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Chapter 12

 

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Author: Rhonnie Fordham

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The afternoon’s arrival was a welcome sight for only two people in the group: Linda and Amanda. As the minutes ticked by, both of them grew more excited for what was in store once nightfall struck.

All the while, Bridget had no idea what to make of Amanda’s balancing act between outright terror and vindictive confidence. Either way, this Saturday night looked to be the culmination of Linda’s many explorations. Or possibly the culmination of the house’s long-standing history of horror.

Too full of childish excitement to be scared away, Linda sat with Kevin at the kitchen table. A huge bandage covered Kevin’s sliced palm. Maybe a little more than was necessary for such a small wound.

Together, the two of them hammered out the details on this forthcoming sale. Kevin talked faster than usual, his voice speed rivaled only by how quickly he was jotting down notes on a scrap sheet of paper. Even with the large bandage, Kevin could write at breakneck speed, the potential payout apparently alleviating the pain.

Rather than debonair salesman, Kevin looked to be playing the part of calculating professional. “Now you’ve seen the security tapes,” he said.

Linda sat across from him, bored. She didn’t like this Kevin.

“Something broke those windows out there,” Kevin went on. “The cars, the gates. It’s some kind of force. An evil spirit.” He was too caught up in his epic “negotiating” to notice Linda’s unhappiness. He had the same excitement for dollar signs that she had for haunted houses.

Slightly annoyed, Linda unleashed a not-so-quiet groan. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“To have it on tape like that,” Kevin continued. “This is proof just like I told you.” Excited, he scribbled down more notes.

“Yes,” Linda muttered.

Grinning like a schoolboy, Kevin looked up at the displeased Linda. “Now remember, Ms. Kane, it’s three full acres now.” 

Fed-up with the “pitch” agony, Linda leaned toward him. “Oh, Jesus, stop with the Ms. Kane bullshit,” she pleaded.

Kevin forced a smile. “I’m just trying to-“

Linda leaned in even closer, crashing his personal space with palpable seduction. “Linda, Mister Riley.”

Charmed, Kevin released a chuckle. “Sorry.”

The laugh was genuine, and Linda knew it. “There we go,” she said as she cradled Kevin’s hand. “Now we’ve got all day tomorrow to finish this sale.”

“Right…” Kevin commented, not sure if he lied where this was going.

Linda squeezed his hand. “So let’s just enjoy tonight, shall we,” she proposed in a voice barely more audible than a gentle whisper.

In a corner, Tony leaned against the kitchen counter, awkward as ever. He looked up from his phone just in time to see Linda stick her tongue out toward Kevin in a frisky manner. “Uh, guys,” Tony interrupted.

Linda looked up at him real quick, a carefree smile on her face. “Yes, Tony?”

Worried, Tony took a step toward them. “Shouldn’t we like call a cop or something? At least to-“

“A cop?” Linda asked incredulously as she stood up.

Remaining seated, Kevin held up the papers in his non-wounded hand. “Um, Linda, we still have more paperwork.”

“Ms. Kane, please,” Tony started.  “Just to be safe.”

“No!” Linda yelled. She walked toward Tony, making him cower with each ferocious step. “More people, especially police, would only scare John away! You know this, Tony!” She looked right at the silent Tony. Her seriousness reached intimidating levels. “Calling the cops, it’d only threaten all that we’ve worked for so far. All that we’ve found.” 

Tony avoided eye contact, but didn’t argue back. A begrudging acceptance of Linda’s strategy.

“We have to do this on our own,” Linda reassured him. “Like always.”

“Yeah, just relax, buddy,” a smug Kevin told Tony.

Tony glared at him. He only took shit from Linda and Bridget. “Hey, you’re not the one sleeping on the Goddamn couch!” Tony snapped back at Kevin. 

Nervous, Kevin looked to Linda for support.

Linda just shook her head at Kevin as she walked toward the table. “Put the damn papers down,” Linda commanded Kevin.

*

It was another hot day outside. The wind was practically non-existent. The driveway still a hot mess.

In the garden, Amanda proceeded with her daily routine. Sweating, Amanda yanked the long-handled spade out the soil, lifting up heavy dirt.

Bridget stood nearby, watching Amanda hard at work. Bridget would’ve offered to help, but Amanda seemed like the solo type. Bridget’s non-expertise “help” would’ve probably only pissed Amanda off, Bridget figured. She’d only make the garden of Eden look worse.

At least hanging around the garden gave Bridget the opportunity to have these candid moments with Amanda. It was a way to observe and interact with Amanda without an audience or the house to influence her. Amanda at home. In her element.

Amanda placed several seeds into the fresh hole. She wiped her brow as she gazed up at the blistering sun. “Another hot one, huh,” she said aloud.

“Yeah,” Bridget replied as she followed Amanda’s gaze up toward the sun. Even minus the heavy strain of garden work, Bridget was still sweating under the intense light. “Sure is.”

Amanda smiled at her. “It took me awhile to get used to the heat.”

“Atlanta wasn’t hot enough for you?”

“Not like this.” Amanda evaluated her garden. It was impressive as always. Pristine even. “I think Stanwyck’s something else.”

“I can tell,” the amused Bridget said.

Amanda faced Bridget. “Where are you from anyway? You never told me.”

Not enjoying the barrage of questions, Bridget hesitated. “Los Angeles.” Somehow, Amanda had ended up putting her back on the spot again, Bridget thought. She was good at turning tables.

“Oh wow…” Amanda said, impressed.

“I got family from the South though,” Bridget added. She looked off at the Christy home. Even if she was scared of it, she couldn’t resist stealing another look at the two-story glory. The morbid glory. “I lived in Louisiana until I was about five.”

Taking a deserved break, Amanda sat on the ground. “New Orleans??”

Bridget smiled at her. “Yeah.”

“No shit!”

“Yeah, the one and only,” Bridget joked. She stole another look back at the Christy house. Like a siren, the home seemed to call her with its eerie power. “A little cliche I guess.”

“So what?” Amanda commented. “That city’s legendary, man.”

Weird sensations ran through Bridget’s head. Cringing, she rubbed her temple. The sensations were brief yet vivid. A migraine populated by screeches and a murky deep voice.

Not noticing Bridget’s distress, Amanda stared on at her life’s work of a garden. “I think coming from some place like that gave you that power.” She scraped the spade along the dirt, lost in thought. “Yeah, that’s what I think.”

Bridget’s migraine finally went away. Bridget ran a hand through her hair, relieved to be back at a hundred percent.

“Or at least it helped you learn how to handle it,” Amanda went on. She smiled up at Bridget. “I imagine you saw some crazy shit growing up out there on the bayou. They got some pretty mean spirits I hear.” 

Bridget flashed a weak smile. “They’re not all mean.”

Amanda chuckled.

“But I started seeing them while I was out there. It was my grandmother who sort of taught me first. They told me grandmama had the power like me. She ended up passing away before I moved.” Bridget hesitated, the nostalgia getting to her. “Then she came back to me. She really showed me how to put my talents to good use. She taught me everything.” Bridget released an awkward laugh. “I thought I was crazy, and sometimes I still do. But grandmama told me not to be scared, girl. That’s how she’d say it. And for the most part it isn’t scary at all. She was right.”

“Until now?” Amanda asked dryly.

Through her romanticized reflections, Bridget cracked a nervous smirk. “It’s not usually like this,” she said. “Most of the spirits I see are kind. They only want to be heard. To have someone listen to them.”

“John likes to be heard,” Amanda quipped.

“Indeed.”

As the two women went silent, Amanda looked over toward the house. Instantly, Amanda lost her smile and sarcasm. “There’s nothing but pure evil in there,” she said harshly. “I know John wasn’t always like this. There’s no way.” She paused, too stuck in her painful memories and in her own regret. “The house only made him worse. It brought out his evil side. His problems…” Amanda faced Bridget with a melancholy expression. “All the awful things he had in him.” 

Concerned, Bridge took a step into the garden. “I know.” She caressed Amanda’s shoulder. “But you can’t keep blaming yourself for his problems, Amanda.”

Amanda stared at her, Amanda’s inner pain and torment shining through on her somber expression.

“You know what he’s capable of,” Bridget went on. “You and I’ve both seen it. So why are we staying here? Why-“

“It’s fine,” Amanda interrupted coldly. In a violent coda, she stuck her spade deep into the dirt.

“But Amanda, he’s after you specifically,” Bridget said.

Battling her inner fear, Amanda just stared at the spade. She was stuck between listening to Bridget’s rational concern and wanting to confront the personal demon that was John Baker.

“You’re his target!” Bridget reiterated.

In a quick burst, Amanda stood up and looked right at Bridget. “And he’s been after me,” Amanda said harshly.

Bridget went silent. She wasn’t looking to anger Amanda or test her anymore. Not with how far their relationship had come. After all, Bridget had started to respect Amanda’s toughness. Even when Amanda was constantly running the gauntlet of her Rolodex of emotions. 

“None of that’s gonna change if I just up and leave,” Amanda said. “If I just run away like I keep doing. I need to stay and see this through. I need to.”

Both women were silent. Amanda’s voice was too stern for Bridget to protest. Bridget felt she needed space.

Lost in thought, Amanda glanced down at the spade. “This house,” Amanda began, finally breaking the tense silence. She looked at Bridget. “It has all this history, right?”

“Yeah,” Bridget answered, not avoiding eye contact. Bridget’s way of showing Amanda respect was by giving Amanda her full and undivided attention. Bridget wanted to help. The first time Bridget had had sympathy for someone besides Linda or Tony in quite some time. 

“Like a bunch of baggage,” Amanda said.

“Correct,” Bridget replied without hesitation. Bridget’s demeanor showed off the quiet confidence this paranormal expert always had when discussing her field. Like Amanda and her garden.

“Didn’t y’all do all that research?”

“We did. I actually did more than Linda. I spent weeks looking it up.”

“So what really went down with the Christys?” Amanda asked, her curiosity tinged with a sense of dread. “What really happened here?”

Teasing Amanda to lighten the somber mood, Bridget gave her a sly grin. “I thought you already knew?”

Amanda revealed an awkward smirk. “Well, I’ve heard bits and pieces.”She looked over at the house. It stood tall like an ominous castle, possessing the lonely and eerie aura of the terrifying castles of horror lore. “But never the whole story.”  

Bridget took a casual step toward her. “You sure you wanna know?”

Emphatic, Amanda looked right at her. “Yes!” 

Bridget paused, as if preparing herself for sharing the gruesome details to such a reactive personality.

“Tell me,” Amanda said softly.

Bridget gave the house a quick glance. It was still there. Still creepy. “The murders happened on a Sunday back in ninety-five,” Bridget stated. “It’s… it’s kinda strange honestly.”

“What do you mean?”

Trying to be respectful to both Amanda and the dead, Bridget debated on how to word it. “How you described what John did. The rage he felt.” Like a contemplative philosopher, she stepped toward the house, her eyes drawn to it. “Steven Christy was said to be like that. He was like a man possessed.” The house and its larger windows seemed to glare right back at Bridget, like the house didn’t like her sharing its secrets. “The brutality of it all. He was just engulfed in rage.”

Nervous, Amanda watched Bridget. The descriptions all felt too familiar.

Bridget confronted Amanda. “It was just like you said about John.” She thought about her own visions of John. His manic terror. His wild eyes. His voice the unsettling roar. The visual would forever remain engraved in Bridget’s deepest, darkest fears. “It was like I saw him. How he was in the hallway. A man possessed by rage.”

Simultaneously disturbed and fascinated, Amanda stepped right up to Bridget. The house lurked behind them like a mysterious stranger watching from the distance. “How’d he do it, exactly?” Amanda asked awkwardly.

Keeping her cool and professional demeanor, Bridget answered in typical matter-of-factly manner. “From what I gathered, it was nasty. Real nasty.” She hesitated, giving Amanda time to prepare. “I mean the crime scene photos is just toys and magazines covered in blood. Blood all over the floor, all over the walls. This is what his wife Mallory walked into that evening. She was completely unaware of what had happened.” 

Amanda turned her attention back to the house. The house of so many tragedies. She let Bridget’s calm voice drift into her mind like the deliberate narration of an audio true-crime book. 

“They say she even stepped on one of the murder weapons,” Bridget went on in her clear, concise tone. “A hacksaw I believe.” Now even Bridget’s voice was starting to show the discomforting fear she was always trying to hide. “That’s when it dawned on her what had happened. The pure, sad horror. She saw her twins Shelley and Alice right there on the couch. They were just lying there, both of them slumped over. Dead. Steven had tied them up earlier and put duct tape over their mouths. Right before he finished them off with the hacksaw. It was one of the kinds you had to push too. It took effort to use that saw, and God, those girls suffered with every slice and hack he gave them. Their deaths were drawn out, full of agony. They couldn’t do anything as he sliced deeper into them so slowly.”

The disturbed Amanda cringed.

“All those cuts were so deep. A lot of their skin was just peeled off like they were filleted.” Even Bridget struggled to continue. Understandable horror in her voice. “The bastard had even used his own handyman tools. He’d used the saw, and he’d jammed this wrench. This sharp, compact wrench straight into Shelley’s head. It was the hit that ended her misery. But Alice wasn’t so lucky…”  

“Jesus,” Amanda commented, mortified by the story.

Bridget followed Amanda’s gaze over toward the Christy home. The All-American haunting. Never had such quaint prettiness been so horrifying, thought Bridget. The bright colors had the misleading appeal of an alluring trap. “Alice finally passed when he sawed into her throat.” Bridget now had to prepare herself for the rest of this. “At one point, they believed the saw got stuck in there before Steven ripped it out. It took the coroner days to remove all the flesh from the blade.”

Struggling to keep her level-headed expression, Bridget faced Amanda. “With the twins, they were both still wearing their church dresses,” Bridget began. “Mallory and them had gone earlier that day, but Steven didn’t go. He stayed home, in the house. And when Mallory came home that evening from the grocery store, both her little girls had been tied together. They were tied up with the same ropes, bound together like conjoined twins. And they were killed together. They had to watch each other suffer at the hands of their own father.” She grabbed Amanda’s shoulder, making Amanda’s timid face look straight at her. “They watched his madness take over.”

“God…” Amanda said in horror.

“They watched the slaughter.”

“I’m sorry. Fuck…” Amanda struggled to say. Bridget’s chilling words painted horrifying visuals for Amanda’s rattled mind.

“After seeing that scene, Mallory was alone and crying and helpless,” Bridget continued. “She didn’t have a chance.” 

Amanda struggled to fight back frightened tears. Bridget’s descriptions signaled memories of Amanda’s own helplessness at the hands of John.  

“He made sure she didn’t,” Bridget stated. “Steven had changed all the locks while she was gone. He made sure he could trap his family in the house. That they would never leave.” Bridget hesitated. Her attempt at restraining her emotions was falling apart. “They ended up finding blood on the doorknobs. Bloody handprints on the windows. Mallory wasn’t getting out of there alive.” 

Amanda looked away in sadness. She dreaded hearing about Mallory’s fate, but had to. She felt a kinship to Mallory. Two tormented wives and mothers. The only difference was Amanda was still alive. Even if just barely alive.

“Steven ambushed her with a power drill,” Bridget said. “He chased her around the house with it, knowing good and well she couldn’t have escaped. He was naked the entire time. It was savage and brutal. It was like he was doing a ritualistic slaying.” Bridget’s voice showed fear she couldn’t suppress no longer. “They believed he was even naked when he killed the little girls.” She had to stop… even though she’d heard this story and had even explained it in her droll play-play-by manner to Linda. But this was different. She felt uneasy and guilty for describing the brutal account in front of a survivor like Amanda. Not just a survivor, but Mallory’s spiritual descendant. And through Amanda’s horrified expression, Bridget could tell Amanda wanted to hear more. She had to hear what happened to Mallory Christy.

“Steven chased her into the hallway where he cornered her,” Bridget went on. Combined with her guilt, the gut-wrenching story itself had completely gutted Bridget’s usually-sarcastic attitude. She had the tormented weariness of a detective exposed to sights and acts that would consume the souls of anyone. “Then he killed her in brutal and sick fashion.” Bridget struggled to keep eye contact, having difficulty looking Amanda right in her disturbing eyes. “He lowered the drill straight into the top of her head, and he did it without hesitation. None of the flying grey matter or blood seemed to bother him one bit.”

Mesmerized by the sheer horror of the tale, Amanda didn’t say a word. 

“This was no longer Steven Christy, family man,” Bridget said in quiet fear. “This was the house.”

Like they’d both been exposed to a stunning secret, Bridget and Amanda just kept staring at one another. The horrific murders. The gory details. All of it was stewing in their collective subconscious.

“They found the Christys the following morning,” Bridget said. “Steven’ naked body was covered in blood and stray flesh. The blood of his children smeared on him like Goddamn warpaint. And Mallory. God, her head was just a crater of splattered flesh. It was unrecognizable. One cop described it as looking like a swollen, bleeding dartboard.”

Gasping, Amanda turned away. 

“Most of the reports I read all seemed to simplify it as just a murder/suicide,” Bridget said. “None of them didn’t even mention that Steven was naked or how he believed his wife and kids were demons. They never mentioned the house’s power over him.”

Amanda looked right at Bridget, concerned. “But why!”

“The police all just believed Steven was pressured by financial problems,” Bridget stated. “They said it made him revert back to his past mental problems.”

Shocked, Amanda staggered up to her. “Like John?”

Bridget nodded. She could’ve swore she saw Amanda’s heart literally sink. “Steven’d even briefly stayed in a mental hospital in his twenties.”

“Oh my God…”

“It’s a lot of similarities between him and John. Maybe just coincidences, but I don’t know, Amanda,” Bridget stated. She did her best to stay rational and calm, even in the face of such convincing paranormal evidence. “I know John had his issues-“

“But you know it’s more than that!” Amanda yelled. She snatched Bridget’s arm, begging her. “It’s the house! It always was!”

“I know,” Bridget said. Once more, unsettled emotions were starting to crack through her subdued tone. “I know it’s gotta be something more than him.”

Glad to have her support, Amanda loosened her grip on Bridget’s arm.

Like a supportive therapist, Bridget kept her eye contact with Amanda. “I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s too clear now. Every moment in that house, it just gets weirder.” 

Amanda remained focused on Bridget, processing every word. Bridget wasn’t even sure if she saw Amanda blink.

“What that house did to Steven, it did to John,” Bridget stated.

The gravity of Bridget’s statement resonated well with Amanda. “I know,” Amanda said. She took a step back. “I know it made him change the minute we stepped foot in that house! He wasn’t the same, none of us were!”

“It’s true.”

“It made him go crazy!” Amanda screamed.

Trying to soothe Amanda, Bridget held a calm hand out toward her. “I know, Amanda.”

Trembling, Amanda stood still, her breakdown accelerating faster than a jet plane. “But I couldn’t do anything! What the Hell was I supposed to do! I didn’t know it’d change him like that… I didn’t know he’d kill Michael and Amy! That it was gonna make him kill us!”

“I know, Amanda. You couldn’t have known.” Calmer than a suicide negotiator (or at least pretending to be), Bridget stopped right in front of Amanda. “No one’s blaming you now.” She gave Amanda a gentle hug and rubbed her back. “No one could after what happened. You couldn’t do anything.” 

Amanda held back her tears. She looked over at her garden, desperate for the serene sight to offer her some sort of therapy.

“I’m sorry how I was at first,” Bridget said. She stepped away from Amanda and looked at her. “I was too suspicious with these things. Doing this kind of work for so long, dealing with so many assholes… it just wears you down after awhile.”

“No,” Amanda said quietly. “I understand.”

Bridget gave her a smile. “People dispute me as much as they do you.”

“Yeah…”

“I think that’s what makes us work,” Bridget said. “You and me have to fight to be heard. For people to believe us.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Amanda said with bitterness. “Not after what happened.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry, I really am.” The apologetic Bridget walked up to Amanda. “I guess my case is a little different.”

Seeing Bridget’s obvious remorse, Amanda quashed her pissy attitude. “It’s fine.”  

“No… I just… I deal with assholes who prejudge me for what I do,” Bridget confessed. She knew she held Amanda’s intrigued gaze. “And for what I look like. But it’s not quite the same.”

She grabbed a hold of Amanda’s hand in a supportive grip. Amanda looked at her, surprised yet moved by the gesture.

“It’s not the same as losing someone you love,” Bridget continued. “And I don’t know why, but I now realize that.”

Caught up in her emotions, Amanda hesitated. She was apprehensive about Bridget, but who else could she believe? Who else had been this genuinely sympathetic to her plight? “Well, thank you. Thank you, Bridget.”

Bridget let go of Amanda’s hand. She gave Amanda a soft smile, a non-verbal way of saying she was there for Amanda.

Amanda didn’t really know how to react to that. Bridget hadn’t had much social success outside of her ventures with Linda and Tony, and it showed. So the idea of saying “I’m here for you” was a little more complicated for her than say interacting with ghosts. Needless to say, these problems could be traced back to her erratic childhood. All the way back to when Bridget first discovered her unique skill set.

The two women were silent out there by the garden, still recovering from the emotional confrontation. Neither one of them seemed sure where to go or what to do. Bridget awkward from her years of paranormal investigations, Amanda traumatized from her most recent horrors.

Struggling to say what was on her mind, Bridget followed Amanda’s gaze over toward the Christy house. She could see the fear and intrigue in Amanda’s eyes. Amanda had the same morbid fascination for the home as a child had for the monstrous animals at the zoo. Simultaneously scared and excited. “I guess I should tell you there was someone else,” Bridget finally said.

Curious, Amanda looked right at her. “What?”

Bridget motioned toward the house. “Someone else lived here. Decades before the Christys moved in.”

Shock dominated Amanda’s face. “No… how? I ain’t heard anything. I thought Steven Christy was-“

“Ms. Kane did some more research on it.”

Speechless and stunned, Amanda just stared at Bridget.

“She found out the original homeowner was this doctor,” Bridget went on. “Dr. Carpenter.”

“Dr. Carpenter?” Amanda said in confused fear.

“They called him the Doctor Of Death.”

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