Triskelion

By William Wardlaw

Andy, an unemployed engineer and his wife Sandi, a neurosurgeon, had searched for an old farmhouse ‘fixer-upper’ to be their home in the North Carolina Mountains. When they found one, Andy fell in love with the rustic two-hundred year old homestead with a great view of Pilot Mountain. Staci declared it ‘a wreck’ but they decided to buy it anyway. Thus began their adventure with Barkley, who lingered around the house as the ghost of a deceased Vietnam War hero. Circumstances lead to Andy’s growing relationship with Barkley, and he is captivated by Barkley’s extraordinary knowledge and explanations of the workings of the universe, passage of time, alternate spatial dimensions and life in the after-world. With no explanation, Barkley urges Andy to find a special box, complete with family secrets, hidden in the old house.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387184675

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Triskelion

Triskelion

Tris-kel-i-on

A Novel by William Wardlaw

Copyright © 2017 by William Wardlaw

ISBN 978-1-387-15876-8

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Chapter 1

"Andy, you have got to be kidding!" Staci stood with her hands on her hips, her usual pose of solid, unmovable defiance.

Staci, it’s perfect! It’s just what we’ve been looking for.

Maybe what you’ve been looking for. My dad’s old army tent would be a lot better. At least it would keep some of the rain off us. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but most of the roof is missing. She motioned toward the house with a sweeping motion. And how old is it? What did ‘Peyton the Realtor’ tell you? Her last question oozed with cynicism.

Peyton thought it was at least two hundred years old. At least that’s about as far back as the county records go. He thinks it was probably built even earlier. Andy looked at the farmhouse wistfully. Look, I know it looks like it needs some work, but you haven’t even seen it up close yet. It’s got a great view of Pilot Mountain from the porch. It could be so, he hesitated, so damned romantic. It’s an old farmhouse, Staci, exactly what we’ve been looking for. It’s got a stone fireplace, two bedrooms. It has so much potential! And it’s on ten acres. Ten acres! You realize how much land that is? No neighbors. And the house is set back off the road, so we wouldn’t even hear car noise. It has well water and electricity, something you don’t usually find in old farmhouses. He turned toward her, took her hand. At least look at the inside, Staci.

Staci turned slowly, looked around. She stopped when she saw the broad column of granite topping Pilot Mountain like a gray Derby hat. Rising two thousand feet above them and three miles away, the unique summit had served as a visual navigation aid long before the European settlers arrived. The rolling hills surrounding Pilot Mountain were carpeted with trees.

The old farmhouse sat back in a rectangular shaped cleared area that had at one time been cleared of forest. Now it was overgrown with tall weeds and bushes and even some small trees. The property sloped up toward another but smaller mountain blanketed with deep woods. A dirt driveway led from the road and stopped, undefined, where they stood about a hundred yards from the house.

Well, Andy, I agree the site certainly has promise, but look at the house! It isn’t even a house, Andy. It’s a total wreck. We could tear it down, maybe, and build something new. It’s a great view, nice location. But the house is way too--well, crude, Andy. It’s falling apart, rotted wood, open to the weather. It’s probably occupied by snakes and spiders.

Andy snorted. You and your snake and spider phobias. Will you at least come with me and take a look?

Staci looked again at the structure. A sagging porch roof ran left to right across the front. The right hand end of the roof had fallen; it drooped in a graceful curtsey with the corner resting on the porch’s decking--the last two slender pillars supporting the roof had rotted and collapsed. The gable roof covering the rest of the house was mostly open to the weather. The rough, hand hewn rafters were visible through gaping holes. One fifteen foot section had caved in and the structure poked up through the wreckage like exposed rib bones. A rock chimney, located about fifteen feet from the left end, rose several feet above the peak of the roof. A single four-panel door, at one time painted white, divided the house evenly with two broken windows to the left and two to the right. The front exterior wall was sheathed with simple board and batten of rough-sawn cedar planks, weathered and gray with age. Green kudzu vines crawled up one of the porch roof supports. Without quick action they would soon engulf the entire house.

Okay, Andy. I’ll walk through it with you, if it will make you happy. But I can tell you right now, I’m not one bit interested in buying this place. I think we should just keep looking.

Andy smiled. Staci could be pretty tough now and then, but she could also abruptly change her mind. He thought that part of her had to do with her profession as a successful neurosurgeon. It was something he had grown to appreciate during their eight years of marriage, and it made things like buying furniture or bathroom towels easy and non-confrontational. She simply made the decision and that was it.

Well, Peyton gave me a key to the front gate. The house isn’t locked.

You mean the realtor actually leaves this place unlocked? She asked drolly.

I guess he figures not too many people would try to break in.

Hmm. I guess I can see why. Okay, let’s go inspect your dream house, Andy. She took hold of his left hand and they walked side by side through the tall weeds toward the front porch. I think it needs a little bit of landscape work out front, Andy, you know, with some fresh shrubbery, new sod, not to mention some--um, minor touch-up work on the porch. She looked at the front door. And a little paint dabbed here and there would help.

Andy smiled. I knew you’d love it when you got closer. Just wait until you see inside.

Staci snickered, but it was quickly followed with a smile. She loved her husband’s unbounded enthusiasm and whimsical, often childlike imagination. They stepped up onto the planks decking the wide porch, then stopped and turned to look at the view.

I can see us with a couple of rocking chairs out here, watching the sun set over Pilot Mountain. Having a glass of wine, maybe a plate of cheese-- Andy offered with a smile. He was an engineer, not a salesman, but he was trying hard to give it his best shot.

Staci bounced up and down lightly on the balls of her feet. Well, at least the decking feels solid. She looked critically at the front door and its peeling paint. That hardware has got to be at least a hundred years old. She bent for a closer look at the door knob and plate. I’ve never seen one quite like this before. It’s very unique. She frowned. What is that, a lion head knob?

Andy bent over to look at the hardware. You’re right. Pretty fancy doorknob for an old house like this.

You mean an old dilapidated wreck like this.

Andy grunted, not willing to accept Staci’s ‘old dilapidated wreck’ evaluation. He bent to look closer at the knob. It’s pretty old. I think it’s brass, but it could be cast iron. We won’t know until I clean it up.

Staci reached for the knob and turned it slowly, pushed the door inward. It opened several inches before it wouldn’t go any further.

Andy tried to push with the door knob. It must be jammed, he muttered.

Wow! You really think so? She teased.

It opened all the way when I came here with Peyton, three days ago.

Well, I’ll let you wrestle with it. Who knows what could be blocking it. Could be a dead animal.

Or a body--

Oh, great.

Andy put his shoulder against the door and shoved. It opened hard against something on the inside that seemed to be dragging on the floor. They stepped through the narrow opening and into the room. Andy frowned. There was nothing behind the door and now it swung unimpeded on its hinges. That’s weird! It’s fine now.

The room was rectangular, about fourteen feet deep and twenty-five feet wide. A large stone fireplace took up half of the left end. A double hung, nine-light window, panes broken, filled the space between the front door and a dividing wall constructed of rock that connected to the fireplace. Two matching nine-light windows filled the space to the right of the door. The ceiling, at one time covered with thin hardboard, sagged like 4th of July bunting between the widely spaced ceiling joists. Curled strips of paint hung like stalactites from the hardboard. At the far end, opposite the fireplace, two more nine-light windows pierced the end wall, providing a view of the forest through broken and cracked panes.

Staci tested the interior floor by bouncing lightly on her feet. Well, the floor feels solid. She studied the surface then knelt on one knee and swept her hand over the random width boards. These are oak planks. And they’re fastened with wooden pegs. You sure don’t see real wooden pegs very often. You know, with some sanding and stain, this floor could be really beautiful. She stood and gazed around the room. The walls were covered with faded wallpaper with an ivy design against a tan background. It was loose and drooped in long curls in several places, revealing cracked and discolored plaster walls. She turned slowly, taking in the walls and ceiling. Interesting--I’ll say that much.

There was a single old-style electrical outlet box in the center of the back wall, about two feet above the floor. Two parallel electric wires were fastened to the wall with white porcelain insulators. The black, cloth-covered wires disappeared through holes in the ceiling. The box cover was missing and the box, perhaps made of Bakelite early in the 1900’s, appeared to have been charred by an electrical fire.

Well, that doesn’t bode well, Andy, she said, pointing to the ancient wiring and the flame-damaged box.

Minor electrical problem. I’ll update everything, replace the wiring, add outlets and switches. All modern, up to code, safe--

Staci nodded. Andy was no slouch when it came to house repairs. Is there a kitchen?

Well, sort of. Follow me. He led the way through a door near the fireplace into a long room across the end of the house. Four windows looked out at the woods and one opened to the front porch. Two of the windows were above the kitchen counter which was covered with worn, patterned linoleum. A single sink made of soldered copper sheathing divided the counter in half. The copper was dark with oxidation and bore the dried remains of insects trapped inside, unable to climb the steep sides to safety. A simple brass faucet, like a garden spigot, extended through the wall over the sink. The faucet was green with verdigris.

Staci looked around with subjective interest. There’s no room for a stove.

Well, I figure the fireplace once had two sides, though I’ll have to take these old boards off to check. If it does, we’ll probably use this side to cook with.

She turned and placed her hands on her hips. Well, let me tell you something right now, Andy. That’s simply not going to happen. I haven’t cooked over an open fire since our one-and-only camping experience at Pocahontas State Park in Virginia. Besides nearly freezing to death in your army pup-tent, I’m sure you remember the stuck-to-the-pan ‘blackened’ sunny-side-up eggs, charcoal potatoes and the bacon that caught on fire and nearly started a forest fire? And what about the seven foot tall gestapo-trained forest ranger named Adolph who came to bawl us out and threatened to throw us out of the park?

His name was Alvin and he was only about five-ten. This would be a lot different, Staci.

You bet your sweet bippy it would.

It was obvious to Andy that Staci was not overly impressed. He hesitated before inviting her to walk through the remaining rooms. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.

You mean there’s even more to see?

Sure. You haven’t seen the bathroom or bedroom yet.

Oh, my goodness. Even a bathroom. I didn’t know they had bathrooms in prehistoric times. She followed Andy back through the main room and through a door into the bedroom.

She paused, hands on hips. Well, not a bad size, for a bedroom. She walked to the three windows facing the woods behind the house. What’s the little shack out there?

He hesitated. Peyton called it the ‘bathhouse’. The shower’s in there.

Now, for once, I hope you’re just being funny. I can’t wait to see the actual bathroom.

Follow me. It’s easy to get lost with so many rooms. It’s through that door. He pointed, and opened the narrow door to a small room. An old fashioned commode sat across from the door, its age revealed by the oxidized brass pipe that ran from the back of the fixture, up the wall to the porcelain water tank mounted about a foot below the ceiling.

What in heaven’s name is that monstrosity?

It’s called the ‘flush tank’. Old style toilets used them. Look, he pointed, you pull this chain and it opens the valve at the bottom of the tank. Water rushes down the pipe into the toilet, flushing it clean. This style came to be in general use in the mid to late 1800’s. They’re quite in vogue nowadays.

She studied the rust stained flush tank. This one was probably one of the early prototypes. But, I see, there’s no tub. No wash basin.

Yup. Wash basin is in the kitchen. Shower’s in the--

Shower house, Staci finished. I actually thought you were kidding. Wow! Everything is so conveniently located. Only a hundred feet outdoors to the shower. I can just see me on a frosty morning, running through the snow for a nice hot shower before going to work at the hospital.

Ahh--no hot showers, Staci. No water heater, yet.

Cold showers in the middle of February. That gives the phrase ‘go take a cold shower’ a whole new meaning. She paused. Do I need to inspect the shower house, or can I just let my imagination do it for me?

"It won’t be so bad out there once I get the snakes and spiders out and hot and cold water run in. Right now it’s got a dirt floor, but I’ll tile over that and panel the walls with