Haunting Catherine Blaque 3

Erin LeFey Copyright 2011

May 25, 1946

Dear Melinda,

I did go to the city and have lunch with the girls last week! It was fun getting away and seeing the old gang again. They are planning some more fundraisers and of course, a parade for the Fourth of July. They’ve invited me along but I’m not sure anymore if it is out of friendship or kindness and obligation. I’ll have to attend the next lunch and see how I feel when I make more of an effort to be sociable again.

The house is really coming along. I love the parlor. It’s fit for entertaining. If I thought the ladies would visit way out here, I would invite them for the afternoon. I guess I could always offer to host a summer event in the country; that would get them out of the city. For a charity, of course. Maybe a lawn picnic, before it gets too hot.

I’ve been noticing that the there are a lot of trees on this property, perhaps I should have some cut down and have a proper lawn. There isn’t enough light getting into the house. I think my mood should have improved by now, after all it’s the beginning of summer. The other lady of this house must not have been an outdoors person, for there are no summer flowers, and no bulbs came up to signal the beginning of spring. I should hire a gardener and talk to him about that.

In the back yard, there is a section that is meant to be a sitting area. I ventured out there once after spying it from  the dining room window. It was an area surrounded with junipers and what looked like stone paths leading in and through the space. In the middle was a fountain, now drained and discolored of course. Once in the garden, I could see that everything was discolored with moss. The ground was soggy mud and most unsuitable for planting anymore. Only the heartiest bushes and trees had survived. I wondered what this garden was like in its day.

Most of the construction is finished already on the other houses and now that the trees have filled in, its hard to see the other neighbors. I catch a glimpse only as I drive by. Perhaps I’m not as good at seclusion as I thought I was. I wonder if anyone can notice. Sometimes I walk through this old house with the music on and I talk to that old widow, Helena. Sometimes I talk to George. Funny how my closest companions these days are dead.

There was another odd incident. I was in bed just a few nights ago when I thought I heard music coming from downstairs. I was sure I had turned everything off before going to bed but you know sometimes those old electric things just start up by themselves. Well, this one does sometimes anyway. It must be something in the electronics. I always leave a record on the phonograph in case that one starts up, I’d rather be startled by music than that horrible needle scratching sound!

I put on my robe and slippers and went down to check on it. Sure enough it was the phonograph playing, but the light was on in the kitchen. In this case, I left the radio on and went to investigate the kitchen. On the way through the parlor, I grabbed the poker from the fireplace just in case. I could hear the sounds of cups clinking and busyness in the kitchen. Hardly sounded threatening, but I entered with caution slowly.

I gently swung the door in first eyeing the table. There stood two table settings with a fully set service for two with bread and salad, all set for lunch - candles lit and everything! I saw shadows and jumped back a bit. “Why am I jumping back?” I thought, “It’s MY kitchen!” So I entered boldly ready to scold any intruders (I honestly don’t know what I was thinking) and no one was there. The dishes were in the drain board, neatly stacked; only the kitchen was now dark. I stood there for a moment in shock, wondering what all this meant.

It couldn’t have been my imagination. I might have been sleepwalking. I sat down at the chair in the dark trying to sort out the details. I was sound asleep in bed and came down because of the music. The music is still playing. The light was on in the kitchen, and I investigated with the poker, which is still in my hand, although now it rests on the floor. Upon inspection, the table was set for two, full service and someone or something was moving around in there that startled me. It was all gone when I entered again.

Aha! There was something wrong. If I had been entertaining a guest or having someone over with full service, we would be eating in the dining room, not the kitchen. That’s the best I could do before I turned off the phonograph and headed back to bed.

I hear that they may expand television soon. Some of the larger cities have it, but not here yet. I think something like that bringing such a diversion into the home a few hours a week might be good. It could be years from now though.

I haven’t had any more night time visitors yet. But this house is taking on a creepy air and I don’t feel alone here anymore. I haven’t decided yet if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

Ciao Bella,

Catherine