Decades later, area children, in a twisted version of this ugly history, claim to call on the Dark Man to ask for favors and do his bidding in return. Havenwood still stands, abandoned but not alone, frequented by area teens who use it as a place to party, and also to call on Dr. Arkmann and tell him their darkest desires.
The property is owned by the Merle family, most recently by a construction mogul named Justice Merle. He restored Arkmann’s historic home, Merle House, which sat about a mile from Havenwood, apparently not a believer in the stories or in the idea of haunted lands.
Cold fingers of fear tickled down the back of Samantha’s spine.
Stop it, she chastised herself.
She did not, nor had she ever, believed in anything supernatural. She wasn’t superstitious. She wasn’t religious. She wasn’t even “spiritual,” as so many people seemed to be these days. Even though most people in her work as a yoga instructor and wellness coach were into all that, Samantha was about the health of body and mind.
What she did believe in was the contagion of fear and bad ideas. This kind of thinking was a virus, and it infected young people more than anyone. What had Matthew said? Bad kids looking for an excuse to do bad things. Something like the idea of the Dark Man, when seized upon by troubled young minds, was insidious.
Haunted land. How stupid.
She jumped when Penny returned, bringing with her two lattes.
“Didn’t mean to startle,” said the older woman. “Everything okay? You looked a little peaked.”
“Just tired,” said Samantha, closing her laptop.
She shook off what she’d just read. Silliness, right? Clickbait.
Penny slid in across from Samantha. Penny had changed from the blue polo shirt with the coffee shop logo into a pretty flowered blouse. She was one of those ageless women, lovely to look at, with glowing skin and an intelligent gaze. If she’d cared for a young Matthew when he was a kid, she must be in her sixties, but could easily pass for much younger.
“How’s Merle House treating you?” Penny glanced at Samantha over her cup.
The coffee. It was wonderful, smooth and rich, foamy with milk. She missed these creature comforts, the little pleasures of living someplace that had everything you wanted within a few minutes’ drive. Good coffee, nice restaurants, a big, gleaming gym, yoga studio. Merle House. It was isolating; there was an energy that kept you there. The drive to the gate was almost fifteen minutes long.
“It’s a bit of a wreck, to be honest,” admitted Samantha. “We have our work cut out for us if we want to sell.”
“Sell? Will you sell it?” Surely Peter must have told her. But Penny looked surprised to the point of being stricken.
“That’s the plan,” said Samantha easily.
The other woman turned her gold wedding band. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore.
“That house, that land,” Penny said. “It’s been in Matthew’s family for such a long time.”
Boundaries, people, thought Samantha. None of your beeswax what we do with our “inheritance.”
She waved a breezy hand, trying to keep things light.
“It’s far too much house for us. Our daughter, Jewel, she’ll be leaving for college in two years. And it will just be us.”
That was a scary thought, just the two of them, without Jewel to focus on.
“Just the one then?” said Penny with an eyebrow raise.
She loved the way people said that as if she’d defied a social norm by only bearing one child. Surely people knew that life had a way of making choices for you, that you weren’t always in control.
“Yes,” said Samantha. “And once she’s off to school, we’d always planned to downsize a bit and travel more.”
“Places like Merle House are . . . not so easy to shift off,” said Penny. It might have been ominous, but she followed it with a good-natured chuckle.
“We’re discovering that,” Samantha said. “But we’re hoping to market it as a writers’ retreat, or maybe a bed-and-breakfast.”
It rang hollow, sounded like a lie or a pipe dream. But Penny nodded politely, seeming to have recovered herself and remembered that it was no business of hers what became of Merle House.
They chatted a bit, about young Matthew, about Penny’s time as Justice Merle’s housekeeper, about how she’d checked in on Matthew’s grandfather regularly until his passing.
“There’s a tie to the place, to the people,” she said, when Samantha expressed their gratitude for all she’d done. “My family has served that land for generations. It’s in my blood in a way.”
“Tell me,” said Samantha.
Penny smiled, seemed pleased that she was interested.
“Well, Merle House as you see it now has only been there since the 1980s. But there was another house on its footprint for generations,” said Penny. “Not as grand, but a mansion by standards of the day. Justice Merle restored it, updated it, and expanded it.”
Samantha nodded, having just read as much, and sipped at her latte. Would she mention Havenwood and the evil Dr. Arkmann?
“The men in my family have served as groundskeepers, the women as maids, cooks, and housekeepers,” Penny went on. “Of course, my girls went off to college, and they don’t want anything to do with this old town, or Merle House. And Mason Brandt, my cousin’s son and Matthew’s old friend, well, he won’t be back here. So, after Pete, I’m not sure who will keep the grounds.”
Penny was easy, casual, as if of course Samantha should know all this, that everyone did. Matthew had never said anything about another house, about Penny’s family serving the Merle family for generations, about Amelia March, about Havenwood. In fact, he’d barely talked about Merle House except in the most passing mentions until they inherited. Her husband. He was so very good at hiding things he himself would prefer to forget.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about Havenwood. But she swallowed it back; she
