The House in the Curve: The Portrait

By Patricia Reed

In 1955, Evvie McDougal was 11 years old, and lived in a
charming little village in West Virginia. The beautiful
tree lined streets and old Victorian homes made it seem
like a story book town. But all is not well beneath the
surface. Evvies family home is hiding many terrifying
secrets, some of which are quite deadly. Evvie has some
special inherited gifts that made her the target of a serial
killer. Even when she wakes up in a pitch black room with
her hands bound and her face covered in blood she is still
determined to unmask the killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465389008

Book preview

The House In The Curve

The Portrait

Patricia Reed

Copyright © 2011 by Patricia Reed.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011919420

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-8899-5

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-8898-8

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-8900-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Front cover photo painting by Sophie Anderson.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

106791

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

How cold and stiff your lifeless skin

But as I kneel by you I whisper

In our otherworld we’ll meet again.

106791-REED-layout-low.pdf

This book is dedicated to my late mother,

Edna Sullivan. She was always there for me,

and she always made me believe that there

wasn’t any goal I couldn’t achieve.

Chapter 1

The dream came to me again. I was in that strange narrow room. Its walls of stone were spattered with blood. The portrait was leaning against one of those walls. It was so magnetic I couldn’t turn away. I didn’t know where the portrait was hidden. I didn’t know who had painted that glowing face. The only thing I really knew was that the girl in the portrait was me.

*     *     *

Today was cold, and it was snowing again, but I was curled up on my bed all cozy and warm. I was watching the snow swirl through the sky creating a magical world outside my window. The year was 1955, and I was eleven. I was remembering that my Sunday school teacher had said that God had individually designed each flake so that no two were alike. That seemed like an amazing fact as I watched my yard quietly filling up with snow. Sometimes it came down gently flake by flake. Other times it came down in a flurry filling the air with such a mass of white that all visibility was lost. This continued until everything in sight was totally enveloped, and the entire landscape had taken on a lustrous glow. It was as if some snow fairy had waved her wand and covered every imperfection on every slope and in every valley. Where there had been an unkempt yard filled with abandoned toys and dying plants, there was now a beautiful scene where everything looked clean and peaceful. I could actually forget, for the moment, that under this pristine blanket of white, the land was still uneven and imperfect. I even had to remind myself about the hole in my yard that I had stepped on last summer and sprained my ankle.

It wasn’t just my yard that looked perfect, it was the whole town. Everywhere you looked, our little town seemed so clean and peaceful that it conveyed a certainty that no evil could ever touch us as long as we were within its protective boundaries. However, I was about to discover that there was a lesson to be learned from studying the snow. Like the concealing nature of the snow, the apparent peace and serenity of life in our town was hiding secrets that were lurking quietly beneath the surface. I was soon going to learn that things are definitely not always what they seem.

In the middle of my musings, Mom decided that she needed some things from Watson’s pharmacy. We were all bored, being stuck in the house, so my brothers and I all volunteered to go. After all, the hill in front of our house wasn’t slick enough for sleds yet, and the snow in our yard was too dry for building a snowman. I strongly protested, but the boys were the ones who got to go. Mom thought I needed new snow boots before I could go traipsing around in a snowstorm. I had to admit that my feet had grown since last winter, and my shoes probably wouldn’t fit inside last year’s boots. However, I made them promise to bring me back a Milky Way candy bar. They agreed, but only if I paid them back for the Milky Way.

I waited impatiently for the boys to come home, and when they finally got back, I asked, What did you guys do, make the toilet paper and the shampoo yourselves? Bobby told us, No, we were talking to the new pharmacist. Old Doc Watson was trying to introduce him to everyone who came in today. Sam had to get his two cents’ worth in. Yeah, he’s pretty keen. He’s a lot younger than the doc. We invited him to come to church on Sunday. That one really made me laugh. You have to be dragged out of bed on Sunday morning yourself. Why would you invite someone else to come to church? Sam was very indignant. I may be sleepy sometimes, but I have pins for perfect attendance for three whole years. So there! Then he came clean. Besides, we need a new Sunday school teacher in my class, and I think he would be better for a bunch of boys than some old lady. I had to ask, What makes you think he is looking for a job as your Sunday school teacher? Sam was ready for that one. He mentioned that he used to teach a Sunday school class for boys my age, before he moved here. I had to concede. Okay, I guess that makes sense. Did you get my candy bar? Bobby piped up, Yes, we got your candy bar. You owe me a dime. I went to my room and got the money. By the way, did you find out the new pharmacist’s name? Bobby assured me that his name was Jack Richmond, and he came here from Pennsylvania about three weeks ago. I have to be honest, I was just giving the guys a hard time. The only thing I was really interested in at the time was eating my Milky Way.

Looking back, I am trying to pinpoint the exact time I had the first major change in my life. Most adults would probably find this strange, but I’d have to say it was most likely when I was only six years old. At that time, I thought I was a pretty ordinary first-grade kid. I tolerated school, my favorite subject was recess, and I loved cowboy movies. Roy Rogers was my hero, and I had even gotten into trouble when I carved his name on the front of my chest of drawers. Life seemed pretty good, but I did have one burning desire. I wanted a horse more than anything else in the world. My parents kept telling me that we didn’t have anywhere to keep an animal as big as a horse, but that didn’t keep me from trying to figure out where we could put him or her. I wasn’t picky, a stallion or a mare, either one would have been all right.

Every Saturday morning, I ate my Cheerios or my Rice Krispies and listened to the radio. It was Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, the B-Bar-B Ranch, Sky King, and Gene Autry. It was the one thing my older brothers and I could agree on. We even liked one show that came on at night called The Shadow. We liked to go around saying What evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows, then we laughed this hideous drawn-out laugh, just like Lamont Cranston on the radio show. We never missed those radio shows, but when they were over, we went our separate ways.

I usually went outside and played with the Jackson kids who lived next door. My best friend was Jody Jackson, who, like me, was a major tomboy; and her main goal in life was to get a horse before I did. They had a bigger yard than we did, so I was afraid she just might talk her parents into building a barn. I know she had mentioned to me that they had room for a barn in their side yard, so I had to believe that she had done a little wheedling with her parents.

Jody was cute with her long dark pigtails and her blue jeans and tennis shoes. Not that she really gave much thought to being cute, or even to being a girl. Jody had a younger brother and sister that we graciously allowed to play cowboys and Indians with us. Of course, we got to decide who took the roles of cowboys and who got to be the Indians. I knew my family originally came from Scotland, but I was still sure that there had to be some Indians in my family somewhere.

I remember one particular Saturday in the spring of 1950, when the Jackson kids had gone somewhere with their father, and I was left to my own devices. I was out in the backyard hitting croquet balls through the wickets we had left in the ground a couple of weeks before. Then something really odd happened. I got a buzzing noise in my head; and I suddenly saw a vision of Jody’s mother, Mrs. Jackson, being hit from behind and falling backward down her basement stairs. Someone rushed past her, leaving her lying injured on the basement floor.

I yelled, Mom… Mom… come quick, hurry… hurry! Mom said, Evvie, what is it? I’m cooking dinner. I ran into the house and grabbed my mother by the arm. It must have been odd to see a little kid trying to pull a grown woman out of the house, but I was determined to get her to go with me. Mom, please! You have to come! Mrs. Jackson is lying at the bottom of her basement stairs. She’s bleeding, and she can’t get up! Mom asked, Evvie, how could you possibly know that? You haven’t left the yard. I’ve been standing here watching you out the window. But, Mom, I saw the whole thing! She was carrying her laundry basket in front of her when she started up the basement stairs. A man came up behind her and hit her with some kind of a big tool! Please, Mom! I don’t know how I saw it, but I know it happened. You have to come and help her! Mom’s face turned white, and she started to run toward the Jacksons’ house next door. I ran right behind her, trying to keep up. I found out then that Mom could really run. When I caught up with her, she was already bending over Mrs. Jackson and trying to talk to her. Mom said, Margaret, are you all right? Then Mom turned to me and said, Evvie, go get her a glass of water and some paper towels. I ran up to the kitchen and pulled one of the bar stools over to the sink and grabbed a clean glass out of the dish drain. While the glass was filling up with water, I pulled some paper towels off the roll beside the sink and headed back down the stairway. Mom held Mrs. Jackson’s head up and gave her a drink of water. Then she dipped one end of the paper towel into the water and started cleaning the blood off Mrs. Jackson’s face. Mom said, Wow! Margaret, you have quite a knot on your head. I think you should go to the ER. Mrs. Jackson agreed and whispered in a strained voice, Can you and Evvie take me? I don’t think I can drive. Mom said she would let my dad know what was happening, and she would be right back with the car. I waited with Mrs. Jackson, and I asked her if she knew what happened to her. She said, I was in the laundry room, and I thought I heard some noises in the rec room. I looked in here, but I didn’t see anything but Trixie sleeping behind the bar. Cats usually have very good hearing, but she didn’t seem to be aware of any problems, so I went back to the laundry room and got my laundry basket. I guess I was right the first time, and there really was someone in the house. He must have been hiding behind something in the rec room, and when I started up the stairs, he came up behind me and hit me with something. Mom came in about that time and said she had called the police from our house, and someone would take Mrs. Jackson’s statement at the hospital. After we were in the car headed for the hospital, Mom said the police told her to get us out of the house as quickly as she could because the intruder might still be in the house. I felt a chill go down my spine because I had seen him when he hit Mrs. Jackson, and he was pretty frightening. I didn’t tell my mom I saw his face. I knew the police wouldn’t believe me anyway, and I didn’t want such a bad man to know I had seen him.

When we got back home from the hospital, the police searched the Jackson house. They asked a few questions, but my mother said we hadn’t seen anyone. After we went home, Mother talked to me about Grandmother Duncan. It seems that my maternal grandmother had what the people in our family called a second sight. Mom said it usually skipped a generation, so she thought I must have been the one to inherit it. I was a little confused, but I thought maybe she was trying to explain to me how I knew Mrs. Jackson had been hurt.

Mom told me that she had grown up with a mother who saw things that other people did not see. She said it would be wise for me not to tell anyone about seeing what happened to Mrs. Jackson. She told me they had learned that most people would not understand how such visions were possible. That wasn’t surprising to me. I didn’t understand it either. I do think she told my dad what had happened because he gave me some funny looks over the next few days.

For several years after the Jackson incident, other things came up that made me sure I had inherited some of my grandmother’s talents. There was the time our dog, Lady, was missing; and I could see her trapped in the crawl space under a house down the street. That was when my older brothers, Bobby and Sam, became aware of my gift. They went down to the neighbor’s house, and sure enough Lady was trapped under their house. After that, they started asking me if I knew where their ball was or if they left a book at school. I would tell them, but Mom said they shouldn’t depend on me to think for them. She tried to explain that seeing visions of things was not a toy or an entertaining act. She said I should keep such a gift as a sacred trust, given to special people so they could use it to accomplish good in the world. Bobby and Sam did not see me as some kind of disciple chosen to lead my people in the paths of righteousness. I got tired of listening to all their flack, so I just told them where their things were and didn’t mention it to Mom.

There was even one time when Dad was late for work and couldn’t find his keys. He came to my room and very quietly asked if I could tell him where he put his keys the night before. I whispered, They’re in the pocket of your brown jacket, but don’t tell Mom I told you. I yawned, and he gave me a quick hug and whispered in my ear, I was going to ask you not to tell her. We both laughed, and he went off to get his keys.

These things came up over the years, and we were all aware of them, even Mom. However, nobody ever talked about it, not even with the family. We certainly never told anyone outside the family. We never even said anything to Mrs. Jackson. Oddly enough, she never asked how my mom knew she was lying on the basement floor. I was glad she didn’t, because I thought telling someone you had seen a vision would be pretty unbelievable. I was the one who had seen it, and I wasn’t sure I believed it either. The police didn’t catch the guy who broke into the Jacksons’ house, even though he had tried to pawn some of her jewelry. I wasn’t too concerned that they didn’t catch him, since I saw him, but he didn’t see me. In fact, I didn’t think much more about my gift until a few years later when I saw something that was a lot more disturbing.

Chapter 2

Several years passed, and I was still waking up in a cold sweat every time I dreamed about the portrait hidden somewhere in my future. Sometimes there was a body on the floor bleeding, and sometimes there was a lady who looked like me, only she was all grown up.

*     *     *

The year was now 1955, and I was eleven, almost twelve. I was still small for my age, and being the only girl child in my family, I had grown even more accustomed to being called a tomboy. I can remember that I used to stand in front of the mirror and practice looking mean and tough so my brothers would think twice before they picked on me. Sometimes it worked, and I could hold my own with them, but sometimes I ended up in tears. However, even when the tears came, I never let them see me cry. If they knew they had that kind of power, there would have been no hope for my survival.

My family lived in the small town of Coopersville, West Virginia, population 2,023. We lived in a little cottage at the bottom of the hill on Central Avenue, which had only one claim to fame. It was always the first street to be closed to traffic because of its extra slick surface in the winter ice and snow. We used to make sleds out of anything we thought would slide down the hill. It was really grand, flying down that icy slope, made even icier by the water the older kids poured on the road’s surface. We were very proud of that behind the scenes effort. Of course we were all sworn to secrecy. However, I am getting ahead of myself. This story really involves our whole town and not just our street.

Coopersville, or the Village, as it is called by most of its residents, is nestled between a tributary of the Ohio River on the north and an almost perfectly L-shaped chain of hills on the other three sides. It is also crisscrossed by a couple of railroad tracks. The most important thing about our little village, however, is an intangible town spirit. Everybody is like a close-knit family, and they go all out to support one another, especially our high school football team.

Driving through our town you can find some grand old homes built as early as 1810. Others were built sometime before the Civil War started in 1861. Most of these older homes can be found near the end of Main Street. Some were even damaged by cannon balls during a Civil War battle that took place right here in our little village. At that time, our town had been part of the state of Virginia, but after the war, this part of Virginia became the state of West Virginia. After we became a state, our little town continued to grow. Some of the houses from that era were smaller and more modest, but here and there, a few more grand homes were added to the mix. Then came the time when a bunch of smaller homes sprang up to accommodate the baby boomer families who settled down here when the Second World War ended.

Our town is located about fifteen miles from the second largest city in the state, and like most every other small towns in the U.S., you come into town on Main Street. The river runs along the right side of Main Street and a massive old personal care hospital sits atop the hill on the left. This huge structure is made of aging red brick and is built in an old colonial style, like a big Southern mansion with columns across the front. It once was the home of a very exclusive private college and had included four other old buildings. These four buildings have since been purchased by the county to be used as our junior high school. It is important to mention these buildings because they hold the key to the beginning of my life of crime.

The four junior high buildings were, of course, mainly used as classrooms. But up the hill behind the main bank of classrooms was the best building of all. We had been lucky enough to inherit the old college gymnasium. It was five stories of old red-orange brick built into the hillside. Only the top floor of the old gym was accessible from the walkway that ran up the hill from the main classroom building. That top floor contained a basketball court and had bleachers on either side. There were steps at the end of the bleachers on each side, leading down to the next level. This floor was divided into three large rooms, the one on the right was the boy’s dressing room, and on the left was a dressing room for the girls. Both of these rooms opened on their back sides into an even larger room that ran all the way across the back of the building. In fact, this room was large enough to hold three or four Ping-Pong tables. The junior high students were always curious about what was on the floors below this one, but no one was allowed to go down the mysterious flight of stairs behind the wall at the east end of the room. My oldest brother, Bobby, claimed that he had been told there was a swimming pool down there somewhere. Of course, we all wanted to be the one to make it down there to see the pool for ourselves. I will only say, at this time, that there is indeed a swimming pool down there. I will explain later how I managed to see the pool for myself.

The reason I mention the old gym at this time is the fact that our house sat right behind it on the part of Central Avenue that ran down the hill past the lowest level of the gym. All five stories were visible from the back and some floors had windows on that side. The bottom floor was at street level, and there was one singular door in the middle of that wall. Actually, my father told me that our little house was once a part of the old college. He said it had been occupied by the caretaker of the college buildings and grounds. I guess someone had to be in charge of such a large undertaking. Mowing alone would have required several workers, because the original campus encompassed at least five acres.

The house we lived in was just a small story and a half-frame house with peeling white paint and no particular style. It had a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and one very small bathroom on the main floor. The upstairs had a room on each side of the staircase. This space had never been properly finished, but my brothers slept up there with no complaints. The stairway went upstairs from the front wall of my bedroom which also served as the home of the laundry tubs and the door to the bathroom. It was definitely not what you would call private, but I never really thought about it. That is until this year when I turned eleven, and there was talk about a training bra. A girl can’t go into training with a parade of people coming in and out all the time. I don’t know of any way to get more privacy in this house. There is no place else to go. I can’t even change clothes in my room. I really need to talk to Mom. Maybe she has an idea.

I have noticed that I am spending a lot of time actually thinking about life and what I am going to do with the rest of mine. My brothers are both older than me, but I don’t believe they have ever seriously thought about anything. Sam does read a little, but mostly comic books. Nobody can believe that’s a mature endeavor. However, he may have to start reading his Sunday school lesson book, because our new pharmacist took him seriously when Sam invited him to church. It also looks like he is going to take on Sam’s Sunday school class. I think Sam may have outsmarted himself this time. Who could picture Sam as an outstanding Sunday school scholar?

Bobby’s claim to fame at this time in his life is having the highest points on the pinball machine at the junior high’s corner hangout. Bobby is going to the high school next year. I think the little cafe across the street from the high school has a pinball machine too. If not, Bobby does have one other thing going for him. He has been recruited for the ever famous Coopersville High School Football Team. That could even be a big plus for Sam and me. I’ll have to give that little glimpse of popularity a lot more thought. There has never been a time when I have thought of my older brothers as being an asset. I have mostly thought of them as a constant pain. They can really give me a hard time. Even so, I love them both and would defend either of them to the best of my ability. Of course I would never let them know that.

This is my last year of school