Tuesday, July 18, 2023
We Must Leave Here
Tom drops a brown leather overnight bag onto the passenger seat, closes the door and rounds the front of the car to the other side. He drives away from the house - a different house - it’s smaller and in a more residential area.
Across town, he pulls into a parking lot - EVERGREEN PSYCHIATRIC FACILTY. It’s about half filled with various makes and models of new and older vehicles. Tom exits the 1990 Volvo with Iowa plates. Bag in hand, he crosses the parking lot and enters the building.
He waits in the front corridor at the check-in point. Seconds later, he’s met by a pretty brunette in her late twenties.
“Evelyn Pierce?” he requests politely.
She smiles through the half-inch of protective glass and buzzes him in. Once past the large double doors, Tom walks the long, brightly-lit hallway that goes on for what feels like a city block before reaching the sitting room at the end.
He stands at the opening, a lump forms in his throat - he watches for a moment. She’s facing a window but is staring blankly off into nothing. Despondent. A squeeze of pain on his heart - a hopeless sorrow.
Tom approaches and waits - she’s a million miles away. He gently taps her shoulder, bringing her back to this world.
“Oh, hey. I was just thinking about you.”
He leans down, kisses her cheek and places the leather bag on her lap. Thirty-two years married and she was still the most beautiful girl in any room. Tom sits in a chair beside her, that lump in his throat tightening.
Evelyn sets the bag on the floor, looks around the room and then back at Tom. It was hard seeing her like this - eyes dulled with the wear of medication and too much sleep.
They back & forth with the usual - bland food, strange people, the staff are nice but distant, nights are pleasantly quiet except for that one older gentleman who struggles with fitful dreams and cramping legs.
And, like with every other visit - Evelyn wants to leave. Tom then has to explain that her doctor hasn’t cleared her for that yet.
“I don’t care. I want to go Home, Tom. Home.”
That lump, the size of a grapefruit now.
“But we most certainly have to move, we can’t stay in that house.” she says in a whisper, scanning the room suspiciously.
Tom fights hard to remain composed but a few tears find their way to freedom. Evelyn touches his hand in consolation. He knows he has to tell her.
“Lyn?”
Her eyes brighten, she locks onto his every word.
“You’ve been here two weeks now.”
His loving smile offset by eyes welling up - her hand clutching his.
“You remember why you’re in here, don’t you?” he asks with a quiver in his voice.
“Oh God yes, it was the house! It was terrible! All the things that were going on, it nearly killed us! Something evil was there, I could feel it!”
Tom wipes his face and clears his throat. Hanging by a tether.
“That day, when I came home from work, I found you in the garage.”
Evelyn stares intently.
“You had cut yourself, all over - your arms - legs.”
She glances down and rubs her right forearm, feeling the stitches through her sweatshirt.
“Blood was everywhere. Your canvases were soaked and ripped to shreds.”
Now tears run down her face.
“I know, but it was that house, it made terrible things happen!”
Tom’s body fills with a writhing anguish.
“We’ll just go back home to Davenport, that’s where we belong.” she declares.
“Evelyn!” he snaps, her head perks.
“There’s something I need to say - and I need you to listen.”
She leans slightly forward, full eye contact.
“We’re in Davenport. We never moved to Oregon.”
Her expression sours with confusion.
“It didn’t work out. The house we were interested in sold so we decided to wait until next year.”
She wipes her face and shakes her head.
“No, no, no…”
“Evelyn, yes, you have to accept this! All of these stories about a - haunted house - they’re not real.”
“They’re not stories! It happened!” she screams, shooting up from her chair.
Everyone on the floor turns to look. Evelyn stands, shaking. Tom hugs her and sits her back down.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner - but you were in no shape before.”
Evelyn sobs quietly, covering her face. Tom sits opposite - hands on her knees.
“It’s going to be okay, Lyn.”
She gathers herself and clears her throat.
“I want to go home. I can’t be here anymore. I want to go home, Tom.”
“Soon. I promise you.” he says, voice cracking.
Visiting hours have ended. Tom kisses Evelyn on the cheek and embraces her for several moments. They break and Tom notices her eyes have fallen empty again. His heart wrenches.
“Don’t forget your bag.” he says, lightly brushing her cheek. She looks up at him with such desperation, forcing a very thin and reluctant smile.
Tom walks from the sitting room - every step driving another spike into his heart. Evelyn watches him slowly grow smaller up the long, brightly-lit hallway.
Thursday, July 13, 2023
A Most Violent Turn
Day 5:
Evelyn woke early in the guest room. She hadn’t spoken to Tom since their dining room interaction the day before. She goes to the kitchen, makes herself some coffee, then proceeds to the hobby room and seats herself on a folding wooden chair.
Her art supplies take up most of the space in one corner. She sits and stares out a window for the better part of half an hour before she hears stirrings from up the hall.
The coffee gone, she sets her cup down on a small end table and walks over to the easel. A fresh blank canvas. She picks up a brush and allows her mind to wander. Moments later, she senses him standing in the doorway.
“How are you feeling today?” Tom asks quietly.
Evelyn stands with her back to him, rolls her eyes and makes him wait several seconds for a reply.
“Fine.”
He takes a few steps into the room, maintaining a generous distance. She’s looking through her collection of acrylic paints.
“It’s good to see you getting back to your art.”
Evelyn sets a handful of tubes aside and picks up her palette - still facing away from Tom.
“Can we talk about this?” he asks.
She dips her brush into some bright red paint, ignoring him.
“Hey!” he fires at her.
Evelyn lays rich streaks of color onto the canvas. Tom storms over and grabs the brush from her hand.
“I need you to talk to me!” he shouts.
She whips around in a fury.
“Why? You won’t like anything I have to say!”
They stand facing each other without a connecting bridge.
“You’re crumbling. You need help.”
“I need my brush back.”
Tom deflates. His eyes worried and weary. Hers - angered and unapologetic. He throws her paintbrush across the room and almost in the same motion is throttled backwards several steps - but not by Evelyn’s hand.
He looks around, turns to leave when she takes hold of his throat and lifts him off the ground. His eyes now bulge with fright and confusion. Hers - darkened, possessed.
A low hum envelopes the room, Tom struggles to breathe. Evelyn overtaken by something unseen - her face twisted into a grotesque manifestation of otherness. She drops him to the floor.
She thrashes about - ripping things from the walls, tearing down furnishings. Tom tries to grab hold of her but she swipes at him with her arm - sending him across the room. Windows shatter in unison with shards hurtling through the air.
The room is pulsing with rage.
After those frenzied few minutes, a calm washes over - Tom sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Evelyn crumpled in the corner, sobbing.
Tom crawls to her and places his hand on her shoulder - she screams. He lays down and puts his arms around her.
Saturday, July 1, 2023
They Speak
Day 4:
Evelyn comes to on the couch. It’s morning. She rubs her eyes and takes stock of the room - everything in its place. Panic strikes and she runs through the house calling out for Tom. He’s not home.
She stops at the threshold of the kitchen, leaning against the outer wall - pressing her fingers against her temples. She squints her eyes and moans. The pain passes and she runs down the hall into a spare bedroom - rifles through a few drawers and comes out with a pen and small stack of paper.
She rushes to a chair in the dining room and begins scribbling madly on one of the sheets, then another, and another. This goes on until all the sheets are filled - eleven pages in total. They fan out before her on the table, she stares down at them, breathless.
Then another dose of the searing pain. She clamps her hands on either side of her head, slides from the chair onto the floor and lays beneath the table making harsh guttural sounds.
An hour later, Tom finds her sleeping in the same spot. He sees the mess of papers scattered across the table. Crouching down, he gently nudges her shoulder.
“Lyn? Lyn!”
Evelyn turns over, sees Tom and begins crawling out. Bloodshot eyes and lost expression - she takes a seat and tries piecing together the events of the last two hours.
She gathers her papers into a loose pile - Tom looking on cautiously.
“I think I know what’s going on.” she says.
“OK.” Tom replies.
“I woke up, things were fuzzy - but then, my thoughts started racing! All these ideas, this information came flooding in.”
Tom sits quietly.
“I don’t know where it all came from - but it makes perfect sense.”
“OK.” he says once more.
“I’ve been jumping timelines.”
Tom takes a deep breath and exhales.
“I know it sounds - “
“Evelyn?” he interrupts.
She picks up the stack of papers and taps them onto the table three times and sets them back down.
“Things have been out of sorts lately, for both of us.”
Evelyn fidgets in her chair.
“A lot has happened in a short amount of time.”
She sighs, then glances out a window.
“Hey.” he says.
She turns back to face him.
“I think it would be good for you to see someone, to talk to about things.”
She locks eyes with him.
“So it’s not enough for you to dismiss me, I need a stranger to call me crazy too?”
“I’m not - “
“You’re not listening, you’re also not even allowing me to explain any of this!” she says slapping her hand down on the stack of papers.
“I skimmed over those before waking you.”
“And?”
“And it looks like the busy-work of an unwell person.”
Evelyn glares at him for several seconds before picking up her papers and walking from the room.
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