The Seer by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 24

Winter was setting in on the Topsham farmhouse, and the air of loss was beginning to be replaced by the cold drafts of mid-December. Field mice had moved into the walls, taking advantage of the house's insulation and radiant heat. The leaves had, weeks ago, fallen from their breezy perches and become covered with a sparse sprinkling of early winter snow. Tom and his family were decorating for Christmas, but where there should have been joy for the approaching holiday, there was emptiness and sadness. Since the death of his mother, Tom had repaired the lock on the door of her room, and keeping it as it had been on the day he found her, locked it away, keeping it hidden from all but himself. In time, it would be forgotten, lost among the furnishings and trinkets within the spacious home. But time marches on, regardless of how the events of life unfold, and Tom, with his family, managed to get through the holidays with minimal pain, in spite of a presence that was now missing.

Winter soon gave way to an early spring as the wind blew warmer, and the trees began to bud. While a spring storm lay brewing to the west, Tom and his wife sat in the living room, warming themselves in front of the fireplace. Winter had, indeed passed, but the nights were still enough for a fire. As the rain approached, the night sky lit up with lightning, appearing as fractures through the darkness, stretching in all directions. They had seen many storms pour down on Topsham throughout the years, but they always found the sudden clap of thunder shudder through their bodies. But, it was on one of these nights, when the spring rains came, that the sound of an opening door drifted down the stairs and into the living room where Tom and his wife sat. To anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed. However, in a large house with two children, Tom and Linda had developed a keen sense of hearing for the sometimes suspicious sounds of youthful shenanigans. Tom rose from his chair, stiff from a long day of work, but his responsibilities as a father were always clear.

“I'll see what's going on,” he said. Linda watched him admiringly as he left the room. Her own childhood had been filled with trauma at the hands of an alcoholic father, and she vowed to herself that, when the time came, she would find a man worthy of her trust and respect, and that man, absolutely, had to be capable of genuine affection toward children.

Tom made his way up the stairs, and reaching the second floor found their daughter's door open. He knew they were both fearful of thunderstorms, and expected to find them huddled together in the youngest child's bed. However, something was different. On any other stormy occasion, they would be clinging to each other, as if in fear of their lives, but Tom found them sitting up in bed, playfully talking. As if this was odd enough, he discovered them not speaking to each other, but as though a third person sat nearby. He knocked on the door so as not to startle them.

“Hey you two,” he began. “Everything okay?” The children looked up with pleasant smiles.

“Daddy,” the youngest began. “Is it okay if Nana stays with us tonight?”

Tom paused in his answer, not knowing exactly how to respond.

“Um, yeah...sure,” he replied.

Although he understood the depth of a child's imagination, he couldn't help being taken aback by their calm demeanor. Their grandmother's death had been difficult for them, and if they could receive a bit of comfort through the use of imagination, then Tom would not discourage them.

Nearly every night, Tom heard his two children conversing with their imaginary grandmother, until one night, he heard what sounded like a muffled response. It almost seemed female in its tone, but it's duration was brief, and quiet enough to go almost unheard. Sitting in the living room with Linda, Tom heard the sound as the product of the elements, a dull roar of wind, an updraft in the fireplace, or the low, distant voice of a howling dog. But, as he sat drifting off, the odd sound found its way into his mind again. His eyes flashed open as he raised his head, focusing his attention in an attempt to capture something that didn't seem to belong.

Getting to his feet, Tom continued to listen as the night air crept about the house, while a gentle wind swirled around its cold exterior.

“What is it?” his wife asked.

“Um...probably nothing,” he began. “I'm just gonna go check on the kids.”

Leaving the warmth of the living room, Tom quietly walked up the stairs and toward the children's rooms. Stopping between their rooms, he listened intently, expecting the strange sound to reemerge. He stood long enough to conclude that he had been the victim of an innocent prank, played on him by the trickster wind of a cool spring night. He turned back toward the top of the stairs, but was stopped by a faint, gray shape. He saw it at a distance, and only for an instant. With momentary uncertainty, Tom blinked his eyes and shook his head, and looking up again. The shape was gone. Never giving it a second thought, Tom returned downstairs to his wife, in the comfort of the living room, surrounded by the radiant heat of the fireplace.

“Kids okay?” Linda asked.

Sitting next to her, Tom let out a tired sigh.

“Yeah,” he began. “I think I'm just hearing things.”

The hour was growing late, and the cold spring air began to settle, leaving the night strangely quiet. Both Tom and Linda had begun drifting off, she with her head resting on Tom's shoulder. As he nodded off, the back of Tom's head struck the top of the couch. Jolted awake, he woke Linda, telling her it was time to go to bed, and taking her hands, pulled her to her feet. They often stayed up late, getting caught up on the day's events. Tom's job brought in more than enough money, allowing Linda to stay home as a full time mother. Her day always seemed eventful, and she was quick to share it with Tom, late at night, when she wasn't fast asleep on his shoulder.

He followed her up the stairs and past the children's rooms, but as they walked through the doorway of their bedroom, Tom was stopped by the same odd sound. However, he was unable to tell where it was coming from. In fact, for a brief moment, it seemed to be everywhere. But Tom was exhausted, and quickly put the strange sound out of his mind, in exchange for a much needed night's sleep. Once under the covers, Linda turned toward him, making use of his body heat as a shield from the cold of early spring. As Tom drifted off, he was wakened slightly when the muffled, nondescript sound, again, made itself known. It wasn't that it seemed to call out to him, but lingered in the air, leaving Tom with a feeling of suspicion that something in the house had changed. Something that made him uncomfortable. And raising is head from the pillow, he put an ear to the air, trying to identify the sound, or at least, have the opportunity to hear it again.

“Hey, hon,” he whispered. “Did you hear that?” Linda was already in a deep sleep, and replied only with a bit of light snoring. Shaking the discomfort from his mind, he let his head sink back into the pillow and drifted off to sleep.