Nightmarish Memories
Gil angrily recalled his ugly mood the day he, Robin and the realtor went to see that awful house – an eyesore with a ghastly history – that terrified their realtor. He couldn’t understand his wife’s manic interest in it. Indeed, Gil found every aspect of the structure painful to behold. Front porch columns no longer stood erect. Gaps between roof planks meant complete replacement was needed. Indeed, everything made of wood had rotted, split or warped. If any of it had been painted, its color was a mystery now. Dead gray shutters, those still attached, were hanging askew, reinforcing the house’s horrendous appearance. It was only a matter of time before they would join their brethren on the ground.
To Gil’s substantial surprise, however, he noted none of the house’s many windows was broken. He remembered the realtor telling him not even vandals dared come here. Only the brick exterior had survived intact though its once strong reddish color had badly faded as a result of two centuries of sun and rain. As if viewing the decomposing structure wasn’t bad enough, the grounds were a jungle of fallen branches, rotting tree trunks, thorny bushes and weeds. Trees near the house, however, took Gil aback. They appeared diseased. He’d hoped the disarray and decay all around them would have been enough to quell Robin’s strange interest in this place. It wasn’t. That fateful day created the first of his depressing memories of a home and yard ravaged by time that, from all accounts as they were to learn, never had any good days…and didn’t want them. Nearly two hundred years after the house was built it remained unsold, few daring to even walk onto the grounds. Most of those few that did never walked off.
It would take six men, a bulldozer, chainsaws and a week just to clear the property. Though Robin’s interest in the repulsive property never abated, it wouldn’t be long before her interest would turn to terror. Five years later Gil still couldn’t believe what had happened to them. His memories of their last days together were like nightmares. The damn house had destroyed the lives of two more people…had taken everything from them, never mind others that died there, and even they weren’t the only victims. The house was a serial killer, and no one was safe within miles of it.
The Realtor
Gil reflected on his first impression of their realtor, Elaine Reynolds. She was a Century 21 agent in the small town of Carson Creek, North Carolina, her birth place. Knew the local market as well as anyone. Still handsome after six decades, her hazel eyes as alluring as ever, Elaine wore her thick and perfectly cut short gray hair with pride. To be sure, Robin was impressed. What hadn’t impressed Gil, however, were her crazy claims and frenetic protests about the house’s depravity. In painful retrospect he realized Elaine had been right all along. Now nothing save his own death would ever erase the effects of having suffered so badly while living in a coffin masquerading as a house.
A Hollow Man
Gil put down the small glass of Lagavulin. Two sips were enough. Despite its distinctive flavor he was unable to enjoy it. Before lonely moments like this one the expensive scotch was only ever consumed when he felt an earned sense of contentment…a reason to celebrate. It’d been a long time since he’d felt either of those pleasures. Only Robin’s photo gave Gil any comfort.
Blackout
The third day spent searching for a house was no different than the first two…unsuccessful. Upon their return to the realtor’s office, Robin suddenly gasped. Her head fell back, eyelids fluttering. Gil, in the back seat, was instantly frightened.
“Robin, what’s wrong?!” There was no reply to his question. Elaine, as much worried, quickly nodded to Gil, turning onto the road’s shoulder. As she did, Robin slumped to her right, her head striking the car door window, potentially elevating her condition to one of emergency. “Robin!” By now the Jeep had come to a full stop. Gil threw open his car door and jumped out as Elaine released the door locks. He yanked open the front passenger door to release Robin’s seat belt, frightened to see her vacant eyes. “Honey, can you hear me?!” was the second imperative question. Robin was completely unresponsive. The blood flow to her brain had suddenly become insufficient to maintain consciousness. Quickly and with great urgency but also incredulous to find himself, out of a clear blue sky, to be abruptly worried for the very life of his wife, Gil quickly lifted Robin and gently placed her on the grass just beyond the shoulder of the road. By this time Elaine was alongside him, ready to help. She was hoping Robin’s condition was nothing worse than a fainting spell. She stooped to grasp Robin’s ankles and, rising to stand, elevated her client’s legs several feet, keeping them there while Gil checked for a pulse. To his great relief he found one, albeit weak and slow. Alternating between squeezing her hands and rubbing her cheeks, repeatedly he called to Robin. An agonizing twenty seconds passed before he observed her eyelids slowly open, exposing eyes blankly staring at him. Elaine produced a wan smile, still unsure as was Gil of the reason for Robin’s condition…whether, God forbid, she’d suffered a stroke.
This time, Gil’s voice lower, he softly asked, “Are you OK, honey?” He wasn’t at all certain what answer, if any, he might hear. For several seconds he heard nothing. Though her eyes were open Robin’s facial expression was dull, almost lifeless. Finally, some queasy seconds later, her head moved a bit, her eyes blinking twice. She managed a weak smile before speaking her first words upon regaining consciousness.
“I…I’ll be all right, Gil. Just give me a minute. My head is spinning for some reason.” Nothing Robin just said sated Gil.
“I’ve never seen this happen to you, Robin! I think we should go to the ER!” Elaine nodded vigorously. In reply Robin slightly lifted her right hand to signal them to wait as she lightly rubbed her head with her left hand while taking deep breaths.
“No…no need. I’m feeling better. Please don’t worry.”
“I am worried, Mrs. Turner.”
In reply to his concern, Gil saw a stronger smile from Robin, one that made him feel better but not much better. In truth, had he known the real reason his wife had passed out, fear would have replaced worry. He would have known visiting the ER would have accomplished nothing. Indeed, no ER in the world was equipped to diagnose the reason Robin had lost consciousness.
There had been several times in her life when Robin had abruptly succumbed to a strange weakness. The last time she’d fainted, a year before she met Gil, she was gazing at a picture of a college friend whose interests included freestyle Alpine skiing. At that time Julianna had been vacationing in the Italian Alps. The next day Robin learned her friend had died when she went off course during a downhill run and struck a tree. Her fainting spell occurred at the exact moment of Julianna’s death. Gil was never told of these black-outs.
Robin’s lapse into unconsciousness in Elaine’s vehicle happened very near the location of a woman that had disappeared long ago, her husband dying from injuries only minutes later when his carriage overturned at speed. The deaths were fearfully believed related to the house directly across the road.
Temporary Success
Gil’s life once glittered with promise. Nice looking, of average height but athletic in appearance, his blond hair made him easily recognizable. Up close he was affable and sharp, quickly becoming popular with everybody, performing well in all aspects of his work as the company’s new production manager. His intelligence, work ethic and can-do attitude qualified him as responsible for complete oversight of PEM-Tech’s advanced fuel cell production. These devices were cutting-edge technology. Their complex manufacture put him on the front lines of green energy production, a feeling that empowered him. In this environment he thrived.
Permanent Failure
Gil recalled his superiors’ remarking his job performance was faltering. No matter the understandable reasons for his depression, complete dedication was required. Nothing less would be tolerated…and wasn’t. The sting of being fired so soon after launching this new phase of his career further devastated Gil. Since then he could only numbly dwell on how far he’d fallen. His life was in ruins thanks to a house that should’ve been left as it was…to rot. Gil knew Robin would’ve agreed with him if only she were here. In an abiding state of melancholy he poured the glass’ contents into the bottle and pushed the cork home. He understood it was possible he might never open it again.
Sweet Memories
Gil could still reflect with pride per his academic and professional accomplishments. He’d graduated MIT with honors, named as the inventor on three patents before reaching his thirtieth birthday. His happiest thoughts, however, were of Robin. Her lovely girl-next-door appearance – full lips, large almond-shaped brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair – turned a lot of heads. When her last name was Parmentier, the life she led was one few could imagine. Her father’s name appeared on the Forbes list of the fifty wealthiest people on the planet. So in terms of where she’d lived, what she had, where she’d been and what she could do on any day if something caught her fancy, this woman was way over Gil’s head. He smiled in the thought Robin had married him rather than a suitor whose house featured thousands of square yards of living space, owned cars adorned with the images of prancing horses or Spirits of Ecstasy and carried an expensive billfold filled with black credit cards. Gil was acutely sensitive to Robin’s financial status. To her credit she never made him feel inadequate. Their romance was torrid, his proposal accepted on the spot. Robin knew Gil’s career path would never lead to Wall Street. Instead, it took them to a nice middle-class neighborhood in Pennsylvania.
Robin’s lifestyle significantly changed but not her independent – some said rebellious – spirit she so often displayed. It immediately attracted Gil yet also irritated him at times. If an issue could be handled by wielding a checkbook or invoking a name, well, the woman knew how to kick up her heels; however, despite her luscious appearance and bank account, Robin possessed a strong sense of home and family. Social gatherings with faux friends held less interest than painting a bedroom all by herself. Five years later she was the last woman to have shared his bed.
Nightmarish Memories II
Vivid mental imprints of the eerie to terrifying events thrust upon them from the moment he and Robin first approached that damn property still raged inside Gil. Robin’s strange loss of consciousness and consequent irrational behavior proved to be devastating. Events to follow, so inconceivably evil, had catastrophically degraded their lives. Finally abandoning the house, Gil became a recluse. What had become of them filled him with grief. What became of so many others filled cemeteries.
Fatal Attraction
“You may feel better, Robin, but I still want you to see a doctor.” The woman again signaled ‘no’ to her husband, this time by shaking her head even as Elaine remained anxious for her client. A minute later Mrs. Turner told her fretful company she was feeling much better. Gil gave his wife a doubtful look as he firmly lifted Robin to her feet. As she stood, legs still a bit wobbly, her gaze rose slightly to come to rest upon a house on the other side of Carson Road. Shrouded by trees it appeared to be a brick-faced three-story dwelling that had long ago fallen into disrepair. It sat on a low wide hill well back from the neglected and overgrown lane leading to it. Robin stared at it for some time, not moving her head, not even blinking. Gil and Elaine began to wonder what so tightly held her attention. Far too late he would discover the crushing reason for his wife’s interest in a derelict house he didn’t yet know deeply scared their realtor.
Given the condition of the property as they would soon see, there was little reason for anyone to consider that place as their home. Nevertheless, Robin, having regained her strength, clarity of mind and her seat in the vehicle, excitedly inquired about it. Her interest in the notorious property produced an expression of shock on Elaine’s face. A reply was quick and emphatic.
“That’s Parsons Knoll, Robin. No home for anyone. Forget it.” The curious name prompted Robin to ask a question.
“Parsons Knoll? Was it a church at one time?”
“A church?!” was the hotly indignant response. “Ever since the death of its owner, Abner Bookins, it became a second home for the devil. Abner was the town’s first parson. In 1828 he built a grand house and named it for himself, making sure people knew where he lived. Even the road leading to it bears his title…Parsons Lane. Today he’s remembered largely as someone the town hated. Stories abound about him and his house, all of them ugly or worse. For these reasons Parsons Knoll has remained unsold since his death in 1830. Not even his descendants want it.”
The Turners were slightly amazed to learn that a house, reportedly stately for its day, was of no interest to any of the surviving members of his family. It could only be, Gil reasoned, there was more to the parson than anyone knew when, in fact, there was more to the house than anyone knew.
Argument
Elaine knew the house’s distant owner had tried for years to sell it. Not a single offer had been made. Indeed, even the town of Carson Creek refused to take possession no matter an asking price of one dollar. The owner couldn’t even give the damn thing away. This was an historical house no one wanted…until now.
Elaine emphatically did her best to dispel Robin’s inexplicable interest in such a hideous property as Parsons Knoll, almost lecturing her client about its deplorable condition. She described its appearance and history as monstrous, startling both Turners by saying that, regardless of its appearance, the house only pretends to be dead. Gil almost laughed upon hearing that remark.
“So it has a ghost or two? Big deal. There are mother-in-laws scarier than whatever’s supposed to be in that place.” Gil’s attempt at humor fell flat.
“Let me tell you something, Gil…there’s nothing humorous about Parsons Knoll. Families in town whose lineage dates to Carson Creek’s founding are still afraid of it. They won’t even drive by Parsons Knoll at night.” The spooky comments startled both Turners, neither saying anything. “In the days, weeks and years after Abner died, historical accounts of the house tell of people on horseback riding by the house after dark and being thrown from their horse that reared and then galloped away. Others on foot walking along Carson Road were never seen again.Those tragedies aren’t even close to being the worst stories about Parsons Knoll.” Gil noted Elaine’s words as Robin sat impassively, saying nothing. “One of the strangest things ever said about Parsons Knoll, however, is that, a long time ago, someone went inside and couldn’t get out.” Robin’s eyes opened all the way upon hearing that. “This account is believed to be the first of all the stories about the house, and maybe one of the few times in which someone wasn’t killed there. Now I know what you’re both thinking, but everything I’ve told you is part of the house’s lore and reputation…like it or not, believe it or not.”
Gil ruminated upon everything he’d heard that day. What struck him most weren’t the absurd claims Elaine had related to him and Robin but her sincerity when speaking of them.
