A Sacred Place, a short story

"A sacred place," she said, walking into the main entry of the pink, stucco villa.

The man shook his head. "No, Ma'am, this is not a sacred place."

She turned to face his words, which hung in the thick air.

His eyes roamed the crisp, white, ceramic tiles.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She half-smiled as if memories from the past wafted through her consciousness. She floated from room to room exploring all the nooks and crannies of the old mansion.

He watched her, wondering what she was searching for. He'd shown this house many times over the past 20 years, but this was the first time a client examined each crevice so thoroughly. He wondered at times if she were hunting treasure.

She closed her eyes and glided through the house adeptly as if she was already intimate with the house. She hummed and twirled. Her eyes welled with tears. She ran her fingertips over the banister, pausing in the middle of the staircase. Her eyes glazed over--involved in distant memories.

He scrutinized her. She was far too young to have lived in this house. She was maybe 20 years old, but he had never seen her. She dressed simply, but she radiated in this house. He had inquired about whether she could even afford to buy the house, but she was determined and offered vague responses. He had merely humored her. After all, what did he have to lose?

Most clients walked in the front door, gasped at the heavy sadness that thickened the air, politely glanced around, and headed for the safety of their car. He played a secret game with them; he would size up the client and then estimate how long they would last. The shortest time was 58 seconds; the longest was fifteen minutes. This woman had already set a new record--95 minutes, and she showed no signs of stopping.

He was intrigued by her. She had run through the villa bursting into each room as if someone might be waiting for her. Then she had begun her suspended-in-time tour, relishing the woodwork, the tiles, the doors, the fireplaces, and the stairs. Curious, he followed her at a distance, sensing that somehow he was intruding on very private moments.

When she pushed against a wall, he started to tell her that it was a wall, but then the wall gave way to her nudging, and she disappeared.

Several minutes passed. He walked over and peered into the tiny room. She sat gently rocking herself. Her tears flowed from closed eyelids.

He cast a shadow over her.

She looked up at him and blinked.

He spoke, "Are you ok, Ma'am?"

She smiled wistfully and nodded.

Silence hung between them.

He sighed. "You seem very sweet, and I think there's something that you should know. This house has a horrendous history."

Her eyes opened fully focused on him now.

"The family that lived here was brutally murdered. It's haunted. I've been showing this house for twenty years, and no one has ever been inside for this long. I'm not sure how you knew to find this secret room, but this isn't good for you."

She blinked and shook her head softly. Then whispered, "Yes, they were killed, and there is a sadness that lurks here. But, this house hid hundreds of slaves. Neighbors reported them to the police, but the police could find no proof of the slaves. So, the family continued to help runaway slaves. The neighbors spread the news to anyone who might listen; the group most interested decided to enforce the law themselves. At night, they invaded the house, and no one survived."

He nodded, "Yeah, like I said, people were murdered here. Why're you so interested in this house all of a sudden? How'd you know about this room?"

She blinked at him and stood up. She brushed the dust from her long dress. "Thank you for showing me the house, Mr. Julius. I appreciate your patience."

"It's my pleasure, but--"

She smiled and walked past him.

"Please, how did you know about the room?" He was nearly begging now.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she whispered. "Let's just leave it this way... I have come to facilitate forgiveness and healing. I think you'll find that your clients will want to see more of the villa, and you will have a purchase offer soon." She left him in the house.

His eyes popped open and his bottom jaw dropped. Questions swirled through his thoughts. He ran to the front entry in time to see her car drive down the dusty lane. He sat on the front swing, trying to steady himself. When he pulled the front door closed, he stopped and walked in. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air was no longer thick with tragedy. Instead he felt drawn its warmth and peacefulness. He exhaled completely and locked the door.

He turned and looked down the dusty lane where the child-woman had disappeared. He nodded acknowledging her truth: forgiveness had healed the past hurts and replaced them with peace. He stood in a sacred place.