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November 2008

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Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

In The Land of Make Believe
by Paul Alan Fahey

Evelyn awoke from her afternoon nap to Lilah's phonograph, the sounds of early Burt Bacharach sweeping up the staircase, the singer, Dionne Warwick, telling her to hurry, comb her hair and fix her make-up.

She heard the waves hitting the rocks below, felt the force of the wind against the glass. From her living room window, she looked down and studied the garden below. After years of neglect, it was nothing but a green wildness twisting and smothering its way to the ragged cliffs overlooking the Pacific.

At first, Evelyn's new home, Garden Reach, had symbolized a fresh start, new friends and companionship. She'd wondered if it was the name of the newly-restored Victorian mansion, so full of hope and promise, that had initially attracted her to Lilah's ad, and to this isolated area on the Northern California coast.

Now, two months later, Evelyn was having second and third thoughts, wondering if it was possible so late in life to adjust to these new surroundings.

Evelyn was 71 when Don passed away. She'd hated her new independence, but somehow she had managed to summon the energy to sell several rooms of furniture, pack-up and move miles from her home on the San Francisco Peninsula.

She glanced around the room at her figurines and photographs, Don's favorite rocker, the red and gray sofa with matching chair, the maple hutch and mahogany buffet that once graced the dining room--treasures of a lifetime now packed into three, small rooms.

Evelyn hadn't had a visitor since her first week at the Garden when Father Kenny, so kind to make the long drive north, brought her some flowers and a bottle of brandy he'd saved for this special occasion. They'd reminisced most of the afternoon, and when he was leaving, she'd promised to drive into town and meet the parish priest, but during the past months, she'd simply lost interest.

Evelyn went into the kitchen, picked up her bottle of pills and shook it. Almost empty. The directions on the label were laughable: "Take 1/2 to 2 tablets every four hours as needed for anxiety." Evelyn couldn't imagine what half a tablet might do. Three weeks after her husband's death, Dr. Edward's had diagnosed her condition. "Don't worry, we'll soon fix you up," and then he'd scribbled something on his pad. Even with the medication, Evelyn still experienced discomfort, a residual tingling. She washed down two pills with a chilled glass of orange juice and thought of her first meeting with Lilah, the beautiful, East Indian who owned the Garden.

Lila, mid-to-late sixties, jet black hair streaked with gray, olive skin, draped in a gold-fringed pastel blue sari, fluttered gracefully down the staircase to greet her. Evelyn had liked and envied her from that moment. So polite, genteel, and there was something else, a spiritual, almost mystical quality about her.

After viewing the vacant third floor suite and meeting the other elderly residents, Mildred Gentry and Angela Cook, Evelyn was in the hall putting on her coat when Lilah came up to her. She took Evelyn's hand, her dark brown eyes meeting her blue ones, and said, "We'd be honored to have you, dear," and overcome with joy, Evelyn had hugged the woman. Imagine, a perfect stranger! It felt so good to be included, to be part of a family again.

In the bedroom, Evelyn glanced at her reflection in the beveled mirror. Clear, smooth skin, strong cheekbones. She patted down her silver hair swept back in a chignon. Not bad for an old broad, she thought, and with that Evelyn began to get ready for tea.

***

On her way downstairs, Evelyn paused on the second landing. On her left was a framed water color of Garden Reach as it must have looked at the beginning of the Twentieth Century. There was that unmistakable wooden T-shaped gate by the roadway, the one that made her think of Asian writing. There was a horse drawn carriage in the foreground with children cavorting about the grounds, and at the edge of the cliff, a small building. Evelyn thought it might be a summer cottage. Was it still there? If it was, she hadn't seen it.

She lingered a moment, imagining an earlier, more carefree time, taking in the warmth, magnifying the feeling. Her thoughts mingled with the music from Lilah's phonograph. Dionne's words, "Loneliness remembers what happiness forgets," brought memories of Evelyn's own home and garden: the roses along the side of the house, the geraniums in the kitchen window boxes.

Lost in thought, Evelyn was suddenly startled by a curious, scratching sound coming from behind the door at the end of the corridor, the one leading to the unoccupied part of the mansion. She wondered if the Garden had a ghost. More likely her subconscious elaboration of the normal creakings and groanings of an old home. Evelyn finally turned back to the landing and proceeded downstairs.

By the time she passed through the French doors to the glass-enclosed terrace, Angela and Mildred were already seated at a small patio table. Lilah, wrapped in yards of a greenish gold material and busy pouring tea, motioned for Evelyn to join them.

Angela, moved over her cup and saucer and made room for Evelyn at the table. The old woman was practically bursting out of her dark green knit. A white handkerchief was stuffed up under a sleeve and a strand of rosary beads wound tightly around her wrist.

Mildred was playing lady of the manor again, dressed in white chiffon and wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a hot pink ribbon trailing down her back. She waved a hello to Evelyn then complimented Lilah on the music: Dionne now singing a lively Cole Porter standard.

When Evelyn mentioned the painting, Lilah told her the mansion was built by a railroad baron for his wife. "The gardens were her pride."

"And there's a lovely gazebo out there too," Angela said, pointing toward the cliff. "The view's so peaceful. Just like a moonscape." She nodded and glanced toward Lilah who smiled back.

Angela's behavior reminded Evelyn of a young child seeking parental approval. Could this be her in a few years? Probably.

"But Angie, you can't have seen the view," Mildred said.

"She's talking about the painting," said Evelyn, and then to Angela, "Right, dear?"

"Oh, yes," Angela said, and gave Mildred a withering look.

Despite an obvious tension, Lilah went on with the Garden's history. "The place changed hands many times. It was a hotel and then a bed and breakfast. When the new highway bypassed the area, business fell off dramatically. The previous owner . . . well he . . . " Her voice trailed off.

"What about him?" asked Mildred.

"He died here. It happened in . . . "

"You don't mean in my apartment?" asked Mildred.

"No, of course not," said Lilah. "In the unrenovated part of the mansion. The northwest wing."

"Is this a ghost story or what?" Mildred rubbed her hands together, tilting her body forward, reminding Evelyn of her mother's headstone at Holy Cross Cemetery.

"No ghosts, I'm afraid," said Lilah. "Quite ill and alone, he committed suicide in the study. When the realtor first took me through there, I'd had the strangest feeling."

"Go on," prompted Mildred.

"It looked as though he'd just stepped out."

Mildred said the story was creepy. Angela unwound her rosary beads and blessed herself with the tarnished cross. Evelyn's thoughts drifted back to Don's final days and then to the Garden's last owner. First his business going under then the illness. She understood. Completely.

When Evelyn mentally rejoined the conversation, Lilah was telling them she kept the door to the wing locked, the key on a nail in the pantry. "It's a shame though."

"Why?" asked Mildred.

"It's a shortcut to the garden," said Lilah, "and certainly more convenient than the round about way we usually use."

"Well, we're not in the least concerned, are we?" said Mildred. "People live near graveyards all the time." She paused then winked at Angela. "Isn't that right, girls?"

Evelyn thought Mildred's choice of words odd but knew what she meant. Don's resting place was very near a shopping center in Colma.

Mildred looked at her watch and excused herself to write letters. "While there's still some natural light." Angela decided to go along with her saying she could always use an extra arm up "those dreadful stairs."

Lilah and Evelyn remained on the patio, bathed in an orange glow of the sun setting over the Pacific. Lilah spoke of her early years in India. Her husband had worked for the British Council in Calcutta, and when he was assigned to an embassy in Nairobi, Lilah traveled with him to East Africa. After his death, she stayed on and eventually bought a beachside hotel in Mombasa which she managed for several years before coming to the States.

While Lilah busied herself clearing the table and washing up in the kitchen, Evelyn went into the adjacent sitting room and stood by the window. Outside it was almost dusk, yet she thought she saw a dark, shadowy figure moving through the garden. The wind was strong, and she could barely make out a swaying outline of trees, but for a moment she was sure . . . no, it couldn’t be.

Evelyn was suddenly startled by a hand on her shoulder but began to relax when she saw Lilah's relection in the glass.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Evelyn apologized for being jumpy and made a mental note to renew her prescription in the morning.

As Evelyn climbed the stairs, she was certain the shadowy figure she'd seen in the garden had been Angela. What on earth had she been up to? Evelyn wondered as she opened her door and switched on the living room lamps.

***

The next morning, Evelyn woke to an overcast sky. She showered then, dressed in flannel slacks, silk blouse, heavy woolen sweater and thick-soled walking shoes, she descended the stairs.

Evelyn knew the daily routine. Lilah and Mildred would be in the village shopping, and she was sure Angela was alone in her room.

On the second floor, she found Angela's door unlocked and after knocking and calling her name, Evelyn peeked inside. The studio apartment was empty.

Evelyn remembered a day last week when she'd driven Angela to the library to return overdue books and treat her to an early lunch at the Shoreline Cafe. Angela had complained about the traffic, the crowds, and all the walking. Evelyn knew she wouldn't have gone into town with the others.

What was it Angela had said at tea, something about the small summer house. She'd called it a gazebo. "The view so peaceful," she'd said. "Like a moonscape."

Evelyn understood. Angela had been there. Somehow she'd made it down to the garden and out to the cottage on the cliff. She turned toward the patio windows. Gray clouds tinged in violet were gathering in the distance. It wouldn't be long before the storm hit the coast.

What exactly had Lilah said? The quickest route to the garden was through the unoccupied wing. Yes, but that door was locked. Where was the key? And then she remembered. In the pantry, hanging on a nail.

Evelyn went into the kitchen and opened the large cupboard door. Inside were rows of numerous spice jars, soup tins, cereal boxes, packages of pasta, flour, sugar and to her left, a rusty nail. But the key was gone. She reasoned if Angela took it with her, the door would still be unlocked.

Upstairs, Evelyn crossed the landing on the second floor and continued down the hall to the door leading to the northwest wing. It opened easily. She paused, her hand on the knob. Evelyn wished she'd had her pills. Still, what was there to fear really? She could do this.

With renewed confidence, Evelyn went through to a long, darkened passage. Near the end was an open doorway, and intrigued by the unusual view, Evelyn walked in and up to a large bay window.

On her right, was a grove of eucalyptus, scattered cypress and pine, the land jutting in and out of the sea like giant pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Large, primitive rock formations rose high above the water's surface. Was this Angela's moonscape? Beyond the garden, a tangle of morning glories and purple ice plant ran to a small cottage and spilled over the bluff.

Inside the room, tall bookcases lined the walls, the shelves packed to overflowing. In a corner was a high-backed wing chair upholstered in a red and yellow striped fabric with matching ottoman. Evelyn ran her hand along the dusty top of a heavy oak desk centered under the window.

"He committed suicide in the study," Lilah had said.

Evelyn shivered, then turned her back on the room and returned to the hall. She proceeded down the corridor to a wooden stairway and, tightly gripping the wrought iron railing, Evelyn descended the narrow steps to the ground floor.

In contrast to the darkness above, light streamed in through large windows that reached the full height of the ceiling. The floor space was crammed to capacity. There were large cartons and crates marked "Shoes," "Dresses," "Coats," "Hats," and "Purses." So much clutter, Evelyn could barely navigate to the door. Lilah must be planning the world's largest yard sale, she thought, as she slid open the glass door and went outside.

Weeds as high as her hips brushed against her as she made her way down the narrow trail to the bluff. Weathered plant stakes were strewn about; some bearing names like "agapanthus" and "Mexican sage." A jumble of green gardening tape and terra cotta shards from broken flowerpots were trampled into the mud by heavy footprints. On her left were a rusted shovel and several mounds of freshly turned earth dotted with daisies and nasturtiums. Evelyn wondered if Lilah had recently hired a gardener.

The wind intensified as the storm moved closer to shore. An icy mist crept up the hillside and covered the path ahead like a fine lace mantilla. Evelyn caught a glimpse of the cottage partially hidden by the trees and brambles. She could see wisps of smoke spiraling from a pipe on the tin roof and through the wooden slats, there was a light and some movement within.

Evelyn was surprised she’d made it this far. For her, at least, that was something of an accomplishment. Breathing heavily and nearing exhaustion, she pushed open the door and stumbled through.

Angela was sitting in an old rocker by a potbelly stove. The fire was nearly out. A woolen blanket lay across her lap and a shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. She gripped her rosary beads tightly in her right hand. "I knew someone would come eventually," she said. "I've been waiting for you, dear."

"We've got to get going," Evelyn said as she heard the storm strengthen overhead, the thunder crackling and breaking like someone dropping thick panes of glass from a great height. She reached down and helped Angela to her feet.

"I don't want to go into a home," Angela said pocketing her beads and carefully folding the blanket, leaving it behind her on the chair. "It does terrible things to the mind, you know."

"Try not to worry, dear," Evelyn said, and put her arm around Angela's shoulders, then urged her gently through the door.

Outside, wind and rain slammed into the ridge. On the horizon, the lightning offered a magnificent fireworks display. "I want to stay at the Garden," Angela said, wiping away tears.

"Sure, you do," Evelyn said. "Right now, all I can think of is getting us home safely."

"Lilah and Mildred think I need special care, therapy, but I'm not sick."

"No, of course not." Given Angela's age and the hours of exposure, Evelyn was amazed the old woman had survived.

The wind driving the rain, swept the area nearly ripping Angela's shawl from her shoulders. Angela grabbed one end, letting the other trail out behind her. "I want to stay here forever," the old woman said, like a petulant child, gripping Evelyn's arm tighter.

"Almost there. We'll be sheltered once we reach the garden," Evelyn said, trying to comfort her, the rain drenching their clothes.

In spite of the storm and Angela's weakened mental and physical condition, Evelyn was exhilarated. For the first time in a long while, she was actually feeling good about herself. When she got Angela home, she would call Dr. Edwards. She didn't really need her medication. She would watch her diet and get plenty of exercise. Yes, that's all she'd need. This was her second chance, and Evelyn knew she was ready to make the most of it.

Maybe Lilah could use some extra help in the garden. Evelyn and her mother caring for orchids and gardenias in their small greenhouse were some of her best childhood memories. Hadn't her mother told her she was named for Eve, the giver of life. Eve. The garden. Yes, she knew it was a sign. She and Lilah would work side by side and the garden would thrive again.

Angela suddenly giggled. "They didn't think you'd make it this far."

Evelyn thought the old woman really was upset. A warm bath, a cup of tea, a good night's rest, and she'd be, what? Right as rain. A ridiculous expression given the present circumstances, she thought. Given any circumstances.

Eucalyptus leaves and bits of bark littered the path. They were only a few steps from the garden when Evelyn lost her footing and went down.

"That's the ticket, Evelyn. On your knees, dear. A good place for you." Angela's eyes were focused somewhere in the distance beyond the breaking waves.

"What?" Evelyn asked trying to get her bearings, to lift herself up out of the muddy, eroded earth.

"I know what you did. It's a sin to kill?"

"Please help me," Evelyn said, pulling on the hem of Angela's dress, trying to get her attention.

"You must be forgiven," Angela said. "The only way to salvation is through God's mercy." She looked down at Evelyn. "I was there the day that priest came to visit you. I heard you confess you killed your husband."

"But how could you? I mean, I didn't say . . ."

"Oh, I get around. You'd be surprised."

Evelyn remembered those odd sounds behind the door on the second landing. Angela prowling about the wing? That must have been what Evelyn had heard.

"You helped your husband die, didn't you?" Angela said growing more agitated.

"Yes, but it was what he wanted. Don suffered so much. I was only helping . . ."

"And thanks to your helping, he won't rest now, will he? It's a sin," she screamed. "A sin and you must be punished."

"You're ill, Angela. You need help. We'll take care of you. Lilah will think of something and . . ."

"You're done for, dear. Number's up. Old news." Angela laughed, while the thunder under-scored the absence of reason.

Evelyn grabbed the loose end of the woman's shawl and was almost up when Angela began kicking her.

Evelyn lost her grip and fell again.

As the mad woman rushed toward Evelyn, her foot struck an exposed tree root. Angela lost her balance and toppled over onto the cliff's slick, grassy surface. Evelyn reached out, tried to grab hold of her. "No, no,” Angela's last words, followed by a faint scream, as she slid over the precipice onto the rocks below.

A wave of nausea washed over Evelyn. Then slowly, digging her heels into the mud and gripping a cypress branch for support, she managed to get back on her feet. Her clothes were soaked through, her hair undone and hanging to her shoulders. Evelyn had to get back to the house, drive into town, find Lilah and Mildred.

The winds were rising to gale force. The salt air so thick and heavy, Evelyn had difficulty breathing. She glanced up as clouds moved rapidly past the mansion's ornate gables. Lightning flashes silhouetted the Garden's high, bricked chimneys.

Then she heard it. Lilah's music. Dionne’s voice urging her to reach out, reach out for comfort and love. Evelyn moved toward the house as quickly as she could through the overgrown weeds and shrubbery. Thank God, Lilah and Mildred were home.

She heard voices calling her name. Lilah and Mildred were coming for her.

"I'm here. HERE!" Evelyn felt safe, almost home.

A break in the clouds, a patch of sun, and two dark figures against the light. For a moment, Evelyn tensed. Then she saw them clearly. Both women smiling. Mildred's slick yellow raincoat. Lilah, the wind whipping the folds of her sari, a silk rainbow rising behind her.

As they came closer, Evelyn noticed their eyes and froze. The same look, the madness she'd seen in Angela, and something sharp and metallic, glistening in their hands.

The realization came to Evelyn in fragments. Lilah. Something odd, peculiar, bubbling under the surface. Something Evelyn had sensed but hadn't fully understood. Until now. The storehouse of women's clothing. The freshly turned soil in the garden. The wildflowers. Mildred's strange smile, her words, "People live near graveyards all the time."

Above the racket of the storm, Evelyn heard Dionne singing to her as if through a long tunnel. "You are always here with me in the land of make believe."

What a fitting memorial for a foolish woman. Evelyn would have laughed aloud if it weren't for a growing tightness in her chest, a hard knot of pain, something clawing, piercing. Her last thoughts: I’d never even had a murmur. He said it was anxiety. And then she lost consciousness.

***

Evelyn awoke in her bedroom. Her wet clothes had been removed, and the blue down comforter was drawn up to her chin. The two women were bending over her with worried expressions. Mildred was stroking her hand. "We thought we’d lost you, Evelyn, dear."

Lilah said how sad it was about poor Angela."One of life's unforeseen calamities."

Evelyn turned her head and noticed the two flashlights on the nightstand. Her mind playing tricks, that's what it was. Starting to relax now, Evelyn's breathing became more regular.

Flashlights, not knives. Evelyn must have said this aloud for Lilah gave her a puzzled look, then said something to Mildred that Evelyn couldn't hear.

A look passed between the two women, and Evelyn thought she saw... but, of course, she couldn't have.

Lilah lifted Evelyn's head and positioned the straw in her mouth. "To make you sleep, dear."

Evelyn looked into Lilah's eyes and began to let go. In the background, the music lulled her into a dreamlike state, Dionne's words drifting off with her, walking backwards down a road, her voice becoming weaker, fainter. Then the image of a woman working in a garden. The sky so blue, the day so clear, Evelyn had to shade her eyes to gain perspective. The woman turned toward her, smiling, beckoning, and Evelyn could see it was her mother.

Evelyn knelt down to help with the planting. The sun's warmth flooded through her. The apprehensive, tingling sensation had disappeared, and so she began to dig, patting the damp earth around the seedlings, forming little protective mounds with her fingers. Evelyn hoped they would survive, wanted it more than anything, yet she knew, in this life or any other, there was really no guarantee.