The Spirit of Ravenshom House

Chapter 6: Falling Endlessly

Daphne and Jerry made the smart decision of not staying at Ravenshom house that night. Jerry didn't want to spend a minute in a house where there could be a stalker filling up vision boards with blood that sprayed out at them like from the elevators in The Shining.

It made sense for it to be a stalker, a mad man going around squatting in abandoned houses unhappy at having lost his habitat to a new-in-town couple and wanting revenge. Daphne would have conceived it too, wanted to believe it direly, if only she hadn't seen the white spirit one too many times.

They were staying at the motel down the intersection, east from the main center of town. But before driving over they had to be cleansed clean of the blood that was sticking to her skin, like dead plastered worms.

Daphne wasn't sure how she had reached the shower. She didn't have a mind to think or contemplate much as Jerry pushed her under the shower, twice in less than an hour. She didn't dare look down, didn't want to see the thick blood, didn't want to see the color red. If she did, she would die, she was sure of it.

Jerry washed her, wiped her clean, rubbed her until her skin was red and splotchy. She wouldn't let him go until she felt the pain of the scrub on her skin. He picked out a shirt dress for her, first thing he could find in the cupboard, jumped into a shirt and jeans and pulled her into the Corolla. His Honda Accord blinked at her in the night and she shivered as they reversed off to the motel.

In the bare lit room of Sunshine motel, Jerry was on phone calling people he barely knew in town. Occasionally he brushed her hair and she winced every time thinking he was wiping away blood from her wet hair.

He finally threw the phone at the bed which bounced two times, magically landing on the edge failing to topple over. He was going to the police station in town, first thing the next morning. She refused to go with him. Jerry understood.

He didn't understand. She didn't want to go because she had somewhere else to be. She was going to the church.



The next day was as gloomy as they were. Clouds were racing to catch up with each other. The sky looked like it was sad and irritated. Jerry was already in the station urging the inspector to take a look at the house. Daphne was almost at the church. Ten more steps and she would reach the dong bell that announced Sunday mass to the town folk.

She didn't know much about St. Mary's Church, didn't know if it was a regular parish, where people came flocking in for daily mass or if it was just a reminder of a church that had lost its glory with a priest assigned just for the old structure's upkeep. It didn't matter. She was going to meet the priest anyhow.

Maybe it was stupid.

The work of the blood was clearly not paranormal. It had to be a stalker. But the police could only assure her that, a psychotic stranger running around the neighborhood, breaking in and vandalizing the insides of houses. They couldn't assure that she would never see a lady spirit again. They couldn't promise her that there was nothing lurking beneath the shadows, nothing inhuman.

A priest could, may be. Atleast the act of it could maybe take the terror out of her body. The cross, the holy water, the beaded prayers. It would clear her muddled brain. Take out the fear that crippled her head, not letting her sleep, not letting her eat, not letting her breathe.

Entering the churchyard she felt like a Dickisnsion lady, up on the moors on a cloudy afternoon about to confess away her problems to the town priest. She ventured in, walking as if through a graveyard rather than the church steps.

The doors to the church were closed. She pushed them open with a skipping heart. The church was dingy and dilapidated, the altar barely standing. It echoed her noiselessness back to her, dull but vivid. The rows of benches were non-existent and the power seemed to have been cut off ages ago.

Daphne's heart sank. The state of the church cleared any doubts she had about the existence of a priest. She drew a cross before she shut the doors back, which groaned under the weight.

She backed away and saw the tiny house beside the church. It looked as abandoned as the church. Paint rotting of it, weeds growing on windows, she lost all hope.