The Ghosts of Centre Street: A Haunting of Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 3)

by Michelle Dorey

  “And that’s not good.”

  He nodded. “It’s happened before according to some research Stella left. These ‘fault lines’ come and go in areas; they move around. This house sits on one right now, but there were others.”

  “Oh? Where?”

  “New York City on September 11, 2001. Hiroshima Japan when the atomic bomb dropped.” He shook his head slowly. “But the biggest one that Stella was able to trace was at a place called Wannasee.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s the place in Germany where they made it official government policy to annihilate the Jewish race.”

  Myra jumped to her feet. “And you’re telling me that we’re sitting on such a place right now?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we are.” He looked around. “Right smack dab in the middle of it. That’s why the living room feels weird, but the kitchen feels cozy.”

  “And we’re supposed to stop some kind of paranormal earthquake from happening?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  He shook his head slowly. “That part I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know! Jeeeezus!” Myra slapped the table. “Who—no, what the hell was it that was upstairs?”

  “That was Evelyn. She’s here to help.”

  “You know its name?”

  “Well... I was kinda told its name.”

  “By who?” Myra shot a hand up. “Wait. Don’t tell me— Stella told you, right?” When she saw him nod she sat down in a huff.

  “Evelyn’s not here to hurt us. It’s a spirit or ghost or some sort of entity.” He snorted. “Not to sound too much mysterious but it was from the other. I don’t know why it chose today to appear or what it wants but I sensed that it’s benevolent.”

  Her chin fell to her chest and when she looked up there was a wide smirk on her face and her eyes rolled before meeting his. “So it’s a woman? This woman...what if she changes her mind? Can she attack us...hurt us? Or is she just looking for shits and giggles, scaring the hell out of us?”

  “I didn’t sense evil or bad intentions coming from this woman. She’s connected— it’s someone who once lived here. That much I know.”

  “How did she manage to... you know... show up?”

  “I think that the barrier is weakening between this dimension... this plane of existence... and the other side.” He looked Myra in the eye. “Our job is to keep it secure.”

  “I still don’t get it. Why does someone like you have to live here?” Her eyes narrowed. “She dangled that carrot--the pot of money at the end--pretty high, if you ask me. I have to share a house with ghosts or whatever likes to be near these power lines for a year? An entire year?” She shook her head. “The reward doesn’t sound all that great, if that’s the case.”

  He rose and walked into the library, returning with the book he knew Stella had meant for him to read. And he had! He understood it, but that didn’t mean he could explain it in any way that made sense. He was no professor!

  Setting the book, ‘Ley Lines and Earth Energy’ in front of her, he once more took a seat. “I put sticky notes on the pages that are important.” He watched her pick the book up and open it to the first marked page. “Basically, this house sits on a spot where two of these power lines intersect. It’s a place of enormous energy and power. I think...”

  He sighed and saw her gaze flicker up to meet his. “...there’s a kind of battle going on. The house sits on a vortex of energy which bad entities can use to escape from...” He shook his head and his face was tight. “...from another realm or dimension if you will. We’ve both felt one side of the house is extremely negative. It’s a spot where the veil separating life from death is quite thin.”

  “A battle? And that ghost woman escaped and she’s upstairs in the spare room?” She rolled her eyes once more and her jaw clenched. “That will sure help me sleep better knowing she’s just down the hall.”

  “She’s not here to hurt us, Myra!”

  “But there are bad ones here. Someplace, right?” Stella looked around the house.

  “I haven’t felt them.”

  Myra’s eyes drilled into him. “You haven’t felt them yet.”

  He nodded in agreement. “But, whatever the hell they are— any of them— they’re not as strong as life.”He cocked his head and looked up towards the ceiling. “They’ll feed on our fear when they come,” he said softly. His eyes closed and he shook his head. “Stella told me that, just now.”

  “What? She is here! You can see her?” Myra set the book down and her eyes were wide staring at him.

  “Yes, she’s here; no, I can’t see her. I feel her though. She’s here looking out for us. That woman, Evelyn? I saw her in the window of that same bedroom the day Stella died.” Even though she lived in the half of the house that was ‘the negative side’, he knew she wasn’t evil. She was trapped or something. She’d even waved at him that day in the cab.

  Myra had heard enough. She got up and stood at the kitchen counter, looking out the window at the snow, which was falling harder now. “I don’t know, Barry. This is all too spooky and weird. I don’t know if I can do this. Not even for all that money.”

  Barry took a deep breath. “Myra, if you could have prevented 9/11 from happening, and the subsequent shit storm that’s been going on since, would you?” Before she could answer, he said, “If you could have prevented the death camps from being built and used on innocent people would you?” He leaned back in his chair, knowing he was right. “No, honey, you’d never be able to live with yourself, and you know it. It’s not the money... not anymore.”

  “But why us? Why us, Barry?”

  He gave her a sick smile and shrugged his shoulders with vigor. “Why not?”

  Chapter 9

  Myra stood up and stepped to the window overlooking the back yard. If Barry was right, then the money didn’t matter a damn considering the stakes. Millions died in the Nazi death camps, and how many lives had been destroyed since 911?

  But.

  Tears stung her eyes and her chin quivered. She wanted to believe that everything would work out, that he’d be able to protect her and the baby...but the stakes were too high. There was a child growing inside her, a child that she’d never thought they’d ever actually have. They’d lost three babies in early miscarriages, so the odds were already stacked against them.

  Isabella...she sniffed hard knowing that the child was a daughter and they’d agreed to name her that. Someone had to be strong and look out for the baby, even if it meant walking away from the house and the money.

  What good was money, when the baby’s survival as well as their own was at stake? They’d been doing okay before, living in the apartment, pinching pennies. They could go back to that.

  Everything weighed down on her shoulders. Plus, she was still fighting the flu, not even able to take any medications for it. She turned into Barry and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I need to lay down for a bit.” She shook her head and her words were low. “Is it safe to go upstairs?”

  Barry’s fingers tucked a lock of hair that had fallen forward, behind her ear. His eyes were concerned and sad. “Yes. But I want to go up and stay with you. It might make you feel better.”

  She nodded, feeling the tension knotting the back of her neck let go. His hand slipped over hers and she let him lead her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “You sure whatever was up here is gone, that it won’t come near us?”

  He pulled the duvet back and stepped to the side letting her slip by him. “I would know, Myra. Trust me.”

  Jerk. His ‘trust me’ account was pretty, pretty thin; didn’t he realize that?

  She didn’t bother taking the robe off. She just slipped into the soft bed and closed her eyes, snuggling deep under the covers. Normally she could get past the sleepiness of the early stages of the pregnancy. A few deep breathing exercises and a prayer and she’d be good to go. Today however, she couldn’t muster the strength
.

  The other side of the bed depressed and she felt his body laying beside her, still on top of the bedspread. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, sinking lower into the cushiony warmth.

  ****

  A high pitched wail sounded. It became louder and more insistent. She startled and her hand jerked to her stomach. The baby. Her eyes fluttered open watching the bedroom door creak open...slowly.

  An old woman carrying a baby, swaddled in a white blanket appeared. Silver hair framed an ancient face, while her blue eyes arrested Myra with their startling intensity. The woman’s shoulders were narrow and her liver-spotted hands curled over the white, lace trim of the baby blanket, a wan smile on her lips as she walked over to the bed.

  Only part of the baby’s profile, the curve of its forehead and tip of the nose, could be seen above the edge of the blanket. The cries were like the mewls of a kitten now, becoming fainter and fainter.

  Myra sat up higher in the bed and bent her knees forming a cradle with her body. She extended her arms to take the baby.

  The elderly lady bent and placed the pink faced infant into Myra’s arms. “She’s perfect.” Her voice was a soft whisper.

  Myra’s breasts ached with every cry that the baby made. Its tiny fists thrust out of the fleecy covering, making Myra’s eyes well with tears. They were so delicate and perfectly formed. The child’s head turned into Myra’s chest when she held it close, the survival instinct already strong as it sought food. Her daughter.

  She glanced up at the old woman. “Where’s Barry?” He should be there to share this moment.

  The old lady’s eyes closed and she shook her head.

  In an instant, she knew Barry was dead. A wrenching pain filled Myra’s chest, consuming her. She stared at her daughter and hot tears fell from her cheeks onto the blanket. It couldn’t be true, but the hollow in her body told her otherwise. Her sobs wracked her shoulders and she held the baby closer, her voice a soft keen, “No, no, no...”

  The old woman’ s chin rose high. “He succeeded. You and the baby are safe now. But he needed you. Your strength would have saved him.” She turned and walked over to the door, holding the edge of it in her gnarled fingers. “Good bye, my dear.”

  Myra’s looked over at her. Her mouth was suddenly dry and heart was beating fast in her chest. She tried to speak, to cry out to the old woman—’Don’t go! Stay with me! Help me and the baby!’—but nothing came out. Her mouth was full of cotton, the words stuffed deep in her throat.

  The door inched and there was a low snick as the latch caught. She was alone in the world. Alone with the baby. Barry had saved her, even when she had been too scared to save him. The tears continued to flood the pillow under her cheek.

  ****

  “Myra.” A nudge and the gentle voice was next to her ear.

  She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to face life this way. She pulled the blanket higher over her cheek.

  “C’mon, Myra. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

  Oh my God! It was Barry’s voice! Her eyes flew open and she looked at him with sleepy wonder, her cheeks still damp with tears.

  He handed her a glass of water and smiled. “After you fell asleep I went downstairs to get the book. I was going to come back up and read it laying here with you. I thought I’d bring some water for when you woke up. But you were moaning when I came back into the room.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and his eyes were full of love and concern watching her.

  Thank God, he was there. Thank God it had only been a dream, a bad dream, but a dream none the less.

  She took a sip of the water and sat higher in the bed, her back propped against the headboard. “What did Stella look like, Barry?”

  “She was an old woman. What can I say?” He laughed and his hand drifted to her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Men!” She chuckled, suddenly glad that he was there and she could tease him. “What colour were her eyes? Was she tall, short, plump, skinny? You never once described her to me.”

  He looked down at the coverlet for a few seconds. “She was short, stooped over a bit and rail thin.” When he looked back at Myra, there was a warm smile on his lips. “Her eyes were blue. A vivid sky blue which was strange for someone so elderly. Normally there’s a light pall to an old person’s eyes, but not hers. To the day she died she was sharp eyed. Why do you ask?”

  Myra’s body was light, alive with relief and excitement. When she’d come to bed she’d had the weight of the world on her shoulders but now... “I dreamed about her. She was exactly like you just described. And Barry?”

  His head pulled back and above the smile there was happiness and awe in his eyes. “Yeah?”

  Her hand slipped over his and it felt so right. The two of them together, always. “She handed our baby girl to me. Oh Barry!” Tears once more pooled in her eyes and her voice hitched. “Isabella was beautiful. Her tiny face and hands were perfect. I wish you’d seen her.”

  He slid his hand under the covers and onto her tummy. “I will, Myra.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, lingering there and speaking softly. “If there was any other way, I’d jump at it. But we need to be here. It’s not the money or even the house. There’s something far more important at stake here.”

  She didn’t need a sixth sense to know that what he said was true. She loved and trusted him. That was the most important thing. They were a family who loved each other above anything else.

  Love would be their weapon. Her arms rose and she hugged him closer still, the two of them basking in the shared moment.

  Neither of them heard the growl and the high feline shriek from the cellar two floors below.

  Chapter 10

  Later that day, Barry was in the study sorting through the books that Stella had left. He had tackled this job a bit at a time, reading ones that caught his eye...actually ones that he knew Stella had wanted him to read first. The imprint of her essence still clung to the old books like the faded scent of flowers, stronger in some than in others. Sure enough, when he opened the ‘strong’ ones, he found many pages that she’d highlighted with the yellow marker.

  The room’s ‘atmosphere’ was still negative, but at a lower ebb right now. He didn’t know why; maybe the bad guys were on a break. He found the concept of malevolent entities from another dimension having work rules kind of funny. At any rate, he wasn’t going to concede any part of their home for free.

  Snippets of music drifted into the room from the kitchen where Myra sat at the table, reading the ‘Ley Line’ book and sipping tea. Soon, he would get up and start making dinner for them.

  A scratching sound caught his attention and his head dipped to the side, cocking his ear. Was it the music or had there been something? Again, the scratch...coming from the door under the staircase, the one leading to the cellar.

  His stomach tightened thinking of that place. He’d only been down there once to check it out and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. The air down there was musty and damp from the earthen floor and dank limestone block walls but there was more...it was like something down there was watching him, ready to pounce at any minute. And what that something might be made his skin crawl.

  This time the scratch was louder and there was a faint, mewling sound. He got up and walked by the kitchen, glancing at his wife but purposely not interrupting her reading. She was intent on the book, which was a good thing. Together the two of them would figure all of this out. It would take team work and Myra was wicked smart.

  He frowned turning the knob to the basement door. This time, it wasn’t a scary feeling flooding his body, just one that was high on the nuisance factor.

  The door was only open a few inches when something streaked by his legs, hissing. Pure white hair bristled in a curved arch on its back, the tail swishing rapidly from right to left when it stopped at the archway leading to the kitchen. Emerald eyes met Barry’s, while its ears were flattened level with the top of it
s head.

  “Here kitty, kitty...” He took a step towards it only to see it dart away to hide behind Myra’s legs.

  Myra set the book down and leaned over the edge of the table. “Hello... What have we here?”

  From where he stood, Barry could see the cat’s tail twitching back and forth and its eyes blink slowly, unsure about Myra’s hand coming closer and closer to it.

  How the devil had the cat got into the basement? He’d never noticed an outside door.

  “Poor thing...” Myra stood up and her slippers hissed on the wooden floor as she walked over to the cupboard and plucked a bowl from the shelf. The light from the fridge flashed and she turned with the milk jug in hand, pouring some into the bowl.

  Once more she stepped over to the table and squatted down on her haunches, setting the dish on the floor. Her blue eyes were narrow with mirth watching the cat edge out from its sheltered safety.

  “What a pretty kitty.” She glanced up at Barry and her eyebrows drew together. “How’d it get in, do you suppose?”

  The cat rose to its feet and walked slowly to the bowl of milk, taking a few tentative laps before sinking lower and licking with gusto. It even let Myra, stroke the fur on its head.

  “There must a hole in the wall or something, where it got in. I’m not sure. I don’t think Stella had a cat. This one must be a stray who came in out of the storm.”

  Myra shifted so that she sat crossed legged, Indian style on the floor, petting the cat while it ate. The robe had slipped open and her knees showed above the curve of her calf and thick white ankle socks. Even though she was pushing thirty, she looked like a teenager, excited by the cat’s sudden appearance.

  She smiled and looked up at Barry. “I never had a pet growing up. My brother Tony was allergic to dog and cat dander so we never bothered.” She shrugged and once more her hand was drawn to the cat’s head. “Never thought they were all that useful anyways, but...” She looked down at the cat, tickling the area under its ear. “...this one’s kind of cute.”