Dream House: A Short Story by Tardif Cheryl Kaye

Author:Tardif, Cheryl Kaye [Tardif, Cheryl Kaye]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Imajin Books
Published: 2014-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

*****

Ray went to work the next morning and I spent most of the day reading the book from the library and checking over my shoulder. With each passing hour, I was feeling more certain that someone—or something—was in our house.

Now before you roll your eyes and berate me for not just grabbing my family and moving out, you have to understand something. This was our first real home. We owned it. Every square inch of rotted wood, every nail hole, every peephole, every secret hallway. We had every penny we owned tied up in that house.

Plus, I had to prove to Ray that I wasn't going insane. Last night when he'd found me tapping the walls in the upstairs hallway by the boys' rooms, he'd given me a look that screamed, What the hell's wrong with you?

Of course I know I probably looked a little deranged, but all I could think of was, What if something behind the walls wants to hurt my family?

When Ray returned home that evening, I showed him the book.

"Okay," he said. "So you're right. There are passageways behind the walls. But we're the only ones here now. You, me and the boys."

"Can't you feel it?" I lowered my voice. "A presence. Something strong and…evil."

"Come on, Christine. Enough of this."

I picked up the book. "Listen to this. In August 1692, Rebecca Morrow, five years old, was found dead in the woods near the Burroughs Estate. All of her blood had been drained and a silver chalice was found in the bushes nearby."

"You really have to stop reading this stuff," Ray said, shaking his head. "No wonder you're seeing things."

"During the investigation," I continued, ignoring him, "many of the townswomen were brought forward to confess their sins. Most were innocent. Later, it was discovered that the coven in which Ursula belonged believed that if they drank the blood of a child no older than seven, they would remain forever young and beautiful."

"That's horrible. Put the book away."

"When Charles discovered his wife's betrayal, he ordered her to be hanged with the other witches. To be made an example of. Ursula cursed him right before she was hanged. She told him their home would become his prison. He could never leave. Unless he did one thing."

"What?"

"Charles could escape his fate and lift the curse," I stared at Ray, "only if he killed seven children before they each turned seven."

"So what did he do?" Ray ran an impatient hand through his hair.

"He hung himself. In the attic. He thought he could avoid the curse this way."

"I guess he did."

"No. The curse remained in place and his spirit suffered, according to another witch who was hung the following day."

Ray rolled his eyes. I could almost hear him mentally ticking off all the illnesses he was sure I had. Depression, delusions, paranoia, maybe schizophrenia…

I turned a page in the book. "The manor remained closed for many years and was finally reopened and sold to out-of-towners. They had no children. They lived there for over twenty years, until 1713.

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