The Heart of Plaik'ni Inn
"Good evening, miss." William's genteel voice greeted her.
"Hello, William, how are you?" Jesse replied.
"Quite well, thank you for inquiring. Tonight's agenda concerns the body. Go ahead and get the sarcasm out of your system before we begin."
She giggled a bit and said, "Well, really, William, with all due respect, I would have figured at least Rita for this one."
"And why is that?"
"Well, to be frank, she does have the body with the most, how should I put this, character? Oh, that reminds me, why does Tim treat her so, I don't know, casually? He's always making suggestive comments to her."
"I see. Are you referring to the comments he makes about her appearance?"
"Yes."
"And exactly how would you treat a body such as Rita's?"
"Well, not like a body."
"Why not? She's wearing a perfectly splendid body. When someone has on a new outfit whose selection they have obviously put a great deal of thought into, isn't it polite to compliment? The same inspired effort went into choosing our bodies. Surely a body more than a dress deserves our attention."
"Well, of course, but his comments are, um...profane...I mean, she's an angel."
"Why do you insist on taking the body so seriously?"
"It's a temple of God, isn't it?"
"Quite so. You give the body disease. Now, that's profane. Tim's just giving Rita's body admiration. That's polite."
Jesse was out getting the mail and met the Reeds at the row of boxes lining the drive. They chatted for a bit, and Jesse made a comment about how the house came alive with people in it, and Keith shook his head in what Jesse thought was disgust, snickered an eery sort of laugh and said, "That damn house has more a mind its own than most people."
Charlotte chimed in with the same chortle, "Oh, gads, the stories we could tell you. That damn
house," shaking her head the way her husband had.
"Tell me!" Jesse begged.
They thought about it for a moment and Char said, "Well, after your guests have gone, come on over. We'll make your blood curdle."
What an intriguing remark! Jesse could not wait to see the guests off on their way as her curiosity grew by the minute. Eager to hear about the inn, when the last guest left, Jesse crossed the road and walked up the driveway to the round house.
By the time Keith Reed began building the house across the road from the inn, he was tired of making them square, so he built it round. Jesse was tingling with anticipation as she approached the front door.
So, there was something more about that place, she thought, it certainly led one to believe so.
A couple of times while she was remodeling her room, she ran up against some unexplainable problems with the simplest task: hanging a picture, positioning the dresser and the size of the window seat. It ended up okay, but she
remembered standing there arguing with the walls. She didn't think much of this at the time until now. Charlotte invited her into the kitchen, and the three of them sat around the dining room table. Hoping to be intrigued by the origin of the inn's unique mystique, Jesse was not disappointed. Keith cleared his throat.
"First of all," he began, "the original blueprints weren't nothin' like the finished structure, which is not unusual until you learn why. After the first draft was done, the plans got soaked by blowing off a chair and landing in a puddle. Soaked them instantly and dissolved all traces of ink."
It could happen.
"The second draft caught fire when a guy helping me dropped his cigarette. It's possible, I suppose, but we were standing right there, and the thing just went up in flames, from one cigarette."
Hmmm.
"Third set simply disappeared one night."
"One of the boys musta taken it outside and it blew away," Charlotte added.
Very interesting, Jesse thought.
"I was familiar enough with the plans that while the fourth set was being
printed; I went about pouring the concrete and erecting the posts for the frame. One morning, I drove up to the site, and not one post was left standing. It was as if someone had come along in the middle of the night, and methodically pulled out each one. I was puzzled
all right, but I got busy righting them all again. Next morning, same thing, only this time the ends of the lumber was splintered, making ‘em plum useless. That was it for me. I am not a man given to outbursts, and superstitions even less so, but this was too much. I was madder than heck and started ripping the rest of the beams out, and in my fury I tripped over a brick.
A brick. "Build it out of brick," I heard myself say out loud. I pondered this a while and realized it actually made more sense living out here in the middle of the woods. I scratched my head for a week as I layed brick and mortar without a hitch.
Every few days or so I'd start with a new wall or room, and come back the next day to find something amiss—either the mortar had mysteriously softened or the bricks loosened. I'd stare down at the self-destructed section and wait. Soon enough, a new idea would appear in my head, and I'd start building from this image. I learned to stop questioning and start listening. Wished I'd a learned that one years ago; woulda saved me a lot of trouble in life. I'm not a religious man, but something was putting those ideas into my head because it wasn't me.
From then on, every time I came up against a problem, I yelled at the house to fix it. It did. The laundry room was originally going to be in the basement, but the pipes wouldn't connect; had a plumber come out and even he couldn't get them to snug together. Ten minutes after we finished, out they'd pop. Stood there and watched 'em. After two or three times, I said wearily, ‘The laundry room don't belong down here. I don't know where it belongs, but it don't belong down here.' That plumber thought I was a mighty odd fellow, but I knew what I was talking about; thought about it for a few days, then got to work extending the kitchen-pantry area, and that's where the laundry room now lives, happy as a damn clam. The only thing that house and I agreed on right from the start was low-to-the-floor windows, so the little ones could see out. The main stairway started out going straight up, but the planks kept popping up. I yelled at it, ‘Whatcha want now, a spiral staircase?!' But I didn't think so, and when I redesigned it with a turn, the boards stayed put. Craziest damn thing ya ever seen. People thought I'd up and lost it when I'd go on about that damn house. She's the only one believed me," he motioned to his wife who rolled her eyes, "and that's 'cause she tried to hang pictures and set the furniture around. Them walls is might particular 'bout what hangs where." Keith concluded.
"Yeah, heh, heh," Charlotte began, "I wanted linoleum, not carpeting, it's so much easier to keep clean in this climate. Heh, that damn house wanted carpeting, and evertime I set about laying linoleum, up it'd come off the floor. Did this about four times in the foyer and finally said the heck with it, and layed down stone. Linoleum went down okay in the kitchen and laundry room, but anywhere else, up it'd come. Then, I thought it would be nice to have one wall in the great room painted brick, and do you know its original color bled back through. Your dad would get so darn mad at that house everytime he tried to fix something. Loved your mom, though, she'd talk real sweet to it. Your dad was jealous, I think, he'd cuss at it; and let me tell you, that house always gets the last word."
Jesse was speechless. She'd never heard about any of this, which given either of her parent's communication style didn't really surprise her. Jesse had a few questions, to say the least. "So, do you think the place is haunted?"
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