The Haunting at Morgan's Rock

by M. L. Bullock

  His eyes narrowed, and he plopped down in the chair beside the desk.

  “Out with it, Megan. What’s going on with you?”

  “Why do you naturally assume it’s me that has the problem?”

  “Are you saying you don’t have a problem? Because I can’t think of another reason for all this hostility toward me.”

  I slapped my folders on the desk and walked away. Wait. Why was I leaving? This was my home, not his. It was my name on the deed. What I needed was a good, stiff drink. And another cigarette. You know, the funny thing was I couldn’t even tell him where I bought those cigarettes. I’d found the pack lying on the table. So if they weren’t his or mine, who did they belong to?

  He wasn’t going to let this argument go because he followed me as I strolled toward the Victrola.

  “I couldn’t find you when I left. Is that when you popped out to buy these? And now that I’m back, you’re like a completely different person. I’ve heard of creative indulgence before, but this takes the cake, Megan. Now tell me what’s going on. Is this about Glenn?”

  “It’s not Glenn.” I shook my head as I dropped the needle on the record. Immediately the scratchy record began to play the Charleston. Images of Danny banging on the piano, his normally perfect hair looking wild as he jangled the keys in perfect time, filled my mind. I caught my breath as I saw myself dancing. I clutched the Victrola as the room wobbled around me.

  No, that wasn’t me. That was Joanna.

  “Megan, please. Don’t shut down on me.”

  “I can’t explain it.” I didn’t want to look at him directly for fear that he would know. He would know that I had fallen in love with Paden Kincaid and that I would never love him like that, and I didn’t want to be having this conversation. All I wanted was to go back, and all I could feel for Alex was sympathy and my own guilt. No, I couldn’t face him.

  “Try anyway. You’re a writer, for goodness’ sake. Get creative. Tell me what you’re feeling. Don’t hold anything back. I’m a big boy, Megan. I can take whatever it might be. If it’s me…if you don’t want me here with you, I will leave.”

  “Yes and no,” I said as I bit my lip. Did I really want to do this? If I wanted to find my way back to Paden…Alex should go. It would be a lot easier if I were by myself. If I were alone at Morgan’s Rock, I could search wherever I liked whenever I wanted to.

  “Explain that,” he said as he touched my shoulder. His hand didn’t linger, which I was grateful for.

  Time to face the music, Joanna. Tell him the truth and be done with it. You belong to Paden Kincaid.

  “I’m not sure we can keep seeing each other, Alex.”

  “You’re not sure. What does that mean?”

  I swallowed and ignored the small part of my heart that begged me to stop before I said or did something I would regret. “I mean what I said. I’m not sure we should keep seeing each other.”

  “Out with it, Megan. We either are seeing one another or we aren’t. There is no ‘not sure.’ Just say what’s on your mind. Like I said, I can handle it.”

  “Have it your way, then. We can’t see each other anymore. It complicates things, Alex, and I don’t need complications right now. I’ve got to…do some things. Things I don’t think you’ll understand.”

  To my surprise, Alex nodded his head and said, “I agree with you. You’ve got a book to finish, and I’ve got other clients who require more than a few phone calls from me. More than anything, I need to go out to see Andy. And maybe a few others. Besides, I know I’m getting in the way of you getting that book finished. I’m glad we’re thinking along the same lines because I wasn’t sure how to bring this up.” I didn’t know what to feel about that. Relieved but also a little angry. He continued like he didn’t notice my back stiffening and my fingers turning bone-white as I struggled to keep my bearings. I felt so sick all of a sudden. “We’ve had some good times, and I genuinely care about you, but it’s not the right time for either of us.”

  When I could finally speak, I snapped at him. “Glad you have it all sorted, Alex. That’s convenient, isn’t it? Having me do the dirty work, saying what you didn’t want to say. Why couldn’t you speak your mind instead of forcing me to be the bad guy?” I said with surprising vehemence.

  “There are no bad guys here, Megan. What are you talking about? I’m not forcing you to do anything. You started this conversation. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but you were thinking it. I’m just the one who had the courage to say it. But at least we agree it’s time to part ways.”

  “Part ways? Wait a minute. I just meant we should slow down, not stop seeing one another forever. It doesn’t sound like that’s what you want.”

  For some reason, the music blared; it was getting noticeably louder, like someone had turned up the volume. I didn’t remember this record doing that before. I mean, it was scratchy-sounding, yes. But escalating volume? No. Alex reached over and lifted the arm of the phonograph, and I cringed at the sound of the record being scratched. Why was he so angry? He just admitted this was what he wanted too.

  “I can’t explain it further. I do like you, Alex, but…”

  “But what?” His cheeks reddened slightly.

  It was my turn to stammer now. “Why are you making this so difficult? You agreed with me…you said that not ten seconds ago. What am I missing here?”

  “This is about Glenn. You’re getting back with Glenn, aren’t you?”

  “What? No. Of course not. I never want to see my ex-husband again.”

  “But there is someone else. It’s written all over your face.” Alex paused as he watched me try to deny it. I felt so vulnerable now; I was an open book. I knew he couldn’t read my mind, but this wasn’t getting any easier.

  “Yes, Alex. There is, but it’s not like you think,” I began as I took a step toward him with my hand raised to touch his arm. Maybe he would understand. He knew that strange things had happened here before. He knew full well that Morgan’s Rock was a spiritual hotspot although neither one of us knew why. I sure couldn’t explain it. Alex and I had talked about this very thing on many occasions.

  “Really? What am I thinking?” His voice broke. I was surprised at all the emotion I heard.

  “I went back, Alex. While you were gone. I went back, and I could see what she saw, feel what she felt. I was Joanna Storm. I still am. I know it sounds crazy, but I was her…I am her. I can’t leave that life behind.” There, I’d said it. I’d put all my cards on the table, but my confession didn’t impress him. Alex didn’t speak for a few long minutes, and when he did, I could tell he felt nothing but hurt.

  “You don’t believe that. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to believe that. That you would be willing to throw your life away and give it to a ghost. Or maybe you’re just avoiding this relationship, Megan. Maybe that’s what this is all about.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what I believe. You don’t get to do that, Alex. I’m telling you I put the dress on and I was there. It was like before but different. It was more intense—more real than any of this.”

  Alex rubbed his face with his hand and paced around in a half-circle as he watched me. “You’re talking about the peacock dress? You put it on again?”

  “Yes. That’s the one. I put it on and went back. Joanna was younger the second time, though. The first time, I was…I was with Paden, but then somehow, I can’t remember how,” I said, biting my nail as I sat on the edge of the desk, “it all changed. I was the younger Joanna. It was Mother’s birthday and Vivian wore this veil and Danny was playing the piano. The Charleston…” I felt my excitement fade under Alex’s stern gaze. He didn’t believe a word of this.

  “Please stop this, Megan. Once was enough. We handled all that. We settled the score, remember?”

  The air between us stilled. I could hear the ice in his voice, not that I blamed him. “It’s not over, Alex.”

  “Even if I believed you, even if I could accept that you don’t want to be
with me anymore, I can’t accept your willingness to give your life over to a ghost. Joanna Storm is dead! Dead and gone forever. You can’t bring her back.”

  “I have to try. I wish you could understand. I feel like I’m torn between two worlds.”

  Alex shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his own ears. “I don’t think you’re torn at all. I think this is exactly what you want and how you want it. Well, I won’t fight you, Megan, but I think you need help.”

  And then Alex walked away. He stomped down the stairs and I was powerless to stop him. I couldn’t lie to him. I wouldn’t do that. He deserved better.

  And now I was alone.

  Chapter Five

  “You have to take a look at this, Megan. I picked it up at an estate sale last month and have been holding on to it for you. Check out the author.” Loretta’s perfectly arched brows rose, a sure sign that she was excited about whatever it was she’d discovered. Although our friendship had gotten off to a rocky start, I felt that we were now friends. Or at least fellow writers who shared a deep love for Morgan’s Rock. As a way of saying thank you for all the extra work she’d done on my behalf digging up old records about Yancey and Zea Storm, Joanna’s career and a dozen other things, I wrote a recommendation for her one and only book. It wasn’t hard to do; it was a good book. It focused on the legends of the place more than the facts, but then again, the looming question still hung out there.

  What happened to Joanna Storm?

  “You must be joking,” I said breathlessly as I examined the spine. “Is this for real?”

  “It’s authentic. I had my friend Will check it over for me. He’s got a background in antiques, specifically antique books. What you’re looking at is the real deal. That’s a book by Vivian Kemal.”

  I sat down at one of the tables. The library was eerily quiet today, and a light mist of rain tapped on the many windows of the building. “I had no idea this was out there. You say you found it at an estate sale?”

  “Yes, at a small, old home here in Rockville. The Briarton place. This was in a box with some other books, but they were mostly junk. Old copies of some classics. This, though…I found something, didn’t I?”

  I smiled at her. “You found something, Loretta.” I opened the book and was immediately transfixed by the even typesetting, the strange symbols and formulas. “What is this?”

  “Blood Magic: A Spiritualist’s Guide,” she said in a whisper even though we were alone here. “It’s an unusual find, and when I looked inside…” She held out her hand for the book, and I gave it to her, then she put the book on the table between us. “Look, here. There is no publisher. This had to be personally printed—vanity presses weren’t popular at the time—but I don’t see any evidence that this book was widely distributed. I even looked it up in all of my book catalogs. I didn’t find her name at all, and certainly not this book title.”

  “What do you think that means, Loretta?”

  “I think she was very protective of the contents. Miss Kemal wanted to record what she knew, but not for a quick buck. Spiritualism was waning in the 1930s, what with the Depression and all, but there was still quite a bit of interest here in Rockville.”

  I flipped through the delicate pages carefully as I listened to her share what she knew. “I see something else strange.”

  “What’s that?” Loretta pushed her reading glasses up and followed my finger as I browsed a passage.

  “All these references to blood. Granted, I have a shallow understanding of spiritualism, but I didn’t think it involved bloodletting. There’s quite a bit of it in here. Shed three drops of blood, place the liquid in the cup. In fact, look at the corner there. The upper right corner. Do you think that could be blood?”

  “Geesh, I never noticed that before.” Loretta’s bony shoulders shivered beneath her crocheted sweater. She looked like she felt as uncomfortable as I did. Again, I was amazed at how timeless she always appeared to be. She could be forty or sixty. I just couldn’t read her age, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask.

  I continued, “So I think we can say with some confidence that Vivian Kemal was a spiritualist and that she used blood in her work. That would make sense. Her arms were always slashed and cut, and what she did with her fingernails that time…it’s not just coincidence.”

  Loretta leaned back in the leather chair and removed her glasses. “What are you referring to, Megan? I don’t remember reading that anywhere.” Before I could lie to her—or tell her the crazy truth—a gangly teenager tapped the bell on her desk as if he couldn’t see her sitting right here. “Just a second,” she said as she left me to review her find.

  And this was an incredible find. “Who were you really, Vivian Kemal?” I whispered as I turned the page. It was another reference to blood, but that wasn’t all. The title of the chapter intrigued me no end.

  The Hall of Shadows

  But I felt something else too. A deep sense of foreboding. This was wrong, horribly wrong. Reading this book, even touching it. It was against the rules, my spirit warned me, but I had no idea why. I didn’t understand my own fear, and in the end my curiosity won out. I glanced up at Loretta, who was now dealing with not one but half a dozen teenagers. Book reports must be due soon. Why else would so many teens crash the library at one time?

  Whatever the reason, my librarian friend clearly wasn’t going to be free soon. I took the book and left. I wanted to soak up every page of Vivian Kemal’s work, not because I trusted her but because I had to know what she knew…maybe in doing so I would find a way back.

  Perhaps I was meant to have this book. That had to be it. I’d been meant to have it all along. I waved at Loretta once before leaving, just to let her know I was on my way out with her new find. She made eye contact with me and smiled politely.

  I left for Morgan’s Rock with every intention of devouring every page of this book.

  Chapter Six

  January 1923

  I did not have the courage to go out onto the balcony, but I knew that I would. I had to, just not yet. I swilled the remnants of my drink and put another record on the Victrola. This one was a waltz, a rather new piece by one of my favorite composers, Paul Whiteman. It was called Wonderful One. Danny and I danced this one together the last time we visited the dance hall, but that had been some months ago. I rarely saw Danny at all anymore. He behaved as if I had transgressed against him in some way, in a way that was beyond my understanding. I wasn’t going to go searching for him now—not on my birthday—although I was certain I’d heard his banger pull into the driveway earlier. He spent all his time these days with Vivian and sometimes with Mother but rarely with me.

  And why should that bother me so?

  “It doesn’t bother me at all,” I whispered to myself as I set the glass down on the side table. I strolled around the room, my feet moving in time as I swept around and danced with my pretend lover. One day I would love deeply. Completely. I was sure of it. But no one would ever take Father’s place in my heart. Never. When the song ended, I reached for another record. This one, I Could Waltz on Forever, wasn’t my favorite, but it seemed appropriate. I couldn’t shake the sentimentality of the moment. Father and I always danced on my birthday, but as he wasn’t here to spin me about, I danced by myself. Until the tears came.

  Why, Father? Why did you do it? How could you leave me alone? I had asked these questions before, but there would never be an answer that would satisfy me even if I received it from his own lips. A year later and the pain was still deep. I dabbed my face with my handkerchief and then stood before the closed balcony doors. I had to go out. I had to stand in the spot. Maybe he would be there waiting for me.

  The doors didn’t open easily, but I managed it. And of course there was no one out here, certainly not Father. I walked to the balcony edge, and my hair blew around in the tumultuous breeze. I put my hands on the cold stone ledge and waited. I wouldn’t look down. That I couldn’t do. I would never do that for fear I would see him
again, his handsome face twisted in shock and facing the wrong way.

  His dark eyes had stared up at me as if I’d pushed him! I blinked against the memory and closed my eyes, forcing the image to leave. When I opened them, I glanced down at Rockville, the small town beneath us, and then out to the ocean. I could hardly believe it, but the fog was creeping in. Just like that horrible night. What had Dan called it? Oh yes, the dragon’s breath. A silly name from a silly boy.

  It was so cold out here, just as it had been that night, and here I was wearing the Vivaldi and Father’s coat again. I’d kept his coat and often wore it when I was alone just to feel close to him. I lingered on the cold balcony—yes indeed, it was exceptionally cold tonight. I rubbed the sleeves of the coat, hoping to rub up his fragrance, but there wasn’t anything left of Father’s unique scent. I thought I detected the faintest trace of vanilla from his mustache wax, but that could have been my own longing for him. I closed my eyes, refusing to let the familiar fear of that horrible fog control me. “Are you here, Father? It’s my birthday.” I waited, but there wasn’t any sign that Father was listening or that he could hear me. I stayed on the balcony until the music stopped, and I left no happier than I arrived. I closed the doors and slid the jacket off. I clutched it to my chest one last time and then decided to go see Mother. She’d been sick for days and unable to sit in her chair. The thought of losing her triggered a sense of panic within me, followed by a deep sadness that she had not acknowledged my birthday. She always made such a big deal over birthdays. Until Father…

  Things will never be the same. You know that, and you aren’t a child anymore.

  I didn’t take the elevator but walked down the stairs to Mother’s room. The door was shut, and I tapped it quietly. If she was napping, I wouldn’t want to wake her. I didn’t hear her stirring, so I reached for the doorknob. Just as I did, the door opened a crack and I was staring at Vivian.