Haunting Catherine Blaque 2

Erin LeFey Copyright 2011

April 27, 1946

Dear Melinda, (that’s what I’ve decided to name you so I don’t feel I’m going mad. If I feel as if I am writing to a friend, then we’re almost having a discussion. You may call me Catherine, I’ve always hated the shortened forms of names),

It’s been two weeks since I’ve written. All my household linens, silver and china have arrived in one piece thankfully. Mine were nicer than the ones Helena (that’s the old lady who died here) had so I decided to switch some things out before I send things what goes to auction. Since I have some spare money from the insurance, I’ve hired two men to work here during the day. I must say that it’s helped with my anxiety level. Being busy keeps my mind off things. I wait until a half hour before they arrive to get myself ready and it seems like the day just flies by. After rearranging the furniture, they are going to repaint the outside of the house and fix the porch. When they are outside, there are a couple of ladies who are coming in to give the entire house a good spring cleaning.

I’ve also had the area rugs replaced. The ones here were kind of worn and the new ones have a fresher smell. Opening up the windows has helped to clear the air in here some too. It was feeling so stuffy and at times I felt like I was unable to breathe properly. I can’t afford to be sickly here if I want to live a life of seclusion. And I certainly did not buy this house just to die in it! I’ve also had the phonograph taken out into the living room and the radio put into my sitting room upstairs. It just gets too quiet here sometimes. Hard to believe with all the noisy construction, I know!

I’ve hired a handyman two days a week as well, at least for two months. There are some things around here that need fixing. Some doors upstairs are not tight against their frame or something, because they seem to open by themselves and give me an awful fright. The floor was squeaking upstairs as well, so he is replacing some floorboards and I’m having a fine runner put in the hallway that will match the décor of the house. I don’t know what’s in the attic yet, but these hired men have offered to go with me up there to see what we have before the auction.

I have given up the afternoon cocktails. I’m sure it’s not a permanent thing for I did love to have a nice drink in the afternoon with my friends in town. But I think it may not be such a good practice to get used to drinking when one is alone so much. My head seems clearer and when odd things happen now, I know there must be a logical explanation. And I am having it all fixed.

Last week, I was taking a bath in the later part of the evening. It was so relaxing. Back then I was still imbibing in the evening… but anyway, I had the door to the bathroom open, and the window for fresh air. All the house doors were locked and everyone was gone for the day, so I know there was no one in the house. I thought I heard a door slam downstairs. I did have a few of them opened, so I just figured it was a spring breeze. But then, I swore I heard footsteps across the bare hardwood floor approaching the stairs, stop, and then start to slowly climb the stairs. Well, of course, I panicked! I got out and grabbed my robe fully intending to meet this stranger at the top of the stairs with all of the anger I could muster and try to scare them out of my house! I just hoped they didn’t have a weapon or anything, because I didn’t have time to think of any of that! Still hearing the footsteps get closer I started walking really fast; I was determined to meet them face to face. I reached the top of the stairs and looked straight down. The footsteps stopped instantly. I saw nothing there except the door on the landing that long ago led to the maid’s quarters. Now it’s used as an extra bedroom, but I believe the door is locked. I ran down the half a flight of steps to check…it was locked. The air was very cold. So I returned to my bath thinking again it must be my overactive imagination and the eerie sounds in this old house.

There won’t be telephone service back in these woods for quite a while I hear. We’re too far from town. I hadn’t thought of that until I felt the need to call some of my old friends and get in touch again. Life was a lot easier in the city, but I wouldn’t go back. It’s easier to be lonely here than it is to be alone and lonely there. Here, I’m learning to cope and getting along. Back in the city, the fact that George (my husband) was gone would pierce my heart every day. Everything was couples and I was always the odd one out. Here, it seems I’m alone but content with his memory and I prefer my private mourning time. I think I will take the car out tomorrow though. I need some things anyway and I’ll call a few friends and make lunch plans, I do need to get out of the darkness of my little swamp back here.

Ciao,

Catherine