chapters 1+2
Chapter 1: 2017
My thoughts were still my own when I first came upon the house. Black shudders hanging on by rusty nails. Faded wooden front door covered in dry rot cracks. A twisted porch hung from the side like a dislocated jaw. Grumous dread rolled over me in sickly sweet molasses waves. A saccharine taste coated the inside of my mouth. I pulled the old Cherokee into the gravel driveway and opened the window to breath.
The sky was turning from storm cloud gray to sunshine blue. The air, heavy with the pungent fragrance of soggy foliage and damp wood, listed in the rising haze. The house sat out of place in the drenched greens of summer, peeling white peak silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, existing independent of space and time in this idyllic bubble. The rest of the world turning while it rested, patient and stoic, against this overgrown pastoral landscape.
The grass was two feet high and a hedge ran along the left side of my Jeep that had grown almost up to the second story. The driveway went past the house and dropped off quickly into the back yard. Down in a back corner of the property, painted in the same ancient peeling white, was an old barn that had wooden plank doors, a sag in the roof line and leaned a little to the side.
While I waited for the owner, a friend of a friend to come with the keys and give me the tour, all part of some weird deal, I got out of my Jeep. The sound of insects lulled in the background soundtrack. Crickets creaked. Bees buzzed. And there was a hum of horse flies in the tall grass.
I heard the sound of a car pulling up. It was my friend of a friend, my benefactor, my landlord and savior. Bobby Jones. I had only met him once before when we were introduced at a small party. He was about ten years younger than me and had inherited this house along with some decent cash from his grandfather.
The car was a fairly recent Mustang. Black. Bobby was flush with new money and he apparently had no problem with letting everyone know. I couldn’t blame him for some showing off. It was his prerogative. Can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same in his situation. Bobby pulled the Mustang aside my Jeep and killed the engine. When the door opened, along with the heavy aroma of pot, Bobby emerged from the car wearing a white tank top, sagging jeans, Nikes and Ray Bans. He was a couple of inches shorter than me. Skinny build. Brown wavy hair shiny with product. Thin mustache and small beard under his chin. He had a shamrock tattoo on his left bicep and a series of new skull tats running up his right arm. It looked like he was currently working on a sleeve.
“Yo, what up Paulie?” Bobby greeted me as he approached and held out his hand. I hated being called Paulie. And Bobby made it worse by really hitting the “e” sound hard.
“Not much. Just got here a few minutes ago,” I shook his hand. “How’s things with you? You look like you’re doing good.”
“Just chillin’ you know. Bobby Jones livin’ like Bobby Jones should.”
“Nice car. Just get it?”
“Hells yeah. The ‘stang is clean,” Bobby flashed a big smile. He was definitely chilling.
“So what do you think of the place? Not a bad spot. Little too far out in the sticks for Bobby Jones but whatever floats your boat.”
“This is a great location for me Bobby. I kind of need a disconnect.”
“I hear ya. Can she be saved?”
“Doesn’t look too bad out here. A lot of neglect. Still need to see the inside before I can give you a fair assessment.’
“Alright alright. Let’s go in and see what we got.”
We went up the old wooden steps attached to the leaning porch. Each landing gave under my feet. I tried to place my feet carefully to the sides where I knew they had a better chance of holding my weight. I hoped that with the weight of us both the porch wouldn’t collapse.
“You know,” Bobby said as he fumbled with the keys. “This is the first time in decades I’ve ever been able to go near this house? Even then, I’ve only been in the yard.”
“You never visited your grandfather here?”
“Not really,” Bobby put the key in the lock and had to jiggle the doorknob to get it open. Inside, the air was stale, like the place hadn’t been opened for years. Judging by the condition that was most likely true.
The front room was a faded yellow wallpaper with transparent orange and blue flowers. The floor was covered in an orange shag carpet that, other than some faded spots where the sun had been hitting it for so many years, showed very little signs of wear. There was also a dated tan couch and chair set with a flower pattern that didn’t match the walls in color or design. A beat up wooden coffee table sat on the floor in front. And in the corner, one dust and scratch covered rocking chair.
Bobby let out a low whistle. “This place looks even more like a shit hole on the inside. You sure you want to stay here? It’s not too late to change your mind. Bobby Jones is nothing if not fair. I can’t make you take this place.”
“No. It’s cool. I can deal. Kind of grew up in a place like this. It’s all nostalgic.”
“Not the word that comes to my mind brother.”
“It’s messy and outdated but there’s potential here. It just might end up costing you some bucks.”
“Not a problem. Saw that coming, but there’s no way I’m getting shit for this house in this condition. It has to be updated for me to sell it.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“You better be a fucking magician.”
The kitchen floor was a linoleum that at one point was supposed to look like red and gray slate. There was a short row of hand built cabinets with a gray countertop that had seen its day. A dining table with deep scratches in the wood laminate top and corners peeling at the edges. The appliances were a yellow stove and refrigerator with big dials and rusted chrome. I was surprised to find them in working condition. Outside of some scratches they seemed like the best kept features in this museum.
The back left of the house had a small pale yellow bathroom with no closet and just enough room for a tub, sink and toilet. All of which needed an intense cleaning. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.
As we toured the first floor, I could see more of the repairs that had been started weren’t completely finished. What seemed most unusual to me was how it looked like someone had started to fix the place up but then for some reason just suddenly quit.
“Looks like your grandfather ran out of cash or something.”
“Or something.”
“I can see why no one let you in this place.”
“You should talk. If this is nostalgic I feel for you brother.”
“Let’s take a look upstairs.”
We went up to the second level. The stairs were a dark brown and well worn in the middle. At the top of the stairs there was a window and then to the left a railing and a small open hallway. At the right of the landing was a door to an eight by ten room. It was faded lavender with a bureau, full size bed that took up most of the room, beat up wooden flooring and a slanted ceiling. It had one window on the back wall and a bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling. Across the landing, the slanted ceiling pitched the other way and followed a short length of the hallway that led to a second door. Toward the front of the house there was a larger room with the ceiling slanted on both sides and two windows on the front wall. It was light green with two bureaus, one pink one blue, two twin beds and the same beaten wooden floor. There was a closet to the right and another bare bulb in the middle of the room.
The condition of the upstairs wasn’t much better than the downstairs. It was just as dirty but there was less work to be done. The paint was a little newer but the plaster on the walls was rough horse hair.
“This ain’t no palace but yo, you could get comfortable here.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to give me the hard sell?”
“I’m not. I’m just saying it ain’t so bad up here. Better than down there.”
Back down in the kitchen we found the door to the basement. “Ready for this?” Bobby asked. We both grimaced when he opened the door and the dank came up like a fist. “Oh damn, but that’s some nasty shit,” Bobby blurted. I had to agree.
There was a light switch at the top of the stairs and Bobby flicked it on. A scarce few watts came to life at the bottom of the steps. The darkness jumped back. In the feeble light at the bottom we could see a dirt floor. And I started to get that sinking feeling again. The old stairs complained at our every step but they were steady. In the basement there was an oil tank, a boiler and the water heater. All of them set up on cement blocks. All of them relics. “I just turned the electric back on so I don’t know if some of the pipes might have burst.”
“Small potatoes.” I looked around the walls of the stone foundation. Mice. All I could think was there would be mice.
“This shit is creepy,” Bobby spoke my mind. “I mean I’m just waiting to find some meat hooks hanging from the beam and a chainsaw in the corner. Maybe an old flour bag with eyeholes.”
“You and me both Bobby. You and me both.” Over towards the back of the basement I saw another set of steps. Shorter and seeming to go nowhere in the dim light. I went over to the steps, forced the latch some to get it to give and pushed up on the wooden bulkhead doors. Day light and a rush of much needed fresh air flooded the basement. In the far corner, a tattered and discolored cloth tarp splattered with oil stains was draped limply over something. We pulled the tarp back and found a stack of cinder blocks on a pallet. No body parts or machetes to be found.
“Well, that’s not so creepy,” Bobby said.
“No,” I agreed. “I guess this concludes today’s tour. Not much else to see.”
“There’s one more thing.”
Me and Bobby went out through the bulkhead doors into the bright sun. The angled rays came down hot on my skin and I had to cover my eyes until they adjusted. The grass was as high in the backyard as it was in the front and I kept thinking that I would have to check myself for ticks later. I hated those little fuckers.
“In there?” The only place left to go was into the barn. The building looked like it might fall on us if we tried to open the door.
“Hells yeah. I’ve been dying to check that place out. We’ll probably find some crazy old shit in there.”
And Bobby wasn’t wrong. After working the rusted old padlock on the side door it gave and we entered the dilapidated structure. My first instinct was to look up and see just how twisted the rafters were. Some were slightly warped but none were splitting so I felt safer going in. The floor in here was dirt also and you could smell the years of spilled oil in the sand. There were big black spots all over the visible areas. There were only two windows in the building. One on each opposing wall. The glass cracked in every pane.
“Holy shit,” was my first response to the contents of the barn. It was a veritable museum of antique tools. Pitch forks, shovels, hammers, and a step handled manual drill. The shelves and workbench were covered in an array of wooden and rusted hand tools. Oil cans with the “STP” logo on them littered the floor. There was an old metal spray can. Way over in the corner was a plow setup for a horse. The only thing missing was a model t. And I wasn’t all too sure there wasn’t one buried under all the junk.
“Yo, this is some old ass hardware,” Bobby exclaimed as he picked up a rusted ax and swung it through the air. “I don’t even know what some of this shit is.”
“A lot of junk Bobby. Most of it’s in good shape but it can’t be used as tools anymore.”
“So all this is no good?”
“No. It’s still good for a collector. You could probably have some kind of yard sale or go online and sell this stuff. People will pay good money to hang some of this shit in their garage. Makes them feel more manly.”
“That’s cool. I might keep some of it for myself.”
“It’s all yours anyway. You’ll have to pick through it someday.”
“Aw hey, you can have some of it too. Bobby Jones likes to share the wealth.”
“Thanks Bobby,” god help me but I was kind of getting to like this guy.
We dug around some more but it was god damn hot in that barn. It must’ve been at least another thirty degrees hotter than outside. Flies were buzzing all round us and there was a two foot round bees nest in the crook of the last rafter. Sweat ran down my face and back. After about ten minutes we gave up. Decided it was a job for another day.
We wandered through the back yard and up the hill to the driveway. On two sides the house was bordered by woods. There was another house visible in the tree line about six hundred feet to the east. There were a few more houses across the street all decently separated by large yards. Not much of a neighborhood but it was all good to me.
“How much land came with the place?” I asked as we walked.
“Just under six acres now. There used to be more when this place was a farm.”
“You ever think about developing some of it and selling it off?”
“Can’t. Back is land locked. And check this shit there’s a historic cemetery somewhere up in the backwoods. State won’t let me dig.”
“You ever go looking for it?”
“Fuck that mess yo. Bobby Jones ain’t screwing with no spirits.”
I had to laugh a little at that. Big bad Bobby scared of ghosts. Of course, as we got closer to the house I could see his point. There was definitely something here just off enough to leave a numb buzzing in my head.
“Hey, I’ll give this place a better going over tomorrow after I get my stuff moved in and give you some kind of estimate. I warn you it’s not going to be cheap. There’s a lot of patch and repair to be done.”
“I feel ya. But we need to do this on a low budget. I ain’t gonna get much for the place and my pockets ain’t that deep. You feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel you. We’ll get this done as economically as possible. Mostly it’s a shit load of cleaning and labor and that takes time.”
“Time I got. I don’t care if it takes a while just so long as it gets done. In the meantime I’ll start getting the funds together for our new partnership brother.”
“Okay partner,” I shook Bobby’s hand again and he was off in his shiny black new toy. And I was left alone with the house.
Chapter 2: 1900
Jebediah McKaw loomed over his sin in the sweltering barn. Breathing heavy. Head pounding. A ringing in his head so fierce that he could feel his eardrums vibrating madly. The back of his shirt soaked in sweat. The front soaked in blood.
The body of his wife, Rose, lay in a heap at his feet on the dirt floor. A crimson halo slowly forming around her head.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” he ruminated to himself and his deceased so called better half.
At least now it would be quiet. She would be quiet. He was tired of her fussing about his business. Her incessant chirping. Day in and day out. It was a job of work just listening to Rose. Nothing was ever good enough for her. No matter how hard he tried…The new life in the country. Trying to go straight. That house. That fucking god forsaken house.
He had put his sweat and blood into building her a goddamn home. It had cost him most of his savings. He was out of money and out of place. Jeb sacrificed everything he had once been. He longed for his old life in the city. He knew people. He had connections. Income. He was a feared and respected man. Out here in the sticks, he was just another hapless yokel.
The only thing he asked to be left with was some good natured drinking. He didn’t drink all that much anymore. And if he did, it was because he was so damned bored on this accursed farm. In that accursed house. With his accursed wife and child. It was Rose’s fault for all her yammering if he had been drinking more than he should. It was her fault she was dead now.
Jeb dropped the bloodied long handled shovel in the dirt next to his wife. Everything was her fault…
plan d 