667

1902

Lenard Tilloston and his young wife Rebecca moved to Orange County, California from Texas when their oil wells began to dry out. Not wealthy enough to move to the high class of the east coast they had gone for the next best thing. The small town had little to offer them. With a population just over two thousand it wasn’t even a quarter the size of Houston and most were lower middle class to poor fishermen. Intent on bringing culture to the tiny town Lenard started a newspaper with delusions of becoming the west coast equivalent of The Times.

To cheer his wife Lenard built a house on the very edge of town as far he could from the fish and ocean smell she hated. The cobblestone road ended at a flower bed filled with every color of flower possible. The sweeping flagstone steps leading to a deep set porch fanned out from the house like the gown train of a queen. To the right the porch was large enough for the two of them to take tea and for the nanny and two children to join them. A medieval turret rose from the left of the house, which is where the children stayed. The sharp pitched roof cut into the sky like razors. Not long after moving to Orange County, Lenard’s newspaper began to fail. The small fishing community wasn’t so much interested in what was going on in New York as it was the weather for the next day. Unable to tell his wife they were on their way to the poor house he stewed in depression for months until one night Rebecca came home with a new satin dress special ordered from the east coast and costing more than he had in the bank. The black glimmered like an oil slick and Lenard lost his sanity. They argued and it came out just how poor they were.

Distraught and unable to comfort his devastated wife Lenard retreated from their bedroom to his study. He poured himself a glass of brandy spiked with poison. Barely six months after Lenard was buried the land prospector Michael Davis began wooing Rebecca. After looking over his expensive Italian suit and pocket book she accepted his advances. When he discovered she had two children, a three and ten year old, he abruptly cut off the courtship. A breath away from the poor house Rebecca was furious something so little could frighten away a good match. She decided one night to fix the problem. Late on the night of October thirty-fist she went up the turret and in fury seized the youngest. The child screamed and cried and her oldest son tried to get his brother away but she shoved him off. She threw open the window and shoved the small boy out the window. The oldest son escaped her and ran to the closest neighbor waking them and telling them everything. By sunrise the police arrived at the house only to find Rebecca had hung herself at the top of the stairs.

*~*~* For years the house sat vacant, waiting. Once in a long while a family from out of town moved in. But with every family, within a few weeks, was out again under terrible circumstances. Odd, fatal, accidents befalling the youngest children forced the families to leave. Rumors on school playgrounds circulated of a horrible witch that still lived in the house, a baby killer.