Bleeding Heart

Morning coffee and people watching at Hi Biscuits was now a thing for the sisters and they decided to make a trip to Blanchet Manor after their coffee. The bar was going to need some original artwork and they wanted some local flavor. The graveyard at the manor was just the place for some atmospheric photos and gravestone rubbings. The manor was a point of pride in the city. It was just up the hill and had its own cemetery. The grand, old manor was built in 1860 and had stood empty for 20 plus years. The house was built atop a Native American family’s ancestral burial grounds.

Daphne drove them in her convertible VW Cabriolet. “I hear tell the place is haunted.”

“That may have something to do with the fact that it’s believed that the land was obtained illegally by white settlers.”

“Uh, oh… that’s bad juju.”

The car trembled as Daphne worked the gears.

“Can you slow down a little?”

“What? Can’t hear you!” Daphne cranked up Smash Mouth - Then the Morning Comes on the radio. “Isn’t the Clackamas glorious?”

“The river looks frozen… and this car is drafty.” Victoria searched the dash to turn up the heat.

“Oh, look! Check it out; up there!”

They could see the expansive hilltop house further up the road.

“There are a lot of wet leaves in the road, Daphne.”

“I know, isn’t this great! But… you know I can be bribed…”

“I know, with weed and wine. Why do you drive so fast? We’ll get there just the same if you slow down.”

“There’s no fun in that, Vic. Gotta take the bull by the balls!”

“It’s a car, not a bull and I’m in it. You drive just like you do everything, too fast.”

“Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That nursing home you were so eager to get my Cosimo sentenced to.”

“Excuse me! My Leonard is in there, too ya know! We both agreed… hey! What are you insinuating?”

“Those people are freaks. I don’t trust that Dr. Le Fleur. She always smiles like she just licked the flesh off your bones. And she must be making a pretty penny off us, off all her patients. Look at her clothes, new outfits every time we visit there. It’s a nursing home… for, for fu… Pete’s sake!”

Daphne laughed. “Oh, my dear sister, still can’t say the “f” word.”

“Don’t say it, Daphne.”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck!”

“Stop it!”

“Hey, speaking of fucking, do you remember when we talked about the similarities in our situations? Did your sex life change, too, I mean before he got sick?”

“What do you mean?”

Daphne slouched comfortably as she drove. “I mean, when Lenny and I first got together, he would go from being a caterpillar during fore play to a dragon in heat during sex. Then, the dragon disappeared. Then… he got sick.”

“Huh, Cosi was pretty suave in heating me up but, yeah, he became way more aggressive during love making. It was great, but I figured, that’s just the way it goes in married life.”

“I swear, sometimes I thought I was screwing The Rock… or Alec Baldwin.”

“Oh, hell yes, sometimes I was with Richard Gere or Shamar Moore. Weird we would have the same fantasies.”

“It was more than a fantasy, his body felt different, his breathing was different. He made growling sounds that were just as scary as they were a turn on.”

“I know what you mean, even his thrusts had a different rhythm. And he even smelled different. I hadn’t thought about that until just now.”

“I can’t say I remember a particular smell. But still… maybe they’re shape shifters!”

Victoria coughed on a chuckle and Daphne snorted. “Okay Vic, we’re almost there.”

“And in this car, a convertible in a state that gets almost 40 inches of rain a year.”

“It’s still in one piece… and it don’t leak yet!”

The grounds were surrounded by magnificent, old Elms. The manor was a two-story building with a columned porch upon entry. There were two chimney stacks completing the silhouette of the house. The gate surrounding the cemetery was corroded and weatherworn. The vegetation was overgrown and some of the gravestones had collapsed. There was a patinaed mausoleum that appeared to be built into a hillside near the gardener’s shed. A long, circular drive led up to the house. The end of the drive led to a covered carport. Inside, light fixtures, mirrors, stained glass windows and animal heads on the wall which remained bore the burdens of time.

On this grey, winter morning, all the stillness had been disturbed by the delivery of boxes, crates, landscapers, contractors and a Rolls Royce. After a more than 10-year vacancy, The Blanchet Manor was now abuzz with activity. And there was a heavy presence of security at the gate. Curious onlookers were kept at bay.

They buzzed and jerked along until they reached their destination. Daphne bumped over the driveway of the cemetery and hit a sawhorse blocking the drive way.

“Now, why was that there?” Daphne glanced quickly over her shoulder.

“Probably to discourage people from parking here.”

“Well, tough. We’re here now. Grab your stuff!”

Victoria took out her charcoals and paper from the back seat. She liked to do rubbings of the gravestones at the cemetery. A strong wind had kicked up, leaving the stones clean and dry. There was the smell of smoke coming from nearby chimney stacks and a distant sound of wind chimes clanging wildly in the wind. Daphne brought her camera to take photos for her cache of possible paintings at some future date.

All the activity of bustling, numerous delivery people piqued their interest. Of curiosity was one, rather large crate. Men and women in uniforms labeled ‘Security’ shouting, ‘move aside, move aside please’ cleared the path for its delivery.

“There’s quite a few rubberneckers here. All of this fuss, I wonder if it’s for us!”

“Ha ha!”

Victoria stood quiet for a moment; then laughed again, louder this time.

“Okay, it wasn’t that funny.”

The leaves slithered under their feet and smelled of the dampness as they attempted to look inconspicuous as they calculated their way through the cemetery.

There it was; that enormous, peculiar looking crate, they were getting closer to it. It bore the exotic labels and stamps from exotic lands. And it lay plain view in front of the carriage house.

“I’d like to know what’s in that box; let’s find out, Daph, the security guards are leaving.”

Just as they were closing in on the crate, the caretaker, Harry Hazard, dropped his shovel and scurried up the drive to the carriage house, waving his hands wildly. Old Harry was a fixture at the cemetery and most of the neighborhood kids made up wild tales about him. The sisters got to know of Harry before they ever encountered him. The neighborhood kids said he was a werewolf and told them you could hear his howls at midnight. That could have had something to do with the excess hair growing from his ears and nostrils.

“You ladies come to look at the graves? Then look at graves but you’re not gonna touch this here crate.”

“We were just curious,” Daphne started when Harry cut her off.

“This ain’t for the public, this here crate. You go on now, on about your business and I’ll tend to mine.”

Harry gave them an icy stare down until they stepped away. He motioned to security to come back and have the crate moved inside the mausoleum. He gave them very specific orders not to have it disturbed and he did not take his responsibility of its care lightly. Six security guards hustled over to move the crate into the Manor. Harry walked alongside them and took great care to see that the crate wasn’t jostled as they carried it. The guards groaned under its weight as they transported it on their shoulders. When it was finally laid down safely, Harry wiped the sweat from his brow. He gazed at the crate, almost lovingly, as though he were saying good-bye to deceased loved one.

Victoria and Daphne watched as the guards left Harry to his dearly beloved crate. He slammed the door behind them.

“Do you smell that?” asked Victoria.

“No, what is it?”

“Hmmm… Not quite sure, it’s kind of a sweet smell, a bit nauseating.”

“I don’t smell anything. Must be your top lip.”

“Honestly, Daphne. Let’s at least look like we came here for photos and grave stone rubbings.”