“I hope you understand that I’m trying to protect you.”
“Well, I’m pretty capable of looking after myself.”
He pushed a golden strand away from his eyes. “Are you always this argumentative?”
I shrugged. “Sorry if this comes as a shock to you, but women don’t need a man to swoop in on horseback and save the day anymore.”
“I’m sorry to have vexed you,” he said, and with that turned on his heel and headed for the door. “I shall go now.”
“Hey!” I called after him. “I’m not vexed. I just need some answers.”
He stopped at the door, turning back to face me. Even though it was hardly the time, I couldn’t help noticing how absurdly good-looking he was, like a fairy-tale prince, bathed in moonlight. Leaving aside his physical attractiveness, there was something guileless about him that made my former anger seem out of place. Although his expression was serious, his eyes were constantly alight. This is crazy, I thought. I’m crazy. I was conversing with a ghost, not a flesh-and-blood person, even if the veins in his neck were visible and there were still traces of dew on his collar. He seemed so real, standing just a few feet away from me, eyes looking directly into mine. It was warm because Gran kept the radiators on overnight, and I was suddenly aware that I’d peeled off my sweaters and was now dressed only in my Victoria’s Secret cotton pajama shorts and a tank. I slid back into bed and modestly drew the sheets up to my chest, a gesture that made Alex avert his eyes.
“What sort of answers?”
“Like why I’m talking to a ghost, for one thing.”
“Is this not a regular occurrence?”
“Oh, sure.” I rolled my eyes. “It happens all the time. I had a chat with Shakespeare the other day and he told me about some new sonnets he’s working on.”
Alex just stared at me. Clearly, sarcasm was wasted on him. “No,” I clarified, “this has never happened before. I mean, I’ve seen people who are…” I trailed off. For some reason I felt like the word dead might be politically incorrect. “People who have passed on. But I’ve never actually spoken to any of them. At least, they’ve never spoken back.”
He positioned himself carefully on the edge of the trunk. “Are you certain?”
“I think I’d remember that.” I met his gaze but found myself unable to hold it for long. I had to look past him to the charcoal sky outside that was thinning to milky gray.
“How interesting,” he mused. “This hasn’t happened to me, either.”
“Is that why you behaved so strangely in the woods? Not because I was there, but because you could see and hear me?”
He nodded. “You clearly have a gift.”
“That’s not exactly the word I’d use,” I replied.
“Then how would you describe it?”
I thought for a moment. “You know in Harry Potter how they have the Unforgivable Curses that get you sent to Azkaban…?” I broke off when I saw the confusion in his eyes. “Never mind. How long have you been at Grange Hall?”
“I’m always here.”
“Yes, but since when?”
“That’s hard to say.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the trunk. “Time has become so irrelevant. What year is it?”
When I told him, he looked surprised for a moment, then gave a resigned shrug.
“Is it really?” He sighed. “Then I suppose I’ve been here a little over a hundred and fifty years.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Was it possible that Alexander Reade hadn’t communicated with a single living soul in all that time? “I guess that’s kind of cool.” My smile was met with a blank expression. “That means it’s interesting.”
“Oh,” he said. “Thank you for translating.”
A new question popped into my head. I had a feeling that was going to happen a lot. “Alex, what makes a person hang around after they die? Why doesn’t it happen to everyone?”
“I’ve asked myself the same thing over the years,” he replied. “And the more I think about it, the more I believe it isn’t a choice. The ones left behind are simply unlucky. They left the earth before they were ready and remain tied to it by unresolved emotion.”
“And what about you?” I knew I was crossing the line again, but I went ahead and did it anyway.
He hesitated before answering. When he did, there was a sadness in his eyes and a wistfulness in his voice that nearly made me tear up.
“I very much wanted to pass on,” Alex said. “But I suppose I lost my way. I clung to what was familiar. Grange Hall was my home, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave it. By the time I was ready, I’d missed my chance. The gateway was sealed, and I found myself trapped here in this shadow world, neither living nor ever being able to rest in peace.”
My heart felt heavy for Alex, caught in the twilight zone between life and death. It sure made the problems of high school pale in comparison. I tried to think of something reassuring to say.
“Well, that sucks” was the best I could come up with. I was usually more articulate, but right then words seemed to elude me.
I didn’t think he understood the modern slang, but he smiled anyway. When our eyes met, the connection was inexplicable, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. It felt like there were currents swirling in the air, binding us together. Although we barely knew each other and came from opposing dimensions, I felt strangely comfortable with him. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that whatever I said to him could never be repeated. As the milky predawn light spilled over the horizon, I noticed that Alex seemed to fade a little. His form became less substantial, like a mirage. It seemed he was reliant on darkness to give him substance.
A soft creak drew our attention back to the open wardrobe. A thick black sludge was oozing from inside, pooling on Gran’s spotless wooden floor. The smell of brine hung heavy in the air.
Alex got up, worry etched across his pale face. I got the prickly feeling that he was keeping something from me. He knew more than he was letting on. But before I could question him, he spoke.
“It’s time for you to go, Chloe.”
“Where?” I whispered.
“Anywhere but here…just for tonight.”
“But I…”
“Hurry,” he urged. “In case she comes back.”
The thought made my stomach cartwheel, and I didn’t need further encouragement to head for the door. “What about you?” I asked, just before I slipped into the corridor. “Will you be okay?”
The flicker of a rueful smile crossed Alex’s face. “Don’t worry. Anything that might happen to me already has.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rory’s room was just a few doors down from mine. He was so deep in sleep he barely acknowledged me when I slipped into his bed. He grumbled a little when I lifted the covers and crawled in beside him, then automatically rolled over to make room. Even in his sleep my little brother was accommodating. Admittedly, we were a bit old to be sharing a bed, but he’d sneaked into my room enough times over the years after watching an unauthorized horror movie with his friends. So I felt justified in having my turn. Just this once.
Of course, there was no way I was going to sleep after what I’d seen. I just lay there, not daring to close my eyes, waiting for the sun to rise and chase the shadows from every corner. I knew I couldn’t avoid my bedroom indefinitely. All my clothes were in there, and I couldn’t loaf around in my pajamas all day without incurring a lecture from Gran. So I planned to get in there, dress at record speed and get the hell out again. A small part of me couldn’t help feeling a little pissed off. Why was I the one forced to tiptoe around? I wasn’t the interloper here. This house belonged to the living, and I shouldn’t let a phantom drive me away. Besides, if I knew anything about ghosts, I was pretty sure switching rooms wouldn’t help for long.
There was nowhere to hide; if she wanted to haunt me, she’d find me.
I walked gingerly down the passageway to my room, pausing after each step to listen for signs of anything out of the ordinary. My bedroom door was closed, and I hesitated before nudging it open a crack. When I did, all I could see were bars of golden light falling across the buttery floor. Any sign of what had happened there last night had been completely eradicated. Standing there, with the prim rosebud wallpaper and the frilly white pillows, I could easily have tricked myself into believing the hideous apparition in the closet had never happened. There wasn’t even a stain on the floor where the muck had dripped off her body. I steeled myself and mustered the courage to peek inside the wardrobe, ready to flee at a second’s notice. But there were only my impractical clothes and a few musty coats hanging harmlessly from the hangers. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror on the door. I looked a little worse for wear after my sleepless night, but that was the only evidence that any supernatural drama had taken place.
My room wasn’t big enough to include a bathroom. Instead I had to use the one at the end of the hall, with its walls covered in striped wallpaper. There was a deep old-fashioned tub with claw feet, but luckily Gran had thought to install a modern shower in the corner. The mosaic tiles were freezing, turning my feet into ice blocks. I wished I’d remembered to wear socks. It took the water a while to warm up, but it was worth it to stand under the steaming water and catch a moment to myself. Come to think of it, between family drama and ghostly visitations, I hadn’t had a lot of alone time at Grange Hall.
I stepped out of the shower vaguely conscious that something in the room had changed. Then I caught sight of what it was. Across the mirror, a message was scrawled in a manic script. Someone had used the lipstick from my makeup bag to write in angry red letters: GET OUT! GET OUT GET OUT!
Despite being in my towel, I threw open the door, but the hallway was empty. From somewhere I could hear the distinct echo of rippling laughter, but I couldn’t place where it was coming from. Without a second thought I tore off a ream of toilet paper and scrubbed furiously at the mirror before anyone else had a chance to see it. Then I threw on my clothes and hurried downstairs to breakfast. I might have appeared calm and collected, but it was a different story in my head, where questions swirled like a carousel out of control. There was no logical explanation for what was happening here and no way to forget it. Alex had been in my room last night, talking to me. I hadn’t dreamed that. And what happened afterward seemed so implausible it made me doubt my own sanity.
In the dining room I fixed myself avocado and tomato on toast before sitting down next to Rory, swatting away the rasher of bacon he was waving at me.
“Want some?” he asked with his mouth full. “It’s pretty good.”
“Vegan, Ror,” I reminded him. “We’ve been over this.”
“Oh right, sorry!” He held up his fork. “Eggs?” I shook my head and sighed. “Why were you in my room last night? Did you have a bad dream?”
“You could say that,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to elaborate.
“Don’t worry,” he told me earnestly. “I have them, too, sometimes.”
My brother really was the sweetest, gentlest kid I knew. Most would have greeted me with a volley of complaints, but Rory only ever wanted to help. I draped an arm around his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze.
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
He bumped his lips against my cheek in a clumsy kiss and went off in search of more bacon. Between the hours of eight and ten in the morning, Grange Hall served a buffet breakfast. This routine was strictly adhered to, despite the absence of guests. At 10:00 a.m. on the dot, Miss Grimes locked the dining-room doors and began to clean up. Her decisive movements reminded me of a prison warden. As Gran had instructed, Rory and I helped out by stacking the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen.
Miss Grimes didn’t seem to appreciate our efforts; instead she narrowed her eyes as if she suspected we were up to no good. She was such a strange character, slipping around the house like a shadow, never uttering a single syllable. But the deep grooves etched in her grayish face told me her life couldn’t have been easy—maybe she had good reason for her mistrust of people. Her quarters were off the kitchen at the back of the house, but we’d never seen inside. There was a window, but it was barred and the curtains always tightly drawn. Sometimes an old cat that looked like it had been through the wars could be seen sitting outside her door, the fur on its spine thinning in patches. I didn’t particularly like cats and they didn’t like me. I could swear this one flexed its claws every time I walked by. It liked Rory, though, probably because he brought it scraps from the table. Miss Grimes didn’t seem to mind Rory, either. He was hard to object to. He was like a scrawny teddy bear with his curly hair and big brown eyes. I’d even seen her pat his head once or twice, but she only ever scuttled past me, looking at me as if I had an infectious disease or was about to abscond with the silver.
When breakfast was over, I navigated my way around Miss Grimes, depositing my tray on the bench beside her. She had her sinewy arms deep in the sudsy water and pretended not to see me.
“Morning, Miss Grimes!” I said, guessing my chirpiness would annoy her. “You look great. Did you do something different with your hair?” She offered me a grunt in reply.
“I’m going down to see Joe after this,” Rory told me as he carelessly wiped down tables so that the crumbs fell on the burgundy carpet. “Wanna come?”
“Why not?” I was pretty keen to do anything that might block out the memory of last night, at least temporarily. I kept seeing a black-clad figure dripping with mud lurking in every corner. One thing I knew for certain: dream or not, the thing in my closet was after something. With her stretched lips and crazed eyes, she wasn’t someone I wanted to encounter again. She’d literally decomposed before my very eyes. “Ready to go?” I said quickly, before my imagination had the chance to get the better of me.
“What about the chores?” Rory reminded me. I peeked through the doorway at Miss Grimes’s figure hunched over the farmhouse sink.
“I think we’re done, don’t you?” I gave him a goading nudge. “Come on. Let’s make a break for it.”
I grabbed his hand, and we tore out of the dining hall into the foyer. For the first time, I felt a burst of exhilaration ripple through my body. But as Rory threw open the front door, I happened to glance back over my shoulder. Miss Grimes was nowhere to be seen, but there, lurking in the corner, was the hazy but unmistakable figure of the woman from the wardrobe.
I nearly tripped over my own feet.
“Chloe?” I felt my brother at my elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah…” I said, refusing to look back as I followed him out the door. “Everything’s great.”
I could tell he didn’t believe me. It was understandable. I didn’t believe myself.
* * *
I’d rushed outside without thinking to grab a coat, and the cold cut right through my flimsy cotton shirt, sending my system into shock. For once, I didn’t mind. It helped drive out the panic bubbling inside me. I wondered if I would eventually acclimatize to this weather. Rory didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Maybe I just needed to toughen up.
Once we got to the stables I could see why Rory liked hanging out there so much. It was smaller than I expected, but a sense of calm hung over it like a protective veil. The low wooden structure adjoining a neighboring field was painted a pale pigeon-gray. Inside, dark wooden beams ran across the ceiling. In the stalls stood solemn horses with glossy coats and liquid brown eyes. A shuffling of hooves and a low whinny announced our arrival before a young man appeared from around a corner.
“Hi there, I’m Joe Parrish.” The boy who greeted us had bottomless green eyes and a boyish face. “You must be Fiona Kennedy’s long-lost American granddaughter.
I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I noticed that his tousled hair was the color of milk chocolate and his smile was contagious. He was tall and loose limbed with broad shoulders, the sort of guy who was comfortable in his own skin. I thought I could see a trace of sadness in his eyes, the sort of thing only I picked up on when meeting someone for the first time.
Joe was wearing work clothes: torn jeans, scuffed boots and a flannel shirt. I caught a glimpse of a silver dog tag hanging from a chain around his neck. It had an inscription on it, but I wasn’t close enough to read what it said. An acoustic guitar was propped against a wooden stool. I liked him already. He gave Rory a high five as if they were old friends.
“Joe’s been teaching me about horses,” my brother announced proudly. Joe put down the tack he was carrying and wiped his hand on his thigh before holding it out to me. I caught a glimpse of silver rings adorning his fingers. His handshake was warm and firm.
Rory hovered around him like an eager puppy. “Do you need help with anything today, Joe?”
Joe gave an easy smile. “There’s always room for an extra pair of hands around here.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Betsy over there could use a brush down. She likes you. She doesn’t let just anyone touch her.”
Rory’s delight was obvious. He already knew where everything was kept and didn’t even need to ask for directions. How had he gotten so comfortable already?
“I hope he isn’t getting in your way,” I whispered once Rory was out of earshot. I didn’t know why I said that. It was clear that Joe didn’t mind Rory being there. I wondered how much he had been told about our “situation” and whether he was letting Rory stick around out of a sense of compassion.
“He’s a good kid,” Joe replied, and he sounded like he meant it. We stood awkwardly for a second before I changed the subject.
“So are you in school?”
“I’m in the sixth form.”
Ghost House Page 6
