by R. L. Weeks
The lump in my throat grows thicker.
Something to my left catches my attention. A woman with flowing red hair and a stiff, board-like dress walks down the road. The reds and golds on her attire look out of place to the greys and browns of the people walking past her…and through her.
She’s a ghost.
I quickly look ahead, hoping she doesn’t notice that I was staring right at her. I look back and sigh in relief. She continues to walk, unaware of my Sight. More ghosts are the last thing I need.
“Oh, sorry,” I say when I almost knock into a beefy man with a thick moustache.
He looks at me strangely. “You can see me?”
My jaw drops. They no longer look transparent. In fact, everyone—the living and the dead—seem in-between. I hurry around him and push my way down the street, not daring to make eye contact with any soul.
I can’t tell the difference between the living or the dead anymore. Perhaps Emmett was right? I’m using my Sight too much. I’m becoming one of them.
I stare at the ground and break into a run. I need to get to the church, now! I hear the tinkle of bells from shop doors closing, coughing from people hurrying to their own destinations, and people begging for money. I rush past it all and try to block it out. I can hear the dead talking—lost souls screaming out in the distance for someone to hear them, see them, help them. I can’t help them. I couldn’t even help Tom.
I see the church ahead. Just ten more steps. Nine. Eight. Seven—Ouch. “Please,” I say breathlessly to the figure who’d walked into me, “watch where you’re going.”
A woman, no older than me, looks at me with shock. Her perfectly arched eyebrows are halfway up her forehead and her dusty-rose lips part slightly. She reaches out a white-gloved hand and pinches my arm. “What the hell!” I pull my arm away from the crazy woman.
The woman’s lips curve into a huge grin. “Finally, someone can see me.”
I look around. A man looks at me uneasily as he passes. Damnit. I was so close.
“In here,” I say to the woman and hurry inside the church.
Great. This is just what I need now. The church is empty, thankfully. The smell of polished wood hangs in the air. I turn to the woman. “I don’t know how you touched me,” I say, looking at the red mark on my arm, “but you need to leave, okay? I have enough going on without another freaking mystery to solve.”
She bats her long lashes and clasps her gloved hands together.
She has a warm smile, soft features, and cheekbones to die for. “I am sorry, but you are the first person to see or hear me in many years.”
I push back the strands of my hair. “I can see ghosts,” I explain, “but I really do have enough of my own ghosts for now.”
“I am Elizabeth May,” she says with a smile sweeter than sugar. “I have been wandering these streets, aimlessly, for many years. You can help me. Fate brought me to you.”
I could scream. This poor woman thinks I’m the answer to her prayers.
“Look, Elizabeth, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, it’s just I have a mystery to solve right now. Children are going missing from the orphanage from where I’m from, and my friend…well, I don’t know what he is anymore actually, but he’s dead because of the people responsible for the children’s deaths.
I need to find out who’s behind it. So I really don’t have time right now.”
Annoyingly, her smile doesn’t go away. “It’s okay. What is your name?”
“Raven.”
“I am sorry you have so many bad things happening, Raven.”
Wow, a ghost is telling me she’s sorry that I have it so bad? She is more broken than me.
“There’s something humorous in there somewhere,” I say. Elizabeth hovers. She surely can’t be much older than me. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
I sigh. The guilt that nestled in me yesterday thickens. “Fine. You can tag along with me if you want. Who knows, it may be nice to have some company.”
Her face lights up. “It is not like I have anything better to do.”
I suppress a smirk. “I guess not.” I walk over past a stand with a Bible on it and continue on through a back curtain. Behind it, I see a door. I pull it open and am met with the most awful smell—rotting wood and something else too.
I hurry down the cold stone steps and drag my fingers over the creases in the wall. Elizabeth floats behind me like a shadow. We reach the basement. I scrunch my nose up as we fall into the room. I pull out a match and light a candle.
“Is anyone here?” I call out, sounding braver than I feel. I stiffen up as I await a reply. I am met with silence. I let out the breath I have been holding in.
Elizabeth hurries next to me. “What are we looking for, Raven?”
“Bones,” I say. “It’s so I can access more memories of a man called Benjamin Shaw.”
Her eyes widen when I say his name. Her eyes almost look black in the dim light. “He is the man who killed me.”
I gasp. “Wait, what? You were one of his victims?”
She raises her head to show off her slender neck. A red ring surrounds it. “He strangled me. I went to the shop late. He dragged me in from an alleyway and strangled me. He was angry about something.” She sits on one of the stone ledges by the boiler.
“I had been a customer of Shaw’s butcher shop for a short while. I had moved here with my husband two years before he killed me.”
She pauses. “I always did find it strange that the man who took over the shop when the original owner died kept the name Shaw, but then, he was close to him.”
“The man who took it over was close to Benjamin?”
She nods.
“I see.” I wave my hand. “Anyway, tell me more.”
She leans forward, seeming happy despite the morbidity and vengeance. I think it’s just because she gets to gossip again. “Well, he treated Benjamin like a son. He taught him everything he knew. Maybe that’s why he kept the name of the shop,” she says with a shrug.
“But when his own son was born, Benjamin was pushed out of the family. He was in his early twenties then, or so my husband told me. He had lived here his whole life. All I know is Shaw and the butcher had some weird partnership. Like I said, after the butcher’s son was born, Benjamin got jealous. I only met the man twice, but he had eyes darker than the devil.”
I shudder as I recall the memories of him as a boy. “I know. Do you know what happened after he was pushed out?”
She shakes her head. “All I know is, after he killed me, I woke up inside the butcher’s shop. I looked around but only saw slabs of meat hung up. It took me a little while to realise I was dead, you know. Now I just hang around here, sometimes at the house. My husband moved after I died.”
My face drops. “I am so sorry that happened to you.”
“Me too.”
I search my thoughts. Something about what she said sounds familiar. “Elizabeth, did you say you woke up inside the butcher’s shop?”
She nods.
“And you couldn’t see your body?”
She shakes her head. “Just meat.”
Bile rises in my throat. “I think I know what happened to you.”
She tilts her head. “You mean how I was butchered? It’s not uncommon knowledge.”
Poor girl.
Her expression darkens. “I was shocked that Mr White sold my body after.”
My eyebrows shoot up. My heart thunders to a stop, and I grasp at the wall behind me for balance. “Did you just say, White?”
She nods. “Yes, why?”
I feel all the colour drain from my face. “I know that name.”
Emmett White.
Twenty-Four
I hurry past the flickering flames and closing shops. The chill sets in around us.
I have tears in my eyes. I am on the edge of anxiety. My breaths can’t match my racing heart, and nothing can stop me from finding Emmett. Emmett White. His name sn
akes its way around my thoughts, suffocating them.
“Raven!” Elizabeth calls as I hurry past her. “Please, I cannot cross here!”
I look back; she is held back by some invisible wall. I’ve heard about ghosts sometimes being stuck in the place they died, but as Tom hasn’t been stuck, it never crossed my mind until now. “I will come back,” I promise her. People look at me suspiciously. Great, I’m going to be hunted soon as a witch by a secret society or thrown into an asylum if I’m not careful. I avoid the looks of the men and woman passing me and pull my gaze away from Elizabeth.
Dark thoughts hang over my head like heavy storm clouds. Poor Tom. The same thing must be happening in Cogsworth. Tom’s body is gone. I breathe in deeply to stop myself from gagging. Some poor, unexpecting customer would have eaten him. Most likely more than one.
How did I not see this before?
Then there’s Emmett, the butcher’s son—the butcher who was found guilty of butchering people like Elizabeth after Shaw killed them. They must have been working together. It makes sense; Shaw was fascinated with the place and with violence.
I suppose it’s easy to put two and two together when you have the facts.
I see the iron gates to the three-story house and my brain whirls.
I push the heavy oak door open and storm into the surprisingly warm passage. “Emmett!” I shout, no longer caring what will happen to me. He was definitely behind the murders and therefore is the reason that Tom is dead.
I walk into the living room. Emmett jumps up, drink in hand. His hair is unkempt, no grease. His eyes narrow when he sees me. “I know everything,” I say simply.
His pupils dilate, and he licks his lips.
“No, you don’t,” he says. I can hear that he’s trying to keep his voice steady, but the edge of anxiety in his tone is apparent. “Raven, please sit down.” He gestures to the moth-eaten armchair across from him. The fire in the fireplace is inviting, but I snuff the offer.
“What did you do to Tom’s body?” I place my hands on my hips. “Tell me if he’s been sold at the butchers. I know you were the butcher who was found guilty of killing all those people. Were you helping Shaw? Was he like a brother to you?” I spit the words like venom, each one packing a punch. “Is that why you pretended to care for me? So you could mess with my mind? Why use me? What are you doing?”
He holds his hands out. “Calm down.”
I clench my jaw. “Calm down? You murdered children too, Emmett. Children.”
He walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. I pull my arm up and slap him hard across his face. Adrenaline spikes through me. “You disgust me.”
He looks at me tight-lipped and rubs his cheek. “If you’d just let me explain, perhaps you wouldn’t be so hysterical.”
I laugh maniacally. “Of course I am being hysterical. I have just found out that someone I once trusted is a murderer. What the hell kind of game are you playing?”
He sighs deeply and drinks the rest of his drink. “Shaw is not my brother. He never was!” he says, holding his glass in a death grip. “Nor did my father do anything! He never killed anyone, nor did he butcher anyone. He was framed, by Shaw.”
“You’re lying. Why else would you hide that all from me?”
His gaze narrows. “Because of this, right here,” he says, gesturing to the air in front of us. “I knew you would never help me if you knew the truth.”
I scoff but hate that he’s right. “It’s a little suspicious though.”
“I was just a boy when my father was hung,” he says. “I was alone.” He refills his glass. “Benjamin, who I had always been told was like a big brother to me, lost his mind after my father died. Probably from the guilt,” he says through clenched teeth. I settle back into the other armchair.
“I was placed into the care of a wealthy couple. When Benjamin died, he left everything to the only family he had left—me—but I was never his real family. I hated him.”
I gulp as I hear the anger and frustration in his tone. His usually calm demeanour left with my hysteria. “He framed my father, Benjamin did, when he was finally caught for killing all those people. He did it because Father loved me more. I took his money and tried to build good from it. I built orphanages and GIN.”
“Gin?” I ask.
“Grieving is Normal,” he explains. “It’s a small charity that helps people who have lost loved ones.”
I almost smile but stop myself. It’s all very tragic really. “How did you end up in Cogsworth?”
“I started investigating my father’s death,” he says. “I wanted to prove his innocence. My investigation led me to Benjamin’s last love interest, Alice Pride. However, when I showed up, I found out she had been dead all these years.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Why didn’t you leave then?”
“I have the orphanage there anyway,” he says. “Plus, I met you. I had my reasons for staying.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“Then the killings started in Cogsworth. The problem is, unveiling the truth may hurt more than help to clear my father’s name.”
“Hurt more?” I ask. Again, he doesn’t elaborate, so I continue. I close my eyes. “Then you found out I had the gift of Sight and thought I could help?”
He pushes back his hair, which looks wild for once. “Something like that, I guess.”
I hate when he is vague.
“Sorry for doubting you,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “I would be shocked if you didn’t.”
I scratch my head. “Did you ever find out why Alice died?”
He nods. “She used her Sight a lot after Benjamin died. She went mad, and they locked her in the asylum in Cogsworth. There, she tried to contact his ghost.” He looks down at his glass. “She also gave birth in the asylum, but the childbirth was too much for her weakened body, and she died during it.”
I fiddled with the ends of my hair. “She keeps appearing to me as a ghost. Why? You must know. You’ve been hiding everything else from me.”
He looks around the room, his gaze landing on me for a moment before he looks back at the fire. “I believe that the more you try to contact that world and delve into it, the more you are becoming just like them.” His gaze darkens, and I shudder. “I believe that when that happens, it will open a gateway for something else to live again.”
I press my lips together, understanding for the first time. “She wants me to cross over so she can come back?”
He nods. “I think any ghosts who know the truth about you and see you becoming more like them will figure it out and try to use you.” He leans forward. “Do not let anyone else know about your gifts, okay?”
My stomach knots. Elizabeth knows. “I won’t.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. “Besides, the killings seem to have followed us.”
“What?”
“There have been more killings happening here in the same way,” he explains, mistaking my surprise for idiocy.
“I know what you meant,” I say. “I’m just shocked.”
He looks at his glass, seemingly lost in thought. “I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, we can try and find the killer?”
He presses his lips together until they turn white. “I guess my conscience pulls me one way and my heart another.”
What is he talking about? “I think you have had too much drink,” I say and point to the glass. “Tomorrow, we continue the hunt for evidence of Shaw’s killings. Also, I know that you know who Alice’s daughter is.”
Emmett looks up, his eyes wide. “How do you know that?”
I swallow hard. “I just do. So…who is it?”
His forehead creases. “Raven…” His voice breaks. “I didn’t just find you by accident.” He looks down. “Benjamin and Alice’s daughter was placed under the care of Alice’s sister. She and her husband ended up adopting the child and brought her up as their own.”
I close my eyes. “No.”
“No one knew she was Alice’s daughter apart from them and the girl’s grandmother.”
I feel sick.
“Please don’t say it.”
“Ravens signify death. That is why they gave you that name. You were born as she died.”
I clench my jaw. “No.”
“You’re their daughter, Raven.”
My world crumbles beneath my feet.
Twenty-five
The last week and a half have been devastating. Christmas has arrived at the house, but there is nothing festive about this holiday. Snowflakes drift down outside the window, covering everything in a white blanket.
I like snow. It’s…pure.
There has been one question lingering in the air since he told me, one I am too afraid to ask.
If I’m their daughter, then who is killing all those people?
I haven’t used my Sight for a week—I am too scared to—nor have I been back to see Elizabeth. I haven’t even tried reaching out for Nora. She’s probably dead, like everyone else. She wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. There’s no way. I guess I just didn’t want to accept it before.
I look down at my raven ring and twirl it around my finger. I miss Grandmother. I wish she were here to tell me what I should do. I feel so lost.
I keep thinking about Mother and Father. I’m shocked no one told me the truth about my birth parents. I have been thinking about them a lot. My birth father was a serial killer, and my mother was a seer. I guess I am just a combination of crazy.
I haven’t seen Alice since I found out. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me the truth, but now I can’t even ask her.
“You look miserable.” Tom’s statement pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Mmm,” I reply.
We have gotten into a routine this past week and a half. He sits by the desk in my room and struggles to push a pen around. I sit in my bed and gaze up at the ceiling, thinking. Always thinking. Sometimes I will have a cup of tea, and he will pretend to enjoy it with me. Every evening he will hum a melody while I fall asleep. Each morning he will wake me at nine thirty, and I will tell him about my dreams.
Emmett will come in and bring me food because I’m too depressed to leave the room.
