I was secretly in love with Ev but shy about revealing my feelings until a bizarre set of circumstances provided me with an opportunity.
Ev’s mother passed and bequeathed all her assets to Ev on the condition that she live a year in the family manse. Ev was terrified of the prospect and felt the house was haunted.
That’s when the second propitious event occurred. My apartment in Rosedale was flooded by burst water pipes and rendered uninhabitable—the repairs would take up to a month.
Sophia, Ev’s friend, suggested I move in to support Ev until my plumbing issues were solved.
Ev was surprisingly receptive to the idea and said having me there would be comforting.
I moved in over the next few days and Ev and I ended up having rooms next to each other on the second floor.
I met the housekeeper, Eleanor, and Peter the gardener, and of course, became acquainted with the murky manse with its dark alcoves, mahogany paneling, turreted rooms and creaking floorboards.
Hill House was actually a beautiful manse built in the Gothic style and located in the Annex area of Toronto, not far from the university. I could walk to and from the campus.
I felt I was living the dream—until the second night of my stay.
Well, maybe I should place things in perspective:
The first day and a half I hardly saw Ev.
She had said we could share meals in the dining room seeing as Eleanor was employed to carry on as housekeeper and cook for the duration of the year.
Unfortunately, only I sat at the long table, served by the taciturn Eleanor and observed by Cecil, a huge black Siamese with a baleful stare.
After dinner, I retreated to the great room where a fire was bubbling in the huge stone fireplace and spent an hour or so sipping Medoc and reading.
That was when the dire events began.
Ev came into the room pale and shivering, looking as if she’d seen a ghost.
I was alarmed by her appearance and jumped up and rushed to her. “Are you all right, Ev? Come, sit down by the fire.”
I forgot all about my shyness and put an arm around her and helped her to a love seat near the grate.
I poured her a glass of wine and insisted she drink some while I fetched an afghan draped over a sofa chair and used it as a throw cover to put around her.
After a few minutes, some colour retuned to her cheeks.
“Thanks, Jon,” she smiled, her eyes shining.
Her look of gratitude warmed me more than the wine.
I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her, but instead, sat beside her and waited for her to confide in me.
Eventually she did.
“I lay down on the bed in my room just before dinner—I intended to come down, but was so tired, I fell asleep. I had an awful dream. I was aware of a dark presence coming out of the walk-in closet. I tried to scream and jump out of bed, but I couldn’t move. It was horrible.”
Somehow, I overcame my reticence and patted her hand.
“There, there—take your time, Ev—you’re safe now.”
She began to weep.
“It reminded me of the night terrors I had here in this house when I was a little girl—I spent years in therapy, but it didn’t help. Finally, when I was seventeen I went to live in the university residence, and refused to come back—until now.”
She said the latter words with a sense of hopelessness that wrung my heart. I wanted to protect her and shelter her for the rest of her life.
“I can’t go back up to that room tonight, Jon.”
I nodded, “I understand. You don’t have to—you can stay right here, and I’ll stay with you. Nothing will hurt you,” I said fiercely.
There was a moment of recognition when her eyes widened in surprise. I wanted so badly to kiss her, or at least put my arms around her, but instead, I forced myself to look away.
We sat in silence watching the fire for a while, and then I got up, checked the doors and windows, and retrieved another afghan for myself and sat down beside her on the love seat.
We sat there listening to the soft flutter of flames in the grate and a light rain pattering against the window, until exhausted, we both fell asleep.
During the night, I awoke to feel a slight pressure against me, and opened my eyes to see Ev’s head, leaning upon my shoulder.
I could scarcely breathe for the joy I felt inside.
The great room became our nightly retreat, each of us snuggling beneath afghans on the love seat, then sharing breakfast and dinner in the dining room with the taciturn Eleanor and Cecil the baleful cat.
And, in time, Ev gradually relaxed and opened up to me.
Thankfully, it was shyness and not aloofness that made her appear distant—Oh, and I learned she preferred to be called Evelyn, an even more beautiful name, and I cherished speaking each of its syllables.
Then one night it happened. I awoke to see her face looking into mine—saw the surprise in her dark eyes for the passion we both shared—and we kissed for the first time.
I’m still not sure if the house was really haunted but I was thankful it provided a retreat where we could meet and finally deepen our relationship.
I’m actually thankful the house seemed beset by spirits because now Ev no longer haunts my dreams, but will share my life forever.
