Evergreen by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 15

One would think that this small setback might be earth-shatteringly disappointing for the two teenagers, determined to get what they wanted. On the contrary, it only piqued their curiosity and as they walked down Main Street, they conspired with each other find anything that might reveal the old houses dark secrets. On Friday, they would skip the last class at me behind the school.

From there, they would walk down to Main Street, to the town clerk’s office. This would give them almost an hour and a half. But, with both of them doing the work, they hoped to find what they wanted. Anything would be better than nothing.

Friday arrived with great anticipation as Bobby and Katie looked forward to skipping today’s last class. In fact, they weren’t sure which to be more excited about -- spending more time digging up information on the old house or skipping class. They met at the back of the school just after two o’clock. Eluding the eyes of teachers and home monitors, the two cautiously left school grounds and headed downtown. Weekends in Evergreen were fairly dull. Without a tourist industry, shops had no reason to stay open past five o’clock new businesses were rare. Bobby and Katie quickly made their way to the town clerk’s office. The older man who was there earlier in the week had been hired on permanently by the town and was now responsible for its archives. He greeted the teens warmly, but with a slight tone of suspicion, remarked about being out of school so early in the afternoon.

“Still working on that project, are you?” They glanced at each other, realizing that the new clerk probably didn’t believe a word of their reason for being there.

“Now,” he continued. “You two want to know about the old Redfield place, right?”

Bobby was stunned.

“How did you know their names were Redfield?” he asked.

“Most of the townsfolk are too young to know,” the man answered. “But, the older folks...they know about the Redfield's, and what happened up in that house.” He reached under the counter and retrieved a folder. “So, what did happen?” Katie asked. The clerk was obvious in evading her question and placing the folder on the counter, slid it towards them. “Now, I’ve made a copy of everything we have on the Redfield place,” he said. “I know you kids are curious. Most folks your age always are. Don’t know enough to stay clear of things you don’t understand. So, I’m telling you right now, stay away from that house. It’s not safe up there.”

Without thinking, Bobby asked a question that was not completely unexpected.

“Is it haunted?”

It was an innocent question. Perhaps ghosts are nothing more than the product of a creative imagination. People believe what they want to believe.

Up to this point, Bobby thought that everyone knew about the house. That it was some great secret that lay under the protection of the entire town. But, apparently, this was true only for a few. Certainly, the sheriff would have to know.

“Haunted?” the clerk replied. “I suppose everyone comes up with her own story about the Redfield place. But, if you think that old place is haunted, then it’s haunted.” This was not the answer Bobby was hoping to hear. It wasn’t really an answer at all. Katie opened the folder. Its contents consisted of three or four pages of copy paper. “Is this it?” she asked.

“That’s all we got,” the man answered. Bobby reached over Katie’s arm and began flipping through the pages. For a house as old as it was, there seemed to be very little information about it. “Can we look around a little?” Bobby asked. “If you want,” the man replied. “But, I don’t think you going to find anything else.”

Katie sat down and began studying the folder’s contents, while Bobby searched through the file cabinets and shelves. The clerk directed his attention to the day’s issue of the Portland Press Herald. Occasionally, he would glance up from its pages, investigating whatever it was the teens were searching through. But, time is relative. A watched pot never boils. Time flies when you’re having fun. Bobby and Katie had barely scratched the surface of the town’s archives when the clerk informed them he was closing for the day.

“It’s four o’clock already?” Katie asked. “We’ll be open Monday,” the clerk replied. It was a tempting thought, but they knew that continuing to skip class would, at some point, attracted attention and in their senior year, that was a problem they didn’t need.

By this time, the school was closed and not wanting to read through the folder in a public place; they decided to go to Bobby’s house. His parents were native Mainers with a family history going back to the original colony of Falmouth, once located on the site of present-day Portland. They were shareholders of the mill, as well as the paper company down in Westbrook. Looking to live a more private life, they retreated to Evergreen, sheltering themselves in its pine-covered mountains and cool breezes. For them, like so many others, Evergreen was a safe haven. Evergreen was home.

Walking through the front door, Bobby led Katie upstairs. His mother appeared from the kitchen and although she knew Katie as well as she knew everyone else in town, she was still surprised to see Bobby with a girl. Both his mother and father were fully aware that he was somewhat socially challenged and tended to be something of a loner. She didn’t want to ask him why he was late for school. She knew how sensitive he was and would probably be easily embarrassed in front of Katie. So without a word, she watched them run up the stairs. But secretly, she hoped that he would find a direction in life. Maybe he and Katie would someday become an item, and he would develop a stable life. She also suspected there was something more going on than a bit of social phobia. But, she knew that being a good mother meant not hovering. In fact, she knew that could do far more harm than good.

The teens sat down at Bobby’s desk. With the study light on, they began examining the folder’s contents. There wasn’t much - a copy of the deed, a census record, the Redfield’s marriage certificate and a copy of a newspaper article. The deed and census records were quickly set aside. But as they examined the marriage certificate, Katie remarked on their respective dates of birth.

“Holy shit!” she whispered. “Look at this. She was fifteen years older than! What a cougar!”

Bobby glanced over at the document. “Sounds like she might have been a party girl,” he said with a grin.

“At that age?” Katie began. “That’s just gross.” She turned her attention back to the folder. The only remaining document was the newspaper clipping, outlining the murder of Arthur Redfield at the hands of his wife Cecilia. He was described as a man in his forties. Slightly overweight with short, jet black hair. Back in the day, he was known for two things: his temper and his drinking. The owner of the town’s only bar never turned him away, for fear that the wealthiest man in northern Maine would shut down his business. So, regardless of his state of inebriation, Arthur always had access to alcohol and every once in a while, he would be found lying in the middle of Main Street, flat out on his stomach, his face stuck to the road by a pool of dried vomit. Some said it was a miracle he was alive at all, much less able to walk around under his own power.

The article described the crime as having taken place in the attic. His wife, Cecilia, had been considered the prime suspect, even though her body was found next to his. The circumstances of their deaths were described as unnatural, but no details were given.

“Is that it?” Katie asked.

They were both disappointed at the lack of information. However, the word ‘unnatural’ piqued their curiosity to the point of obsession. They read the documents again, scanning every word. But it was Katie who, again studying the marriage certificate, noticed something odd.

“Hey,” she began. “What’s that?”

She pointed to a small object near the bottom of the page. It was a copy of the original document, but a strange symbol appeared to have been drawn by hand next to Cecelia’s signature. Bobby studied it closely with a puzzled look.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe it’s a smear or something.”

They craned their necks, bringing their eyes closer to the paper.

“I don’t think so,” Katie replied. “It looks like it was drawn on. And what is it next to Cecelia’s name?” She took a piece of paper and sketched out the symbol. It appeared as a crescent moon with a downward cross attached near its bottom point. It looked as though it had been drawn on quickly as if part of the signature. Bobby was baffled. Neither of them were able to make sense of the small symbol. It could have simply been nothing more than a scribble. But, it seemed well-defined and there by intent.

“Maybe it’s some occult thing,” Bobby hypothesized. Katie looked at him with an expression that reflected her opinion of how ridiculous Bobby’s suggestion sounded. “Really?” she said. “In Evergreen?”

Bobby reconsidered his question and quickly reached the conclusion that such a thing was highly unlikely. “All right,” he replied. “What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea,” Katie answered.

But at that moment, her eyes widened and a broad grin came to her face.

“Well, I think we should find out.”

A similar expression developed on Bobby’s face. To a teenager, Evergreen was far too small and therefore boring. It was certainly not known as a place of adventure. The only excitement available to the town’s youth was summer vacation, and the only thing that offered was the chance to sleep late.

But in spite of the excitement of their discovery, they were missing one critical element, a reference point. The symbol could have been anything - a glyph from an ancient language, a religious icon. Or perhaps something connected to Cecelia’s familial past. But without a reference point, even a guess, searching for the symbols meaning would be nothing less than an exercise in futility.