Chapter 12
It was Saturday morning in mid-August, and the town of Norway had quickly reached its summer's record heat. Samantha woke early, finished a quick breakfast, and began the walk downtown. The day's humidity had already crept in, leaving the town blanketed in a heavy haze. Aside from doing research, the library was air conditioned and the sudden shock of cold air struck her in the face as soon as she opened the door. Norway's library was relatively small, and Samantha had become more than familiar with every section. However, never having taken an interest in local history, she found it necessary to approach the librarian for information on where to find the appropriate section. The elderly woman opened a drawer, and taking out a silver toned key, led Samantha to the far side of the first floor. There, a polished oak door stood guard over the library's collection of historic books and town documents.
“Is there anything in particular I can help you with?” the woman asked.
“Well, I'm looking for anything about the house across the street,” Samantha answered.
The woman's gentle smile disappeared as she broke eye contact.
“Oh, you mean the Cummings house,” she said. “Terrible what happened there. It's been so long.”
Her remark peaked Samantha's interest, and as the woman unlocked the door, Samantha became more eager to search through the room's contents, no matter how long it took.
When the door opened, Samantha's eyes widened as her mouth fell open. The room was lined with shelves, each filled from end to end with antiquated books of various sizes. The librarian walked in ahead of her and searching the shelves, retrieved a heavy book on Norway's historic houses.
“I think you'll find it in here,” she said.
She placed it on an oak table and instructed Samantha to be careful regarding its fragile condition. Sitting in front of it, she opened the book to its table of contents and found the entry for the Cumming's house. Accompanying its history, she found a fuzzy black and white picture of the house taken sometime during the twenties. It was built in 1851, and owned by Charles Cummings. After his death, his son took possession of the property. He was an avid gun collector and astute businessman who carried on with the family's lumber mill. Further in its history, his son, Fred, became the owner. Deciding that renovations were in order, Fred hired a construction crew to perform the work and exposing a partition, discovered a rifle. Many believed that it once belonged to his father as part of his collection. Then, in 1894, the mill caught fire and spread though the town, burning most of the business district. His wife Cora, fell into a deep grief over those lost to the blaze, and a month later, while sitting in the library, placed the barrel of the rifle in her mouth and fired. Death came in a flash as the bookcase behind her stood in a heavy layer of blood and brain matter. Hearing the shot, Fred sprinted into the room to find her sprawled out on the floor with the back of her head blown out - the contents of her skull emptied onto the floor and bookshelves. Fred quickly became distraught and after the funeral, sank into a deep depression. Several years later, he died in his sleep after his business investments failed. Some considered his death a suicide, the result of unresolved grief. By the time his body had been discovered, it was already in an obvious state of decay. His death would continue as one of the most notable mysteries of Norway.
Having armed herself with this information, Samantha referred back to the book she had discovered. It told a similar story with the added narratives of personal experiences, as told by workmen and curiosity seekers. Some saw a strange light illuminating the windows of the tower, while others saw faint shadows and heard the whispers of sorrowful sobbing. And always at night. During the day, the house slept, rarely stirring except for those who dared to enter with destructive intentions. The only things she knew about the house were the things she read and her curious mind consumed all of it, while craving more.
That Friday night, Samantha left her house telling her mother she would be meeting Henry downtown at the bookstore, then go to Ari's Pizza. Her mother had always trusted her, but as a nurse, she was accustomed to reading people's behavior and found it difficult to believe that Samantha would be doing what she claimed. As she walked to the front door, her mother told her to be careful, and asked her to be in at reasonable time. Ordinarily, this advice was typical for any young woman, but on that night, Samantha knew what her mother was thinking and felt a slight twinge of guilt. However, it was not enough to extinguish her curiosity and within twenty minutes found herself quietly creeping through the back yard of the Cummings house.
It was a two story gingerbread styled house. Its exterior, covered with a well weathered uneven brown had, more or less, withstood over a century of abuse by the elements. A rounded tower rose up over the roof with arched windows circling the top. Samantha pulled a sheet of gray pine away from a window and crawled through. Once back on her feet, she took out a small flashlight and scanned the immediate area. The walls were faded and stained, with wallpaper peeling away from the plaster beneath. Samantha was unable to identify the room she was in, but thought it might be the pantry. Walking carefully across the floor, she startled herself as pieces of glass and plaster crunched and crackled underfoot and arriving at the doorway, she looked up and down the darkened hallway. The walls were painted with graffiti and more plaster lay in small sheets on the floor, having fallen from the ceiling. Samantha was careful to walk near the wall so as avoid stepping through any soft floorboards. Should she become trapped or injured, her screams would likely go unheard.
As the night crept upon the town of Norway, the already dim house began to blacken. Its windows had been boarded up for decades and during the day, light would stream in through cracks in the plywood, forming wedges of white in the dust that hung in the air. Her imagination ignited as she continued toward the end of the house, aiming her flashlight through every doorway she passed. With her senses wide open, she listened to the air, looked in every corner, stopping occasionally to observe a shadow or something she thought she saw.
Having investigated the first floor, Samantha slowly climbed the staircase. According to her research, it had been carved by hand, as well as the oak mantle-piece in the living room. While ascending the stairs, she reached over to the banister. Immediately, the palm of her hand became coated in a heavy layer of dust, the remains of a time long passed. What she could not shake off was wiped against the leg of her pants as the staircase turned gently toward the second floor. It looked much like the first, with its rooms laid out in a similar manner and chunks of plaster scattered throughout. Aiming her flashlight down the hallway, Samantha again, scanned every wall from floor to ceiling. The carpet trailing down the hall was dusty, yet intact. The walls were stained by age and bleached by decades of sunlight, with wallpaper bubbled and peeling. Stopping at the first room she found, Samantha stood in front of its slightly open door. Her imagination suddenly became plagued with endless possibilities of what might on the other side. The silence was deafening and left an oppressive hum in her head. She brought a hand up, and cautiously pushed the door open as its hinges let out a rusty scream. Not yet completely open, Samantha peaked around its edge, shining the flashlight ahead of her. The room was empty with the exception of a child's wooden chair, sitting near a boarded up window. Showing the flashlight around the room, she couldn't help noticing the collection of dusty webs hanging from the ceiling corners. If there was anything Samantha both feared and despised, it was spiders. Their large bodies and spindly legs left her flesh crawling. If she had her way, she would burn every spider on the planet. But for now, her only option was caution.
The remaining rooms were in much the same condition, but according to the book she had purchased, the activity in the house seemed to be centered on the tower. Samantha found a set of iron circular stairs built near the middle of the house, over the front door. It had been bolted into the floor, and grabbing the rail, she gave it firm pull. The iron steps refused to budge and stepping around, she gave it another pull. Still, it refused to waver in the slightest, allowing her to begin the ascent into the tower. Still cautious about its safety, Samantha slowly climbed the iron stairs to a trap door. It was nothing more than a square hole in the ceiling, but with Samantha's small frame, climbing through was far easier than she had first suspected.
Entering the tower, she kept a hand firmly on the stair's iron rail, and stepped carefully onto the floor. A few of its arched windows had been broken, letting in decades of rain and snow. Using her foot, Samantha tested the floor, looking for soft spots. The last thing she needed was to fall through the floor, striking the circular stairs on the way down. Not considering the possible injuries, it was the fall she feared most. Oddly enough, the floor seemed sound, and Samantha stood looking out over the town of Norway, the moon sitting an angry orange close to the horizon, while the street lights shown their steady beams onto the warm asphalt. The view was almost pastoral, and she could have remained there for the rest of the night. But a glance at her watch provided her with an urgent prompt to return home, and with the beam of her flashlight leading the way, Samantha quickly walked down the circular stairs. Turning the corner, she jogged down the staircase, gathering more of the banister's ancient dust in her hand. She moved through the house as quickly as possible, yet did so almost silently. She wasn't thinking it consciously, but under the surface was the belief there might be something adrift within the house that might be easily disturbed.
Samantha's rush to get home served as a distraction from continuing her investigation of what was supposed to be a haunted house, and after crawling back out through the window, she returned to Main Street and hurriedly began the walk home. Her mother would not be happy with her staying out late and alone. But almost a block from the old house, Samantha felt an odd pressure at her back as though someone was leaning against her. Compelled to turn around, Samantha's eyes became fixed on the tower of the Cummings house. She had not seen anything unusual inside, and the only thing she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears amidst the painful silence of the long abandoned house. But as she gazed at the tower, Samantha became paralyzed with fear at the sight of a glowing light, accompanied by the shadow of what appeared to be a woman. She had never before witnessed anything remotely close to a paranormal event, in spite of her fascination. Yet, with all her wishful thinking, Samantha was terrified. She enjoyed the adventure of wandering through the old house, but deep down, she wished that she could have walked away without seeing the tower come to life with its shadowy, ethereal blaze. Turning back, she quickened her pace to return home, away from something that was quickly testing her mind's ability to discern reality from fiction. As though running from an angry dog, she looked back toward the tower and at a glance saw that it was, once again, dark and lifeless.
When she returned home, Samantha quietly opened the front door and crept inside. But her mother, like any concerned parent, was waiting for her in the hallway, just beyond the front door.
“So,” she began. “You want to tell me where you were all night?”
It was mid-night and worrying about Samantha's safety, she called Henry's house only to learn that the two had not seen each other all evening. Samantha briefly considered repeating the lie she had previously told her mother, but if facial expressions can be accurately read, she was not about to insult her mother with another lie.
“Sam,” she said. “Tell me you didn't go back to the cemetery again. They haven't caught that guy yet, you know.”
“I wasn't in the cemetery,” Samantha replied.
Her mother was determined to get a straight answer, given that she had already been caught in a lie.
“Sam,” she continued. “I know you weren't with Henry tonight...so, where were you?”
Samantha had to come clean. She was already in trouble and continuing an already failed lie would only add to what she knew was coming.
“I...was down at the old Cummings house on Main Street. It's supposed to be haunted so I thought I'd check it out.”
Not yet understanding the idea of mortality, teenagers often test the boundaries of safety. To the sensible mind, what is considered unsafe to the point of lunacy is a game of chance to a teenager, and it seemed that Samantha was no exception.
“Sam,” her mother said. “I know you have an interest in this stuff, but anything could've happened in there, and no one would've found you until it was too late. These old houses aren't safe.”
She understood her mother's concern, but was at a point in her life where she craved adventure, and Norway wasn't exactly a bustling metropolis. Aside from the cemetery and abandoned houses, it offered nothing in the way of real adventure, and Samantha desperately needed something to kill the overwhelming feeling of boredom she felt.
“Well, what if I went with Henry?” she asked.
In order to avoid punishment, she decided that negotiation might be useful. Her mother let out a sigh of frustration.
“Sam,” she began. “Do you remember what happened the last time you were with Henry?”
Samantha had always tried to keep her emotions under control, but what her mother was implying brought an obvious degree of anger to the surface.
“That wasn't his fault!” she yelled.
Her mother realized that she had spoken before thinking, and it was not her intention to accuse Henry of anything.
“Sam,” she said. “I'm sorry, I know it wasn't his fault but I worry. It comes with the territory.”
She knew she couldn't protect Samantha from every threat that came along, nor did she want to. But at the same time, if something made itself obvious, one should be mindful of it but Samantha's mother didn't want to be someone who hovered over her life, only to end up with a sheltered and resentful daughter. What was necessary was a compromise, something that both of them could live with.
“Alright,” her mother began. “But from now on, you take a cell phone with you and do you think you can get Henry to go with you?”
Samantha was surprised at her mother's reaction. Ordinarily, they rarely saw eye-to-eye about anything, but Samantha was becoming an adult and needed to learn how to take chances, how to grow up. However, she thought it might be best to establish a safety net of sorts. So the next day, they went to the mall where her mother purchased a smart-phone for her. Usually, she tried to stay away from the kind of technology that kept one connected to the world, at the expense of living life. When they returned home, her mother found her way into its settings and blocked the phone's internet access. In her mind, this was all Samantha needed, believing that life is best lived when living is simple.