The Haunting of Pitmon House (4 page)

She stood up and grabbed the reptile by the tip of its tail,
lifting it from the sofa. She walked into the kitchen and tossed it into the
garbage bin. Sponge was at her ankles immediately.

“It’s coming,” she said, reaching into the cupboard to locate
a can of cat food. “If you ate what you caught, I wouldn’t have to feed you,
would I?”

She set the cat food down and Sponge began devouring it.
“Then again, why would you want to eat a snake when you have this tasty crap
waiting for you every night?”

She left the cat and the kitchen, walking upstairs. As she
passed the bedroom doors, her thoughts returned to Shane. She opened the door
to his bedroom and looked inside. Bed unmade, clothes on the floor. Just like
always.

She felt a huge rush of concern resurface. She’d been good at
keeping it under control most of the day, knowing she needed to go to work and
continue making income for the household even though Shane was in trouble.
Still, it had been a hard day, trying to stay balanced.

She shut the door to his bedroom and walked to her own,
passing her father’s room on the way. Once she was inside, she turned on a
small nightstand lamp and stripped to underwear. She laid down on the giant
four-poster bed, feeling the weight of the day press down on her.

We’ll be alright,
she thought.
That’s what daddy always said. We’ll be
alright. Just keep moving forward.

The combination of the booze and the long day caused her to
lose any resistance to sleep, and before she knew it, she was out.

●

She awoke in the middle of the night, grateful that the
nightmare had ended. It was the same dream she’d had dozens of time since her father
died: they were penniless, and she and Janie and Shane were forced to live in a
tent in a homeless camp in Madison. She was standing by a busy intersection
holding a cardboard sign, trying to come up with ways to make her face look
more deserving, or more pathetic. She hated having to beg, but what else could
she do? They had lost it all.

And it was all her fault.

She wiped her hands over her face and let her feet swing down
to the floor. Moonlight lit the windows, and she decided to stand up and look
out over the view she’d had since a kid.

Below her was the front yard. This side of the house had no
trees, allowing her a clear view all the way down the driveway to where the
hill dropped off, blocking sight of the main road. To her left in the distance
was the small family graveyard. Grass had begun to grow up around the iron
fence that surrounded it; she’d have to get on Shane about that when he was
better. It was his job to keep the grass down.

To her right was the barn. Well, not really a barn anymore —
in her grandparents’ day it had housed a tractor and some animals; once they
sold off the farmland, the tractor and animals went, too. Since her father’s
time, they’d used it to park an occasional car and for storage. She’d been
afraid of the structure as a child; it had too many dark corners and strange
smells, and her father had always encouraged her to stay out of it, fearing an
accident.

I need to go back to sleep,
she thought.
I gotta work at nine. And I gotta
check on Shane after.

Still, the details of her disturbing dream kept her from
slipping away from the window and back into bed. She knew it was irrational —
they had insurance, and there was a modest savings account, the result of
inheritance. Eliza was proud that they hadn’t had to dip into it since their father
died, that they’d been able to make ends meet on their own.

Just barely,
she thought.
Not with anything to spare.

She let her eyes drift absently across the landscape as she
tried to manage her fear of finances. The more she thought about it, the more
she realized it was pointless; there was nothing to be done in the middle of
the night. All she was doing was robbing herself of some much-needed sleep.

Then she saw the light, drifting in the barn.

She blinked, unsure if what she’d seen was actually there. A
small, yellowish light had passed by one of the windows on the barn. It had
come and gone within a second.

Not firefly season yet,
she thought.
Still too cold.

She kept her gaze focused on the barn window, expecting
nothing, half suspecting she’d imagined it, or she misinterpreted a reflection
of the moon on the glass panes. She was about to give up when she thought she
saw a light in a different window on the other side of the barn doors.

Adrenaline flooded her system and she grabbed a pair of pants
as she left her room, slipping them on quickly before she hit the stairs. When
she arrived at the bottom, she walked to the closet under the stairs and
reached up to the top shelf, pushing aside stacks of old jackets to feel for
the shotgun. She pulled it down and felt for a box of shells stored behind it.

Once the gun was loaded, she grabbed a heavy jacket from a
hook inside the door and walked to the kitchen. The door on that side of the
house was the closest to the barn. She made sure the screen didn’t bang as she
left, and marched quickly over the cold grass. It added to the adrenaline.

Although the front door to the barn had a large padlock, she
knew the back door was never locked. She walked up to it, brandishing the shotgun,
and slowly pushed it open.

“I’ve got a shotgun!” she said. “Come on out if you don’t
want to get pumped full of pellets!”

She waited, listening. There was no reply and no sound. The
barn was as still as it had ever been. She could see dust floating in the
moonlight air by the windows, but other than that, nothing seemed to move.

“I saw the light, I know you’re in here,” she said loudly.
“Come on out and you won’t get shot up.”

Again she waited. No reply came.

“Alright,” she said. “I gave you a fair warning!” She started
walking through the barn, slowly maneuvering around a riding mower and a small
flatbed trailer. Her senses were on high alert, looking for any movement. She
crossed between two stacks of plastic tubs, part of the family storage. By the
time she reached the other end of the barn, she realized she was alone in the
structure.

Ghosts,
she thought, amused, the idea reminding her of the conversation she’d
had with Rachel earlier that evening.

On a whim, she lowered the shotgun and let herself slip into
the River, following the technique Rachel had described. A few seconds passed,
and she felt different, as though her senses were on overdrive, seeing and
experiencing things she normally didn’t experience.

When she saw movement to her right, she turned slightly.
There, behind the mower, was a figure. It was slowly drifting across the floor
without moving its legs.

A loud
BANG!
yanked her from the River, and she turned
to her left to see a stack of plastic tubs collapse, falling over to one side, punctured
by holes. She’d pulled the trigger on the shotgun. She felt a stabbing pain in
the back of her neck that rose quickly to the base of her skull, a result of
leaving the River so abruptly.

She quickly reached for the safety on the shotgun and pushed
it in while looking around the barn, back to the spot where she’d seen the
figure. It was gone.

No, it’s still there,
she thought.
I can only see it when I’m in the River.

She let herself enter the flow once again. No figure was
there. She slowly searched the rest of the structure, but nothing appeared.

I scared it away,
she thought.
Shit, I nearly pissed myself, shooting up
those boxes! No wonder it’s gone!

She carefully dropped from the River and left through the
back door, returning to the house. Her feet were now freezing. When she reached
the house she removed the ammo from the shotgun and replaced it in its hiding
spot in the closet, then she walked back to the kitchen and turned on a light,
looking at the tea pot on the stove.

Might as well,
she thought.
I’m not getting back to sleep now.

“So?” Rachel asked under her breath. “Is he any better?”

Eliza sprayed cleaning solution on the small round table and
wiped at it with a rag. “They don’t know anything yet,” she replied quietly.
Lois was on the other side of the gift shop, arranging a display of bookmarks.
Bernice hadn’t yet arrived; she called, saying she’d be late due to car
trouble.

“They ran the tests?” Rachel asked.

“Some of them, yes,” Eliza replied.

“And?”

Eliza paused. “Inconclusive, as you predicted. His brain
looks normal though. That’s a good sign.”

“It’s not his brain that’s in trouble,” Rachel said. “His
body is reacting normally.”

“It’s not normal to be strapped down to the bed,” Eliza
replied.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

Eliza considered telling Rachel about the events of the past
night, of her encounter in the barn. She felt a wave of exhaustion pass over
her and decided against it. Too much effort.

“So what are you suggesting?” Eliza said. “Suppose you’re
right. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re not sure I’m right, though, are you?”

Eliza paused. “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

Rachel came closer, lowering your voice. “Why don’t you go
see for yourself?”

Eliza shook her head. “See for myself? What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s a slow day, there won’t be many people walking
through the exhibits. Stroll through it for yourself.”

“I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“Stroll through them in the River. Check it out, see if I’m
right.”

Eliza paused, considering Rachel’s suggestion. “You mean,
drop into the River, right there in those rooms?”

“Like I said, it’s a light day. There won’t be many people.
You’ll most likely have whole rooms to yourself.”

Eliza thought about it. “Lois won’t let me go for that long,
you know that.”

“You don’t have to take the full tour, just hit a few spots,
like the main street and the circus stuff. Oh, The Organ Room, too. And the
carousel. Tell Lois you need to have a long call with the doctors in Madison.”

“I don’t know,” Eliza replied. Her work ethic made it hard for
her to lie.

“I’ll cover for you,” Rachel said. “Lois won’t have any
reason to get her panties in a bunch.”

Eliza wondered if the exhibits would be as altered as Rachel
was suggesting. They were already bizarre and wondrous in their own right;
seeing a deeper level of bizarreness in them sounded intriguing.

“You’re never gonna know if I’m right or not if you don’t
try,” Rachel said. “What can it hurt?”

Eliza could feel herself slipping, a sensation of momentum
that she might not be able to control, and it bothered her.
Probably won’t
hurt anything,
she thought.
Just walk through and take a look. See what
she’s talking about.

Still, it felt as if she went ahead with it, she was crossing
some personal Rubicon. What was it her father used to say? Can’t un-ring that
bell.

“OK,” she replied, feeling something physically shift inside
her, as though her guts were rearranging themselves. She instantly felt a pang
of regret.

“Once Bernice gets here, you do it whenever you want,” Rachel
said. “I’ll step up and offer to cover.”

“Thanks,” Eliza said, just as Lois crossed the gift shop, a
bundle of bookmarks in her hand.

“Look how many are bent!” Lois said, flipping the bookmarks
in her hand. “Carton was dented! We gotta talk to Willie about rejecting boxes
that are damaged.”

“Willie’s been out for weeks,” Rachel replied. “In rehab.”

“That explains it!” Lois said. “Probably some Gen-Xer in his
place who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I heard it was Frank covering for Willie while he’s out,”
Eliza said.

Lois lowered her hand, red slowly taking over her face. She
walked out of the gift shop without further comment. Everyone knew Lois had a
low opinion of Frank.

“Poor Frank,” Rachel said, once Lois was out of earshot.
“She’s got her battle face on. He’s gonna get it.”

●

After lunch, Eliza asked Lois for some time to make a call
about Shane, and Rachel was right there to offer to cover for her. Lois seemed
in a good mood after her confrontation with Frank, and agreed to let her go for
a half hour. Rachel winked at her as Eliza left the gift shop, and headed
through the property to the Streets of Yesterday building, which was the start
of the second part of the tour. The first part, the actual House on the Rock,
was really a walk-through of the crazy architecture of a real house that Alex
Jordan had built into the side of the mountain. While there were a few displays
there, the real star of that section was the house itself and its Infinity Room
— a room that jutted out over the Wisconsin landscape, looking as though it
would go on forever. Rachel seemed to think most of the things she should
search for were in sections two and three, where all of the exhibits were
housed.

She reached the entrance door to the Streets of Yesterday and
wound her way through the dark passages, ignoring the occasional displays of
self-playing banjos and violins. She knew the real star of the show was around
the corner.

When she arrived, the street was empty. Before her was a
re-creation of an old American main street, the false fronts displaying more of
Alex Jordan’s collections. Since it was all housed within a giant building, it
was completely dark overhead, keeping the street in permanent night. The lack
of any other tourists in that section made things feel very quiet and private. Eliza
had always felt that it looked like an alternate version of Disneyland’s main
street, remembering a family trip they’d made when she was little. She recalled
Disney’s version as open and bright, festive and vibrant. Alex Jordan’s
version, laid out in front of her, was the opposite; charming, but creepy.
Dark. Intriguing and frightening at the same time. At the end of Disneyland’s
main street was a castle; at the end of this main street was a two-story
contraption of mannequins holding instruments, unnervingly still and silent.
Whereas Disneyland’s live-person band would play a bright crisp march and walk
down a sun-drenched street, the band waiting to play at the end of this street
was ready to crank out a mechanical and out-of-tune Sousa march in the dark,
lit by red lights that made them look sinister. She prayed no one showed up and
dropped tokens into the machine; they’d remain silent and unmoving as long as
no one did.

The barbershop was first on the right. Inside the dimly-lit
display she saw an arrangement of old barbering tools. She wondered which of
them were real; she knew that was what made the place fun, trying to decipher
what was really antique, and what was a replica.
Half of this stuff might
not have even been used by barbers,
she thought.
It just looks good.

She checked right and left to assure herself she was still
alone, and dropped into the River. None of the objects inside the display
changed or looked different in the slightest. As she quickly dropped back out,
she felt a slight pain at the back of her neck.

I need to do it slower,
she reminded herself.

Across the dark street was the façade of a doll maker shop.
She braced herself as she approached the large window, looking into the
interior. Dozens of dolls of all shapes and sized lined the walls, and were
posed on small chairs and next to miniature houses.

This one for sure,
she thought.
Dolls are always creepy.

She dropped into the River and closed her eyes, waiting for
the flow to settle.

When she opened them, the dolls were all looking at her.

She stepped back from the window, feeling her physical body
follow her. None of the dolls had changed in the way that Rachel’s lip balm had
become something completely different. They all remained the same, with the
same frilly dresses and blank expressions.

But their eyes had moved. They were all watching her; every
single one.

She dropped from the River and the faces of the dolls
returned to normal, their glass eyes staring blankly in the random directions
of their poses.

Dolls!
she thought, turning from the display.
I hate them!

She continued walking down the dark street, past the fire
station and the statuary. She stopped at the statuary to once again drop into
the River, and was disappointed that none of the small figures transformed.

Rachel might be full of shit,
she thought.

The eyes of those dolls did move, though.

Next up on the right was a cinema. Red velvet ropes blocked
the entry to a small alcove set back from the main façade, where a ticket booth
waited with a mannequin inside. Behind it were the doors to the theatre itself,
one of which was propped open, exposing a small row of seats and a white screen
beyond. She dropped into the River and took a look around, not really expecting
to see anything unusual, and was rewarded according to her expectation.

She was getting closer to the wall-sized calliope. Its full
scope was now in view, no longer partially hidden by the buildings at the end of
the street. The fake band was arranged on two decks of a massive Dixie
riverboat,
The Gladiator
. Each character was holding an instrument, and
the mechanics that would force the fingers to move and the valves to be
depressed on the trumpets and saxophones were exposed with little attempt to
hide them; the mechanics, after all, were supposed to be part of the charm. Each
of the mannequins looked slightly off, as though pieces of different dummies
had been used to form a whole figure, resulting in the heads not quite matching
the body, and the hands not quite matching the arms.

Eliza turned to look at the token box, waiting to receive two
of the metal discs, ready to breathe the display to life.

No way,
she thought, even though she had a half-dozen tokens in her pocket.

She turned to her left, looking at the last house of the
street before the entrance to the next section. It was a lamp store, filled
with Tiffany-style lamps of different shapes and sizes. Once again she dropped
into the River, and this time was shocked to see several of the lamps
transform. One looked like an anvil, and another became a crusty wooden crate,
covered in dried mud.

Oh my God!
she thought, marveling at the transformation.
Look at
that! Rachel was right!

She heard movement behind her, and realized a couple had made
their way down the street and to the riverboat display while she’d been examining
the lamps. She could hear them dropping tokens into the box. She wanted to
leave the room before it started up, but she knew she’d never make it.
Immediately the wind of the bellows cranked up, filling with air in preparation
for the first notes. It took about five seconds, and the playing would begin.

She turned, still in the River. The couple was young,
standing right in front of the display, their backs to her.
They haven’t a
clue I’m in the River,
she thought.
They think I’m just another tourist,
looking into one of the shop windows.

Then the sound began, revving up like a record trying to get
up to speed. It was loud, filling the formerly silent street with banging drums
and cymbals. She looked at the riverboat as the figures came to life, moved by
articulation arms in repetitive patterns.

She glanced back down the street. No one else had entered the
room; it was just the three of them. She noticed little mechanical music box
displays, running up and down the street, small contraptions housed in wooden
frames with glass windows, tucked between each of the shops. She’d passed them
by while walking the street earlier, completely missing them, concentrating
more on the shop windows. There was a glow coming from several of them; a gypsy
fortune teller, whose arm was moving back and forth over a series of tarot
cards; a winter scene of skiers slowly sliding down a snow-covered mountain,
the mechanism returning them to the top for an endless loop; fishermen casting
rods into fake water and tugging to pull something up. They were all glowing in
an unnatural way, and she was just about to walk to them when the music from
the riverboat changed, dropping several steps, becoming louder, screeching like
fingernails on a chalkboard. She turned back to look at it, wondering if
something mechanical was breaking down; instead she saw figures moving between
the mannequins, reaching for the instruments. They were whitish-pale and
transparent, and she could see though them to the riverboat backdrop. As she
watched, one of them looked up, staring right at her. When they made eye
contact, the male figure smiled at her, and then lowered his eyesight to the
cello by his side. He reached down to slide his ghostly fingers along the
strings of the instrument, producing a loud wail that made Eliza want to hold
her ears. He looked back up at her, his smile growing as he watched her
discomfort.