Photograph

The first time Hal and Susan saw the old photograph was the day they moved into 111 W. Gingerton Avenue. It was odd because they didn’t remember seeing it when they looked at the house, and it was also not the kind of photograph someone intentionally leaves behind. Yet, there it was perched on the windowsill of their bathroom when they arrived, like it was watching them and greeting them all at the same time.

“Maybe it’s someone who lived in this house,” Susan suggested to Hal when he handed her the black and white discovery framed in a circle of silver.

“Maybe,” he nodded, unpacking his shaving cream and razor from a cardboard box of toiletries and placing them in the medicine cabinet, “But, whoever that woman and boy are in the picture, they’ve at least been here before. They were photographed in the backyard, right by that old weeping willow tree that’s still out there, see?” Hal pointed to the sagging tree in the picture hovering over the woman and child in the photo.

Susan peered at the picture with a twinge of curiosity. The woman and the boy wore early twentieth-century clothing; the woman in a long white dress and sunhat with flowers, the small boy in knickers and button-up black shoes. The boy had black, deep-set eyes, unlike his mother’s wider, helpless-looking eyes. Neither one smiled or appeared happy as they stood under the tree and posed for the picture.

Susan turned the picture upside down and popped it out of the frame. It immediately exuded a thick musty smell like it had been in a damp basement for a hundred years. On the back of the picture in a faded feminine manuscript was written, “Natalie and Elliott Daniels in their new home 1923.”

“Hal, they did live here,” Susan extended the picture and showed Hal the writing. “I wonder if that little old lady, Miss Framerpot from next door, knows who they were. I think I‘ll ask her tomorrow when I pick up our extra keys from her. There’s something about the way that woman in the picture is looking at me, Hal. She’s trying to tell me something. And that boy…something about that boy reminds me of...” Susan’s voice cracked.

Hal stopped loading his toiletries into the medicine cabinet and looked at Susan. “Sue,” Hal threw up his arms in defeated frustration.

“I know, I know,” Susan’s voice flattened. “This house is supposed to be a new start and help me forget that our son drowned two years ago, but Hal,” Susan’s eyes begged him to agree, “Don’t you think there’s something about that boy in the picture that reminds you…”

Hal slammed the medicine cabinet shut and glared at his wife. “No, I don’t Susan, and I’m past trying to keep Tim alive. He’s gone and it’s over, and I’m trying very hard to move on. I wish you would too.” Hal pushed past Susan and out of the bathroom. He clunked down the stairs in his paint-stained work boots as Susan, unable to decipher any further clues about Natalie and Elliott from scanning the picture, placed the photograph back in its place on the bathroom windowsill.

For a few more hours Hal and Susan unpacked. Susan worked in the bedroom, placing a picture of her son Tim on her bedside table. Hal worked on the garage, unpacking his golf clubs, lawnmower, and miscellaneous tools. After stopping to wolf down a delivered pepperoni pizza, Hal and Susan felt exhausted and climbed into bed. Before rolling over to begin his nightly snore fest, Hal kissed Susan on the forehead forgivingly. “I really do hope you grow to love your new home, honey,” “Me too,” Susan nodded and turned out the light. She quickly drifted into a troubled sleep and began to dream about Natalie and Elliott and visions of Tim as he slipped under the icy water of their former farm pond. She heard water running, gurgling screams and what sounded like a rattling pipe. Suddenly, Susan gasped for air and jolted up in bed. Hal hardly noticed. He was busy punching his pillow and cursing, “That damn pipe!”

Now awake, Susan realized that the rattling pipe from the dream was real and it came from the bathroom. Having to pee anyway, she got up to investigate. As soon as Susan flipped the light on, the rattling pipe stopped.

“Thank God,” Hal muttered, rolled over and resumed his snoring repose. Susan shot Hal an annoyed look then stepped toward the toilet. She stopped when she saw the photograph of Natalie and Elliott in the bottom of the tub. Water from the picture ran in a steady stream from the picture to the drain tub, even though the rest of the tub was completely dry.

Susan backed out of the bathroom. As she did, an intense feeling of hatred grabbed at her, and a child’s voice whispered for help. Susan rushed out of the room and downstairs. She spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch, too afraid to move or call to Hal for help.

In the morning, Hal awoke early and called a local plumber. Susan could hear bits and pieces of the conversation. “It rattled from 3:00 to 4:30 this morning for no reason,” I heard Hal explain to the man on the other end. “That would be great. I’ll see you in a as sitting on the window sill this morning when I was in there.” Susan looked at Hal for a minute trying to decide if he was teasing or serious. Either way, curiosity overcame her and she headed upstairs. Approaching the bathroom doorway, Susan didn’t feel the ugly hatred or desperation that overpowered the bathroom the night before. She ducked her head inside and saw the picture, completely dry, sitting on the windowsill, right where they first found it.

“This is it,” She thought, with her hands presof the couch where Susan had spent the night.

“Not really,” she shook her matted head and added water to the coffee pot. “Did you see the picture in the bathtub?” She quizzed Hal about any morning discoveries he might have made.

“What?” He looked at her confused with both the question and her reason for asking.

“You know,” Susan persisted, “That picture of Natalie and Elliott. It was wet in the bottom of the tub last night.”

“I don’t think so,” Hal looked at her like her with upraised eyebrows. “It was sitting on the window sill this morning when I was in there.” Susan looked at Hal for a minute trying to decide if he was teasing or serious. Either way, curiosity overcame her and she headed upstairs. Approaching the bathroom doorway, Susan didn’t feel the ugly hatred or desperation that overpowered the bathroom the night before. She ducked her head inside and saw the picture, completely dry, sitting on the windowsill, right where they first found it.

“This is it,” She thought, with her hands pressed against her head. “The stress of Tim’s death and wanting so bad to keep him alive in my mind has finally driven me over the edge, just like Dr. Cashman said it would.” Susan sat down on the bed and took a few deep breaths.

“No,” Susan stood up and began talking back to herself. “I am not crazy. Sad maybe. Angry maybe. Frustrated with life maybe, but not crazy!” Her face scrunched into a determined expression.

She grabbed a clean pair of sweats, combed her hair and brushed her teeth. Then she headed next door to talk to Miss Framerpot. Miss Framerpot was just returning from church, holding her rosary in one hand and a faded King James Bible in the other when Susan reached her doorstep “Miss Framerpot,” Susan extended her hand to the chunky gray-haired woman in bright red lipstick. “I’m Susan Adleman, your new neighbor. I came to get our spare keys and possibly ask you a few questions.”

“Come in,” she smiled to reveal a smear of lipstick across her top front teeth and unlocked her front door to allow us inside. “How’s things going in your new home? I saw you moving your things in yesterday. Come on back to the kitchen,” Miss Framerpot dropped her religious collection on a nearby end table and motioned for Susan to follow her.

“Miss Framerpot,” Susan asked impatiently. “Did you know Natalie and Elliott Daniels who used to live in our house?”

“Why would you ask about them?” Miss Framerpot questioned Susan with dark, deep-set eyes that reminded her of Elliott’s eyes.

“I found their picture in my house and there’s something weird going on with it. It’s hard to explain,” Susan shrugged her shoulders at the elderly lady. “But somehow I think it’s important.”

“Oh? Sounds mysterious.” She grabbed two china cups from the cupboard, set them on the table, then plopped down. “Well,” she put her spotted hand to her chin and began. “The truth is I didn’t know them, but I know what happened to them.” She hesitated then continued. “It’s kind of hard to forget because it all happened the morning I was born.” Miss Framerpot got up and began to pace the kitchen.

“It was about three or four in the morning on November 18, 1923.” Miss Framerpot’s voice quietly began the story. “The Daniels family had been in their house about a year. William Daniels was a doctor. Natalie was his wife and Elliott was their son. It was rumored that Natalie was addicted to morphine and suicidal. On that morning, it was icy and bitterly cold, and the hospital wasn’t very close by. My father, who was a doctor too, knew when my mother went into labor that they would never make it to the hospital, so he decided to deliver me. The situation grew serious when my father discovered that I was breach and the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. Around six in the morning my father requested that Dr. Daniels come to assist with my delivery.”

Miss Framerpot grabbed the fresh pot of coffee and poured a cup for each of us before continuing. “Once I had been delivered and Dr. Daniels arrived home, he found Natalie and Elliott dead in their upstairs bathtub. Supposedly, Natalie had drowned Elliott and then killed herself while she was using morphine. Dr. Daniels appeared heartbroken and moved away just a couple of months later. The house has had many owners and renters since, but no one ever stays very long. People complain about loud noises and hearing whispers. I was hoping things would be different for you and Hal.” Miss. Framerpot looked at me with depleting hope.

“Oh my God,” Susan stood up on shaky legs with the thought of not only her child drowning, but of Elliott struggling to free himself of his mother and her murderous hands. “Miss. Framerpot, I need to go,” She stumbled out Miss Framerpot’s back door and over to her own patio where she vomited into the bushes at the edge of the concrete. She leaned against the house and stared at the spot under the willow tree where Natalie and Elliott had once stood. Tears flowed down her face as she relived Tim’s death and then thought of Elliott’s senseless murder. Hal found her weeping and led Susan upstairs to their room where she finally fell asleep.

She awoke to the sound of the doorbell an hour later. She heard Hal talking to a plumber as they walked around the house examining pipes. Soon they tromped upstairs, through her bedroom and into the bathroom. “Sorry honey,” Hal looked at her and put his hands up apologetically as they walked by. The men walked over to the tub where Hal explained he thought a pipe had been rattling behind the wall. Susan continued to lie on the bed but listened to their conversation.

“Boy, Mr. Adleman,” the plumber shook his head, “I sure wish there was an access panel here for the pipe so I could look at it, but in old homes like these, you never know what you’re going to find,” the plumber rapped his knuckles against the wall near the pipe. Near the bottom of the wall he stopped. “That’s weird,” his eyebrows knitted together. “When you rap on the wall here it sounds different. Maybe there is some kind of old access panel behind this old claw foot tub after all.” He grabbed a screwdriver and slid his thin body between the tub and the wall for a closer inspection.

“What do you see back there?” Hal questioned curiously. “Just a minute,” the plumber echoed from behind the tub. He wedged his screwdriver between the baseboard and the floor. The baseboard and a section of floor popped out. “Throw me my flashlight,” the plumber directed to Hal. Hal grabbed the light off the counter and handed it to him. The plumber flashed his light around the mysterious cubby and discovered a book wedged in between the pipe and a board. He grabbed the paper discovery and squirmed out of his small working space.

“I’ve got some kind of book here,” the plumber held up a musty leather covered clump of pages. This perked Susan’s interest. She jumped off the bed and walked into the bathroom. “It’s a journal,” he said.

“Can I have it?” Susan held her hands out. “Sure,” the plumber handed her the fragile volume and turned back to Hal. “Really Mr. Adleman, the plumber put his hands on his hips, “After inspecting all your plumbing, I agree with the first plumber who inspected your house when you bought it. The plumbing is fine, the pipe behind the tub doesn’t appear to be loose, I have no idea why your pipe would be rattling. It’s just one of those things.”

As a dissatisfied Hal paid the plumber and walked him to the door, Susan sat down on the couch and opened the journal. In the upper left hand corner in the same feminine handwriting as on the back of the photograph it read, “Natalie Daniels.” Susan could see the diary was started in 1922. She turned to the back. The last entry was November 16, 1923, which was two days before Natalie died. Susan read the entry:

Dear Journal,
This situation cannot continue any longer. I must find a way to leave my husband William. He has convinced everyone that I am addicted to morphine and want to kill myself, but he is the one addicted to morphine and having an affair with Mrs. Framerpot next door. I even wonder if the baby Mrs. Framerpot is about to have is William’s child. Elliott is scared of William because he is growing increasingly violent and dark. Last week I saw my husband putting some kind of powder into my food and in Elliott’s milk when he thought I wasn’t looking. I pretended I was ill and didn’t eat it. Then I scolded Elliott for bad table manners and sent him to bed without supper. I’m sure that William is trying to kill us. I am going to hide this journal from William for my own protection. If Elliott and I ever die under mysterious circumstances, hopefully someone will find my journal in the future and spread the truth so that Elliott and I can rest in peace.

May God Save Our Souls
Natalie Daniels

Susan’s mouth dropped open and everything started to make sense. She realized it was Natalie’s restless spirit that had rattled the pipe so that the journal could be found. Natalie also knew that Susan would understand her pain. It became clear to Susan that William Daniels had drugged his family and drowned them himself in the bathtub before he ever left to help deliver Miss Framerpot.

By the time Hal was done seeing the plumber off and running a yippy little terrier from down the street off the lawn, Susan had gone upstairs. She went to the bathroom and picked up the picture of Natalie and Elliott. Susan hugged the photograph and walked over to her bedside table where she had placed a picture of Tim. Beside Tim’s photo, she placed the photograph of Natalie and Elliott. When Susan looked at them now, they appeared to be smiling. Susan knew they were at peace when she picked up the phone to call Miss Framerpot with the truth about their deaths.