Agoraphobia
The phone rang in Lionel Penn's office, and his administrative assistant, Judy Stanfield, promptly answered it before the second ring.
"Lion," she announced to her employer through the open door, "it's Mayor Lawson."
Dr. Penn picked up the receiver and jokingly said to his old school friend, "Hey, Ernie, if you're calling about a campaign contribution, you've got the wrong number."
"The day I call you for money is the day I run on the Republican ticket."
"What can I do for you then?"
"I want to ask you a favor. The village recently bought up those five old, dilapidated homes on the Sewell Road cul-de-sac, off the Old Salem Turnpike. We plan on tearing them down and making Sewell into an entrance ramp that will connect the northern end of town to the interstate."
"That's a great idea," Lionel said. "It'll be a lot easier to get on the interstate there than having to drive through the lights and traffic in the center of town. But why call me? I'm a psychiatrist, not a highway engineer."
"There is one owner who refuses to sell. The place is old and falling down, and we probably wouldn't have any trouble getting it condemned. However, bad publicity could come out of a situation like that, and I'm up for reelection. Here's where you come in. The owner is one of those people who are afraid to leave their homes."
"An agoraphobic?"
"I don't know what the clinical name for it is. We've sent people out there to talk to her, but she won't listen to reason. Apparently, she hasn't taken a step outside her house in many years. This is your line of work, Lion. You understand these people. Could you go down there, talk to her and get her to leave—quietly?"
"I'll go and talk to her, but I can't promise anything. I can't wave my magic wand and make her agoraphobia disappear. It can take years for some people to overcome their fears, and some are so deep-rooted that they last a lifetime."
"I'm not expecting a miracle. I just want to try everything else before asking the Board of Health to start condemnation proceedings."
The following day Lionel visited the woman's house on Sewell Road.
When he knocked, the front door opened a crack, and a female voice asked, "Who is it?"
"My name is Lionel Penn. Mayor Lawson asked me to stop by and talk to you."
"Are you a policeman or a lawyer?"
"Neither. I'm a doctor actually, but I'm not here in an official capacity. I'm an old friend of the mayor. Would you mind if I came inside and you and I talked?"
The door opened wider.
"Please come in, Dr. Penn."
Lionel had been expecting a much older woman. He distinctly remembered Ernest telling him the owner hadn't left her house in many years, yet this woman didn't look a day over thirty.
"We can talk in the parlor if you'd like," the young woman said, leading the way through the foyer and down the hall.
"Thank you," the psychiatrist said, taking note of his surroundings.
Outside, the house appeared to need a great deal of work, but inside the place looked like a showcase. The wallpaper and furniture were like new, and the hardwood floors gleamed as though freshly waxed. Everywhere Lionel looked he could see priceless antiques, all in mint condition.
"You have a beautiful home, Miss ...."
"Tyler. Abigail Tyler."
"Well, Miss Tyler, I can understand why you would want to hold on to such a house."
"I know why you've come, Dr. Penn. They think I'm crazy because I won't leave."
"I don't think you're crazy, and I'm the one most qualified to make that determination here. You simply have a phobia—a fear. That doesn't make you insane."
"It's not that I'm afraid to go outside Dr. Penn. I would love to go out and take a walk down the street, go shopping in town, maybe stop at the park. But I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I leave this house, I'll die."
"That sounds like fear to me, Miss Tyler."
"If a man stepped in front of a speeding train, he would die wouldn't he?"
"Yes. I would say that's a fair assumption."
"So, if a man never steps in front of a train, would you say he had a fear of trains or was he simply using his common sense?"
"Forgive me, Miss Tyler, but your situation is not the same. The danger from the train is real. In your case, the danger is only in your mind. There's nothing out there that can hurt you."
"I know that, Dr. Penn. The danger is in leaving the house, itself, not in what I may encounter on the outside. You see, many years ago, when I was only a little girl, my parents went out for the day. Before they left, my father told me that under no circumstances was I to leave the house. I never have."
"What happened to your parents?"
"I don't know. I never saw them again."
"You mean you haven't left this house since you were a little girl?"
"I couldn't disobey my father."
"I'm sure he only meant for you to stay in the house until they returned. If your parents never came back, then something must have happened to them. Don't you see that you couldn't possibly be expected to stay in this house for the rest of your life?"
"But if I leave here, I will die."
"Is that what your father told you?"
"No."
"Then how do you know you'll die?"
"I just know; that's all. And I'm not going to leave this house under any circumstances."
"You may not have a choice in the matter. The town could condemn this property and force you to leave."
"Then they'll also condemn me to death, Dr. Penn."
After leaving the house on the Sewell Road cul-de-sac, Lionel returned to his office, phoned the mayor and apprised him of the situation.
"I'm going to see if I can find out what happened to Miss Tyler's parents," he concluded. "Then I'll go back there and talk to her again."
"Thanks a lot, Lion. Naturally, the village will cover any of your expenses."
"I'll settle for a free lunch."
"You got it. Give me a call after you've had a chance to talk to her again."
Early the next morning Lionel Penn visited the hall of records on the top floor of the town hall and searched for Abigail Tyler's birth certificate, hoping to find the names of her parents. When he couldn't find one on file, he next checked death certificates for anyone with the surname Tyler. Again, he came to a dead end. Then he thought of the deed to the house. That might contain the information he needed, but Lionel could find no deed to the property. As a last resort, he decided to go see Herbert Carroll, the town engineer for Puritan Falls, Massachusetts.
"I know that place," Herbert said with a laugh. "I've been there myself. Let me tell you, the mayor's going to have his hands full with that one. She's not about to budge."
"I checked at the hall of records. There's no deed on file for that property."
"Maybe some clerk misfiled it. It happens all the time. You know how inefficient these civil servants are. I'll speak to the guy in charge down there, but it may be a few days or even a couple of weeks before the deed turns up."
Lionel felt helpless. He was a doctor, not a private eye. How was he to find two missing people when he didn't even know their names? He decided to go back to the house on Sewell Road and question Abigail Tyler further.
"It's me again, Miss Tyler—Lionel Penn," he said through the partially open door.
"Dr. Penn, I thought I made it clear to you that I have no intention of leaving my home."
"That's not why I've come, Miss Tyler. I want to find out what happened to your parents, but to do that, I'll need your help."
The door opened, and he was again led into the parlor.
"How can I help you?" Abigail asked.
"For starters, what were your parents' names?"
"Tyler."
"I mean their first names," he said with a smile.
"I don't know their first names. I always called them Mommy and Daddy."
Lionel sadly realized he was dealing with a woman whose mind had not matured along with her body.
"Do you remember what year it was when they left?"
"Yes. It was the year I got a bicycle for my birthday."
"Do you know how old you were then?"
"I had just turned seven."
"And how old are you now?"
"I don't know. I haven't celebrated any birthdays since my parents left."
"Do you have any other family: grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins?"
"Yes, but I haven't seen them since I was a small child."
"Can you tell me their names? Maybe they know what happened to your parents."
"There was Nana and Grandpa, Uncle John, Aunt Betty and the baby."
"I don't suppose you know Uncle John and Aunt Betty's last name? Was it Tyler?"
"I really don't know."
Lionel tried not to let his frustration show; however, dealing with Abigail Tyler was like dealing with a child. He suddenly wondered how she had managed to survive on her own all these years.
"Miss Tyler, I don't mean to pry, but where do you get the money to live on?"
"Money? I don't need any money, Dr. Penn."
"What about your food and clothing? They're not free. How do you pay your taxes and your utility bills? And what about the upkeep on this house?"
"I have food in the kitchen and clothes in the closet. I don't know about the rest of the things you mentioned."
For the first time, Abigail seemed unsure of herself. So, too, did Lionel Penn. This was no simple case of agoraphobia he was dealing with here.
"Miss Tyler, don't you think you might like it better living in a home with other people? You can't want to live by yourself for the rest of your life. Think of how lonely you'd be."
"It's not too bad. I have puzzles, books and games to amuse me, and there are always my dolls to keep me company."
Without warning, she began to cry.
"I'm sorry if I've upset you," Lionel quickly apologized.
"I think I'd rather be alone now if you don't mind."
"Are you sure you'll be all right?"
"I'll be fine. I want to take a nap. I'm very tired all of a sudden."
* * *
Again, Lionel phoned his friend, Mayor Ernest Lawson.
"Listen, Ernie, this woman needs help. I don't think she's aged either mentally or emotionally since her parents disappeared."
"Okay, Lion, I'll take it from here. I'll call the county department of mental health and have them send someone over to evaluate her."
Lionel found it difficult to sleep that night. What would happen to Abigail Tyler? he wondered. Would the county psychiatrist recommend commitment? Would that sweet, innocent young woman have to spend the rest of her life in a mental hospital? If so, would she be any worse off than if she was locked away in that old house all alone?
As Lionel sat in his office the next day making notes in one of his patient's files, the telephone rang. Judy, efficient as ever, answered it before the second ring.
"Lion, there's a Herbert Carroll on the phone calling from the town engineer's office. He wants to see you as soon as possible. You'll be free around two. Should I tell him to come over then?"
At 1:55 that afternoon, Herbert Carroll arrived at Lionel's office.
"Are you okay?" Lionel asked when he saw the look on the engineer's face.
"You went to the house on the Sewell Road cul-de-sac, didn't you?" Carroll asked, clearly deeply upset by something. "You talked to the young woman who lives there, right?"
"Twice. I went back again yesterday."
Carroll sighed and ran his hands through his thinning gray hair. After a minute or two, he looked up at Lionel.
"The clerk found the deed. It was in the basement in the archives."
"How did it get there? Those are the outdated records, aren't they?"
"The deed was there because the last known owners of the property were Andrew and Flora Tyler. That was back in 1884."
"It was obviously passed down through the family, and Abigail Tyler inherited it."
"No. I thoroughly checked all the records. The house at 19 Sewell Road was destroyed in 1896. A few years later, the vacant property reverted to the local government for nonpayment of taxes."
"Someone made a clerical mistake. There's a house on that property now. I've seen it. Hell, I've been inside it."
"So have I. Yet according to the records, it doesn't exist. And that's not all," Carroll said, his hand trembling. "You said you couldn't find a birth certificate for Abigail Tyler, but I found one. It was in the archives, too. In 1889 Flora Tyler gave birth to a daughter named Abigail."
"It has got to be one of her ancestors. The Abigail Tyler I met is younger than I am. Come on, surely you're not suggesting she's over a hundred years old, are you?"
"No. I'm not suggesting anything. Frankly, I don't know what to make of any of this."
"It's all got to be a mistake. These town records aren't infallible, you know."
"I guess you're right. I admit I was shaken by the idea of seeing a house that isn't really there, but I don't think we're both imagining things."
* * *
A week later Mayor Ernest Lawson phoned Lionel at his home.
"I need your help again, Lion. Miss Tyler wouldn't let the county psychiatrist in her home. In fact, she won't even answer the door. I'm going to have to send the police in, and I'd like you to be there, too. She's met you and talked to you. Maybe you'll have a calming influence on her if she should get upset."
Lionel met the police outside the Tyler house on Sewell Road.
"I don't think she's dangerous," he told Officer Shawn McMurtry, "but she's going to be terrified if you try to bring her out here. So be prepared for her to put up a fight."
"We'll be ready for her. We've got handcuffs and a straitjacket in the squad car. I hope it doesn't come to that, though."
When Abigail Tyler didn't answer the door, the police forced it open.
"Do you smell smoke?" McMurtry asked Lionel.
"Yes, I do."
Even as Lionel answered, the two men could see the flames climb the stairs and spread to the second-story landing.
"Abigail," Lionel yelled. "Where are you? The house is on fire. We've got to get you out."
Another police officer, Dan Reagan, ran in from outside.
"I radioed the fire department; they're on their way."
"Abigail?" Lionel shouted, as he and the two policemen frantically searched the rooms for the young woman.
"Daddy is that you?" they heard the young woman call.
"Abigail, where are you?" Lionel repeated.
"Daddy! Daddy! There's a fire. I can't get the door open."
"Abigail? The police are here with me. We'll help you get the door open."
"Come on," McMurtry shouted, pulling on Lionel's arm. "The ceiling is going to come down any second now. We've got to get out of here."
"Abigail!" Lionel continued to scream as Officer Reagan dragged him from the burning building.
No sooner had the men crossed the threshold than the entire structure collapsed. In a matter of minutes, all that remained were heaps of smoldering, smoking timbers.
"I've never seen a place burn so quickly," Officer Reagan observed.
The blaring siren announced the arrival of the fire department. The truck stopped, and the firemen looked about in confusion. Finally, Chief Hobart approached Lionel and the two police officers.
"What the hell is going on here? Who called in a fire?" the chief asked. "Is this some kind of sick joke? If it is, I'm not laughing!"
"Chief Hobart, is it?" Lionel asked angrily. "This is no joke. A young woman burned to death in that house."
"Don't tell me you're referring to Abigail Tyler!" Jerome Hobart asked.
"Yes, I am. She was trapped in there. She called out, but we couldn't find her. The fire spread so quickly, we barely got out before the whole roof caved in."
The fire chief stared at Lionel.
"Are you telling me you were in this house a few minutes ago and that you heard Abigail Tyler calling for help?"
"Yes," Lionel admitted guiltily. "We tried to save her, but we couldn't find her."
"That's because Abigail Tyler is buried out in Pine Grove Cemetery."
"That's impossible," Lionel yelled. "She burned right here in this house."
"That's true. Her parents went out and left her at home alone, locked in the house. But while they were gone, the house burned down with their seven-year-old daughter inside. It was one of the most tragic fires in Puritan Falls' history."
The chief walked over to the wreckage of the house, picked up a piece of charred timber and handed it to Lionel. The wood, cold and rotted with age, crumbled in his hands.
"Are you still going to tell me this building was on fire only a few minutes ago?"
Lionel recalled his last conversation with the town engineer.
"Chief Hobart, when exactly did this building burn down?"
"In November 1896. Except for what's left of the burnt wreckage of the Tyler house, this property has been vacant ever since."
Lionel turned and walked away, idly wondering how long Abigail Tyler's spirit would have continued seeking refuge inside her phantom house had the police not broken down the door and tried to force her to leave.
The image in the upper left corner is from the painting "Thirteen Ghosts, Maybe More" © Lewis Barrett Lehrman. To see more of this artist's work, visit his website, hauntedstudio.com. Cat image below is from the cover of "Cricket Magazine."
The mouse next door suffers from agoraphobia, probably because every time he goes to his door, he sees Salem waiting to pounce on him.
