rocks joined together with cement. Although a crudely-finished area, the cellar did have 2 rooms that, as Mary remembered, were an old tool room and a canned goods room.
As a little girl, Mary hated venturing past the cistern and deeper into the cellar where those two rooms were. And in the musty, dimly-lit place where she stood now; Mary still hated the idea, especially after the strange feelings of last night.
She gazed into the canned goods room and took notice of all the mason jars and antique cans of vegetables that were perhaps 50 or more years old. And there, on one of the shelves, sat the oversized mason jar of some dark, oily liquid that had been there ever since she could remember. As a child, she and her brother and sister often dared one another to open the jar, and drink some of the liquid. No one was brave enough to open it. But the jar sat there and looked just as nauseating as ever. Now that Mary owned the house, she was going to throw all this stuff out, including the oversized jar of dark, oily liquid.
She gazed into the tool room, an area that had always intrigued Mary. The room contained a collection of antique tools that probably should have been sitting in a historical museum as many of them looked to be pre-20th century. Supposedly, Grandpa Trivelli built that tool room, the old bench, and stored his own tools in there. She walked in and studied the collection of antique equipment and took notice of a very, old axe that was hung on the wall along with shovels and hammers. Mary laughed to herself and spoke out loud. "Is this the axe that chopped up the stove?"
And then she needed to explore the texture of the old workbench that her grandfather built. She ran her fingers across the dusty, old wood while realizing it would be necessary to wash her hands. That bench was dirty and had decades, nearly two centuries of dirt and grease on it. But running her fingers on the bench was not enough. She was compelled to study the workbench, examine any damage; hammer marks, or even gash marks from an axe. Then right at the edge of the bench she found an old gash that certainly resembled an axe blade. She was going to reach for the axe on the wall to compare the length of the cut against the blade, but heard the tool room door close behind her which shut her in the small, dark room.
That wasn't an event Mary was welcome to at the moment. It brought her back to her childhood fears of being alone in that room. To make matters worse, the sounds of feet could be heard scuffing across the floor on the other side of the door. Fortunately the door didn't lock (why would it?) and Mary ran out of the room and back upstairs. She needed to get out of the house for a while and get her mind off things.
***
Mary spent the morning in town at the flower shop, visiting her old boss and friend who had agreed to hire her when she moved back to Mapleview. They went over some of the details of the new job which was very much like the old one, but had a few changes. Then they had lunch together and Mary agreed to start work on Monday morning.
Her friend, and soon-to-be-boss, Shelly, was amazed with the fact that Mary had purchased the legendary Trivelli house and was living in it. “Your aunt just could not keep renters in that house. I guess the last woman who lived there quit a very, stressful management job at a biomedical manufacturing company. She moved out here and hoped to resume her long, lost love of art. But she wasn’t able to paint because of how disturbing the house was.”
Mary wanted to know more. “Did you know her? How did you find this out?”
But then just like all the gossip and legends passed down about her home, Shelly could only speak of the hearsay as it applied to the desperate artist who was staying at the Trivelli house, and how the curse affected her painting.
Mary continued to listen to Shelly’s wild gossip about the Trivelli house (now Mary’s house) while drinking her iced tea. She was very tired from the rough night which surely caused her mind to float back to the basement in the canned goods room. Mary looked at her glass of nearly finished iced tea and imagined that the dark, oily liquid was in that glass. Is that what was in the oversized Mason jar; tea from the 1950's? The thought of drinking the nauseating liquid made it difficult to finish her beverage.
Mary finally spoke up, “You know Shelly, I’m glad I bought that house. I’m going to up and remove any item that was connected to any legend that house might have. Today I was downstairs in the basement and realized that there are probably canned goods from over a hundred years ago down there. Throw that stuff out, you know? Donate those old tools to the historical museum or something. I’m going to end the legend of that house. And if I need to get the place blessed, I will do it.”
Shelly just drank her coffee and listened to her friend. If Mary really thought she could do it, then more power to her.
***
Nightmares are a very strange phenomenon as they happen during the first few hours of sleep. Experts tell us that everyone has horrific nightmares during the first half of the night; but because we are in a deep, paralyzed state we forget them. And it’s a good thing we do because nightmares can be traumatic. But if you’ve ever woken up in the middle of one, then you realize how senseless and pointless one is, despite how traumatized you may be.
It started as a simple dream in the early hours of sleeping. Mary was sitting in the living room where she suddenly became aware of Daren standing on the roof of the house. He pushed a wire down the chimney and through the fireplace while calling out to her in an eerie voice. “Mary? Mary? I have a surprise for you, Mary.”
Mary watched as the wire came out of the fireplace, drawing closer to her. For the life of her, she did not want to make contact with that wire. Drawing back towards the piano, Mary suddenly heard bloodcurdling screams from within the antique vase. It was screams of a woman pleading for mercy and begging for help. What was in that vase? Mary just had to look. But overpowering fear of seeing the unknown woke her up.
Mary just had to reach her fiancé, Daren! It was now Saturday morning at 1:14am and he was most definitely at whatever destination he needed to be and sleeping. But just as usual, there was no answer from his cell phone. Mary was tired of leaving voice messages and bouncing from anger to worry. Perhaps a call to Daren’s mother in the morning would answer all the burning questions. All she could do, now, was lie in bed and concentrate on falling asleep.
There was no need to fret or worry. Grandma Trivelli would watch over the young woman and see to it that all was well. Mary did, after all, have the shrunken corpse of her grandmother proudly displayed on the piano, in a glass case filled with lamp oil. She looked like a miniaturized Sleeping Beauty, just resting on the piano with a fresh cut rose laid over the glass case. Mary would often sit at the piano and play for her dear grandmother who just floated ever so lifeless in over a century of preservation.
Although Grandma Trivelli enjoyed Mary’s musical performances, the ultimate reverence would be to undo the rubber stopper of the glass case and taste some of the fluids. Mary drew near to the transparent, miniaturized coffin and breathed deep the smell of antique death. That’s when she sat up in bed, startled from another bizarre dream.
Mary couldn’t take much more of these horrific dreams. And where did such a ridiculous concept of a glass coffin come from? Perhaps it was on the day of Daren’s, father’s funeral.
Chapter 2
It was like any normal funeral as a crowd of somber faces circled his final resting place to bid farewell. Holy water was sprinkled and roses were placed on the casket by a teary-eyed wife. Her 28-year-old son, Daren, along with other 2 sons, Eric and Anthony, did their best to comfort Mom. Accompanying Daren was his fiancée, Mary, who was saddened that her future father-in-law would not see his grandchildren.
Just as any funeral, the priest made the closing prayer, "Oh God, by your mercy rest is given to the souls of the faithful, be please to bless this grave.”
He was young, only in his late 50s. Yet there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about his death other than a sudden heart attack. It's the cold shock that life throws at us. One day everything is fine, and the next day someone is gone.
"Eternal rest: grant unto him, oh Lord."
"And let perpetual light shine upon him."
Daren's father would be placed in the family mausoleum containing his grandfather, grandmother, two uncles and their wives. But there was something peculiar about the mausoleum that Daren and his two brothers would discuss later that day during the luncheon. Daren had only visited the mausoleum as a young boy to see his grandfather, and the experience was very odd.
***
"So are you going to visit Dad in his new place?" Daren spoke up later that afternoon at the luncheon. He was the oldest brother and wondered if the other two had ever gone into the mausoleum.
Anthony answered, "Sure, why not?"
Daren sighed, "Well, I suppose I better make a habit of it. I mean, what's the difference? We looked at him all morning during the funeral. Why not next month, next year and the years to come?" Daren was speaking of a controversial method that the older generation of the family practiced, allowing mourners to see the body of the deceased whenever desired. Unlike most mausoleums, this one had crypts that opened which allowed one to gaze in a glass tank filled with formaldehyde containing the body of the deceased relative. The formaldehyde preserved the body so it looked exactly the same as the day of the funeral.
Daren's brother, Eric, did once go to the mausoleum and provided an account of his experience. "It's weird; I went one Sunday afternoon with Mom and Dad to visit Grandpa. Dad pulled out the drawer, and we all looked. You know how the mortician is supposed to glue the eyes shut along with the mouth, nose, ears and stuff? Well, I guess one of his eyes wasn't fully glued during the process. Or maybe the liquid they put in the tank ate away at the glue. I don't know; but his eye was open! It just kind of looked at you as you stood there, gazing at a body that's been dead over 25 years."
Mary was doing everything in her power to be well-mannered and understanding of the three brothers who lost their father. But the conversation was a bit disturbing, especially just moments before eating. The look of disgust could be seen on her face, and Daren put his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders while proceeding to speak. He intended to steer the conversation in a different direction. "I don't know; whoever thought of that idea was twisted. Let's vow not to do that when we die and just have a normal burial so our kids can visit us with the memories of when we were alive. I mean who is going to visit that mausoleum once we are all gone? That's the trouble with graves and mausoleums; no one visits you generations later. Why go through so much effort for an elaborate grave, mausoleum or whatever?”
Mary was growing impatient, "Daren?"
"What, it's true! And I don't know about everyone else, but I'm in the mood for some more wine." Mary watched in silence as her fiancé finished off his 2nd glass of wine before going up to the bar for his 3rd. "You want anything else, Babe?"
Mary shook her head, no. Daren had promised her to cut down on his drinking. When they were first dating, Daren was a heavy drinker and nearly lost Mary with his fits of anger and near-violent behavior. He admitted that he could do without the booze in his life, but wasn't about to jump on the wagon. As he saw it, there was no reason not to have a beer or some wine during a social occasion. But a 3rd glass of wine was pushing it in Mary's eyes. He did recently lose his father, so she wasn't going to say anything, especially in front of his family.
Daren returned with his 3rd glass of wine and spoke with excitement. "I looked at the bottle. It says Charles Shaw 2002. That's 3 years old, now!"
"It's still good wine", said Eric.
Daren sat back with his already quarter-finished glass of Charles Shaw Shiraz from 2002. It was apparent that he was loosening up and under the influence of a heavy wine buzz. "Yeah, but it would be so cool if we could find something 25, 30, or even 50 years ago. Wouldn't that be worth trying?"
Now Daren's brother, Anthony, was well educated on the finer things in life and did much reading on the culinary arts and matters pertaining to wine. He saw the suggestion as a cue to showcase his knowledge, "You know, I recently read an article that reported some of the greatest wine connoisseurs who compared those upscale wines to some of the more modest ones we get at places like Trader Joe's. They all came to the conclusion that the wines from those places were just as good, if not, better. It isn’t a terrible thing to enjoy something simple."
Daren finished his glass of Shiraz. Mary patted him on the back and silently whispered, "I think you've had enough."
She was right, but Daren continued the conversation and proceeded to drive in his point about aged wines. "Oh, I agree with you and totally believe that these wines are just as good as the upscale stuff out there. But I'm not talking I need an expensive wine. I'm talking about drinking aged wine. Consider this: Suppose I go up to the bar and purchase some bottle from 1901. Obviously we are all going to be very intrigued and eager to open it and try it. Imagine the thrill of drinking something made not from the turn of this century, but the turn of the previous century."
Anthony and Eric agreed that it would be quite an experience, and the three brothers began to seriously discuss how to go about obtaining old wines. At least Mary’s fiancé had steered the conversation from viewing preserved bodies behind glass to a more appropriate dinner conversation. By then the soup and salad had arrived, but Mary found it difficult to eat the cherry tomatoes.
***
"So are you and your brothers going to start collecting wine and drinking it?" It was Saturday evening. Daren and Mary were driving back to their residences in Flagstaff, Arizona. The funeral was held in Phoenix and Mary couldn't wait to get home. She spent the past 3 days at her fiancé’s, mother's house and under sad circumstances, seriously needing alone time to decompress and prepare for work on Monday.
Daren replied, "I don't know; we just want to try an aged bottle of wine. I never had that before, have you?"
"No; I have no desire to drink something over 50 years old."
"Well why not?"
Mary was in no mood to explain how senseless it was to drink antique wine that may very well be bad. But she was concerned about her fiancé possibly relapsing into a bad habit of heavy drinking. "I just don't, Daren! And you know I hope you're careful. I don't mind you having a glass of wine with your brothers, but I know you can get carried away."
Daren realized Mary's concern, and held his fiancé’s hand. "I won't start drinking again; I promise you." He kissed her hand which seemed to tone down the mood for the remainder of the ride home. And that was the only thing Mary had witnessed of Daren and his sudden interest with aged wine, which profoundly affected him some time later.
***
Nearly 8 weeks passed since the funeral. After doing some research and meeting various wine experts, Daren and his brothers managed to obtain a very promising bottle from 1861!
There are a few things, among others, that are important to know when scouting out old wines. The first thing that one needs to be aware is that purchasing old wines has a risk factor. What are the chances that buying something from the 1950s or 1930s is found to be bad once it is opened and tried? Contrary to popular belief; simple, old wines are not in the millions of dollars, but generally run around $100 per bottle. However, it would remain disappointing to purchase such a wine, only to discover that it has turned into vinegar.
One needs to be aware of something called ulage, which is the amount of air between the cork and the wine in the bottle neck. The more ulage, the more chance the wine has oxidized and gone bad.
It just so happened that the bottle of wine that Daren and his two brothers obtained for $120, dated 1861, did not have an excessive amount of ulage and was rated to be a safe risk. And so the three brothers sat in Daren's backyard around the resin table one early, Saturday evening with the bottle from 1861. They simply admired what they had in their possession.
Daren appeared to be expanding on his point made weeks ago while the three initially decided to seek out an old wine. "Do you realize this wine was made before we were even born; before our parents were born; before our grandparents were even born? I mean the vineyard that this wine came from may very well not even be around anymore. The people who made this wine are long gone."
Anthony added some insight from his collection of knowledge of fine wines. "I've heard that drinking an old wine is like making love to an old lady. It can be done; you just need some imagination and an open mind."
Eric brought everyone back down to Earth. "What are we waiting for? Crack that bottle open and let’s drink up!"
Daren opened the bottle of wine as his brother suggested and showed everyone that the cork had not been deteriorated in over a century while the wine was sealed in the bottle. As mentioned before, this was a very good sign that the wine had not been oxidized and gone bad. He then poured half a glass for everyone. All three brothers sat looking at the wine in their glasses and smelling the aroma.
Eric dove right in by taking a good sip. "Mmmmm... Not bad! Not bad at all!
Daren looked at Anthony and repeated the Life cereal commercial, indicating it was safe to try. "He likes it; hey Mikey!"
The other two both took their sips. Daren immediately set the glass down with tongue sticking out, "What are you talking about? It's so strong and pungent!"
Anthony came to the rescue, "Now, now: you're rushing into it. When making love to an old lady you need to be slow and gradual. Go get us a block of cheese so we can clear our pallets. This wine is fine; you're just not drinking it right."
Eric finished his glass by the time Daren left for the block of cheese and a knife. He was ready for more, but realized he should let his two brothers catch up, first. Upon Daren's return, the three brothers ate some cheese and proceeded to slowly drink the wine while appreciating the flavors that had been preserved for nearly 150 years. Of course one shouldn’t put a bottle of wine like this in the refrigerator to drink more next week! So the three finished the bottle while engaging in discussions of what happened in the year 1861 or around that time. They were quite impressed with themselves for enjoying something from so long ago. They cracked open a second a bottle of wine, no more than two years old, and continued to drink with a never ending quest for the ultimate wine buzz. But anyone who truly loves wine understands that such a desire of vineyard-induced euphoria is paradoxical in nature. Too much of a buzz is not a good thing and can ruin the pleasant, short-lived experience. Two bottles were plenty. And beside that point, people needed to drive home. It’s always a good thing to consider other motorists and other people’s loved ones!
After some time, the intoxicating buzz wore off as the now groggy bothers engaged in more sobering conversation, initiated by Daren. “Well, are we going tomorrow?”
“To the mausoleum with Mom?” asked Anthony.
“We did, after all, promise her. I guess she wants to make sure they entombed Dad properly.” Daren wanted to appear mindful of doing the right thing, but secretly dreaded going alone with his mother. The mausoleum disturbed him and he imagined the effect to be reduced if surrounded by more company. With tomorrow being Sunday, and the fact that the Eric and Anthony lived near Daren, there was no excuse not to go. It would only require about a 2-hour drive down to Phoenix.
***
Daren hadn't been to the family mausoleum since he was young boy, and was a bit apprehensive as going there would most surely guarantee a look at family members who had been deceased for a quarter-of-a-century or more. His youngest brother, Eric, seemed to enjoy the mausoleum as if it was entertainment. While approaching the building the following morning, he kept whispering to Daren, "Dude, you gotta see it! We gotta take out Grandpa's crypt and look at his opened eye! It'll freak you out!"
Daren was doing his best to maintain composure. He wasn't exactly easy with viewing his deceased father now encapsulated in a glass tank of formaldehyde, and he wanted to tell his brother to shut up. But at the same time, Mother could not be agitated in this delicate moment. Such is one of the challenges we need to experience in life.
The door was opened, and immediately the overpowering odor of formaldehyde could be smelled. Mother looked horrified, "Oh my God! Did one of the tanks break open? Is it Dad?" She immediately entered the building and could see that the chemical seeped through the bottom of the east wall, which was evidenced by the stains on the floor. "Did they break a tank when entombing your father?" Mother's eyes became glassy.
Which deceased relative was most important to the family at that moment? Was it the uncles, or Grandpa? Not likely as the family was mourning the recent loss of the father. They immediately opened his crypt and were relieved that he was still intact.
"I bet it's the next drawer over! I bet it's Grandpa!" Eric appeared ecstatic at the notion that his grandfather’s crypt needed to be opened in which he could see the eye peering at everyone.
"Relax Eric!" Daren sternly looked at his brother and motioned his face at their mother who had eyes filled with tears. It was apparent that removable, glass tanks were not the ideal resting place for loved ones to visit while mourning. Seeing a loved one go to the grave, in a sense, brings closure to surviving family members, allowing them to begin the mourning process. But father wasn't buried, and mother was, once again, looking at his lifeless body floating in a tank of formaldehyde. Such a moment needed to be experienced carefully, and Mother needed time to visit her husband before closing the crypt and checking the others for cracked glass.
After some time, Father's crypt was closed and the family began the investigation of which tank was cracked and leaking formaldehyde.
"Let's open Grandpa’s first! I know it's his!" Sensing Eric’s increasing impatience, it was mutually decided to open the suggested crypt. And just as expected, his glass tank had been cracked at the bottom near the right hand, allowing all the formaldehyde to leak out. And yes, his opened eye peered at those who stood over his glass tank. The chemical mess was nothing short of a disaster, and the cemetery would have much explaining to do. To make matters worse, Grandpa’s hand was beginning to decompose. In fact, it looked like it had been decomposing for some time. This suggested the possibility that the glass tank had cracked long before the cemetery put Father's body in the crypt.
Mother was outraged. "You mean to tell me they knew about this and ignored it?"
There’s a thing about drinking aged wine. For some, it may trigger a morbid lust for days long past. If only it was possible to drink deeply the past and savor every memory. Perhaps Daren’s experience of drinking aged wine stirred a curiosity while he observed some of the decomposing matter mixed with fluid near the crack of the tank leak out on his hand. It was preserved life, encased in glass and very possible to stir the essence of memories forgotten a quarter of a century ago. Daren licked the fluid from his hands which brought morbid numbness to his lips and tongue. It also yielded both his brothers to outburst in nauseous disbelief!
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