The Silence of the Jambs

The Silence of the Jambs

Aunt Lorelei was a mystery from my past. I was just a kid, but I distinctly remember my aunt and my mother arguing at my uncle’s funeral. That was the one and only time I had ever met her. Years later, it came as a shock to learn that she had passed away and willed her house to me. I lived halfway across the country and my job kept me so busy that I couldn’t go to inspect my house.  Her lawyer was very accommodating and handled all of the paperwork by e-mail. That was 10 years ago. I wouldn’t be visiting the house for the first time now except that I had received a notice that the property had been condemned.

The old Victorian house silently presided over a spectacular piece of property – a small peninsula that jutted out into the ocean. I was drawn to the edge of the peninsula and found myself looking down the 50-foot rocky cliff into sea. Waves crashed forcefully into the rocks. That was why the county had condemned the property – the cliffs were eroding into the sea and the old house’s foundation was already compromised. It was only a matter of time.

I circled the house. I still wasn’t sure why I had come to the house now, after all these years. I guess I wanted to see “my” house with my own eyes, rather than looking at it on Google Earth. Zillow didn’t even acknowledge that it existed. 

The old house would have been a sight in its prime – a beacon of white perched atop black cliffs surrounded by the gray sea. It was a big house and had all of the typical Victorian features. The wide porch was accented with gingerbread trim. A lot of the trim was now missing and the remainder was faded. The house’s white paint was completely gone from the windward side of the house; the paint on the leeward side was peeling. Amazingly, all of the windows were intact, and even the turret was in good shape, at least from the outside.

Cautiously I walked up onto the porch. The last thing I needed to do was to get hurt here. I would die of exposure. I didn’t think about telling anyone where I was going until after I got to the house. That was when I decided to tell my mother where I was, but my phone had no service. 

Again, I asked myself why I was there. I barely remembered Aunt Lorelei. I asked my mother about her, but all she said was that Lorelei was mean and selfish and the world was a better place now that she was gone. My mother’s ferocity surprised me.

I pressed her for more information. She explained that Lorelei had needed to be the center of attention all her life. She was a socialite. She had married my uncle for his money, although she seemed to spend far more than he was worth. She threw lavish parties. The old house was extensively decorated as Aunt Lorelei celebrated everything from the local sports teams’ victories to politicians winning elections to birthdays. She feted Christmas and Valentine’s Day and Independence Day and Halloween. And if there was nothing in particular to celebrate, she threw “just because” parties – just because she wanted to have a party. Everyone in the countryside attended her parties. The old house had hosted thousands of people while Lorelei lived there. She flitted around like a bee visiting flower after flower. She conversed; she laughed; she joked; she flirted.  She loved the attention.

My mother got angry just talking about her. And then she dropped the bombshell: “She murdered your uncle.”

I think my jaw hit the floor. I needed to know more, but Mom refused to talk about Lorelei any longer. She clammed up and barely spoke to me about anything for the rest of my stay.

I tried to unlock the front door with the skeleton key that Aunt Lorelei’s lawyer had sent me, but the lock refused to turn. I broke the key trying to force it to open. Fortunately, I had brought a crowbar with me. I wedged the flat end of the crowbar into the door jamb and pried. The door swung open smoothly and silently. The door jamb was barely scratched. 

Outside, the wind moaned up the cliffs and the waves crashed violently into the rocks. Inside, after the door was closed, the silence was tomb-like. The old house creaked occasionally, but that was the only sound. Wan sunlight was coming in through the many windows. The floors had once been polished until they gleamed; now they were scuffed and covered in a layer of dust. 

Nothing was left inside the house. I tried to remember if Aunt Lorelei’s lawyer had said anything about an estate sale or if her belongings had been donated, but her death had been ten years ago and I barely remembered last week.

The old house seemed to be made for entertaining. The rooms were large and connected to each other with double doors or cased openings. Every door that I examined was exceptionally well made and well framed in the plaster walls. However, the plaster had seen better days. It was cracked and chunks had fallen out and shattered on the floor.

I explored the entire house. On a couple of occasions I put my foot down only to have the floor flex excessively. I retreated and moved around the weak sections. I saved the kitchen for last. It was in the back of the house. Even there, facing the cliffs and the ocean, the old house was nearly silent.

I noticed two anomalies in the kitchen. The innermost wall of the kitchen was perfectly plastered. There wasn’t a single crack in the plaster nor were any chunks missing like in the other rooms. There was a small stack of newspapers in one corner. I examined the top paper. It was about 25 years old. Even though the newspaper was yellowing from age, I had no trouble recognizing a black and white picture of my aunt on the page. She looked like an older version of my mother. She was flashing her winning smile. The blurb mentioned that Lorelei’s Halloween party had been the social event of the season. The entire county had attended in their finest costumes.

Below Aunt Lorelei’s picture was an article about a young man in his early twenties who was missing. The police had no suspects. Some residents speculated that the young man was known to drink heavily and it was suspected that he had gotten drunk and fallen off one of the cliffs.

The next newspaper in the stack didn’t have a picture of her, but an article mentioned Lorelei’s “smashing” Independence Day party. Fireworks had been shot into the sky until dawn and the party might have continued well into the next day until the guests realized that it was no longer Independence Day.

A small article in the bottom corner of the page caught my eye. A young man on the local high school baseball team was missing. He had told his parents that he was going to an Independence Day party, but he never came home. The police had no suspects.

Coincidence?

The top of the third newspaper’s page was ripped, but centered on the page was an article that mentioned Lorelei’s party celebrating a prize-winning bull at the state fair. There was a picture of Lorelei standing beside the bull. She was flashing her brilliant smile; the bull seemed unimpressed. I was about to put that newspaper aside when the words of the top article, with the headline ripped off, caught my eye. “Police are searching for a pair of vagabonds suspected of kidnapping a local farmer’s 16 year old son. A reward of $500 has been established for information leading to the whereabouts and arrest of the vagabonds.”

Seriously?

I was deeply troubled as I flipped through the remaining newspapers. All of them mentioned my aunt’s parties. On the same page, all of them had an article about a missing boy or young man.

I needed to process what my mother had told me about Lorelei against what I was reading in the old newspapers. It was making my head hurt. I dropped the newspapers in the kitchen floor and headed for the front door.

I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. I stepped on a chunk of plaster and tumbled. Pain blossomed as my ankle twisted and I staggered head-first into a door jamb. I remembered thinking “that hurt” before I blacked out.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but the first thing I remembered was the throbbing pain in my head and ankle. I was sore all over from a rough landing on the floor. It hurt less to keep my eyes closed, so I groped around in self-imposed blindness as I tried to sit up against a wall. When I found the wall, I stretched out my legs and slowly opened my eyes…

And gasped.

A Halloween party was going strong around me. Dozens of people were walking around in costume. They were talking, laughing, drinking. The old house was decorated with purple, orange and green streamers. Fake spider webs adorned the plaster walls. And in the middle of everything, Aunt Lorelei was dressed as a vampiress. She was wearing a black party dress. Her skin was white and her eyeliner and lipstick were black. She had pointy teeth. She was carrying a half-full champagne glass. Her laughter was light and airy as she mingled among her guests. 

I watched as she approached a young man, possibly in his early twenties. He was very drunk. She put her arm around his waist and whispered something in his ear. He nodded. She deposited her champagne glass on a table and helped him walk towards the kitchen. Aunt Lorelei returned a short time later. She resumed her hostess duties after acquiring a new glass of champagne. The young man did not return.

Before I could fully comprehend what I had just witnessed, I blacked out again from the pain. When I awoke, the house was decorated in red, white and blue. It was hot. I could smell fried chicken and barbecue and watermelon. It was dark outside but the party was going strong. Fireworks illuminated the night skies. Aunt Lorelei waltzed into the room wearing a low-cut white shirt, tight blue jeans and a red fedora. The guests were drinking beer or iced tea, but Lorelei was carrying a half-full glass of champagne. She flitted around, talking here and laughing there. She went into one of the adjoining rooms. I could hear her laughter over all of the conversations around me.

When she came back into the room, Aunt Lorelei was arm-in-arm with a young man wearing the #13 jersey of the local high school baseball team. He was nervous but desperately trying to hide it. Lorelei no longer had the champagne glass. She was smiling, telling him how impressed she was with his home run in the ninth inning. He was enjoying the attention of this older but vivacious woman as she gently steered him towards the kitchen. They turned the corner together. 

A short time later, Lorelei returned, carrying another half-full champagne glass. The young baseball player did not return.

Thus far, no one seemed to notice my presence. I called out to Aunt Lorelei, but she couldn’t hear me. I called louder, but it made my head swim and I passed out again.

Someone was playing a fiddle. Pumpkins and dried corn stalks decorated the corners of the old house, and hay littered the wood floor. Aunt Lorelei was dressed in overalls and a red and black checked flannel shirt. Cowboy boots completed her ensemble. She was square dancing with a young man of about 16. He was also wearing flannel and cowboy boots. The blue First Place ribbon from the state fair was pinned to his chest. He was enjoying himself immensely. She pointed towards the kitchen and made drinking motions with her hand. He nodded and they went to the kitchen.

The young cowboy did not return, but Lorelei did. She was carrying a half-full glass of champagne.

“NO NO NO!” I shouted. “What’s going on back there in the kitchen? What are you doing?” My shouting made my head swim again. What had I just witnessed? No one seemed to notice her trips to the kitchen with young men or that she always seemed to have a half-full glass of champagne. Was it just me? I struggled to my feet.

The kitchen was exactly as I had left it. The faded newspapers were scattered across the floor. There was a door that opened onto the back porch, but somehow that door didn’t seem important. Instead, I turned to the uncracked plaster wall. Something seemed wrong about it. Why wasn’t the plaster cracked and chipping away when every other wall in the house was falling apart?

Unsteadily, I struck the plaster wall with my crowbar. A small amount of plaster dust settled to the floor. I whacked it again and again, but I only created more dust. How thick was the plaster here? Over and over I struck the plaster. Finally it began to crack. More whacks enlarged the cracks. A chunk fell out. It was almost six inches thick.

The more I struck the wall, the more plaster fell until finally, I stood in front of a door that had been sealed behind the plaster. The effort had made me light-headed. I closed my eyes to rest.

When I opened them, I watched as Aunt Lorelei escorted the drunken young man in his early twenties into the kitchen. The newfound door opened and two vagabonds emerged. They grabbed the young man and dragged him through the doorway. He reached for the door jamb, but there was nothing to hold on to and the vagabonds dragged him down the dark stairs behind the door. 

I watched helplessly as this same scene played out with the baseball player and the young cowboy. Each time, after the door was closed, Aunt Lorelei poured herself a half-full glass of champagne. After the third time, I followed her back to the party. My ankle was killing me and as we reached the main room, I collapsed to the floor in a sprawling heap. Wearily I pushed myself up into a sitting position.

The house was empty. There were no party guests. There was no food. No music. No streamers or fake spider webs. But as I looked around, I saw Aunt Lorelei standing in the doorway to one of the adjoining rooms. She was leaning against the door jamb. In her hand was a half-full glass of champagne.

“Hello, nephew,” she said. 

I looked around. There was no one in the room besides the two of us.

“Umm, hi, Aunt Lorelei.”

“Did you enjoy my parties?”

“Umm, yes,” I said uncertainly. I paused.

“You want to know what happened to those young men, don’t you?” I nodded. “I have no idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“After they leave here, I have no idea what happens to them. Maybe they were sold into slavery. Maybe somebody wants their organs. I don't know. I don't care.”

“Slavery?” I asked stupidly. I was having trouble comprehending the conversation.

“You’re smarter than this. Figure it out,” Aunt Lorelei snapped. “Your uncle had money, but not enough to support me the way I needed to be supported. After he died, my associates approached me with a business deal. I supply them with healthy young men for whatever nefarious purpose they have and they pay me handsomely. And I don't ask questions.” She sipped her champagne.

“Did you kill my uncle?”

She smiled. “I loved him once. That’s why your mother hates me. She always suspected me. But to answer your question: no, I didn’t kill him. He was stupid enough to walk to the edge of the cliff and lost his balance and fell.”

My ankle was throbbing. My brain was protesting. I closed my eyes. I heard the sound of the champagne glass being set down. When I opened my eyes again, Aunt Lorelei was kneeling right in front of me.

“I could sell you to my associates, but I’m afraid you’re a little too old for their specifications. And besides, I like my only nephew.” 

“You lured those young men to their deaths!” I cried.

“Maybe.” She smiled again. “I can tell you’re struggling to process everything you’ve seen. You don’t really need to understand it. You can’t do anything about it. I will forever be remembered as the woman who threw the best parties. Everything you witnessed is in the past. Only you and this house know what really happened. You only met me once, when you were a kid, so no one will believe you, and the house isn’t talking.” She stood and retrieved her champagne glass. She took a sip. As she sashayed towards the adjoining room, she faded away and was gone.

“Aunt Lorelei?” I got to my feet and hobbled to the doorway. I put my hand on the door jamb where her hand had been a few minutes earlier. In the distance I could hear my aunt’s airy laughter, then it faded away to silence. 

The house was demolished the following week. Afterwards, I stood on the land where the house had been. The view was incredible. The demolition foreman asked me if I was going to build another house on the land, but I shook my head. The silence of the land, and the house that had once stood on it, was deafening.