The Tree Goddess

Dedications

To Bear (my wife) and my two daughters, Megan and Lauren.

To my Mother and Father.

And to my Grandmother who enjoys my writings. I hope she likes this one, too!

Preface

The light of a candle flickers, bobs and sways throughout the hours in a darkened, old house. Perhaps it sits at a dusty table in an attic or some corner of the basement. At the table, nothing more than a pen scribbles on sheets of paper by a seemingly unguided force.

This is the sight you might expect to see at some haunted house in the darkest hours of night. And this is the time of night when the material was written for this novel. 2:30 in the morning, I would sometimes joke with myself and wonder if I wrote as if something from the coffin, dead. Yes, arising during the witching hour can certainly lead one to feel drained of all life; especially as the day progresses long into the afternoon hours. But those many hours alone in the dark of night had proven to be the most precious moments of creativity.

Looking back at the entire growth of The Tree Goddess, I believe the initial spark that put the story in motion took place while my wife, kids and I were packing up boxes to move into a new residence. At the time, my 9 year old daughter (oldest) was cautioned of a box of fragile centerpieces that I claimed to be expensive antiques. Only being silly with the child, in truth, the items were cheap and could easily be replaced. Challenged by my daughter that the claim was fiction, the stories I made up for each item were enough to draw laughter from the wife and kids.

Writing off and on for a number of years, a website was created to showcase my short stories and unusual essays. Halloween week had always been a special celebration on the site as it featured spooky, Halloween-related material. And in the spring of 2009, the plan was to make Halloween really special with some fantastic, original material. The stories that were centered on the box of fragile items which entertained my wife and kids while moving were planned to be developed into detailed writings. Spending some weeks, 5 short stories were written. Upon their completion, I realized that they were all related. In fact, with only a few alterations, the same characters could have appeared throughout.

But writing a novel is no easy task! The Tree Goddess had been written not once, not twice, but three times! After my second try, it was realized that I needed to further develop the craft of storytelling. Since I had done much technical writing in my job, the first two drafts of the Tree Goddess were nothing more than technical papers with logical presentations that attempted to describe the bizarre and supernatural happenings of Mapleview.

My story book, Freaked out Horror was the training ground where I created a collection of strange and morbid tales and then added a macabre tone, something which I had never done before. It was written after my 2nd attempt of writing the Tree Goddess. Satisfied with what I had written, I was confident that the 3rd attempt of the Tree Goddess would prove successful. Now, in 2010, the novel is complete and ready to be released. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy the completed product.

But there is one thing that I need to call to the reader's attention. Being that there are four disappearances in the fictional town of Mapleview, I found it necessary to divide the book into four parts. It's only right to venture into each character's past and reveal the events which led to another disappearance in Mapleview. As you read part one, the story will unfold with Mary, who purchases the historic Trivelli house from her aunt and has some bizarre experiences. Towards the end of part one, we witness the first disappearance of Mapleview. But then part two will venture 10 years into a new character's past. Towards the end, that character's decade will track back into the running story of the book so that we resume where part one had left off. Had I not partitioned the novel this way, it would have been confusing for the reader. And had I given a proper, sequential three decades of the events in Mapleview, the work would have been extremely boring and lengthy. Presenting it as four parts is best.

Recently, I took a family vacation to the Black Hills of South Dakota. During this trip, I was fascinated with not only the mountainous, western landscapes that were highlighted by pines; but also the history of the area. Towards the end of my stay, I was very, much aware that the Black Hills region was victim to General Custer's invasion and then a gold rush which further contributed to the interesting history of the area. And there were so many antique buildings, mining shacks and caves; each with stories of their own. One could become an expert of local history just by living there.

Returning home to polish my final draft of the Tree Goddess, I soon realized that there are history buffs who know many details of our nation's history. I thought of this while noticing that the story goes into great lengths, describing the setting of the novel along with the region's history. Wolves populate the dense forests, and of course, tribes of Native Americans had populated fictional Mapleview, long before the town was established in 1830.

But it's important to know that Mapleview is fictional! Don't bother trying to solve exactly where in America Mapleview is located. The very fact that Mapleview was founded in 1830 might lead an expert to pinpoint an area in this country that was settled in during that timeframe. And then one might conclude that dense forests shouldn't be located in a particular area, or that wolves are not indigenous to a certain imagined part of the country. Again, Mapleview is fictional; and so are the accounts of its history.

I hope you enjoy this novel. And to all my readers who have read my daily edits all of these years: this book contains the material that was originally supposed to run on Halloween week of 2009.

Tom Raimbault

Frankfort, Illinois

July 16, 2010

Contents [Automatically Generated]

Prelude: Painting on a Bottle of Wine

On a Saturday, mid-October night a beautiful woman accompanied the man she had been falling in love with to his duplex condo in the rural town of Robin Creek. It was about an hour drive from Mapleview.

It was a typical night out, absolutely wonderful as the hours flew by like minutes. Many have experienced the blissful moments of falling in love, when we desire to spend every waking second with that special someone. During this moment, Dana hated the idea of going home for the evening to endure the absence of this wonderful man for the week. He had business matters that needed attention on Sunday, and most likely would not see Dana until Friday. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to go back to his place, let him crack open a bottle of wine and spend some more wonderful time together. It was, after all, what had been suggested.

A peculiar painting, somewhat comical and somewhat grotesque, was displayed on a bottle of red wine. It was one of those inexpensive wines that one might find on sale at a discount store. Perhaps to give it more appeal, the bottle was indicated as special, limited-edition for Halloween. The orange background along with jack-o-lanterns suggested a spooky, autumn theme.

But the subject of the painting was silly! It was nothing more than a half-tree, half-human creature that was recognizably female with firm, shapely thighs; large breasts and woman-like arms.

The bottle sat on a coffee table in a candlelit living room and enjoyed on that Saturday, mid-October night.

Hey, I actually know the guy who did the painting for this bottle.

Dana was used to his wild stories, created just to amuse her, and at first assumed this was one of them.

No seriously! And the artwork is really no laughing matter. The actual story behind the painting was gruesome enough, and because the vineyard wanted to release a limited Halloween edition, they figured it would be the perfect artwork.

Dana looked at the picture on the bottle and was a bit confused. I don't get it. When I think of Halloween; I think of ghosts, witches or vampires; not a half woman, half tree thing. But as the conversation continued, it was pointed out that the vineyard added a couple of jack-o-lanterns on the picture and highlighted the Halloween tone with an orange background. The story behind the painting made it worthy to be Halloween material.

Dana drew closer and took another sip of her wine. Okay, so what's the story behind the painting?

Well, it all started with a mysterious disappearance that took place in the town of Mapleview.

The very mention of Mapleview perked Dana's interest, The Mapleview disappearances? I remember those from the news.

Part One: The Mausoleum

Chapter 1

You pass through them while driving on vacation; the peaceful, historic towns surrounded by miles of forests, lakes, mountains and untouched wilderness. And yet some of them appear to be thriving communities complete with every convenience and luxury one would expect to find in the city or suburbs. Such towns have been known to generate income from a yearly flow of tourists. Or they can be occupied by individuals such as artists, writers or people who travel much in their jobs. This is the sort of town Mapleview is.

Founded in the early 1800s, it offers a place for people to get away from it all and finally live in an area that values peace, quiet and communion with nature. But there's an unknown, dark side to that wonderful town where most people would only dream of living. Some attribute it to a mysterious sentience that blankets the town in a wilderness deep in unknown history. Some explain that the legendary Trivelli house continues to curse the area since the well known tragedy that took place in the 1830s. Other residents adopt a more sensible theory and state that many of the people in that town are simply crazy.

There's a private section of forest near the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve in Mapleview that has been owned by the Trivelli family since 1832. One must travel uphill on a half-block driveway to get to the historical house. The house overlooks the actual lake that is in Hidden Lake Forest Preserve, and has become an icon to residents of Mapleview who gaze up to the old house on the hill. As mentioned before, the house has a terrible legend that really seems to be fed by those who continue to tell the story.

Although the story in this book is focused on the time when Mary owned the Trivelli house, it is probably best to give a very, brief account of the last person's experiences who resided there, just to understand what Mary had walked into.

It was two years before the sale of the legendary, historic house of Mapleview, and two years before the series of mysterious disappearances. Terri was the last tenant of Loraine Trivelli. Loraine inherited the historic house that had been passed down for generations.

Terri drove on a Saturday morning through the heavily forested highways with nothing but miles of wilderness and seclusion to surround her. Finally reaching Mapleview Road, she soon found the oversized, historic house and ascended the half-block driveway where Loraine Trivelli had greeted her.

Loraine was a friendly, older woman; perhaps in her early 60s with an air of grace and of following all things that were proper. She led Terri into the home and provided a tour of the place which most people only dream of.

It's a house that was built in the 1830s and has been passed down through the generations. As you can see it's fully furnished, many of the pieces antiques. If you decide to stay, I only ask that you make no changes to the decorating and structure as this is a historic landmark to the town of Mapleview.

It was a beautiful home in a quiet town, and just the place for Terri to rediscover her talent for art. How could she turn down such a place?

So what brings you to Mapleview, if you don't mind me asking? Loraine was always curious of her potential tenants.

I'm an artist, just looking for a quiet place and some inspiration. Peace and quiet was something that Terri most certainly needed, considering the stress and near nervous breakdown experienced at the company just outside of Chicago that specialized in biomedical manufacturing. The wirey-thin, middle-aged blonde who served as a punching bag to management and the FDA alike could no longer take the damage. Threats of being fired because of production mishaps, and threats of heavy fines from the FDA inspectors were squeezing the very life out of her. There was no reason to stay as she had other talents and plenty of finances saved up. Many people left the company under similar circumstances. It was just Terri's turn.

Oh, I get plenty of artists and writers who stay here for a year or more so they can complete a work. It seemed to Loraine that her historic house was the ideal place for people like Terri to live, offering peace and quiet in the communion of nature.

But then Terri hinted towards a question, hoping not to offend Loraine. It's so nice here and peaceful. I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to leave after a year or so.

Loraine wasn't going to take Terri's curiosity personal. Although she desired to keep renters for longer periods, the legend and stigmatism of the house eventually pushed tenants away. She was lucky to have a renter like Terri who needed a quiet place to stay. Loraine very calmly speculated, Oh, I suppose people want to move on. Not much happens here in Mapleview. I'm sure after a couple of years; you might want a new environment for inspiration as well.

Again, the historic house was beautiful and sat in a quiet town. It was just the place for Terri to rediscover her talent for art. How could she turn down such a place? The rental agreement was filled out that very day.

* * *

Certainly not expecting inspiration to immediately hit her, Terri spent some time getting acquainted with the historic house and the small, charming town of Mapleview. As a gentle reminder to creativity's subconscious, Terri did set up her oil canvass in the living room, just in front of the old piano with antique vase seated on top. The vase was certainly in need of fresh flowers, and her oil canvass was in need of inspiration.

The Trivelli house overlooks the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve and backs into a narrow, wooded path that descends to the bottom of the forest. Returning from her first nature hike one morning, Terri took sight of the historic house from a distance and realized that it had been built on throughout the 150 years or more since its original construction. She could see the very center of the building which revealed the possible appearance of the home as it would have looked in the 1830s. That was the moment of initial inspiration. The canvass was brought outside, some distance from the house, and the brush strokes began to take form.

The exclusive colors were blue and light-gray, ignoring the lush greens and browns of the forest world. Terri was unable to create a clear, discernable image of the house and attributed the stymie to the fact that she was painting the building as it looked 150 or more years ago. The end product was eerie, dark-toned and suggested a haunted environment. Maybe the inspiration was a bad idea. Terri decided to bring the painting inside and work on it after dinner that night. But the house, itself, seemed to welcome the painting. It almost complimented Terri and congratulated her on the fine work!

Terri became obsessed with the imagined presence that adored her artwork. It was necessary to personify the presence that was drawn as tall and dark, wearing a suit and seated at the piano bench. Just like the painting of the house, his face was made barely discernable; but there were subtle characteristics of being handsome.

One could almost consider Terri's art as a medium that attempted to understand the paranormal presence in the home. All paintings created after the attempted personification became increasingly horrific; which illustrated various rooms with walls to include bodies trapped behind them, along with ghostly people who pounded to escape.

Terri suffered from a lack of sleep, lost her appetite and remained obsessed with the horrific paintings. The final two were much too disturbing to mention; but it can be said that they reflected her pain and loss of life that had been brought on by the legendary, historic house. With her realization, she escaped and never returned to the town of Mapleview.

As for Loraine Trivelli, it was just one of many tenants lost. For years she rented the house out to people, needing a quiet place to do their art or write their novels. These were usually people from out of state and unaware of the terrible legend of the Trivelli house. After some time, these renters would become outraged that they rented a stigmatized property and terminated their rental agreement with Loraine.

Upon inheriting the home to herself at the death of her father, Loraine thought that using the house as a pricey rental property would be an excellent source of income. But since the renters were far and few between, the house was more of a burden, so she decided to sell.

* * *

Loraine's niece, Mary, heard word of her aunt's plan to sell and immediately offered to purchase before it went on the market. She cashed in on some investments and paid for the house in full, as she did not want to lose the home she always wanted since a little girl. This, of course, disappointed the local Realtors who had already been talking to Loraine.

Mary didn't care about the legend of the house. It was a beautiful, historic house and the perfect place to enjoy her soon-to-be husband and raise a family. Her wedding was two months away and she and her fiancé, Daren, decided that taking up residence in Mapleview would be a great idea. Daren traveled the country; demonstrating innovative, new medical equipment and could set up residence anywhere. His job only required quick access to the airport. Mary planned on getting her old job back at the flower shop in town.

Are you sure you're going to be happy here? Loraine and her niece, Mary, came back to the Trivelli house after their closing in town. Mary now had full-ownership, and Loraine accompanied her niece back to her new home just to make sure she was happy. The house was fully furnished with beautiful, antique furniture that had been accumulated in the Trivelli family for over 150 years. It was a sweet deal for Mary; simply buy the house, settle in and get married.

Why wouldn't I be happy here? This has been my house ever since I could remember. I've always wanted this house.

Well, it's stigmatized and might have some sort of curse. I'm actually glad to get it off my hands.

It's a legend! And really it shouldn't be a legend. It was just a tragic accident! For years, Mary believed her aunt had a neurotic obsession with the supposed curse of what was now Mary's beautiful home. And the last thing she wanted to hear on the day of the closing was that her dream home had such a stigmatism.

But Loraine continued, feeling she needed to set her niece straight of the supposed legend of the Trivelli House. Just a legend? I'm well aware of the legend. Grandma and Grandpa Trivelli built this house and lived here when Mapleview was just a half-block of stores about a mile away from here.

Considering that people of previous generations had married at 18 (or younger) and immediately had children, it was very possible to have five generations within a span of 100 years. For that matter, a long list of greats could prefix Grandma and Grandpa which could be redundant when mentioning them. To remedy this, Loraine, and anyone else who spoke of the tragedy, simply called the original owners of the Trivelli house from 1830, Grandma and Grandpa Trivelli.

Aunt Loraine continued her story to Mary, "One winter, Grandpa came down with a life-threatening flu and was in bed with a very, high fever. Grandma went outside to get some firewood and according to Grandpa, his wife's voice could be heard, screaming, buried beneath the noise of a wild pack of wolves. In his words, they dragged her off into the woods! Grandpa was too weak and sick to get out of bed; so sick, in fact, that it wasn't until early spring when he reported the disappearance of his wife to police.

And I'm sure the Mapleview police were just as slip-shoddy with their investigations, then, as they are now. According to their daughter who was young then, but sleeping during the supposed night that her mother was dragged off by wolves, her father was a binge drinker and had seasonal depressions. She said he would become violent and beat his wife in the night. I don't think wolves dragged Grandma Trivelli off as the legend claims; nor do I think that Grandpa was in bed with a fever.

According to their daughter, earlier that day, her father came home smelling of booze and started a huge fight with his wife. Then he went down into the basement to get an axe. When he came upstairs, he proceeded to chop up the kitchen stove into tiny pieces while laughing. It was the most God-awful sight. And when there was nothing left, he looked at his wife and said he had an early Christmas present while raising the axe and implying she was next. But it was all in good fun for Grandpa Trivelli. The surprise was he had a brand, new stove for his terrified wife. Imagine chopping up a stove while laughing, just to surprise the one you love with a new one. And imagine doing all of that while deathly ill with the flu. Their daughter said she heard plenty of fighting and beatings on the night that her mother was supposedly dragged off by wolves."

Mary was amazed and further convinced that her neurotic aunt grew steadily worse as the years progressed. For someone who wasn't alive when these supposed events took place, she knew everything!

Aunt Loraine was completely absorbed in discovering family history and continued with the knowledge she had. "I believe Grandma Trivelli was murdered in this house because of a generational curse that was put on the women in this family. I've been researching the history of this curse, but it seems that many of the women in our family die horrific deaths throughout the centuries. And the husbands are all heavy drinkers… borderline psychotic…"

Mary could tell what was coming next. She was going to get the talk about marrying Daren. It was almost as if her aunt's voice had increased a notch in volume to make a point.

It's why I have never been married. Are you sure that Daren is the right man for you? Seems like a nice man but…

Mary quickly cut her off. He's fine Aunt Loraine! And yes, I'm sure I'm doing the right thing. I don't build my life around legends and family curses while dwelling in what happened before I was born.

Well, I suppose you're right. I just want to make sure you're happy and want to clear my conscience of selling you a place that I feel is stigmatized. But as long as you are okay with it; welcome back home Mary.

One might think that Aunt Loraine is as Mary believes: obsessed to the point of neurosis and eagerly misconstruing of vague facts to mold reality. But in Aunt Loraine's mind, she firmly believed that there was something wrong with that house and simply needed to clear her conscience of selling it to her niece.

* * *

Mary sat out on the deck that overlooked the lake that night while talking to her fiancé on the phone. It's so quiet here. You're going to love it. Daren I can't wait until you spend a night. It's the perfect house and town for us. You're still coming out here this weekend, right? It was then that Mary noticed that Daren was not himself and finally voiced her concern, What's wrong? I can tell something is wrong?

Daren finally broke the bad news to Mary. Well, they're sending me out to Missouri, tomorrow, to demo a unit at a weekend convention. I'm not going to be able to come out this weekend. I'm sorry.

Needless to say, Mary was disappointed but remained understanding. It was, after all, Daren's job that made it possible to live in the beautiful, historic house and live in the town of Mapleview.

There was much to do in the new house. Although fully furnished and in livable condition, it was necessary to sort through her smaller, personal belongings; put clothes away; and of course, stock up on food. When Daren finally moved in, the same would need to be done with his personal items. And of course she would be confronted with the challenge of explaining that not everything needed to come with him!

It's an interesting house when considering the construction. The initial building was a small dwelling for Mary's grandparents (from the 1830s), but had been added on throughout the 150-some years while owned by the family. Several additions along with modernized utilities helped the home grow into a rather large, historical house. And one of those modernized utilities that Mary looked forward to was the shower. She recalled enjoying it while staying at the house during her teen years.

Mary finally stepped into the shower after her long, exhausting day. The shower was a drug for Mary that cleared her mind of everything, placing her mind at ease. She forgot about wolves dragging her grandmother into the forest. She forgot about husbands chopping up furniture in the house and murdering their wives. And she somehow found herself to be understanding that Daren had an important job which required his presence over the weekend.

Two hours into her night's rest, Mary was startled awake by a vivid and terrifying dream. Holding out her hands in defense; one was grabbed, held down on a table and quickly chopped off, yielding startling pain. Now awake, Mary could hear a violent storm outside while she quickly turned the light on to examine her hand, thinking she had injured it while sleeping. No injuries were noticed and it moved fine. Perhaps she bumped it on the nightstand in her sleep.

Mary turned the light back off and laid in bed while listening to the storm. A woman must learn to hide like a frightened, little girl when trapped by an angered man. All her days and nights should be spent attentive to his moods and hoping that this morning, this afternoon or this evening won't be a sudden metamorphosis into an evil monster. And now he was coming for her, up the stairs, to punish panic-stricken Mary who could not escape.

But Mary did nothing wrong! How could this man be angry with her?

That's the point: such a man has no rationale for his change of mood!

"Crash!" It was a starling noise downstairs that forced Mary to spring from her bed. It was best for her to hide! He was really angry this time and was prepared to hurt her. As Mary hid and crouched in the dark closet, a flood of speculations entered her mind. Most disturbing was the realization that when he finally found the intimidated, little girl; the punishment would be far harsher. Hiding was forbidden, and so was protecting the face or other parts of the body during beatings.

Light: Mary needed to quickly flash on one of the lights. That would pull her out of whatever hallucination she was having. It must have been some half-awake / half-dreaming thing. There was no one living with her, and as a grown woman, she wasn't about to hide from any man who intended to punish her. A sobering flood of light and a few gentle smacks on the face pulled Mary out of the trance. But she still had the crashing noise downstairs to investigate. Hopefully a tree branch didn't blow through the window.

Once downstairs, Mary found everything completely intact and undisturbed. But she wasn't about to go down into the basement at night. As Mary recalled, the basement was very scary for her when she visited the house as a little girl. She would wait until morning to go down and investigate.

Perhaps she could have called Daren before going back to sleep. Mary was certainly in need of the welcome sound of his voice after the startling dream and sudden, unexplained hallucination of an angry man coming to deliver punishment. But what was this? Daren did not answer his phone. Where was he on that late, Thursday night that was now Friday morning? It was 1:20am on her clock which meant it would be 12:20am where he lived. Daren didn't have to leave for the airport until 8:00am that morning. At least that was what he told her on the phone when breaking the bad news about Missouri.

She called his cell phone, but Daren still did not answer. She texted him. Hello???? Where are you?????

But there was no reply.

Attempting to call her fiancé certainly did help her forget about the frightening episode as she was now worried about Daren. Did he get in an accident? Was he out on a date with some woman? Now all she could do was lay awake and wonder why her fiancé wasn't answering his phone. She called two more times throughout the night but could not reach him. She finally fell asleep around 4:30am.

Mary awoke the following morning with nauseating adrenaline, wondering if Daren was okay. She called his home and cell, but there was no answer. Where was he? She heard of this phenomenon before; a significant other moves away which spells the end of what appeared to be a beautiful love. Still, she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Daren being unreachable. But was he hurt?

Since it was now morning, Mary felt safe to go downstairs in the basement and investigate anything broken. She was now fully convinced that the loud crash was only part of last night's hallucination. But still, it was best to ensure that all was well. If you've ever been in a basement of an old home, it's unlike the ones we see in modern dwellings. And really the basement of Mary's historic dream-home was not a basement at all. It was a cellar that provided just enough headroom to walk around in and seemed to be made for storage only. The floor was a collection of large, flat rocks joined together with cement. Although a crudely-finished area, the cellar did have 2 rooms that, as Mary remembered, were an old tool room and a canned goods room.

As a little girl, Mary hated venturing past the cistern and deeper into the cellar where those two rooms were. And in the musty, dimly-lit place where she stood now; Mary still hated the idea, especially after the strange feelings of last night.

She gazed into the canned goods room and took notice of all the mason jars and antique cans of vegetables that were perhaps 50 or more years old. And there, on one of the shelves, sat the oversized mason jar of some dark, oily liquid that had been there ever since she could remember. As a child, she and her brother and sister often dared one another to open the jar, and drink some of the liquid. No one was brave enough to open it. But the jar sat there and looked just as nauseating as ever. Now that Mary owned the house, she was going to throw all this stuff out, including the oversized jar of dark, oily liquid.

She gazed into the tool room, an area that had always intrigued Mary. The room contained a collection of antique tools that probably should have been sitting in a historical museum as many of them looked to be pre-20th century. Supposedly, Grandpa Trivelli built that tool room, the old bench, and stored his own tools in there. She walked in and studied the collection of antique equipment and took notice of a very, old axe that was hung on the wall along with shovels and hammers. Mary laughed to herself and spoke out loud. Is this the axe that chopped up the stove?

And then she needed to explore the texture of the old workbench that her grandfather built. She ran her fingers across the dusty, old wood while realizing it would be necessary to wash her hands. That bench was dirty and had decades, nearly two centuries of dirt and grease on it. But running her fingers on the bench was not enough. She was compelled to study the workbench, examine any damage; hammer marks, or even gash marks from an axe. Then right at the edge of the bench she found an old gash that certainly resembled an axe blade. She was going to reach for the axe on the wall to compare the length of the cut against the blade, but heard the tool room door close behind her which shut her in the small, dark room.

That wasn't an event Mary was welcome to at the moment. It brought her back to her childhood fears of being alone in that room. To make matters worse, the sounds of feet could be heard scuffing across the floor on the other side of the door. Fortunately the door didn't lock (why would it?) and Mary ran out of the room and back upstairs. She needed to get out of the house for a while and get her mind off things.

* * *

Mary spent the morning in town at the flower shop, visiting her old boss and friend who had agreed to hire her when she moved back to Mapleview. They went over some of the details of the new job which was very much like the old one, but had a few changes. Then they had lunch together and Mary agreed to start work on Monday morning.

Her friend, and soon-to-be-boss, Shelly, was amazed with the fact that Mary had purchased the legendary Trivelli house and was living in it. Your aunt just could not keep renters in that house. I guess the last woman who lived there quit a very, stressful management job at a biomedical manufacturing company. She moved out here and hoped to resume her long, lost love of art. But she wasn't able to paint because of how disturbing the house was.

Mary wanted to know more. Did you know her? How did you find this out?

But then just like all the gossip and legends passed down about her home, Shelly could only speak of the hearsay as it applied to the desperate artist who was staying at