by Vicki Delany
She cleared the table and did the dishes while Tiffany eagerly started up the computer game. They sat in companionable silence late into the night. Tiffany played Tomb Raider with determined concentration; Joanna read the computer magazines she bought in Toronto but hadn’t yet had time to get into. Outside the cabin, the temperature dropped further and a full-force northern winter blizzard arrived.
Joanna finished the last of her magazines and glanced at her watch. To her surprise it was long past midnight. “Hey, look at the time. We should be getting to bed,” she told Tiffany. “I’ll put out blankets and sheets and you can make up the couch.”
Tiffany yawned. “I’m not tired. I’d like to play some more. Can I?”
“Sure. Play as long as you like, but I’m going to bed.” On her way to the bedroom, Joanna stopped to peer out the front window. The snow fell thick and heavy, tossed madly about by the wind. She could only just make out the porch light trying to break through the curtain of swirling white. “Wow, it’s quite a storm outside. Not a fit night out for man nor beast.” A sudden gust of wind crashed into the window and the old pane groaned loudly. She leapt back in shock as the glass settled back into its frame. It had survived a great many worse storms than this one.
Tiffany grunted, but didn’t take her eyes from the screen.
Joanna was half across the room when a soft scratching at the front door stopped her in her tracks. She turned slowly and looked around. Tiffany sat at the computer, head bent in concentration; a second gust of wind rattled the windows but otherwise all was silent. Joanna sunk slowly into a chair. Sounds in the night had never bothered her before; she was a woman living alone and well used to the creaking and settling of an old house. But this night was different. This night an overwhelming sense of dread gripped her chest. She tried to shake it off, she told herself that she was imagining things. But the terror would not go away.
Again she heard the scratching, and again it fell silent. So far away it might have been in another world. Computer keys clicked rapidly. Tiffany groaned as Lara Croft plunged to a bloody death in a pool full of starving piranhas.
“Don’t you hear it?” Joanna whispered softly.
“Hear what?” For once Tiffany tuned in to another person’s emotions and, alarmed, abandoned the resurrection of Lara and turned in her chair to look at Joanna. “What’s the matter with you? Are you all right?”
“Don’t you hear it?” Joanna repeated.
“Hear what?”
“Just listen.”
The two women strained to hear. Again the windows groaned and again the steady scratching echoed throughout the little cabin.
“There, that noise. At the front door.”
“Sounds like a cat or something wanting in.” Tiffany jumped up and threw the storm door open before Joanna could stop her. She peered through the glass in the still-closed wooden door. “Nope. Nothing here but a pretty big pile of snow.” The girl looked outside, her head turning from left to right, up and down. Nothing caught her eye and she shut the door firmly. “Must be just the old wood rattling.” She took one look at her friend’s white, stricken face. “These old places make all kinds of funny noises. You should hear our house. When Rocky walks around in the night anyone would think the whole floor is going to collapse. That’s all it is, I’m sure. God, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tiffany knelt down in front of Joanna. “The door is creaking, that’s all.”
Joanna shook her head wordlessly. The scratching sounded once again, louder this time.
“It really does sound like someone wants to get in.” Tiffany stood by the window, holding her hands in front of the glass, the better to see out. “I can’t see anyone, though. You don’t have a cat, do you? Wonder what it is. You don’t look too well. Can I make you a cup of tea or something?”
Joanna shook her head.
“Another glass of wine?”
Joanna nodded.
Tiffany poured the wine carefully. No one was watching her, so she took a cautious sip. Still Joanna didn’t look in her direction; Tiffany gulped half the glass down. She topped it up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and carried the drink over to Joanna.
“It’s just a noise in the wind, really.”
Joanna ignored the offered glass and gripped Tiffany’s arm tightly. “Don’t you feel it?” she whispered. “The cold, can’t you feel it?”
“It’s cold outside. But I’m nice and warm inside. Should I put another log in the stove?”
“Won’t help,” Joanna croaked.
Tiffany pressed the wine into a trembling hand. The older woman was raising the glass to her lips when the scratching once more echoed throughout the cabin. This time it was accompanied by a soft moan.
The glass shattered in Joanna’s hand. Bright blood seeped from the gash on her index finger and dripped steadily onto the wooden floor. It mixed with the spilled wine to form a glistening red pool. Joanna simply stared at the mess, unable to comprehend what was going on.
“There is someone out there.” Tiffany leapt to her feet. “They must be lost in the storm.” She threw open the storm door and unlocked the heavier wooden door behind it. She began to push the door open, but a sharp gust of wind slammed it shut. Tiffany wrestled against the wind in an attempt to force the door back open. As the wind softened and Tiffany began to win, Joanna roused herself and leapt from her daze. She knocked Tiffany aside and pulled the door shut. The girl’s foot caught in the area rug and she fell heavily.
Tiffany shook her head and rubbed absently at the wrist that had taken the brunt of her fall. Joanna stood resolutely against the force of the storm and whatever it carried, her back pressed tightly against the door.
“For God’s sake. What’s the matter with you? There’s someone out there. We have to let them in.”
“No,” Joanna gasped. The scratching started again. One long moan sounded through the night. She dragged Tiffany to her feet.
“Do…Not…Open…That…Door…Again.” She wrapped Tiffany tightly in her arms. They listened as the scratching continued, then fell still. The wind shook the windows one last time, and then it moved on. All that could be heard was the crackle of burning logs on the fire, the roar of the wind outside and the women’s breathing.
Slowly Joanna’s heart took up its regular rhythm and the unnamed terror cleared her chest. With a sigh she released Tiffany and collapsed into a chair.
The teenager turned to face her. Her thin face was hard and accusing. “What was all that about, Joanna? There was someone out there. You can’t just leave them alone out in the night.”
“Yes, there was someone out there. There was. But didn’t you feel it, Tiffany? It wasn’t right. Whatever was out in the storm tonight shouldn’t have been there. It did not belong here. Didn’t you feel it?” This was all beyond Joanna’s comprehension; she didn’t even understand what she was talking about, yet the words, like the horror, seemed to form out of the dark by themselves.
Tiffany sank to her knees in front of Joanna, and grasped the woman’s hands in her own. “I felt it,” she said, “I know that it was no cat, no one lost in the storm at night. But it wanted in, it wanted us to let it in. Why couldn’t you do that?”
“Didn’t you fear it, Tiffany?”
“No. I don’t have anything to fear from it.”
“You’ve felt it before, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Twice before. At night and always when it’s cold. I’ve been in the woods, coming home very late. The first time was last winter. I was just drinking and…well, just drinking, when I realized that it was late and Grandma would be worried about me. So I left the group and started home. I hadn’t been living here long, so I wasn’t too sure of the way. I saw something moving through the trees, drifting slowly ahead of me, like, so I followed it. I didn’t have a better way of getting home. Soon it disappeared and there I was, right in our front yard.
“The next time was this year, just before you came. Again we were out drinki
ng and having a party, like. Down at the lake by Luke’s place. One of the boys was really bothering me so I left. But he came after me. I could hear him following me. I started walking faster and faster but he kept on after me. I didn’t see him, but I knew that he was there. I was really scared. He stepped out of the woods and knocked me down, he was drunk and I was so scared. Then she was between us. I didn’t see her, but I knew she was there.”
Joanna stared at Tiffany, speechless.
“He turned and ran. Took off, just like that. And I walked home.
“That boy never said another word to me again. I still see him at school. But he always looks away. He doesn’t ever come out drinking with my crowd any more either. Everyone wonders what’s gotten into him. They think maybe he’s found religion or something, but he doesn’t talk to anyone any more.”
“Why do you say, ‘she’?” Joanna asked.
“Eh?”
“Why do you say ‘she’? You said, ‘she was between us.’”
Tiffany shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did. I guess I just know.”
Joanna shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, she was chilled right through to her bones. “What is she?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not afraid of her, I have never been afraid of her. I wonder why you are.”
Joanna woke early the next morning, her head thick and confused. The previous night’s storm was over; soft winter sunshine drifted in through her bedroom window. She had slept heavily, not daring to lie awake or to dream. She lay in bed for a few minutes watching the early morning sunlight play with swirls of hard frost decorating the bedroom window. Like illustrations in a child’s picture book, the windows looked as if Jack Frost had stopped by during the night, to paint them with patterns of ice and frozen snow.
Tiffany was still asleep on the couch; a gently breathing bundle of blankets, pajama-clad feet and tousled purple hair.
Joanna slowly got out of bed and moved to the kitchen. She put the coffee on and pulled a packet of cinnamon buns from the freezer. After placing the buns in the oven to defrost and warm, she went for her shower. She stood under the hot water until it turned cold, then quickly turned the knob off. She forced herself not to think about the events of last night. There were no ghosts. Her city-bred, computer-educated mind knew that. Tiffany was a wild young teenaged girl with a healthy, overactive imagination, and that was all there was to it.
When Joanna emerged from the shower, carefully using her uncut hand to rub her hair in a towel, Tiffany was up and standing by the front window. Her flannel pajamas were the one-piece kind with feet and a design of happy little animals. The smell of warm cinnamon and sugar and fresh coffee filled the tiny cabin.
“See anything out there?” Joanna asked.
“Nothing but a lot of snow. There are some small animal tracks on the lawn, maybe a fox.”
“Anything on the porch?”
“Not a mark.”
They looked at each other, but neither had the words.
“You’ll have to wait a bit for a shower.” Joanna shied away from any talk of last night. “I used up all the hot water.”
Tiffany sat at the table in her strange pajamas and watched while Joanna tossed eggs with milk in a bowl and slowly poured the mixture into a hot frying pan. When the eggs were done they went onto the table along with steaming cinnamon buns, coffee and orange juice.
Maude pulled up as they were settling in to eat. She stamped snow from her boots and pulled off her heavy winter coat. Her cheeks glistened red and her sharp brown eyes sparkled with the morning cold. Another plate and mug were produced and the elderly woman settled into the table happily. Despite her scrawny frame she was an enthusiastic eater.
“You must know some of the history of this cabin, Maude.” Joanna spoke the words before she was aware of thinking them. She ignored her eggs, gripped the coffee mug tightly and tried to control the shake in her voice.
“A bit, yes. This is the oldest cabin in this part of the county, I believe. Why do you ask?” Maude selected a bun and dug in with gusto.
“I was just wondering. Old houses like this sometimes have a wonderful past.”
Maude laughed. “Not this old place, I’m afraid. This has always been nothing but a run-down little cabin, on a useless piece of land. Those buns were lovely. Very fresh.”
Joanna continued to stare into her mug. Tiffany passed the plate to her grandmother.
“Is something wrong? You seem a little tense, I hope there weren’t any problems last night…?”
“Oh, no. Tiffany was a pleasure to have over, really. Anytime.”
Maude glanced anxiously at the two faces staring intently at her across the table. “Though I do remember one strange thing about this old cabin.”
“Yes!” Tiffany and Joanna almost shouted their enthusiasm.
“Back in the thirties, there was a family lived here by the name of McDonald. I didn’t know them very well. When I was a girl we lived in town, you see. My father was manager of the paper mill in those days. He was one of the few men who had a job through all those hard years. Anyway, the McDonalds had a daughter a few years older than me, she was a friend of my sister Dorothy, which is why I know something of her story. I don’t remember her name, though. Dirt poor the McDonalds were. You can’t grow much on this land and jobs in town were few and far between. Lots of families were poor in the thirties, but what made things so tough for the McDonalds was that the father drank something awful. No food for the children but you could always find Mr. McDonald in one bar or another. I remember my mother and her lady friends were always having tea and talking a blue streak about the McDonalds.
“Of course in those days, in this town, everyone talked no end about the McDonalds but no one would do a thing to help the family. None of our business they would all say. No better than they should be.” Maude shook her head and held her coffee cup up with a smile. Joanna rushed to put on another pot.
“Where was I, oh yes, it’s all coming back to me now. The girl, whose name I don’t remember, was a wild one. My sister Dorothy was pretty wild in those days too, but she was too smart to ever get caught. The McDonald girl though, she was always in trouble.” Maude accepted another coffee with a smile and poured three spoonfuls of sugar into it. She stirred the drink carefully.
“I remember my father and mother talking late one night when they didn’t know I was sitting under the stairs. Seems that the girl had gotten herself in trouble. I didn’t know what that meant then but it sure sounded bad. She disappeared for a while and no one talked about her. And then the next thing I heard, she was dead.”
“Dead,” Tiffany said. “What happened?”
“I didn’t know, not then. She was buried quickly and no one ever talked about her again.” Maude stirred her now almost empty mug.
“But you did find out?” Joanna poured more coffee.
“It was a few years later, on the anniversary of her death. My sister, Dorothy, and I were in town doing some shopping when Dorothy said she needed to do something before she went home. She told me to go on ahead, but I insisted on going with her. We went to the graveyard, to visit her friend.
“It was the middle of winter, and I can still remember that day. The trees were bare and silent, snow piled up around the pitiful graves. A few dead flowers or a Christmas wreath propped up against some of the more recent tombstones. But there was nothing to decorate the McDonald girl’s grave.
“Dorothy cried and cried. She placed a paper flower she had made on top of the mound of snow covering the grave. I was surprised; she hadn’t said a word when her friend died. I thought she didn’t care much.
“We were just starting to leave when a little girl, younger than me, crept up. It was Lorraine, the youngest McDonald girl. Funny how I can remember everyone else’s name, but not that poor dead girl. Lorraine thanked us for coming. She told us her papa had forbidden any of them to visit their sister’s grave. She said they weren’t allowed to even talk abou
t her in the house, or to anyone else. They had to pretend that she had never lived. But her mother asked Lorraine one day, when her papa wasn’t home, to visit the grave when she could and try to keep it nice. She said her mother would be glad that we also came. So her sister wouldn’t always be alone.”
“How did she die?” Tiffany asked, her voice breaking with a degree of empathy Joanna wouldn’t have believed the girl possessed. Then she remembered: a troubled teenaged girl feels everyone’s pain.
“I don’t know,” Maude replied, staring off into space, deep in her own memories. “No one talked about it. It was all hushed up. Even her little sister, Lorraine, didn’t know. Just that one day the girl was gone and in the spring there was a grave they were forbidden to visit.
“But whatever happened she died badly, Joanna. Some would say a bad death is never an end.”
“Is that what you say?”
“I say, it’s time to be getting on home. Can’t sit around this nice fire all day eating eggs and drinking coffee and talking about people and things long past. Come on Tiffany, get yourself dressed, girl.”
Tiffany scooped up her clothes and carried them into the bedroom. Joanna tried to question Maude further but her neighbor changed the subject, firmly. The topic was now closed.
Chapter 18
The following Monday, Joanna drove to Toronto, still unsettled by Maude’s story. She had spent most of the weekend tossing it over in her mind, unsure of why it was bothering her so much. It was certainly not the first tragic story she had ever heard, nor was it likely to be the last. To contribute to her unease, when she wasn’t remembering the story of the poor, forgotten McDonald girl, she couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she left her little cabin and what had transpired upon her return.
She called Wendy Sunday afternoon, expecting to be offered dinner and a bed for the night. But Wendy and Robert’s plans were made already. They were taking the Monday train to Montreal, to spend a few days with Robert’s mother. Wendy didn’t sound at all pleased about the prospect, although Joanna knew that she had enjoyed previous visits with her in-laws.
