“My grandparents never came out and used the word 'ghost' to describe these figures I was seeing, but every time I'd mention seeing another, they'd tell me the same thing: Ignore it. Don't go near it. It was hard to do, though. When you're out and about, minding your own business, and you see some stranger in the distance staring at you—waving at you—your first instinct is to investigate further. You're curious.
“I was out at the park having a picnic with my grandparents and a friend from school one summer afternoon. My friend and I decided to go for a walk on one of the trails before lunch and we'd made it a good distance down the footpath when I noticed someone standing off-trail, amidst the trees. It was an old woman—hunched and feeble. She had a dense tangle of grey hair atop her head and was looking down at the ground. I remember thinking it odd that she was wearing a long, black dress on such a hot day. Her entire body shook as she raised one of her hands and beckoned to me.
“I motioned to her, thinking that she'd gotten lost and needed help, but try as she might my friend couldn't see her. 'You're trying to freak me out, aren't you?' she said. All that while, the old fidgeting woman had kept waving me over. I pushed past the weeds and wandered a little off the trail to meet her. I called out, asked if everything was all right. She didn't respond, but the closer I got the more uneasy I became. Once I arrived within ten or fifteen feet of her, I stopped in my tracks. I found the woman's face was a strange, dark blur; though it might have been due to the shade of the woods, her skin had looked like slate. With every step I'd taken, her beckoning had gotten more and more frenzied, too.
“I turned and rejoined my friend on the trail and we both jogged back to the picnic site. Needless to say, the picnic was cancelled and my grandparents laid into me for my carelessness. Oh, and that friend of mine stopped talking to me shortly after the incident, too. She thought I was crazy. Growing up is hard enough; the last thing any teenager needs is a reputation for being the 'creepy ghost girl'. My grandparents arranged for me to see a therapist shortly after that—a family friend of theirs. They wanted to train me to ignore these figures I was seeing. Whether they were real or hallucinatory didn't matter; they simply wanted it to stop. And so did I. So, I met with the therapist for close to a year and he tried a number of things. We talked about my family, the nature of mental illness. He put me on some drugs, suggested prayer, and even tried hypnotism. Eventually, something clicked and I no longer saw the things.
“Suddenly, I was a normal girl. Whatever I'd been tuned into before, I could no longer access it. Now and then, I'd see things in the corner of my eye, or in the distance, but I'd fall back on my therapy and simply put it out of my mind, write it off as a daydream. And that's how things have gone for me these last nine years. I've worked very hard at convincing myself that was just a weird traumatic phase I went through—that nothing I saw back then was real. Sometimes, I almost believe it.
“But recently, I've had reason to doubt. The other night as we were leaving work, I saw someone standing outside the library. I thought it was just a latecomer at first—someone who'd dropped by after closing, but...” Sadie shivered. “It wasn't. I know it wasn't. And then you told me about that recent accident that occurred just down the street—the pedestrian who got hit. I know it was him. He was the one I saw, waving at me from outside. And now... there's this.
“Rosie and her daughter used to live next door to my grandparents. She remembers what I was like as a kid—the stuff I used to see and the stories I used to tell. And now that her daughter's having some kind of breakdown she thinks I can help her. Don't ask me why. I may have seen things at one point but I wasn't exactly an exorcist or whatever. I don't even know what I could do for her! I don't want to get involved with that situation at all. I feel bad for Rosie and she's obviously desperate, but whatever abilities she thinks I have don't exist. I was an impressionable girl back then and it was a rough patch in my childhood; I'm sure it was all mere delusion.”
“Sure,” replied August. Arching a brow, he posed the question that'd been nagging Sadie all the while. “But if it was just a phase you went through as a teen, then how do you explain this recent sighting outside the library?”
“I—I'm not sure,” was all she could say.
August reclined on the sofa and tapped his feet playfully against the carpet. “What you've told me is pretty out there, but as it happens, I'm not a complete skeptic. I'm a big fan of those ghost hunting shows on TV, and while a lot of 'em are obviously staged, I think there's enough evidence out there to prove the existence of the paranormal.” He scratched at his earlobe and backtracked a moment. “Well, maybe not enough to prove it, but enough for me to not think you're crazy. Still, I'm curious about something.”
“What's that?”
“The ghosts,” he continued, “why do you think they beckon to you? What do they want?”
Sadie massaged her brow with her fingers. “I don't know. The few times I actually approached one, though, I always got this bad feeling in my stomach. This feeling that I should turn and run—that I'd made some mistake. Whatever they were—and whatever they wanted—it probably wasn't good.”
“Hmm...” August nodded. “So, what happened after that? You didn't mention your dad; he booted you out to your grandparents' house and then what? Didn't he have any theories about what you were seeing—and why?”
She gave a soft shake of the head. “My dad sent me off after I started having those dreams, but not a week after I moved in with my grandparents he died.”
August's eyes widened. “Oh, I'm sorry. That's terrible. What happened to him?”
Sadie mustered a curious frown. “Honestly? I don't really know. They said—my grandparents did—that it was a heart attack or something. But the suddenness of it... and the timing. He was a pretty fit guy, my dad, with no health issues I knew of...” She took a deep breath through her nose. “The last time I saw him alive was the day he dropped me off on my grandparents' doorstep. He hugged me, told me he loved me, but... I'd never seen him so scared in my life. I think that's the part that bothered me most; having that be my last memory of him.” She paused. “Come to think of it, his funeral was closed casket; my grandparents insisted on that. Why have a closed casket funeral when the cause of death was a heart attack? I never understood that.”
“Wow.” August sat forward, hands on his knees. “That's... awful. For a teenaged girl to have to go through all that... What about your grandparents?”
“They passed on while I was in college, shortly after I finished my bachelor's. They both died of natural causes a few months apart. My grandmother went first; my grandfather died a few weeks before I began my master's. I got to spend some time with both of them toward the end, and they left me a decent inheritance. After their estate was liquidated I found myself with enough to pay off all my school loans and a decent nest egg besides.”
“Well, that's quite the life's story,” concluded August, checking the time on his phone. “I have a new appreciation for you; if you wrote an autobiography I'd read it and recommend it to everyone who came into the library.”
Sadie rolled her eyes and stood up. “I'm not the writing type.” She motioned to the kitchenette. “Hungry, thirsty? I'm going to make some tea.”
“No, I'm good,” he replied, slowly gaining his feet with a grunt befitting a much older man. “I should probably get going. Early to bed, early to rise and all that.”
“Already?” Sadie blushed, pausing near the sofa. “It's just... I talked the whole time. I barely let you get a word in edgewise. What about your life's story?”
August shuffled off to the door with a grin. “Actually, mine's pretty simple. I was a military brat and my parents split when I was in middle school. I settled in Montpelier with my mom and found I liked books better than most people.” He adjusted his glasses and stifled a yawn. “And I'm a Virgo.”
Sadie laughed. “Compelling. Well, thanks for listening. I really appreciate it. And, uh... t-thanks for not thinki
ng I'm some weirdo.”
“Ah, but that's just the thing. I've considered you a weirdo since the day we met!” He opened the door, but stopped short. “Hey, do me a favor. If you decide you wanna go see that girl in the psych ward, let me know. I'll give you a ride.”
“Huh? Thanks for the offer, but... why would I want to do that?”
August stepped half-way out the door and looked back at her from the hall, eyebrows waggling. “Dunno. Just a feeling I have. Popping in to see this girl—a teenager who thinks she's struggling with something supernatural—might do some good.”
“I'm not following,” replied Sadie. “How's it going to do her any good? What could I possibly do for her?”
“Nah.” August shook his head. “I meant that it might be good for you.” He shrugged and gave a lazy wave as he started out into the hall. “Anyway, it occurs to me that we're both off tomorrow, so if the mood strikes you, gimme a jingle.” He slunk out of the room and down the stairs.
What the hell is he thinking? Sadie shut the door after him and locked it. What could I possibly gain by visiting that girl? She trudged into the kitchen and started prepping the aforementioned cup of tea, only to idle by the sofa as the electric kettle warmed up. Alone now—like she always was—the apartment seemed too quiet somehow. She rearranged her books noisily and changed into some pajamas, slamming the closet door with theatrical force. When she was finished and the kettle had sung, the weight of the resulting silence surprised her.
A few hours ago she would have welcomed this silence, embraced it. Now, with old memories recirculating in her tired mind, it was oppressive.
8
Sadie didn't have to work, so spending the day in her pajamas, reading, was entirely permissible. Most of the local restaurants delivered, and if the books she had on hand proved boring she could always stream a movie. Alternatively, if she bothered to get dressed in proper clothes she could probably find something fun to do in town.
The day was her oyster. Countless possibilities promising both fun and fulfillment stretched out before her.
So why was it that she could only think of visiting Ophelia in the hospital?
From the moment she'd stepped out of bed her thoughts had been fixed on the girl, and on Rosie's pleas for help. Sadie's initial reaction at the idea of visiting had been purely negative, but after chatting with August the night before—and sleeping on it—she'd somehow warmed to it. Though she wasn't exactly in a position to help the girl, conversations about her past had awakened something like nostalgia in her, and stopping by to visit—to reminisce—with Rosie and her daughter didn't seem all that bad.
Something unexpected had grown up out of the previous night's encounter with Rosie, too; curiosity. Was Ophelia's behavior really so strange—so terrible—that ghosts, rather than teenage angst, seemed the culprit? Would the girl—who'd been quite young back then—remember Sadie and the summer nights they'd spent walking through the neighborhood? How had she changed over the years? Had she kept in touch with the other neighborhood kids after Sadie had moved on to college?
And there was a kernel of guilt at the heart of the urge, too; if there existed any possibility that Sadie's presence at her bedside might help the girl out of this self-destructive funk, then she had a responsibility to pop in, didn't she? Rosie had come by in her most desperate hour, had begged Sadie to visit. The more she reflected on Rosie's tears, on the whole sad situation, the more she felt compelled to assist. She still didn't think she could do anything for the girl, but the guilt would consume her before too long if she simply ignored the request.
In the end, confident that it would cost her nothing to stop in and say hello, she decided to get dressed and call August. He'd offered her a lift to the hospital the night before, and she figured she could reimburse him for his kindness with another lunch when they were through visiting. Throwing on a white sundress and putting her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, she gave him a call.
August answered with a laugh. “I knew you'd call,” he snorted.
Sadie shouldered the phone and threw together a quick cup of oatmeal. “Yeah, well, I feel guilty. These people are old friends of mine and it won't cost me anything to drop in and show them a little kindness.”
“That's mighty big of you,” he replied through a yawn. “I can come by in a half-hour. Cool?”
“Sure. And since you're being such a gem, giving me a ride and all, why don't we have some lunch afterward? My treat.”
“Free lunch? You know just what to say to a man.” He paused. “Say, though, what if this girl does end up to be, like... The Exorcist?”
“Huh?” Sadie laughed. “What do you mean?”
“What if she's actually cursed or possessed or whatever? Her mother thinks she's hurting herself because there are ghosts in the picture, right? That's why she sought you out, no?”
Sadie hadn't given that matter much thought, admittedly. “I'm sure it's nothing like that. I know what Rosie claims, but... the truth is that her daughter's probably just going through a really rough time. I doubt ghosts have anything to do with it. People say crazy things when they're under a lot of stress, that's all.”
“Right on. Well, I'll be there in thirty, yeah?”
“See you soon.” Sadie set down her phone and gave her oatmeal a stir, the question lingering in the back of her mind as she spooned in some sugar and cream. What if the girl is haunted by something?
When she finished eating, she opened the blinds and let in the morning sun. Looking out into the parking lot, she waited for August's Honda to roll in and nibbled her thumbnail all the while. It was a bright and beautiful day outside. The birds were singing, the grass was dewy and the skies were gorgeously clear. Could things like what she'd imagined in her youth—dark spirits—really exist in a bright and pleasant world like this one? It didn't seem possible. All the experiences of her youth, all the terrible dreams and sightings, seemed distant now—and implausible.
Right on time, the Honda buzzed into the lot and slid into a spot outside her building with a blast of the horn.
Rosie was waiting in the third floor lobby in the same clothes she'd been wearing the night before, just outside the visitor elevators. “Thank you for coming,” she said, rising from her seat to greet the two of them. She wrapped Sadie in a hug—an unexpectedly tight one—and shook August's hand, nodding at the metal door that led into the psychiatric ward. “I can come in with you—though, to be honest, she might enjoy just talking with you one-on-one, Sadie. I didn't tell her you were coming. It might be a nice surprise for her.”
“Sure, that's fine. I'll just pop in for a little while and say hi.” She turned to August. “Will you be all right out here while I go in?”
He planted himself in one of the plush lobby chairs and crossed his legs. “Sitting pretty is one of the few things in life I'm good at.” Rosie sat down in the chair beside his and the pair fell into conversation.
Pushing open the metal door, Sadie found a large desk waiting for her on the other side, manned by a secretary and a uniformed guard. The secretary had been showing the guard something on her phone, but snapped to attention at hearing the door open and looked out at Sadie with a bright smile. “Can I help you?”
“Hello.” Sadie made her way to the desk, peering past it at the bustling station beyond. “I'm here to visit one of the patients. Her mother invited me. Ophelia—”
“Oh, you're Sadie Young?” The secretary peered down at a clipboard beside her computer. “Rosie told us you might be dropping in. The patient is in the Crisis Management wing—Pete here will have to let you back.”
At this, the security guard stood and gave his weighty belt a tug. “I can escort you,” he said, removing a keyring from his pocket. The far right side of the front counter was built to open like a gate, a similar design to what Sadie had seen in many banks, and when this was opened she was led through a narrow corridor into the unit.
Falling into step behind the quiet guard, she ro
unded the nurse's station, passed a glass-panelled section where blue-garbed patients idled in front of televisions or sat at large tables eating lunch, and followed him down a long hall, the terminus of which led to the promised Crisis Management ward. The opening of this door necessitated not only a swipe of the guard's badge, but another key, which was inserted into a little box on the wall. When both steps had been completed, the door swung open on its own and the two were admitted.
From her very first step onto the polished tile floors of this new ward, Sadie noticed a shift in the air. Things elsewhere on the third floor had seemed boisterous and almost laid-back; now, stepping into a hall where the doors to patient rooms were made of reinforced metal and the lights were kept dimmer, she felt like she'd entered a prison. Where the outer end of the psych ward had boasted decorations—generic framed art on the walls, a tedious mural near the elevators—there was nothing here but sterility. The air seemed heavier, too—more stagnant, as though weighed down by the anguish of those housed therein.
Ophelia's room was approximately half-way down the hall. The door was shut like all the rest. Before letting Sadie inside, the guard stopped and explained a few things, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “All right, so, visiting hours back here are limited to one hour unless you're a parent. The rooms in this unit have been stripped of items that patients can use in acts of self-harm, and in this room we've got a ceiling camera set up just in case she decides to pick at her bandages or wander off. You can't get in or out of this ward without a key; when you're done visiting, hit the call-light on the wall next to her bed and I'll come and get you. Otherwise, when the hour's up, I'll come by to escort you out.” He stroked at his stubbled chin and then nodded as if to assure himself he'd run through all the details. “I think that's about the length of it. Hit the call light if you need anything else.”
The Haunting of Beacon Hill Page 7
