Jon Fore: Black Water

The forest suddenly gave way to a barren field made mostly of sun-baked mud, and only a few scrub weeds were brave enough to try growing there. It looked very much the definition of scorched earth, and to everyone, it just seemed wrong. However, in the very center stood a pristine white mansion, large and lavish looking. It held many windows in its three floors and glared a brilliant white on one side, the other drawing shadows along the dead earth.

“Wow!” Abby whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“Jesus, it’s huge!” Chris muttered.

“Oh, I could live here in a heartbeat; needs some landscaping, though,” Madison said brightly.

Ethan just stood there, staring at the mansion. “What’s wrong, Ethan? See another ghost?” Chris asked sarcastically.

“Hey, bonehead, who has been coming up here and taking care of this house?” Ethan shot back.

“What do you mean, and don’t call me bonehead, jackass.” Chris sounded genuinely hurt.

“That house could have been built yesterday. The paintjob is like new and the windows aren’t broken. I mean, come on, the house is like two hundred and fifty years old, and I know that farmer down there isn’t coming up here and taking care of it. Hell, his own house is about to fall over.”

They just stared, considering what Ethan had just said, and once more, fear rose among them like a thin fog.

“I would think a haunted house would look less, I don’t know, hospitable?” Abby commented.

“Maybe that’s its power: draws people in, welcomes them home…” Ethan almost whispered.

“Well, now you’re freaking me out, dude,” Chris said.

“What should we do: just stand here?” Madison asked.

“No, let’s go ahead, see what’s up there. It’s just weird—the fact it’s not all run down and all,” Ethan commented before starting out across the field and toward the white building known as the Heart House.

A short iron fence skirted the house, which was more decorative than defensive. Near the front walk, it ended abruptly, allowing passage to a narrow gravel path leading to the house. There were no bushes or grass, just sporadic weeds strangled by the dry, infertile soil, battling for their right to survive in this dead place. The foundation of the house was a neatly piled line of red bricks, which included a stair leading to a wood porch, still whole and solid, still a dazzling white.

Ethan, as he had been doing for the past couple of days, led the group along the walk, past the small statue of a black man holding a lantern, and to the foot of the brick stairs. Here, some minor weathering shown in the paint, and some of the boards of the porch were slightly warped and askew. The front part of the house bore wood shingles painted a brilliant white. The front door was a deep red, ominous in its color, simply too much like cooling blood. There were no windows along the sides of the door, but large glass bays adorned either side, indicating large rooms just beyond.

“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Abby said to herself.

“Sort of scary, don’t you think?” Madison asked, her voice more excited than apprehensive.

“Are we going up or not?” Chris worked his way between the others to mount the steps.

Ethan waited, watching to see if the porch would actually hold him, if a brick would work itself loose and send him sprawling. He did not expect any of this, considering the condition of the house, but if Chris was so adventurous, it was not a bad idea to just wait and see.

Chris made the porch quickly—taking two steps at a time—and strode to the front door. He tried the old iron handle, more a gate latch than a doorknob, but found it securely locked. “You guys coming?” he asked as he headed toward one of the large windows to one side. “This place is huge! Wait till you see the inside.”

Ethan began his ascent of the stairs, careful to use each one before the girls behind him. They were solid and seemed not very old at all. They were affixed with a cement not quite the same as modern buildings, grainier and darker blue in color, but which held firmly. The porch, however, was made of thick planks of wood, each giving slightly under his weight, but certainly sturdy enough to be safe. The two behind him followed shortly after and almost in perfect unison.

“There is a huge stairway in there—I mean big, like Life Styles of the Rich and Famous big,” Chris called to them as Abby began to dig in her pack for the key.

“There’s some furniture in there, old-style stuff,” Madison observed from the other window.

Ethan strolled over to where she was and looked in. “It looks like stuff from the late eighteen hundreds, not as old as I would have thought.”

“There have been a few families living here. The Hearts owned the house until 1878 before the last one died. The house was then sold off in a tax auction or something in the early 1900s,” Abby reported.

“You’ve been reading up on this house, haven’t you?” Ethan asked while looking through the window.

Abby stopped what she was doing and looked up at Ethan. “That sounded pretty nerdy, huh?”

“No, not really.”

“It’s my subject; I had to study it,” she said defensively.

Chris snickered under his breath as Ethan said, “I know. We all know, Abby.”

“It really is a nice house. If not for the remote location, it would be a sweet place to live,” Madison mused.

“I wouldn’t live here if you paid me. No clubs, no bars, no movie theaters—nothing to do at all around here,” Chris replied flatly.

“Sometimes, it’s nice to be secluded, you know: people don’t bother you, knock on your door selling Jesus or whatever,” Madison defended with her face twisted in mock hurt.

“Relax, babe, it’s just not for me is all,” Chris cooed to her with a broad smile.

“Found it!” Abby exclaimed as she stood with the large black iron key in her hand.

She approached the door as everyone else gathered around behind her. The lock gave easily and the door eased open with a high-pitched complaint as dust drifted down to dance and swirl in the failing sunlight.

Before them was a magnificent marble floor and two sweeping stairways, which led up to a railed balcony with hallways to either side. A grand passage led between the sweeping stairways and directly back to a rear porch many yards away. To each side were large rooms containing the bay windows they had spied through. Furniture sat tastefully, placed about in a matching Old World style. There were tables and large puffy chairs, bookcases and cabinets, even large masterfully-depicted oil paintings in wooden frames adorning the walls—all of this under a thin coating of fine dust.

“It’s almost like someone just moved out a month ago,” Ethan said as Abby drew her camera and started shooting in every direction. “Someone has to be coming up here on a regular basis, maybe to air the house out, paint it, you know…”

“Some of this stuff is worth a fortune, I bet,” Chris said in his most aristocratic voice. “An auction house would have a field-day in here.”

They began to fan out, gently stepping through the house as if afraid to disturb the dust collected there. Abby felt like a thief, who had just forced her entry into a rich family’s mansion and was now searching for trinkets to steal. The room she had entered was obviously a greeting room. Large thin-legged sofas and tables, a coat rack, and a large fireplace filled the room. Many candle sconces stood rigid against the walls, wax captured mid-drip around the edges. She could not shake the feeling that someone still lived here and that her presence would not be welcome. It was an uneasy feeling she had trouble quelling.