A Rendezvous with Death

Chapter 12 "Doggone Crazy"

During the day, I don't believe in ghosts. At night, I'm a little more open-minded.

Unknown

Sunday, June 2, 2013

BPOV

Even for Georgia time, I had awakened very early in the morning. An insistent thump, thump, thump that wouldn't stop had pulled me from my sleep. At first, I couldn't figure out what it was. Easing myself to a sitting position, I slowly looked around the room until I saw Sam sitting on the floor looking up at the doorknob, his heavy tail thumping the hardwood floors. Laughing at myself for not recognizing such a familiar sound, I saw he wasn't asking to go out to do his business. No, by the goofy look on his face, he wanted to play and, since he'd left his toys downstairs, he wanted out of my room to go get them. Reluctantly, I got out of bed and opened the door but he remained where he was, tail still thumping away.

"Go! Go get your babies, Sam!"

He had many stuffed animals he played with and I called them his babies. He'd learned early on that "babies" meant toys, which meant playtime. He looked up at me and, if a dog could raise its eyebrows in a questioning look, he did.

"Sam, go on! Go get your babies!" I exclaimed, still holding the door open for him.

He cocked his head to one side and looked back at the now open door, tail thumping to beat the band.

"You're one crazy, mixed up dog sometimes, Sammy. It's way too early and too f'ing cold in here to be messing around."

It had to be just before sunrise; it was still dark out but I could tell it would be dawn soon.

"If you're not going to get your babies, I'm going back to bed."

Sam barked once, the sound extremely loud in the quiet of early morning, and I cringed. I gave up on my cray cray dog before he started a barkfest trying to get me to roughhouse with him and crawled back into bed. That damned thump, thump, thump was driving me nuts and I couldn't get back to sleep as long as it continued.

"Sam! Get up here now!" I commanded.

He lowered his ears and jumped up onto the foot of the bed. Immediately lying down, he finally stilled. Thank God! I thought, starting to get cranky. As soon as I was comfortable again, I began drifting right back to sleep but, just as I was nearly gone, I heard that damned thump, thump, thump again. Although the sound was muffled by the comforter on my bed, the repeated smack of his tail on my leg was enough to drive a sleepy person bat-shit crazy. Groaning out loud, I raised my head to see what the hell he was doing now.

Sam was up on his front legs on the foot of my bed looking up at the ceiling! He wanted to play with the ceiling? Before I could even say anything, he stopped wagging his tail, cocked his head back and forth a couple times and, as if on command, laid back down, put his head on his paws and was silent. The crazy dog yawned, closed his eyes and began snoring almost instantly.

Sighing in frustration, I laid there for the longest time trying to get back to sleep but it was no use. The cans of paint I'd had bought last night for the turret rooms were calling my name, as were all the fancy new art supplies. Since the tenth grade, I'd painted nearly every day of my life and it had been almost a week since I'd painted on canvas. Much longer and I'd be suffering withdrawal symptoms. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be doing any artistic painting until my studio was done, so I decided to get my ass out of bed, stuff it into some overalls and start painting the top turret. As I climbed out of bed, Sam opened his eyes and huffed as though aggravated I'd woken him up. Ha! Served him right!

In theory, painting a room with so little actual wall space sounded easy. Not! Because it was almost all windows, with so many glass panes, it took longer than expected to set up the ladder and tape off the room. Fortunately, after all that preparation, it wouldn't take long at all to paint the entire room. Well, painting the raised ceiling wasn't going to be fun. If I wasn't tall enough to reach it without having to stand on the top rung of the ladder, I hoped Charlie might have a taller ladder in the garage…fingers crossed.

As I taped off the last two windows on the far right, I looked out across the street. From up here, I could see the plantation house and the orchard. No one was moving around outside and wondered if anyone lived there at all. Surely someone must, what with the orchard needing tending and all. It still looked a little wimpy compared to the others I'd seen driving across Georgia to Macon. Maybe it was newly planted and the trees hadn't fully developed yet. Whatever the reason, it was obvious the orchard wasn't doing well so maybe the old mansion was empty after all. I made a mental note to come up here after dark and see if any lights were on in the house. Was that being nosy? Perhaps but it would be nice to know if the nearest and practically only neighboring house was actually occupied.

Since most of my time in here would be spent standing at my easel and painting, I didn't need a lot of furniture but, while in town last night, I'd found the cutest ottoman and two chairs that would be perfect for my painting studio. I'd ordered them on the spot and arranged for next day delivery, which would be today. Since the furniture was due to arrive around noon, I hurried to have the room completely painted by then.

The day had gone by much quicker than I had suspected and, before I knew it, the furniture I'd ordered had arrived. The furniture movers were an odd pair. They didn't say much beyond "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am" when I asked a question or gave directions where to place the furniture. As they carried the chairs in and placed them where I pointed, they kept looking around the house as though they'd never been in one before. Their eyes were large as they roamed across the room and looked up at the ceiling. To me, it seemed like they were peeking around the corners expecting someone to jump out and holler, "BOO!" What's more, they acted very nervous and appeared to be in a great hurry to be on their way. I figured they must've had a lot of deliveries to make and were trying to stay on schedule yet, as I walked them to the door, they still weren't done looking around! They strained their necks to keep looking inside as I closed the door and, really, what were they expecting to find on the ceiling? Sam didn't care much for them, either. When they first arrived, he'd run up to give them a good sniff and, satisfied they posed no danger to me, he'd promptly plopped himself down in the doorway to the living room as though completely disinterested.

Somewhat disconcerted by their odd behavior, I locked the front door behind them and decided a quick break was in order. There was bound to be some lemonade left in the refrigerator. Ten minutes later, I returned to the turret but froze on the spot at the open doorway. Somehow, my paint roller and brush had become completely immersed at the bottom of my paint pan. I hadn't seen the furniture movers do it but who else could it have been? What was even more puzzling was why they would do it in the first place. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think they didn't want me to paint this room but that was silly! Why would they care? Son of a…I'd been forced to carry the paint pan back down to the kitchen and clean off the handles without getting the roller or brush wet. My stomach growled and I figured I might as well save myself another trip and eat while I was down here. What a pain!

More than an hour had passed from the time the furniture movers had arrived to when I'd finally gotten back to doing any actual painting, which was discouraging. By not taking into account random interruptions and sundry catastrophes, I'd been way off my estimation of how long it would take to paint the small room. On top of everything, the walls seemed to soak up the paint as fast as I could put it on until finally, on the fourth coat, it started taking on that freshly painted look.

Something was up with Sam. He'd been acting weird ever since the moving guys had left. All morning, he'd lain in the doorway to the turret room watching me work or dozing off. But, since noon, he'd been sitting facing the stairs and wagging his tail. Sometimes, I'd catch him looking all the way to the bottom and other times he'd be staring straight across the top landing, always wagging his tail. I had to admit, it was freaking me out a little bit. I even went so far as to check the hallway several times to make sure no one was up there with me. Then, without warning, while I'd been painting the raised ceiling standing on the top rung, Sam came barreling into the room wriggling all over with excitement. He jumped up onto the new, plastic covered ottoman and stared joyfully at one of the accompanying chairs, his tail going a mile a minute!

"Sam! What in the world is wrong with you? You're acting so weird, today!" I groaned. I hadn't said it harshly but he jumped down and slunk off to lay in the doorway again as though I'd actually yelled at him.

As evening approached, I'd finally finished giving the entire room a fourth coat. Even without curtains, it was dim enough that I had to turn the lights on to clean up and, as is always the case with interior paint, it took forever just to clean the roller, brush and paint pan. Next, I returned the ladder to the basement, removed the paint covers from the furniture, and peeled the painting tape off the trim and windows. Stepping back to survey the results of my day of painting, I wiped my hands on a paint splattered rag. Oh, yes! I was very pleased with the results but, by now, every muscle in my body was screaming for a hot bath.

"Looks pretty good, doesn't it, Sam?"

He'd been such a good boy, keeping out of my way and out of the paint. Well, mostly…except for that one time. Acting more like himself, he came and sat beside me, wagging his tail gently. Absently scratching the top of his head, I examined the room, looking for any spots I might have missed. All the while, my deep, claw-foot tub was calling my name. I sighed with satisfaction for a day's work well done and headed off to take a long, hot bubble bath.

I'd just put on my pajamas when I remembered I'd wanted to check for lights next door. A glance out the window showed it was dark enough so I made my way to the top turret room. I intentionally left the lights off so I'd be able to see the plantation home better and went to the window on the far right. Sure enough, there was a light on in one of the downstairs rooms. As I looked out on the picturesque view, I wondered who might live there. I wondered about the house itself and the families those regal walls had sheltered over all the years and decades the house had survived. I wondered the same things about my own home, as well.

Just as I was about to turn away, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Winding through the orchard at a leisurely, almost dreamy pace was a woman dressed entirely in white. The moon was only half full but its glow seemed to illuminate her white gown. She appeared to drift slowly among the trees, taking her time to approach the house. An icy chill crept over my flesh and I looked around at my new painting studio. Sam stood shivering in the doorway, his eyes begging me to come away. Wrapping my arms around myself to fend off the chill, I turned back towards the window and the lady. There was something captivating about her, almost mesmerizing. As I continued to watch her, the light in the old plantation house went out downstairs and, moments later, another one turned on upstairs. Apparently, there was someone in the house after all and the wife or mother was outside. It seemed odd to me that she would be walking through the orchard this late at night. Sure, it was a warm evening but...wait! It was a warm evening, so why was I so cold?

Now that the occupant was upstairs, the woman seemed to make a slow but steady beeline for the house. The window in front of my face fogged up and it was suddenly so cold in the turret, I could see my own breath! Shocked, I took a step back away from the window and exhaled, watching as my breath floated on the air and then dissipated. I glanced up at the window again and screamed when a man's face, a very handsome but angry man's face, appeared in the glass. I turned to run but stumbled backwards over the ottoman instead and crashed to the floor.

Sam ran over and hid his nose under my arm, seeming almost as frightened as me. Some protector he was! When I looked back up at the glass, the man's image was gone. Had I imagined it? There was nothing in the room that could have possibly made a reflection that looked like a man. It definitely had not been my own image because I'd seen my own terrified reflection next to him. For God's sake, I was on the second floor! That meant either someone was in the house with me, or something was floating outside my second story window!

Both possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate!

AN: Well Sam obviously knows somethings up. Who's face do you think she just saw? Special Thanks as always to Rita01tx for her mad editing skills, for debating plot ideas with me and for pimping this fic! If you're enjoying this story please consider leaving a review.