The Blood-Covered Flowers

Every cell in Charlie’s body was filled with terror. An urgent feeling swelled up in her- a feeling that she needed to run. A voice within her called, get out. Get out. I have a really bad feeling about this, she thought.

-six hours earlier- 

I don’t know, Tess…

Oh, come on! I promise they’re going to love you.

Charlie hesitated. Ok, I’ll go.

Charlie Quinn, 27 years old, had lived in New York City all her life. She didn’t much enjoy going to the country. But Tessa Hartley, her girlfriend of almost a year, had invited her to spend the weekend with her parents at their lake house upstate. The girls' jobs kept them in the city most of the year, so they didn’t have much opportunity to travel. While Charlie would have preferred staying in the city for their time off, she was willing to bend her wishes for Tessa. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. As she thought more about it, Charlie actually became a little excited about staying in a lake house tucked amongst the trees. That is, until she arrived.

The drive was pleasant, and Charlie spent much of it staring out the window at the stark, bare trees while Tessa described her family’s business. My parents run a sugar house, Tessa explained, and now’s the perfect time to visit. You can help harvest the sap! 

Charlie sighed, her breath making cold fog condensate on the window. It wasn’t that she was feeling disconnected from Tessa. She had grown to love her more every day, over the past year. No, it was something else. A gut feeling. Charlie had a feeling that something about this trip wasn’t right. Maybe it was the dark, haunting time of deep winter in New England, or the fact that they were driving out to a mysterious icy lake in the middle of nowhere. Whatever it was, Tessa was filled with excitement and Charlie with fear. When she had tried to communicate her misgivings, Charlie’s girlfriend assumed that she was nervous to meet her parents and shrugged it off. 

She should have known better. See, Tessa didn’t believe in the supernatural. Charlie was born with a gift. She was tuned into the paranormal. Every time she had stayed at an Airbnb, or visited a friend, Charlie had felt the imprints of the people long gone. She could sense if a happy family had inhabited the house, or if someone had violently died there.

But this trip was different. There was something stronger. Hours away from their location, even before embarking on the drive, Charlie had misgivings. She tried her best to be like Tessa, to shrug it off and label the feeling as nerves. But the closer they got to their destination, the more anxious Charlie felt. No- it wasn’t quite anxiety. It was a nauseous, sickly feeling creeping up her throat.

Are you ok? Tessa asked. While she might not be attuned to supernatural forces, Tessa was a natural empath. You look a little unwell, she said.

I might be getting sick, Charlie stated. She didn’t know if this was true or not. Maybe we should turn around.

No, no, Tessa said, shaking her head. My mom will take care of you. She’ll know just what to do. Anyway, if we go home, I know you’ll find some way to start working again. She smiled knowingly. If you’re on vacation, you’ll have no excuse not to rest.

Charlie realized Tessa was right. She was a bit of a workaholic, and if she was getting a cold, it would be better to recover in a peaceful lake house under the watch of Tessa’s mother.

After an afternoon’s drive, the girls arrived at the lake house. It was three stories tall, and built in the Colonial era. The large front porch took a background to six ominous white pillars, and the entire house was reflected in the lake, creating a mirror image as clear as the original. Tessa’s parents stood on the porch waiting to greet them, but Charlie’s eyes were elsewhere. Her gaze was fixed on a window in the third story. Something about it had a mysterious pull. It was intriguing, yet at the same time, sinister. A silhouette flitted across the window. Was there someone inside, or was it merely a shadow?

Tessa’s parents greeted Charlie warmly, but she could hardly hear them. She was in a daze. She sat in her room after unpacking, and tried to shake the feeling. This isn’t real, she told herself. There’s no reason to feel alarmed. It’s just a simple trip, and you’re going to have a good time. Resolved to banish the eerie thoughts from her mind, Charlie went downstairs for dinner.

That night, Charlie lay in bed awake. She and Tessa were on the second floor, and Tessa was fast asleep. But Charlie, having been awakened by a creak in the floorboards above, was wide awake in terror. She swallowed her fear and resolved to investigate. If anyone observed her awake, she could always excuse herself under the pretense of sleepwalking, which she was known to have been prone to.

Almost without thinking, Charlie found her way to the staircase. If any part of the lake house was particularly suspicious, it was the third floor. She remembered the pull she felt toward it upon their arrival. Was she just imagining things, or had she seen a dark silhouette in the window last night? It was probably just the light playing tricks on her already uneasy mind. 

With every step she took, a loud creak resounded. Charlie hoped the Revolutionary War-era staircase wouldn’t wake up the whole house. Finally, after many careful steps, she reached the ominous third floor. Not a single light was on, and every door in the corridor remained closed. This part of the house seemed unused.

Right away, Charlie knew which door she was searching for. But the gut feeling came again, the call within her to leave.

Suddenly, but gently, a sound arose. It was an ancient sound that seemed to have been present for over a hundred years. The tinkling sound filled the corridor with a haunting apparition. It was the sound… of piano keys.

Every cell in Charlie’s body was filled with terror. An urgent feeling swelled up in her- a feeling that she needed to run. A voice within her called, get out. Get out. 

The next morning, Charlie reminded herself that the experience was not a dream. It had to have been real, it was too precise to be a dream, and she had never hallucinated before. In the clear light of day, the house seemed less threatening. She would have to do some more investigating in the daytime.

The day proceeded pleasantly, with the Hartley’s giving Charlie a full tour of the sugar house and facilities. She peered into the great black barrels full of sap, and was surprised to see a clear, sticky liquid, instead of brown maple syrup. 

Doesn’t look like you thought it would? Tessa’s dad asked. Yep, that’s what the sap looks like before it’s refined. It’s actually 98% water.

The best part of the day wasn’t in the forest, but in the little sugar house itself. One of four, it was the original built on the property. Charlie observed a big, rectangular vat of something that looked a bit more like syrup. It was brown, sticky, and bubbling. Tessa’s mom handed her a spoon, and she tasted the substance. It warmed her insides, and almost purged the bad feelings she’d had about the place. 

Distracted by the eventful day, Charlie neglected to find an opportunity to investigate the third floor. She would have to wait for nightfall, as they were leaving the next day. This was her last opportunity. She waited for Tessa to fall asleep, and carefully closing the door, ventured out again. More expert at navigating the creaky stairs now, she made her way up effortlessly. She drew in a deep breath, and walked quickly to the end of the corridor. The faster this was over, the better, Charlie thought.

Slowly, she turned the ancient gold door handle. Her heart rate skyrocketed as she awaited the horrors within. What she saw was simple. It seemed to be a neglected guest room, with a bed that looked like it belonged in a museum. Also present was… a single piano. Charlie shuddered. The piano music she had heard the night previously must have come from this room. 

Charlie felt like her curiosity had been sated, so she prepared to leave. However, just before she shut the door, a ghostly apparition materialized at the piano stool. It was a woman, dressed in a corseted mourning gown, and she reached her skeletal fingers to rest on the keys. She began to play the same tune Charlie had heard the night before. Her mummified mouth opened, and she croaked out a lyric to accompany the tune. The blood-covered flowers, she sang hauntingly.

Watching this unfold, Charlie was too terrified to move. However, she suddenly snapped back into her senses when she felt the call again. It was not a voice, but rather a feeling. Get out, it said, get out. Charlie raced down the stairs and crept lightly into bed, Tessa none the wiser for her girlfriend’s midnight adventures.

That night, Charlie dreamt. She dreamt she was in a field covered with flowers. They were not flowers native to the area, but perhaps they might have been in some long-forgotten time. The field stretched for miles, and Charlie felt she could have seen the whole world from where she was standing, were it not for the barrier of trees far in the distance. Suddenly, Charlie heard a shot, followed by a scream. The shot was followed by many more, and other screams of both terror and anger. She ducked down, hiding herself in the flowers. The source of the noise shortly made itself clear, as a battalion of soldiers came running from behind the trees. They were followed by more soldiers in similarly archaic, albeit different, uniforms. 

The soldiers broke out in yells, louder this time, and they began to battle fiercely. Charlie turned away so as to avoid witnessing the horror. A loud shot erupted behind her, stinging her ears. It was followed by a thick spatter of blood that blanketed the flowers around her in sticky drops. Soldier after soldier fell, until each flower was tinged with red. 

Charlie looked up at the entrance of another sound: piano music. There, in the field, a little ways away from the battle, was a piano, very like the one she had seen on the third floor of the lake house. This piano was shinier, newer, but still the same make and design. A tall woman dressed in black began to clack her lengthy, skeletal fingers against the keys as she sang. The blood-covered flowers…

Tessa shook Charlie awake. Are you ok?

Yeah, I’m fine, Charlie responded, happy to be back in bed again. Just having a bad dream. 

Charlie, something’s up with you, Tessa observed. Ever since we came here, you’ve been acting strangely. I don’t know what it is, but if you need to tell me about it, you can. 

Tessa, do you know who lived in the house before your parents?

I suppose a lot of people did, she responded. It was built in the 18th century. Tessa looked a little confused, like this question had nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Ok, I just have one more question, Charlie said. Have you ever heard this little tune before? I thought it might be a folk song, but I can’t quite place it. She began to sing, the blood-covered flowers…

Tessa’s face turned white as a sheet. Where have you heard that song, she asked pressingly. 

It might have just been in a dream, Charlie said. Maybe I heard it a long time ago. She didn’t trust herself that the whole situation was real. Maybe it was a real song, and Tessa would be able to assure her of it. But that didn’t explain Tessa’s reaction. She looked… scared.

We can talk about it later, Tessa said. When we’re back home. 

Soon, the weekend was over, and it was time to depart. Charlie and Tessa packed up the car, and prepared to head to the city. Charlie thanked the Hartley’s for the weekend, and exchanged hugs and farewells on the cold porch. 

As they drove, Charlie and Tessa passed a graveyard. They might have noticed it. They might not. But it was there. It had existed for 241 years, and was almost enveloped in the growth of the forest. Inside the miniature fence was a single tomb, elaborately engraved. It read as follows:

Here lies the body of Constance Bradford, inhabitant of the house on Lonely Lake. Having tragically lost her husband and son, Nathaniel and Josiah, in the Battle of Saratoga, Constance dedicated her life to music. She was found dead in the fields of Saratoga on February 18th, 1789.