Epilogue
The moon had climbed far heavenward before Le Un finished speaking. A morbid silence beat down the last echoes of his voice. Was it possible that such things could exist? I thought I had believed before, but this was overwhelming; and all true! I felt a hollow in my stomach as iron bands crept across my chest. I was drowning in the magnitude of her evil. Le Ota must be stopped.
Steeling my nerves I croaked, “Le Un, how do I get to the house? What do I do?
The trip seemed to take a lifetime and I was grateful to make land, especially because the boatman was laughing at the stupid tourist who wanted to poke around a haunted mansion on Halloween night. Foolish indeed.
The house looked smaller than I had expected. So much tragedy could fill a vastly larger place than this. There was a high brick wall with cast iron bars and gate. Behind it, perched on a hill like a waiting vulture, was Gracey Manor.
[3]Despite a century of rust, the gate swung open silently at the slightest touch. To my right and ahead was a clean neat path to the door. Off to my left were a few broken headstones of what was once a well populated graveyard. By the clear moonlight I could read the inscription, “M.T. Tomb” and other such macabre jokes.
Approaching the house I found an empty funeral carriage, complete with satin bedding, curtains, brace and bit. The harness was fitted well and tight…except there was no horse. I breathed a quick deep breath to realize this was actually happening, walked to the door, and stepped inside.
Throwing caution to the wind I spoke, “Good evening Madam Leota. You have called me here. I am come to see your beauty and marvel at your power.”
“Parlor tricks Leota, used to extract money from rich old widows.”
Just to my right and behind a panel slid open to reveal a wide hall running to the distance.
“So”, I thought, “She is going to bring me to her but only after I have been put into the proper frame of mind.”
Hardly glancing at some ever-morphing pictures, I made my way down the hall and past two fiercely proper busts. Their glares followed me even as I turned the next corner.
Now here was something unexpected: a very large and very empty room, with ramps leading up into darkness to the right and the left. By the stonework I assumed I was now in the very foundations of the building. This must be a loading room. That ramp on the right should lead to the dock on the river. Goods could be brought down for storage and I suppose carriages would retrieve their owners here during inclement weather. Who knows what miscreants or pirates may have escaped justice through this passage. The faintest glow of candlelight led me up the left hand ramp.
No books, no stories, neither Grandfather’s tales nor Voodoo Priest’s warnings could have prepared me for what I beheld next. A coffin…set and draped for viewing. It had been nailed shut yet even now was being wrenched open from inside by pale, rotten, scabrous fingers. Beneath the loud ticking of a clock and carried by the nauseating breath of the grave floated a plea, “Let me out! Let me out! I’m not dead!” For an instant my nerve failed me and I turned to flee, only to come face to face with a menacing suit of armor in the very act of reaching for me[8]. Through a haze I recall the Grandfather striking the 13th hour and a spectral form clawing to reclaim the time.
I raced down a deserted hallway past 5, 10, 20 doors but stopped short when a candelabra appeared before my face. It was floating of its own accord as if to block my path. I glanced back to find I was only from the conservatory I had just fled. It seems the hallway was enchanted, endless and not the path chosen for me.
It took a supreme act of will to return, to again hear Jamie Padgett’s desperate cries and continue down the terrible room. Oh the sights which conspired against my reason! Door knockers rapt by unseen hands; ghastly portraits of inhuman monsters with baleful eyes and leering smiles; portals which seemed to breathe or swell under the force of who knows what demons trying to escape its captivity; all these played upon my unstable psyche. I passed swiftly from the room and was greeted by the sounds of drum and harp…and the voice of Leota.
“Hello Michael. Tell me, what do you think of my house?”[9] she asked coyly.
“Your house? I thought the Spiritualist Society had the title.”
Her laugh was full and oddly musical, “They were here as my guests.”
“Master George Gracey then, he was the previous owner.”
She almost spat out the words, “Master Gracey!” Her orb slowly rose above the table. “Master Gracey was a weak and selfish fool. Always crying about the daddy he never knew. Never willing to do what must be done. He and his precious clown Lillian…” here the ball began to flit about the room maniacally, “and that little harlot Emily! He showered them with gifts and honors, balls and fineries. All while I was shut-up in the back rooms with the servants. I who gave him glimpses of the unseen realm, I who increased his fortunes and protected his honor, I who gave him a child when the others could not…if only he would claim her!”
Her composure returned with great effort.
“But why do we speak of the past Michael? You and I need to discuss our future.”
Now began my dangerous game. Le Un had said that the only way to weaken her was to help these spirits free themselves. Like a boiling pot which scalds but allows steam to escape, the angrier Leota became the weaker her hold on any one ghost. Those that struggled with her just might escape.
“Our future? I don’t understand. What possible future could we have, and why me?
This time her laugh was dry and brittle as harvest corn stalks. “The future where you help me to escape this crystal, bring me your two books, and then we open the door.”
“Why would I want to?”
“Silly boy. You must. Don’t you know this is our destiny? I’ve known it since” , here Leota’s voice changed to that of an old, greedy, cackling crone, “”the beginning when I first took a spirit and understood the power to be had. The things I could do. That little whelp Sa-Guu, thinking he could tame the mighty Ota. He failed. So over time we grew. Always there were those willing to help us. A thousand years ago we even had our own Faith. Our priests searched out all the dark magic for us. They were destroyed before we could get the books.”
“The books”, I whispered.
“Yes, Michael, the books. All three of them. How very like [10]Melcher it would be to not tell his sons of how he failed. So vain and pompous. My husband, the great Melcher Eisner, would protect the books and hide them forever. HA! He was chosen because he was too stupid to understand them and lacked the vision of what they could accomplish. I followed him from Europe and ensnared him within a day of landing on these shores. It took three years for him to let down his guard but I finally spied him gazing at one of the books he had hidden. It was in the family chapel, how delicious. Late that night I went forth to reclaim what was mine. But the fool’s luck was with him. Even as I cradled it in my arms he discovered me. I could not destroy him lest the other two books be lost forever. So I fled, and bided my time.”
“Shall we tell you what we found in the book? That book there?” she said glancing at the table.
“Before we could only keep the spirits taken in our own lifetime. With…our…death we might pass on the secrets and the spirit of past Ota, but not the others. In the book I found many things: how to bind a soul to my conscious thought, how to locate one’s greatest desires, even the manner of embodying a spirit within an image. That skill has been most useful. Such life-like galleries. I soon met Teufel Gracey, a trader by profession, mostly slaves. He introduced me to New Orleans
My first impulse was to grab the book and run. If I made it back to the storage room, then maybe I could escape to the river. But then, something she’d said, “…how to bind a soul to my conscious thought…” How many ghosts could she think about all at once? If I could bind every spirit in the house with that spell, then any which slipped her mind could escape. Would it work? It seemed a better chance than some blind dash through her domains.
“Okay M’Lady. What do you need of me?”
“There is a spell which you must read. It will bring forth the body of Mistress Emily…fresh and pure. Then you will bind my spirit to it.””
Next came a chilling whisper not meant for my ears,
“And soon you will play host for my beloved George.”
I dove further into the book. Loving spells, loathing spells. Ones to take power and ones to give. Here, finally, soul binding spells. Binding to objects, to images, to your will and on the page opposite…to a body.
“I have found the Body Binding spell M’Lady. Shall I search on?”
“Of course fool! You must raise her first.”
I bowed my head in her direction, marked the spot with a fold of the shawl and continued through the pages. So many poisons and curses. Ways to take and to control and to kill. Near the very end of the book was a drawing which gave me supreme disquiet. I saw a skeleton, half-emerged from the grave…with flesh oozing up to the bones. I silently begged forgiveness and spoke the incantation:
Emily Gracey, Emily Gracey, Emily Gracey, Hear my command,
Arise from your grave in youth and strength,
Before me you shall stand.
At first nothing happened, then the room began to grow dim, my ears rang and legs grew wobbly. It wasn’t until my heart almost throbbed out of my chest that I realized I was holding my breath. “Man!”
As my head cleared I became aware that Leota was not looking at me. Her eyes were closed and her head rocked gently back and forth. From her lips came a chant in some unknown language. Suddenly she stopped and her eyes sprang open.
“It is done. See what we have wrought.”
[2] One of the Rivers of America keelboats which now only ply the waterways of Yesterland.com
[3] The bulk of the epilogue describes a trip through the Haunted Mansion
[4] Foyer by Scott, “makitasr” on Flickr.com
[5] Gargoyle Image by Jenn, “Em Bitca” on Flickr.com
[6] Stretching Room by Gene Brownsword, “KumaKumaSan” on Flickr.com
[7] A scrim is a piece of thin fabric used in the theater to hide things downstage until a change in lighting allows the audience to see through. The effect used here in the ride.
[8] An early and discontinued part of the HM was a cast member in armor startling the guests.
[9] Blackadder ITC font size 14
[10] Amienne font size 16
[11] “Leota’s Book” by Robert Miller, “Frogmiller” on Flickr.com
[12] Carriage by Jessie Flores, Flickr.com
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