“Indeed, I do.”
As our eyes met, the heat that traveled through my body was impossible to ignore. I quickly cleared my throat and changed the subject.
“There’s one thing I don’t get. If Isobel isn’t real…how was she able to hurt me?”
Alex looked reluctant to answer at first, as if he’d been anticipating this moment but hoping it wouldn’t happen. “Isobel is no ordinary ghost,” he admitted finally.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean she’s a vengeful spirit. That’s why she was able to touch you.”
“But you touched me just a moment ago,” I said. “Does that make you a vengeful spirit, too?”
“Of course not,” he replied. “Sometimes, an emotion will allow a ghost to break through and connect with the living. It might be passion or anger or concern—the sentiment must simply be intense. The moments of connection are unpredictable and fleeting. As for Isobel, she’s an entirely different kettle of fish.”
“Different how?”
Alex paused again before replying, “It’s not that easy to explain. I think it lies with our intentions. Ghosts as a rule are unhappy creatures—we’re trapped, isolated, confused, unable to depart the earth and yet no longer part of it. We may prove to be a nuisance, sometimes even tricksters, moving things about in the night. But vengeful spirits can generate an energy of their own. They almost always died before their time and in a violent, painful manner. So they are driven by darker emotions. And when those emotions are stirred, their power can be enough to inflict damage on those around them. In short, they’re not afraid to wreak havoc in the world of the living.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that. So you’re saying Isobel doesn’t want to leave Grange Hall. She wouldn’t cross over, even if somebody was there to help her.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Alex replied. “But I don’t think so.”
“And she hates me because she thinks I’m trying to come between you?”
“Exactly.”
“That means she’ll be back… .”
“Undoubtedly, yes. But I don’t want you to worry—I’ll be here when she does.”
I looked past him, out the window at the silky night. “You know, this is dumb, but I almost feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t,” Alex answered forcefully. “Make no mistake. Isobel is a predator, not someone who can be won over by kindness.”
“A predator who’s still madly in love with you.”
Alex shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Isobel lost everything she held dear in the world. It left her an empty vessel. She has no shred of humanity left, only bitterness and despair. I’m sorry you have been dragged into our sordid drama. That was not my intention. But I shall keep a close eye on you from now on. I give you my word.”
“I keep telling you I can take care of myself,” I said.
“I’ve no doubt that’s true under normal circumstances,” Alex replied.
“You can’t follow me around everywhere.”
“Just make sure you don’t go wandering off on your own. Isobel is unlikely to come after you in the presence of others.”
“Well, that’s something,” I said with relief.
“And now I think it’s time you were in bed, don’t you?”
“I doubt I’ll be getting much rest tonight.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”
“Perhaps.” I smiled and then another thought occurred to me. “And, Alex…”
“Yes?” He looked up expectantly.
“I’m sorry about…the way Isobel’s turned out,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to watch.”
“You know something,” he replied thoughtfully, “I believed my connection with Isobel to be something that happens only once in a lifetime, an experience never to be replicated.” I felt my heart sink into my stomach, but I nodded anyway. “Until you showed up.” His words hung in the air like a magic spell.
“What?”
Alex gave a lazy smile. “Although, technically I was right about the connection being once in a lifetime. But perhaps you get a second chance in the afterlife.”
Without another word, he headed upstairs, beckoning me to follow. Despite everything, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I quickly brushed my teeth and slid in between the covers. I felt safe enough to allow myself to relax and empty my mind. I could feel Alex’s presence at the foot of the bed as I drifted into a deep, fathomless sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sometime in the course of the night, I dreamed of Alex with his cryptic smile, hair falling softly to frame his striking features. When morning came I woke, expecting to find him unmoved at the foot of my bed. Instead, Gran marched into my room like a drill sergeant, pulling open the curtains and flooding the room with feeble sunlight. Then she stood over me with her arms folded, clicking her tongue in the most galling way that made me drag a pillow over my head.
“Are you sick, Chloe?”
Lovesick maybe, I thought. What was the remedy for that?
“No, Gran.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I groaned.
“Then there’s no excuse to still be in bed. Half the day’s gone.”
“What time is it?”
“Time you were up and about. You know what they say, don’t you?” I didn’t know, and I didn’t have the slightest interest in hearing it, but I knew she was going to tell me anyway. “Early to bed and early to rise makes children healthy, wealthy and wise.”
“Nobody says that, Gran.” I burrowed deeper under the covers to block out the light.
“They do around here. Now, up and at ’em!”
“Nobody says that, either.”
Without Alex watching over me, I felt unsettled again once Gran left. I was still reeling from the events of last night. It might have helped if I could talk to someone about it, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to bring up in casual conversation. The third floor was deathly quiet, and my frayed nerves reacted to every creak and groan of the floorboards. I flew into the shower, soaping myself as fast as was humanly possible. But nothing out of the ordinary happened until halfway down the stairs I heard the sound of a woman laughing. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, that tinkling laugh like a chord on a piano. It seemed to brush right past me, and a moment later, it was gone. I figured it must be Isobel’s way of letting me know she was still around, keeping me on edge without breaking her promise to Alex.
I tried my best not to dwell on it and headed to the dining room. The daily buffet breakfast had been cleared away, so I slipped into the kitchen to pour myself a bowl of cereal. Sadly, all I could find was something called Weetabix, which looked like little bars of tree bark. Where were the Froot Loops and Lucky Charms? My presence there incurred the wrathful glare of Miss Grimes, who watched me like she thought I was on the verge of committing a crime. What the hell is your problem? I wanted to ask. Instead, I flashed her a cheesy grin and chomped as noisily as I could on my Weetabix, which tasted exactly as I suspected. Then I made my way to the sitting room, where I found the two ghost busters hunched over a table, making extensive notes. A burlap bag lay open on a chair and I could just make out what looked like a compass and a miniature tripod along with other bizarre measuring equipment I couldn’t identify.
If I hadn’t known what they were there to do, they might not have gotten my attention. They could have been members of the local bush-walking club in their anoraks and rain boots. Underneath I caught a glimpse of plaid skirts and cable-knit sweaters. One of them was even wearing a crochet hat covered in lime-green daisies, as if that were an acceptable thing to do in civilized society. But if you looked more closely, you could detect a certain air about them, as if they belonged t
o some kind of secret club. They kept tilting their heads and frowning, as if listening in on something unseen.
They looked up in tandem, cutting off their conversation midsentence when I entered. I quickly planned a hasty escape, figuring I was encroaching on their secret paranormal business, until I saw them beckoning me over. To be honest, they seemed a little loopy. Not because they believed paranormal activity existed, but because they were actively seeking it out. What was wrong with them?
Not that I was in a position to judge, now that I went up to my room every night excited by the idea of finding a ghost waiting for me.
As I approached, I picked up the scent of lilac and talcum powder in the air. One of them pulled up a chair, while the other studied me intently through her tortoiseshell glasses.
“Chloe, isn’t it? Please sit down.” I was surprised to discover they knew my name. Had Grandma Fee told everyone I was coming?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” the one in the beret said. “We’re the Hunt sisters. My name is Mavis, and this here is May.”
“Hi,” I said, thinking how much they reminded me of fortune-tellers at a fair. I remembered Grandma Fee’s instructions about politeness just in time. “I hope you’re both enjoying your stay.”
May peered at me with a laser-beam gaze. “You’re up late, dear,” she remarked casually. “Rough night?”
Mavis shot her a disapproving look. “It isn’t polite to pry, sister.”
“I’m just making conversation.”
“Then talk about the weather!”
“What? The weather is the last refuge of conversationalists.”
“I didn’t get much sleep.” I jumped in before Mavis could offer a retort. I had a feeling this tennis match of a conversation might go on for a while.
“Neither did we,” May replied. “Usually we’re dressed and out the door by the crack of dawn.”
“Um…why?” I asked bluntly, then quickly cleared my throat and tried a more people-friendly approach. “I mean, how interesting. Why is that?”
Mavis was more than willing to proffer an answer. She leaned in, conspiratorial. “Having too many people around can interfere with our line of work.”
The way she said it made it sound like they worked for the CIA. I smiled and nodded as if I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“May I tell her?” asked May, her knees jittering like an excited schoolgirl. Mavis showed no sign of objecting. It was enough encouragement for May to continue, “We’ve just had a significant breakthrough! You’re the first to know.”
“We don’t know for sure yet,” her sister corrected. “But we have a good feeling.”
“That’s great.” I tried to look honored to be chosen as a confidante.
“As you know, evidence is difficult to gather in our field,” May prattled on.
“Sometimes impossible,” added Mavis. “Did your grandmother tell you what we do?”
“A little bit,” I replied.
“Well, it’s not easy to get people to take us seriously. They sometimes refer to our work as a pseudoscience! I think that shows great ignorance, don’t you?”
I nodded in tacit agreement.
“Well, you can’t exactly sit down and interview a ghost,” Mavis said and chuckled heartily at her own joke.
“Have you ever actually, you know, seen a ghost?” I ventured to ask. The women exchanged frowning glances.
“No, not as yet, but we’re very close,” May said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“All the signs are there,” she replied. “We haven’t told your grandmother, because we didn’t want to worry her, but this house has more cold spots than any we’ve visited in the country.”
“Is that why Gran runs the heating overnight?” My feeble attempt at humor eluded them.
“And the electromagnetic readings are off the charts in certain places.”
I wanted to ask what electromagnetic readings were, but May continued before I got the chance.
“Would you believe, a family came to stay here about a month ago with their German shepherd and the dog simply refused to set foot inside the house. He just sat in the driveway howling until they had to take him home. Animals are very intuitive. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”
I couldn’t argue with them there.
“So what’s the breakthrough?” I asked, attempting to refocus the discussion.
May’s eyes lit up. “We discovered that there has been an actual sighting right here at Grange Hall!” Her voice trilled a little too loudly and echoed in the corridor outside.
“Keep your voice down!” chided Mavis, even though we were the only people in the room. “We’re not ready to broadcast our news to the world.”
Was it the guests or the ghosts she didn’t want to overhear? Maybe both. May nodded and covered her mouth with her hand as if she’d shared too much.
“Wait, someone actually saw something?” Maybe these women knew more than I was giving them credit for. Maybe I’d finally found people who could help me understand my “gift,” as Alex called it.
“That’s right.” May nodded enthusiastically. “Back in ’61.”
“Nineteen sixty-one?” I repeated dully. “That’s a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mavis whispered. “Evidence is evidence.” She flipped through a scrapbook and pulled out a newspaper clipping, which she smoothed out on the table in front of us. “Look here.”
She pushed the yellowing page toward me. I peered closely to see that it was from a local paper, dated August 15, 1961. There was a grainy black-and-white photograph of a little boy with a solemn face and a traditional short back and sides haircut. The accompanying article was brief and clipped, as if the story was hardly worth reporting at all.
MISSING: A seven-year-old boy (Peter Beckett) has disappeared from the Grange Hall Women’s Home after being left unattended for a short time. He reportedly spoke of visiting the lake at the rear of the property with a woman whose identity remains unknown. It is unclear whether she is connected to the disappearance. If you have seen this child, please contact the local police.
“What happened to him?” I asked. “Was he ever found?”
“Yes,” Mavis whispered. “Three days later, washed up in the reeds without a scratch on him.”
“So? It was probably just an accident,” I muttered. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
“What more proof could you want?” May cried, her head bobbing like a flower. “A little boy speaks of seeing a strange woman and then mysteriously drowns.”
“It doesn’t say she was strange,” I replied. “How do you know she wasn’t just some random person from the village?”
“Because nobody else could see her,” Mavis replied. “We read the archives at the police station. In the weeks before his death, Peter Beckett insisted a woman came to him in the night, wanting to be his friend. But nobody ever found out who she was. There’s no evidence to suggest she existed at all. And according to the report, he knew how to swim. So it raises the question—what really happened out there?”
Even though it happened years before I was born, the story still gave me the chills. I looked down at the photograph again. There was something in the boy’s eyes that unnerved me. They weren’t like the eyes of a seven-year-old. They’d seen too much. They knew too much. I pushed the clipping back toward Mavis. They were still looking at me as if they’d just made the discovery of the decade.
“We’re on our way to the lake now to do some fieldwork of our own,” Mavis said.
“What could you possibly find after all these years?”
“Not what, my dear.” May’s eyes glittered. “Whom. You’re welcome to join us.”
I racked my brain for a good
excuse, but one wasn’t forthcoming. “I have a pretty busy day, but thanks for the invite.”
“Of course.” They nodded. “We’ll keep you posted.”
I watched them pack up and leave with their collection of utensils. It was too soon to tell if their abilities were genuine. I honestly hoped they were. Then I could confide in someone who could finally shed some light on my situation. But I hadn’t seen them at work, and there was still a chance they were just two kooks messing around with forces they didn’t understand. If that was the case, it was only a matter of time before it blew up in their faces. And I wasn’t about to get caught in the explosion.
* * *
The image of Peter Beckett lingered with me for hours after I’d left the sisters behind. I couldn’t get his face out of my head. Like me, had he perhaps seen something he wasn’t meant to? Was Isobel the woman accompanying him? Even if it had been her, was she really capable of murdering a child? What did she hope to gain from it? It was just too far-fetched to make sense.
Part of me wished I had accepted the invitation to go down to the lake. Maybe I could have been useful, although Alex had warned me to fly under the radar. Actively seeking out Isobel wouldn’t be the smartest move. And yet, deep down, I wanted to do something to show her I wasn’t afraid and that I wasn’t backing down. Not yet, anyway.
But I couldn’t go alone. I wanted to make a point, not get myself killed. So I headed to the stables to see if I could convince Joe to come with me. I found him sitting on a bale of hay, sipping from a chipped mug and intermittently strumming his guitar. He acknowledged my arrival with a broad smile.
“What color is this?” he asked as soon as I walked in. I liked the way he greeted me as if we were old friends. His fingers deftly stroked the strings, and a lazy chord hummed in the air.
“Green,” I replied without even having to think about it.
“Very good!” He grinned. “But that was an obvious one. This one will be harder.” A metallic twang reverberated around the stable. It was slow and melancholy but not in the ordinary way. Like it had a problem nobody else could understand.