The House on Oriole Road

By Richard J Johnson

When forty-eight-year-old Rick Braden gets his first look at the house his wife Elaine wants to buy, he thinks that it looks like a scene out of an old Frankenstein moviedismal and depressing. For Elaine, the 1800s Victorian house has great potential in spite of the fact that the former resident, Sedgwick Burns, disappeared without a trace eight years ago. Rick only hopes they arent making a big mistake buying the mansion in Forest Oak.

As Rick talks to his neighbors and learns about the house, he becomes more and more uneasy. Not only does he learn that Burns was a mortician, but Rick continually discovers strange things left behind by the previous tenant.

In a misguided attempt to hide this series of bizarre discoveries from his wife, Rick becomes entangled in a sticky web of lies and deception that abruptly intensifies and turns his life into a maze of anguish and intrigue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426960802

Richard J Johnson

Richard J Johnson is a physician and scientist who lives in Centennial, Colorado. He has written two books on the science behind sugar—“The Sugar Fix,” Rodale, 2008, and “The Fat Switch,” Mercola.com, 2012. Here, he tells a mystery loosely based on historic sites and myths and legends from Egypt and other countries.

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 (Chapter One)

A CHANGE OF RESIDENCE

Had I known what lay in wait for us, I never would have agreed to buy that dismal and depressing old house. I did it only to please my wife Elaine, who was determined to have her way. First impressions are important, and I should have acted upon the deep sense of melancholy and morbid gloom that overcame me when I first set my eyes on that place. Looking back, it seems so long ago, but in reality, it all began but a few short months ago.......

It was an early Sunday morning last spring, and I had finished my breakfast and put my newspaper aside. Gazing out the window, I watched as dozens of snow-white clouds skidded across the azure-blue sky, almost as if they were racing with one another. It would have been a great day for me to enjoy some rest and leisure, but that wasn’t what Elaine had in mind. Another very busy week at the office had left me fatigued, and finishing the yard work yesterday had really done me in. I felt I deserved some time for myself; however, Elaine’s plans for me didn’t include lounging around the house that morning. I would have loved to have gone back to bed and pulled the covers over my head and got another forty winks of sleep. Well, I supposed I had better get myself moving, or there would be no peace around the house. When Elaine makes up her mind to do something, there is no swaying her!

For the past two months she had practically been driving me insane about finding another house. As a matter of fact, ever since our two boys grew up and got married, Elaine had been after me to find another home in the suburbs. Luckily for me, she was willing to scout around with a real estate agent, looking at a variety of properties and saving me the trouble. Finally, in a weak moment, I promised her that I’d accompany her to look at an old Victorian house she had seen. For the life of me, I could not imagine that she could ever be happy living in an old house after having a modern home with every convenience possible. The upkeep of a place like she had in mind could probably bankrupt us, and if nothing else, my Sunday cookouts would end in order for me to keep up with just the exterior maintenance.

Before I get further into this story, let me introduce myself. My name is Rick Braden, a forty-eight-year old accountant, and I’ve been employed by Raymond Bennett Engineering since college. Not an exciting job I’ll admit, but the pay is good, and it’s been steady employment. Elaine is working part time as a sales clerk in a ladies’ apparel shop at the nearby mall. Soon after the boys went off on their own, she insisted on going to work, not for the money, but to keep herself busy. She said that she was too lonely during the day while I was at work. I didn’t like the idea, but her working part time didn’t seem to be a problem.

Elaine and I have a good relationship and a happy marriage. We enjoy many of the same things: books, music, playing bridge with friends, and watching our favorite television shows. In college, Elaine studied architecture and interior design, but she never pursued either of those fields after she graduated because we were married within a week of her graduation.

We have been blessed with two fine boys who have completed their higher educations, and Elaine and I are darn proud of that fact. It wasn’t easy, financially, but we managed. We have them all over for dinner on Sundays; that is, except for this weekend.

Ronald, our older boy, is an accountant like his father, and he and his wife Paula have a son, Henry, who is a year-and-a-half old. Glenn is pursuing an art career and is presently employed by a large advertising agency. He and his wife Martha have no children, but they’re hoping.

At our family social gatherings, we usually cook out in the back yard when weather permits; otherwise, Elaine will do the cooking in her kitchen. I like our outdoor cookouts the best because that’s when I get to show off my culinary skills, using our new barbecue pit with the electric spit. I thought I’d be cooking ribs on the spit, so I made it a special point to buy two big racks of them at my favorite butcher shop near my office.

The backyard rib roast had been planned for some time, but Elaine cornered me into agreeing to look at a house instead. The house hunt had been going on for so long that it was finally beginning to get Elaine down, so I didn’t want to disappoint her by not going with her.

It’s just perfect! was her excited description of the place after she came home from seeing it. You’ll love it, Rick! We have an appointment with the real estate agent for Sunday morning for you to look at it. I was hooked! What could I do but agree to go there and check out the place?

I suppose that I’m nothing more than a creature of habit. That’s what Elaine always tells me. What she has arranged would be disruptive to my normal weekend plans, and that didn’t make me too happy, but Elaine has already called the boys and told them not to come on Sunday. If the truth were known, they are probably happy about the change in plans, because I sometimes think that their wives have had enough of our Sunday routine. Elaine has had a hard time adjusting to the change in her life from being a full-time mother, but you would think she would be used to it by this time, since both boys were away at college before they married.

Sunday morning finally arrived, and I was finishing the last gulp of my coffee when the door bell chimed. It was the real estate agent, and she was right on time. Elaine introduced her to me as we locked the door of the house behind us. Pat Driscoll was a middle-aged, rather plump woman, with long, bottle-blonde hair. Under her arm she carried a thick real estate listings book, and I could see a number of page markers sticking out of it. I moaned as I wondered how many other houses she planned to show us, in addition to the one Elaine was so set on seeing again. After Elaine and I got comfortably settled into the back seat of Driscoll’s late model Lincoln Town Car, we were on our way.

Where are we heading? I asked casually.

Forest Oak, Mrs. Driscoll replied cordially.

Isn’t that suburb pretty far from the Bradenton business district? Before Pat Driscoll answered, Elaine took my hand in hers, and she said affectionately, "It’s not that far from your office, Rick, and the place is just perfect. You’ll see when we get there. You’ll love it! It has a big back yard with huge oak trees, so it will be ideal for your Sunday cookouts. She immediately turned her head toward the window on her side of the car, and I was agitated by her dismissing the subject from further conversation so quickly. I knew that Elaine was interested in an older house because she wanted a place that she could completely renovate. Since she graduated from college, Elaine never had the opportunity to really use her decorating skills, and now that our children are raised and on their own, this was her chance to fulfil that desire. It was a dream she had talked about for the past twenty-five years.

In spite of my own misgivings, I knew I’d go along with her program--but only to a reasonable degree. I had no intention of stretching our funds beyond our ability to keep up our savings program for my retirement; after all, I had less than sixteen years to work until I planned to retire, and time flies by pretty fast. We had thoroughly discussed that important aspect of our future when we talked about buying another house, and Elaine had been in total agreement with me. Since our present house had appreciated beyond all expectations, we hoped to be able to make this almost a lateral move. Of course, the biggest expense would be the cost of remodeling and redecorating an older house. After twenty-five years of use, most of our present furniture was ready to be replaced, and I was worried that Elaine’s remodeling plans might not fit into our budget.

Another thought that nagged at my mind was the idea of planting myself in an older suburb like Forest Oak. The area where we have lived for the past twenty-five years is a relatively young development, and everything is conveniently located for us with a large shopping mall. That mall is within walking distance from our house. As a matter of fact, Elaine works at that mall.

With all of that fresh in my mind, I posed the question to Elaine, Of all the nice suburbs we can choose from, Elaine, why Forest Oak? That place is the same today as it was over a hundred years ago, and to my knowledge, there isn’t even a shopping mall within its limits. We’ll have to travel all the way into Bradenton to do our shopping. The only entertainment in Forest Oak, that I know of, is a small movie house which probably shows nothing but old westerns on Saturday nights. I suppose even the television reception will be bad, and we’ll be forced to buy one of those big, directional TV dishes for the front yard. Also, and not that it’s important to me, you know that you will have to give up your part-time job. Have you thought about that? I should have taken the time to go with you, rather than relegate the house hunt to you alone. If I had done it that way, perhaps I wouldn’t be heading to Forest Oak now to decide on buying an old, run-down house.

Which of your questions do you want me to answer first, Rick? she asked in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

Oh, forget it! We can talk about it after we’ve seen the house, I mumbled in defeat.

The drive to Forest Oak took us about forty-five minutes. Rather than head there through the center of town, Mrs. Driscoll decided to drive the scenic route through the countryside, and during the entire trip Elaine and Mrs. Driscoll chatted about meaningless trivia. Outside, the sunshine bathed the landscape in a silvery hue, and as we breezed along the highway, I could see farmers working their newly-plowed fields, and here and there small groups of cows grazed under the trees. At one point, I saw a shiny, black stallion galloping across an open field of grass. I supposed people did get used to that kind of lifestyle, and for Elaine’s sake, I would try to be a little more positive about it. But I would think very carefully before buying an old run-down house.

Driving through the small downtown section of Forest Oak, I was surprised to see that the movie theater had been turned into a VFW hall. Near the corner of the main intersection was a newly opened drug store with a brightly painted Walgreen’s sign, and the Grand Opening banners were still hanging across the store front. The few pick-up trucks in town that morning were all parked diagonally in front of a quaint little place with a sign that read, Belamy’s Family Restaurant. I imagined that the breakfast counter would be lined with farmers who worked in their fields nearby. In my mind’s eye, I could see them dressed in their blue denim, bib overalls with red and white polka-dot ‘kerchiefs sticking from their hip pockets. I knew farmers were usually nice, friendly people, but I worried that I would never fit into a near-rural setting in a million years. That thought was very disquieting to me, and Elaine seemed to sense my uneasy feelings, because at that moment, she took my hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Leaving the business center, we drove along the grassy embankment of a railroad right-of-way, and just as we got to the crossing, the gates started to close and the lights began flashing. Mrs. Driscoll slowed the car to a stop, and we sat there and waited, and again we looked out at an exquisitely beautiful and serene countryside. In a matter of seconds, a big, powerful diesel locomotive pulling a long string of box cars appeared in the distance. Almost as soon as the train appeared, it passed us by, and I watched the caboose as it lurched down the track and faded off into the distance.

When the gates lifted, Mrs. Driscoll moved the car slowly over the rough set of tracks, and we continued our drive. Within minutes we entered an attractive brick-paved lane off the main street, which was narrowed by enormous oak trees lining its wide, grassy parkways. What a picturesque setting! As we drove along, I noticed several very large wooden mansions built in the popular style of the late eighteen hundreds when there was plenty of cheap lumber and labor costs were very low. Even the cost of heating those houses was not an important factor in those days when coal was plentiful and cheap. I cringed when I thought about the cost of heating a home this size today.

All the mansions were set well back from the street and were framed by those huge oak trees that shaded neatly-groomed lawns. At the entry to several driveways, I could see old, iron-horse hitches, which were relics from the days before automobiles came into fashion. A few of the properties had separate buildings behind them--probably servants’ quarters or barns, but most of those buildings had long since been converted to garages. I visualized horse teams with fashionable carriages and spindly, one-horse surreys, and with a little more imagination, I could almost hear them galloping over the cobblestone street in front of us. What a quaint setting this is, I thought to myself. No wonder Elaine likes it so much. It’s certainly different from the area where we now live, with the tiny lots, asphalt streets and driveways, and smaller, modern homes.

This area was once the Gold Coast Section of Forest Oak, Pat Driscoll said over her shoulder. Her comment broke my train of thought. Pointing a well-manicured finger toward a very large, ugly brownstone mansion on our right, she continued, That’s where Governor Weedan was born in that house right there.

Governor who? I asked, never having heard that name before. When was that, Mrs. Driscoll?

Oh, he was governor of the state way back at the end of the last century. The house was built back in the eighteen hundreds by his father, Augustus Weedan, who was a state representative for this district. There were quite a few prominent families who owned homes in this neighborhood over the years. Forest Oak’s Historical Society has an entire section that contains some very interesting old photographs and a variety of other information about those people. It may be worth your while to stop in there and read about them sometime; that is, if you have an interest in local history.

We may decide to do just that, Mrs. Driscoll, I answered in a disinterested manner. In a matter of minutes, the car stopped in front of a huge, red brick house which was almost hidden in a lot heavily overgrown with a maze of thick shrubs and dozens of mature oak trees. A high, wrought-iron, spear-topped fence, crawling with thick vines, further obscured the house from view. Through the car window, I could see the dark multi-colored slate roof tiles capping the house and an immense octagonal turret at the third level. From its roof, a multitude of tall, red-brick chimneys jutted up toward the sky, and at the back of the yard was a converted barn with three automobile bays and a loft. Looking at the place, I couldn’t help but think that the house and its setting were a scene right out of an old Frankenstein movie. A chill ran through me at that moment!

Well! What do you think? Isn’t it a darling house? Mrs. Driscoll asked, half-turning in her seat to look at my reaction.

Before I could respond, Elaine said, It has wonderful possibilities, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a darling house at this time, Pat. If we buy it, you can tell me that next year after we’re finished renovating both the interior and exterior. The yard is also a mess, but Rick is very handy with gardening, and he could change it into something of a botanical garden.

Are you actually serious about our buying this place? I asked in an incredulous voice. If the inside is only half as bad as the outside, I can tell you right now that I hate it! No sooner had I made that statement than I regretted it.

Elaine turned toward me with a wounded look on her face, and she said, Please Rick, don’t jump to any conclusions until you’ve seen the inside of the house. I know it will take a lot of work to get it in shape again, but that’s exactly what I’m hoping to do. As for the yard, our boys will be more than willing to help you there, and you will be surprised what a good cleaning and a fresh coat of paint will do to spruce up the outside and make it look cheerful.

All right! All right! I’m willing to keep an open mind. Let’s get out of the car and check it out. I opened the door, Elaine and I got out, and we walked up to the big iron gate. It was locked. We were immediately joined by Pat, who pulled a key from her purse and turned it in the ancient lock. As she pushed the heavy gate open, it made a loud squeaking noise which caused us all to laugh. That helped to ease the tension between Elaine and me.

Proceeding directly to the front steps, we approached the ornate, leaded-glass double doors. Centered in each door was a beautiful coat of arms created entirely of small colored pieces of leaded glass, and under a knight’s helmet, sprouting a big black feather, were two prancing brown stallions, haunch-to-haunch. Each was covered with a black cloak with a gold dagger pointing downward. Below them, enclosed within a large golden scroll was the name Burns. According to Mrs. Driscoll, that was the name of the man who had built the house way back in l882. Other than that, she had no information about the previous owner. She said she knew that much because it was part of the real estate background she had read in the county recorder’s office at the time she did the title search.

Taking another key from her purse, Mrs. Driscoll opened one of the entry doors for us to enter, and the first thing that captured our attention was a massive, winding stairway. Its wide base was like a giant cornucopia which beckoned us toward the dark shadows of its upper reaches. Darkly carpeted stairs wound their way, in a semi-circle, upward toward another level. Directly overhead in the foyer hung a heavily-tarnished brass chandelier which sprouted a dozen or more candelabrum-styled lights. The entry floor was a dark, gray slate which terminated where the drab brown carpeting of the stairway began.

On either side of the foyer stood tall oak curio cabinets with more leaded-glass, but both were empty except for a thin layer of dust which blanketed the shelves. Obviously they were built as part of the original house, as were all the thick, crown moldings, the door frames and mantels. They were all black with old varnish, and standing there surveying the area, I mentally tabulated all the work and expense it would require to make the place merely livable. I winced at the thought.

Pat Driscoll’s voice broke the silence. Since Elaine’s been here before, Mr. Braden, I think it will be a good idea to have her show you through the house. I’ll wait for you in the living room if you don’t mind. Now, if either of you have any questions at all, please give me a holler.

Thanks, Pat! Elaine said, as she took my hand in hers and led me down a long, narrow hallway. After commenting on the condition of the faded, peeling wallpaper, I followed closely behind like an obedient little puppy dog as we entered the first door. It was a small sitting room with a wood-burning fireplace on one wall. I was surprised to see that many of the old and dusty furnishings remained in the room. I thought this place was empty, I said in a surprised voice.

Oh, most of the house is, Elaine quickly responded. There are only a few rooms where the previous owners left any of the furniture. Anyway, most of it wasn’t worth saving--as you can see, but they left a few pieces here and there which are still in good shape, and I have some plans to have them refinished. It will be a lot cheaper for us than buying everything new, and they will fit so well into this setting. You’ll see!

Do you mean to tell me that you plan to redecorate this place just as it was originally? You know darn good and well that I hate antiques. I think that you are going a bit too far with me, Elaine. I’m willing to go along with a lot, but there’s a limit to my indulgence, I said angrily.

I didn’t say that, Rick! Elaine responded again in her wounded voice. I said only that there are a few pieces of furniture which I want to save and have restored. If we buy this place, I plan on doing the house completely over in contemporary styling. That’s what you always told me you liked best, and I know how important your comfort is to you, and I respect that. Now, let’s go on with our tour of the house.

As we looked through the big old house, I was constantly reminded of the absolute dreariness and bleakness of the place. Each room we entered seemed to be darker and gloomier than the last, and by the time we finished with the five bedrooms on the second level, I was ready for a breather. Finally, we found an old, dilapidated davenport in a back hallway, and as we sat there, I shook my head in bewilderment. I couldn’t imagine what had ever possessed Elaine to want us to buy this dreary, old mausoleum. I thought I may as well ask her that question again.

Do you really believe you can turn this depressing, run-down mausoleum into a home for us, Elaine? I made it a point to speak very softly and very deliberately, since I wanted her to completely understand my doubts about buying this house and her plans to renovate the place.

Positively! she said with an absolute conviction.

Not wanting to get involved in an argument at this point, I decided to drop the subject for now. I’ll take it up with her later, after we get home, I thought. Besides, I wasn’t anxious to get into a row with Elaine in front of Pat Driscoll.

Would you like to look at the attic now? Elaine asked as she got up from the davenport. That big turret up there commands a view of practically the entire area, and I have some great ideas for that room.

I don’t think so, I responded with a heavy sigh, but I would like to check out the cellar foundation for water leaks, and I’d also like to take a look at the heating plant. By the way, is there a central air conditioning system in the house? Or don’t you know that? My remark was not without sarcasm.

I think there is, Elaine said. It’s supposed to have been installed in recent years, according to what Pat told me.

We then checked out the cellar, which to my amazement, was clean and dry, if somewhat cluttered with cartons and an assortment of other seemingly useless junk that appeared to be stacked everywhere. The old coal furnace had been converted to an efficient gas-fired boiler, an extra-large hot water heater appeared to have been recently installed, and the electrical service fuse box and wiring were like new. Someone has spent a good deal of money on these things, I remarked. Thank God for small favors. If we had to replace any of them, the whole deal would be off, as far as I’m concerned.

Does that mean that you like the place, Rick? Elaine said excitedly as she threw her arms around my neck and looked up into my eyes expectantly.

To tell you the truth, Elaine, I hate it, but I know what wonders you will do to it and that you’ll be able to turn it into a showplace. If you can do it all without putting us into the poor house, I guess I’ll take a chance on it. But I want you to be absolutely certain it’s what you want, and then I’ll go along with the plan. I pulled her tightly against me and planted a kiss on top of her hair.

I have such great ideas for the house which you’ll see, and most of it can be done without spending too much money, Elaine exclaimed. The biggest expense is going to be the kitchen because there isn’t a thing in it that can be saved.

I still have a lot of misgivings about this house, and I can see us spending an awful lot of money and work to get everything into shape. That kitchen, as you just said, will positively need to be completely gutted to the walls, and we’ll have to have all new cabinets, flooring, and appliances--and that takes a lot of money. The remodeling is your department, but whatever we do, we’ll have to budget our funds so that we don’t get into a pinch. I’m sure I can do a lot of the simpler work myself with help from our boys when they’re available; however, it still depends on our being able to strike a deal on the price. What did Mrs. Driscoll say the seller was asking for the place?

"She told me that the seller hoped to get $245,000 for it, but I