“You mean that?”
“Absolutely… assuming she’s actually a child spirit, I’m totally with you. We help her—but how?”
A hint of motion caught Mia’s eye. She stared at a trail of footprint marks appearing and disappearing in the rug on the way out the door. “I’m not sure… other than being here for her. She didn’t seem to know what we should do either. But, she’s only seven.”
“Hmm.” Adam lay back down. “If after thinking about it, you still want to try for a baby, I’m open to the idea. Just hope Robin doesn’t get jealous.”
Mia bit her lip. The ghost had definitely given off a dark streak, though she still preferred to believe the former owners of this house had injured themselves while fleeing in panic from a spirit they didn’t even try to—or couldn’t—communicate with. The idea that she could potentially become jealous of an infant did worry her. It might be best to talk to the girl about it and gauge her reaction. But, that could wait for now. So far, only one set of owners had lasted more than a year here. If they could survive past the six month mark, Mia felt sure things would work out.
It’s not like I’m in any great hurry to have a child.
Mia awoke to a crushing pressure on her chest, as heavy as Adam sitting on her.
Coldness seeped into her mouth and nose, invading her throat. Tightness like a band of ice constricted around her neck. She couldn’t breathe in or out. Her brain exploded with panic. Mia tried to scream, but couldn’t even manage a wheeze. She raked her fingers at her neck while kicking at the sheets.
Spots danced across the darkness overhead. Pure malice saturated the air.
Something wanted to kill her.
She gave up grabbing at her neck and tried to push herself up, but the weight on her chest proved too heavy for her. Mia rammed her heel into Adam’s leg hard, over and over, knowing she had mere seconds left before she passed out.
“Ow. Mia, what the hell?”
She slapped at him.
The lights came on.
“Holy shit!” yelled Adam.
Mia vaguely noticed his arms sliding under her back. He grunted, struggling to lift her. Mia grabbed the headboard and pulled, her vision shrinking down to a tunnel… then a pinpoint of light. Adam flopped over sideways, braced his feet against her side, and shoved. The instant she slipped off the bed, the crushing force dissipated. Air rushed into her chest.
She hit the floor flat on her front, dizzy, coughing, and babbling. Her breaths appeared as fog, as cold as a winter’s day.
Adam jumped down beside her and cradled her face in one hand. As soon as he saw her breathing again, he pulled her into a shaking embrace. “I’m sorry…”
“Not… your fault,” wheezed Mia.
“Coming to this house was.”
She coughed, forcing herself to slow her breathing to normal. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. You almost died.”
Mia leaned against him, rubbing her sore chest. She should’ve been frightened by such an attack, but it made her more angry than anything. Something didn’t want her here, didn’t want her reaching out to the child spirit. Whatever inexplicable need she had to help that little girl refused to back down. If anything, the dark spirit wanting her dead only made her more determined to do something for that poor kid.
“I’m not going to let it win.”
“We have to accept the possibility that what you think is an innocent child, isn’t. The same entity you’ve been seeing and talking to could be what just tried to kill you.” Adam cradled her face in both hands, staring into her eyes. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you over a stupid house.”
“It’s not over a house. It’s a child. She’s real, Adam. I know it.”
He squeezed her. “I’m worried.”
“I know. I am too. But I am going to attempt the impossible.”
“What’s that?”
Mia sighed up at the bed. “Try and get some sleep.”
19
Warning
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Crouched low, Mia found herself hiding in the washer-dryer nook at the top of the stairs.
The small hands braced on the carpet on either side of tiny bare feet didn’t look like hers. To have even fit in here, she would’ve had to be the size of a six- or seven-year-old. A giddy sense of anticipation gripped her, as though something wonderful would happen at any minute.
I’m dreaming… seeing something Robin did.
A firm thud—the front door closing—came from downstairs. Two men spoke in harsh tones, though they didn’t seem angry with each other. Their exact words made no sense, speech reduced to raw scraps of emotion and noise like barking mongrels.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs.
The head and shoulders of an unfamiliar, slightly chubby, older man in his sixties appeared, white shirt, black suspenders, wispy grey hair in a sad combover, as if three strands could hide a giant bald spot. He had a dour frown, the sort of man Mia expected would just as soon kick a sleeping cat out of his way than walk around it.
She really didn’t like him.
As soon as he set a foot on the upstairs hallway, Mia jumped out of her hiding place, held her hands up like claws, and screamed. The man jumped back, starting to clutch at his chest, but too late realized a grip on the railing was more important. He fell over backward, crashing into a younger man behind him, and the two tumbled to the ground floor.
Mia giggled, then skipped down the hall to her bedroom, full of boring model boats on shelves. A folding table in the middle held several small shelves of tiny jars as well as an unfinished model boat, paintbrushes, and various fine tools. She didn’t like any of it, and knocked one of the models to the floor on her way over to where her little bed stuck half out of another shelf of toy boats.
The room vanished to blackness. Darkness lingered for only a few seconds before it receded to forest. She hid in the shadow of a tree at the edge of the yard behind the house, peering around the trunk at the same older man trudging across the grass to a rider lawn mower. Mia grinned with anticipation and stared at the mower.
Mia’s eyes opened to her bedroom ceiling and a wash of warm sunlight.
A small scrap of paper sat on the pillow where Adam’s head should’ve been, and the quite noticeable weight of a child pressed into her from that side. Robin didn’t show herself, but the heaviness settled against her chest made her think of Mrs. Vaughan’s near suffocation—and her attack last night. Had Vic attacked her as well as Mrs. Vaughan? It might be possible that the child had been ‘playing mean games’ and didn’t really try to harm the woman, but why would Robin try to kill her? That made no sense. Especially considering the girl cuddled up beside her. Maybe she’d only tried to seek comfort from Mrs. Vaughan as well? The weight of even a normal seven-year-old sitting on the chest of a woman in her fifties could feel like suffocation, especially when added to the freakiness of ghosts.
Of course, the old people had to have overreacted. Robin wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“Morning, kiddo,” said Mia in a sleepy half whisper.
“Hi,” replied a faint whisper near her right ear.
Mia disregarded the feeling of being a mouse sleeping in the embrace of a cat and reached over with her left arm to grab the paper.
Hon, they sprang weekend office hours on me at the last minute. Twice a month on Saturdays, just until noon. We can hit the yard when I get back.
She groaned internally at the thought. True, she’d suggested they clean up the back yard before the weather became much colder. Whoever had been checking on the house while it remained unoccupied hadn’t done a good job with the groundskeeping in back. Loose branches, leaves, grass up to her knees… it would probably take several weekends to push back the encroaching forest into any sense of civilization.
The ghostly child released her grip on Mia’s arm and her weight lifted.
Mia got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen by way of th
e bathroom, still in the long T-shirt she’d slept in. Whenever she wore it—these days only as a night shirt—it reminded her of the six-day weekend caused by a blizzard when she’d been in college. Almost all the girls in the dorm—and Timothy—spent the whole time in pajamas since no one could go anywhere.
Once in the kitchen, she grabbed the box of pancake mix and read the instructions again. A cold draft hovered close behind her, though it lacked the otherworldly gloom she’d almost become accustomed to feeling here, perhaps due to the kitchen being bright. It felt strange that a ghost would be active during the day, especially on such a sunny, pleasant Saturday morning. She could almost pretend that a horrible tragedy hadn’t happened in the house.
The sense of a small child hovering close beside her persisted the whole time she re-taught herself how to make pancakes. Excited energy in the air grew with each passing minute she cooked a reasonable portion for herself, figuring Robin had no ability to consume actual food and would enjoy them vicariously. She carried the plate to the table, snagged the syrup, and sat.
A chill brushed across the back of her neck in the shape of a small icy hand caressing her.
About a third of the pancakes—and twelve minutes—disappeared in an instant.
Mia jumped, startled. The flavor of maple syrup lurked in her mouth, a fork clutched in her fist the way a small child might hold one. A soft scrape accompanied the nearest chair on the right scooting an inch back from the table. Strong contentment radiated from it.
She… possessed me? The happiness settled in the chair beside her somewhat assuaged her indignation at the child taking her over without even asking. Mia fidgeted, unsure how to feel. The ease with which it happened unnerved her, but perhaps she had already agreed to let her do it. A promise for pancakes had been made, and really, a ghost didn’t have any other way to experience food.
With a sigh, she decided to let it go, though couldn’t quite avoid worrying what might happen if she upset Robin. As sorry as she felt for what happened to her, forty plus years as a spirit could very well have changed her from an innocent child into an angry, wrathful specter. As Adam would say, the id of a young child demanding instant gratification combined with the as-yet-unknown ability to cause havoc that the living had no way to stop made for a dangerous combination.
Mia resumed eating her breakfast, not that she remembered eating the first third. Evidently, Robin had become ‘full’ after a portion that would likely have been enough for a girl her size. Her anxiety waned with each mouthful, and the hope that a sugary treat might have offered some comfort to a child who’d endured the unspeakable.
She said it didn’t hurt… does that mean she basically stayed awake the whole time? Did her ghost watch what he did? An unsettling thought hit her: Robin might have possessed her mother as easily as she’d jumped into Mia. No. That doesn’t feel right. That woman was destroyed emotionally… and Adam thinks ghosts gather strength the longer they exist. No wonder the first person to live here after them lasted the longest. The spirits hadn’t gathered enough strength to be noticed then. Robin couldn’t have affected her mother. She wouldn’t have had the strength to do that so soon after her death.
As eerie as the spirit could seem at times, Mia found herself inclined to think of her as an innocent in need of love and protection. Whatever she might’ve done to the prior occupants of this house, she probably had a good reason for it. If an old man spent days shouting at her, calling her names, and screaming about God, Mia would’ve thrown him down the stairs, too. A dark little smile formed on her lips, daydreaming about her father taking the same fall.
“Did you like your pancakes?” asked Mia glancing at the empty chair.
“Yes, thank you,” replied a whispery, childish voice. “They’re my favorite.”
Mia perched on a dining room chair, feet tucked under her, chin on her hand, studying the layout of a checkers game. Steam wafted from the coffee mug next to her and the syrupy-sweet scent of pancakes still hung in the air.
A red checker slid by itself into the next square.
“Hmm…” Mia eyed a few pieces she considered moving, but before she could decide on one, the doorbell rang. “Oh, drat. I’ll be right back.”
She got up, still in the shirt she’d slept in, and answered the door.
Wilhelmina stood on the porch, smiling at her.
“Oh, hi. Come on in… sorry if I’m not really dressed. Having a lazy morning.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t.” Wilhelmina entered, closing the door behind her. She removed her coat and draped it over the sofa arm. “How have things been?”
“Fine. We just had breakfast.” Mia debated going upstairs to put on pants, but the shirt covered plenty, and Wilhelmina gave off something of a maternal vibe that put her at ease. She sat again at the table and resumed staring at the board. “Would you like some coffee or something?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, coffee would be delightful.” Wilhelmina entered the dining room and took a seat.
Mia approached the table and made a move. Seconds later, another red checker moved on its own.
Wilhelmina smiled knowingly. “The girl is here, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Mia smiled. “She doesn’t seem afraid of you.”
“Good morning, Robin.”
“Hi,” whispered a small voice, though the woman didn’t react to it.
“She says hi.”
“Can you see her?”
Mia shook her head. “Not at the moment. Is it because it’s daytime?”
“It might be. I’m hardly an expert on ghosts, but I believe that appearing to the living takes a significant amount of energy.”
“You’re a lot closer to being an expert than I am.” Mia headed into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee for her guest.
“Adam seems to know his stuff as well. From what I understand, the amount of effort it takes a spirit to show themselves to a medium such as yourself is significantly less than what it takes to appear to ordinary people. Even you can’t simply see them unless they want to be seen.”
Mia returned to the dining room with the coffee, the sugar dispenser, and a small carton of creamer.
“Thank you, dear.”
“No problem.” After returning the creamer to the fridge, Mia took her seat, pushed another red checker forward one square, and took a long sip from her mug. “Coffee is the elixir of the gods.”
“I’ve looked over a few things, and I think there should be a way to address the darkness here. It is likely originating from a different spirit. Have you been to the basement or attic yet?”
“No.” Mia shook her head, chuckled, and explained about how both places in her childhood home had terrified her. “Guess that left a mark.”
“You shouldn’t go down there,” said a whispery voice from the empty chair.
Wilhelmina shifted her eyes in that direction.
“Did you hear her?” asked Mia.
“I heard something… a rasp or some such.”
“Robin just told me not to go to the basement.” She paused, watching a red checker jump over two of hers, which simultaneously slid off the board into the dead pile. “Is he down there, sweetie?”
“It’s bad down there.” Robin’s voice came through clear, like an ordinary—albeit invisible—child sitting at the table.
Wilhelmina gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. “By the Goddess… I heard her. She sounds just like I remember.”
“This house is infused with sadness.” Mia gazed into her mug.
“That’s putting things mildly,” said Wilhelmina.
A moment of silence passed.
“She knows more than she’s telling you,” whispered Robin.
Mia glanced over at Wilhelmina. “What?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you leaving something out?”
Wilhelmina sent a sly smile at the empty chair before nodding at Mia. “Nothing I thought particularly relevant to the here and now.�
��
“But…?” Mia swirled coffee around her mug.
“If you recall, the other day I mentioned my involvement with old traditions.”
“She’s a witch,” whispered Robin. “She does magic.”
Mia almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Magic?”
“Oh, don’t seem so shocked, dear.” Wilhelmina patted her on the hand. “Most people consider psychics to be nonsense.”
“Willa did magic on Daddy,” said Robin in a half-whisper. “Bad magic.”
Mia stared at the empty chair. “Did you do something to Vic?”
“Oh, that.” The older woman chuckled. “Perhaps. At the time it all happened, I was only thirteen, and I’d just recently begun dabbling in mysticism.” She looked at the chair. “I’d been so horrified and angry at what he did to you that I tried to hex him.”
“Did the magic make Mommy shoot him?” asked Robin.
Wilhelmina squinted, leaning forward like a much older person who’d lost her hearing.
“She wanted to know if your spell might’ve caused Evelyn to shoot him.”
“Hmm.” Wilhelmina sipped coffee, then leaned back in her seat. “Bear in mind that I had been quite young and inexperienced at the time. The energy of the spell I’d cast at him was far darker than anything I’d be inclined to touch nowadays, but as a teenager, I lacked the wisdom of age and lashed out with my emotions. By nature, the spell would have turned fate against him. Magic isn’t like you see in the movies. No fireballs or meteors falling out of the air. If it worked, it would have caused a downturn of luck. Hit by a car, a terminal illness, a bystander shot by accident during a robbery… and so on. Though, considering he had already been arrested for murder, my spell—if it did anything at all—might have simply twisted the gears of fate so he got the death penalty.”
“So it could have played some part in what Evelyn did?”
Wilhelmina mulled for a moment. “In truth, I don’t think I performed the invocation correctly. These sorts of spells almost always have a degree of blowback on the person who cast them. Nothing noticeable happened to me, so it’s likely I didn’t do it right. A young girl like I was back then doesn’t jump straight to advanced hexes and get them right on the first try. However, if we consider that I might’ve done something, I think it would have merely made it easier for Evelyn to do what she already desired to do.”
The Spirits of Six Minstrel Run Page 14
