The Rembolt House
A Halloween Story
By John W. Vander
Velden
I was new to the
area and I stopped at the hardware for deck stain. At the checkout an old man came up behind me
his eyes moving from my head to toes.
“You bought that house on the lake.”
He said as if I didn’t know where I was living.
He swayed slightly
as he drew his bushy white brows down.
“That big gray house next to the Rembolt place.”
He must have
noticed the confusion in my eyes.
“That old stone
house in the trees. Nobody lives there.”
My mind went to
the thick grove of trees and brambles south of my place that had swallowed an
old tumbled down pile of rocks. Part of
the roof had fallen in years ago and a cottonwood grew up through the gap. I nodded at the old gentleman.
“You’d be the
sixth that bought that place.”
I understand that
houses change hands, but the house wasn’t old so that fact surprised me.
“’Spect you’ll
leave soon.”
Now I couldn’t
remain silent. “And why would I leave?”
“Oh, you won’t
want to, but there’s something about the Rembolt house. You’ll see soon enough.”
I noticed the
cashier shake her head.
“So the place is
haunted?” I asked not being able to keep
the smile from forming on my lips.
“I didn’t say
that.” The old man began.
“There’s always
been stories…” The cashier interrupted.
“Stories,
Bah.” The old man set his bag of screws
on the counter and shaking his head he walked out without them.
“Pay no attention
to old Charlie.” The cashier whose tag
said Misty smiled. “He’s got a story
about everything.”
“Then he’s a
local?” I asked.
“Lived hereabouts
before Camden was anything more than a four way stop on the highway.”
“So he’s an old
timer?”
“He’s old, that’s
for sure.”
When Misty handed
back my credit card, I picked up my two gallons of stain and backed out the
doors to the street. Charlie was leaning
against my Chevy truck waiting.
He wore a button
down shirt that may have once been white with thin green stripes, over dark
green work trousers. As I approached he
held out his hand. “I’m Charles Chapwell.”
I took his hand
surprised the strength in the old man’s grip.
“I’m Marty Anderson.”
The slightest
smile came to his lips as he asked. “Any
kin to Daniel and Mary Anderson?”
I shook my
head. “They from around here?”
“Were, but that’s
been a while ago. Dan was my best
friend’s brother. When we were kids you understand.”
Now looking at the
man I guessed was at least eighty I didn’t know what to say for a moment. “My family’s from Michigan.” I said at last.
He just
nodded. “So why’d ya buy that house on
the lake?”
“We wanted a place
to get away.”
“Picked the wrong
place.” The smile left his face as
turned to face me.
“I don’t know
Charles. This seems like a nice area…”
He leaned
forward. I feared he would fall over
me. “Yeah, this area is nice, but you’re
too close to the Rembolt house. That
place should have been torn down seventy years ago.”
I tilted my head a
bit. “Why hasn’t it?”
“Legal
mumbo-jumbo. Every time some bring it up
to the county council it gets shot down.
The commissioners know enough not to fight the Rembolts. Not one of them have set foot in the county
for years but that don’t matter. They
pay the taxes and maybe more and so that shack still stands.”
“Hmmm.”
“And just because
the trees hide it from the road don’t mean a thing. That place is just evil.”
I would have
thought the old guy was just pulling my leg, taking the new guy for a ride, so
to speak. “It’s just an abandoned old
house.” I answered as I looked him over
again.
“I’m just warnin’
ya.”
I wasn’t sure if
it was a warning, or some sort of threat, not that the old man, fit as he
seemed, was in any condition to threaten.
I looked him
straight in the eyes. “What makes you
think that place is evil, Mr. Chapwell?”
I just tacked his name into the question to remind the guy I knew his
name.
He looked down,
shook his head and said, “That house et my best friend.”
I blinked, tilted
my head and asked. “The house ate your
friend?”
Mr. Chapwell
nodded once rocked slowly to the left and then to the right.
“It were a hot
October Sunday, and I went over to Jim Anderson’s ta see if he wanted to go
fishin’.” His eyes focused on mine. “His pa said that it was Ok so we went to the
lake at the head of the little creek that runs into town. Folks hadn’t given the Crescent Lake and
Youst Creek names yet back then.” He
looked away as if trying to picture the scene.
“The lake was just across a couple of fields from the Anderson’s
Farm. We’d been fishing at the lake lots
of times, so it weren’t nothing for us to grab a couple of poles and head out.”
“Was the fishing
good at the lake?” I asked.
He turned to look
at me again, his eyes dreamy.
“Usually. But not that
afternoon.” He looked down a bit and
went on. “It didn’t matter none, we wus
friends and whether the fish were bitin’ or not we had a good time, talkin’
mostly. We sat on the west bank with the
sun on our back so we could see into the water better. Didn’t notice the storm clouds that come up
behind us til the wind came settin’ the trees to swayin’.” The old man looked back into my eyes. “Before we gathered our stuff there was
lightning strikin’ all around us. Took
off running ta home, but figured it weren’t safe ta cross the open land so we
decided to hole up in that old stone house.
The Rembolt’s had abandoned the place long before I was born.”
I lowered my right
eyelid wondering if what I had heard was true, that Charlie Chapwell could tell
a good yarn and if he was busy weaving me one.
“I told Jimmy that
we oughtn’ to stay away from that place.
That there were plenty of stories even then about the strange things
that happened there. But the storm was a
howlin’ and the thunder like ta shook my ribs outa’ my chest. “We’ll just stand on the porch.”” I says to him.
“Come on,” he
says, “it’s daylight and all. Ain’t
nothing gonna happen to us in the daylight.”
“But the clouds
were so thick that it could’ve almost been night. There was a window with a broken pane that
opened to the porch. Jimmy he looked
into the kitchen and tried to lift the sash.
“Why don’t we try the door?” I
asked, and sure enough it was unlocked.”
“That’s more than
seventy year ago and I still can remember how I felt as we went into that empty
house.” The old man shook his head as
once again he looked down. “The air was
stale, musky and dust covered everything especially the floor. Even though we were the first to walk those
dusty floors in a long time, the hairs on the back of my neck made me certain
we weren’t alone.”
The man turned
facing the lake far beyond our sight and swallowed. “I told Jimmy we had to get. But the thunder and flash of close lightning
seemed to hold us there just inside the open door. Another flash lit Jimmy’s face, I saw it
plain, a strange smile and wild eyes. He
turned and without saying a word dashed up the stairs.”
From the top of
the stair and outa sight I hear him call, “Come up here Charlie…there’s
something ya gotta to see.”
“You can forget
that, cause I ain’t going up there.” I
yelled back.
“Then that feeling
that something was wrong come over me stronger.
“I’ll wait for you on the porch.”
I shouted.”
The storm kept on,
the wind, thunder, and lightning. I
watched the water churnin’ on the lake and the trees bendin’ and swayin’. My heart was a beatin’ thump, thump, thump, I
could feel it in my ears, and I kept tryin’ to get my air. I don’t know how ta describe it, but I felt
like I was drownin’” Then Chapwell
looked me directly in the eyes. “It was
then I heard the most awful sound, loud it was, louder than the storm. Like a scream of pain or a cry for help, but
somehow I knew it weren’t human. It came
outa that house.” The old man’s eyes
were wet. “I yelled as I turned to go
back in for my friend but at that instant lightning struck, where I don’t know
but it was so close that I found myself on the ground later, drenched wet,
lightning flash blind, and thunder deaf.”
“I lay there
afraid, finally able to crawl on all four all the while the storm raged around
me. If any other sound came from that
cursed house, I couldn’t hear it.”
Chapwell looked
skyward. “We never found any trace of
Jimmy…nothing.”
I looked hard at
the man leaning against my truck. “You expect
me to believe that your friend was swallowed by some old house?”
The man
straightened, drew his bushy eyebrows down.
“What you believe…that’s up ta yu.
I’m just tellin’ you what happened that day.”
I shook my head
not accepting any of the nonsense I’d heard.
“You got your
doubts. Well fine, just go to the
marina. There’s a fella that works
there. Barney’s the best outboard
mechanic in these parts. But he won’t
tell ya so cause he ain’t said a word in nigh on forty years.” He leaned closer. “Not since he got drunk and bragged he was
gonna knock out the glass of the last window of the Rembolt House.”
I blinked.
“Well the glass
got broken but Barney ain’t said a word since that night.” Chapwell turned but as he left he said over
his shoulder. “You should ask him…maybe
he’ll tell ya.”
Now I didn’t give
much credence to the story Charles Chapwell told me that morning. Though I found myself looking out of my
bedroom window late at night. But I saw
nothing more than brush and trees. But I
was glad when on my weekly trip to Harriet’s Café on the corner of Leeper and
Main that Manny Wilcox was seated at the counter. He welcomed me to join him and his friends so
I sat. After the introductions I asked
Manny. “I know you have a boat, do you
get it serviced at the marina?”
“Sure, when it
needs work, which isn’t often, I take it over to Carl’s.” He said with a smile. He ribbed me.
“Bout time you get a boat. I know
of a real fine Master Craft…”
“Maybe next
summer,” I interrupted.
I placed my order
of eggs and hash browns and then asked the question I wanted answered in the
first place. “You ever meet the mechanic
there?” I couldn’t remember the name.
“You mean Joe or
Barney.” Said Leo Parker who sat on the
other side of my friend.
That was his
name. “Uuhh…Barney.” I said at last.
“Barney’s great
with outboards, but if you’re got a sterndrive or inboard, Joe’s the one you
want.”
“But you guys have
met Barney?”
A chuckle moved
through the group. “Yeah we all know
Barney.” Manny said.
“I’d like to talk
to him.” I stammered.
Manny tilted his
head, “About what?”
“My dad has an old
Johnson, real old,” I lied, “and I might want to get it fixed.”
“He’ll be able to
fix it, that’s for sure, but he’s not going to talk about it.” Laughter erupted as if a joke was shared by
them.
“What do you
mean?”
Manny calmed down
his friends. “Barney can’t talk.”
I blinked as I
feigned surprise. “Born mute?”
That’s when the
guy at the end of the counter, Greg Garrison his name, spoke. “From what I heard he was a chatty kinda’
fella…once.”
“Really,” I asked,
“he have an accident?”
“No one knows for
sure.” Nanny answered. “He won’t tell. I guess he could write something out, but he
doesn’t.”
“There are sure a
lot of stories about Barney.” Said
Harold James that sat between Nanny and Leo.
“If you’re
curious,” Greg added, “Charlie Chapwell is the one to ask.”
Now there was just
the person I wished to avoid.
“Have you met
Charlie?” Nanny asked.
“Yes,” I said,
“what do you think of him?”
Nanny smiled as he
looked my way. “Old Charlie is
alright. He gets worked up from time to
time. But he knows everything about this
place.”
“And he’s more
than willing to tell you or anyone else.”
Harold chuckled.
I moved the
conversation to other subjects, the weather and golf.
After Church I
caught up with Nanny again. “Why hasn’t
anyone torn down that old abandoned house next to me?”
“Oh, you have been
talking to Charlie.”
I looked toward
the sky an instant.
Nanny smiled. “You have to know that the Rembolts owned the
lake and all land around it. They held
it with an iron fist. The county wanted
to develop the whole area. What’s the
use of having a piece of water as big as Crescent Lake and no access? That’s when they struck a deal. The Rembolts sold everything but where their
house was, on the stipulation that it be left as it was. I don’t know the reasons, since nobody from
the family has set foot in that place in forever.”
“So the county
will not even consider…” I began.
“If you had any
idea how much taxes this county gets from all those houses like ours… Well it
just makes sense. What’s one old
place? You can’t even see the place from
the road or the lake most of the year.
I
will admit that the things I had heard set me to thinking. But we had lived there for nearly two months
and hadn’t seen anything unusual, so I kept my concerns to myself. Didn’t seem any reason to upset my wife.
Sunday
afternoon, my wife Lisa and I were sitting on the deck admiring the lake
reflecting the blue of the sky. She had
just brought me some coffee when she said.
“Did you know that old place beside us is cursed?”
I
nearly gagged, the hot coffee burned in my nose. “What?”
I asked as soon as I could clear an airway.
She
looked over my way as if she had just announced that it was Sunday or
something. “While you were talking to
Nanny Wilcox, Janet Waters came over and told me.”
“Told
you that the old place beside us was cursed?”
I tried to be nonchalant.
“Well,
she didn’t just come over and say, “You live beside a cursed house,” if that’s
what you mean.”
My
hand began shaking slightly so I set my coffee down. “But she did tell you, right.”
“We
were talking how the new shutters on the Adam’s house were the wrong
color. You know you just can’t put green
shutters on a blue house and get away with it.”
I
had no idea where this conversations was heading and how Joe and Iva Adam’s
house up the street had induced such revulsion that the concept of house cursing
flowed out of the conversation.
I tried to focus
on what was said, green shutters? “What
does shutters have to do with cursed houses?”
“Nothing silly,”
she said with a smile. But Milly Danver
overheard us talking and came over.”
I couldn’t put a
face on whoever Millie Danver was. “So
this Millie told you about the cursed house?”
“Of course
not. She just said we were lucky that
there were no neighbors on that side of our house.”
I waited a moment
but she just took a sip of coffee. “Then
Janet told you about…?”
“Your just jumping
ahead again Mike. It was Mrs.
Lawton.” Lisa said with a slight shake
of her head. “You know the older woman
with the blue hair stacked up. She was
the one wearing the yellow dress. It
really didn’t become her…”
“And she told you
about…”
“You know I don’t
like it when you interrupt.”
“Sorry, but I
hoped you would get to the point.” I was
beginning to feel anxious.
She set down her
coffee and stared at me. “You have heard
something?”
I shook my
head. “Nothing about the place being
cursed.” I said doing my best to give
the appearance of total innocents.
She rocked a bit
in her chair. A sign she didn’t quite
believe me and I was to tell her….EVERYTHING.
So I told her
about Charlie and how his friend had vanished and told her the rumor about
Barney’s not speaking. When I had
finished she said. “Well it all makes
sense now.”
I had to
blink. How did any of this make sense?
Lisa shook her
head. “Well it does to me.” The left corner of her lip curved up. “I suppose it will to you too if I tell what
Agnes told us.”
I shook my
head. “Agnes?”
Her brows came
down a little. “Mrs. Lawton.”
“Oh that Agnes.” I
said as if I had any idea who Mrs. Agnes Lawton was.”
“She told how two
hundred years ago, maybe not quite, but it was a long time ago. Mr. Horace Rembolt shot a young man for
trespassing.”
“For trespassing?”
“That’s what she
said.” She looked at me with that
‘You’re interrupting again” look.
With the most
penitent face I could muster I said, “go on.”
“Anyway, the boy’s
father put a curse on Mr. Rembolt and the house.”
I blinked
wondering if that was all to the story and if it was, what I had missed.
She must have saw
my confusion for she said. “The boy was the
son of some old trapper or hermit or something.”
I tried to imagine
how a hermit had a son.
“Well, this hermit, or whatever he was, and
his boy lived deep in the woods.
Everyone in the valley knew the guy was an odd one and were happy that
he kept to himself.
“Just because some
loony guy said the house was cursed….” I
looked at Lisa as I shook my head again.
“You don’t believe any of that stuff, do you?”
She leaned back,
picking up her cup she took a sip from her coffee. “Well, a few days later Horace Rembolt fell
down the steps of that house and died two days later.”
She looked my way
as if the house being cursed was the most logical conclusion the earth had ever
seen.
“Come on Lisa.”
Her mouth fell
open. “Oh, I forgot to tell you the most
interesting part.”
I rolled my eyes,
more interesting than a cursed house.
“Those two days he
kept saying how he had been pushed down those stairs…”
That seemed the
most logical part of this story.
“That the house
pushed him.”
“Pushed by a
house?” I shook my head for the
umpteenth time in disbelief.
Lisa drew her
eyebrows down and I knew I was in for it.
“You can make fun all you want Marty, but weird things have happened
over there for years.”
I’d already told
her about Jim Andrews and Barney at the marina, so I wondered what other
“weird” things she was talking about.
“Like what?”
“Well for one
thing, Mr. Jackson’s dog won’t even walk past the place.”
Mr. Jackson had a
Pomeranian, cute dog but not a killer you understand. If something frightened the dog it wouldn’t
make the papers.
“And talking about
dogs Amber’s Rocwelier just growls and barks at the brush there. Amber thinks he knows something wrong about
the place.”
We need to respect a dog’s opinion, I thought to
myself.
“I know what
you’re thinking, Marty, but dogs are smart that way.”
Just as the sun
was setting I wandered the south edge of my lot looking at the briars and
raspberries that form a thick uninpenitratable wall between us and the ruins
beyond, I tried not to take too seriously the ramblings of an old man, the
rumors about a mute and other things, or the behavior of dogs. It was the twenty-first century for crying
out loud. I had to get real. So pushing, all that I had convinced myself
was nonsense, into a safe box within my mind, I felt at ease when I returned to
the house that evening.
Gave no thought about
what lay behind the brambles out of sight for nearly a month when I was
awakened out of a deep sleep. I had no
idea what had woken me as I looked over to see Lisa sleeping soundly at my
side, but I had the strange sensation of being called. I checked my phone, nothing there. Moved quietly downstairs to the doors. There
was nothing out front, the light down the street shown bright in the early
morning. From the back deck I saw that a
mist was coming off the lake a gray sea of moisture that slowly blanketed the
backyard.
Confident that all
was well I turned to return to my bed when I sensed it again. A call felt not heard that sent the hairs on
the back of my neck to standing. The
darkness that surrounded me was silent.
The stars above shown bright in the indigo sky as I calmed my breathing,
my heart thumping in my ears.
I felt it again.
The calling came,
I was certain, from the brush land to my south. Panic overtook me and I rushed
indoors, locked the door, leaned against the frame, my breath racing. Fear like I had never felt before seemed to
prevent me from leaving that spot in the kitchen as I blinked and wiped the
perspiration from my brow.
I had seen
nothing…heard nothing. Forcing logic to
take control I returned to the bedroom relieved that my beloved yet slept. But the call came yet again, and moving to
the south window I caught sight of a flash of light. It came from beyond the brambles. A moment later it shown again. A soft yellowish flicker of a light that
remained only a few brief instants and then fade to black.
I did not sleep
well for weeks. Always expecting the
un-hearable call, I often sat for hours at the south window. But I never saw the light again.
It was the second
week in October when I felt the tingling at the back of my neck again. I jumped like a cat from the bed, so
violently that Lisa sat up as well.
“What’s going on
Marty?” The words of the half awake,
slurred but understandable.
“I thought I heard
something.” Perhaps I had, but the
sensation familiar.
The room grew
still. “It’s nothing,” she said while
settling back and straightening the covers.
I was not so
confident. “I’d better look around.”
Everything was as
always. Inside and outside of the house
things were completely normal. But I
felt the call. It tugged at me. I moved to the back deck my eyes devouring
the night, the shadows and wedges of light that spilled through the trees. The moon but a sliver gave no aide as I stood
with my pulse raging.
Something caught
my eye. I dashed inside for the five
cell maglight I had purchased after the first night’s calling. The bright beam aimed at the row of thorns
along the south border. A gap had been
cut in the wall of briars. Clearing my
head as I resisted the call that drew me there, I allowed the beam to sweep
over the entire back yard. Again a thick
mist was over the water, rising slowly coming my direction. The mist, the gap, the constant call, I
panicked with my back against the door, trembling.
I knew that the
calling came from beyond the trees, from the Rembolt House. But a blackness swelled out of the rising
mist, like a great hand, cold and hard, that wrapped itself around me. The darkness squeezed my chest and I found
myself struggling for breath. I heard my
heart thundering within my head as gasping I drew one breath and then
another. I could move in only one
direction and I fought the hand that wished to drag me deeper into the
blackness, pushing myself harder back against the door. Yet all the while I could not take my eyes
off the gap in the thorns, as if the force that assailed me waited there…would
come for me…from there.
Lisa found me,
cowering unable to open the sliding door, most of an hour later when she turned
on the kitchen light. I couldn’t speak
as I shook more from the terror than the cold damp night air. Her eyes were wide as she shouted words I
could not understand, words that could not penetrate the calling that only I
heard, a calling that wished to possessed me.
How pale she
looked, my Lisa. There was panic in her
eyes as well. Panic driven by a
different source than my own. I stumbled
inside and tumbled to the floor in our kitchen when she had finally could wedge
opened the door. And while Lisa did her
best to return me to a right mind, I lay pulled up in a fetal lump on the cold
tiled floor.
I remembered
little of the ambulance ride or the kind men that did their best to straighten
me out and lash me to the stretcher. But
in the morning I was as right as rain, and fully aware of what I had seen and
felt. There was, Charley had said,
something evil amongst the stones next door.
Something I could not explain.
***
I faced two days
of observation. Thousands of questions,
the answers would not be fully acceptable.
I answered carefully. Told them
truthfully that I had been frightened by something. What it was I had no idea. But I did not speak of the calling. The subconscious pull that I had fought and
on that occasion had beaten. It seemed
those type of words would get me a ticket to a room with padded walls, and I
was sane…still.
I could not say
which day of the week I returned home. I
felt confused and out of touch. Lisa had
taken off work and her eyes followed every move I took. I spent the time wondering if I had the
strength to resist when the calling came again.
For I was certain it would come…again.
And if it were as much stronger the third time as the second was
stronger than the first I doubted I could keep from answering that evil
request.
In the afternoon I
convinced Lisa to walk with me about the yard.
When we came to the midpoint of the south side of the lawn, I pointed
out the hole cut through the thorny barrier that separated our property from
Rembolt’s, and told her everything I had seen and felt that night. Her mouth flew open at the sight of a
well-worn footpath that led through the trees.
And our eyes followed that newly tread trail and to the stony crumbling remains
of the house so long abandoned.
“We’ll have a
fence built.” She said, the slightest tremble in her voice.
“We’re selling the
house.” I replied.
We stayed in a
hotel that night, never would I sleep in our gray dream house on the lake
again.
(4670 Words) 10-21-2017
