Bringing Mae Flowers

I don’t know how I managed to talk him into visiting the old house with me, but somehow a week later, we met there.

“Sorry I’m late.” His face was white and jaw clenched, but resigned as he got out of the beat-up pickup truck he parked just outside of the property line,  as if he didn’t even trust himself to park on the property he owned. I realized that he probably didn’t.

“Don’t worry about it. We have all day.” I stood up awkwardly from where I had been sitting on the sidewalk.  I couldn’t bring myself to chastise him about his tardiness, knowing what I did about his history with the place.     

We looked at each other, nodded in solidarity, and crossed the property line together. There was no sudden gust of wind or flash of lightning to mark the momentous step we had as we made our way across the dead grass. Even so, I gasped when we stepped onto the sagging porch, and Jason’s hand twitched as he reached for the doorknob. A shared shiver went through our bodies, riding up from the rotting wood beneath our feet. 

“Ladies first?” Jason gestured inward, in a half-hearted attempt at humor. With a small twitch of the lips, I stepped into the house’s dusty interior, and held my hand back out for Jason to follow me in. I tugged his sweaty palm across the threshold.

“I’m sorry I’m being such a baby about this. I just haven’t been back since-” A rush of dusty air slapped our faces, and slammed the front door closed. 

“No. No. NO, NO, NO!!!” Jason rattled the doorknob, only to have it break off the door in his hand. “This is just like my nightmares.”  His voice was rising in pitch and tempo with each word. I could hear soft snickering in the walls.

“Let’s not panic.” I said, taking deep breaths to keep my own voice steady as I placed  my hand on his shoulder. “Come on, the sooner we get this figured out, the sooner we can get out of here.” 

His shoulders were like springs, ready to snap at any moment. I released his shoulder and took his hand instead- a small attempt at comfort while I pulled him away from the door like a startled child: gently, but firmly- deeper into the whispering house. 

“It looks exactly like it does in my dreams…” I observed, more to myself than Jason. I tried not to notice the finger trails that adorned the walls. Trails that matched the exact path I took in my dreams. 

The old wood floors groaned in protest as we slowly walked across the pokey entrance and into the hall. The human-like sounds grew louder as they progressed step by step. I tried to convince myself that the 100 year old house was just settling, and these noises were completely normal, or that I was imagining the sounds. A side glance at Jason’s face told me that he heard them too, and that he thought they were anything but natural. 

We halted at the foot of the stairs, but only for a moment. Eerie voices- undeniably voices now- hissed words we couldn’t understand.  A force, outside of my own, started to push us up the rickety steps. The old wood vibrated with anticipation under our quivering legs. The buzzing, from the house and our own fear, rattled our bones. Jason crushed my hand until my fingers grew red from lack of circulation. Wicked with impatience, the attic door swung open as we approached; spraying them both with dust.

The pressure from half-imaged, hissing voices was becoming louder, and more insistent as we tripped into the foreboding space. The old attic was dimly lit from the sun streaming through one of two opposing windows. The glass was missing and rotted boards lay crumbled on the floor. The floorboards seemed to roll and walls rattle as we cautiously stepped through the room. The sunlight shining through the windows should have made the room bright and cheerful. Instead, the nearly empty space was filled with hatred. Jason’s hand had stopped sweating. Now, it was just cold.

The air was heavy and tense. It was silent, and yet- my ears were perked- as if my body could feel the presence my other senses couldn’t.

“I shouldn’t be here. They’re pissed. I shouldn’t have come. I, I shouldn’t have come.” Jason whispered, afraid to be heard. His eyes darted around the space, and he shook his head as if trying to knock something out of his ears. He dropped my hand.

BANG! BANG! BANG! A large antique trunk, half-hidden in shadow sat against the brick wall. From the outside, the trunk was inconspicuous, except for the dark and heavy, something, that hung in the air around the trunk. I looked around to Jason, who stared at the chest in horror. I realized that this must be the trunk his father had died draped over.  Whatever was in the house had to be linked to that trunk.  We had to open it -but I didn’t want to imagine the contents inside. 

My legs carried us to the dark corner, pulled by a force stronger than gravity. I half-expected the trunk to jump at me and swallow me whole- like something from a children’s cartoon. My hands shook as they reached for the battered wood on their own accord. My breathing hitched.  The hissing in my ears was deafening. My face was browning  wet with a child sweat and  tears of dread. With eyes closed, my shaking hands fumbled the rusted latches and lifted the creaking lid.

I don’t know if the scream I heard was mine, Jason’s, or a ghost’s- but the rush of air that escaped from the wood drew all the breath out of my lungs, dropping me to the ground. The voices, who had fallen silent as we entered the attic, began hissing again. Their demands, previously muffled behind the wood, were clear.

“Remove it!.”

They commanded. 

“Destroy it!

“Drive them from this land!”

Their oppressive presence was smothering, but I didn’t dare to disobey them. Using the lip of the trunk as leverage, I pulled myself up to peer into its depths.  Sitting on top of linen turned to lace by moths, was a single framed photograph. 

“Destroy it! Burn it! Remove the Youngs from these lands!” The hissing grew louder with my heartbeats, drowning out all other thought. 

All I could see were the gray faces glared up at me from behind the cracked glass. My face flushed with a fear and hatred usually reserved for personal offense. Were these emotions my own?  I was being pulled into the photograph. I could feel John Young’s heavy hand on my shoulder, the heat of Ellen Young’s glare on the back of my head. The fear that buzzed in my veins, and the fluttering of movement in my belly from the tiny life forming there. 

“End it.” I heard a girl’s voice say. Sarah’s voice- I was sure of it now.  “End it now, daughter of my blood. Only you can free us”

Her voice brought me back to the present. I was in the old dusty attic, with Jason lay writhing on the ground next to me, fighting against an invisible force or his life.  His face rapidly changing from white, to red, to blue. I could hear him choking above the din of voices.

“End it.” Sarah prompted me again, “Free us.” I felt her guide my hands into the trunk. My hand grasped the warm metal. It beat like a pulse in my hand. 

“End it!” She urged desperately. “Remove the Youngs from this land!” 

The frame grew hot as smoldering ashes. When I looked down at the photograph, my eyes met the eyes of a young girl behind the glass. Her dark hair and shaded skin set her apart from the rest of the people in the photo. Her black eyes pleaded from a century long passed. Eyes staring out from a face that looked just like mine. My obsession with the house, with the Youngs, with bringing Jason here- it suddenly all made sense.

“End it!” She begged. “Set us free.”

The frame grew unbearingly hot, burning my palms and blistering my fingers. The other voices joined in her desperate cries. It was loud. So loud! Jason’s struggling breaths as he fought to his feet, the voices were shouting, and there was a buzzing- like wasps- filling my mind with TV static. Everything was moving. The floorboards rattled. The walls waved. The dusty air began to spin around us like a vortex. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hear Jason anymore. Black dots were beginning to dance in the corner of my eyes as I struggled to force air into my lungs. 

“END IT!” They cried.  Blackness was closing in. 

“END IT! END IT! END IT!” I felt something pulling at my arm. In the narrow tunnel of my vision I saw Jason by my side. He pulled me along as he stumbled to the broken window. I could see his mouth moving, but could’t hear his words. As his fingers attempted to pry mine off the glass, I finally understood what he wanted me to do, what the spirits needed me to do. With every ounce of strength I had left in my body, I threw  the photograph through the already broken glass. 

Everything stopped.

We both came to in the quiet of dusk. The old house was gloriously empty. Silent, still, and empty.  

“Is it over?” 

I wasn’t sure which one of us asked the question, but we both needed to know the answer. We slowly helped each other up. My fingertips were covered with angry blisters, and Jason’s neck was rapidly bruising- proof of our battle.  Leaning on each other, we limped to the window and looked out toward the property line. There, just beyond the dried grass that made up the Young’s land, lay the shattered photograph. 

The Youngs had finally left the land.