"IN THE LIGHT OF DARKNESS"
The mind of a middle-aged woman named, Tyla Shelly, is drawn backward in time to relive terrible
memories of her past after attending the funeral of a dearly, beloved relative. She takes readers
on an exciting, and emotional, roller-coaster ride, and a terrifying journey while she reflects upon
her life, and her past. One entwined with deep, family love, dark, family secrecy, mystery,
tragedy, incest, and murder. They won't be able to put the novel down.
NOTE: I hope to have this novel re-published soon because I believe and I think my readers will agree it is worth it.
CHAPTER ONE
The taxi pulled up in front of my house, and the warm feeling of arriving home swept over me with wonderful ebullience. I was fervently glad to be home after being away for a whole week. I missed my son, and grandson profoundly.
After tipping the cab driver I grabbed my luggage, and perambulated up the walk-way to my front door. As I turned the key in the lock, and entered my house the coherent smells, and sights of the inside of my home greeted me. Without stopping I climbed up the stairs to my bedroom. All I wanted to do was get out of the two-piece, black suit, and high-heeled shoes I was wearing. They had begun to hurt my feet like crazy.
After tossing my suitcase onto the bed I stood there, and stared at it for a moment. I didn't feelt like unpacking it just yet. So I figured it could wait until later on. My clothes quickly followed my suitcase onto the bed. I took off my shoes, and put them inside the closet. Then grabbed my most comfortable lounge dress from the closet, put on some slippers, and went back downstairs to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, and relax. Once I fixed the tea I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, and sat down. As I started sipping the refreshing beverage my mind began to wander which wasn't unusual. I let out a long, ponderous sigh.
The funeral was a beautiful one. I had not seen my brother, Nicholas, for many years. Although he aged just as I had he looked as handsome as ever lying lifeless in his casket. Our family often wondered why we never heard from him after he left home when we were young. Nearly thirty years later the letter came informing me of his untimely, and tragic death.
I was looking out of my kitchen window. It was Autumn now. I marveled at the beautiful colors the leaves on the trees turned to as they fell to the ground. This was the season, and the time of year I loved the most. The weather was almost perfect in my mind. And I had a birthday coming soon. I learned to appreciate birthdays a long time ago from my grandmother. For more years than I cared to count my siblings and I never celebrated ours or anyone else's birthday. In fact, we never celebrated any holidays or special occasions.
I sat at the kitchen table looking out of the window when my mind drifted. I was six years old growing up in a small Southern town called Maron with my brothers and my sister, Emmaline, who was four years older than I was.
Autumn was the most beautiful time of year in our small town. The lush, green leaves of the tree-lined streets turned to radiant colors of red, gold, and yellow. They created an awesome picture of beauty. The lovely setting was enhanced by the neatly-kept, twin houses on every street. There were a few houses which stood by themselves. Anybody who saw this conspicuous sight of quietude would never surmise one of the larger homes harbored a dark, and incredible mystery. One that plagued the family who lived there for many years.
Maron was a small town of twenty eight hundred people. Everybody knew everybody else as is the case in small towns. Yet, if someone needed help the people rarely got involved in the matter. It was a place where gossip, rumors, and slander were common place. As small as it was the town managed to publish a weekly newspaper. It was more like a community newspaper than anything else. Its' focus was mainly on what was going on in town, and in a few surrounding areas. Local teenagers delivered the newspaper. They would send someone around at the end of every month asking for donations to it. Any amount of money you wanted to give was fine. If you never made a donation deliveries abruptly stopped.
The highlight of everyone's week was the town meeting held by the Sheriff, and other town leaders. It was a chance for everybody to catch up on the latest gossip. Nothing more spectacular than that ever occurred in Maron. Therefore, most of the children there left as soon as they became of age.
A few citizens in Maron stood apart from everyone else. The things they were doing or had done were regurgitated for months. That is until some new gossip or rumor surfaced. For the most part everybody kept to themselves.
The heart of the town was Windre Street. On one side of the street was the town's General Store owned, and operated by Annie and Tom Greenley. A nice, elderly couple who had lived in Maron for decades I was told. They were nice to everyone in town, and everybody liked them. For some surreptitious reason they always quarreled with one another over the most sophomoric things...right in front of their customers. The fact that other people overheard their dissonance didn't seem to bother them. The couple had five children who had all grown up, and left Maron. There was no dubiety it was to get away from their ever-feuding parents.
Next door to the Greenley's General Store was Artie Jacobsen's Hardware Store. Artie was an elderly gentleman who lost his wife, Amanda, early the same year when I was six years old. She was killed in a tragic automobile accident. The rumor was he was driving drunk, and crashed the car into a telephone pole on their way home from a house party. Amanda died instantly, and after that Artie quit drinking. It was a little too late in my opinion. But at any rate an accomplishment for him, the people in town thought. It was postulated by many he'd been a closet alcoholic for years.
Further down on Windre Street was the gas station. It was owned, and operated by Sara Cosby and her two sons, Jimmy and Danny. Both men were married, and had families of their own. However, Sara treated them like they were ten years old, and couldn't think for themselves. Her husband, Terrence, walked out on her for another woman. So she had a hard time letting her sons go. People believed she was afraid of being alone, and trying her best to hang onto Jimmy and Danny. It was known around town that the men's wives couldn't stand Sara. They were sick, and tired of her insufferable interference in their lives.
Maron had three churches. There was a Baptist church, a Catholic church, and a Methodist church. Also, there was St. Agnews Hospital, and the Town Hall which was in dire need of repairs. The Town Council claimed there wasn't enough money in the town's treasury to make those repairs.
On the other side of Windre Street was the court house, Sheriff Bicket's office, the butcher shop owned by Mr. Thomas, a small bakery, a shoe repair shop, the only movie theater, a beauty salon, and a few department stores.
The Barber on Windre Street was Ted Hurly. He was considered by many young women, and girls to be nothing but a dirty, old man. Always lecherously putting his untoward hands here or there on their bodies. Many a husband or boyfriend wanted to kick Ted's ass on numerous occasions. Sheriff Bicket or one of his Deputies would stop the upset men from committing any assault on the impious codger.
Once Ted was accused by a woman of rape. But there was never any proof he committed such a crime. Ironically, the same men who held a lot of pugnacity against old Ted would congregate in his Barber Shop to gossip, and visit.
Gladys Budsman was a single woman who owned the only beauty salon in town at that time. She was a nice lady who was very pretty. People in Maron thought of her as being wild, and trampish. I never got that impression about her. She was always nice to my sister, brothers, and I. Whenever somebody's husband, or boyfriend suddenly started stepping out on them she would become the subject of most of the gossip in town. I don't think Gladys cared what people said about her.
The movie theater on Windre Street was owned by Betty Abrams. A middle-aged, black woman who married her fifth husband the year before I turned six. Rumors were she murdered her previous four husbands but nobody could prove it. All four men died mysteriously. They were the picture of health one day then dead of natural causes the next.
Betty was a pretty woman. Everybody knew she liked her men at least twenty years her senior. Yet, it didn't stop the younger guys from trying to hit on her. Even though they knew they didn't stand a chance. Over the years, and through her different marriages Betty grew rich in property as well as money. She was quite munificent, too. And showed all of the latest movies at her theater for the small admission price of one dollar per person.
The few houses that sat by themselves were beautiful, and much larger in size. One in particular stood out from all of the rest. It wasn't because of its' size or beauty. The people in town heard many ugly stories associated with the family who lived there. The Davidsons. Before I was married my name was Tyla Davidson.
People in Maron considered my family, and I to be very enigmatic people who never mingled with the people in town. It wasn't that we wanted it that way. We were not allowed to be contiguous with the people. My sister, brothers, and I would have to sneak into town behind Mama's back. We wanted to look in the windows of the stores on Windre Street at the nice things on display. If she knew about it Mama would have killed us, or at least tried to. I mean that literally, and we were terrified of her.
The townspeople in spite of Mama got to know my siblings and I. I know they felt empathy for us. We looked like little rag-a-muffins in our sometimes exiguous clothing. Our clothes were clean only because our grandmother kept them that way. She made sure Mama had money to buy us nice shoes, and clothing. But Mama spent that money on herself not us...never us.
Mama forced us to lie to our grandmother, too. When Grandmom Faya would see us after school she would look at the clothes we had on. They were always the same ones we wore to school that day. But when she would ask us if they were the same ones we told her 'no'. And we had changed our clothes as soon as we got home. If we didn't lie like Mama told us to do she would be the hell out of us. She feared our grandmother, and we in turn feared her. The situation for us in our house was an extremely grievous, and abusive one. If it hadn't been for my grandmother living with us we would've been living under even more perilous circumstances.
I believe Mama hated all of us even my grandmother. She waited like a lion waits on its' prey for one of us to commit the slightest infraction so she could beat us. We were beaten severely, and often for no reason at all. She had no love or compassion for any of us, not even for my grandmother. Who in the beginning was unaware of the egregious abuse we suffered at the hands of Mama.
Grandmom Faya lived in the house with us. But she didn't stay on top of the things going on inside the house like she should have. And the house belonged to her. When she found out what had been going on in there for years the lives of my siblings and I changed.
Even at the age of six years old I knew there were ugly rumors around town about my family. Many of them involved murder, witchcraft, adultery, and incest. Other children talked as well, but I was too young to fully understand.
I was a very pretty, little girl. My gorgeous, dark-red hair was almost brown, and hung down to my waist. I had big, dark-blue eyes, and olive-colored skin. I knew the people in town wondered about me in reticence. I didn't look like any member of the Davidson family they had seen in person or in photographs.
I was a curious child, and very bright. I had a vivid imagination, and was prone to day-dreaming. People would often have to say something to me twice before I heard them, and responded. I would be a million miles away deep in thought escaping my harsh reality. It was the day-dreaming that helped me cope with the horrible home situation we endured.
Our mother's name was, Charon. She was dark-complexioned with long, dark, brown hair and light-brown eyes. She ignored the people in town, and always seemed to be angry about something. Also, she was inimical, distant, and cold toward us.
Our father's name was, Andrew, and he was dead. I saw pictures of him. He had olive-colored skin like mine with light-brown hair, and eyes. There was very little my siblings, and I knew about him. Except that he killed himself when I was a baby. They had five children, and I was the youngest.
Not one of my siblings resembled me in any way, and sometimes it bothered me. For a while I thought I may have been adopted or something. But Grandmom Faya assured me otherwise.
My oldest brother, Andrew, Jr., was fourteen years old, and very handsome. He had dark-brown hair, and light-brown eyes. I overheard my grandmother say he had to be six feet tall. Andrew, Jr. was a good boy. He thought about running away from home once. But felt he had a responsibility to stay for the benefit of the rest of us. He thought we would be safe from Mama as long as he remained there. But he could never have been more wrong.
The next oldest of us was my brother, Nicholas, who was twelve years old with light-brown hair, and dark-brown eyes. He had a rebellious spirit none of the rest of us had. His biggest problem was not going to school, and hanging out with boys who were much older than he was.
Then there was my sister, Emmaline. She was ten years old, and had dark-brown hair, and big, gray eyes. Emmaline was more outgoing, and friendly than I was. She was also willful, and stubborn.
Lastly, there was my brother, Malin. He was two years older than I was, and had red hair, hazel eyes, and freckles. Malin was very sensitive, and kind-hearted. Everybody loved him because he was such a sweet, little boy.
No one in my family resembled me. Even Grandmom Faya looked nothing like me. I thought it was strange. Of course I never said anything to any of them about it. I was at an age when I really needed assurance from someone I hadn't been left on the doorstep. My dear grandmother provided me with it.
Grandmom Faya was my father's mother, and still a beautiful woman for her age. Her hair was completely white, and so long she could sit on it. She had dark-blue eyes like I did, and her skin was dark. Sometimes she used a cane because she had difficulty walking. She told my siblings and I something happened to her when she was a young girl. There was an accident, and she got hurt badly. She never explicated to us what kind of accident it was, and we never asked.
The only love, kindness, and affection we received growing up as children came from my grandmother...never Mama. Grandmom Faya was a loving, and caring woman. Unfortunately she was oblivious to the problems Mama was causing all of us, especially Andrew, Jr.
The house we lived in was very big, and had secret rooms inside it no one used. It was the only home I ever knew. Mama never talked about where we lived before that. She never talked about my father either.
My sister, brothers, and I were very close. Yet, there was nepotism on my part toward Malin. He was my constant companion, and we went everywhere together. Often together we got into a lot of trouble with Mama, too.
Malin and I thought it was uproarious to leave Emmaline behind some mornings when we caught the bus to school. We would tell the bus driver, Mrs. Fitz, Emmaline wasn't going to school that day. So she would rive off without her. All day long Malin and I would laugh about it. Imagining how Mama would have to drive her to school, or just make her stay home. The school we attended was a half a mile away from where we lived. So we had to ride the school bus. It was never funny to Mama. We decided for Emmaline's sake as well as our own not to do it anymore. Making Mama angry was not a prudent thing to do. She could be more dolorously cruel to us when she got angry.
Malin and I had a secret, hiding place no one knew about. It was a spot under a big, old, oak tree down by the lake not far from our house. We would sit by the edge of the water, and talk for hours. If the weather was warm we would take our shoes off, and splash our feet in the warm water. The two of us talked incessantly about anything, and everything. We found peace there. "This will always be our secret place, Ty," Malin said to me one day while we were there. "You can never tell anybody about it no matter what. Okay?" I nodded my head in agreement with him.
There was a big, spooky-looking house near the lake that was abandoned. We could tell it was a nice house at one time. One day we decided to go inside it, and look around. When we turned the knob to go inside the front door was unlocked. Slowly entering the house we stepped into the foyer. Immediately it gave both of us the creeps. A sinister feeling permeated the air around us. Chills began to run down our spines. We were terrified, turned around quickly, and ran out of the front door. Never stopping until we got home. We were so frightened we never went inside that house again. It was a long time before we mustered enough nerve to visit our secret place again, too.
When we did go back there we sat down as usual under the oak tree near the water. Suddenly Malin turned to me and said, "Ty, if you or I ever get into any trouble we can always come here, and somebody will help us." I was surprised by his remark. So I said, "Who?" "I don't know who," he replied solemnly. "But you have to believe me. Someone will always help us if we come here. Not just you, and I but Nicholas, Emmaline, and Andrew, Jr., too. I promise you that so don't forget it. Alright?" "Alright, Malin," I assured him. "I won't."
When my brother told me that I noticed he had a strange look on his face. I had the distinct feeling it wasn't really him saying those words. But someone else was there with us. Someone telling him things, and someone we couldn't see. "What kind of trouble is he talking about?" I wondered. I was confused but I went along with him. For the rest of that day we sat in silence. Neither one of us talking as we usually did. Malin was there with me that day but only in body. It was as if he was in some kind of trance or something. The incident was somewhat of an anomaly to me.
When it was beginning to get dark we started for home. We knew Mama would be angry at us for being out that late. We were afraid of her when she got angry. Sometimes she did terrible things to us, except me. For some inexplicable reason she never touched me. If Malin, Emmaline, and I were together, and came home late like it was then she would say nothing to me. But she would surely go after Emmaline and Malin. I recalled a time before that when we were out late, and got into trouble with Mama.
It wasn't Malin and I that time. Emmaline and I had gone to visit Miss Miriam. She lived four blocks from where we did. And loved to see us children, especially Emmaline and I. She would let us dress up in her old clothing, and play in her attic. We were allowed to play with anything she had up there except an old trunk. She told us never to touch it. But we could play with anything else.
Miss Miriam used to be friends with Grandmom Faya before any of us were born she told us. When we asked her why their friendship had broken off I thought I saw tears in her eyes. She turned away from us too quickly for me to be certain that was what they were. As young as I was I could see there had been much more than friendship between her and Grandmom Faya. "Girls," she began one day when we were there, and questioned her again about her friendship with our grandmother, "it was so long ago I don't remember what happened." She started to talk to us about something else changing the subject.
Emmaline and I had so much fun the time slipped away from us. When we did get near our house we saw Mama standing on the front porch with her hands on her hips pacing the floor. As soon as we got next to where she was standing she grabbed my sister's head, getting a handful of her hair so tight, and so hard Emmaline screamed in pain. Mama picked her up by her hair with Emmaline's feet dangling in mid-air. Then threw my sister bodily against the front wall of our house. "You little bitch!" she screamed at my sister. "I should kill you!" Then she looked at me. "Tyla," she said, "you get your little ass up those stairs, and go to bed right now!"
Running past her I raced up the stairs as fast as I could. I was terrified. While I was running I began to think about how hungry I was. But I knew we could forget about any dinner. That's how Mama was when she got angry. She would be so enraged she didn't give a damn if we ate or not. As a matter of fact she barely fed us if she wasn't angry.
When I got upstairs I walked past Grandmom Faya's bedroom. Her door was ajar. She was sitting up in her bed probably awakened by all of the noise, and screaming downstairs. She looked at me and I at her but neither one of us said a word. She smiled at me. Quickly I went into my bedroom, took off my clothes, put on my pajamas, and got into bed with my stomach growling. It was a long time before I fell asleep. I tried to stay awake, and wait for Emmaline since we shared a bedroom. But she never came upstairs.
The following morning I looked for my sister. I wanted to see if she was alright. But I couldn't find her anywhere. I wouldn't see her for the next three days. It dawned on me I hadn't seen Malin recently either. I recalled a few days before when he got into trouble with Mama. Any little fractious quirk was an excuse for her to be ominously cruel to us. I tried asking Andrew, Jr. and Nicholas where Malin and Emmaline were. They shrugged their shoulders, and said they didn't know. All of us knew Mama had done something to Malin and Emmaline. It was nothing new or surprising to us. One of us often disappeared for a while after one of Mama's beatings. I could never understand why she refused to hit me, or maybe she was afraid to.
Andrew, Jr. always had a far-off, trance-like look in his eyes. I knew he was very sad, and it was Mama who was making him that way. All of us knew, except Grandmom Faya, Mama sometimes made Andrew, Jr. sleep in her bedroom with her. We knew there was something wrong with that. When our grandmother did find out about it she had a big fight with Mama. She threatened to have her arrested, and Andrew, Jr. taken away. But it didn't stop Mama, and my grandmother never did call Sheriff Bicket. "Maybe if she had," I thought, "things would have turned out differently." I felt tears welling in my eyes as I recalled that memory of my oldest brother. "Oh, Andrew, Jr.!" I thought sorrowfully.
Nicholas on the other hand had no respect for Mama. He cursed at her to her face whenever she made him angry. He even told her he hated her. If she hit him he would hit her right back. It reached a point where she rarely said anything to him.
Nicholas hardly ever went to school, and was always trying to be a tough guy. He smoked joint, cigarettes, and liked to drink alcoholic beverages. He even came home drunk a few times. He came, and went as he pleased as if he dared Mama to say something to him.
Grandmom Faya was the only person Nicholas would listen to. He respected, and loved her. He was alright until Mama did something else to make him angry. Then he would start rebelling again.
If Sheriff Bicket or one of his Deputies caught Nicholas out on the streets after curfew they would bring him home. But he would wait until they were gone then go out again. If my grandmother intervened he would straighten up for a while. Yet, it was only a matter of time before Mama provided the impasse he needed to go back to his old ways.
Inside, Nicholas was a good boy. He was also a troubled boy my grandmother told the rest of us. No one could've ever guessed it. But the day was coming when my brother wouldn't come home at all anymore.
When I couldn't find Malin or Emmaline I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to ask Mama where they were. Although I knew if anybody knew their whereabouts it was her. Instead I decided to talk to Grandmom Faya about it. It was the best decision I could have made.
I realized she probably didn't know any more than I did. Still, I wanted to talk to her. I went to her bedroom. She spent a lot of time in her bedroom then. She informed my siblings and I it was to keep from fighting with Mama. "The less contact we have with each other," she said to us, "the better it is for both of us." As I entered her bedroom I saw she was asleep. I walked quietly over to her bed, and gently touched her forearm. She opened her eyes, and smiled when she saw me.
"Tyla, honey, how are you?" she asked me in the sweet, loving voice she had. I said nothing, and I don't know why. "Is there anything wrong, honey?" she asked me sitting up in her bed, and resting against her pillows. "Come here, and talk to me," she said patting the side of the bed where she lay. "It's been a long time since you came in here to talk to me." She put her arms around me, and kissed me on my cheek softly. I smiled. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked. I thought about how much I loved her, and knew she loved me.
"Grandmom, do you know where Malin and Emmaline are?" I asked her. "I haven't seen Malin for a few days, and Mama beat Emmaline last night. It was terrible! Why is she such a bad person?" My grandmother shook her head sadly. I saw the sorrow in her eyes. Hugging me tightly she said, "Honey, you have no idea what is going on in this family. It's a shame you never knew your father
I didn't understand some of what she said, especially about Mama. But I nodded my head anyway. "You are a special, little girl, Tyla," my grandmother told me. "So don't ever be afraid of Charon because she cannot hurt you. Do you understand?" "Yes, Grandmom," I replied. "I understand." But she was wrong about Mama not being able to hurt me.
My sister, brothers, and I always felt safe with Grandmom Faya. We knew she would protect us from getting killed by Mama. I felt relieved. I believed my grandmother knew wherever my brother and sister were they were alright like she said. We laid back on the pillows. As I laid in her arms that day I thought about Miss Miriam. And decided to ask her about their broken frienship.
"Grandmom?" I said. "Yes, honey," she answered. "Why aren't you and Miss Miriam friends anymore?" I asked her. For a moment she was quiet. I could sense her sadness at my question. With the sadness evident in her voice she told me, "Tyla, Miss Miriam loves you children very much. In fact, just as much as I do. And one day you'll know why. She and I were very close. A terrible person deliberately destroyed our relationship with each other out of jealousy, hatred, and perfidy. It was our own fault in a way. We allowed this person to come between us. We didn't realized how evil, and treacherous she was."
For a moment I pondered what she said. I asked her curiously, "What did she do, Grandmom?" "Well," said my grandmother, "it wasn't only one thing she did, but many things over a period of time, sweetheart." "Why can't you and Miss Miriam be friends again," I began, "and forget about that bad person?"
"It's not that easy, Tyla, honey," she said. "A lot of things were said, and done that can never be undone. That's how a fomenter is. They start trouble between other people. But let's not worry about that now. Okay? You children go visit Miss Miriam any time you want to. I'm glad you like to visit her. She is a very altruistic person. One day we'll work out our problems for ourselves. Okay?" Then she smiled at me.
I nodded my head as I returned her smile because I was satisfied with her answer. Secretly, I hoped she and Miss Miriam would become friends again. While I was laying there in my grandmother's arms I dozed off, and began to dream.
"CHAPTER TWO"
In my dream my grandmother and I were walking toward a big house surrounded by a heavily, wooded area. There were beautiful pink, white, red, and yellow carnations all around the house. It was surrounded by a huge lawn, and had a long walk-way. Grandmom Faya was no longer a middle-aged woman but a beautiful, young girl. Her long, white hair was a deep, gorgeous, dark-red like mine. And her dark skin was as soft as a baby's. She was slender in my dream not stout like she was in reality.
As we approached the house together my grandmother held my hand. At the front door she turned the knob, pushed it open, and we entered the house. The inside of the house was nice. We went into the kitchen which was vey big. Grandmom Faya started getting various items out of the cupboards to make us something to eat. I sat down at the kitchen table. I was astonished at how much she resembled me in the dream. The only difference between us was her skin color which was darker than mine. But we could have been sisters or even mother, and daughter.
While I was sitting at the kitchen table my grandmother began to talk to me. "I'm going to show you how to make my special salmon cakes, Miriam," she said to me. I got confused. "Why is Grandmom calling me Miriam?" I wondered befuddled. I wanted to ask her, "Grandmom, I'm Tyla. Who is Miriam?" But I couldn't speak. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't make a sound. To my further dismay I was unable to move. I was just a fixture in the kitchen. Like one of the many pots, and pans hanging from a rack over the kitchen table. However, I was able to hear, and see everything.
I watched the beautiful, young woman in my dream who was my grandmother. She moved around the kitchen getting the things she needed. It was more than obvious it was her house. She knew instinctively where everything was, and where it belonged. Then she started talking to me again. "Miriam," she began, "this is a special recipe Mama gave me. Now I'm giving it to you. It will be a recipe we will pass down to our own daughters one day. Okay, Miriam?" She was smiling at me so sweetly. "She really thinks I am this 'Miriam' person," I thought. "Why else would she keep calling me that name?"
Suddenly, and without any warning I heard someone open the front door, and enter the house. The sound of their footsteps approached the kitchen where we were. Grandmom Faya heard them, too. She stopped preparing the salmon cakes, and looked toward the kitchen entrance....waiting. The sound of the mysterious footsteps were surreptitiously coming closer, and closer to us. Abruptly, they stopped at the entrance of the kitchen which was behind me.
Inexplicably, the entire room became as cold as ice. Chills began to run down my spine as every hair on the nape of my neck, and forearms stood on end. I saw an inimical sneer come over my grandmother's face as she looked at someone over my shoulder.
I tried desperately to turn around so I could see who was standing there. And who it was that had Grandmom Faya so outraged. Still, I could not move a muscle or speak a word. Fear, and terror began to wash over me. Fervidly, Grandmom Faya yelled at whoever was standing there.
"Get out of here! Get out of here, and done you ever come back!" she shouted impetuously at the unknown person. "You don't belong here anymore! If you ever try to harm my sister, and her child again I will kill you! Do you understand?! I will kill you!" She paused looking as if she was getting more, and more angry at the person who was unknown to me. "Now get out!" she screamed at whoever was there.
I was stunned as I stared at Grandmom Faya. I never heard her speak to anybody so envenomed, or in that horrible tone of voice. It was a frightening voice. Her hatred of the mysterious person was more than evident. Again I tried to turn around so I could see who it was. Yet, I still couldn't move or speak.
I never did hear the incorporeal visitor leave from the doorway. But I knew they were gone. My grandmother looked away from the kitchen entrance, and back at me. Her face was soft, and sweet again as she smiled at me. The icy cold that came over the room vanished, too. She went back to preparing our meal. Then said to me, "It's alright now, Miriam. She's gone. I will never let her hurt you again."
As soon as she said those words to me the room became warm as it was before the strange incursion of the visitor. I began to relax. "She!" I started to think. I realized the enigmatic stranger who entered the house, and came to the kitchen entrance was a woman.
The back door opened which happened to be directly in front of me. A handsome, young man with smooth, olive-skin, light-brown eyes, and light-brown hair came into the kitchen. He sat down at the table across from where I was sitting. My grandmother looked at him, and smiled. The young man smiled back at her but didn't say anything. He was still smiling when he turned to look at me. "I sure hope he doesn't start calling me 'Miriam', too," I thought. However, he just kept smiling at me as he sat there. Grandmom Faya walked over to him, and tenderly kissed him on his cheek.
"That evil bitch was here," she told the young man. "She will always be a restive spirit never able to find peace because of all of the evil she did." She paused for a moment, and smiled lovingly. "I told Miriam not to worry, Andrew," she said to the young man. "Now I am telling you, too." With her hand she turned his face to hers' and said, "I will always protect you, and Miriam....you'll see. She will never hurt either one of you again."
The young man turned to face me again. His eyes looked deeply into mine with the smile still on his lips. Grandmom Faya turned to look at me, too. Both she and the young man were smiling at me tenderly. I thought my dream would never end when I awakened. My mind was spinning.
The first thought that came into my head was, "Grandmom Faya was really pretty when she was a young girl!" It was then I realized who I looked like in our family. It was my dear grandmother when she was a young girl. I was very happy about that. I wasn't the misfit in the family I always believed I was. I thought about the handsome, young man who was in my dream. "Andrew," I wondered. "I'll bet that man was my Daddy I dreamed about. But why didn't he say something to me?" I thought about how enraged my grandmother was in my dream when the unknown stranger came into the house. I was glad their eerie visit was an ephemeral one.
My grandmother had fallen asleep, too. Slowly I got up from her bed trying my best not to awaken her. I was still recalling the strange dream I had as I walked down the hallway to my own bedroom. The dream had my full attention to say the least. As I laid down on my bed I wondered why my grandmother persisted in calling me 'Miriam' in the dream. None of my siblings or I ever knew she had a sister. I couldn't understand why she never told us about her.
I was so anxious for Grandmom Faya to awaken I could hardly contain myself. I wanted to tell her about the inscrutable dream I had. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask her. My mind was racing. There was no way I could have known it. But I learned she had been dreaming, too.
It was about an hour later when I walked past my grandmother's bedroom. I saw her standing by her window lost in her thoughts. I called to her four times before she finally heard me, and turned around. When she saw me she motioned for me to enter her room. We sat down on her bed. It was then I began to tell her about my dream. I was still excited about it.
"You kept calling me 'Miriam' in my dream, Grandmom," I informed her. "Somebody came into the house, and was standing in the kitchen entrance I couldn't see. The room turned really cold. I was afraid because I couldn't move or say anything." My grandmother listened to me intently as I recalled everything I could about my bizarre dream. "You told the person who was there to get out, Grandmom," I continued as she listened.
"Then this man named, Andrew," I continued, "came into the kitchen, and you kissed him on his cheek. You told him the person wouldn't hurt him or your sister, Miriam, anymore." Grandmom Faya watched me as I continued telling her about my dream. "He never said anything to me, Grandmom," I told her. "He just kept smiling at me. You were showing me a secret recipe for salmon cakes in the dream, and you were pretty and young. You looked just like me in the dream." By the time I finished telling her about my eerie dream I was exhausted. I had so many questions for her regarding the strange, and mysterious vision.
"Well, Tyla, honey," began my grandmother, "that certainly was some dream you had. Let me show you something. Okay?" "Okay, Grandmom," I replied. Then I asked her, "Grandmom, why do you think you kept calling me 'Miriam' in my dream?" I was still excited, and she could tell. "Do you think the man in my dream was my Daddy?" I asked her. "Tyla," said Grandmom Faya unvarnished, "I indubitably believe it was your Daddy you dreamed about. Would you like to see some old photographs I have?" "Oh yes, Grandmom!" I exclaimed happily.
Grandmom Faya got up from the bed, and went over to her clothes closet. She reached up to the top of the closet, and retrieved a big, metal box. She brought it over to the bed, and opened it. Out of it came what seemed to me like a thousand old photographs. "Wow!" I cried surprised. "That's a lot of pictures, Grandmom!" "It sure is, sweetheart," she replied. "And we're going to look at all of them. You don't know a lot of these people in the pictures, but they are all family." We started looking at the photographs. As we did I noticed most of them were pictures of my sister, my brothers, and I.
My grandmother took out a photograph of a beautiful, dark-complexioned, young woman with long, dark-red hair. I gasped as my mouth fell open in surprise. The photograph was of Grandmom Faya when she was a young girl. She looked exactly as she did in my dream. She even had on the same dress she was wearing in my dream. I made my revelation known to her. As if she already knew she nodded her head at me smiling. Then she showed me a photograph of the same young man who was in my dream.
"That's your father, Tyla," she told me. I felt happy inside when she said that. It was a feeling that was rarely felt in our household because of Mama. For the rest of that day my grandmother and I looked through the many old photographs she had. The only one I saw of Mama my grandmother found was one of her as a young girl maybe twelve or thirteen years old.
"Do you have any photographs of Mama when she was older than this, Grandmom?" I asked her. "No, honey," she replied." "Charon doesn't believe in taking pictures. She has been that way since....." "Since what, Grandmom?" I asked her anxiously. After a moment's pause she spoke. "Oh," she replied, "because of some sill superstitious nonsense she believes about them that's all, honey. The only other photograph I have of her is when she was a little girl. Maybe just a little older than you are now." When she said that she pulled out a faded, old photograph of Mama who looked to be around ten years old. She was holding the hand of a woman who looked very much like Grandmom Faya. "Who is the lady in the picture with Mama, Grandmom?" I wanted to know filled with curiosity. "She looks a lot like you."
"She is someone who died a long time ago, honey," replied my grandmother. "She wasn't a very nice person. As a matter of fact we were all glad when she was dead." "How did she die, Grandmom?" I asked her. "It's a long story, sweetheart," she said. She said nothing else about the woman at the time.
As I looked at the photograph I noticed the woman in the picture with Mama had the same hair color, eyes, and complexion as Grandmom Faya did when she was younger. Irrespective of how my grandmother obviously felt about the woman they looked so much alike they could have been twins. Yet, she wasn't as pretty as my grandmother was. Her eyes were the same color as my grandmother's, and mine. But they were cold, and evil. The woman looked menacing to me. Just looking at her photograph was enough to frighten me. Later on I would learn she was my grandmother's older sister, Marie. I wanted to know more about her. But I could sense Grandmom Faya didn't want to talk about this woman.
We looked through more of the photographs that day. I saw other pictures of the same mysterious woman, my grandmother, Mama, and another pretty, young girl who seemed familiar to me. I knew I had seen her before. I just couldn't remember where. She looked to be a little younger than Grandmom Faya. I couldn't shake the feeling I had seen her before so I had to speak about it.
"I think I know this girl, Grandmom," I told my grandmother. But she did not reply. I didn't want to upset her. Therefore, I didn't persist at that time but continued to study the photograph. I began to notice how much the girl looked like Grandmom Faya, Mama, and the woman she told me was dead. Suddenly it hit me. "All four of them are sisters!" I thought. I was hoping my grandmother would continue telling me about the people in the photographs I didn't know.
Finally, I asked her again, "Who is the other girl in the picture, Granddmom? I know I've seen her before. I just don't know where. Who is she?" My grandmother began to stroke my small hand gently. Then said, "That's my sister, Miriam, Tyla." "So,"
I thought, "they ARE sisters." As I held the photograph in my hand I was mesmerized by it still thinking, "Miriam, I know I know you from somewhere. But why can't I remember where?"
After we finished looking at all of the photographs Grandmom Faya collected them, and put them back into the big, metal box. Then returned them to the top of her closet. I got up enough nerve to ask her, "Who do you think it was you were telling to 'get out' in my dream, Grandmom? Who you were so angry at?" Completely ignoring my question she replied, "Tyla, you dreamed about your Daddy alright. As for Miriam she was my younger sister, and we were very close."
I know my grandmother must have breathed a sigh of relief. When I didn't continue to press her with questions regarding Miriam, or ask where she was. Instead I asked her, "Do you know where that house is I dreamed about, Grandmom? Why do you think I dreamed about it? Did I ever live there?"
With quiet taciturnity Grandmom Faya walked back over to the bed, and sat down. She answered none of the questions I posed to her about the strange house I dreamed about. As she ensconced me in her arms with a soft, tender voice she said, "Tyla, I had a dream, too." "You did, Grandmom?" I asked fraught with anxiety, and excitement. "What did you dream about?" "I dreamed about my three sisters," she replied. "I also dreamed about your Daddy." She spoke in an equable, and fervent voice.
"Grandmom, you had three sisters?" I asked. Already knowing the answer in the back of my mind. "Where are they now? Why don't we ever see any of them? Why didn't you ever tell us about them before?" "Well," she replied,"I was only close to my sister, Miriam." "Do I look like she did, Grandmom?" I wanted to know curiously. "Believe it or not, sweetie," she said smiling, "you look exactly like she did when she was your age. You are just as sweet as she was, too."
"Tell me more, Grandmom," I said anxiously. I felt like she was ready for some illumination about the sisters we had never known anything about as well as her past. "Did you have any brothers?" "No, Tyla," she commented. "I only had three sisters. We lost our mother when we were very young. She was taken away from us after she got sick so my grandmother finished raising us." Even at that age I could hear how aggrieved she was in her voice as she spoke about her grandmother.
"Was your Grandmom nice to you?" I asked her looking into her eyes that had suddenly become sad. "I wish she had been honey," replied Grandmom Faya. "But she was not nice to us at all. I believe she hated us." "That's terrible, Grandmom!" I exclaimed. Knowing how much she as my own grandmother loved my siblings and I. "Why was she like that?" I asked her.
"She was a very wicked woman, Tyla," said my grandmother with apathy. "She was cruel to my mother who was her own daughter." Grandmom Faya began to look very sorrowful when she said that. "Nobody liked her," she continued. "She was especially cruel to Miriam and I. She did all she could do to make our lives miserable."
"How did she treat your other two sisters, Grandmom?" I asked her. My mind was contemplating why anybody's grandmother would be so mean to them. "Oh," replied Grandmom Faya, "she didn't care that much for them either. But she could use them, and contol them. Whereas, she couldn't use or control Miriam and I." "How did she do that?" I asked her. By then I was captivated with the sorrowful story of family members I never knew. As well as how my grandmother, and her sisters were abused. Grandmom Faya continued her story.
"Well," she began,"there were rumors she practiced witchcraft. Miriam and I believed it, too. We would hear her, and our other two sisters late at night upstairs in the attic. They would be chanting, and making all kinds of weird noises. One day our mother investigated what they were doing up there. She found a 'witch's circle' that was drawn in the middle of the attic floor. They were using it in rituals." She paused for a moment than began to speak again. "Our mother was so pusillanimous where our grandmother was concerned. She never confronted her about it. But she told Miriam and I Ole Lucy was teaching that stuff to my sisters." She paused again looking out of the bedroom window. She had a far-away look in her eyes as if she was straining to see something on the horizon. Then she continued.
"Miriam and I were always protected from Ole Lucy," said Grandmom Faya. "That's why she never bothered with us too much." "Who protected you, Grandmom?" I wanted to know. "We were never sure, honey," she replied. "But someone always helped us in that grievous house. We believed it was our grandfather. He often came to Miriam and I in our dreams. And would warn us about the things Ole Lucy and my sister, Marie, were trying to do to us through witchcraft to harm us. He was always right, too." She hesitated again.
"You know, honey," she said, "I think that old, insufferable house was as wicked as Ole Lucy, and my older sister were." She spoke as if she was just realizing that fact for herself. "As beautiful as that house was inside and out," she continued, "there was never any love there, Tyla. None of us girls had any friends except for Marie that is. She had one girlfriend who was just as bad as she was I think." Grandmom Faya paused again. She seemed to be concentrating on something before she spoke again.
"Sheila Weston!" she cried. "That was her name. But nobody ever came to that horrid house unless they had to. We were never allowed off the grounds, or allowed to associate with the people in town. Our education consisted of Tutors hired by Ole Lucy to come to the house." "That sounds awful!" I cried. Trying to imagine never being able to leave the house or have any friends.
"Do you have any pictures of your mother and father or your grandmother?" I asked her. "No, honey," she said shaking her head. "You see, it was Ole Lucy who didn't believe in taking photographs. Which is where Charon got that nonsense from." I was shocked. "Mama knew our grandmother?" I asked her in consternation. Grandmom Faya suddenly became reticent again.
"Grandmom?" I asked quietly, waiting for her to answer my question. "O-oh, o-oh yes," she said shakily. "Y-yes, she did, honey." Suddenly she became silent again. "Why was your grandmother scared to take a picture?" I asked her.
"She believed people could harm you through your photograph," said Grandmom Faya chuckling a little. "Like voodoo or something I guess which involves witchcraft, too." I was only six years old, and quite confused. I think she sensed my confusion.
"Ole Lucy thought everybody was like she was, Tyla," replied my grandmother. "She never allowed my mother to take a photograph either. The ones my mother already had of herself, and my father were burned to ashes by Ole Lucy when she found them. But years later after my mother had gone away a friend of hers' brought me the photographs I have shown you. This friends of my mother's saved them by keeping them for her. She instructed this friend of hers' to give them to me after I left that incongruously, horrid house and she did. All but the photographs of you children. I had them taken myself." She hesitated again. I could tell she was thinking about her past, and what she should tell me next. After sever minutes she asked me, "Do you know what we heard about Ole Lucy? I don't know how true it was or is," she admonished. "But there was a rumor in our family she murdered my father."
"What?" I cried horrified. "Yes," she said. "It was said by many people in Maron that Ole Lucy murdered my grandfather, too...her husband." "I'm sure glad I never knew your grandmother," I told her, "because she sounds terrible." Grandmom Faya smiled a crooked, little smile then continued talking.
"I believe it is true," she said. "My mother told Miriam and I our grandfather...her father..came from a family that was heavily into witchcraft. His mother taught Ole Lucy a lot of things. She told us my grandfather was a Warlock." "What's that, Grandmom?" I asked her. "It's a man who practices witchcraft, Tyla, honey," she replied. "Anyway they said he caused a lot of problems for many people in Maron. He had a lot of enemies by the time he passed away. Yet, he loved my mother dearly as she loved him." Then she paused. "From what I can remember about him," continued Grandmom Faya, "he used to play with Marie and I when we were small children." "He doesn't sound so bad to me, Grandmom," I said. "No, honey," she replied. "He doesn't. Does he?" "Do you know how your grandmother murdered those people?" I asked her changing the subject.
"Well," said Grandmom Faya, "they never found my grandfather's body. My grandmother told everyone in town he walked out on her, and she assumed he was dead. It never made any sense to us. Everything he owned was still in that house." "Maybe he isn't really dead," I suggested to her. "If he wasn't dead at that time, honey," she said with a soft chuckle, "I am sure he is by now, especially after all of these years."
"Tell me what happened to your mother, Grandmom," I said. "My mother was very unhappy in that house, Tyla," she replied. "Ole Lucy made her that way. She drove my father away from us. A short time after that he was found dead in the wooded area in back of that house. The Coroner told my mother he had a heart attack. But my mother demanded an investigation into his death. Naturally Ole Lucy tried to prevent that by threatening many people in high positions who were afraid of her. She fought my mother every step of the way. As a result there never was any investigation into my father's strange death. My mother easily postulated Ole Lucy's culpability in his demise. She knew it because she knew what my grandmother was capable of."
By that time I was completely enthralled with my grandmother's terrible memories as a young girl. Anxiously I waited for her to tell me more.
"Lucilla Camay was my grandmother's name," said Grandmom Faya sullenly. "She had no sisters or brothers we knew about. And she had the most wicked, hateful-looking eyes anyone ever saw on a human being. She didn't even look human to Miriam and I. But like a deamon from the pit of hell. She acted like one, too. It seemed for reasons only she knew about she hated everyone, and everything. We had never done anything to her...my sisters and I. But she hated us just the same." Grandmom Faya's voice turned to an embittered one as she said quietly, "I'll never forgive her, or Marie for what they did to my baby sister."
"What did they do to her, Grandmom?" I asked curiously. I thought I saw tears in her eyes. But she looked away from me, and out of the window. As if she was suddenly interested in what was going on outside. We could hear some of the children in Maron playing ball in the park across the street from our house. From their laughter we knew they were having lots of fun. It was fun my siblings and I knew nothing about.
Of course we never brought any of the children we knew from school to our house. We never knew what kind of mood Mama would be in. We didn't want to be embarrassed by a sudden beating brought on by some small infringement committed she didn't like. Grandmom Faya started to speak again.
"My baby sister was the sweetest, kindest human being I had ever known," she said with her voice cracking a little as she spoke, "She loved everybody. She could never understand why Marie was the only one who could have friends over to our house. My mother tried to explain things to her, but she never understood. My baby sister looked up to Marie, and she trusted her. It was through this trust, and love that Ole Lucy as well as Marie destroyed all that was good inside my baby sister. She became mean, and cruel like them over time."
Something cautioned me if I asked anymore questions about her baby sister Grandmom would've begun to cry. Although I had a lot of curiosity, and many more questions I kept them to myself. After she regained her composure Grandmom Faya began the conversation again but on a different subject
"My father's name was Armand Davidson," she said proudly. "He was young, and hansome. When he died he was only thirty six years old, and in excellent health. It was like he just dropped down dead they said. My mother accused Ole Lucy of his death. She knew she did something to hurt him, and I believe she did, too. My poor mother was never the same again after it happened."
Grandmom Faya stared out of the bedroom window again. I could feel the sadness in her. Then she started talking again. "My mother always regretted having to go back to Ole Lucy's house," she told me. "But my father lost his job. They had no money, and four children. Therefore, she and my father had no choice. There was nowhere else for them to go. Before they found my father dead my mother never stopped hoping, and praying he would return to us. When they found him dead she went to pieces."
"That's so sad, Grandmom," I said with tears in my own eyes by then. "I remember the day some people came to that house to tak my mother away," my grandmother continued sorrowfully. "They put her on a stretcher because she could barely walk by then. She lost so much weight because she refused to eat, and was extremely weak. All she did was drink every day from sun up to sundown after my father died. She would start in the mornings with a bottle of gin, and go all day long until she passed out on the living room couch or in her bed."
Grandmom Faya looked down at me, and stroked my hair lovingly. "She was very sick, Tyla, honey," she said about her mother. "We never saw her anymore after that day. Ole Lucy never told us where she was taken. She woke us up one morning two weeks later, and told us our mother died." My grandmother had an impetuously angry look on her face. It was a look I had never seen on her face before other than in my dream. Little did I know I would see it again, and for a totally different reason.
"I swear," she continued,"it looked to me as if she had a sneer on her face when she told us that. Yet, I never believed her, and neither did Miriam. We didn't know why at the time. But we just didn't believe our mother was dead. We knew in the back of our minds she did something terrible to our mother to make her lose interest in us, and in life."
As I looked at my grandmother I saw tears forming in her eyes. They were tears she couldn't hide. "Miriam and I cried our eyes out," she said to me in a choking voice. "But my other two sisters had become so much like Ole Lucy by then. I don't think they even cared about our mother one way or the other. At least they never showed it if they did."
Without thinking I asked her, "I wonder where your sisters are now, Grandmom. Do you ever see them?" She fell reticent again, and said nothing more on the subject. Then she looked at me, and smiled. "Honey, I'm going to lay here for a while, and rest. So you go on downstairs. Okay? We'll talk some more another time." "Alright, Grandmom," I said. As I slid off her bed I saw the ponderous sadness in her eyes. I knew she wanted to be alone with her memories. Quietly leaving her bedroom I went downstairs to see if I could find out where my sister and brother, Malin, were. A year passed since that day.
CHAPTERS THREE & FOUR WILL FOLLOW. IF YOU LIKE "IN THE LIGHT OF DARKNESS" LET ME KNOW HERE, ON TWITTER, or ON FACEBOOK/MISS CHEYENNE MITCHELL
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