Belulah Barrington

 

            The darkening sky and winding road didn’t offer any relief to Eric’s jitters as he drove himself and his girlfriend June towards her great aunt Belulah’s house.  The silence that had emerged over the last five minutes wasn’t helping either.  June clearly wasn’t sure where they were going.  She hadn’t visited her great aunt in almost ten years. Then the radio, which was the only thing filling the already uncomfortable silence, turned against him as well. Every Breath You Take by The Police began to play on the “oldies” station they both favored. It was the song that June shared with her previous boyfriend, Jason.

            More than once Eric had wanted to explain to June that the song was about an obsessive relationship, but it was easier to let that dog lie.  Now he just felt the tension boil up above his neck and he turned down off the radio.  He was about to scream “Where the fuck are we going?” when June pre-empted him by saying, “There!  This is it!  Turn here.”

            Eric looked askance at June as he turned down the lane she pointed to, driving cautiously through the unhinged wrought iron gate that was intended to guard the gravel drive.  They both ducked their heads slightly inside the car in an irrational response to the hanging shadows of the drooping oaks that lined the long drive at dusk.

            “You sure this is the place?” Eric asked.

            “Yeah,” June answered, less than confident. “Yeah. It’s… yeah, this is it.  I remember this drive.  It’s bumpy.  Be careful.”

            She was right. The gravel drive was filled with washed out potholes spaced closely enough to contradict the otherwise stately nature of the straight entrance.  June had described her great aunt Belulah as “old money.”  Eric had no doubts about the “old” part and continued apprehensively down the lane.

            Meeting June’s parents had been a big deal, but for some reason he was more nervous now. He and June had been together for nine months.  Nearly a year.  A lifetime by high school standards. When he had dinner with her parents, Eric had washed and pressed and tucked his best flannel.  It was the only shirt he had that qualified as a button down. June’s folks were wary and put on all the airs they had at their disposal, but June had assured him before the dinner that they were average pricks like anybody else.  He managed to impress them with his sly humor and a healthy dose of humility. Raised by a single mom or not, they could see he had ambition.  And true care for their daughter.

            But tonight Eric wore a crisp white shirt June loaned him from her father’s closet. A flannel would not do, she had told him. June wore her lace blouse with typically casual compliance.  She may have projected a teenager’s disdain for the trappings of her wealth when around her less fortunate friends, but Eric knew she took comfort in the softness of her shrouds.  The styled hair and costly make-up and designer jeans and leather boots were each an anchor to the only identity she’d even known, even if she did want to shrug them off and slum it with the blue collar set to which Eric belonged.

            “This is it! Oh my God! This is going to be so fucking crazy,” June chirped as the house came into view, leaning forward and gripping the dash board to see better through the fading evening light.

            June hadn’t seen her Aunt B. since she was seven or eight years old.  She took riding lessons on this land back then. She could see the silhouette of the barn off in the distance and remembered fondly brushing the horses and packing up the saddle, post ride.  Eric was thinking about the spark plugs he had re-gapped that morning to hopefully prevent the engine sputters his Chevy had been exhibiting lately.

            They rolled smoothly out from the canopy of old growth trees and Eric slowed when he came to the split in the circular drive. He looked to June for direction.

            “Go. There,” she pointed.

            “Up front?”

            “Yeah. Of course.”

            Eric turned right and swung around the tight curve to come to a crunching halt in front of the crumbling brick steps that met the gravel drive at a clump of green growth that wasn’t clearly intentional.

            “This is gonna be great,” June mused, possibly trying to convince herself. “The place is a little run down from what I remember, but B. is a fucking trip.  You’re going to love her.”

            “Yeah?” Eric asked.

            “Yeah,” June assured him. “She’s like, eighty years old.  I’m sure she cares more about herself than either of us.  We’ll have a fancy night. Drink something expensive. Relax and enjoy it.”  June touched his arm tenderly, knowing that Eric was out of his element. “Let’s go!”  She jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs, ringing the bell before Eric could slam the car door hard enough to hide the sound of the misaligned latch. The car door bounced back defiantly and he closed it again, purposely holding the handle and lifting slightly.

            Nearly as soon as June rang the bell, the door opened and a withered man in a tattered suit welcomed her with a solemn, but warm greeting, followed by a hesitant embrace.

            “Oh James! I can’t believe you’re still here,” June cried, her voice muffled by the hug.

            “Ms. Whitfield. I often share your disbelief,” James mumbled softly above her, chin resting warmly on top of her head.  Eric stood still at the bottom of the step, nervously kicking at the weeds poking through the once white gravel, as if they belonged here less than he did.

            June turned and beckoned Eric forth to meet the man before him, who was a confounding mixture of master, servant, caretaker, and proprietor.

            “This is James.  He’s been here... I don’t know, forever. I think he came with the house,” June said as she pealed off into unabashedly insulting laughter.  James stiffened only slightly.  Eric glanced downward.

            “Hi,” was all Eric could offer as he ascended the brick stoop.

            “Welcome,” James replied dutifully, stepping aside to let Eric and June enter. “Ms. Barrington is in the parlor.”

            June grabbed Eric’s hand and bounded over the threshold. Once inside, she scampered down the dim hall toward a yellow light near the rear of the house. Eric felt the age of each item he passed. The rippled glass fronts of each cabinet conveyed fragility. He’d been in museums that felt more welcoming.

            Entering the bright, modern kitchen would have been a breath of fresh air, if the air it enclosed was fresh.  But it was as stifling as a crypt and when Belulah Barrington entered from the cased opening beside the white porcelain refrigerator, Eric considered the idea that he might have mysteriously traversed somehow underground and actually be in a strange sort of horror movie.

            The flowered dressing gown that concealed Belulah Barrington’s feet gave her movements the floating quality of the undead. Eric recoiled at her entrance and was thankful that his reaction was overshadowed by June’s giddy reception.

            “June. Darling. So good to see you.  It’s been too long.”

            “I know,” June responded easily while moving in swiftly for a shoulder touching hug. “When we drove up all I could think was how long it’s been.”

            “Yes. Yes. Too long.” The words crept like dust from Belulah’s crusty lips. “Come. Come. Please.  Into the parlor.  Let us sit. We’ll talk.” She turned her back and exited the space without acknowledging her unknown guest.  It was clear that either the modernity or the brightness of the space was too much for her. June and Eric followed her with quiet compliance.

            The space they entered was dimly lit by a pair of Tiffany floor lamps.  The must from the rug rose to congeal in the air and force a desire to sit.  Eric and June took their seats on the velvet red cushions of the hard wood settee perfectly placed to ensconce them.  Belulah Barrington tottered over to the gilded Queen Anne high back chair near the window. The sky outside had darkened following the setting sun.  Evening had gone.  Night was upon them.  Belulah sat facing her niece and the unknown boyfriend. To Eric, she breathed deeply in contemplation.  Anyone else would have called it a sigh.

             “You’ve brought a friend I see,” Aunt B. declared. “I’m sorry I can’t quite greet you properly,” she said, addressing Eric directly for the first time. “I’m afraid my manners have faded with my age. I’m inclined to sit now, as much as I can.  I hope you’ll excuse me. But I am sure you understand.”

            “Yes. I do,” Eric answered quickly. “Of course.  I’m glad you’re having us at all. I mean, we’re happy to be here.”  He gestured to June for clarity and agreement.

            June nodded aggressively, for the moment lacking any other response.  The yellow light that fell from the lamp over Belulah’s shoulder reflected off the burgundy curtains behind her and did her complexion no favors. It only highlighted the deep crevices that had formed in her face from years of trying to avoid the sun but clearly failing to do so. She sat tall and commanding, easily looking downwards at Eric and June, despite her stubby stature.

            Eric’s gaze flitted from the tasseled valence to the brass chandelier to the cracked wooden secretary cabinet, before landing on the patinaed silver tray on the walnut coffee table that separated them from the lady of the house.  It supported a crystal decanter of vaguely red liquid and an arrangement of three matching glasses.

            “Do you care for some Sherry?” Belulah drawled, noticing Eric’s wandering eyes.  Whether she sought to comfort him or revel in his discomfort was not entirely clear by her tone.  June attempted to take charge by accepting the offer buoyantly. 

            “Ooooh. Yes.  Oh my God. I remember when you used to slip us a glass of this before bed when we were restless.” She giggled and turned to Eric.  “Aunt B. would sneak into our room when me and my sister Taylor stayed up too late playing games and dressing up in all of great-grandmama’s old clothes.”

            “Restless, yes,” Belulah confirmed softly. “An unruly pair you were.”

            “Ha! I know.  God we found a box of wigs one night and I think you almost used a whole bottle to get us to sleep, telling us ghost stories about the old servants who died on the pond, cutting ice or something.”

            June’s eyes retreated to the back of her mind where a happy memory lay and Eric’s bugged in fascination that ageless tales of human tragedy seemed to bring her such joy.

            Belulah patted her curled coiffe, unwittingly admitting its falsity to Eric, and pointed a bony finger like the ghost of Christmas-Yet-to-Come towards the tray of drinks, exhorting June to please pour a round and hopefully distance them all from the current line of remembrance.

            Eric leaned forward at this opportunity and gracefully lifted the crystal stopper, poured a round and handed a glass to each of his companions before returning to his seat with an uncharacteristically refined tuck of his shirt.

            “Thank you darling,” Belulah chimed, raising her glass. “To good times past and those before us.”

            Eric and June flinched a moment at the unexpected toast, pulling the glasses from their lips to raise them in solidarity before sipping again in compliance.

            “So, tell me what’s been going on around here,” June said to her great aunt. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep this whole place going.”

            “Well, as you can see,” Belulah replied, taking a sip of sherry and gesturing around, “the scope of my world has shrunk to fewer rooms.  I sleep in the antechamber there, and the kitchen is close, so I can eat.  James, of course, helps keep things in as much order as we need.”

            Eric’s thoughts trailed off as his survey of the space revealed previously unseen coatings of dust and cobwebs.  Objects seemed to age and crumble before his eyes as June and Belulah reminisced about summers spent at the barn and the gazebo by the pond. Eric answered questions about his background and youth in ways that were least likely to cause controversy or highlight the differences in his and June’s upbringings, but his voice seemed like a distant echo to his own ears and he took comfort in the staid faces of his audience, assuring himself that if he said anything too egregious it would be reflected in their expressions.

            No such expression arose and as Belulah Barrington blathered on about receiving her first pony at the age of seven, Eric’s eyes continued to wander and his mind began to ponder the peculiar circumstances that brought him to this place and time.

            No one could have foreseen the heights to which the drugs would have taken Eric’s friend and June’s ex, Jason.  Or the speed with which he would fall.  Eric was the broker, not the dealer, in all those transactions.  The poem he wrote and read at the funeral was only an exploration of his own confused feelings.  Any connection to the “good girl” who had lost her boyfriend was unexpected.  But that connection became apparent nonetheless. A short time was all it took for confusion, shame, and guilt to be overshadowed by lust.  Soon there was nothing else.  At seventeen, lust can be a foundation for anything. Everything.  So it was, and Eric found the good girl June clinging to him.  Eric and Jason were both honor students and football players, alike enough to arouse suspicion amongst the ruling caste, regarding June’s motives, and different enough to tack on some doubt. With those outside feelings as the fuel, and rebellion as the spark, their romance was the resulting fire.

            At this thought, Eric’s eyes rested on the fire simmering in the antique stove in the corner of the room.  Had it been there the whole time?  He hadn’t noticed it before, nor seen anyone tend to the flames. Its warmth was welcome and at the same time weirdly disconcerting.  Everything else about the room seemed colder, as if somehow literally frozen in time.

            Suddenly James appeared at the side of the room and floated effortlessly through the middle of the conversational area, depositing on the silver tray a refilled decanter of liqueur that Eric had not seen him carrying.  June made no recognition of his presence and Eric flinched at the thought that his girlfriend was such a cold bitch.  Belulah only glanced at him with the wriest of smirks and softly mouthed “Thank you Jason.”

            The words, perceived but not heard, jolted Eric from his trance and he glanced quickly at June for confirmation of his perception.

            She looked back at him with sudden concern and exclaimed, “Oh my God! Are you okay honey?”

            “Yeah, I…” Eric stammered.

            “You look so pale,” June said.

            “I think, I dunno.” No words formed on Eric’s lips as he looked from June to her great aunt Belulah and then searched the room for James, who seemed to have disappeared without crossing back through the center of the room that they all faced. Belulah looked at him with a furrowed brow that was either concerned or threatening.  Eric couldn’t tell which.

            “I think I… I think I need…some air maybe.  Just some air.  It must be the sherry.” Eric began to formulate an excuse for his behavior as he sensed the tension it was creating. “I didn’t have a very large dinner, I think.  So maybe too much of this,” he said as he tipped his empty glass and eyed the refilled decanter that was left behind following James’ appearance and disappearance.  “Maybe I’ll just go use the restroom and have a sip of water.”

            “Of course,” Belulah replied. “We can get you some of that.  See James as you pass through the kitchen.  The bathroom is on the other side.  Just through there,” she said, pointing with her crooked finger to the opening through which they had entered the room.

            “Yes. Thank you,” Eric said, rising from his seat, stepping gently around June’s legs and avoiding her increasingly embarrassed gaze.

            James was nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. The lights, though brighter, flickered and lent a jaundiced haze to everything which contrasted greatly with the dusty orange glow of the room he just left.  Eric passed through the space as quickly as he could and found a small powder room to his left.

            Secured inside, he turned the rusty tap and splashed a handful of sulfuric scented water onto his face in an effort to rinse away the confusion that resulted from his comingling memories of his friend’s demise and his current environment.  When he raised his head to gaze in the mirror, the face of his friend and June’s ex, Jason Moore glared back at him from behind the glass.

            “She’s mine!” The reflection nearly spat the words at him. Eric jumped backwards against the door he had locked tightly a moment before, turned frantically and fumbled at the knob before bursting forth into the vestibule that adjoined the kitchen.

            The caretaker James stood stiffly in the greenish space and asked formally if he could help, offering a glass of liquid that Eric couldn’t immediately identify.

            “No! I…I just need to…tell June I’m going out to the car. Tell her.” The command was desperate and Eric fled down the hall and on out through the front door to the cold night. His quick breaths condensed into frozen clouds before him as he spun, desperately searching for the car he had left parked in the spot he now stood.

            June’s voice coming from behind him was a welcome anchor and he turned to view her with great relief.

            “What’s going on Eric? What is wrong with you?”

            “We’re leaving June.  We need to leave.  Where is my car?”

            “It’s there,” she said calmly, pointing to the stone porte-cochere beside them. “We came in there.  That’s where you left it.”

            Eric turned a few times to regain his bearings and let his breathing slow. “Okay.  Okay,”  he said this to himself as much as to June. “But baby, we still need to go.  I just don’t like…I don’t feel good.  Well. I don’t feel well. Can we please go?”

            “Yeah, yeah. Okay. But we can’t just bolt.  Come in and say goodbye to Aunt B.  I’ll tell her we have to go.”

            “I can’t…Can you just…” Eric’s shrugged at his own inability to communicate the urgency he felt.

            “Yeah, okay,” June replied with some disdain.  As she turned, Eric noticed the crystal glass she still held and watched her tip it to her lips and throw her head back to drain its contents. He suppressed his confounding urge to scream at her in an effort to hasten their escape and minimize attention.

            June walked back through the arched entrance and disappeared into the dark corridor inside. 

            Eric paced the gravel drive for a moment before heading over to his car and sinking comfortably into the driver’s seat.  In those familiar surroundings he instinctively reached for his phone and realized that he pocket was empty.  Quickly patting himself down to search every possible location, he came to the easy conclusion that his treasured device still sat on the cracked mahogany side table next to his seat in the parlor.

            He lept from the car and rounded the corner to the door just as June emerged with a bitter chastisement on her lips.

            “I forgot my phone,” Eric bleeted before June had a chance to speak and he bounded past her on the stone steps without a glance, bursting back into the cold castle he felt he had just escaped from.  The hallway he traversed seemed to twist in front of him, determining his destination differently with every step he took.  But he breathed a sigh of relief as he emerged again into the clinical kitchen he was already familiar with.  No one else in sight, he turned to the parlor door and stepped through, prepared to explain his return to Belulah Barrington in as few words as necessary.  It would take none.

            The room he entered was a disintegrated shell of the space he had inhabited moments earlier.  Only remnants of the wooden interior remained, all of the degradable materials having rotted away, leaving only the skeletal structure of the concrete walls.  Bare pillars joined in gothic arches where the windows had previously been, their empty spaces holding only shattered bits of glass around the edges, lending them the appearance of vicious teeth. He recognized forms of the crumbled furniture that had just held him.  A phantom fire appeared to burn in the stove, a neat pile of bones stacked on the hearth in front.  And in the middle of it all sat the decayed body of Belulah Barrington.  The few strips of colored material that hung from her rotted corpse were indiscernible, either cloth or flesh.  A skeletal jawbone hung loosely from her skull and a pile of maggots writhed in the space her tongue would be, falling helplessly into her lap and giving the whole scene an appearance of life that it did not deserve.

            Eric recoiled in disgust but was helplessly frozen in stupefied amazement.  Only the buzzing of his telephone brought him out of this trance and led his eyes to the modern device lying mysteriously on the ground where the table that held it had once been.  The glow of its light led him through the time withered detritus, and he retrieved it with relief, feeling he could quickly escape this horrifying and unexplainable scene.

            Turning the phone to his eyes, he shivered once more as he read the text message that brought the device to life.

 

                        Together again.  Thanks bud.

 

            The message was from Jason Moore.

            Eric turned immediately and tore through the rubble of his surroundings to the kitchen, which was now similarly crumbled by the ravages of time that had not passed.  With some care to not fall through the deteriorated floor of the hall and rotting house through which he rushed, Eric burst forth from the stone enclosure and back into the cold night he had left seemingly moments ago.

            He skidded on the gravel drive in his attempt to turn the corner towards his car and fell to the ground. Regaining his feet he scrambled to the passenger side door and ripped it open.

            Inside June’s body lay limp, flopped helplessly to the side.  The crystal glass from which June had drained the last gulp of sherry still lolled in her fingertips. The car radio inexplicably played Every Breath You Take, the song that she and Jason had taken as their own. Eric kneeled at her side, alone in the dark, at a place he did not know how to leave.