approximately 2,900 words

 

 

 

 

 

 

WIDOW=S WALK ©

by Mercedes Pecunia

 

It was the summer of 1987 and we were seventeen.  My friend Gina and I were inseparable. Our parents had granted permission for us to visit her relatives in the quaint little town of New Bedford, Massachusetts. This was a town known for its rich history and long-standing impressive architecture dating back to the age of the pilgrims and their fight for religious freedom against the European monarchy. After a draining three-hour bus ride, her aunt and uncle, picked us up in a black Lincoln Town Car. Thank goodness, the drive to their home was mercifully brief.

Upon stepping out of the car, my initial impression of that majestic old house was that it was very colorful on the outside. It was painted red, white, and blue and a large American flag hung over the front. The wood was a porous weather-beaten texture and there were shillings on the roof. The arched top floor windows and its accompanying peaks stated quite obviously that this was a place with a lot of history behind it. There were steps leading to a porch that wrapped around the outside. Along the porch, there were rocking chairs and matching colonial wood and glass patio furniture. In the front, intricately ornamented double glass doors led to the foyer. It was curiously well preserved despite the fragile appearance of its foundation and the rawness of the materials used in order to erect it.

Inside, the decor notably challenged the outward facade. The furniture was of the very best materials and it seemed as if its owners spared no expense in order to ensure that its rooms were elegantly pleasing to the eye. Most of the furniture was made of high quality polished timber of complementary ruddy shades. The foyer led to a staircase upstairs and the kitchen behind it. On the left, there was a library, and on the right, a sitting room with a limited, but very outdated entertainment center. Delicate hand-made doilies protected the antique tabletops, and lacy curtains in soft hues of ivory regulated the amount of light that penetrated through the frilly material. Aunt May led us upstairs, where each room was decorated in a very specific and intricately detailed color scheme, but as a cluster, not one agreed with another. She must have been aspiring to open a Bed and Breakfast, where each room has a specific theme and is accordingly adorned.

May directed us to a pastel green room with flowered wallpaper. The room had two twin beds and a private bathroom. Between the beds, there was a nightstand with a single lamp and an old radio on it. Despite the modest furnishings, there was a vanity with a small mirror on the left side of the room.  Once we put down our baggage, May took us on a tour of her antique home.  Ever since the building had been declared a >historic landmark=, the house was constantly maintained and prepared for tours during the summer and spring months. It was preserved in its original state and the local government awarded a stipend to the family for the conservation and yearly expenses of the estate.

We continued on to all the other rooms and ended with the third floor, which had been turned into an attic and workout room for their only son. She considered the first two floors more than ample living space for the three people that resided. Since it was neither occupied nor renovated, it appeared larger than the other stories. There were free weights, a small towel, empty juice containers, and a water bottle scattered across the floor. She excused her son for his untidiness and motioned for us to continue ahead until we reached a corner of the attic in front of a small door with a tiny window. The sun tenaciously but fruitlessly attempted to peer brightly from behind it. "This leads out to the Widow=s Walk" she said. "What in the world is a Widow=s Walk?" I thought to myself. Her aunt noticed the look of puzzlement in both our young faces and continued, "As you know, this is an old fishing community. The fishermen would go off to sea." Gina=s aunt opened the small door and continued, "The women would stay behind and look from up here to see when their husbands had returned. Sometimes, they would wait months, sometimes they would wait years, and yet sometimes, their husbands would never return." She began carelessly walking outside, "Many women jumped off these walkways to their deaths saddened over the untimely deaths of their men." Gina and I clumsily began to trail behind her. This was a very narrow path made of an old deteriorated wooden plank guarded by a thin metal railing to hold onto. The slat ran along and was supported by the triangular apex of the main structure. The path finally narrowed as it guided one further away from safety until there was merely enough room for a singular person to stand on a rounded edge also guarded by the brittle barrier. Her aunt seemed fearless to the very real threat of this decaying board failing under her and plunging her three levels down and onto the ground. Gina and I slowly fumbled our way towards the end of the decrepit plank. We reached its narrow edge; the whole village was visible, and beyond, in the horizon, the ocean of which she had spoken. We breathed in the clean crisp air that medicinally pierced our lungs as we continued to admire the wondrous view. For a few moments, I was entranced, but once my glance escaped its hypnotic panoramic captor and found its way to the precipice underneath, I began walking away and towards that tiny door purely propelled by my vertigo.  It was now miles away and I continued walking as briskly and as focused as I could until I finally made it.

After a hearty home cooked meal, May and her husband walked to the local bingo parlor. We sat out on the porch on large wooden chairs and gazed at the numerous glistening stars. Everything was so tranquil here; so different from the fast paced life in New York City. There were no cars speeding, no horns honking, no busy footsteps, no shouting, no car alarms, just silence and stillness. It was an amazing symphony of melodic silence. We made our way to the sitting room to watch TV, where we flipped through all the channels only to find that most of what was showing we either had already seen or were not interested in. Soon afterward, we heard muffled noises coming from the kitchen. We looked at one another in perplexed anxiety.  We knew no one was inside the house. Without a single word, Gina=s smile ensured me that what we had heard was nothing more than her relatives returning early from their night outing. We waited a few minutes while laughing at ourselves and very relieved by this notion. Yet more minutes passed, and no one came to greet us.

After a lengthy pause, we went inside the house and entered the kitchen, which we had agreed upon should be inspected thoroughly. We found everything undisturbed and we confirmed that yes, we were alone. We heard another sound coming from within the pantry, rushed to open its door with one quick movement and still nothing moved inside. We had just encountered several stacked rows of canned foods and boxes of cereal and mashed potatoes. "It was probably a rat or something trying to open one of the boxes." Gina nervously asserted. I giggled apprehensively while nurturing the unsettling prospect of having to eat food that had been tainted by rodents and proceeded to close the pantry doors. I dragged behind her until we were back in the sitting room, where we ignored the rest of the little disturbances that followed. We were now too frightened to continue investigating and knew that eventually, rational excuses to assign would run out. It was late, and we opted to go to sleep rather than continue to listen to the raucous that had begun as a low murmur only to heighten to a deafening tonicity of clanking and clattering minutes later.

The next morning, May prepared pancakes for breakfast and soon afterwards the elderly couple left us alone in the house once more. My friend and I remained in the kitchen for a while chatting over coffee. Thinking back on it now, we loitered there in order to verify the occurrences of the previous night in the protective asylum of daylight. We exclusively heard the sound of our own voices throughout the kitchen and calmly giggled as we attributed the previous events to our own overactive imaginations. We sat there going over trivialities until we ran out of things to babble about. As we ran up the steps to get ready to visit her neighboring kinsmen, the noises commenced once again. The clamoring had altered. It sounded like something metallic and hollow was feverishly being dragged and tossed about. We continued running up the stairway trying to pretend to be unconcerned and rushing to dress.

It was time to begin locking all the windows.  We were now ready to depart and made our way to the kitchen once more.  The ceiling fan had been turned on, and the wrought iron plates that covered the openings atop the old wood-burning stove had been moved so that they would not fit into their appropriate slots any longer. Gina robotically reached above her and pulled the chord of the wretched ventilator, ensuring to shut it off. We took our leave shutting the door behind us.

We explored the antiquated municipality with her two cousins. They showed us the cemetery, the church, a few stores, and eventually a small beach on the outskirts. After a full day of fun, we returned back to aunt May=s rather late that evening. May was watching the evening news on TV. Gina seized the opportunity and approached her aunt and said, "Aunt May, um...Millicent and I have something to ask you. I know it=s going to sound crazy, but...um...well, we have been hearing strange noises from the kitchen." Her aunt slowly rose from the couch, where she had been sitting as Gina continued, "Last night, we went in there" pointing to the kitchen "to see what it was and there was nobody there."

"I see," May interrupted and gave her niece a playful hug while placing a kiss on her cheek. "Well, honey, you shouldn=t be surprised if you have a few spooks running around in an old house like this." she continued.  Gina=s large blue eyes widened and sparkled like a pair of unblemished sapphires. She was utterly amazed that her aunt was indeed aware of these peculiar occurrences. Aunt May ended her statement with, "Don=t worry about it, they are harmless. By the way, don=t be surprised if you hear the widow=s footsteps in the attic." She laughed fiendishly as she turned off the TV set and walked away. That sound ultimately morphed into a high-pitched cackle that sent chills up my spine.

There was no disputing that May was an impeccable housekeeper. She cleaned our room each day and made sure it was tidy, spotless. We entered the room and turned on the radio.  I wanted a cigarette. Gina reached for the Newport kings box and courteously held the lighter for me prior to engaging in a friendly game of cards. Another noise; something was scratching the glass of one of the windows. "What the hell is it now? What is it with this stupid house? If it=s not one thing, it=s another." Gina exclaimed.

"They probably have bats out here." I answered.

"Bats!" Gina cried in undisguised alarm.

"Oh, don=t worry they are probably just fruit bats. We used to have >em in our back yard in Dominican Republic. They won=t harm you. They are only after the stuff that grows on the trees not your blood like in the movies."

"UghYthat is really nasty, you know that." she said with disgust and inhaled deeply on her cigarette.

"Oh, shut your trap and go to sleep." I snapped playfully.

The lights were off now, and we attempted to sleep. In the darkness, we heard the scratching of the bats outside and languid footsteps in the attic above us. You could hear nothing else but this and you could see nothing, but blackness. This house was really beginning to unravel my nerves. I had never been one to frighten easily, but for some reason, being in this antiquated domicile, made me very restless and unsettled at all times.

"Gina, this place is spooky." I remarked trying to keep my voice from trembling.

"Yeah, but they=ve been living here a long time. I=m sure there=s nothing to be afraid of. If there was, don=t you think they would=ve moved out by now? I mean, come on." she said looking up towards the ceiling. I knew she was looking up towards the ceiling as she always did whenever she critiqued on something she thought was particularly brilliant.

"Yeah, I guess." I sighed.

I don=t remember us falling asleep that night, but I do recall turning the lights and the radio back on and leaving them on through the night. At some point, we must have fallen asleep.

The rest of our visit was rather uneventful. We would venture into town in the daytime and her aunt and uncle would drive us around to the neighboring towns in the evening. The night before we were to return back home, we lingered in our room relaxing and packing our belongings. We did not care if we slept or not since we would be able to catch up on needed repose during the long bus ride. We stayed up for half the night playing cards, listening to the radio, chatting, and smoking more cigarettes. We did this until we did get tired and began yawning and stretching lazily, the symptoms of sleepiness. We fought against our weary bodies rather fiercely, but lost the battle against the Sandman. Faced by defeat, we resolved to leave the radio and the lamp turned on as we had done every night during our stay and continued chattering until the very end.  Until we were so exhausted, we had no choice but to remain silent.  We were now completely immobile.  As I drifted into sleep, I heard the soothing and gentle snoring coming from Gina=s direction. I began to envision long forgotten pleasantries and fantastic places and creatures.  I was fully at peace and enjoying every delicious moment of this quiet peaceful time.

But in a singular instant, it was all destroyed. I instinctively jumped up when I heard my friend yelling unintelligible words in my ear. Gina=s face was distorted, imprinted with fearful anxiety as she allowed herself to fall back onto the bed.  She fervently pointed to the doorway of the bathroom that was adjacent to our room. My eyes followed her gesture, but it took some time for me to focus or perhaps it was to perceive the image before me. I was momentarily stupefied. There was a figure of a person standing before us.  No, a shadow, but it was not fully transparent nor completely opaque either. This was no shadow. It was a dark cloud of smoke that suggested a person.  Yes, a man to be more precise. The form was tall, lanky and embodied a raw masculinity, which was undeniable. It was leaning on the molding of the doorway with its left arm bent and his elbow resting against the doorframe supporting his head. It had been and was now still watching us, but for how long, we could not know. We were both attentively staring at it in return, and suddenly, it straightened and walked into the bathroom, disappearing from view. We gathered enough courage to switch on the lights and warily give chase. We found no one inside and returned to our beds while frantically and quite incoherently recounting senselessly what had just happened.

Some minutes passed and just when we had regained composure and were quite certain this thing had left for good, the figure reappeared and assumed its original position. It was studying us again. Somehow, we had to collect ourselves and approach this situation rationally. We could not remain frozen as our bodies were now willing us to do. I reasoned with Gina.  This apparition had materialized before us willingly and must have felt we were not a threat to it. Gina took a deep breath and shouted "Hello!" There was no answer. She looked at me for a split second, and repeated the phrase even louder. Again, there was only silence. The figure stood frozen for several dragging minutes as time lost meaning and we reluctantly sat there unable to ignore this presence.  We remained hushed, examining it intently as it too continued to scrutinize us. I managed to peek at my wristwatch, which lay on its side on the small table between us.  It was almost 5:00 am.

A few minutes later, the figure retreated once more.  An orangey glow was beginning to illuminate the room. Dawn was coming.  The sun was rising at last and the morning=s brilliance would not be denied.  Slowly the many beams crashed through the grandiose windows rescuing us from this eerie realm of darkness.  I joyfully breathed a long sigh of relief, wiping the accumulated moisture with the back of my hand off my brow. We were finally safe!