Haunted

  She points to a black lacquered box with gilt paw feet and decorated with scrolling vines and flowers. I carry it reverently by its handles and place it beside her on the bed. When she opens it, I see its interior is a soft velvet the colour of a robin’s egg.

  “Come closer.”

  She beckons me forward until I am standing right in front of her. Only then does she open her hand to reveal a glittering brooch in her palm. I have never laid eyes on an object of such delicate beauty. She holds it out to me, but I spring back as if it is tainted.

  “Take it,” she says. “It is yours.”

  I shake my head. Something about this exchange does not feel right. I cannot accept a gift intended to buy my silence.

  “I cannot,” I mumble helplessly. “There is no need.”

  But Mrs Reade is not someone to be argued with. “I will not take no for an answer!” She grabs my hand, places the brooch on my palm and closes my fingers firmly over it. The sharp edges press into my skin as if in warning. “Consider it a token of our gratitude.”

  It is not possible to refuse now without causing myself further embarrassment. But what does she mean by “our”?

  When Mrs Reade releases me, I stumble from the room without waiting to be dismissed. In the hallway I open my hand to examine her gift. It is shaped like a flower and the stones have a soft sheen as though coated in starlight. I wish I knew the name of the polished milky centrepiece and almost wished I had asked.

  I have never owned anything so valuable before and it looks out of place in my work-roughened hands. I certainly will never have occasion to wear it, so I decide to keep it in the trunk under my bed, which now feels like a secret treasure trove.

  Despite Mrs Reade’s protest that she does not need an old quack to tell her that she is well, in the afternoon a grim-faced Doctor Webb pays a visit. I do not hear the diagnosis, but his prescription is clear broth, a baked potato and a sliced apple if the patient can keep it down.

  Mrs Baxter scribbles importantly in the little notebook she carries on her person lest her memory prove unreliable.

  Refusing the offer of tea, the doctor takes his leave. I see him out and return to help Mrs Baxter make up a tray in the kitchen.

  “Is the mistress going to get better?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes!” She seems in unusually high spirits given the situation. “She’ll be just fine.”

  “Well, that is good news.”

  “Indeed, though I think we can expect to receive even better news very soon.”

  “Really? What sort of news?”

  Normally my questions try Mrs Baxter’s patience, but today she is in an indulgent mood.

  “Have you not guessed, child? You really do live in your own little world, don’t you?” Her voice drops an octave or two. “Mrs Reade is in the family way.”

  “You mean she is to have a baby?” My hands fly to my mouth as I wonder if this has been the cause of the mistress’s peevish mood.

  “Some six months from now by the doctor’s calculations. But mind you don’t speak a word of it to anyone. We must wait until the formal announcement is made. What a boon if it is a boy! Then Grange Hall will have an heir. Just think of that!”

  Mr Alexander’s face flashes through my mind and a mixture of dread and excitement overtakes me. But I refuse to allow myself to give in to such thoughts. They are too terrible to contemplate. The birth of a babe is meant to be the happiest of occasions. I can only hope it will prove so for Grange Hall and all its occupants.

  I woke on the floor of the science lab with Alex kneeling over me and gently shaking my shoulders. When I opened my eyes, he dropped his head and exhaled with relief.

  “Are you alright? You frightened me. I see you are still having those troubling turns.”

  I realised he was remembering the visions he’d witnessed me experiencing at Grange Hall. “Something like that,” I said, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. “But I’m fine now. How long was I out?”

  “Only a few minutes.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It felt like a lifetime,” he said as I tried to sit up. “Be careful, you are still shaky. We need to get you some water and then to the infirmary.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I didn’t pass out. I think I just fell asleep.”

  “Asleep? Just like that? It does not seem natural.”

  “It’s been happening a bit lately, and every time it’s followed by a vivid dream. It’s strange because it usually doesn’t happen without —” I broke off.

  Alex looked at me encouragingly. “Without what?”

  I went quiet for a minute. I didn’t want to turn the conversation to Isobel and the past life they’d had together. This was our time and she had no place here. That was probably exactly what she wanted — to come between us, to remain the centre of attention. Even as a ghost Isobel couldn’t bear to be forgotten, but I was tired of her monopolising Alex.

  “You know what? Never mind,” I said. “Can we just forget this happened and go back to five minutes ago when you said you remembered me and we were having a special romantic moment? I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to move past that just yet.”

  “But, Chloe —”

  “Please?”

  He looked into my eyes and didn’t argue; he just nodded.

  I saw the tension ebbing from his face and hugged him. I couldn’t describe the feeling of being back in Alex’s arms. It wasn’t until he was holding me again that I realised how terribly cold I’d been. Not in a physical sense, but inside, as if a bitter winter had settled on my soul. But now the snow was melting and I was filled with warmth. The feeling came from the knowledge that I had everything I could possibly need right in front of me. It was so strong it obliterated the outside world entirely.

  I didn’t know how long we stayed locked in our embrace, like a sculpture of two lovers entwined for eternity. I held onto Alex so tightly even a tornado couldn’t have ripped us apart. What we had was timeless. Nothing could ever change that.

  “I admire you, Chloe,” he said eventually, and I lifted my head from his chest.

  “You do?”

  “Of course.” He was running his hands comfortingly up and down my back. “Look at the way you have coped with this whole bizarre situation. There must have been so much you wanted to say and yet you restrained yourself. I don’t know if I could have done that. It shows great strength.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I admitted. “But I was afraid if I said too much, you might think I was crazy.”

  “Perhaps you are.” He laughed. “But so am I.”

  A thought occurred to me then and I loosened my grip to look at him. “Alex, what happened to make you remember everything?”

  “I wish I had a clear answer.” He released me and I settled at a desk to listen to his story. “It happened a few hours after I left you at the theatre. What you said must have triggered something because I could not clear my head. My mind was full of voices, strange conversations I did not remember taking part in. Then came the images — the faces of every occupant of Grange Hall. I saw them all as if I were tumbling through time, the memories colliding until I thought my head would explode. But then I saw your face … and a wall came down. Suddenly I was myself again. I remembered dying, I remembered grieving, and I remembered the hundred and fifty years of solitude that followed. I remembered the day you arrived at Grange Hall, and the immense joy of knowing I was no longer alone in a bleak and endless afterlife. I remembered your face, the light that emanates from your eyes, the soft curve of your lips, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh …”

  Before he could say another word, I took his face in my hands and kissed him so fervently that when we eventually broke apart, it took a moment for my surroundings to take shape around me. If we hadn’t been in a place where we might be discovered, I’m not sure I would have been able to let go.

  “Just so you know,” I said, “telling you the truth wasn’t easy. I
think that’s what actual heartbreak feels like.”

  “I could see it was painful for you, although at the time I did not understand why. But I am glad of your bravery, Chloe. Without it, I might still be lost.”

  “Speaking of lost … do you remember anything about how you got here?”

  “Not much. I do know one thing for certain: I had passed on. I was no longer a shadow lingering at the edge of a world that had long forgotten me. I was truly on the other side of the veil … and then something pulled me back.”

  “Something?” I echoed intently. “Like what?”

  “I do not know. It felt as if I were being gripped by an invisible hand and dragged back through the darkness until I saw light. I thought perhaps it might have been you, or at least my desire not to leave you.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I said quietly. “What was it like there … beyond the veil?”

  I waited with bated breath for his answer. This was the question humankind had been asking for centuries. What awaited us on the other side in that great unknown: was it God? Was it infinity? Was it only emptiness?

  “My memory of it has faded since my return,” Alex said. “But I remember feeling weightless, stripped of all earthly grievances. Every regret, every painful memory, everything I had held myself responsible for, simply melted away. I was pure energy.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad. Do you remember anything about what it looked like?” I whispered. I think Alex knew I was thinking about my mom.

  Alex gave a wistful smile. “How I wish I could recall. I have tried. All I know is that I was not alone. I was a light connected to thousands of other lights in the darkness.”

  “Were you happy?”

  “I do not recall feeling any emotion at all.” He paused to reflect. “I suppose that makes sense. Emotion comes from the brain, and my brain felt as if it had been switched off.”

  “I bet that was peaceful,” I said. “I wish I could switch my emotions off.”

  “Indeed, they cloud everything. But they are not all bad, I hope?”

  Our eyes met and a smile crept onto my face. “Definitely not.”

  I wanted to kiss him again, but something occurred to me that made my breath catch in my throat. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t the first question I’d asked.

  “Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “If you’ve come back from the dead, does that mean that you’re now …” I could barely get the word out. “Alive?”

  “No,” Alex said bluntly, and the balloon of hope in my chest popped and disappeared as quickly as it had swelled up. “At least I do not think so.”

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “Well, I keep disappearing. That seems a clear sign.”

  “I’m sorry, you what?”

  “It is beyond my control.” He frowned and sat down opposite me. He looked weary now and I realised these disappearances must be taking their toll on him. “It happened that day at your house after we first met. I never know when to expect it, but I know it is happening because I feel my strength wane. Then I fade into a strange shadow world where everything is made of ash, like a charcoal drawing. I wander in the semi-darkness until I am transported back here, where I look and feel human again. Each time I return to the theatre, although I cannot say why.”

  “Maybe because you feel safe there?”

  “It is possible.”

  I’d listened to everything he’d said yet I wasn’t ready to accept it. “Disappearing like that doesn’t necessarily mean you aren’t —”

  “No, Chloe,” Alex said firmly, sensing where I was going. “I have tested my theory.”

  “Tested it how?”

  “The only way I could think of.” He pulled a pocketknife from the back of his jeans.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked nervously.

  “Watch,” he replied, flicking the blade from its handle.

  I read his intention in his face. “No! Don’t you dare!”

  But he did dare and my hands flew up to cover my eyes a second too late. I couldn’t miss seeing him stab the knife into his wrist, slicing through what should have been muscle and tendon so the blade protruded like a spear on the other side. I let out a gasp, expecting blood to gush forth, but that didn’t happen. Alex held out his wrist, twisting and flexing it to show how his skin seemed to meld like dough around the shifting metal. When he pulled the blade out, the gash it had made closed up before I could blink.

  “See?” he said.

  “Alright,” I managed. “I guess you’re not exactly flesh and blood.”

  “Definitely not.” He gave a resigned shrug, but it was going to take more to satisfy me.

  “You have to admit, things are different this time,” I said. “I mean, why are you warm when I touch you? And why can other people see you too? At Grange Hall it was only me, but this time you’re really here. There must be a reason you’ve come back. What do you think it is?”

  “I have thought about that.” Alex’s voice was sombre. “There is only one explanation I can think of.” He went quiet and waited, as if expecting me to guess.

  “Which is …?” I asked rather impatiently.

  “Witchcraft.”

  I was about to let out a shriek of laughter, then realised he was serious.

  “Witchcraft?” I repeated dubiously. “You mean like an old woman with warts flying around on a broomstick?”

  “No, I mean dark arts, Chloe. Powerful black magic that should never be meddled with.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said apprehensively. “I mean … magic?”

  Alex folded his arms and examined me closely. “Interesting,” he mused. “You are conversing with someone you know is dead and yet the idea of magic shocks you.”

  “It isn’t shocking,” I explained. “It’s just that when I think of the word magic, I think of fairy dust and cauldrons and, y’know, Harry Potter. And the fact that you’re a ghost doesn’t prove magic is real. It just proves there’s life after death; that other dimensions exist alongside our own. A lot of people believe that. But the kind of thing you’re talking about — witchcraft and spells and all that stuff — it just doesn’t seem real.”

  “I believe it is real,” Alex said, casting a glance around the science lab as if suspicious of every test tube and beaker. “How else can you explain why I have a body yet I do not bleed? I am not a magician.”

  He had me there. Back at Grange Hall, Alex had been intangible, without physical form. Now he had a real body and could hold me in his arms. So what had changed?

  “There is something else,” he began.

  “Tell me,” I encouraged.

  “I know black magic is real because Isobel used it.” His jaw tightened the moment the words were out, like he’d just betrayed a confidence. “I would have told you sooner, but this memory was the last to surface.”

  “Really?” I could hardly believe my ears. “What did she need it for?”

  “My brother was bewitched by her, enough to marry her. Carter was never the romantic type.”

  “Are you saying Carter didn’t want to marry her?” I couldn’t keep the astonishment out of my voice.

  “No, I think he wanted her very much. But in the way one covets a rare treasure in order to display it in a cabinet. Isobel was enchanting, a goddess of unrivalled beauty. But apart from her physical attributes, she had nothing else to recommend her — no fortune, no name and no prospects.”

  “You mean like in Pride and Prejudice when Mr Darcy thinks Lizzie is beneath him?”

  He sighed. “I am afraid Isobel’s situation was worse than that. Isobel wasn’t simply from a lower class than our own; her parentage was questionable. Beautiful though she was, it was an unthinkable match for my brother. He might have wanted to bed her, but he would never have considered making her his wife.”

  “When did you find all this out? You never mentioned it before.”

  “I was too busy trying to protect you. And I didn
’t learn the truth until long after we were both dead. When you are facing eternity, there is little point in keeping secrets.”

  “So how did Isobel change Carter’s mind?”

  I was teeming with curiosity now, although I would have preferred fewer references to Isobel’s great beauty. I knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of a dead girl, but I got the picture: she was hot. There was no need to remind me every two seconds, especially when I was wearing a faded Hotel California T-shirt and hadn’t bothered to cover the circles under my eyes with concealer.

  “She was not powerful enough to perform magic herself,” Alex explained. “But she paid a visit to a sorcerer who used some kind of binding spell on my brother. Isobel never disclosed exactly what the ritual involved, but she did say the sorcerer broke the neck of a turtle dove right before her eyes.”

  “That’s disgusting.” The image made my stomach turn. “How could you still love Isobel after she told you that? Didn’t you think she might be a bit … how do I put this nicely? Disturbed?”

  Alex’s voice grew heavy, like he was dredging up memories he’d sooner forget. “Isobel took that secret to her grave. As I said, the truth did not surface until long after we were both dead. If I had known in life, I would have rejected her. She knew this.”

  “She sounds evil,” I said softly.

  “If evil is defined by putting one’s own needs ahead of all others’, then yes, she was.”

  “Well, we dealt with her once and we’ll do it again if we have to. But it still doesn’t help us figure out who brought you back.”

  “Bringing a person back from the dead is no small feat. He or she must be very powerful.”

  “I just assumed it would be a she,” I said.

  He nodded. “Indeed, witches are female as a rule. But I have a feeling we are dealing with someone more formidable than an ordinary witch.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” I said nervously. “What could be more formidable than a witch?”

  Alex took my hand and squeezed it gently. “I hope I am wrong, Chloe, but I am almost certain that we are facing a necromancer.”