Professor Janice McDade
Our Lady of Grace Ministerial College
12 Wigham Dr.
North Umberland, Ohio 44431
Professor McDade,
What days are these that have come to this house, uninvited, unwanted, and so unexpected? They are so contrary to all we have ever known. I tell you truly it as if I were in a dream. The kind that haunts and, though you are asleep, causes a type of moaning one would only expect to hear in the most hellish of places. Cindy moans this way. She calls out my name in her unrest and in her voice is that tone of udder helplessness. Her calls alarm me and I turn quickly to calm her. She is my love and has been all these many years since even before our marriage some 35-years ago. Yet I can give her no more comfort than to pull the blankets up over her shoulders and stroke her hair. Hair that seems to have greyed more suddenly over these past few months. I love her. I do so with all of my being. But this invisible madness that has crept in like a serpent and spat its venom on the whole of our family, which tears at the key tone f it and would have us all fall to pieces to its satisfaction. I am afraid. Confrontation, calling out to God for mercy, only seems o make our misery all the more extreme.
I come to you now Professor, for the sake of us all, to find the answer to this truly awful enigma. We are so close to our ends that the feel of it is a type of burden that has a character of its own. It has form, it has weight, and most disturbingly, it has purpose. That purpose is what confounds us. We are at that state of mind presently that were we to know its hunger we would gladly serve to it whatever pleasure necessary to appease its appetite if only to earn one night of restful peace. Perhaps it would be helpful for you if, at this juncture, I recapitulate events as best as my memory shall serve. I dare not leave out anything. I fear that the one thing I might omit can be that one significant iece of the puzzle that leads to our success. I desire only that you, in your reading, could somehow sense the trembling of my hand at the scrawling of every word. I apologize in advance for the imagery and profound soberness I choose my words. You will agree in due course that there was no other way.
It all began two years ago, shortly after the Christmas holiday, at a time when we were all at our most cheerful. Christmas that year was, rightfully to say, the best of times. Ben, our oldest son, he's 32-years old now, was there for Christmas Day with his wife Alycia and their two kids Jimi, 17, alan, 16. Cindy prepared her finest holiday feast ever that, in concert with sweet conversation, much laughter, and an exchange of heartfelt gifts gave us much pleasure. We moved our merriment from the dining room to the living room where we had hardwood burning in the fireplace the aromatics of which only added to the occasion. It was at the dimming of our affair, when all things were quieter, that there came a hearty knocking at the front door. t was around 5:00 PM. The sun had already set but it was not yet dark outside. There was still that measure of soft winter evening glow that glistened on the snow making it sparkle like bits of glass had been strewn about its surface. Just before my hand touched the knob to open the door the knock came again. This time the knock was so intense I quickly withdrew my hand and for a moment just stared at the untaken knob. Collecting myself I opened the door. A wisp of chilly air pushed its way inside and encircled me causing my face to turn away and my body to slightly shiver. Turning back towards the opened door I was surprised to find no person standing there. I could see only snow gently falling onto the front porch and whirl wisps running across the lawn then evaporating once they encountered the sidewalk. I looked up and down the street. Nothing. Nobody. Whomever it was that knocked had vanished. I was about to shut the door when I noticed that someone had placed a Christmas card on top of our Welcome mat. I was pleased to see the card. We had not received as many as we typically get each year so this "special delivery" I found amusing. It was while kneeling down to pick up the card that I noticed something quite peculiar. There were no footprints in the snow. I picked up the card and walked out to the edge of the porch. Looking out I could see no prints on the steps, nor was there any in the sidewalk. My amazement was interrupted by my wife calling out from the kitchen "whoever it is honey tell them to come in and join us by the fire for an eggnog!" then other family voices excited by the prospect of moms eggnog spiked, as she says, with a little brandy and a bunch of love. We gathered around the fireplace, with our eggnogs raised, and drank a toast to the family and another great holiday. Then Ben interrupted the cheer, "what's that you got in your hand dad?" "Oh", I replied. "Whoever it was that knocked a bit ago dropped this in front of our door" I held up the card so all in the room could see. Everyone's gaze turned towards the card. In the light of the room the envelope had a yellowish tint to it and its edges were a dark brown almost as if they had been burned. My wife took the card from my hand. "I wonder who this could be from" she wondered aloud. She then lifted the card to her nose and breathed in. "It has an awfully musty smell to it don't you think?" "It does" I replied "I was just about to say so as well." Ben then took command of the card. "Well let's see who it's from then shall we?" He opened the envelope and pulled out the card. "Well this certainly is vintage" he said with a wry smile. "Who is it from?" asked Alycia. "I am not sure" said Ben "there is no signature. We all examined the card. It was a picturesque winter scene of a house, decorated with a holiday wreath, and the words "Fear Not for I AM With You Always" emblazoned across the top in old time calligraphy. The card, in due course, was taped to the wall with the other cards we received to date. At the end of the holiday season all the cards were placed into a box in the attic along with the cards from Christmas's past spanning decades. Many months passed and the strange way the card came into our home was all but forgotten only to be remembered during offbeat conversation.
Then, perhaps the middle of April, during a spring thunderstorm, came the next event. It was somewhere in the middle of the night. My wife and I were both fast asleep. The only sound in the house was that of an oscillating fan and the tick-tock of the pendulum on an old wall clock my wife had discovered in the attic a few days after we moved into the house some 30-years ago. There was a loud crash of thunder that caused my wife and I to sit up in our bed simultaneously. In that instant the clock and the fan both stopped. "The storm must have knocked out the electric" I said while rubbing my wife's arm to calm her. "It should come back on in a moment." I no sooner said those words when indeed the fan started back up and the clock resumed its gentle tick-tock movement. "There we go" I said assumingly. "Let's try to get back to sleep" I said smiling "before another storm wakes us up again." My wife would not lie down. She just sat there staring at the clock. "What's the matter honey?" I asked while sitting up and throwing an arm over her shoulders. "The clock" she said with a nervous twinge in her voice "it winds up… it is not plugged in to the electric."