The storm had been raging from early evening and she was still awake listening as midnight chimed. Through the large-paned French windows the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled. The wind from the sea tore at the ivy on the south wall making it rustle indignantly against the water-soaked quarry stone. She threw on the gauze like dressing gown, so light and delicate that it appeared to be woven by spiders. She reached for the light switch. No power. Never power during a storm. She pulled open the massive oak door to the corridor and made her way with the help of the lightning flashes to the circular staircase leading to the lower level. Someone was playing the piano. She had not dreamed it. As she descended into the utter darkness, the muted notes drifted up to her. She paused at the half-open door of the music room only a moment and then stepped inside. The piano sat empty, the keys covered. Only the sound of pelting rain greeted her. Suddenly a violent crack of thunder and flash of lightning revealed the ethereal creature behind her.
That’s when the audience screamed en masse and all hell broke loose. This was the latest summer blockbuster movie. No great plot. Young beautiful people in period costume with shock and mayhem planted every 12 minutes or so. It would make for easy commercial insertion during the TV network broadcast. I turned to my business associate, Joel Farmer. “This is a keeper.” He jotted down my reaction. Later as we left the Cine-plex, I told him I wanted the first TV screening rightsÃwhatever the cost. Two years down the road, that would be our network contribution to the seasons fall doldrums. It would be perfect when all those assembly line half hour situation comedies would be dropping like flies.
“Want to stop for a drink?” I asked.
Joel declined. “I’ve got to get back to L.A. tonight to wrap up the paper work. Besides, Sacramento is okay for a preview but I like the action of the big city. How do you stand it?”
“Sacramento born and bred. I love it. Even if it is only for weekends. Did you know that my apartment is only five blocks away from where I was born?”
“And that’s important?” Joel replied amused.
“You big city boys would never understand. Taxi!” I waved a passing cab over. “Try to get a cab that easy in L.A.” Joel hopped in. “I’ll see you first thing Monday. Don’t forget the bagel and don’t forget we have an appointment at Universal at 11 am.”
The cab took off and I walked the few blocks to my apartment. It was a refurbished turn-of-the-century house that had been subdivided into individual units with more than a touch of Žlan by the architect. My unit was in the centre and I had spent a considerable amount of my salary of the last two years in furnishing it to suit my needs. After my break up with Carol it was tough, because she had been my lover and decorator and a lot of the pieces reminded me of our time together. But that was most definitely over.
Just as I rounded the corner of my street and Broadway, the power cut out. The entire area went dark. Every building and all the street lights were out. The only lights came from the headlights of passing cars. So much for California’s great experiment in opening up the electric power industry. This was one more sock in the eye for consumers. Selfishly, I was glad it hadn’t happened during the film. It is amazing how dependent we have become to necessities such as light and power. I managed to make my way to the front entry of my building and let myself in. The small foyer was black as pitch and the small three storey elevator was dead. I headed to the stairwell and more blackness, then walked carefully up the short flight to the second floor and into the connecting corridor. Perhaps my eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark because, although I could still not see clearly, I could make out some definition. Down the corridor, I was sure that I saw a pale blue shimmer. As I approached, I was astonished to see that it was coming from under my apartment door. It spilled out into the dark corridor like a pool of quicksilver.
I fumbled with the lock in the darkness. When the key finally slipped into the lock and I turned the door knob, the light disappeared. The interior of my apartment was a mirror of the hallÃtotally black. I stumbled forward, bumping into the umbrella stand and knocking it over. I used the wall to guide me to the kitchen. I had stashed my hoard of candles in one of the drawers. For weeks, the news reports had warned us to be prepared for these blackouts. But this was California. We had it all. The good life with the occasional tremour, before the big one dumped us over the edge. We had power to burn.
I found the candles and matches. From power to burn to candlepower in the 21st century. The warm candlelight filled the kitchen and spread into the depths of the living area behind me. I turned around and there she was, sitting at my desk. She appeared to be in her late forties and wore an eccentric scarf, turban-style over her head. Her features were toned and she was breathtakingly beautiful, with high cheek bones and just a hint of lines at her eyes and mouth. The queer, quicksilver light that I saw under the door emanated from her. It glowed in a pattern of iridescant movement that was made eerier as patches of emptiness passed over her. She had a slight smile on her face, but her eyes looked not at me but at something beside or beyond me. I circled the counter and was within touching distance. My mouth was dry and I heard my voice with a strange intonation ask, “Who are you?”
As soon as I spoke, Pacific Gas and Electric decided to turned on the power. My visitor disappeared instantly. The tilted candles in the highball glass dripping wax on the kitchen counter were the only reminder. I put it down to my overactive imagination and the movie Joel and I had previewed earlier. I checked my Mac and it had restarted as it was programed to do. No trouble there. My world was returning to normal. I turned on the TV and up popped the boring millionaire theme quiz that seemed to be on every night on every channel. “Is that your final answer?” It sure was. I switched off fast and chose instead to read ethicist Jonathan Glovers’s book Humanity. Not really that big of a jump, considering the book also focused on events of the last hundred years without the vulgar moral aspects of the quiz show.
The next week, Joel and I firmed up rights for the television broadcast of the slasher/ ghost movie we had seen. Negotiations continued on a second showing but the money angle was causing some problems. The studio was aware that it had a sleeper and was playing hardball. But, if the ratings went through the roof as I fully expected them to on our first showing, the network would pay through the nose for a repeat. It was late Friday when I returned to Sacramento. I had not mentioned my strange experience to anyone. In fact, it seemed more dream than reality. What was not a dream but a nightmare were the rolling blackouts continuing across California. When I entered my apartment, all the clocks/timers were flashingÃmute testimony to the outages that had occurred while I was away.
Of more interest was a message left on my call-answer service from the previous Monday. A woman had inquired if it were possible for her to view my apartment for personal reasons. If I would return her call, she would explain in detail. She left a Sacramento number. I was dead tired at that point but intrigued enough to call her. As it turned out, Sylvia Ancaster’s story was both provocative and strange. It seemed that my apartment building was the former home of Sylvia’s great-aunt, Sonia Terrasova, a popular silent film star of the late twenties. For the last two years, Sylvia had been having a recurrent dream that focused on the building and left her with an uneasy feeling. She apologized for her admittedly bizarre explanation but somehow she felt that if she viewed the building it might help in some way. As she explained, her voice trailed off as if she realized how strange she must sound. “Truly, I’m not demented,” she laughed nervously, “just a little unsettled about my aunt and this odd dream.”
Despite my usual reticence to get involved in such peculiar goings-on, I agreed to see her mid-afternoon the next day. Were her aunt and my phantom lady one and the same? As these wild thoughts ran through my mind, I brewed myself a cup of tea and collapsed into my favourite armchair. The lights went out after my first sip. This time I was prepared. My stash of emergency candles and matches were ready on the table. I found them in the dark with no trouble. With some trepidation, I lit the first candle. There she was againÃmy ghost visitor. She was sitting at my desk, as before, but this time she made eye contact with me and nodded her head and smiled. Stupidly, I nodded back not knowing what else to do. I have excellent communication skills with real live people, but I had to admit I felt totally disadvantaged in this situation. When I asked again who she was, she turned her head to look at the door and then gazed back at me with the same smile. Her green eyes took on a feline appearance in the candle glow and accentuated her exotic look. When I pointedly asked her if she was Sonia Terrasova, she tossed back her head and laughed, but no sound emanated from her throat. As part of her reaction, she raised both hands to her lower face, exposeing bejeweled fingers and multiple bracelets on her arms. She regained her composure and again fixed me with a look of such sweet tenderness that I felt a pang of emotion in my gut. Suddenly, she rose to her feet. The layers of silk material that made up the sari-like garment shimmered and she turned and majestically raised her right arm at the door. When I turned to look, the lights went back on and she had disappeared.
The next day. Sylvia Ancaster arrived promptly at 3 pm. As soon as I saw her face with the high cheekbones and the amazing green eyes, I knew that she and my phantom lady had to be related. Sylvia was stunned when I recounted my strange apparitions because the description of my ghost matched her great-aunt precisely. Sylvia had brought her aunt’s scrapbook and some personal effects with her and we spent the rest of the afternoon poring over them. What was missing was a ring that Sonia had promised Sylvia’s mother. It was a large emerald set with a halo of small diamonds. The ring had vanished sometime between her aunt’s death and the reading of the will. It was early evening when she recounted her recurring dream.
“It started about two years ago,” Sylvia began. “Out of the blue. Always the same scenario. It’s about the ring and this house. I finally got the courage to call you this week.” She looked up at me, her green eyes showing a hint of wariness. “Please say you understand. I’m not crazy. Honest.”
“No apology necessary. If anyone’s crazy, remember, I’m the one seeing ghosts. So, what exactly happens in the dream?”
“It is a cool spring evening. I see the house as it was when Aunt Sonia was living, before it was subdivided into the existing three units. From the middle bedroom, there is a light. The window opens and I see my aunt beckoning to me. As she does so, I see the sparkle of green and know she is wearing the ring. Somehow the ring slips from her finger and falls below into the garden. She calls to me and points to where it has fallen. I search the garden but become flustered when I can’t find it. My aunt calls down to me but I can’t understand what she says. I think she says “aqua” but I’m not sure and then turns to look behind her and disappears inside. That’s when I wake up.”
“Strange. You think she says “aqua”, but you’re not sure.” She nodded her head as I continued, “And it could have been anything.”
“I’m sure the first part was “ay” or “ah” but I’m guessing at the second. She turned away so quickly and everything happens so fast.”
By the way, how did you come to call me? And why me and not one of the other tenants?”
“The window where I see my aunt in my dream is part of your apartment. Actually its the window in this room. And, I called all three tenants. You were the only one to respond.” She raised her right eyebrow quizzically. “Perhaps you are the crazy one after all.”
“Perhaps. I can tell you one thing. I was here during the construction of the renovations. We found nothing. Certainly no sparkling emeralds. But we did incorporate some of the items and built them into the apartment design, Like the fish tank and the mantle clock.”
“You keep goldfish? She raised her right eyebrow again.
“Naa. I can’t stand the little buggers. Too slippery and vulnerable to the upside down death thing. But the fish tank was a collector’s piece, if I ever saw one. There it is behind the desk.” I pointed to the desk her aunt had sat at when I first saw her. To one side, built into the mantel, was the etched glass tank decorated in authentic art deco style. Empty of water because what the architect had done was to design it as a light reflector.
“And the clock?”
“Right there, on the the mantle. Similar art deco design. I had the innards redone and added some chimes. Other than that, it is original”
“Aqua. Sometimes I’m sure that’s it and then I have second thoughts. Aqua is water right? Fish tanks use water. Do you think that could be a connection?”
“I think you’re thinking too much. Aqua is also the name of my computer interface, but I don’t think your aunt had any knowledge of computers in the 1920’s. You need a break. Let me take you out to dinner tonight and we’ll talk about everything except your Aunt Sonia. Is that a deal?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” she replied. “Bear with me. This may sound weird, but if my aunt appears during the blackouts, why don’t we make our own blackout by turning off all the lights and covering the windows?
I was dubious and looked over to my window, the window in her dream. Outside, it was getting dark enough that we would soon have to turn on some lights. “At this rate, we won’t have to fake a blackout.” I walked to the window and peered down into the street. There was no garden there now. The area had been turned into an interlocking brick patio with potted trees and plantsÃmuch easier for building maintenance. “O.K.,” I said, coming to terms with her suggestion, “let’s get things organized. First, in order to see what we are doing, we need more light now.” I turned on the lamp in the corner, went into the bedroom and quickly pulled off the thick comforter from my bed. “We can use this to shield any ambient light coming in from the window.”
“Cold blooded, are you?” Sylvia asked eying the comforter.
“Only when I’m alone.” I responded, as intimate memories of Carol flashed through my brain.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“It’s O.K. I’m just realizing how much I dislike being alone. I guess I was shoving it way back so I wouldn’t think about it.”
As we spoke, we hung the comforter over the window as best we could, improvising the old venetian blind brackets as hooks. “Turn off the lamp and let’s see what it looks like.” Sylvia obeyed and the room was plunged into darkness. “That’s perfect. Turn the lamp on and I’ll get the candles.” I walked across the room to the open kitchen area, turned on the overhead light and retrieved my candles. With the candles lit on the counter, I had Sylvia turn off the lamp and join me in the kitchen. As she came up to me I reached out to take her hand. “Ready?” She nodded and with my free hand I clicked off the overhead light.
We stood facing the living area, our eyes becoming used to the dim light of the candle. Even as I saw my phantom lady I felt Sylvia’s grasp tighten in my hand and heard her gasp. “It’s her!” Her hand, arm and entire body were shaking with emotion.
“Steady,” I said. Sonia Terrasova, aunt, silent film star, and my phantom lady stood not five feet from us. She wore the same attire as before and her expression was also the same. Now I knew what it was she exuded. I felt it. It was love. She never looked in my direction. Her eyes were for her niece only. She took a few steps towards us but seemed to glide rather than walk. Sylvia’s hand slipped out of mine and she, too, stepped forward. They were within touching distance. Sonia raised both hands as if to cup Sylvia’s face in them, but she stopped just short. The strange quicksilver light effect I had noticed on our first encounter, the glowing pattern of movement that formed her image, seemed to be breaking up. The patches of iridescent emptiness were more prevalent and it gave the impression of static.
Sonia dropped her hands and in a smooth, revolving movement, she returned to my desk, raised her hand and beckoned Sylvia to follow. Sylvia did and I was close behind. At the desk, Sonia moved to the far side, leaving us facing her. With both hands, she blew us a kiss, then lowered them palms up and pointed to the fish tank. The black patches were intensifying and she was less visible than at any previous time.
We stared at the tank again with obvious puzzled looks. Sonia once again raised her hands to her face. She mouthed a silent instruction, but the static was strong and her image was fast breaking up. She tried once more. This time I exclaimed in a loud voice, “Aquarium. She said aquarium. I’m sure.” As soon as I spoke, Sonia Terrasova vanished.
We never saw Sonia again. For days we racked our brains and minutely examined the aquarium for a clue to what Sonia had wanted us to know. We even tried a magnifying glass to no avail.
“We’ve concentrated on the aquarium and got nothing,” said Sylvia. “What about the clock? They are both art deco and the design is so similar they could be a pair.”
“The clock is sitting on the mantel pretty much as I found it. Only the aquarium was set into the mantel to accent the bevel glass. Otherwise it, too, is the way I found it.”
“No it’s not!” Sylvia exclaimed, jumping up with excitement. The feet. You can’t see the feet. Look at the clock. Notice the round gold balls it sits on. The aquarium is set into the mantel and the feet are hidden. Can we take it out?’
“Sure. The mantel was cut exactly to fit it in snugly, Here, it comes out easily. See?” I lifted the unit out gingerly. I placed it down on the top of the mantel beside the clock. The two pieces matched exactly, down to the round gold feet.
“All except this one in back,” said Sylvia in a whisper. She reached for it and it came away in her hand. “The gold gilding is coming off on my fingers.” It was indeed flaking off as she touched it, exposing a bight green stone which in turn was surrounded by a ring of sparkling pure carbonized crystals. With Sonia Terrasova’s help we had recovered the missing ring.
End.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.