Chapter 5

Dream Walking

Kenneth awoke to the ringing of bells. Mass ringing in or out somewhere.  He opened his eyes to find himself looking up at a heavy grey sky sporting the occasional darker cloud turning itself inside out in the cold atmosphere. There was going to be rain. Wait a minute. Rain? Strange. There was something positively odd about going to sleep next to your wife in your own bed only to wake up outdoors pondering rain. He noticed he was wet… and that he was laying on the ground somewhere. He looked to each side. From his frog perspective he gazed along the bumpy surface of an ill kept lawn. It was more of a dirt patch than a green carpet. At the end of the yard bushes lined one side and a wall spanned the other. He lifted his head up and peeked over his toes. He flinched and instantly felt that ball of ice in his stomach again. He was looking at the Cromwell House.

He closed his eyes and rubbed them hard. A dream…  It was just a dream.

Kenneth slowly opened his eyes again.  Now he was standing at the far end of the back yard, looking down a newly dug hole in the ground. A bundle was at the bottom, partly obscured in shadows. No telling what it was. Except… he knew what it was, didn’t he? He leaned over a little to take a closer look. What was that? Did the bundle move? No.  Not anymore. The bundle was as still as the grave itself.  What? His head snapped up. Somebody had just whispered something in his ear.

He turned around…

shift

… and looked at his own reflection in a dirty window. Only, it wasn’t him. Quite… The glass wasn’t perfectly flat and a crack distorted the view but surely he didn’t look like that pale haggard thing staring back at him? With some difficulty, he pulled his stare away. Where was he? He felt gravel under his feet but as he looked down…

shift

… he was standing on the front steps with his hand on the door handle, pushing it down gently, feeling it give in… “No! Don’t do that! Go back!” he screamed inside his head, but not a word left his lips... The only sound around him was that distant ringing of bells…

shift

… that could still be heard like faint calls from another world through the open window in the small room he was surveying. There was nothing in here but a big wooden chair standing in the middle of the floor, a sturdy looking thing with big armrests. His heart jumped when he saw the metal circlet restraints for hands and feet. The restraints were rusty and the hardwoods underneath the chair were dark and bulging. The thing was bolted to the floor. There was a smell of something foul here. Like… like rotten meat maybe. No, not meat.  Just something… wrong. It reminded him of the summer he had worked at the local cemetery as a kid. Emptying the flower vases on the graves had made him gag every time. The old rancid water was  always black from the rotten rose stems and it had carried that odor of death that…

shift

… was suddenly all around him! He thrashed violently, but the iron bracelets and anklets held him firmly in the chair. No! This is just a dream! Wake up you fucking idiot! Must be a damn dream? Then why did the restraints cut so very painfully into his flesh as he tried to pull free? He slumped back and felt his breath race with his pulse along the edge of terror. If he could just… Wait! He was hearing thumps from downstairs now. Please, no! Shuffling steps accompanied by the off beat thud. Something was coming up the stairs! Slowly, but surely, moving up the stairs towards his room. He jerked his whole body forward trying to escape whatever fate was approaching. He could feel the chair creak and moan but it held. The heavy shuffles were outside the door now. He stopped his frantic attempts at freedom and stared in horror as the door slowly started to swing open with a loud protest.  From outside, the ringing of the bell became louder and louder until it filled his whole world, reverberating in his brain like the last dying thunder of forgotten gods, and still the door opened… Shadows leaked in and wrapped the room in a wet blanket. Kenneth forgot to breathe as the door finally opened all the way and he…

… screamed as he sat up in his bed. He threw frantic glances around the room as he scratched at his ankles.  No metal braces there, and … over his shoulder… nothing… Just the safety of home and the familiar smells of everything that came with it. Damn! He looked down at Theresa sleeping beside him. Nothing ever woke her up and he wasn’t about to worry her anymore anyway.

The sheet had come undone and was clinging to his sweaty back as he climbed to the edge of the bed and slid his feet into his slippers. He was cold and shaking from the feeling of absolute dread that was still lingering in his belly. Jesus Christ! He never ever dreamed anything he could remember but he could still feel those restraints locking him down  and that thing shuffling towards him.  Kenneth sat on the side of the bed for a minute, catching his breath and trying to regulate it to Theresa’s snoring. When he felt a little better he made his way to the kitchen.  He got a carton of milk out of the fridge and sat down at the table, pouring himself a glass. It tasted nice and almost innocent in contrast to what he had just experienced. The coolness of the milk almost cleansed him somewhat.

Kenneth knew his mind was playing tricks on him. He had gone along with Theresa’s theory of the self fulfilling prophecy and maybe this was just another symptom. He had built the mysteries of the Cromwell House up so much in his mind that he was now experiencing some kind of “wishful” insanity? He had to get a grip of himself.  This was getting stupid.  Tomorrow he was going to get Lou and go back to the house. He would have Lou switch the electricity back on, watch for shorts (and smell for smoke) and then light that goddamn house up again. Chase away all those ancient shadows. Then he would methodically clean one room out after another. He would straighten up the backyard and sweep the sidewalk. Working with the house as just that, a house, would make him feel much better and that whole first episode could finally be chalked up to food poisoning or something.

As the last mists of the nightmare dissipated from his mind he felt himself looking forward to going back and actually doing something to the place. He had grand plans for it. Theresa had always called him a dreamer but this was something he could do. Turning the Cromwell House into a living museum of American serial killers could really become a lucrative business for them. God knows they needed it.  He was going to dedicate each room to a different famous killer, saving the room with the chair for Samuel Cromwell of course. He was the star of the show. He would partly restore the backyard but leave a couple of the dug up mounds there to show how the police had excavated the grounds in search for more and more bodies. He knew he could do it. The house was mortgage and lien free and the taxes were paid until May of next year. He had all that time to make something of it. With the few good sponsors he had, already warming up to the idea - the county newspaper being the most enthusiastic one, he would be able to make something out of his “stupid hobby” for the first time. It was just too perfect really.

It also seemed like Angus himself had finally, on his deathbed, seen the logic in Kenneth’s plan. He had even said as much in the letter that had come with the deed. “Please Mr. Westman, lay my house to rest.” That was exactly what he was doing! By turning it around to something positive he would hopefully meet old McGraw’s wish for “rest” for the house.

He finished his milk and went back into the bedroom. Theresa had now stretched out sideways, taking up most of the bed. He crept under the blanket, the air in the room was cool, and snuggled up close to her. Life was finally looking good for them. All the dues were finally paid.  

With that comforting thought he fell into a dreamless sleep.