Shadows on the Wall

by Midnite

Chapter 4

"Forever Young" 

[Kathryn Lee Scott] - A summer storm pauses over the Great House,
its thick, raging clouds devouring the sinister moon and casting
uncertain shadows on the secrets sheltered within Collinwood below
... and on this night, the tempest's thunderous outpouring screams a
name that hasn't been spoken by the inhabitants of the mansion for
nearly 200 years. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

~Ice~ 


With wide, chestnut eyes, David watched the spoils slide from the
paper bag and onto the floor. To quell suspicion, he made certain to
pilfer only a single item from any one person in the household. She
had been very explicit about that when She dictated what he was to
retrieve. 

Already, Mrs. Johnson hovered whenever he ate, and nagged him
through his meals as he picked at his food. And Dr. Hoffman had
made sideways glances at him at the breakfast table that morning. But
he convinced himself that if he kept to himself and avoided them
whenever possible, they'd eventually go back to ignoring him. He's
always been, after all, David the Invisible Boy. But seeing all this
booty together in one pile made his stomach roil, and he congratulated
himself for sinking to a new low. Now he was a thief-- a lowly burglar
that steals from his relatives. 

He dislodged Julia's black silk scarf from the assemblage and formed
it into a shape resembling a parachute, but then realized that She
would get angry if She caught him playing with any of the things. A
shiver went up his spine as he anticipated that She could make an
appearance at any time. So instead, he pinched two adjacent corners,
each with one hand, and flipped the scarf into the air, letting it unfold
completely before dropping it onto the small, dusty table, just as he
had been instructed to do. It came to him at that moment that he
hated Her equally as much as he felt drawn to Her. 

David usually didn't care much for girls, anyway. His mother
disappeared when he was very young, and no matter how many times
Aunt Elizabeth told him that it had nothing to do with him, he knew
instinctively that her departure was entirely his fault. When he recalled
his earliest memories, he could remember only feeling content, but not
long after that the arguments between his parents began, and
sometimes he could make out his name in all the shouting. More than
once, he heard Father accuse her of drinking too much, and of course
David had to have caused that too. With every passing birthday, he
grew further and further away from being her cute little boy, but was
powerless to stop any of it from happening. Eventually, she just didn't
want him at all anymore, so she left-- never to return. 

Aunt Elizabeth took on the role of his protector, especially from his
father's angry outbursts. She's all right because of that, he supposed,
and if he couldn't have his mother's good-night kisses, then hers were
next best. But she was so strict-- always fussing and reminding him to
be careful. Carolyn, on the other hand, was fun to be around... unless
she was thinking about boys, which had become more often than not.
And Doctor Hoffman was okay, but she admitted herself that she
wasn't used to being around kids, and seemed to prefer David in
small doses. Worst of all, David found the parade of governesses
unbearable, but dispatching them at least provided a challenge,
although he had become so good at intimidating and frustrating adults
that it didn't provide him with thrills any more. Then, as has been
happening lately with great frequency, David's thoughts returned to his
mother. "Oh God, how I miss you." He swiped at a wayward tear
and forced his mind to return to the loot in front of him lest he start to
bawl. 

Carefully, he picked up Carolyn's gilded mirror and placed it face up
on the table. On top of that he set a few of his father's hairs taken
from his comb. Next, he set down the towel that overflowed with
purple berries from the woods. He had been careful to pick them only
under the proper moon, and to not let the juice get onto his hands in
the process; "You're no good to me dead," She had clucked. Luckily,
David knew exactly where to find the nightshade plant because his
ever-vigilant self had overheard Aunt Elizabeth telling the
groundskeeper to rip them all out immediately after the boy returned
to live. He heard her refer to himself as a "curious boy" when she was
giving the order, expressing fear that he might be tempted someday to
taste the fruit. But David knew where they grew in the wild-- further
away from the house than the caretaker ever traversed; and besides,
no one knew the Collinwood grounds like David. The next item he set
down was a sandwich bag half-filled with blackish dirt that had been
gathered at midnight, "Josette Collins" scribbled with black marker
across its front. Finally, he used Mrs. Johnson's sewing chalk to draw
as perfect a circle as he could around the whole scene. The finished
product looked a little lopsided, he noticed, but it would have to do. 

David congratulated himself on a job well done. She would be
pleased too, no doubt. After all, She couldn't have chosen a better
assistant even if he hadn't been the one to release Her spirit in the first
place. Carolyn never could've pulled off what he did. Girls were too
easily distracted, and this job called for a man's talents. Men were
orderly, rational, and wise. Men were born leaders-- the rightful
masters of Collinwood. Girls were good at home economics, and
cheerleading for the boys' teams. Girls were mothers. ... Girls were
witches. That last admission stung him, and it angered him to consider
that a witch had enslaved him, and if he didn't move quickly enough to
please Her, She had only to look at him to send him crashing down in
pain. Resigned, he let himself crumple onto the dirty floor. "Mother,
why are you letting Her do this to me?" 

The small lump that poked from his back pocket reminded him that
there was one more object to leave -- the silver charm bracelet he'd
removed from Aunt Elizabeth's room. David pulled himself up
hurriedly and rushed over to set it down alongside the other things,
allowing himself to linger once again in admiration for his handiwork.
Before him laid the contents of some mysterious ritual. He tried to
figure out what all these things were for, but knew full well that if She
had wanted him to know, then surely She would have told him. If only
he knew more about Her, he contemplated, then maybe he could fight
Her. He'd always fancied himself a great sorcerer, and fantasized that
he could bend the will of others to suit his desires. But not like She
does. She picks on kids. She's evil. 

She was the first witch David had ever met, and it confused him that
She was both more beautiful and uglier than he ever dreamed a witch
could be. But he always knew when She was nearby, because he
would always feel a chill in Her presence, as if an unseen refrigerator
had been opened close by. Her ice-blue eyes held him in Her power,
and when She moved within Her cape, it fluttered like the sound of
batwings that emanate from the attic above. He knew instantly what
She was because it'd always been easy for David to accept that the
supernatural indeed existed since he lived in a house long known to be
haunted. Even Mrs. Johnson, who crossed herself often and kept
scrawny palm leaves under her mattress, walked with heavy steps up
the main staircase in order to telegraph to the ghosts residing upstairs
that she was coming. "It's not good to take spirits by surprise,
Davey," she once told him. And on the stillest of nights, one could
hear the widows as they wailed on the cliffs behind the house. The
boy's last governess said the sound was merely warm air rising along
the cliffs, but David merely blinked at her explanation. 

A sudden sound stirred the boy from his reverie. From outside came
the mournful howling of wild dogs, and the inhabitants of the walls and
attic fluttered wildly. David froze, anticipating the now-familiar bluster
of cold air that always preceded Her visits. But surprisingly, David felt
only warmth curling around him, accompanied by a tinkling, reassuring
voice that told him, "I'm here, David. Everything is going to be all
right-- because I'm here now." And then he passed out. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

~Kooks~ 


Maggie chose a seat near the juke box that allowed her to keep an
eye on her dad, who occupied his usual seat at the bar. The Blue
Whale, she noticed, wasn't experiencing its usual Saturday night
bustle, which she correctly assumed was due to the storm. After a
cursory glance around the smoky place, the only other female she saw
was her ditzy co-worker from the diner. Susie was joined on the
dance floor by her steady, who echoed his girlfriend's frenzied
twisting. 

Maggie glanced at her watch; it was 8:30. Manicured nails drummed
the table in nervous anticipation as she eavesdropped on the
conversation nearby. A local farmer was asking another, "What sort
of animal would do a thing like that?" 

"I don't know, Marty. The only marks on it were two little holes in its
neck." 

"And its blood was gone?" asked another of the regulars. "Without
being tore up or nothin'?" 

"Ayup." 

An off-duty deputy clucked, "That's no stranger than what happened
here in '64. Remember when something tore up all those pigs at one
time? Whatever THAT was, it ate some of them, too." 

"Shut up, Carl!" Marty told him. "Can't you see he's upset about
losing his calf? Besides, that was different. Those pigs had their
bowels yanked out." 

Sam slapped the bar with an open hand and announced, "This
conversation's too grisly for me." He stood to leave them and spotted
Maggie sitting alone. 

"Where's Quentin?" he slurred as he joined her at the table. 

"He'll be here any minute. He's bringing the new Collinwood
governess so I can meet her." 

"Why bother bringing her around? She won't last long anyway."
Amused at his own words, Sam let out a hearty, drunken laugh, and
sloshed his drink onto the tablecloth, which earned him a nasty glance
from the bartender. "Damn!" he said. 

"Pop!" she admonished. "You're making a spectacle of yourself." 

"Well that was a disgusting waste of perfectly good booze." 

"Let's talk about something else," she told him. 

"Like what?" he grumbled. 

"That new painting of yours, for one thing. I can't get over it." 

"What new painting?" 

"The one you started last night. It's unlike anything you've ever done
before. That woman in the flames, and all those wild colors." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Oh Pop! You're too much!" she said, nudging him with her elbow,
causing Sam to shrug before retreating to rejoin his friends. The door
to the bar opened, and Maggie's date breezed in followed by a pert
brunette that shadowed him to the table. Susie stopped dancing to
ogle the man-- which Maggie pretended to not notice. "Hello,"
Quentin said, bending severely to kiss his girlfriend on the lips, and
Vicki felt herself blush. "Maggie Evans. Victoria Winters," he added,
smiling impishly. Maggie extended her hand, and the two young
women exchanged polite greetings, which was followed by awkward
silence until Maggie blurted, "So, what do you think of the town's
biggest hot spot?" 

"Oh, it's exactly like Quentin described it," the other girl answered
before exchanging knowing glances with him. 

"The food's not bad," Maggie told her. "A little greasy, but it'll fill you
up." 

"Oh good, because I'm starving," Vicki said as she took the seat
Quentin had pulled out for her before he left them to chat. 

"You are also a jerk." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"A jerk. J-E-R-K." 

"I'm afraid I don't understand." 

"You haven't noticed anything odd about that big, gloomy house
you're living in?" 

"No," Vicki answered, shaking her head for emphasis. "I still can't
believe that I'm actually living in anything so grand." 

"Oh, I could tell you stories about that house that would turn that
pretty hair of yours into a glorious shade of gray." 

"You make it sound like something out of an English novel," Vicki
tittered. "Rattling chains, ghosts in the halls." 

"That's not so far from the truth." 

"I've been made to feel very welcome at Collinwood," Vicki
explained boldly. "Mrs. Stoddard has been very kind, and Quentin
has been wonderful about showing me the ropes." He appeared next
to her, as if on cue, with shiny menus in one hand and a clinking drink
in the other. Maggie kept on: "Haven't you figured out yet that you've
been employed by a family of kooks? ... present company excepted,
of course." She flashed a smile at her boyfriend, and Vicki noted that
it was as if baby lightning passed down invisible wires between those
two. It made her squirm a little, and in her nervousness replied, "I
don't believe that. It sounds like something that gossipy, jealous
people would say about the Collinses." Her own words made her
blush. "I'm sorry. I wasn't saying that..." 

"It's alright, honey," Maggie giggled. "You've managed to sum up
Collinsport pretty well." 

~~~~~~~~~~

~Fire~ 


Rain drilled the windshield as the Mustang was steered toward the
parking garage. Once inside, Roger snatched the briefcase, umbrella,
and neatly folded sport jacket from atop the passenger seat before
exiting the car and slamming the door behind him with a "thwack". He
considered the inconvenience of humid summer storms as he started
toward the mansion, but his attention turned toward the obtrusive
crackle of a striking match in a corner of the cramped garage. 

In the faint glow, he discerned that a cigarette was being lit by dainty,
jeweled fingers. Bathed in its light, a lovely face paused to glare at the
tiny flame before blowing it out with full, puckered lips; it was softly
framed by wisps of blonde hair, the longer strands pulled to the back
in a chignon over a neckline cradled in sable. The figure sauntered
toward him, her remaining features now fully illuminated by a flash of
lightning from the nearby window, and the woman now regarded him
with sad eyes outlined in kohl. A sickly-sweet voice greeted him:
"Hello, Roger. I imagine you didn't expect to see me again." 

Darkness again prevailed, yet Roger half imagined that the woman in
front of him had become slightly luminous. "Not really, I suppose," he
answered, sounding deflated. "Let's get inside, Laura. I'm sure we've
much to say to each other after all these years." 

"No, not tonight," she replied. 

"For just a drink, then. This storm is expected to pass soon." 

"I no longer drink-- I'm sure you're pleased to hear that. And I want
to apologize for shocking you by appearing without warning. Tonight,
for some reason, I felt ... compelled to come here." She took a drag
from the dainty cigarette. "Has Collinwood changed much?" 

"Collinwood is the same, as are the people in it." 

"But they are mellower, perhaps?" 

"I've never been the mellowing kind," he sniped. 

There was a brief silence between them before Laura pounced on the
opportunity to ask, "How is David?" 

"I wondered when you'd get around to asking about our son. David is
fine, no thanks to you. He's grown tall, and he has your coloring." 

"He's been on my mind constantly since I was released from the
sanitarium. You see, I did a great deal of thinking while I was there.
The psychotherapy was extremely helpful." 

"And it's a good thing, too, since the bills for it were astronomical." 

"Your money wasn't wasted, I assure you. It helped me to realize
what was missing from my life. By that, I mean David. Tell me, has he
asked about me?" 

"Yes, and he's been told how ill you were when you were sent away."
Roger paused before continuing. "You and I are still married, you
know. I've remained responsible for you, despite the fact that we
completely lost track of your whereabouts." 

"Time has been very good to me. I've been content with my life out
West, except that I desperately needed the opportunity to be reunited
with my son." She stared down at the glowing, gray accumulation at
the end of her cigarette. "I won't oppose a divorce, Roger. I'm here
only because of David." 

"That is all?" 

"Yes. Would you see to it that arrangements are made for me to see
him tomorrow evening?" 

"Very well. I suppose there's no point in postponing this." 

"Good. I'm staying at the Collinsport Inn. You can phone me
tomorrow, then, after you've smoothed this over with your sister."
Roger was clearly irritated by her insinuation about Elizabeth, but
Laura noticed only the cold wind that blew through the garage,
carrying rain and debris with it and causing her to pull her coat more
tightly around her. She tossed her cigarette to the ground and silently
cursed the sudden chill, yet remained unaware that another evil had
awaited Roger's appearance there as well. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

~Poison~ 


Sarah Johnson assessed the stately stranger on the front porch. The
pose seemed anachronous-- his back rigidly straight, with two
handsome hands perched atop the silver-handled cane planted firmly
in front of him. 

"Mrs. Stoddard retired for the evening," she explained. "It's very late."


The visitor considered the ease with which he could puncture her
psyche there and then, but he'd already resolved to utilize *normal*
means when he came calling on the family. He assured himself that his
knowledge of Collins history, combined with information ascertained
from his useful new servant, should prove sufficient for getting past
their maid, and again for ingratiating himself with the mistress of the
house, so he resisted the urge to deviate from his original plan. And if
his impeccable manners and fast talking didn't work, he still had the
unconventional methods at his disposal. "I do apologize," he told the
woman, "but if you would do me the courtesy of informing her that her
cousin wishes to pay his respects, I'd be most grateful." 

"Cousin?" she asked. 

"Yes, a cousin from England." 

Mrs. Johnson clutched at her chest in astonishment. "Won't you come
inside?" she asked animatedly, and led him across the tombstone-gray
stones of the foyer to the large table at its center where she relieved
him of his hat and cane. As she turned briefly to set the items down,
the vein on the left side of her neck became exposed and it hummed
for him like a tuning fork, but in the mere seconds that it took for her
to complete the task, he had already compelled himself to look away.
"Would you like to wait in the drawing room?" she chirped, but after a
quick scan of the large area, he replied, "I'd prefer to wait here, thank
you." He stepped away from her and marveled at his surroundings. 

"I'll get Mrs. Stoddard now," she told his back before ascending the
grand staircase, leaving the guest to scrutinize the vaulted ceiling, the
paneling, the dark antiques, all the while basking in their familiarity.
God, how he'd always loved this room. He removed his dark cape
and blindly set it down alongside his other things as he'd done
countless times before, then raised his line of sight to eye the
housekeeper's hunched silhouette as a lightning flash lit the huge
stained glass windows behind her. As soon as she had disappeared
through the door at the end of the landing, his gaze moved over
quickly to the ornately-framed portrait hanging on a far wall, and
Barnabas Collins smiled at last as he stared at the visage that had
overlooked that same entryway for over 170 years. The painted
figure was dressed in 18th century clothing, yet it unmistakably
possessed the man's same cruel beauty. It was, in fact, HIS face...
Barnabas Collins was gazing into the eyes of a ghost. 

He sucked in a long, useless breath, catching it in his chest, and fought
to choke back the sadness of his solitary life. When he pushed the air
back out, he attempted to expel with it his toxic recollections of
events that had taken place here. Just a few feet away, on the
carpeted rise, a father had coldly threatened to disown his disobedient
son. "Stop it, you idiot!" he firmly told himself. "These memories can
only poison everything." He reminded himself that it was within his
grasp to have a family again, for within these stone walls lived his
blood kin ... in its shadows dwelt his roots. Barnabas closed his eyes
and mockingly whispered, "I am home, Father." 

He heard excited voices in the hallway upstairs, and forced his focus
back to the tale rehearsed especially for the relatives. He would tell
Cousin Elizabeth about the man in the portrait: an adventurer who left
this great house to sail for England where he settled, married, and
sired a child, and that he himself was the son's great great grandson.
As for his remarkable likeness to the original Barnabas, it's due to the
persistent strength of Collins blood, he would cleverly say. And now,
fear and fury be damned, he spun around and faced the staircase
poised to begin a new chapter in his existence at the home in which
his soul, and perhaps his destiny, resided. 

(To be continued)