The Haunting of Hillwood Farm

by Kathryn Knight

  Unless it was under her terms. Like Hillwood.

  “What’s a usual weekend night for you, then?” he asked, leading them toward the same path they’d ridden on yesterday, alongside the split rail fence.

  “Popcorn and TV,” she replied. “Boring, I know. Although sometimes I’ll order a movie, if I’m feeling really wild.”

  He joined her laughter. “Not boring at all. It sounds perfect, actually.”

  Her stomach flipped. Was he being serious? And if so, was he picturing the two of them curled up on a couch together, like she currently was? No, of course not. Ridiculous.

  His fingers grazed her arm as he steered them off the path toward the pond. The symphony of bullfrogs and crickets grew louder as they approached the bank. Moonlight shimmered over the still water.

  They strolled along the bank in companionable silence for a few minutes, taking in the tranquil setting. The long grass whispered as it brushed against their calves, and grasshoppers whirred out of the way of their footsteps.

  “Does it have a name? The pond?” she eventually asked, her voice only slightly above a whisper. Somehow that seemed appropriate, as if talking loudly might be disruptive in a place that deserved reverence.

  He gave a low chuckle. “A very original one. Turner Pond.”

  She laughed softly along with him. “I guess that makes sense, since your family has owned this property for so long.” Pausing, she added, “I really hope you’re able to save it. It’s beautiful here.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep it off the auction block.” He cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about your family. I didn’t know about your parents.”

  “Thanks,” she echoed. She looked up at him as they walked, studying his profile in the shadows. “My mother passed away three years ago from cancer. And my father was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s when he was in his late 50s. He’s in a memory care center now. I was there earlier today, visiting. He doesn’t recognize me anymore.” An ache spread through her chest like a gaping hole. She swallowed back a sob, brushing at an insect hovering by her ear.

  “Wow, that’s rough. Do you have any siblings?”

  “No. My parents had me later in life. They didn’t think they could have children at all, but then I came along.”

  “They must have been so happy.”

  Her lips curved into a sad smile. “They were. The three of us were really close. The time we did have together was full of love and happiness, so I try to hang onto that.”

  “You should. Family’s important.” As they rounded the far edge of the pond, he motioned toward a small pier extending out into the water.

  “It is,” she agreed. She wasn’t really sure why she felt comfortable sharing these details with him. Maybe it was the darkness, draped around them like a protective blanket. Or the isolation, the sense of being the only two people in the world. Maybe it was everything they’d been through together in the last few days, somehow making her feel as if she’d known him for a much longer time.

  “I’ve always felt closest to my Gram and Pop,” he admitted, leading her onto the wooden pier. The boards creaked softly beneath their footsteps.

  Maybe he felt it too…some sort of fragile bond developing between them.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents,” he continued as they gazed out over the water. “And I know they love me, and would do anything for me. But I think I’m more like my grandparents. My mother is more about appearances. About fitting into the right circles at the country club.”

  A loud splash rang out beside the pier, and she jumped. He reached out to steady her, pulling her away from the edge, toward him. She bumped against the solid mass of his chest, her breath catching.

  “Whoa,” he said, his fingers wrapped around her upper arm in a firm grip. “Can’t have you going over. It’s still pretty cold.”

  “Sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m a bit…jumpy these days.”

  “That’s understandable.” He held her gaze, not releasing her.

  Her pulse raced in her veins, hot and thick, and she knew it wasn’t just the result of a momentary startle. His free hand moved up toward her face, and time slowed as he tucked her hair behind her ear. Her lungs stopped working. Then his palm slid back behind her head, anchoring her, as he bent toward her.

  His lips brushed against hers, sending a series of fiery tremors through her. Oh my God. She leaned into him, slipping her hands around his waist. As he deepened the kiss, he pulled her closer, curling a strong arm around her back.

  Desire surged through her body like an electrical current. His teeth grazed her lower lip, and her knees turned liquid.

  Another splash, forceful enough to send droplets of water onto the pier, broke into the moment, bringing them both back to reality. Her muscles tensed, and she eased away slightly, turning her face away from his to look out over the pond. “Are there fish in there?” she asked, struggling to get her mind working again. Had that really just happened?

  His hands settled on her shoulders before sliding down and falling away. “Yes,” he confirmed, his voice husky and faraway. “Fish, frogs, turtles.”

  She nodded, her fingers drifting to her tingling lips. She felt woozy. “Whatever it was sounded big.”

  He made a low sound of agreement, following her gaze along the surface of the water. “I’ve seen muskrats in there too.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how they went from kissing to muskrats, but she was pretty sure it was her fault. There was no denying the small wave of relief, though, mixed in with all the other emotions coursing through her. Her thoughts were spinning. Her body was pulsing. She was confused, tired, and worried that whatever had made those noises wasn’t part of the natural aquatic wildlife population. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she had good reason.

  “I should probably get going. Let you take care of the horses.”

  “Right. Listen, Callie…I don’t want you to think I asked you to come down here so I could…” He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. “I asked you to come on a walk because I wanted to apologize.”

  “Apologize?” She rubbed her forehead, as if she could physically clear the fog from her brain.

  He tipped his head toward the bank of the pond, and they started walking slowly back to where the pier joined the field. “Yes. For the comments I made when we first met.” He blew out a breath. “I’m still having trouble with the ghost thing, even though I’m trying to keep an open mind. But I don’t believe you’re trying to con my grandmother out of money, and I’m sorry I accused you of that.”

  Whoa. This night just kept getting more surreal. Her chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly as tears threatened to fall. “Thanks. I would never do that.”

  “I know that now.”

  “I’m glad. I know it’s hard to believe all this. I didn’t believe it, either, until enough things happened to make it impossible for me to deny. But as long as you believe I’m only trying to help, that’s all that matters.”

  “I do. And I’m going to try to be supportive. And keep an open mind, like I said.”

  A flood of gratitude swept over her, and she barely managed to get the word ‘thanks’ past the lump in her throat. He was accepting her, and trusting her, if not outright believing in her ability to communicate with ghosts. It was enough. It was…a lot.

  A fourth horse had joined the group outside the barn; their silhouettes formed majestic curves and lines beneath the moonlight. “Where are the other two?” she asked, hoping to move the conversation back to a safe, practical subject.

  “They could be in their stalls already, if the back doors to the field were open. Or they could be beneath the shed, where the feeder is. If not, a few whistles will bring them. Horses are pack animals. They generally want to be with the herd.”

  “What about the other animals? The cats?”

  “Oh, I feed them too. But they do their own thing. Most of them have just sho
wn up, decided the barn was a good place to live, and settled in.”

  She smiled in the darkness. “That’s nice of you to feed them.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “They’d probably do okay on their own. But yeah, it’s not a lot of extra work to leave a bowl of cat food out.”

  They were back at the corner of the fence, where the dirt driveway split around to the barn, or over to the house. She hesitated, then asked, “Do you need any help?”

  With a small smile, he shook his head. “No, I got it. But thanks. I think I need to get you back up to Gram before she starts worrying. I’ll walk you up.”

  Her heartrate picked back up. “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’m fine. You have things to do.”

  “I’ll walk you,” he repeated, his tone holding no room for argument.

  “Okay. Thanks.” She supposed they were facing an awkward goodbye scene wherever they parted. Her fingers twisted together as they climbed the hill.

  But Alice saved her. When they approached the house, Alice was outside the garage, depositing the empty beer bottles into the plastic recycling bin. “Oh, you’re back! How was your walk?” she asked, her wide smile evident in the glow of the outdoor lights.

  Did she know? Callie ducked her head, hoping the flush of her cheeks wasn’t visible in the shadows. This was getting more and more complicated. She prayed the older woman wasn’t hoping for a romance to bloom between Callie and her grandson. As attracted as she was to Luke, there was no possibility of an actual relationship there. She’d already found—and lost—her soulmate. She’d lost everyone she loved. In her experience, love equaled pain, and her heart had been through too much to risk any more.

  And despite the kiss, Luke probably had no interest in actually getting involved with her. No one in their right mind would, once they got a preview of all the baggage she came with.

  She suddenly realized Alice was waiting for an answer, and she pulled herself back from her spiraling thoughts. “It was great.”

  “Gram, I would have done that,” Luke said.

  Alice rolled her eyes. “I think I can handle it,” she countered with mock exasperation. But a hint of appreciation mingled with the playfulness in her voice. She dusted her palms, as if signaling she’d finished with a tough job.

  “Just leave anything else for me, Gram. I’ll get to it after I’m done in the barn.”

  “It’s all done,” Alice replied. She turned her gaze to Callie. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

  You should stay. Say yes. Out loud, she said, “Thanks, but I’m fine. I should get going, actually. I just need to get my stuff together.”

  “I’ll be back up in a few, Gram,” Luke said as he took a step backward. “’Night, Callie.” He turned and strode down the hill.

  Stealing one last glimpse of his retreating form, she followed Alice into the house.

  Chapter 13

  By Sunday night, Luke was forced to admit he missed Callie. Which was ridiculous; he’d seen her on Friday night. Seen her—and kissed her, he reminded himself as he checked his phone. What had he been thinking? After everything that had happened with Blair, he should have learned his lesson about allowing impulse to take over. But that’s exactly what he’d done. It was true that he’d only asked her to go on a walk so he could apologize. Something had come over him in that moment on the pier, and he simply hadn’t had the willpower to fight the attraction. He’d suddenly had to feel her lips beneath his, to feel her body close to his. It had been a desire too strong to resist.

  And she’d kissed him back.

  He glanced between the Red Sox game on TV and his phone, thumbing through screens. Double-checking, for the hundredth time this weekend, to make sure Callie hadn’t texted him. Gram had put his number into her phone before she’d left, apparently, and told her to get in touch with him if she needed something and couldn’t reach Alice.

  So, Callie had his number. But he didn’t have hers.

  The very fact that he was worried about her bothered him on multiple levels. For starters, he barely knew her. Plus, he didn’t want to get emotionally involved with anyone right now.

  But the more troubling piece was why he was worried. Did it mean he believed she was in danger? By extension, did it mean he believed in ghosts?

  He’d promised he’d keep an open mind. His mind, however, kept reminding him that most of the strange things Callie and Gram were attributing to ghosts could have logical explanations. Items fell off walls sometimes. Papers got misplaced. Drawers got left open by mistake. People sleepwalked. Things broke. Flour could spill in a pattern that resembled a letter. Accidents happened.

  People choked.

  That’s it. He sprang up from the couch and strode out of the living room. He found Gram in the dining room, the Sunday paper spread out on the table, a glass of water and a bowl of nuts in reach. She looked up at him as he entered. “How’s the game?”

  It took him a moment. “Oh. Good. Red Sox are up.” He squeezed her shoulder gently as he passed on his way to the refrigerator. Pulling out a beer, he twisted off the cap and took a long pull. “Have you heard from Callie at all?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

  She studied him for a moment from behind her reading glasses. Lifting up the scattered papers, she located her phone and glanced at the screen. “I spoke with her last this afternoon. So far, she said everything’s been relatively quiet at her apartment this weekend.”

  He pressed his lips together. What did ‘relatively quiet’ mean? “Well, that’s good.”

  “Yes. It’s been quiet here, too. Even ghosts get tired, apparently.”

  Or maybe they’re conserving energy for something bigger. The thought sent anxiety thrumming through his veins. He leaned against the edge of the counter with forced casualness, hoping Gram would volunteer to give Callie a quick call. Their gazes held for a few beats.

  “I can give you her number if you’d like to check in with her yourself,” Gram finally suggested. “I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure she would, but…screw it. With a sigh, he opened his contacts and handed his phone to her.

  A sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she punched the information in with one finger. Adjusting her glasses to double-check the digits, she nodded and passed it back to him. “Let me know what she says.”

  He scowled as he walked out of the dining room. Great. If Gram thought she was being subtle, she was mistaken. As he returned to the living room, he glanced over at the TV to check the score. And came to a sudden stop.

  The television hung on the wall above the fireplace now; he’d bought the large flat screen for Gram and Pop one Christmas and hung it himself. A wooden cabinet sat to the right of the fireplace, the cable box resting on top. Inside the cabinet, old DVDs occupied one shelf, intricate jigsaw puzzles were stacked on the bottom.

  The two cabinet doors stood wide open. Both of them. And he was absolutely certain they’d been closed when he’d left the room. He would have noticed otherwise, lounging on the couch across from it, pointing the remote directly at it.

  The hairs on his arms prickled, and then he noticed how cold it was—as if the temperature in the room had dropped significantly in the few minutes he’d been away. He slowly turned his head back toward the front door, to make sure it wasn’t open.

  Closed. His gaze swept the windows overlooking the front porch and the side field. All closed. At the bottom of the hill, the pond reflected the ocher glow of twilight.

  He turned back toward the cabinet as a cheer went up from the television. If he was sure the doors had been closed when he left the room, not many possibilities were left for how they’d been opened. Gram hadn’t moved from her spot at the dining room table. He certainly hadn’t had a sudden, quick bout of sleepwalking between sitting on the couch and returning to the room. No one else was in the house.

  No one human, anyway.

  He rubbed his arms, anger rising as he sta
red at the cabinet. In his line of work, he dealt with concrete things. Math. Measurements. Timelines. He didn’t like what he couldn’t control, what he couldn’t interpret. He was comfortable with calculations and blueprints, not spirits and cryptic messages from beyond.

  His jaw tightened as frustration built. If he was going to believe a ghost did this, what was it supposed to mean? Did the puzzles in the cabinet serve as some sort of clue, an indication that there was a mystery to be solved? Or was this just a sign from Pop—a blatant manipulation of the physical world he could no longer ignore? If that was the case, did Pop just want him to accept that his spirit really was here? Or did the contents of the cabinet still mean something? Gram and Pop used to love doing puzzles together. When he and Ryan were little, the four of them had spent many nights around the dining room table, working together, sharing the excitement of finding a key piece or connection.

  He shook his head to clear it. One person could help them with this, and right now, the most important thing was making sure she was safe. Because now he had no choice but to believe the things happening to her were not products of an active imagination or bizarre accidents. She had become a target, possibly due to her abilities. Something here didn’t want her around, and he didn’t think it was Pop.

  Resisting the urge to slam the cabinet doors back into place, he closed them carefully, then dropped onto the couch. He set his beer down and started typing. “Hey, it’s Luke. Just checking to see if you’re OK?”

  His breath came out in a rush of relief as a trio of gray dots came up on the screen—proof Callie was on the other end, crafting a reply. It came a moment later. “Hey! I’m OK. Quiet weekend. Are you all OK? Did something happen?”

  He glanced at the cabinet. “We’re fine. And not really, just doors opening etc.” As he hit send, he wondered if that was enough for her to guess he was coming around to accept the ghost thing.

  “Same here. Bathroom door slamming at 5 am woke me this morning.” She punctuated this with a sad face.

  His mouth twitched in a small smile. It was incredible that she could make light of this, considering what had happened to her. He tried to picture her at her apartment, which wasn’t easy, since he’d never seen it. But her image was easy to conjure. Long, thick hair the color of black coffee, the dark brown contrasting with her light green eyes. A pale dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Full pink lips with the alluring angles of a peaked Cupid’s bow along the top. Her lithe, toned body…