Page Title

The Attic by Ray Laliberte

The Attic
A while back in 1912, in a small
town in the state of Missouri, my
grandpa built a house that
summer, that is the summer of
1912, a hot summer I do recall,
because I was spending every day
after school, at three in the
afternoon, it was every day at
McGuffy's Glen, in the swimming
hole there, no bigger than one of
our ponds at Green Patches, but
large enough and deep enough to
swim in, filled with toads and even
some snakes, one I remember
seeing once, a black beauty that
had come in from the timber
pasture and had slid its way down
to the glen and right into the
water which, I might add, was
seen by none other than me, just
as I was about to do my "splash
flag, by the Barnaby Farm, a large
230 acre farm devoted to prize

hogs, one of which interestingly
enough, won the Aberdale Hog
Show last May because, so the
judges said: "It had the purtiest
coat of hair and flattest snout this
side of the Okerfanokee Range,
and plump as a Midsteer in spring-
time, just before the trip to the
slaughter house on Fifth St. in
downtown Nooirweek, a small
town of about two thousand
souls, give or take a few, but
usually a stagnant two thousand
since the old slaughter house can't
support much more people or vice
versa, whichever way you want to
look at it, where that old house
gives out such a stench, which
reminds me of the molasses
factory I once visited in nearby
Soulway, just a few miles from
Soledad, the rodeo town, a large
factory that processes sugar
beets, one of whose products is,
of course, molasses (as you well
know, a by-product which is
created after much centrifugation
and intowhich are added some
sulfides which gives out such a
smell as would peel the new paint
off a new house) which brings me
back to the house that my grand-
father built, a medium-sized house
with a living room, a kitchen, a
bathroom and two bedrooms, one
a little larger than the other, and,
to make it more roomy and
homey, a little attic in which
grandma kept her large chest
which she'd had since she was a
little girl and which had been given
to her by her mother when they
were living in Glendale Way, right
off the "ole Burnip Swamp", you
know where old man Burnip
drowned that summer of '31, a
drowning not without its peculiar
circumstances, especially since old
man Burnip was a cripple and
went only short distances with his
cane which I recall seeing at
Teddy's alehouse, left behind near
one the bar stools, a wide-hand-
led cane with a ram's head made
of pewter on the end and the
stick, heavy and brown, made of
redwood which, he once told me,
came from California, where the
redwoods grow, which is the sort
of timber my grandfather was
thinking of building the house
with, you know, the house I
started to say that he built in the
summer of '12, a pretty little
house which he painted red, the
most beautiful red you've ever
seen, just like the red of the maple
leaves that grow on the timber
plains and cool forests out
Warowick Way, because they get
plenty of rain and frost in the
winter, which makes them a bright
red, not orange-red, but pure
blood red, with a black roof and a
red chimney, with while shutters,
and a black front door, not too
black, but black enough to bring
out the white of the shutters,
which was a spectacularly
beautiful contrast to the black,
which just shone like a sort of
diamond among the forest green
in the noonday sun, especially
when seen from Peake's Hill,
where Jody Marshall pushed his
sister Emill off a couple of years
ago, which was supposedly by
accident, but unlikely so, especially
since he was known to be angry
with Emily-Lou because she had
thrown his pet frog Chrockie in the
wood stove, the day before,
which caused quite a stir in the
Marshall household and, I might
add, a definite split in the family
since the boys sided with their
brother against Emily-Lou and her
sisters, except of course for poor
Barbara Louanne, who couldn't
care less about the whole thing,
seeing as how she was in her own
little world ever since her birth,
and who spent all her time in the
little doll house Aaron Marshall had
built for her; and so she remained
neutral, through no choice of hers
while Jody and his brothers
shouted insults at the "murderer"
of Chroukie and her
"accomplices", which of course
was counteracted by insults from
the girls, insults ranging from the
"immaturity" of Jeb's show in his
pants" to "Juthro's constant smell
from the rear", which went on for
a good while, until Aaron Marshall
had to put a stop to it, by "wippin"
Jody for an obscene action he did
to his sister, but which fight
continued till next morning when
the Marshall boys and girls were
on their way to school and ended
when poor Emily-Lou fell, or was
pushed off the hill, the exact
cause of her fall not really known
since their was not a single
witness, but very strange since
Jody never turned up till 10 that
night, long after school was out,
which he never done before in his
life, whereupon entering the
house, his father said: "Wher've
you been, boy? Your sister Emily-
Lou fell off'n Peak Hill t'day", to
which he replied: "I'm hungry;
what's for suppa?", and he was
cuffed on the head for being late
to the house...which reminds me
of the house Jonathan Clifton
built, that's my grandfather, which
I haven't finished talking about
yet because the house had untold
mysteries from the very start,
mysteries that were never
explained, like old man Burnip's
drowning and Emily-Lou's fall,
mysteries that were never
explained, even to this day.
CHAPTER ONE: The Attic

Grandpa lived in that house he
built and was always so proud of
his little house and grandma lived
there too, but only for one day,
less than a day, because she died
only 17 hours after she had
moved in, having fallen down the
stairs leading to the attic, and
grandpa was never the same from
that day on because he had found
grandma all crumpled up at the
foot of the stairs with, and this is
how he described it, with her eyes
still wide open, but with "sick
horror in 'em, sick horror, as if all
the devils of hell had come and
scared her to death without giving
her any time to even open her
mouth to yell for help." The house
had been built so perfectly, and
the stairs were steep but with a
rail, but there was no need to
fear, since both grandpa and
grandma were healthy and steady
on their feet and no explanation
could be found for her fall, except
maybe....well just maybe, she
came out of the attic in a hurry
and fell, the proof being that she
fell but was not carrying the
lantern - it was still hanging up on
the ring in the middle of the attic.
She would not have gone down
the stairs without carrying that
lantern to light her way.

No, grandpa was never the same
after that. There was another
thing about that terrible night.
Grandpa had gone into town to
fetch another wagon load of
furniture, the table, chairs, and so
on, and had told grandma that
he's be right back, but when it
happened, the "accident", a
neighbor almost a quarter of a
mile away, claimed that she had
heard the most blood-curdling
scream in the wold just about the
time grandma must have fallen,
for Mrs. Breechan was bringing
wood in from the wood pile when
she heard , or so she claims, the
terrible scream, the night being
"stiller'n any May night as I've
ever seen and heard, with no
sound 'cept the hootin' owls in the
trees occasionally; but the forest
told me everything that night by
keepin' still for me...and I heard
that terrible scream...and other
sounds." She, the widow
Breechan, she lived alone with her
four young ones, a widow
because her husband had died in a
hunting accident, though talk was
that he left her one night and
never returned, running away
with some barmaid up Feernsdale
Way. That's what she told her
neighbors, but gossip said
different. The widow also said
that she had heard poor grandma
screaming a few words she picked
out as "NO!", a few times, "NO!",
and she claimed she even heard
grandma shout: "Keep away!" Of
course, nobody believed the
widow had heard grandma,
because the house was too far
away. There was also talk of a
thief having come in the night and
surprised grandma and murdered
her, but the house was all locked
up and nothing had been taken,
not even the money box, nor the
gold in the attic - yes there was a
little brass box filled with old gold
coins, but nothing had been
touched. The house was still
locked up when grandpa
returned, doors and windows...It
was a sad state of affairs: a new
house, all newly-built, with new
paint, new rooms, and that
mysterious attic which I shall
proceed to explain its meaning
further in the story. It was all
locked up, the attic was, after
that, for a long time, until Alice
came to visit.

CHAPTER TWO: Aunt Alice

I remember how grandpa looked
on the night of grandma's death
and that look on his face never
really changed much, up till the
day he did die. We wanted
grandpa to move in with us in
Topekakiso for a while, at least to
try and get over the tragedy of it
all, but he wouldn't have a bar of
it and insisted that he stay on:
"Your grandma would have
wanted it that way". And so
grandpa stayed on in that little red
house with the white shutters and
the black front door and the attic,
living alone for almost a year, until
he was pursuaded to move in with
us.
One day, we got news that Aunt
Alice was coming down to visit
from Ireland. She was grandpa's
youngest sister, a spinster, and
quite a hard woman from all
accounts, though I had never met
her, but judging from grandma's
stories before she died and
grandpa's, she was a very
interesting woman..."quite a
woman".

Aunt Alice was born and lived in
Dunalok, Ireland, all her life. She
was a schoolteacher and had
been for 30 years. Grandpa left
Ireland to come "make his
fortune", as he would always say,
here in America and after being
here for two years, his brothers
Jerimi and Colin followed but Aunt
Alice and her younger sister
Maurie stayed in Ireland for it was
their home where they were born
and where they would die,
although this might have been
mostly Aunt Alice's "choice" for
the two girls, since Maurie never
mentioned anything to the
contrary of "where they were
born and where they would die",
at least, this is what was told at
family gatherings, mostly stories
tole by grandma, usually in the
family home at Green Patches,
where I grew up, and usually on
cold winter nights, when all the
kids had done their chores,
supped and would be sitting in the
living room in front of a roaring
fire, Jane my sister, sitting on the
wicker chair which had been
brought back from Taipei by Ted,
the eldest son and given to Jane
as a present on her seventeenth
birthday, a small chair with a
rounded stand which served to
form the back rest and seat, all
natural wicker with circlets of
green on the back and tinted rose
petals on the arm rests, and
usually stoking the fire and
feeding it was me, then just
finishing high school and already
writing stories which seemed to
interest Jane, but only at times,
when she felt like reading and also
grandma, who was always ready
to read my poems and stories,
Mom and Dad, who would
occasionally read them also and
encourage me, and Ted, when he
was home from the Service, would
often read them also. But not to
dwell too much on me and my
stories, I must complete this family
portrait, by situation perhaps:
grandpa either in his favorite
rocking chair (the family
possessed at least four workable
ones in the house, which were
always being mended or painted
or polished by grandpa himself,
the time being spent on the chairs
being considered a hobby by the
family members, but a "necessity
of life" by grandpa himself),
nearest the fire or upstairs in bed,
Mom and Dad sitting on the sofa,
or in the comfortable Landano
chairs, Mom knitting, Dad reading
or working on his stamp collection,
everybody usually happy after a
hard day's work and relaxing, but
very interested in grandma's
stories about Aunt Alice, for
although Aunt Alice was grandpa's
sister, grandma seemed to know
the most about her, many of the
stories having come from grandpa
of course, with his or her "own
little touch", but mostly hers, I
suspect, stories which seemed
always to provoke laughter,
mostly, but more frequently,
curiosity about this spinster
woman who seemed to have lived
such a long and full life, and was
still doing so, a life filled with
adventures and excitement, all
told in grandma's inimitable style,
such as the one which dealt with
Aunt Alice's three suitors, all
courting her at the same time,
each never succeeding in making
her their bride, the reasons being
many, but the principal one had to
do with Aunt Alice's very
superstitious nature, and one
story goes that one of her suitors,
Caleb O'reilly, had been courting
the schoolteacher for two years
and, (so grandmother's story
goes), had never succeeded in
even "kissin' her" because and
here the family gathered around
the open fire would roar with
laughter when these
"superstitions" were mentioned,
she, Aunt Alice believed that he,
Caleb, being the second son of a
second son on his father's side,
would never amount to anything,
especially since his mother was a
Raleigh, an English woman from
the West Country, "where all the
heathen and damned souls in
England lived", a state of affairs
which never bring any good
fortune, all of these incidents
faithfully recounted in Aunt Alice's
letters to grandma. When
grandpa and grandma were first
married, they had gone on their
honeymoon to Ireland to meet the
"clan" and the trip, though
planned for a month, lasted four
months. Grandma got to meet
grandpa's family and relatives and
of all of the Clintons, Aunt Alice
had impressed grandma the most,
so much so, that they became
inseparable, spending a lot of time
together, shopping, conversing,
and getting to know each other
more and more until, by the end of
the trip, they seemed to know all
there was to know about each
other. She had quit, Aunt Alice
had, her schoolteaching when she
was in her late fifties, temporarily
to work with the Charity Corps
during the War and had served
the Irish community well, faithfully
dispensing pills and scapulars of
Saint Damien, or Father Damien at
the time, before he was
canonized, usually simultaneously,
to the patients at St. Ambrose's
Hospital in Dublin, the only place
where she had lived for a while,
other than her home town of
Dunalok, where as mentioned
before she was born, and now,
twelve years after these stories
by the fire and one year after
grandma's death, Aunt Alice was
coming for a visit, the reason
being to be with grandpa, her
brother, in this time of need, the
only reason that would make her
leave Ireland, although she was
now retired and comfortably off,
living in her "Emerald Paradise,
she had never dreamt of leaving
Ireland for anywhere else, even
for a visit, since anywhere else
other than Ireland, held untold
and terrible evils and was not
"God's place", as she once
mentioned in her letter. Her last
letter to grandpa had been very
unusual which I read when visiting
grandpa one day:
"Dear Jonathan,
I have decided to come for a visit.
I know you'll need me at this
very trying time. I must go visit
Sarah's grave and purify the
stones on the land in which she
rests.
I will take the boat to the East
Coast of your states and then will
take a train to Willow Down and
should arrive in the latter part of
June.
Have you placed my St. Damien's
Cross on Sarah's grave as I
requested? Sarah, bless her soul,
good Damien, must be made to lie
in peace, so until I can make sure
of this, please carry out my wish
and place the cross on her grave.
Your loving sister,
Alice"

"To purify the stones" seemed
absurd at the time and I'm sure
grandpa didn't give much
credence to this "superstition",
but nevertheless, he had put the
cross on her tomb, as soon as he
had received it in the mail, as
strange as this action had been to
him, he had still carried out his
sister's wishes. In a previous
letter from Aunt Alice, granpa had
related that she could not possibly
come to visit as there was "too
much water separating the two
continents, and although Aunt
Alice was very much aware of
boats and planes, she, according
to grandpa, would never dream of
doing such an "unnatural and
cursed thing" as taking a boat, let
alone a plane, to cross over,
basing herself on the bible, as she
very often did, and stating in her
letter: "Jesus didn't go by boat,
even then, and he did the most
natural thing he felt...he walked
on the water...". Resigning herself
to the fact that she could not walk
on water, and certainly not fly,
she decided to take the boat.

It was in mid-June that Aunt Alice
arrived, June 12, 1947, to be
exact, a beautiful Spring day, filled
with sunshine and singing
thrushes and lopsawings, chirping
merrily in the trees all around, in
the marshes and forest, a day to
remember, when the family, Dad
and I and even Jane, on vacation
from the college she was
attending at Aberdale where she
was taking courses in accounting,
were rolling along in the wagon to
Willow Down to meet Aunt Alice at
the railroad station, all very
anxious to meet her, the
legendary Aunt Alice that we had
heard so much about. Grandpa
and Mom had stayed behind to
make final preparations for Aunt
Alice's arrival, making sure that
the house was clean and well-
stocked, Mom doing the cooking
which she had started the night
before. I remember the cooking
smells throughout the house, a
turkey and ham in the oven and
vegetables on the old wood stove,
pies cooling off on the window sill,
preparing what looked like a feast
for visiting nobility, all those
wonderful smells intermingling and
filling the rooms and even the
enclosed yard and gardens
around. All was going well. Dad
had painted the Leager wagon a
clean brown with red trimming,
scrubbed it well and had groomed
Jupiter and Souilly well, plated
their tails and manes in quattro
and hitched them to the wagon in
the morning and had gone for a
short run to get the blacks used to
the wagon again, for we hadn't
used the wagon for a long time.
The horses had fallen in step,
trotting proudly, their hooves
high, their tails up, and their proud
heads held back and high, a really
wonderful sight it was. We had
decided to leave the ford and take
the wagon, as it seemed only
proper to bring Aunt Alice home in
this fashion.

So it was, going along to Willow
Down in our newly-painted Leager
with proud horses pulling us, Jane
wearing a bright green dress with
daisies, Dad in his tweed and I in
my black suit wearing my favorite
pair of leathers, polished and
clean, listening to the birds singing
and just simply enjoying the ride.
Willow Down was a large town of
about four thousand with pretty
little shops lining the main street,
very modern. It had three
theaters and even an opera
house, usually accommodating the
local high school concerts and
musicals. There was much
"progress", so some people called
it, throughout: hitching posts
giving way to parking spaces,
taverns changed to clubs and
bars, where piano players no
longer played because jukeboxes
were the rage. I had seldom
visited the town, preferring the
quieter and friendlier towns such
as Aberdale where the rodeo was
frequently held and where the
most beautiful Victorian homes I
had ever seen stood, along
streets lined with maples and
oaks, dirt roads leading to and
from town, and where gardens
and parks were everywhere, well-
kept and always filled with
flowers. Roses abounded here,
the townspeople proud of their
cultivation, so much so, that one
year, there was a movement by
the locals, including the mayor and
constable, to change the name of
Aberdale to Rosetown, which was
unfortunately defeated by the
hogmen, who claimed that they
could not possibly raise and breed
their hogs as Rosetown Hogs,
since Aberdale hogs were known
the world over, so they thought,
and so, the wealthy grazers and
gardeners around fought the
attempted change of the town's
name and won, but not without
incident, which was that the bitter
rivalry between the two groups
led to a series of fueds and bitter
quarrels, the culmination of which
ended up in a bitter fight between
a family of hograisers, the McCull
ocks, and the Smiths, a
respectable family who lived on
the outskirts of town in the Willow
Mansion, Mr. Smith, the tailor,
being well-known for his cultured
roses, both on his grounds and in
the parks around town - a bitter
quarrel which occurred when
some the McCullock hogs were let
loose in Stanley Park and allowed
to eat and trample his (Mr.
Smith's) Lady Florentines, which
enaraged his two sons, Tom and
Johnston-Lee, who fought the
McCullock boys, the following day
at Glen's Clearing, two miles out
of town, and which fight ended in
disaster for one of the
Smith brothers, Johnston-Lee, a
fourteen-year-old, who was hit on
the head with a hammer by one of
the McCullocks and who died of a
concussion three days later. Both
McCullocks took equal blame for
the unfortunate incident, each
supporting each other. Tom had
not witnessed the terrible
incident, having run home just
before the blow to fetch his Pa.
And so, the boys were found guilty
and sent to work for ten years tot
he hay fields for "correction and
improvement of life", the judge
had ruled.
But the discontent in Aberdale
brewed for some time after that
and it was no longer the peaceful
hog-raising community it had once
been. The Smiths moved away
and along with them quite a few
of the statelier families; and the
hograisers moved into the vacated
stately homes and the roses died
in the gardens and in the parks.

The railway station was at the end
of town, and Main Street led to it,
in one direct line, never diverging
nor curving, but straight as an
arrow.
The Leager creaked slightly as it
rolled down the street, Jupiter
being slightly nervous at the sound
of the engines coming down the
street. We got quite a few stares
that day. The time of the wagons
was past but that didn't bother us
any. Jane and I held our heads up
high and laughed.
"Mornin' Mrs. Samuels. How're
things on the farm?"
"Fine. Lizzy's home on vacation.
Come and visit, you and Jane.
Lizzy will be happy to see you."
"OK, we'll be over this week. Bye
now".

"Lizzy Samuels", I thought, "you
are a beautiful girl." I knew Lizzy
from the "swimmin' hole" days at
McGuffy's Glen where we used to
meet after school, or during
school, that is while playing truant,
until the truant officer Mr.
Gompers caught on to the
popularity of the spot and started
"patrolling" our little "spot-away-
from-school", and started
sneaking out there early in the
day to catch us, like the time, I
recall it well, when he hid behind
the beech stumps and spied on
Lizzy and I while we were
swimming in the hold, on a hot
June day it was, hiding behind the
stumps for how long...we didn't
know, but hide he did and he
waited till Lizzy and I started
kissing, then he came running
down the path to the hole
shouting: "Shame on you, shame
on you!, and then took out his
notepad and pencil and started
writing a lot and every now and
then, he would “tsk, tsk” us, wave
a finger, and some more “shame,
shame”. A little man he was,
always wearing the same old
brown unpressed suit, two sizes
too big for him, and a matching
hat to boot, with spectacles that
were always ready to fall off his
snub nose. Poor Mr. Gompers; he
was small and fat and wore
unpressed clothes and talked
quickly like a fidgety old auntie,
(excuse me for saying so), like an
old crabby auntie. Lizzie and I
only kissed that but Mr. Gompers
reported seeing us “carrying on”
and added “indecently”, while
being truant from school, and he
reported us not only to Miss
Cratchit the schoolmistress but
went so far as to tell Reverend
Todd. Miss Cratchit was shocked
and told my parents the whole
“shocking” story. Reverend Todd
smiled that Sunday at church and
winked at me when we were
leaving the service. I laughed. I
liked Reve-rend Todd a great deal
because I could always talk to him
and any problems I had were
really no problems at all after I
finished talking with him. Yes,
lovely Lizzy. It was just as well
that old Gompers came storming
out of the woods when he did
because it was a very hot June
day...and Lizzy and I were quite
fond of each other. We kept on
seeing each other all through high
school until one day Lizzy
announced that her parents had
decided that she was going to the
University of Southern Missouri to
study medicine. Lizzy was the top
student at Rooston High, for
about four years, and she would
have no trouble at the University,
friends and I would say. So, our
romance was cut short. But we
promised we’d write every day
and see each other during the
vacations. Actually, we only wrote
only three times because she had
stopped writing; the reason, I
found out later, was that she had
fallen hopelessly in love with the
P.E. teacher at USM, then later
on, it was the chemistry teacher,
and then...But we did manage to
remain good friends and I visited
her practically every time she
came home on vacation, which
was at least three times a year.

The wagon reached the end of
Main and turned left on the
parking lot facing the railway
house next to the lines, a pretty
two-storied wooden structure;
the first floor housed the track
changers, the traveller check-in
and lounge, with a snack bar and
rest rooms on either side, and a
storage area and the telegraph
office was on the top floor. I
remember visiting the bottom part
when I was just a child and
looking wide-eyed at the two
rows of track changers in the
large operations room, long black
metal sticks hooked on to metal
plates and connectors, which
operated the six tracks at the
junction of Willow Down and
Feersdale and another set of
tracks a couple of miles past
Willow Down which changed over
from tracks leading to
Germantown, Rufil Hill, and
Topekakiso to tracks leading to
the main trunk servicing Lonsdale,
Toril, Capetown, and so on up the
line, northward, till it reached the
Capital, Jefferson City. I would
watch Ted Owens switch the
levers back and forth to let trains
go in the direction they were
supposed to go, fascinated by it
all. One day, when the
stationmaster wasn’t there, Ted
Owens finally, after frequent
pleadings, granted me a wish that
I had expressed to him for weeks
and weeks: he let me change
track number three and when I
did, the old number 64 went
rolling to Lonsdale. To make
certain, I got on my bike after
that, pedaled out of town and
arrived at the change track just in
time to see the caboose of
number 64 go by. I stayed a while
just like Ted had suggested and
watched the lines switch back with
a clink clank to the Willow Down
line then went back home, elated
like a puffed grouse. I wanted to
shout to the town about my
incredible experience, to tell Mom
and Dad, Ted and Jane, all my
friends...but I didn’t, because it
was a secret, Ted’s and mine.

We were early and waited only 10
minutes. The train was on
schedule as it had been for years
and years, the railway company
proud of its record, and as I
looked at the engine looming
closer and closer on the track, I
tried to picture what Aunt Alice
would look like and what color
dress she would be wearing.

Aunt Alice stepped down from car
52, an elegant-looking woman
with grey hair and striking eyes.
She was wearing a green two
piece suit with simple brown
handbag and brown quarter
shoes with black trim. As she
walked towards us, she seemed
so elegant, but at the same time,
so fragile-looking. She was only
about 5’4”, petite, and her walk
was slightly stooped but confident.

“Welcome to Willow Down Aunt
Alice.”
“Thank you Benjamin. How nice to
see you.”
She shook Dad’s hand and chatted
with him for a few minutes,
exchanging news items from
Ireland and accepting some from
the States, about grandpa,
mother, the family and as they
chatted there, Jane and I stood by
the wagon, eyeing her anxiously,
at least I was, for I was very, very
anxious to meet Aunt Alice.
“Aunt Alice, I’d like you to meet
Jane and Andrew.”
Jane took a few steps forward
and shook the elegant woman’s
hand.
“How lovely you are my child. I’ve
heard so much about you. How is
your schooling? You are studying
to be a nurse, I believe?”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s so nice to
meet you.”
“And you are...Andrew? What a
fine-looking boy you are. I see a
wee bit of the McCliftons in you.”
“Thank you, ma’am; it’s a pleasure
to meet you, Aunt Alice. I have
heard so much about you...it’s so
nice to meet you at last.”

We talked for a while there on the
platform, but I hardly heard the
words, the conventionalities that
were being passed back and
forth; it was as if everything
blended into a whistling sound,
like a breeze blowing through
trees and leaves; I was so much
taken in by Aunt Alice as to be
oblivious of all else.

The most striking feature of Aunt
Alice were her eyes. I could not
make out their color, but they
were certainly striking. Her face
was longish but with sharp
features. Her ruddy complexion
was incongruous with the warm
weather she was arriving to for
her cheeks had the color of those
of kids playing in the snow in
winter. She always seemed to
smile and this radiant look about
her seemed permeate the
atmosphere around her. At news
about grandpa, then grandma,
she frowned and then the
atmosphere around melted into an
uneasy mood. But her frown didn’
t last long and her smile was there
once again gracing her face. She
quickly jumped to the subject of
grandpa, his health and spirits and
the like. We walked back to the
wagon together and Dad helped
Aunt Alice to the back seat with
Jane and I took my place next to
Dad, and the horses came alive at
Dad’s calling and we started the
journey back to Green Patches,
Jane and Aunt Alice chatting
happily in the back while Dad and I
listened.

CHAPTER THREE: The Attic
revisited

Aunt Alice and grandpa’s reunion
was very touching. It had been
years since they had seen each
other and there was much to talk
about. After the dinner, they
spent hours on the front porch
talking and reminiscing. I was not
a party to their talks that evening
for I felt that it was a time for
them to be together, alone, a time
for them to talk privately and a
time to be close to each other
again. Before she retired that
evening, Aunt Alice came to me
and said:
“Andrew, your grandfather and I
wish to go to Peake’s Glen
tomorrow, early. Would you be an
angel and take us there?”
“Of course, Aunt Alice, I’d be
happy to.”

We left early the next day, on
Tuesday, June 5, 1947, at 7:00 a.
m., Aunt Alice, grandpa, and I. I
have noted the date exactly,
because this day was to be a very
unusual one. The trip to the
forested area of Peake’s Glen was
curiously quiet. It seemed like not
even the birds nor the insects of
the forests uttered their usual
songs and buzzes. I could sense a
heavy silence between Aunt Alice
and grandpa. Their faces,
especially Aunt Alice’s, seemed
resolute. Finally Aunt Alice broke
the silence:
“Clifton, I did not mention this
before, but I had a very strange
dream a year ago, at about the
time that poor Sarah died. I did
not want to tell you this before
because I knew that it would be of
no avail and would not in any way
help matters, however, I feel I
should tell you this now. I dreamt
something terrible. I saw Sarah in
a small room alone and she was
very frightened. She called out to
you then to me. She screamed
and...I, I...there was nothing I
could do. I saw her as clearly as I
see you now, and yet, there was
something there in that room,
something else, something that
was evil...”
Aunt Alice, at this point, burst out
crying. She shuddered at the
telling of this story.
“There, there, Alice...it was just a
terrible nightmare. She fell - “
“She didn’t fall! She was...
pushed!”

This thought upset grandpa
terribly. Although he tried to
explain to her that it was
impossible for anyone to have
done this since the doors and
windows had been locked, and
nobody was seen, nothing was
taken from the house, Aunt Alice
was persistent in believing that
there was something... she had
said “something”, which was very
strange. As I was driving the
horses on, I could not help but
hear their discussion. Why was
Aunt Alice so insistent in the belief
that grandma had been killed by
someone, or rather,
“something”? After this debate,
for it was indeed a debate, with
grandpa adamant about his
conviction that nobody entered
the house that night, and Aunt
Alice, convinced that there was
someone or something else there,
both of them became very quiet,
so quiet that I wondered if they
were still in the wagon.
“We are almost there now, Aunt
Alice; just about 4 miles down the
road”, I said, wanting to break
this awkward silence.
“Thank you, Andrew.”
I assumed that my “intervention”
must have worked since Aunt Alice
continued...
“I understand that you are very
interested in writing, Andrew. I
that your favorite subject in
school?”
“Yes ma’am, I plan to be a
newspaper reporter some day”.
“He’s a fine writer”, verified
grandpa.
“Well I enjoy writing a great deal.
Mr. Jenkins, a reporter on the
Daily Sun said I would make a
good writer and possibly get a job
with his newspaper.”
“You must show Aunt Alice some
of your fine writing.”

We were nearing granpa’s
property line by now. I was
anxious to see grandpa’s reaction
to revisiting his house after so
long. For over a year, he hadn’t
wanted to go near that place that
held so much sadness. I was
surprised that he had agreed to
go and visit his little red and white-
shuttered house. I suppose that
only Aunt Alice could convince her
brother to go on this journey back
to that very sad place. The shock
of seeing the site again was very
sad indeed for grandpa. I had
visited the house several times in
the past year,m so it was no shock
to me, but seeing the field and
grounds overrun by tall grasses
and weeds, and the house itself,
neglected and in need of painting
and repairs, was upsetting to him.
He mumbled something to himself
which I could not quite make out,
though I did hear him say now and
then “poor Sarah, poor Sarah.”

I stopped the horses and wagon
in the front of the house beside
the path leading to the front
door. Gone a long time ago were
the beautiful rows of marigold and
petunias that had bordered the
white-pebbled path leading to the
front door; the front and side
gardens were completely
overgrown with wild grass and
weeds; the front door was
cracked on the top panel,
probably from the inclement
weather or heat, or perhaps it
was done by a vandal, and the
black paint was starting to peel
off, as was the red paint on the
front of the house; the wind had
torn off some of the roof shingles
which lay scattered in the front
yard and on the sides of the
house. The front left window had
been shattered and only one large
lower piece of glass remained in
place, dangerously jagged at one
end. I looked at Aunt Alice who
was intent on looking at only one
thing: the attic.

I helped Aunt Alice out of the
wagon then attended to grandpa
but he declined to step down and
told me he’d like to stay there in
the wagon for a while. I asked
him if everything was all right,
and after assuring me that it was,
I took Aunt Alice’s arm and walked
her down the path toward the
front door. She stepped off the
path, halfway down, and
immediately made her way to the
left of the house and headed for
the back yard. She seemed very
determined in her actions, so I
followed closely behind. The back
yard was large and surrounded by
a broken-down fence with most of
the slats broken or crooked.
Grandpa had originally planned to
grow vegetables in the back yard
and had tilled the soil and
prepared rows of different kinds
of vegetables, but he never had
the chance to finish his project.
Now the back yard was
completely disorganized and
blanketed with wild grasses and
weeds such as foxtails and
thistles. I stopped Aunt Alice and
cauioned her about snakes.
“Mercy! I never gave it a thought.
I must remember that I am not in
Ireland now.”
As Aunt Alice walked around the
the house, every now and then,
she would gaze up at the attic. I
was curious so I asked her.
“Aunt Alice, what are you looking
for? I notice you keep on looking
up at the attic.”
“Andrew, I had a terrible
nightmare when your grandma
died and I saw her in the attic, I
think; it was a small room, very
dark, but I could see her and she
was very frightened. There was
something in the attic, something
that pushed her.”
“Aunt Alice, that was just a dream
...wasn’t it?”
“I wish it had been just a dream
or a nightmare, but I’m afraid
there was something there.”

Aunt Alice approached the back
porch, watching where she was
stepping nervously. My caution
regarding
snakes must have made her very
nervous, for she looked down and
around her every step. As she
ascended the back steps, she
looked up at the attic again.
“Andrew, would you go get the
house key from grandpa?”
“Of course, Aunt Alice, I’ll be right
back.”
I left her there on the back porch
and hurried to the front of the
house toward the wagon.
Grandpa had stepped down from
the wagon and was rubbing
Jupiter’s neck and mane. I knew
he was feeling a little sad about
being back in this place. I asked
him how he was and he said he
was fine. I asked him for the key
and he reached into his breast
pocket and pulled out the key. I
told him that Aunt Alice wanted to
go into the house and I asked him
if he wanted to go in also, but he
told me he’d rather wait and that
he wasn’t feeling quite up to
coming in. I took the key and
when I was sure he was fine, I
headed for the back porch. When
I got there, Aunt Alice was not
there. I looked at the door and
noticed it was partly open. The
door must have been unlocked. I
pushed open the door and peered
in. Rays of light streamed into the
room I was in from the broken
windows. I felt uneasy and felt
that there was something wrong
but couldn’t quite grasp what was
wrong.
“Aunt Alice, where are you?”
I took a few steps into the living
room and then I heard steps
above me.
“Aunt Alice”, I shouted again.
“Where are you?”
it was then that I heard her voice.
She started to call out my name
and then there was silence. I
knew she was in the attic. As I
approached the stairs to the attic,
I heard her scream.
“NO...ANDREW, QUICK,
ANDREWW!”
I hurried to the stairs as quick as I
could.
“Aunt Alice!”, I shouted as I
climbed up the stairs. “Aunt Alice,
I’m coming!”
As I walked into the attic, a thin
ray of light from outside was the
only source of light and I could
barely make out the inside. Aunt
Alice was lying on the floor and
was not moving.
“Aunt Alice, what happened? Are
you all right?”
Just then, I felt something in the
room, something other than my
presence or my aunt’s. Something
in the corner moved.
“Who’s there?”
I could see something like two
points of light staring at me from
the corner of the attic. Just then,
I heard a deep sound as if of
breathing. All the while the
intruder was scratching on the
attic floor. “A raccoon, a rat?”, I
tried to rationalize. I reached
over to Aunt Alice and attempted
to drag her towards the stairs.
My only objective at that moment
was to get myself and my aunt
away from there. Aunt Alice was
still unconscious; I assumed that
she was although I could not see
her eyes. I took her by the arms
and dragged her toward the
stairs. I kept my eyes toward the
corner of the attic from where the
sound had come. The breathing
was still audible and now and
then, I caught a glimpse of those
two red points of light. “Are those
its eyes?” I asked myself. (As I
write about this incident now, I
still shudder at the thought). I
then picked Aunt Alice up in my
arms and hurried down the stairs.
I almost fell down the narrow
stairs and for one brief moment, I
saw grandma falling down the
narrow stairs, hitting her head on
the stairs and railing as she came
tumbling down. I did not dare
look back. My only concern was to
get out of that place. I finally
reached the bottom of the stairs,
turned left and made my way to
the front door. I stumbled and fell
in the gloom, not seeing a chair
directly in front of me, and Aunt
Alice moaned as she hit the floor.
I picked her up again and was
aware of the breathing and
scraping sound coming down the
stairs. I rushed to the door and
turned the knob. IT WAS
LOCKED! I fumbled for the key
and could not remember where I
had put it. I set Aunt Alice in a
chair next to the door and looked
frantically for the key. I finally
found it in my front shirt pocket
but as I put the key to the
keyhole, I was shaking so much, I
dropped the key to the floor. As I
stooped down to get the key, I
could see from the corner of my
eye a figure coming down the
stairs. I picked up a lamp from
somewhere on my right and threw
it at the figure. It recoiled from
the lamp breaking against the
hardwood floor and stepped back
into the shadows. I quickly picked
up the key, fitted it into the
keyhole and unlocked the door.
Grandpa was on the porch and
helped me carry Aunt Alice out.
The bright sunshine and cool air
flooded over me and quickly
sobered me up and I seemed to
have renewed strength, probably
from the surge of adrenaline that
must have surely flowed through
my body when I almost
confronted this thing in the
house. I wanted to go back in and
eject this creature, or whatever it
was, from the house. Aunt Alice’s
moans and grandpa’s pleading
made me realize that it was more
important to take Aunt Alice home
now and tend to her needs. We
put grandpa’s sister in the back of
the wagon, making her as
comfortable as possible and,
making sure that she was warm
with a blanket, and we left that
terrible place and headed for
Green Patches as fast as we could.

Chapter Four: The Spirit

“Ned, what’s wrong with her?”
“Damned if I know, Ben. I’ve
checked her thoroughly and, other
than a weak pulse, I can’t find
anything wrong with her.”
“When I fell, I think she hit her
head on the floor. Could it be a
concussion?”
“I’ve checked for that also,
Andrew. I don’t see any bruises of
any other sign of a concussion.”

Grandpa looked very fatigued and
weak but he stayed by his sister’s
side sponging her forehead and
cheeks with a wet facecloth. Aunt
Alice had regained consciousness
since her fall in the attic. Doctor
Sorensen took my father aside
and whispered something I could
barely make out.
“I think the best thing for her is to
take her to Willow Down to the
hospital. She’ll need X-rays and
further tests. Can you take her in
Ben?”
“Of course. Andrew can come
with me.”
We set off once for Willow Down.

The phone rang once and I picked
it up. It was the sheriff.
“Andy, I’ve been to the Glen and
checked your grandpa’s house
carefully...Andy we didn’t find
anything unusual.”
I didn’t want to pursue the matter
because the sheriff had thought
my story rather strange,
especially the description (or
perhaps I should say, rather, the
lack of one) of the intruder. He
had suggested that possibly a
raccoon or some other animal had
found its way into the house and
climbed up into the attic, perhaps
a female looking for a safe place
to have its young. Sheriff Davis
was a practical man. He was not
one to waste any time in following
up a case. But in this case, I didn’t
have any proof. He had been to
the house and checked the attic
very carefully. Jonathan Davis
was also a thorough man. He had
investigated Emily Marshall’s
“accident” with professional
ability, following leads,
interviewing people who lived in
the area, which was not very easy
to do since there were few
inhabitants in the area of Peake’s
Hill, and examining the site of the
little girl’s death thoroughly. He
had been assisted by his deputy
Fred Saunders, who was also a
practical man and a very impatient
one. Fred had suggested on
several occasions that the sheriff
close the case, since he, Fred
Saunders, was sure the death
was accidental. According to
Fred, he was certain that the
“poor girl had gotten lost at night
and had simply wandered up on
Peake’s Hill and, getting too close
to the edge, had simply fallen over
the cliff unto the rocks below.”
Yes, Fred Saunders was a very
practical man who saw everything
in a “simple” way. Sheriff Davis
was not satisfied with old Fred’s
explanation. But after several
months of investigating the
incident, Sheriff Davis had to
finally close the case. He
reluctantly wrote in his final report
that “...and after extensive
investigatory measures, I, Sheriff
Davis, for lack of substantial
evidence to the contrary, find that
the death of Emily Lou Marshall
was caused by a fatal and
accidental fall off Peake’s Hill.”
Aunt Alice was still in a coma. It
had been three days since the visit
to the attic and tests were done
on her and X-rays were taken, but
they all came out negative.
Doctor Sorensen called and asked
us to come over to the hospital.
He said he needed to talk to us
about Aunt Alice. Dad, Grandpa,
and I drove down to Willow Down.
Mom and Jane stayed home
because they were expecting
news from Ireland, from Aunt
Alice’s sister who had been
contacted immediately following
Aunt Alice’s accident.

“Mr. Clifton, I’d like you to meet
Dr. Matthews. He’s a
psychiatrist.” Dr. Matthews was a
young man, in his thirties and very
soft-spoken.
“Mr. Clifton, I’ve examined your
sister and Dr. Sorensen and I
agree that your sister has not
suffered any physical harm. It
seems to be a psychological
trauma. There is no indication of
anything physical such as a
concussion or ---
“What do you mean, Doctor,
‘psychological’? My sister’s not
mad.”
“Not mad, sir, but whatever she
saw frightened her half to death.
She has had a terrible shock and
her mind is still not able to accept
it. You say you saw something in
that attic?”
“Yes, doctor, I did. It was
something evil”.
“You’re Andrew?”
“Yes.”
“Andrew, I want you to tell me
everything you can about that
day.”
I proceeded with my story. I had
told it over and over again. I had
told grandpa, Mom and Dad,
Sheriff Davis, Doctor Sorensen,
and now, I was telling the same
story to Dr. Matthews. The
psychiatrist listened intently,
never interrupting, never
changing the expression on his
face. After I was finished, he
thought the matter over for a few
minutes then said: “Whatever it is
that you and your Aunt Alice saw
must have been a terrible thing. It
has left her in complete shock.”
“May we see her now?”
“Of course.”

We entered Aunt Alice’s room and
were saddened to see this fragile
woman still in a deep coma.
Grandpa was taking it very
poorly. His shaking frame took a
few steps towards his sister’s bed
and he just stood there looking at
his poor lifeless sister, until,
seemingly awakening from a bad
dream, he approached the bed,
sat down, and took Aunt Alice’s
hand in his, stroking it ever so
gently. We were all touched by
this sad scene. It just didn’t seem
possible that this “legend” of a
woman, Aunt Alice, whom we had
heard so much about, was now
so... still. We stayed for about an
hour and
left depressed.

It was a week since the incident
and there was still no change in
my aunt’s condition. I had gone
over and over in my mind those
few minutes in the attic. I tried to
picture the scene again, the
intruder, whatever it was, Aunt
Alice’s fall. At first I thought she
may have received a concussion
after she fell, but the doctors had
reassured us that her coma was
not due to a concussion. “What
was that thing?”, I kept on asking
myself. All I could see were those
two red eyes peering at me
through the gloom of the small
attic. “What was it?” What
happened to Aunt Alice in the
attic? Did this “thing” attack her?
Did it harm her? I had to go back
to that attic. I had to find out.

The next few days were very sad.
We all wished we could do
something: offer some kind of
support, help, anything to make
Aunt Alice feel better and
grandpa be himself again. He
seemed to be just like the day he
found grandma.

Aunt Alice regained consciousness
after two weeks, but not for long.
She lapsed again into a coma but
never came out of this second
one. The day was sad and lonely,
for Aunt Alice had come and gone
and I couldn’t help but blame
myself. Had she suffered the
concussion when she fell by
herself, or when I saw her hit her
head, or at least I think I heard
her...I just felt like I was to blame.
That night, while Mom and Dad
made preparations for the
funeral, Jane and I sat outside on
the porch and talked.
“What did Aunt Alice say to you
before she went back into a
coma? She did talk to you didn’t
she?”
“I don’t think I understood what
she was talking about. She said
something about a ‘spirit’. She
kept warning me about a spirit.
She was mumbling most of the
time, not recognizing me
sometimes. I only spoke to her
for about 15 minutes, but couldn’t
understand what she was saying
most of the time. She also said
that I should burn the house and
the graveyard in the back.” When
I spoke to grandpa about that, he
said there was no graveyard.

Grandpa grieved for her for a long
time after that. He had grieved for
grandma and now for his sister.
He seemed to blame himself and I
would sometimes hear him mutter
something like: “I sent for her,
brought to this place of death, and
now...”

Aunt Alice was gone. In a way, I
blamed myself also for her
accident. I kept asking myself over
and over; “Why didn’t I stay with
her? Why did I let her go in alone?
If only I had been with her...”
None of that would bring Aunt
Alice back. I tried to explain that
to Grandpa, tried to make him feel
like he wasn’t to blame. But he
kept on blaming himself. I knew
there was something there that
shocked her, killed her, and I was
determined to find out what it
was, at all costs.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Graveyard

A week after Aunt Alice’s death,
the time had come to return to the
attic. I saddled Jupiter and left
early, accompanied by Sandy, my
Collie. The sound of quails in the
bushes along the way distracted
Sandy at times, but he had been
trained on command to fetch or
leave. He would stray for a while
and when I lost sight of him, I’d
call “Leave!!” and he’d eventually
come back in view and by our
sides. It was a beautiful day with
the sound of what seemed like
hundreds of birds singing in the
branches of the white birches and
pines. The sky was a bright blue
dotted with wispy clouds here and
there. Jupiter was at home in
Peake’s Glen and was feeling a bit
frisky. I had taken him for rides in
the area for a few years now, and
upon leaving the dirt road was
ready to gallop through the fields.
I had to rein him in as much as he
wanted to gallop on. I cut
through the open field and headed
for Grandpa’s house. Sandy
rushed on ahead, stopping now
and then to sniff out a rabbit or a
partridge. On a few occasions, he
would flush one out and give
chase, until I told him to stop
chase. I became apprehensive at
the sight of the red and white
house at a distance. The nearer
Jupiter and I approached, the
more wary he and I became.
“Red points of light, scratching
sounds, Aunt Alice laying in the
darkness...”; these scenes all
flashed through my mind. I had to
find out. I was now approaching
the house at the back and nearing
the back gate when suddenly,
Jupiter stopped and put his ears
forward then back and grunted.
He would go no further. Sandy
also stopped and growled,
starting with a low growl, then on
to a furious barking. I had never
seen them act so apprehensively
before. Something was
frightening them. All of a sudden,
Jupiter started backing off. He
would not stay still, but kept on
backing off, stomping his hooves
on the ground all the while. I
dismounted and holding on to the
reins tightly, tried to calm him
down. When I stood in front of
him, I saw red in his eyes and
knew then, for sure, that he was
frightened. Was it that creature
again? I saw nothing ahead of
me, but the gloom left behind the
house by the trees and shadows
and the sadness of the old
decaying house. It was quiet and
unnerving. I may not have seen
anything, but I knew that the
animals sensed and or smelled
something...in that evil house. I
had come to look at grandpa’s
house as something evil.
Grandma had died there, Aunt
Alice had her accident there and it
eventually led to her death. And
now, all I could see was evil in
front of me. I tried to calm the
animals down and succeeded
somewhat, but I knew I couldn’t
get Jupiter closer to the house.
Sudden- ly, Sandy toof off in the
direction of the field to the left of
the house. He darted towards a
rise to the left of the property,
then went running toward a
hollow strewn with rocks and
boulders. He started to go down
the hollow but I called him back.
His training and obedience had
been thorough, but now these
years of hard work were being
tested, for although I shouted the
command, he was hesitant to
obey. He stopped, looked back at
me, barking all the while, then
started to go down into the
hollow. Again, I shouted for him to
stop and “Leave”, and he did so,
but was still insistant on pursuing
whatever was there before him. I
knew there was something there
but I could not see anything. I
quickly tied Jupiter to one of the
back fence posts. I headed for
Sandy who was still stopped just
on the rise of the hollow. I
reached him and grabbed a hold
of his collar, feeling all the while
his will to give chase. I had been
to grandpa’s house on several
occasions but had failed to notice
this particular spot before.
Perhaps I had avoided it
purposely for this was a very
gloomy and unsettling part of the
property. I stood on the rise with
Sandy , looking down into the
hollow, and in the darkest part of
the hollow was a pile of rocks.
Sandy was still pulling and ready
to rush in, but his growls told me
in earnest that there was
something in that place which had
aroused him furiously. I took my
belt off and used it as a leash,
because I couldn’t restrain him
any other way. I then had to
consider my next step.
Just then, I heard the whinnying
of a horse in the distance, coming
across the field toward the
house. At the sight of Jupiter, the
rider headed toward him. As the
rider got closer, I recognized Lizzy
Samuels.
“Lizzy”, I shouted, “how nice to
see you! What brings you here?”
“Johny, how are you?”
Just then her horse also stopped
short, and I thought I had I had
just then heard a moan coming
from the gloom of the rocks below
me. I shuddered to think of what
was in those rocks. I rushed over
to Lizzy and grabbing hold of her
horse’s reins, calmed him down. I
helped her dismount and as she
stepped down, I grabbed her and
hugged her close. “Lizzy
Samuels”, I thought, “you feel so
good.”
“I was just over your folks’ house

To be continued......