DAY 2: Plague House

African Pear Tree with Fruit. Courtesy: gibex.com

Today’s Prompt:

You put your house on the market and, on the first day, an extremely old woman comes knocking on your door. She’s not interested in buying your house, though. Instead, she tells you that this is the house she lived in as a child. The friendly mood suddenly changes when she reveals something terrible that took place in the house years ago.

Courtesy: writersdigest.com

Word Count: 2,721

                “You got a fine house up for sale, young chap, I tell you,” said the old lady walking the stoop towards Abrams.

Abrams had put his house on the market and this old woman was the first one up to come knocking on his doors. Already, Abrams had started hating her guts. And chances of her making a bid for the house was next to nothing. Don’t get your hopes up, dude, he thought to himself.

                “Come on,” she said, as she reached the landing. “Let’s have a look around. No hesitating.”

                “My pleasure,” Abram said as he slid left to allow his very unwanted guest access to his apartment.

                “Have I introduced myself? I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Elizabeth,” she gave him what was probably a smile.

To Abrams, it was a grimace. And he had an idea she’d been old when the Children of Israel were still going in circles in the wilderness. The old woman, Elizabeth, was still talking.

                “This is a perfect place for a bachelor or a couple of young men your age who decide to stick together but not for a family. And the size of the family has got nothing to do with it.”

                If Abrams heard her comment, he didn’t show it. He shrugged off the speech, the last part in particular. In his mind, he got a Tippex and blotted out that line completely. “Do you want me to give you a tour of the building? I know, it’s a little on the expansive side and might tire you out easily. But you can take quick breaks between section tours.”

                “Do not wear yourself out, young man. Really, that would not be necessary. I can find my way around this entire house in pitch darkness,” said the old crone.

Abrams presumed Elizabeth’s statement was the ranting of a senile woman. Possibly, talk induced by loss of memory, which is a natural symptom of old age. Yet, intuition prompted him to ask, “I presume you’ve been here before. Probably, visiting with the previous owners?”

“Boy, this apartment has been up before both your parents were boy and girl. Why, I grew up in this place. Sure, a lot of renovation and innovation has gone down here; much of the original fittings, which for your time are outdated, have been thrown out. Ultra modern house wares have replaced the archaic but I’ll bet my graying hairs that the room positions are pretty much the same.”

Abrams pulled out a mental script and struck out the phrase, ‘Potential customer.’ He replaced it with ‘An unlikely customer.’ He figured since this was his very first customer after he put up the For Sale sign that day, this was going to be a long day. “Ma’am, I’m really sorry but I got a house to sell. I believe you won’t mind dropping by some other time for a little chit-chat on housekeeping.”

                “You were expecting someone?”

                “I do expect folks with a taste for class to see the sign,” Abrams tipped his thumb toward where he believed the sign he posted might be. “And come asking for the owner of the house. Me.” He tried to keep his voice rid of aggression and succeeded.

But the old hag would not be denied the opportunity to revel in old times.

                “Did you know my mama loved to sit under the shade of the African pear tree round back to do her needlework? And sometimes, she read a book or two. She was the Reading Housewife. Papa used to tease her with that name. I remember she used to let me sit with her under the cool shade, sometimes. How we cherished those special moments, my two younger sisters and I.”

The sternness, which had tautened the skin on the woman’s face like a pachyderm’s hide, fell apart in a smile as memories of the good old days invaded the old woman’s bosom. Her aspect was totally transformed. Abrams thought at that instant, she could’ve been accused of being pretty and such accusation wouldn’t have been farfetched.

                “May I have a look at the tree one last time if perchance its life has been spared by the forces of change? I sense that by now, if by a twist of fate, it still stands, our once lovely African pear tree would be the ghost of a memory. Time’s coarse hands must have stripped it of its beauty nevertheless, if it stands, I’d love to see it again and maybe touch it. I want to sit under the shades just one last time. Even when my legs carried my body away, my heart stayed. This is home. It’ll always be home to me.”

                “Whatever, just don’t die on me, grandma,” Abrams muttered under his breath, barely above a whisper.

Elizabeth beckoned to him. “Will you grant me this single favor?”

Abrams fetched a sigh. The emotion displayed by the earlier cheeky old woman moved Abrams to feel for her, despite himself. Whatever brought this lady back here intends to piece together the fragments of her broken life, Abrams thought. He decided he wouldn’t want to be caught dead standing in the way of progress.

                “Come on, ma’am. Let’s go see your tree.” He took the old woman by the hand and led her through his kitchen to the back of the house where the African pear tree loomed above the building, ancient and gradually shedding its leaves but far from withered. It has served its purpose as shade against the sun at high noon but if it would juggle an old lady’s memory Abrams would hang on for the ride.

                “My tree. My happy tree,” the old woman croaked and almost lunged for the tree. But all she could manage was a crawl, it was all her failing strength would permit her. She stopped a few meters shy of the trunk. She held her position for a while fixing the tree with a solemn stare like a person admiring a long lost object of affection found by a stint of chance.

Then she rushed into the tree as fast as her legs would carry her which was almost the walking pace of a healthy individual.

                “My happy tree,” Elizabeth said again, tears careening down her cheeks. “I’d hoped but I’d never dreamed I’d set eyes on you, again. Not this up, close and personal.” She stood there hugging the bark of the tree. After what looked to Abrams like an eternity, she broke the embrace and slumped into a bench wedged into the ground under the scanty shade of the African pear tree. She invited Abrams to join her. “Here,” she said, patting the space next to her. “Come, sit beside me. I want to tell you a story. It’s important I say this now that the house is on the market so you don’t make the same terrible mistake my family made.”

Abrams who had expressed resentment towards the old lady the first time she walked up his stoop into his house, into his life had nothing but admiration for her. He joined Elizabeth on the bench which was made of wood and built so it went around the trunk. The wind was cool under the tree and there were no birds to ruin the moment with their chirrups.

                “It’s a long story, pardon me,” she said.

Abrams shrugged. “No worries, ma’am. I’m free most of the day, today. You couldn’t have picked a better day to tell a fine story.”

Elizabeth’s face fell and as Abrams started to wonder if it was something he did she said, “I don’t want to disappoint you, but it’s not such a fine story. Maybe, in the beginning it was. But the goodness thawed quickly like ice in an oven; things grew bleak and tragic as time moved on.” She drew in breath and when she let it out, she shook with intense emotion. “My father built this place in the early 30s. On April 14, 1940, I came into this world. I was the first of three daughters in a family of five. Papa was a tiller of soil who maintained his place on the top rung of the social ladder. Of course, he was wealthy to have afforded a place like this in that age. Mama helped on the farm sometimes but what’s the use? There were sufficient hired hands to get the job done without mama getting her hands soiled.

                “Right here where we are seated is where mama used to get her groove on when she wasn’t caught up organizing or attending socials with papa, which was quite often. My siblings, Rebecca and Monica were born on June 16, 1945. They were twins. Meet the family.

                “There are some who would say the evil was triggered by the coming of the twins, but those are just the ideas of raving lunatics.” She coughed a little and Abrams made to go get water or soda but Elizabeth gripped his wrist. “It can wait. Let me finish the story. Like I said, we were happy at first, living as one big happy family. Doing family business with the gravity of fellowship expected in a loving union. We were good together and soon came to believe tomorrow was forever.

                “I remember we used to have a maid. Awan (/her wand/) she was called, if memory serves. And she was a darling. Why is she important to this story, you wonder? Awan was the first person on the scene when Rebecca’s body was discovered drenched in blood and lying between rotting fruit.”

                Abrams shifted in his seat. “She wandered off to the farm, tried to climb a tree without adult supervision, fell off, banged her head and zonked out and the maid revived her. Please, tell me that’s the way it happened.”

                “She had been ripped to shreds by some monster. And what do you mean by adult supervision? We three girls could climb any tree efficiently, at age six. Papa made sure of that.”

Abrams felt panic claw at his lungs. His interest in the story had waned. “Elizabeth, if word of your story got outside these walls, the rebound will knock down the price on my property. There might be a need to give it over to charity.” Even though Abrams was beginning to like Elizabeth why, he even called her by her first name, he had nothing but distaste for this part of her story. He almost wished he hadn’t let her into his house but he couldn’t deny the action would have haunted him to his grave.

                “Don’t be silly. Back then, much of this vicinity belonged to my family. It was farmland. Papa would have disapproved had he seen Rebecca wander off into the plantation all by herself. No, something wicked this way came, slew her and threw her body among rotting African pears under this same tree. Papa was out on business and mama was fast asleep in her bedroom. I know because Awan walked into our room and told us to keep the noise at the minimum so we don’t wake ma up.

                “All three of us were in our bedroom playing practical jokes on one another. I think it’s why Reba as we used to call her said she was going to play outside. I should have stopped her and made her stay indoors with us but I did not. I feel responsible in part for her death. It’s the cross I’ve borne with me through the years.”

                “Elizabeth, it wasn’t your fault. You can’t torment the old woman you became for what was only a figment of a little girl’s imagination. You were girls. Even adults make mistakes you ought to know that.”

                “Still. She was under my care.”

                “The maid was home. She was much older. She did nothing to stop your sister.”

                “I let her down. I let ‘em both down.”

Concern for the old woman creased Abrams brow. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You’re frail, you shouldn’t upset yourself for no reason. You know what? Why don’t you think of the priceless moments you spent here with your mom while I fix you a cool glass of orangeade? No? Why the hell not?”

Elizabeth was slowly shaking her head.

                “I need you to hear my story. It’s important that you hear me out. If I’m going to tell it then I must tell it all.”

Abrams had stood up to go get the juice. He filled up his spot again. “Okay, Elizabeth. But you gotta quit hurting yourself over childish misgivings.”

                “I’ll try and remember that.” She smiled and to Abrams it was the best thing to happen to him in a long time.

                “Did they ever catch the devil responsible for the crime?”

Elizabeth glared at him and he felt like an ant under a glass. “Where have you been all your life? Haven’t you been listening to my story? Like papa used to say, You can’t hit ‘em if you can’t see ‘em. The only lead, which was no lead, the investigators had was the palm frond they found beside Reba’s body. But hell, this was an oil palm plantation, palm fronds were literally everywhere.” She waved her arms over her head like a drowning man would flail in a river.

“Monica turned up dead a week after Reba’s body was found down here. She died in the bathroom and yes, palm frond was found beside her body. Her eyes bulged in their sockets, her mouth agape like somebody who had died from shock of coming face to face with their worst nightmare. A day after this incident, papa shipped me off to my aunt’s place. Dad was beginning to suspect his rivals trying to intimidate him and run him out of business.

“All was calm on the farm after that. Several months later, Awan visited my aunt’s place to break the news of my parent’s demise. They both passed on in their sleep. By noon, when any of them was yet to come out of the bedroom, Awan had gone in to check up on them. The first thing she noticed was the palm frond placed neatly beside each body. She knew before she called out to any of them. She knew the truth.”

                “What did the doctors say?”

                “You mean, besides ‘died peacefully in their sleep?’ By then, it was no longer a secret that something was picking people off on Patrick Farm. The reports stated ‘extreme shock’ as cause of death.”

                “What do you think was the cause of death, Elizabeth?” Abrams said. To his surprise, the old woman laughed.

                “I never accepted the medical reports and I couldn’t care less. During the years I was growing up with my aunt, I came back to this town frequently. But I never set foot within the walls of this house until today. This place was dead to me. I mingled with the townsfolk, and I heard rumors.

“The deaths did not start with my family and I know of at least, one family that lived here in recent times after the farmland has been taken over by state-of-the-art housing schemes.”

                “I heard the story, too,” Abrams said. “There was nothing supernatural about their deaths. The gas tank they were using to barbecue out here exploded. The ensuing furnace gutted the entire household. It was an accident, that’s all.”

                “Did any one mention the fresh, unsinged palm frond which appeared mysteriously beside each roasted corpse?” Abrams was stunned but said nothing.

“Every time a complete family–husband, wife and children took residence on this piece of land, they died off one by one. I am the only surviving member of any family that’s ever lived here.

                “Four.” Elizabeth demonstrated with her fingers. “Four innocent families have fallen at the feet of the unseen murderer that stalks this land. I believe it’s a cursed place for families. You are one of several single folks who have lived here and not taste tragedy’s dish. Something here does not have much respect for family maybe, because it was deprived of its loved ones in its lifetime.”

The next morning Abrams slipped out of the house and wrote under the For Sale sign, Buyer must be a long-term bachelor.

Eneh Akpan

June 2, 2013