Thursday, October 11, 2012

How am i slowly losing my mind(Story part 2)

After that the conversation turns dead, some small talk ensues but we eventually go our separate ways. " So do ya think i will see you around, maybe get a coffee or something?". Her eyes look tired, or bored, she gives me this almost sarcastic smile and says. " Maybe, i guess you never know.....".
     After awhile of walking,  i find this little lake covered by trees with this family run travel lodge out front. Some kids are playing, swimming, finding ways to beat the heat.  Underneath the trees to the left lays a picnic table,  i take a seat, just to watch the noise ensue. As i sit there, tidbits from our conversation come rushing in. I wonder why she thought the Whitman place wouldn't sell, there has to be a explanation. Even more so since she seemed so reluctant as to say why.  As i think this over,  having it go through my head numerous times, i start to wonder what my wife(or now ex wife) and kids are up to. She got custody, kicked me out, and told me never come back. Its hard to think my kids will grow up without me. But what can i say, i was never the ideal father, to put it nicely. I tried, i really did, but things have always seemed to go wrong, top that off with a job that had me travel a lot. When i finally opened my eyes long enough to realize i was losing them, it was too late. It was already over.
    Back at the house i walk past the phone on multiple occasions trying to force myself not to phone. But in time it passes. I go back to the talk i had with the redheaded woman, and how she appeared to stumble upon her words when i asked about this place, and whitman himself. But apparently there is a small library in town, maybe they will have some old newspapers i could look through. I find its starting to get late and its hard to remember if I have eaten all day. So at that I make my way to the kitchen to make a couple sandwiches, while afterwards sitting down to the couch, and a couple hours later, i find myself dozed off to the sound of white noise on the tv.
     Now, all the sudden i find myself in bed, eyes still trying to adjust as i feel something watching, waiting in silence. I get up and find this woman standing at my bedroom door, hand up against the corner in what appears to be a seductive pose.  I call out to her, thinking she might be my wife,  but as i get closer, she slowly disappears into the night. I quickly run into the hall, after her. But as i find out, she is no longer there.
   I awake with a quick jerk, and a pool of sweat running down my forehead. Finding myself still on the couch i start to wonder if it was a dream or not. And I can still somewhat remember her face, but she was not who i thought it was. Actually, i dont recognize her at all. After my usual morning routine, and a few cups of coffee, i make my way outside. The library is not too far off(of course nothing really is in this town).  On my way i bump into the usual faces, as they wave, nod, or give some form of recognition. The people sure are friendly 'round here, its nice actually.
      Inside the library, i find this old computer in the back in which i can look up old newspapers from around town. The whole room is small with shelves full of books jammed in every which way. Getting to the little computer area is much like cutting through a dense forest, wacking at the weeds trying to make a path only to find you're going in circles. But tough determination eventually Leeds you to the beautiful clear valley in which you were always headed.
     Since i dont know Whitmans first name, i have to search through the papers as such. At first i figured there couldn't possibly be to many people with that name, but page after page of search results would seem to disagree with me.  Twenty or so minutes in i am getting ready to give up,  when i come along this picture of this man and woman in front of this house that appears to be mine. The little write up below the picture says its mister and misses whitman. I look at it for a minute or so, as it seems somewhat familiar. And than it hits me, the woman in my room, it was whitmans wife. At this point, i almost fall backwards out of my chair. How could this be, it was only a dream wasnt it. My mind is racing in every direction, trying to come up with a reasonable solution.
    Theres a little write up on the bottom, saying that about how Jonathan whitman (as i finally now know his first name)  tried burning down his house. Apparently the cops got to him via a neighbors call. The cops came in and found his wife dead, laying on his bed in some kind of strange ritual, or how it appeared that way anyhow.  At the bottom of the page there is a few links to some pages associated with this story. The other one is about the trial, and how he was found innocent. But unfortunately the public opinion on him never changed. As i move on to the next article, it says that he hung himself in his bedroom closet, they think the public outcry drove him to it.
     For now i figure thats enough, the day is still young, and i can begin to feel the stomach slowly rumble to life like a bear just coming out of hibernation. I remember passing this little sandwich shop on my journey here, called la grotta i do believe. Inside, the walls are lined with every olive oil imaginable. Cheese and sliced deli meat run through the small cooler in front, abruptly dropping off to the counter were a man stands in wait.  After i order i sit on this park bench outside facing the intersection. Cars pass by on the fly  hardly noticing the stop sign that is clearly visible. Busy for around here.  Ten minutes or so of sitting there, i notice the redheaded woman across the street juxtaposed against the backdrop of the stores, that act as mountains, jutting upword at varying heights. I call out to her, and she looks around for a second figuring out where the sound came from.  Eventually she comes over and sits down beside me. " Hey, nice seeing you again, small world huh?". She says, giving off a slight distinct smile, showing off a small glimmer of teeth.
" Yeah, tell me about it". People pass every few minutes, many nodding in recognition, or just saying hi, even the few we don't know. " I went to the library, to look up Mr Whitman, to see what i may find". She looks over as if she is trying to hide something, giving off that look of a forced expression. " Oh yeah".  She says, staring off into nowhere.  " Did you find anything? ".  I am getting some idea that she knows more than she is telling me, just don't know why. " The whole story seems to be from some movie, its hard to know what to believe. But from what i have seen and read, his wife died, and he eventually tried to burn down his house in some strange ritual".  Giving me a quick glance, she stares down at her feet and says nothing. I want to say something, ask whats wrong, but i regress. An than out of nowhere, like some swift clip to the chin from some unknown fist, i fall as she asks. "Do you want to go get a coffee, bite to eat maybe?".

# Chapter4**
We end up in this little restaurant up the street. The atmosphere is dark with mood lighting laid throughout. We order a coffee and a couple bites to eat. Me some rice with this mushroom chicken(even though I already ate), her some fries and chicken strips. "So...". She says , somewhat leaning in elbows on the table." I  am only going to say this once, as this is not what you would call a popular subject around here". As i sit there playing with the rice, putting milk and sugar into my coffee, i try to put all ears onto what she is about to say. "But that house your living in, is cursed, or haunted. at least thats what this town believes".  I look at her, dumbfounded, not sure really what to say(or believe for that matter). "Yeah, right?". She gives that look, the one that says I know what I am talking about. "Seriously, this is what you think, that the town thinks.That the house is haunted, that's crazy". "There's a lot of odd things that have happened at that house. Things that cannot be explained in any other way". She says this in deadpan, appearing as if she hardly blinked.
     The place is beginning to get busy, and the waiters have seemingly multiplied. I have barely touched my food at this point, she munches on hers off and on almost uncontrollably so in fits n spurts. "OK..., lets say that it is haunted. That doesn't explain anything. Whitman trying to burn his house down was brought on by the death of his wife. I mean really, its a pretty traumatic thing to go through. I can't really blame the guy". The whole way through saying this I can't help but laugh. It just seems so ridiculous. She shakes her head in obvious disagreement though, as she motions the waiter over." Excuse me sir, but can I trouble you for another helping of fries?".  The waiter smiles as if he is greeting a relative he does not like, and replies."Of course,will there be anything else?". She looks at me, albiet briefly, and says back." No, thank you, that will be all".  A couple minutes of silence pursues, as we sit there waiting for the waiter, as far as I can tell anyway. When her plate finally arrives mine is almost done,  and my coffee has already been refilled a few times
     People at this point have come an gone, in a relatively short time, until finally she breaks down the silence. " You know, just because you may have read a few articles on the subject doesn't mean you know everything there is to know".
   "What do you mean, what else is there exactly?". She has this one fry in her hand that she, for some reason, waves it around waiting for something to say while chewing her food. " Whitman is only half the story, the last person to reside in that house. In the last ten or so years there has been three people in that house, including Whitman, that have eventually ended in disaster. I don't know how, or why, this has started, but someone has got to end it. If not, you might just be the next victim. If it was up to me, I would burn that fucker to the ground". I find myself at a little loss for words at this point. Torn between two worlds, is this true? Can it even be possible. "Why are you telling me this now, how do you even know all this?".  She puts the food down and leans her elbows on the table, and gives off this barely audible sigh. "This is not something I prefer to talk about, kind of one of those problems you want to just go away, as you can hardly believe it happened in the first place. You remind me of him actually, your mannerisms, the way you hold yourself. Even.... a slight resemblence I might say".
    "Who do I resemble?". I ask with slight pause, probably appearing a little confused. Although she stares off into nowhere apparently in some thought, or memory, she eventually snaps out and says." My husband, my husband. That's who you resemble. He was". She stops for a second here, and clears her throat." He was, or should I say, we were, the second couple to live in that house. Eventually it got him as well, almost took me with him". At this point in time my jaw has effectively hit the floor, it was not something I saw coming. She must see me at this time like some deer caught in the headlights of some random oncoming car, not really too sure what to do." Well what, what ummm! What happened. If you don't mind me asking". You can hear the surprise in my voice. As I try to make the words form and eventually come out of my mouth." No, I don't mind you asking, I don't. We lived there for about three years. He changed though, started to get violent. He used to tell me about this dreams he had, kind of like the one you told me about. Had them for awhile too, from what he told me anyway. Eventually I told him to confront her, ask her what she wants, after all, it was just a dream, right?. I guess I was wrong. Things started to go south from there. Sooner or later this... uhh,madness, I guess you can call it, prevailed, and he shot himself, down in the basement.
  "I.., I had no idea, I'm sorry that happened".  She stares down at the table, not saying a word. Its hard to believe this whole story, seems as if its some plot from some Hollywood movie or something. But, I can't see why she would lie about this. Especially since her emotions are temporarily getting the best of her. So, logically thinking, its got to be true. Its got to be, but how?. "There's no reason to be sorry, really". She tells me somewhat perking up." I haven't told that story in quite some time. So I apologize for my sudden emotional state". Seeing that we have only met a few times, this may come off as odd but.. that seems a bit out of character for her. I am not the one to believe in the paranormal, but after seeing and hearing all this I must say, it seems as though there is no other explanation." All this is much to take, I was never a believer in this sorta thing. I am at a loss for words". My mind at this point goes in different directions, half is thinking how dumb this sounds, but the other is residing in the facts and the unlikelyhood of her telling this enormous lie for no apparent reason." I have never said this was going to be easy, but there is something about that place, it does things to people. I don't know, it could be some huge coincidence, but that is something I highly! doubt".  At this point the food has been eaten, and the table been cleaned. As she is about to get up I ask her one more question." Before you leave may I ask, If i saw Ms Whitman,at least I think I did, who did your husband see?" She looks down at me, and puts one hand on the table and says. "Well, Ms Whitman.... of course." As I look in disbelief, I utter." But, how?". She sighs and tells me."I struggle with that question everyday". She says this and walks out, and with  this I guess, we can most definitely rule out coincidence.

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