Chapter Seventeen: Stranger in a Strange House
Jonah lifts both hands, gaze to the ground, the universal signal of surrender.
"I'm sorry, Wendy. I didn't want to lie to you, but I didn't think you'd have anything to do with me otherwise. I'll explain everything to you, the whole damned story, but it is a long one. Please consider coming inside for dinner, first? You and your kids have traveled long and I've got a meal all ready. I can explain everything after, once they're fed and out of earshot. I have nothing but good will for you and your family. Would that be alright?"
Wendy sighs, feeling only slightly cowed by Jonah's desperation, his willingness. Otto and Milo both plead to stay, interested in the strange stranger in his strange house, and the promise of food. Wendy pinches the bridge of her nose in one hand and sighs, foreboding rolling deep in her gut. The ghost is right, though. The drive was long and the kids are restless and hungry, and what can the kid do to them, exactly? She sincerely doubts he'd poison the food or try anything supernatural against them, considering his devotion to Matt.
I've made a terrible mistake! The boy…wasn't evil. He was only protecting you and your family. He was trying to free them, and I removed him.
The late Reverend Popescu's words ring in Wendy's memory, offset by the suffocation of a living shower curtain, pulled taunt in the hands of spirits that weren't ever the ghost standing before her. His good intentions, well-meaning hands displayed in a humble, calming gesture, Milo already gravitating to him again, enraptured by his kindness and manners.
"Fine," Wendy relents, luring Jonah's shy gaze from the ground, those haunting eyes, "we'll come in and eat, but after, we're gonna have a long talk. Depending on how it goes, we might still go through with this trip you've tricked me into."
Wendy and her kids follow behind Jonah, who had insisted on carrying all of their bags, into the house. It's downright chilling, how exact the recreation of the house is, right down to the little details—the stained-glass insert in the door, the scrollwork on the stairs, the rich wood of the floors. It's eerie, like a time capsule, dressed in antiques and art prints. The only out-of-place thing Wendy glimpses, on her way to the kitchen, is a TV in the living room, offset by a bona-fide victorla, of all things, in the corner, its shiny brass bell burnished by almost a century. It's absolutely insane.
The kitchen too, is sparse of modern trappings, except the fridge and the coffee maker on the counter, a small portable radio above the sink. It smells like heaven, though, and Jonah's dinner table is laden—pork, and stew, and a casserole of what looks like mac-n-cheese, golden brown and crusted. Jonah, his voice low and shy, explains the meal as he cuts clean, precise slices of fresh-baked bread. The mac-n-cheese was a last minute addition, whipped up in consideration of the young ones, the potential unpalatability of the rest of the food he'd apparently spent all day preparing. Wendy can't help but be impressed, watching him seat the children, pouring glasses of sweat tea from a crystal pitcher. Chairs have been procured from around the house, bowls and plates, silverware and linen napkins.
A vase of fresh flowers on the counter, pretty blue asters. Matt's favorite flower. Wendy feels sad, suddenly, watching this vintage recreation move about a kitchen stuck in time, surrounded by trappings of what Wendy assumes to be Matthew's design. The young man dishes up bowls of mac for the kids. He smiles, offers encouraging words as Otto requests a small plate of the pork too, and some stew, Jonah quick to plate it all up.
"Growing boys needs good nutrition! If you don't like it, I won't be offended, okay?" Jonah states, even as Wendy watches her son tuck into the soup first, nodding approvingly. Milo, sloppily buttering bread, Jonah supervising and helping her only after she becomes frustrated.
"Mom? Are you going to eat? The food is fantastic, this is like…thanksgiving levels of good!"
Wendy snaps out of it, still standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the domestic scene with warring feelings of suspicion, sadness, and nostalgia. Jonah considers her with that off-putting gaze of his, looking small, shoulders hunched as his hands fiddle self-consciously with the strings of his apron. Unwilling to take her eyes of the teen, Wendy sits at the table. Jonah offers to serve her, but after a cold glance from her, he sits as well.
The food is good, at least, she has to admit. She tells Jonah as much, and he only nods, obviously feeling cowed by her suspicion of him. Otto thanks Jonah for the meal, his mouth stuffed full of pork and bread, and Milo follows suit, her little cherub face painted in cream and cheese. Wendy begrudgingly thanks Jonah as well, as she cleans the mess from her little one's face.
"You're so very welcome," Jonah replies, his voice the soft, lilting dialect of the 20th century, "I haven't had such a good excuse to host and cook in ages."
"D'you like t'cook, Joan?" Milo asks, and Jonah laughs, seemingly charmed by her abandonment of the last syllable of his name.
"I do, dearest. It's calming. It's nice to spend the day in the kitchen, making good things."
"Mom likes to cook too, but not really like this—this is so good," Otto chimes in, and Jonah's face flushes.
"I'm sure your mother's cooking is wonderful, Mr. Otto, you should be grateful for it. My mama taught me to cook…I miss her terribly. You'll appreciate being in the kitchen with her, when you're older."
"Mamaw cooks for us too!" Milo supplies, bouncing in her chair, her food half-eaten.
"Yes baby, Mamaw Sarah is a great cook," Wendy replies. Jonah's eyes meet hers, and she softens at the familiarity in his gaze, no doubt a silent witness to all the meals Aunt Sarah cooked in this very kitchen, feeding her little hodge-podge family of children, both birthed and collected.
"You know, Mamaw Sarah has cooked in this kitchen, too. Me and your Uncle Matt, and your Auntie Mary, we used to live here," Wendy says, her voice tight as she hold Jonah's pale eyes, swimming with conflicted thoughts, "Jonah lived her too, he's always lived here."
"Ooooh! Did y'all cook t'gether, then?"
"No," both adults reply, the conversation uneasily melting into the sounds of the kids eating. Wendy picks at her food, bites of stew and pork and buttered bread, here and there, stomach still a bit unsettled. The sweet tea is good at least, clearing her dry, nervous throat. Jonah refills her glass for her before she can, and their hands brush on accident as they both reach for it. Jonah can't seem to look at her now, and can't seem to eat either, stirring his plate around listlistly with a fork.
The kids eat well, though, very well, Otto finally complaining of being stuffed after putting away two bowls of stew, a plate of pork, and a bowl of mac-n-cheese all by himself, a half-finished slice of buttered bread still in his hand. Milo, even, has finished her food. Neither kid refuses, though, when Jonah offers them a plate of jam cookies, and Wendy accepts one, along with Jonah's offer of hot coffee.
"Well, children, your mother and I have some things to talk about. What would you two like to do, in the meantime? I have cards, and some picture books. I have art supplies too, and a—uh, game? Zelda," Jonah offers, his tone unsure.
"Zelda?" Otto chirps, excitement written on his young little face, "which one?"
"Uh, just one I'm afraid, the one with the ocarina?"
"Oh! Ocarina of Time? That's so cool! Do you have a 64?"
"Uh, yeah, it's Matthew's. It's in the living room, if you'd like. Just don't save over the first or third slots, please."
Otto reassures Jonah that he won't, saying he won't "overwrite any of the save files", which Jonah vaguely understands, before bounding off to the living room. Milo shyly requests to color, and Jonah sets her up in the living room as well, with a set of colored pencils and sheets of blank paper. Wendy is impressed again, at Jonah's consideration of her children and keeping them engaged, having thought of and prepared activities for them. At Jonah's request, and Wendy's agreement that the kids shouldn't be able to hear any of the conversation they're about to have, the two of them move out to the back porch. They sit on the steps together, Wendy sipping her coffee, declining when Jonah offers her a cigarette. She recognizes the lighter, an old Led Zepplin lighter Peter had given Matt for his twenty-first birthday. It's this little thing that sparks the awkward, potentially damning conversation.
"Did Matt give you that?"
"He left it here, when he…well, left."
"After you two fought, right? About what?"
Jonah sighs, hollowing his cheeks on a drag, his face tinged pink as he studies his wool-clad knees.
"Well, um…I have some, ah, rather old-fashioned notions, as you could imagine. I've realized now how meaningless they are, considering mine and Matthew's…situation."
"Situation? So what are the two of you? Partners? Housemates?"
"Both, I suppose…I doubt you'll want to hear this, but Matthew and I, we're…rather inseparable, now. Irrevocably intertwined."
"Explain it to me. How the fuck are you even here, Jonah? You were dead and not quite-gone back in the eighties. How is it you're here now, making dinners and playing videogames of all things?"
Well, that's entirely Matt's doing," Jonah explains, still looking anywhere but at Wendy, "he brought me back. I was stuck here still, after the fire, little more than a wisp of a soul tied to this property. I don't remember that very well, that time in between Matthew then, and Matthew now. I just woke up one day in a bathtub, whole and hale, with Matthew right there, looking a good ten years older."
"I've learned now that, after the fire, and after I pulled the cancer out of him, well…apparently he became quite obsessed with the afterlife. I asked Matthew once, why he brought me back, and he told me he 'couldn't imagine living without me.' I had no idea he was going to do this, Wendy, I didn't ask him to or anything. I was just, well back, with a body, in this house. Matt said that he's a professor now, of the occult? Well, apparently he used his years of school to study and perfect a spell to, well…resurrect me? Reincarnate me."
"How does that even work, though, Jonah? He's just, well, Matt. You must've had something to do with it."
"You might not want to hear this, Wendy, but your cousin is actually a very adept sorcerer, perhaps even better than me in terms of spellwork. I was the remains of the spell after, his alter and set-up. It was some kind of black magic, an amalgamation of practices I've never seen before. And I'm not a full reincarnation anyway, in all technicality. My existence is almost like a voodoo doll, or a possessed organic form, like a golem. The closest thing to my own existence I've read about is the concept of poppets—"
"What does that even mean, what are those?"
"Well, a poppet is an organic life form willed into being by a sorcerer using someone's remains, and then some kind of soul—either an actual one, attached to the remains used, or a fabricated one, created by the sorcerer—is embedded in the faux body. Poppets exist to serve their masters, and are tied to their master's lifespan. I have all the semblances of real life, but I cannot truly die or be injured, unless by Matt's hand. Wounds close and heal on me, unless Matt would want them to stick, I guess. I've been bound to the land this house is on, as Matt used the property as parameters for my existence to, well…exist on."
"Ugh, so Matt's like you master? Does he order you around, then?"
Jonah blushes, but shakes his head.
"I don't know. He probably could, but never has. Other than the fact I had to stay on this land, he gave me free reign. I have free will, free thought. I feel like myself. He's facilitated everything I've wanted to do within these property lines. He's done all of this for me. Fed me, clothed me. Everything I own, he's procured."
"God," Wendy moans, rubbing her face and feeling exhausted, a stress headache blooming behind her eyes. It's a lot to take in. "That's honestly really fucked up, Jonah. You just woke up one day, brought back to life, stuck in this house? And he did all this, without asking you first?"
"Yes ma'am," Jonah replies, emitting a dry sort of laugh, his tone grim, "I'm just here. I didn't mind that, before he left. I loved it here, when Matthew was here. We had a good little life together. But I couldn't leave, and now he's gone. And I can't hurt myself, or kill myself…I tried, and I just woke up again."
"You tried to kill yourself, Jonah?"
Wendy's eyes are wide and startled, gaze affixed to Jonah. He finally looks at her now, and the sadness and desperation in those strange eyes of his seems bottomless.
"Well, yes, a week or so after Matthew left. But I woke up again after, and it didn't take long to heal. Just as he couldn't imagine life without me, I couldn't imagine life without him. I didn't want to be here, Wendy, I still don't. I've spent two separate lives in this god-damned house, stuck in limbo each time, regardless of my state of living or dead."
It's horrible to think about. Almost like a curse. Wendy literally can't imagine it, having lived such a hard, tragic life only to be born again in the same house you were traumatized and killed in. He'd died once within these walls, tried to die within them again, only to be denied, forced into this situation by someone who didn't even ask.
"It's been so lonely, with him gone," Jonah supplies, his tone strangled. Wendy is horrified then, to see the unshed tears in that century-old stare, "I just don't know what to do with myself, now. I need help, and…you were the only person I could reach. I got your address from the package of the camera. I'm so sorry, Wendy, for dragging you into this."
Unthinkingly, Wendy reaches out to take Jonah's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Jonah seems shocked, looking at their joined hands with something like awe. Wendy wonders if any other person beside Matt has even touched him, in this lifetime, before today, before Milo reached with him in all her innocence and excitement.
"I remember," Wendy begins, voice soft, "when my father left me and Mary alone with my mother. My mom was…troubled, at least. Addicted to drugs, unwilling to live in reality, to escape her own lifetime of trauma. When Aunt Sarah found out, and came to get us, we'd been stuck in the house for over a week. We'd run out of food, and mom was gone, passed out in some alley somewhere, most likely. The school called us, after we'd been missing from school."
"Goodness, Wendy…I'm so sorry," Jonah leans forward, expression stricken, squeezing her hand in his. The tears he'd been holding in the deep well of his gaze spills forth.
"It's fine, Jonah, honestly, it was great. If it wasn't for Aunt Sarah, Mary and I wouldn't have went on to have such happy lives. All this to say, though, that I understand. I'm sure you are lonely, here in this house by herself, stuck through no decision of your own."
Jonah simply nods, and a brief silence descends, each of them awkwardly drying their eyes.
"Can I take you up on that cigarette, actually? I'm still just feeling…a little shaken, I guess."
Jonah fishes one forth, and even lights it for her.
"So, about the fight…you said it was because you were too, what? Old-fashioned?"
Jonah sighs, lighting himself another cigarette, content to chainsmoke. Something Wendy has watched Matt indulge in since his early twenties, absolutely infuriating the whole family. Defying cancer, and all that.
"Yeah. It's my fault he left…we've grown really…ah, close, in our time her together. We got a little too close, and it scared me. I felt horrified…I was raised in a rather severe household, Wendy, very conservative, and religious. I didn't even try to entertain the thought, and instead I lashed out. I slapped him and everything, dear God—how awfully I regret that, now."
"So…Matthew, like, came on to you?"
Jonah blushes red and nods, fidgeting with his cigarette, a horribly troubled look on his face.
"I should have reciprocated when I had the chance," he whispers, like it's a secret.
"So you feel the same way for him? Are you sure? Like, are you sure it's not just because you've been stuck with him, his, uh—poppet or whatever—"
"Yes, I'm sure. I'd been thinking about it on my own before it even happened, but I couldn't handle it when it finally happened. I…I'm sorry to tell you, Wendy, and not him, but…I really, horribly, desperately love Matthew."
He looks miserable again. Wendy sighs and stands, finishing her cigarette. Jonah follows, drying his wet cheeks.
"Don't worry, kid. We'll get you back to him. I can't really say I think Matt's a good partner, but, well…I can't imagine either of you being with anyone else, anyway."
They're heading back inside, when a question dawns on Wendy, stops her in her tracks.
"Wait, didn't you say you can't like…leave this property? How are we gonna get you to California?"
"I've addressed that, fixed it," Jonah replies, looking a little proud, "Matthew might be powerful, but so am I. And I have quite a few more decades of experience than him."
It's late by the time they come back inside. Otto is halfway through the Great Deku Tree, and Milo is passed out on a scattering of drawings, drooling onto a scribbled rendition of Rusty, who's curled up by the girl's head.
"The bed in the master bedroom upstairs, Matt's bed, is clean and ready, and so is the bed in your old room," Jonah quietly informs Wendy, unwilling to wake the toddler. Wendy simply nods, thanks him, and gathers her daughter up in her arms, carrying her upstairs. Jonah goes to Otto, admiring his progress. They're discussing strategies to beat Gohma, when Wendy returns, ordering Otto upstairs to bed, to sleep in her old room, as Milo is going to be with her for the night. Wendy likes what Matt's done with her old room, is glad he didn't recreate the mural of birds. The house feels a lot more friendly, with new and different sets of paint, quaint furniture, and all of Matt's art and knick knacks, even if some of those are, well…strange.
Once the kids are all tucked in, Wendy and Jonah stay up a bit longer, together, talking. She helps him clear away the food and wash all the dishes. She asks about his plans, once they get to California. Jonah tells her he isn't sure…he didn't think he'd make it even this far.
They part ways at the bottom of the stairs. Tucked into Matthew's bed, with her daughter curled in her arms, Wendy thinks of the boy downstairs, lost in an era he was never meant to see, grabbing onto the only lifelines he can, regardless of how manipulative or naive, inconsiderate, those lifelines could be. How Matt could do this to another soul, Wendy doesn't know, and she's more than a little disturbed.
Jonah, curled up on the living room couch in Matt's sweatpants and a t-shirt, thinks only of him, the love of his life. He wonders how Matt is, and what he's doing, so far away. Jonah thinks of his sleep-loose face and his curls, his lovely mustache framing that mouth, the one he only got to kiss the once, and smiles. He might get to fulfill his wish for another kiss, a proper one this time, in a matter of days.