Sadie looked up at the apartment building and nodded. “I think so.” She frowned a little. “I mean, I hope so.” She turned to him. “Do you think it's over? Like really over?”
He chuckled darkly and ran a filthy hand through his hair. “I guess we'll find out tonight, eh?” He nodded. “Yeah, I think it's over. We found the mirror, buried it, the whole shebang. I think that mirror was her connection to the world and we just severed the roots.”
“Sure, but...” Sadie turned and looked into the backseat, where August had left the bag of supplies. In it, she recalled, was the camera. “If her spirit lived on in the mirror we buried, is it possible that it could have moved to a different mirror—or into something else? What about your camera? Do you think footage of her might give her a kind of refuge?”
August reached back and grabbed the bag. Unearthing the camera, he powered it on and tapped a few buttons in the menu. Then, turning it so that she could see, he promptly wiped the memory. “There we go,” he said. “If I did get anything really spooky on tape, it's gone now. So much for my planned ghost-hunting YouTube channel...”
“Thanks,” replied Sadie. “Hopefully that'll do it.”
August lifted his glasses and pawed at his tired eyes. “You asked if it was 'over' just now. I don't think we'll have to worry about Mother Maggot anymore. But that doesn't mean this ghost thing is over. We still don't know much about how these things work, why you see them and all that. Maybe next time you'll get closer to the truth.”
Sadie laughed and opened the door. “Next time, huh?”
August's expression was less jovial than she expected when he replied, “Sure, next time. There's no avoiding it, is there?”
Her own mood, only recently mended, crumbled a little for this reminder. “Well, thanks, August. Get home safe.”
He waved and pulled out of the space.
Sadie took her time in climbing the stairs, and when she got up to her place she lingered awkwardly in the hall for a few minutes. She ultimately found the nerve to enter, to put on all the lights and do a walk-through, and she didn't find anything out of sorts. The place seemed empty by all appearances, though by this time she'd come to distrust her eyes. There was always more to the story than what one could see.
Tired and achy, she took a quick rinse in the shower, keeping the curtain slightly open so that she might survey the bathroom and hall, and then threw on a fresh pair of pajamas. There wasn't much in the fridge, but she cobbled together an underwhelming meal from its contents and scarfed it down alongside a hot chamomile tea. Rather than sleep in bed, she made herself comfortable in the living room, on her papasan chair, so that she might be closer to the door in the event of a late-night scare.
She plucked a paperback from one of her many stacks, but didn't even manage to lift the cover before sleep came full bore for her.
It wasn't a hideous dream that woke her, nor a watchful monstrosity, but a shaft of morning sun peeking in around the edge of her blinds.
Sadie awoke with a start, but the fright that came over her was gone in an instant when she realized she'd passed the entire night peacefully.
It really was over.
26
“OK, how about this?” asked August, glancing at his watch. “At nine, sharp, whoever puts out more of the lights has to pay for morning coffee the next shift?” He smoothed out his bowtie—white with blue stars—and leaned over the circulation desk toward her. “It's only five minutes till, so you'd better get ready.”
“No way.” Sadie hoisted up a stack of returns from the counter and carried them to the children's section. “I'm not getting wrapped up in another one of your dumb bets. Buy your own Starbucks.”
He slumped, kicked his feet in a silent fit. “But it tastes better when you pay for it!”
The library had emptied out in the minutes prior to close. The last visitor had plucked her items from the reserve shelf and hastily checked them out. Now, it was time to hurry through the usual busywork so that they could clock out at a reasonable hour.
A few days had passed since their last trip to Beacon Hill, and what stunned her most was how easy it had been to slip back into a normal life. She'd been sleeping well, eating well, and had even gotten back to her reading. The first night had been difficult, but subsequent ones proved easier.
The morning after she and August had buried the tarnished mirror, she'd gotten a call from Rosie. Things with Ophelia were going well; she was set to be released within the week. Without getting into the finer details, Sadie had also assured her that everything was back to normal—that the thing that had threatened her daughter was now gone from the world.
Still, every time Sadie woke up, or found herself in a darkened room, she couldn't help wondering if that was truly the case. Mother Maggot never turned up; what's more, their success at Beacon Hill had coincided with a sudden stop of those horrific dreams she'd been having of her mother. But that one or both might suddenly return never seemed completely out of bounds. Her recent days had been suspiciously peaceful. She wasn't used to it, and sure that it wouldn't last forever, her enjoyment of the calm proved hollow. Someone with a gift like hers couldn't live a normal life for very long. That's all there was to it.
And that evening, as she started for the main door to lock up some minutes past nine, her truce with the universe was broken.
Sadie had been toying with the small golden key, but at a glance through the door—and at the thing that lurked without—she came to squeeze it so hard that it left an impression in her palm.
Outside, standing very close to one of the front windows, was a dark figure. Outlined vaguely for the whitish glow of the streetlight in the courtyard, the individual stood perfectly still, leering into the dim library with feverish intensity. Any hope that it was merely a passerby, a latecomer, vanished when she met those familiar chalk-colored eyes staring in at her through the glass.
Whatever or whomever was looking at her through that window was no longer part of the world of the living. August had mentioned a recent traffic accident just down the road; she took this to be its victim, come to look into the windows and beckon to her. The figure did just that, offering a limp hand in salutation.
Panic set her heart knocking around her chest, but she didn't give into it. Instead, she took a few steps back and stood out of view of that window. Fear would only make it worse; things of this kind thrived on terror, on discomfort. If she collected herself and then returned to the window after a count of ten, odds were good it wouldn't be there anymore.
Recent events had taught her to look at these beckoning phantoms in a new light. They were like stains on this world—things that could not be lifted to their rightful plane till their connections to the physical sphere were severed. What kept this milk-eyed loiterer bound to these dark streets? If she approached, investigated, could Sadie free this one, too—banish it like she'd done to Mother Maggot? She felt reasonably sure she could, and this feeling emboldened her, sapped some fearfulness from the thing.
With a deep breath, she stepped back around the corner and took in the main entrance.
As expected, there was no one there. The figure had moved on just as she'd predicted.
“What's the hold up?” shouted August from behind as he trudged toward the main entrance.
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the boom of his voice.
He quickly slid his key into the lock of the main door and then turned to grin at her. “I got to the door first. Guess that means you're buying me dinner again, huh?”
Red in the cheeks, Sadie stormed off to the main desk. “I told you, I'm not playing those games with you anymore!”
Sleep came easy that night. Thoughts of her day were quietened and that sooting internal darkness prevailed. From it, though, there came a familiar scene.
A long, dark hallway. At the end of it was a black door.
Sadie couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, and the walls around her seemed so narrow that she co
uld hardly take a step forward without getting stuck between them. Still, the door seemed to call out—to attract her—and she floated toward it, feeling like she'd seen it before. A dim memory echoed through her mind like a scream—a memory that she hadn't merely seen the door before, but that she'd opened it—however, she cast all this away as she approached and threw a hand out for the knob.
Her entire body seized up as it swung open. Anticipation gripped her, turned her stomach into a pit of cold. Something in her psyche told her she'd made a mistake—that the door should have been left closed. But it was too late now. By slow degrees it fell open on its silent hinge to reveal what was inside.
And when it had opened completely, Sadie stood before the doorway and found herself looking at nothing but an empty closet.
The initial reaction was relief—the kind of relief one feels when cresting what turns out to be a fake hill on a roller coaster. But as with that precise brand of relief, it was altogether too premature. The ride was only getting started, after all.
The dread that followed shortly thereafter left her feeling ill and heavy. Fear issued from the realization that this discovery could be viewed through two distinct lenses. The first, an optimistic one, viewed the matter as settled; she was no longer to be haunted by the thing she'd expected to find within the closet. It was gone, never to ruin her nights again. She'd outgrown it.
The other view, though, was that she wasn't merely looking into an empty closet. She was looking into a space where something, previously contained, incarcerated, controlled, was no longer confined. That something, perhaps, was now walking free.
Her fear never reached such highs as to break her out of sleep. The scene was reabsorbed into the folds of her mind and she drifted deeper. She didn't awaken till well past sunrise.
The call came around ten in the morning. Sadie had only been out of bed for an hour, and was poking at her oatmeal, when she'd answered her phone. It was Rosie. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sadie,” started Rosie, “I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to tell you that they're letting Ophelia out of the hospital today. She's been doing so well that the doctors are allowing her to discharge. I wanted to say thank you again. If not for you, it's possible I would have lost her forever.”
“Oh, it's no problem,” came Sadie's reply. “I'm happy to hear she's recovering well. She's been through a lot. Tell her I said hi.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you and your friend had time today to drop by. I know it's short notice, but I was thinking of having a little barbecue to celebrate. If you're both free, I'd love to have you over.”
Sadie sat upright, set her bowl aside. “Uh, yeah, I know I'm free today. I'll let August know and see what he's up to. What time are you thinking?”
“How about four this afternoon? Right around dinner time.” Rosie paused. “Erm, there was something else, too. Remember how I told you your grandparents' old house was recently bought by a young couple? Well, they were doing some renovations in the attic and I guess they found something that might have been theirs—a box, mostly paperwork inside. I had been talking with them, and mentioned how I was still in contact with you, so they brought it over and gave it to me. I was wondering if you'd like to take it. I can throw it out otherwise—and I haven't snooped around in it—but I thought I should mention it.”
This took Sadie completely off guard. She herself had spent a few days clearing things out of that house, preparing her grandparents' estate for liquidation. What could be in this box—kept in the dark, unfinished attic, of all places? It was almost certainly junk; old financial records, perhaps receipts or tax documents. On the off-chance that there was something worthwhile in it, she agreed to take it, though. “Sure. When I come by today for the cookout I'll take it off your hands. Thank you for holding onto it.”
When the plans had been set, Sadie shot August a quick text. Hey, Rosie just let me know that they're letting Ophelia out of the hospital today. She wants to have a barbecue at her place around 4 and she's invited us both. You in?
A minute went by and then her phone chirped with his reply. FREE FOOD?!?
He was, apparently, rather excited at the prospect.
The morning wore into afternoon, and as she tidied up her apartment and got ready for the cookout, Sadie kept thinking back to this box that'd turned up in her old home. She tried not to get her hopes up, reminded herself it was bound to be junk, but there was no helping the little twinges of excitement she felt whenever she remembered it.
At half-past three, August rolled up and laid on the horn. She set out to join him and they sped off for Rosie's.
27
It was a warm but breezy day; perfect for a barbecue. August navigated the old neighborhood, passed all the familiar sights, and pulled into Rosie's driveway. As before, when they stepped out, Sadie couldn't help looking over at the house she'd spent her teenage years in.
Rosie met them in the drive with a hug, and had brought the box out with her—a thick cardboard number about a foot across and a foot deep—and handed it to Sadie. “Just so I don't forget,” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, Ophelia's out back. We're waiting on her friends to come by, but you two make yourselves at home. I've got the grill heating up and there are drinks in the fridge.”
Sadie returned to the car just long enough to set the box in the backseat, and it took all her willpower not to pry off the lid and start rummaging through it. It wasn't particularly heavy—ten pounds, at most—but its contents crinkled and rattled. After setting down the box, she followed August and Rosie inside, and accepted a cold bottle of water.
While August and Rosie made small talk in the kitchen, Sadie found her way out to the back yard, where Ophelia was standing. The girl looked worlds better. Her wrists were still bandaged, but she'd put on a longer shirt that obscured most of the gauze. Her hair had been styled in a braid and she'd applied a generous dose of fruity body spray. The sight of the girl, home and healthy, brought Sadie great joy. If only their initial reunion had taken place under circumstances like these, rather than in a gloomy hospital room. “Hey, Ophelia. Welcome home!” she said, stepping across the porch and setting her water down on the cobblestones.
The girl seemed in her own head. She was standing next to the grill, looking across the fence into the distance. She gave a little nod as if in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything.
The air was rich with the season's greatest hits; freshly-cut grass, wildflowers from the nearby garden, burning charcoal and tangy earth. “It's such a nice day out today,” continued Sadie, unprompted. “They couldn't have picked a lovelier day to discharge you, huh?”
Ophelia's shoulder-length braid swayed in the breeze. She still didn't turn to meet her visitor, but kept looking over the fence, back and forth, back and forth, like she was waiting for someone to climb over it. “You told my mother it was over, didn't you?” The words sounded vacant, almost slurred.
“Y-Yes,” replied Sadie, cracking an uneasy smile. “It's all behind us now, that. She's gone—she's gone for good,” and in her inflection, Sadie made it clear exactly which she was being referenced. “August and I took care of that.”
Birds twittered overhead and the trees rustled in the wind. Ophelia gave a very slow shake of the head and whispered an emphatic, “No.”
“No?” asked Sadie, taking a step toward the girl. “What do you mean?”
“It's not over. It's worse,” muttered Ophelia, her voice very nearly taken by the wind. “Last night, I saw her in my hospital room, next to my bed. She spoke to me, and then I started to remember... I remembered the dreams I'd been having, I remembered... why.”
Sadie's guts clenched involuntarily. “W-Wait, you saw Mother Maggot? L-Last night?”
Ophelia gave a slight turn of the head, taking in Sadie with one wide eye. There stood out a queasy smile on her pale lips and she shook her head for ten, fifteen seconds as if in extra emphasis. “No,” said the girl, “not her.”
“Then who di
d you see last night in—” Sadie stopped abruptly. Without any further insight, she found she already knew who the girl was referring to, and the knowledge of that made her heart skip a beat. But no, the very suggestion of such a thing was beyond imagining—she refused to believe it. “O-Ophelia, what do you mean?”
Ophelia was shaking now—every hair on her head trembled like a live wire. “I... I don't know what she is... I don't know where she came from...” She looked on the verge of falling, her body swaying from side to side. “I've had dreams of a tree—a black tree—that seeks to grow into Heaven. It has a thousand black roots. People chop it down—it would be a good thing to chop it down!—but it always grows back because no one ever severs the roots. There are too many of them. So it lives on and on...” She trailed off into a fit of shivers, clutching at her arms.
Sadie took a cautious step forward, her voice as unsteady as the girl's frame. “Ophelia, who did you see last night next to your bed? Who was in your room?”
Ophelia wobbled as she produced a mirthless laugh. “It wasn't a who, Sadie. It was a what.” The wild, bloodshot eye shook in her pale face. “Your mother... isn't human.”
She was thunderstruck by this, at a complete loss for words. Sadie tried to ask, “You saw my mother?” but the sounds pouring from her lips were nothing but stunned gibberish.
And it was this bafflement that rendered her too slow to stop what came next.
Ophelia turned and reached past the grate of the hot grill, pulling out one of the grayish glowing coals. The skin of her hand, of her fingers, sizzled audibly as she clutched it, and with those same ferocious eyes, she lifted the coal to her lips and ushered it into her mouth. The smoldering briquette met her tongue, her soft palate, with an angry hiss, and as it left her right hand it took a layer of skin from her palm with it. Like a seabird trying to accommodate a flopping fish in its gullet, Ophelia hitched her head back and gyrated from the neck down to ease the burning load down her esophagus.
The Haunting of Beacon Hill Page 21
