Muckydum: The Story of a Haunted Man

By Stephen Chiarelli

William Holden has been haunted by visions of people from his dysfunctional relationships but has done his best to ignore or avoid them. For the successful author happiness has been but a series of fleeting memories. Bill held onto those memories and used them to make it through a lonely life.

Now Bill sits in his cabin in Northern Ontario listening to the soft tones of the woman’s voice sitting on the couch in the living room. She talks to him about what he needs to do. His health is failing but he still hasn’t finished what he set out to do ten years before. He must get his publisher, Breanna Sutton, to come up and see him. He has a story to tell her. A story of finding and losing love and the consequences and regrets of the decisions he made in his life.

While he waits he remembers an event from his past. It was a time when he had shut himself off from any intimate contact with the people around him. It was a time when conjuring up intimate memories of his wife and teaching Shakespeare at the local college provided him with his only semblance of happiness. But for some reason he uncharacteristically befriended a withdrawn student in one of his classes and he inadvertently gets taken on an emotional roller coaster that sent him deeper into despair. On a frantic search for answers he came to realize that he must affirm his own indiscretions in order to come to terms with how his life had come to pass.

Breanna Sutton drives up from Toronto to reluctantly meet with Bill at the reclusive cabin. He had inexplicably started Breanna off on a rewarding and lucrative career that makes her feel bitterly obligated to the old man. When she arrives she discovers Bill adrift in a world of fantasy and in severe need of medical attention. But the stubborn old man insists that she listen to his recount of his romance with his wife and its tragic conclusion before consenting to get the help he needs.

Through the course of an agonizing day, Breanna learns what family truly means and about the obligations that come with it. Muckydum will take you on the journey of a tormented man’s pursuit to clear his conscience before it’s too late and a woman’s realization that life isn’t measured solely by one’s successes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Chiarelli
• Release date: Mar 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466066205

Stephen Chiarelli

Steve Chiarelli (b. 1962) was born to a Scottish mother and first generation Canadian in North Bay, Ontario, Canada and grew up in Kitchener, Ontario. His first book, The Connected, was published in 2008. Currently he resides in the Niagara Region of Southern Ontario.

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MUCKYDUM

The Story of a Haunted Man

STEPHEN CHIARELLI

Copyright © 2012, 2016 by Stephen Chiarelli

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1530724287

ISBN-13: 978-1530724284

DEDICATION

For my Mother Isabel.

Another Time, Another Place

Her dream, it could have been.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the encouragement of my wife Cheryl for inspiring me to continue and the creative criticism and suggestions of readers of the first edition to inspire me to make the story better.

"When the lights go out and you are left in the pitch black, your eyes can see anything you want them to see"

- Revelations of a Lonely Man by William Holden.

Chapter 1

At The Cabin – The Phone Call

The light retreated from the window and the room became immersed in a moody grey glow. Outside towering blue-grey storm clouds were blowing in from the north towards the small two-bedroom log cabin. Deep rumbles of thunder grew louder with each flash of lightning, rattling the windows and stirring the flame of the candle sitting in the middle of the block-wood table. Bill sat in contemplation while he watched the dancing light cast waving shadows across the smooth surface. He was remembering a time from his past and the anguish of missed opportunities.

Where have you travelled off to Bill? said the soft voice from the darkness of the living room sofa. Is it somewhere good or somewhere sad?

Bill forcefully pulled his tired eyes away from the dancing flame, breaking the trance it had captivated him in. He smiled at the young dark-haired woman on the sofa, remembering the softness of her gentle lips and melting repeatedly into her deep green eyes. He did not speak. Instead he found another old memory of sunny days and garden flowers and gentle breezes that would rustle her long hair over her eyes as she dug another hole to plant another pansy. Tears filled the corners of his eyes as he immersed himself deeper into the memory, wishing he could have stored up many more years of them to draw upon.

I think we need to make that call soon Bill? the woman said tilting her head while examining his face.

Bill's eyes were drawn to a sudden bright white flash that filled the front window. Loud cracks of thunder made everything around him shudder, but left him unfazed. He let his eyes slip back down to the dancing flame. The shadows became more exaggerated as they flittered around the tabletop and another old memory took over. His eyes slowly closed and his eyelids became a screen for a projector of the past.

I don't think we have much time Bill, the young lady said soothingly, now sitting across from him on the other side of the table. She'll need time to get here. You'll need to be able to convince her that she needs to come urgently. Bill opened his eyes, looked up and was immediately captivated by the young woman’s deep green eyes. He heard her whisper in his ear. You have to call her now Bill. The time is approaching, she stressed.

Bill looked toward the phone on a small table against the wall between one of the bedrooms and the bathroom to his right. He looked back at her and smiled with resignation, gently pushed himself away from the table and slowly struggled to rise, feeling his legs and back ache with the stretching of his withered muscles. His chest felt heavy and breathing wasn’t easy. Slowly he dragged his feet across the worn wood-planked floor. The effort was enormous causing a sweat to break out on his face. He stumbled as he came to the table only to be saved from a terrible fall when his right elbow smashed into the doorframe of the bathroom on the left. An intense shot of pain went up through his shoulder and across his chest but he steadied himself and stayed on his feet.

Are you alright, the soft voice asked from behind him.

Yup, he barked hoarsely, I’ll live….for now.

Bill turned on the small desk lamp that hung over the phone. It dimly lit the little table. He rubbed his eyes and then picked up the phone while squinting at the only phone number scratched on a piece of paper that had been taped in front of the phone on the table. With difficulty he punched out the eleven numbers on the keypad having to start over several times. When he had finally succeeded he put the phone to his ear and stretched out his other hand to the wall behind the table to keep from wavering back and forth. He closed his eyes and absentmindedly started to count the rings…one…two…three. On the forth ring a groggy female voice answered.

Breanna, Bill croaked back to the faint ‘hello’, I need to see you. You must come up here. His voice was gruff, a deep gurgling sound making some of his words incomprehensible. He loudly cleared his throat without taking the receiver from his chin.

Who is this? Breanna asked with an annoyance in her tone.

It’s Bill, he said, regaining some of the regular tone of his voice.

Bill? Breanna asked, What are you calling so early on a Sunday morning for? Is everything alright?

Bill noisily cleared his throat again. Breanna moaned on the other end.

I need you to come see me, as soon as possible Breanna. I need to give you something. It can’t wait. Come early, there’s a lot to tell.

Tell me what Bill? Breanna was fully awake now. Is this about the manuscript? Is it ready? I don’t want to make the trip if it’s not ready Bill.

I’ll be waiting for you, Bill responded and dropped the phone. It clanged off the desk and then onto the floor. Bill slowly stooped over, steadying himself with his hand on the table, and picked it up. He could hear someone yelling his name. After returning the receiver to its cradle Bill turned and looked at the woman sitting at the table. He smiled affectionately at her. She’ll be here soon.

I know, the woman said smiling at him. We’ll wait for her.

Bill ambled back to the table, slowing and stopping periodically to keep his balance, and eventually sat down where he had left from. He stared into those green eyes adoring him from across the table. His memories floated away to the little house they shared in the city so many decades ago. He thought of how she had landscaped the little yard so happily, a garden anywhere she could fit one. A memory of bright yellow lilies exploded in his thoughts. She had filled an entire garden with them in front of the picture window of the little red-brick bungalow. When the morning sun lit them up in the spring it was like a yellow spotlight was shining up through the window to the ceiling of the living room.

Dark memories started to drift into Bill’s thoughts. He saw the little gardens wither away, the dirt had become dry and cracked and weeds were choking out the pretty yellow flowers. He made an effort to stop the greying images, but he couldn’t drag himself away from this darker time. He made his mind leave the little house and travel over to the college where he taught. The memory of the puffy baby-face of a young student captivated him. It was a happy memory he was remembering now, but there was another dark memory just behind it. But he grabbed onto that happy thought and pushed the darkness away.

Did I ever tell you about my last year teaching at the college? he asked the woman across from him.

You might have mentioned it, but tell me anyway, she said, her smile sending him back to memories both happy and sad. He thought about the old home again, a home they had shared together, and then about his final months alone after his world had come crashing down for the last time before he found a new purpose. It had been over ten years since he had last been in that house, but he could remember it like it was the day before. Anytime memories of his old house came flooding into to consume him they started in the bright and cheerful, yet ominous kitchen.

"She said the kitchen should always be the brightest and happiest place in the house, it helps with digestion."

– Revelations of a Lonely Man by William Holden

Chapter 2

Ten Years Earlier – The Kitchen

Bill sat immersed in a warm yellow glow from the bright sunlight. Its happy rays danced on the walls, within the patterns on the curtains and the geometric lines imprinted on the counter. It streamed its way onto the pink mottled Formica table top he sat in front of and the matching textured vinyl padded chairs and then settled on the yellow speckled linoleum floor. Cheerful eclectic grassy green accents were mixed in giving the kitchen the impression of a sunny spring meadow. Capping the design scheme was a faded, browning wallpaper border of yellow daisies with green foliage poking up sporadically between them and an oversized light in the centre of the room made to resemble the sun with little plastic rays encircling it.

But this room, this sun drenched kitchen, repulsed him deep into his core and it took all his willpower to remain seated within it. Not because of the distinctive early sixties era decorating. He had whole heartedly supported preserving and contributing to the hedonistic combinations rather than updating the room to the drab beiges and deep browns that were so prevalent in the seventies when they had acquired the house. No, he hated the kitchen because it brought back visions of a real-life nightmare, a day that had come to represent how he viewed the worth of his existence; this lifetime that he simply occupied and wasted so many precious moments rather than truly grasping the full value of all that he had been given to work with. But he was determined to remain seated in the kitchen to dispel the ugly memories and replace them with happy ones, the memories of the deep love he had shared with his wife. Another chance to inhabit the few remaining bright spots within so many years and put aside the agonizing wasted years of regret.

He was sitting at the table with his hand wrapped around a half-full glass of milk, lost in thought as he watched the sun shining on a small patch of the linoleum floor beside the refrigerator. Using the hypnotic effect of the shimmering spot he let himself slip away to a time almost three decades in his past; a time when he was happy and energized with young love. A wide smile now crept over his face, perhaps a little forced at first but becoming more genuine as his recollections took over the moment.

He found himself opening his eyes to a day long past to watch the early morning summer sun dancing around the shadows of leaves on a canvas tent wall. The smell of bacon came floating in through the open screen. The heavy green canvas of the entrance to the tent had been pulled back and tied to one side. He could hear the crackling of a new campfire and the clanging of pots, plates and utensils. The light, down-filled sleeping bag he was lying in had already been unzipped. Pulling it away he stretched his arms and legs. He remembered how young and fit he had been at this time in his life, no aches and pains, no large protruding belly to inhibit his movements, strictly all male vigour. His life was meaningful and the future was bright and full of promise.

Crawling on his hands and knees he made his way to the screen and peered out through a web made by a fastidious spider. He looked out over the vast expansive green. He was situated in a campsite that was perched upon a hill overlooking densely forested evergreen and deciduous valleys. The dirt road leading into the site was hidden from view by a dense wall of trees, the tents perch lending a very secluded feel to the grounds. It was their favourite camping spot and they had visited it plenty of times over the all too few years they had been together.

Joanie, his newlywed wife, was crouched down in front of the fire tending to the crackling bacon in a cast iron pan. Her long dark hair draped down over one of his white undershirts; he could see her underwear peeking out from under the hem at the bottom. He wittingly wet his lips and gave a loud, long whistle. She turned her head, a smile spreading from her lips.

Abruptly her face went ashen grey, her eyes rolled back into her skull, her hair transformed into tiny shark fins on her head and she spewed green vomit in his direction with her tongue twisting out toward him.

Bill jumped, tilting the chair and spilling the milk all over the table; once again back in the reality of the dated kitchen. He caught himself, feeling a painful pull in his shoulder as he clung onto the corner of the table to prevent from falling to the floor.

Damn-it, he cursed, pushing the chair back from the table with the back of his knees and retrieving a damp cloth from the kitchen counter.

After wiping up the spill he threw the cloth into the sink and then sat back down on the chair. Pushing what remained of the glass of milk further to the centre of the table he then sat back and looked around the room. The sun had shifted slightly and had caught the bottom corner of the olive green refrigerator. He stared at the shimmering yellow, turning the spot into bright green as his eyes fooled with the hue. Gradually he sank back to the tree lined campsite. Joanie was smiling back at him.

Come on sleepy head, get your ass out here, breakfast is almost ready, she said. She turned her attention back to the fire, shrieking playfully as the bacon popped in the pan.

Bill scrambled around the tent, finding his shorts and hurriedly pulled them on. After exiting the tent he brushed off the top of a rock and sat down beside her and then placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Her green eyes brightened and she giggled softly.

What’s that for? she asked with a glowing smile, the love for him shining so brightly in her eyes.

Often he would capture that look of her deep unconditional love in his thoughts when he needed something to help him escape from the times of relentless depression that would grip him during particularly gloomy days.

For making my life a hundred times better, he answered, the warmth spreading through him with the deep emotion of love that he felt for her.

She stared at him with a passion in her eyes he had never experienced before, or since. Bill made the moment last much longer in his mind than it actually had. He moved in toward her and lightly touched his lips to hers.

I love you Bill, she said, her voice soft and sensual in his ear.

He played the scene over and over again in his mind, exhilarated anew each and every time it concluded.

Finally he moved the memory forward to relive the rest of the day. After finishing breakfast they started to prepare the knapsacks for the day. They planned on exploring the park and hiking the dense trails. As he watched her undress inside the confines of the tent he couldn’t resist playfully tickling and touching her. She slapped his hand away each time.

You’ll have to wait until tonight you little devil, she scolded him, giggling as she jumped out of the tent after she had finished dressing.

Bill quickly pulled on his hiking boots and caught up with Joanie at the entrance to the campsite. They walked hand-in-hand down the road, kissing and squeezing each other until they came upon the beginning of one of the trails. Trying to show his masculinity, he led the way down the trail pushing aside any branches or brush for her that had invaded the path. For the better part of the morning they travelled from trail to trail through the park, stopping to gaze and talk about wild flowers and mushrooms, rock formations and simply revelling at nature’s beauty.

One of the trails they hiked upon took them to the lake situated in the middle of the park and there they acquired one of the available canoes at the park rentals. Joanie stepped in gingerly, as Bill held her hand, being extra careful not to tip the canoe. She spread her arm out to the other side for stability as she sat down. Bill quickly embarked, throwing caution to the wind, and took the oars, paddling rigorously to take them out from the small lagoon. He remembered how difficult the rowing had been. But at this time in their relationship he felt he needed to show Joanie that he was capable of taking care of the difficult tasks and to get them where they needed to be.

After fifteen minutes his muscles were burning and screaming for him to stop. Pain seemed to be emanating from places he had never felt it from before. He had never been into sports as a youngster or teenager. Physical activity was fairly new to him. He had just started physically participating in outdoor activities on a regular basis at the time he met Joanie.

Let’s drift awhile and enjoy the scenery, he said.

Bill hadn’t recognized it then but now he remembered Joanie’s little discerning smile. She knew exactly why he had stopped.

Before he had brought in the oars Bill had rowed the canoe out from the lagoon into the main body of the lake. Now they were slowly drifting out aimlessly into the open water. A small island was three hundred yards to their right. The canoe was ebbing to the left. Joanie turned to examine the little land mass. It had one small maple tree and was barely large enough to set up a tent on. But it did possess a long piece of shale rock that faced the open water and was suitable as a bench for two.

She turned to Bill and asked, Would you like me to do some rowing? and she reached for the oars.

Bill watched the sky become menacingly dark and realized that the dreadfulness he had tried to lock away was breaking free again. Joanie’s face went rigid and her eyes grew cold.

I know how useless you can be you stupid ass. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. The words spat out from her like venom, scorching his ears and burning his eyes.

Bill opened his eyes and looked up despairingly from the kitchen floor. He swished his tongue around his mouth feeling like he had to eradicate a bad taste that had erupted from his throat. A loud noisy sigh unwittingly escaped his lips.

She never would have said that, he muttered, looking around the kitchen absently. At least not back then she wouldn’t have.

He thought about returning to the daydream to play it out to the conclusion he remembered, but he felt disheartened. The sun had left the kitchen and it now seemed as cold and uninviting as it usually was. The yellows and greens had become shades of grey looking out through the grimness of his state of mind. Bill looked up to the green faced clock with the yellow daisy petals on the wall.

No time, he said pursing his lips. He looked across to where the only other chair at the table sat empty. Happy anniversary my sweet love, he said raising the glass up and taking a small sip from it before he put it in the fridge and hurriedly left the room.

Chapter 3

Ten Years Earlier – The Hike (Part One)

The next day Bill was whistling happily as he rushed from the hall closet to the bedroom to the kitchen preparing himself for the short journey he was about to take. He had had an unusually good night sleep. Keeping his memory concentrated on the campfire kiss and the exhilaration of that moment in time helped him drift off effortlessly. Little, happy special bits of memory from his life with Joanie were a usual companion with him in bed when he needed something to focus on to help him fall asleep.

It was a new day and he made the extra effort not to cloud it with the dark images from his past, no need to muddy up his thoughts when the day was sunny and nature was calling. After he made the final preparations in the kitchen he came out through the swinging door and stopped cold looking toward the front entrance. An old haggard woman was there standing on the worn multi-coloured tile in front of the open wood front door, looking all frazzled and strained as she always was when she appeared to him, silhouetted in the light coming through the old aluminium screened door.

You don’t have time for this, she pleaded. You need to make things right.

Bill slowly shook his head hoping she would disappear and leave him to remain in the semblance of happiness he tried to maintain. He stepped toward her while simultaneously scooping up his car keys. They were sitting in an ornamental bowl beside his wallet on top of the half wall dividing the living room from the entrance way. Standing before her with his head down, he looked at the ring in his hand and picked through the individual keys until he came to the ignition key for his car. She remained, unwavering, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he refused her the satisfaction of looking back at her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had engaged this old apparition and he wasn’t about to go back on a promise he had made himself to never acknowledge her again.

A feeling of relief washed over him as he remembered he had left his water bottle on the kitchen counter. It would have been a disastrous trip if he had forgotten his water. He turned, re-entered the kitchen, grabbed the bottle and then stopped and sighed heavily in front of the swinging door before getting up the nerve to listen to another condescending lecture about what his priorities should be. Though he did his utmost to ignore her when she appeared the constant drone of her voice drove him sideways. But when he came through the door the path was clear to the exit. He looked around in either direction but there was no sign of her anywhere in the living room or the hallway. Again he began whistling, picking up the tune where he had left off minutes before.

He managed to keep the happy feeling bubbling inside while he drove through the city and out into the country toward his destination. His stomach fluttered with excitement when he came upon the narrow road that led down toward the park. He knew he was about to face quite an endeavour, but his mood was good and he felt up for it. The morning sun was shining brightly, streaming over a deep blue sky. A perfect day, he heard Joanie say deep within his coveted memories. Birds were flittering from tree to tree while small animals scurried away from the dust that billowed out from beneath the slowly moving vehicle as it made its way slowly down the path to the dirt parking lot.

Bill whistled louder as he drove down the gravel laneway to keep the pitch above the sound of the crunching stones under the tires, the feeling of ecstasy bubbling inside him. He loved the energized emotional burst that nature gave him and momentarily wondered why he didn’t try and get out among it more often. But he dismissed the thought looking in the