A Night in the Old Dark House - Part One

 

     

         “Why me!” Oliver exclaimed. “I didn’t really know him much. If anyone, I would expect them to ask for George; at least he worked for Frank one summer.” Oliver Haroldsen shook his head as he read the telegram for the third time, confused by the scant explanation provided. He was to be at the Hitt mansion the next evening as a participant in the reading of millionaire Frank Hitt’s will. “And check this out; the reading is going to be at midnight! Can you believe this?”

     “Maybe you are named in the will,” suggested Eva with absolutely no conviction.

     “Hardly. It's his wife, Minnie requesting me, not the attorney,” responded Oliver as he scanned the clerical information at the bottom of the telegram.

     “Ah, I have it,” said Morgan with overt soberness. “It is your saintly reputation, yes, your saintly presence that is needed to help usher old Frank through the pearly gates.”

     This statement actually did have a slight bit of logic to it. Oliver was well-known as the great peacemaker of the small community of Jarnigan, Idaho.  He was always the first to run the gauntlet between two heated antagonists, armed only with a calm voice and, hopefully, words of reason. Perhaps this was the service that Minnie Hitt needed at this time. She might have witnessed Oliver’s questionable attempt to bring peace between her own brawling farm hands earlier that season. With the Haroldsen farm across the road from the Hitts, he spotted an altercation brewing between the Anglo and the Chinese men. It turned out that neither side appreciated his intervention. They paid him for his nosiness by volleying him between the two factions with kung fu kicks alternating with fisticuff punches. At least he learned practical discretion on that painful day. But maybe Mrs. Hitt recognized a don quixote for possible later use.

     “Mrs. Hitt is certain to have a good reason for requesting you,” assured Mama Annie. “That woman has done a lot for this family.  Do this for her.  Knowing Minnie Hitt as I do, she is a woman to be trusted.” That settled everything. Once Mama had made her will known, there was nothing more to be said, at least not in her presence.

*      *      *     *     *

     Almost ten o’clock.  Oliver wished that he was heading for his own bed, but instead, he was going into an extremely uncomfortable situation. The three-story Hitt mansion stood silhouetted against an angry night sky. Unseen lightning pulsed behind colossal, billowing clouds. Though he had passed this way on many occasions, nothing looked familiar anymore.  Mounds in the yard looked suspiciously like grave stones, yet this could not be.  They must be heaps of autumn leaves awaiting cremation.  And then there were the faces.  They seemed to be everywhere, staring back at him.  They gazed down from the branches of the gnarled trees and from every window of the house. He could see a dark figure standing, no, suspended, swaying within the tower's upper alcove.  Two ghostly lights flickered in the void where a face should be.

 

     As he stepped onto the porch, the heavy rain began. “How convenient,” Oliver muttered to himself.  “I’ve read about this before. I’ll be dead by morning.”

     The bell pull produced a muffled Westminster chime somewhere in the heart of the mansion.  Oliver could hear footsteps coming closer along with voices. “Minnie, shall we get the door?” No audible response, yet after a moment the door opened. A breathtakingly beautiful young woman beckoned for him to enter, flanked by two other equally angelic forms. 

   

     “Ah, young master Oliver,” greeted Minnie Hitt, who stepped out from behind these young visions. “Thank you so much for coming. I know that I can rely on you.  We are just about to settle down for a late supper, and I have just the spot for you.”  She ushered him down a candle-lit hallway. 

     Oliver forced his eyes and thoughts away from the charms of these young women to puzzle over the need for candles.  This was the twentieth century for heaven’s sake.  Electric lights were even available out at his own family farmhouse. Well perhaps, he thought, the electrical storm might have knocked out the system. There was nothing surprising in that.

     As they proceeding towards the dining room, Mrs. Hitt drew Oliver aside. “No matter what you see tonight, do not panic. Do not overreact. Know that it is only an illusion. Just do your duty as a gentleman and keep to your principles." Then she brightened. "Maybe when this is all over, we will laugh. And,” she added, “you can be certain that I will make it worth your while, if you go along with my little joke.

     They came into a Victorian-style dining room set out for an elaborate meal. For a boy who was used to nothing more savory than bread and milk in the evening, the meal alone was going to instantly become legend in the retelling.

     The dining arrangements proved to be easy on the eyes and hard on the heart. Three young women were seated directly across from Oliver, while two additional beauties were situated on each side of his own seat.  He found his head spinning. It was hard to breathe and he wondered how all this lovely intoxication might affect his digestion. He already felt like throwing up out of nervousness. He only prayed that his farm-boy manners did not embarrass any of them, let alone himself.