The Haunting of Hillwood Farm

by Kathryn Knight

  She slipped her hands under his shirt, running her palms up the hard planes of his back. His lips traveled down to her neck, his stubble lightly scraping her jawline. Oh, God. He gripped her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the table, and her thighs tightened around his legs. She was nothing but heat and desire now; flesh and nerves.

  A thump rattled the front wall, and they broke apart, turning in unison toward the sound. “What was that?” Callie whispered.

  “I’m not sure I care.” He dipped his head again to nuzzle her neck.

  She eased away as coherent thoughts began returning to her muddled mind. God, what was she doing? If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall for him. And what about Luke? If he developed feelings for her, she would only end up hurting him. She’d told him she wasn’t relationship material, but did he understand that wasn’t going to change?

  “We have to check,” she insisted, scooting back on the table. She folded one leg in and swiveled, averting her gaze from the evidence of his arousal.

  “You’re right,” he agreed with a sigh, straightening his shirt and tugging at his jeans. He turned, scanning the drywall interior of the front of his house. “It sounded like something hit the window.”

  She hopped off the table. “Oh, I hope it wasn’t a bird.” That would be horrible. But she could tell by the sudden tension in the room they both had the same thought: that it could be something far worse than that. Dread pumped through her veins as she followed Luke over to the newly installed window.

  Luke looked out the top of the window, his hand resting on her back. “I don’t see anything out there.”

  But her eyes caught on something in the lower sash, and her lungs froze. Two handprints smudged the glass. The marks were faint and smeared, but there was no mistaking the shape. It looked as though someone had slapped their palms against the outside of the window as they peered inside. With enough force to make that sound.

  “Luke…,” she managed, pointing a trembling finger toward the marks. “It’s handprints. From outside.”

  He crouch down to inspect them. “I see it. Maybe they were already there, though, before I even hung it. Someone could have touched it during manufacturing or shipping.”

  She knew what he was doing. It was too ingrained in him still, the need to find a rational explanation. “No. You would have noticed. And…the sound.”

  He nodded as he stood. “You’re right.”

  “That thing was watching us.” Her voice cracked with a sob. Oh, God. It was the woman who’d been standing over her. The prints were too small to belong to a man. A shudder tore through her.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. “We’re okay.” He held her for a moment, his chin resting on the top of her head.

  “Should we check on Alice?”

  His jaw slid across her hair as he nodded. “Yeah, I think we’d better.”

  Chapter 16

  Luke didn’t like the way his brother kept touching Callie.

  It had taken a lot of convincing, from both Luke and Gram, to get her to agree to come to dinner at Hillwood tonight, since other members of the Turner Family would be here as well. It was just Ryan and their parents, John and Cynthia, but he understood how she might feel awkward. Still, perhaps selfishly, he wanted her there. As did Gram. And so they’d pushed.

  The family gathered at least once a month for a Sunday dinner at the farmhouse; it had been a long-standing tradition. Nothing fancy, just a regular opportunity to get together and enjoy good food. This would be the second month without Henry, though, and it was hard for everyone to see his chair at the head of the table left vacant.

  Having Callie here would help lighten the mood, and hopefully keep everyone on their best behavior. But it would also give him a break from worrying about her safety. Since the handprints on the glass last Wednesday, only little nuisance things had happened, both here at Hillwood and at Callie’s apartment. Or so she claimed, anyway. He knew she was still having trouble with the idea of coming to stay with them; he hoped she wasn’t keeping anything from him.

  Callie’s theory was that maybe Henry was getting stronger, getting better at interfering with the female spirit’s malicious actions. That hadn’t exactly made him feel better. Personally, he was worried the thing was just recharging its batteries, gearing up for its next big scheme. That made him feel worse. At least, if Callie was with them most of the evening, she’d be around other people. He could keep an eye on her.

  Until she went home again. He sighed inwardly, glancing past his father’s shoulder to where she was standing with Ryan. He’d had her cornered since he’d arrived, chatting with her over drinks and appetizers while their parents kept Luke busy, asking him question after question on the other side of the living room. This wasn’t unusual; they didn’t see Luke as much as they saw Ryan. Ryan worked with their dad. What was unusual was his overwhelming desire to get away from them right now, so he could be with Callie.

  Gram had excused herself for a minute to check the ham, and when she returned, she announced it was ready. All the other dishes had been made in advance, by Cynthia, Callie, and Gram, and they’d been set out already. Callie had insisted on contributing if she was going to attend, and she’d made the salad. Luke had warned her not to even think about sampling any cherry tomatoes while she put it together. He was pleased she’d left them off entirely, opting instead for a spinach and goat cheese salad with crushed walnuts and dried cranberries.

  His eyes narrowed as Ryan settled his hand on Callie’s lower back as they all made their way into the dining room. Officially, the story was still that Callie was going to board her imaginary horse “Dragonfly” at Hillwood, and that she and Gram had hit it off as friends. The three of them had decided it wasn’t time to disclose the real-life ghost story they’d been living yet. He and Gram had promised Callie they’d jump in if she needed help answering any horse-related questions, but they’d already developed Dragonfly’s basic details in what had turned into a humorous conversation.

  So, to be fair, Ryan didn’t know the status of Luke’s relationship with Callie.

  Hell, Luke himself didn’t know the status of his relationship with Callie. But he recognized what he was feeling: good old fashioned jealousy. He tamped it down. He had no claim on Callie. He wasn’t sure he even wanted a claim on her. Those six months with Blair had been more than enough relationship drama to last a lifetime, and only two months had passed since things had finally quieted down.

  It didn’t take long for his mother to delve into the subject, though. Halfway through the meal, she lifted her wineglass and gestured toward Luke and Callie. The diamonds around Cynthia’s wrist flashed beneath the old brass chandelier as she asked, “Now, are you two dating?”

  He could sense Callie stiffening in her seat beside him. All eyes were suddenly on them; Gram’s blue gaze was especially alert. Great. He needed to deflect the attention away from Callie immediately, before she became uncomfortable. “Oh, um, no. Just friends.” Who kiss on occasion.

  “I’m sure he’s a bit gun-shy after the Blair fiasco,” Ryan pointed out as he scooped up a forkful of potato salad.

  “Please don’t mention that name,” Cynthia said, her lips pursing as though she’d just bitten into a rotten apple.

  For once, he was in complete agreement with his mother, and he was grateful for her response. He’d thought about telling the story when Callie had shared her past, but what he’d gone through felt like a minor nuisance compared to the tragedy Callie endured. He hadn’t loved Blair, and she hadn’t died.

  Callie glanced at him, an inquisitive look on her face. “A clingy ex,” he explained. He shot a glare at Ryan before turning to his grandmother. “Gram, can you pass the ham? It’s great.”

  “Just pass me your plate.” Alice put down her fork and patted her mouth with her napkin.

  He was lifting his plate when a crash from the other side of the house made everyone trade startled looks. Callie
’s hand gripped his thigh beneath the table, and he quickly set his plate down and covered her hand with his.

  “What was that?” asked Cynthia, her groomed eyebrows raised.

  Alice flicked a nearly imperceptible glance in his and Callie’s direction before offering an exasperated sigh to the rest of the table. “Oh, goodness. One of the barn cats keeps sneaking inside, I bet he knocked something off a shelf.”

  Cynthia frowned. “You know I’m allergic to cats.”

  Alice’s shoulders stiffened, but she nodded patiently. “Yes, I know. He just showed up here recently, and he seems to want to explore the house, even though I think he knows he’s not supposed to be inside.”

  There was no new cat trying to get inside, at least not that he’d heard about. But it was a plausible explanation; strays and feral cats showed up at the barn on a regular basis. “Maybe he’s lost. I’ll snap a picture of him and send it into the MSPCA.” He did actually do that when he noticed a new feline resident, since cats rarely had collars and sometimes an owner was searching for a lost pet.

  “Petey would never have stood for that while he was alive,” his Dad said, rising from the table. “I’ll go see what it was.”

  Callie turned to him, her green eyes wide. “Petey?”

  He knew what she was thinking. With all the research she’d been doing, she now automatically zeroed in on anyone whose name might fit with the letter written in the flour. And his father had made it clear Petey was no longer alive.

  “He was Gram and Pop’s dog.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Another stray who showed up at the farm a few years ago. The vet guessed he was about eight or nine back then. He just passed away in April.” Only a few weeks after Pop’s death. He didn’t say it out loud, but the momentary silence told him everyone was thinking about it. His gaze slid over to the empty chair at the head of the table.

  Callie’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Ryan said kindly. “He had a great dog life, at least while we had him. Like Dad said, he loved chasing the barn cats. He never hurt them, he just loved to chase them. And anything that ran, really. Squirrels. Skunks. That ended badly for Petey a few times.”

  The mood lightened as everyone laughed, and their dad rejoined the table. “A picture fell off a shelf,” John said, scooting his chair in. “No sign of a rogue cat.”

  “I’ll look around for him later.” He passed his plate to Gram as she motioned with her hands. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten he’d requested more ham before. “If all else fails, I’ll open a can of tuna.” It was interesting how easy the lies about the fake cat came. He knew very well one of the ghosts had knocked the picture over. So did Callie and Gram.

  Sure enough, Callie couldn’t help herself. “That’s a great idea,” she said, flashing him a bright smile full of feigned innocence. God, how he loved that she managed to hang on to her sense of humor, even during these strange and scary times.

  Miraculously, they got through dinner without any more stressful topics coming up. When Callie made to leave, Luke made sure his body language informed his brother in no uncertain terms that he would be the one walking her out.

  He followed her along the porch, around the corner of the house toward the garage, threading his fingers through hers once they’d passed all the living room windows. Her hand was soft and warm, and his body reacted to the connection of their skin in the way he’d come to accept as the new normal: a surge of desire, the need for more. Their shoulders touched as they descended the steps down to the parking area. Lights burned down at the barn; he still had to do the night feeding.

  Cars sat in a row across from the garage doors, lined up as though taking in the view of the pond. When they reached her sedan, he pulled her toward him, catching her around the waist with his free hand. “Stay.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up, but her smile appeared wistful in the shadows. “I should get home. I’ve intruded on your family time enough for one night.”

  “No, I mean…stay the night.” He lifted their joined hands, rotating their wrists so their palms pressed together.

  She gave a soft laugh. “I can’t. I don’t have any of my things.”

  He bent his head, grazing her cheek with his nose. “I think we can work around that.”

  “I’m sure you do,” she murmured, a small moan escaping as he nuzzled her ear.

  “My plan wouldn’t even require pajamas.”

  “Stop.” She giggled, pushing at his shoulder ineffectually. “What are we going to do, wish Alice a goodnight as we stroll up the stairs together?”

  He shrugged. “I get the distinct feeling Gram is rooting for us to get together.”

  “Yeah, me too. Still…”

  Her words trailed off as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, and her hand curled around the back of his neck. He tightened his grip, pulling their bodies closer, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her. A scorching need built inside him at an alarming rate, and he gently broke the kiss before he reached the point where stopping would require a nearly impossible level of control.

  Their breaths mingled in ragged gasps. “Seriously,” he said, once he’d regained the power of speech. “Please stay. In one of the guest rooms, I mean. I just want you to be safe.”

  She shook her head. “I know. But I’m not going to let a ghost run my life. I’ve been okay so far.”

  A bank of clouds drifted over the silver slice of moon, obscuring the faint glow like an ominous sign from above. Unease washed over him, and he fought the urge to grab her keys as she dug them out of her pocket.

  “I’ll keep my cell beside me all night. Promise you’ll call me immediately if anything happens.”

  “Promise. You too, okay?”

  He promised as well, although they both knew the malevolent spirit seemed focused on Callie now, for whatever reason. Even though this had all started before Callie even came to Hillwood, she had become a target; she surmised it was due to her abilities. He didn’t care about the reasons as much as he cared about protecting her, but he was in uncharted territory here. How could he fight a ghost? He unclenched his fists and opened the car door, kissing her hard before she settled into the driver’s seat.

  He knew he was going to sound like an overprotective parent, but he couldn’t help himself. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

  Flashing him a smile, she nodded and started up the ignition. Music blared as she fumbled for the volume. “Thanks again for dinner. I have to go take care of my horse Dragonfly now,” she added with a wink.

  He chuckled despite the trepidation rippling through his nerves. “Drive safe.” He eased the door shut and strode back toward the house to allow her room to back out. She lifted her hand in a wave as she pulled away, and he returned the gesture, watching the red taillights curve down the driveway and vanish into the night.

  Chapter 17

  In the dream, a cold finger tapped her arm, a soft but insistent touch. Scenes shifted through her sleeping mind as she burrowed deeper into the couch. A campfire. Marshmallows. Her parents.

  Another series of taps penetrated the layers of slumber, and consciousness began flooding back in. An acrid odor filled her nostrils as a command rang out in her head. Wake up! Pressure flared between her temples. A high-pitched hiss drowned out the pleading voice. This was not part of the dream. Her eyes snapped open.

  The lights she’d left on were now off, and she bolted upright, pressing her back into the corner of the couch. No filmy apparition stood before her, but an eerie glow cast flickering shadows through the darkness.

  Smoke bit into her lungs as she sucked in a breath. Fire! Orange flames leapt from the stovetop in the kitchen, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, staring in stunned silence as her thoughts reeled. The burners had been off; she hadn’t even used them today. And why wasn’t the smoke detector working?

  This is what the ghost had been gearing up for. And the other one—Henry—had tried to
warn her. She scrambled off the couch, taking a few tentative steps toward the kitchen. A roll of paper towels blazed on top of a lit burner, forming a bridge of flames leading to the counter beside the stove.

  Piercing beeps split the silence as the smoke detector behind the closed door of her bedroom came to life. Her heart seized before resuming its frantic hammering. She clutched at her chest, coughing. Should she try to put it out? There was a fire extinguisher beneath the sink, but she didn’t want to walk through the narrow kitchen to get to it. She didn’t want to get that close to the fire, and she wasn’t even sure she would know how to work it.

  Her horrified gaze fell on the bottle of oil she’d left on the counter after preparing the salad earlier. Flames licked at the plastic container. Get out. Now!

  But something else tugged her forward. She needed to run to the bedroom, to save the Dragonfly books. She could make it. As she took a step toward the little hallway, her foot landed on a cold, hard object.

  Snatching her foot away, she glanced down at the floor. In the firelight, she could see what it was—a battery. Snapping her head back, she confirmed what she already knew: the battery compartment in the smoke detector was open. And empty.

  A fresh wave of terror crashed over her, clearing her mind like a slap to the face. She couldn’t risk going for the books, not with what this ghost was capable of. Whirling around, she snatched her keys and phone from the table by the couch and dialed 911. She flung open the door, unable to look away from the growing blaze as she breathlessly relayed her emergency.

  It was 4:30 a.m. when the firefighters allowed her back into the apartment to collect some personal items. Since the fire had not spread from her kitchen, the other tenants were allowed to return to their units; she’d woken many of them up herself with frantic knocks on neighboring doors while the engines were on their way. Now, she tried to avoid their annoyed glances as they trudged back inside. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread that she’d left a burner on. What else could she say? And while a few kind souls had asked about her welfare, the majority of her exhausted neighbors appeared to have less empathy. She couldn’t blame them.