The Station by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 30

The nearest house was just next door, and even though Henry had already called an ambulance, he still wanted to find someone who may be able to help. The first person to answer their door was the old man he'd spoken to when he first discovered the house.

“So, you went into that old house, didn't you?” he asked.

Henry was nearly manic in his desperation, and as he tried to explain what had happened, he heard the distant sounds of sirens fast approaching. The old man, however, seemed to know exactly what had happened, and in an odd expression of hostility, sternly pointed an accusing finger at Henry.

“You were so curious, weren't you?” he continued. “And now your friend is dead.”

For Henry, the conversation was more than frightening, and fearing the old man's words might be true, Henry ran back to the house as emergency vehicles were pulling up. Jumping out of his car, a police officer held Henry back as paramedics rushed into the house, and from within some of the surrounding houses, curtains opened as curious eyes studied the scene playing out in the flood of red, amber, and blue lights.

Samantha was soon discovered, her body still hanging by the four-inch nail protruding from the wall. Her skin was a cold yellowish white, and in the absence of life, the nail, acting with gravity, had begun drawing her eye from its fleshy socket. A pair of bolt cutters were used to sever the nail keeping her body suspended. It would later be removed during autopsy. By law, a resuscitation had to be attempted, but Samantha was beyond the efforts of the paramedic's good intentions and was pronounced dead shortly after arriving at Norway's emergency room. The sheriff notified her mother in person, and took her to the hospital to identify Samantha's body. He was a small town cop, and this grim obligation was the most difficult thing he'd ever done in his entire career. On some level, he realized why Frank had isolated himself and for a brief moment, considered a similar future. Samantha's mother was beyond inconsolable and was now responsible for the difficult task of burying her only child. Within the next few months, she would leave her job at Maine Medical Center and disappear but not without first accepting the outpouring of sympathy from the whole of Norway, as the entire town slipped into a deep grief.

The funeral was held several days later, and Everyone in town lined up at the funeral home for one last glimpse of the young woman who only recently began her journey of self-discovery. She had brought her days of being a loner to an end and had fallen in love. Her life was just beginning but was brought to a sudden stop by something that defied logic. Henry, as Samantha's close friend, was allowed to sit in the front row, next to her mother. The casket was left open, and Henry sat gazing at the face of his best friend. He would spend the rest of his life carrying the burden of responsibility for Samantha's death, feeling as though he'd pressured her into exploring the house. But it was at the burial service that he was approached by Melissa, and by her runny make-up, Henry knew she had been crying. She put her arms around his neck and squeezed lightly. As she released him, she kissed him delicately on the cheek and whispered in his ear.

“I loved her too.”

Those four words brought a grimace of grief to Henry's face as tears streamed from his eyes. She didn't know him very well, but Melissa knew that Henry was not capable of harming Samantha, or anyone else and suspected that there was something angry and malevolent wandering the house. But it was just a feeling. However, Henry knew. He hadn't seen what Samantha saw, but he had witnessed it acting out its anger, and when questioned by the sheriff, he told him only what had happened. Samantha panicked in the cold darkness, ran toward the stairs and fell. He didn't think that the truth, as he saw it, would be well received. He had not laid a hand on her as she sprinted towards the stairs, but if he told the sheriff she'd been pushed, he might have implicated himself in her death.

The house, according to a few of the neighborhood's elderly residents, was not the first to be built on the property. It was during an earlier time that the lot had been occupied by a modest Victorian home. There, a childless couple had settled in six months after their wedding day. The husband was a man of wealth, ensuring that his new bride would live a very comfortable life, and although she could not bear children, her husband still loved her deeply. Being very attached to the house, she cared for it as though it was a living thing, keeping it clean to a fault. But a few weeks after they moved in, her husband took ill with small pox. So violent was the disease that it left him dead within only a few days, and although he left his widow with his entire estate, she was also left with a profound despair. Her dreams became dark and painful as she slipped into an ocean of madness. In her waking hours, she was agitated, and had begun fumbling with her fingers. Then came the screaming, and it was during one of these fits that neighbors, on more than one occasion, discovered her walking naked through the house covered in her own waste. Family and friends tried to reason with her. But in the end, she was committed to an asylum, where she lived out her life in a psychotic fury.

Years went by as the house stood empty, and as more people heard the story of insanity that played out within its walls, the more it was avoided. With no understanding of the inner workings of the human mind, people were simply too afraid of what they believed might lurk there. Neighbors would sometimes notice a shadow flicker past a window, or an odd glow slowly move from behind an old yellowed set of curtains. After a few more years, the old Victorian house was condemned and torn down, leaving an empty lot and a sudden end to the strange activity sighted by those living nearby. However, all things change with the passage of time, and the overgrowth that blanketed the property was plowed under, making room for a half finished two story house.

After several families had come and gone, the house became home to an ambulance service. For two or three years, it lay at the edge of financial ruin. It seems that, like hospitals, the income of ambulance services relies on the pain and suffering of others. However, at some point, the staff would occasionally hear the sound of heavy footsteps making their way across the floor above their heads. Some found it entertaining, while others were quickly terrified. But unbeknownst to its owner, the state had come to make an inspection, and the house was deemed unfit for habitation. In a small town with competition, the underfunded business soon met its demise. With its employees released and ambulances sold to the highest bidder, the house, once again, stood empty.

Soon after Samantha's death, the residents of Norway took their grief to the city council, demanding that the house be demolished. It was only a few short weeks later that the heavy equipment needed to bring it down arrived, and the house was flattened, its cellar filled in with dirt and debris. But its story is far from finished and some say that on cold clear nights, if one finds oneself strolling through the neighborhood, the quiet voice of a young girl can be heard weeping from where the house once stood. Perhaps, it is no more than a painful echo of a young life, lost to tragedy. Or maybe, Samantha, possessing awareness of her flight into the ethereal, drifts through a house now absent, trapped in a moment of time and helplessness. A victim of a soul gone insane.