Do You Fear What I Fear?

by Heather Graham

  Until the end.

  And then they had both just walked away.

  “All I want for Christmas…” he said softly as he started walking, “…is Sam.” Because he knew now that they weren’t responsible for solving every problem in the world.

  They were only responsible for doing their part, and then—he prayed it was not too late—for living as if it were Christmas every day of their lives.

  * * *

  Sam needed to find August Avery before the evening festivities began. Because if he didn’t show up at the party, she would spend the whole time wondering what he was doing.

  Afraid of what he was doing.

  Christmas music seemed to be playing from everywhere. Speakers above the open pedestrian mall rang out with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” One of the “haunted” houses was playing “Santa Baby,” and the giant werewolf in the window was dressed in a Santa suit.

  That reminded her that she needed to check in with Victor Alden—the werewolf who played Santa for the party every year—and make sure he was ready to go.

  She was actually reaching into her bag for her cell phone when she realized that she was standing right in front of Father Mulroney.

  “Samantha!” he said cheerfully, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “Merry, merry Christmas Eve.”

  She offered him a weak smile. She loved Father Mulroney. Everyone did. She had never met anyone as open to different beliefs and convinced of the all-encompassing nature of God’s love as Father Mulroney. His heart had room for everyone and he looked for the good in every situation.

  “Hi, Father, wonderful to see you. You will be at the party this evening, right?”

  “I would never miss an occasion where so many hearts come together in good cheer to celebrate the joy of the season,” he replied.

  Her smile faded. “Oh, Father, I’m not so sure about this year,” she said.

  He looked at her quizzically. He was a lean man with snow-white hair and bright blue eyes, and he reminded her of Father Time.

  “You mean the darkness?” he asked her.

  “Yes. It’s frightening and disturbing—and I don’t know what it means,” she admitted. “Father, everyone is worried about the darkness,” she added.

  “Well, it would be wonderful to find out exactly what is going on,” he admitted. “But I’m not worried about the darkness, Samantha. Someone will get to the bottom of it.”

  “Yes, soon, I hope,” she murmured.

  He set his hands on her shoulders. “True darkness can only exist in the heart, Samantha. Let your heart be light, and that will do away with the darkness.”

  For a moment she thought that the day actually became a little brighter.

  “You do what you need to do, young lady,” he told her. “But remember—light burns from within. It’s in the heart and soul of all of us.”

  Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she told him. She refrained from saying, Oh, Father Mulroney, I’m just not feeling that light.

  And she had to go, because time was running short. She had the CD, so now all she needed was the cold-cut platter—and to find August Avery.

  “See you in a bit,” she said, trying to sound cheerful—as if a light were shining deep in her heart.

  She hurried by him.

  Ten minutes later she’d picked up the cold cuts, and though she was only a matter of blocks from her house, she wished she’d brought her car. The platter seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

  Like the darkness.

  Her cell phone started ringing when she was still a block away from home. She couldn’t possibly reach it and had to figure that whoever it was would leave a message, so she could just call back once she’d dropped off the food and headed back out to find August.

  When she reached the house, arms straining, June was ready to greet her at the door. She passed the singing Santa—who was using Peggy Lee’s voice and singing “Santa Baby”—and made it up the steps to the porch.

  “Thank heaven you’re here. What are you going to do about the problem?” June asked.

  “Problem? What problem?” Sam asked worriedly.

  “There’s—there’s been a bite!” June said in horror.

  “Where? Who?”

  “Some tourist was watching a band play on Salem Common when all of a sudden she started screaming. She was rushed to the hospital about ten minutes ago,” June said. “I was trying to reach you.”

  “Ten minutes—how do you know all this?”

  “No, no,” June said. “It’s already on YouTube and Twitter. And the local news is all over it, too.”

  “Over a bite? Calm down, June. Tell me slowly. Maybe it was a dog bite, or a crazy squirrel, or a bird swooped down and—”

  “No, it wasn’t a dog, a bird or a crazy squirrel,” June said, staring at her evenly. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  She set the platter on the table next to the turkey Sam had cooked and the two women rushed past the Christmas tree in the formal parlor, the menorah on the mantel and the Nativity scene to one side of the archway and into the family room. The flat-screen TV was on; June had obviously been watching. There was Salem Common, white with snow and filled with people. The Believers, a local group, had been playing Christmas music, but according to the reporter on scene the show had stopped abruptly when a young woman had suddenly begun to scream loudly, leading to chaos. She had received what was by all accounts a human bite; the young man sitting next to her had suddenly lunged closer and bitten her.

  “Did you record any of this?” Sam asked June tensely.

  “Of course,” June assured her.

  Sam glanced at her. “Thank you. You’re thinking like a Keeper,” she said.

  June hit the remote. The local station had been airing live from the concert even before all hell broke loose, and they’d done a good job panning the crowd, allowing Sam to slow the recording and search faces.

  She gasped. There was August Avery. A handsome man in his early twenties, he was in a wool coat, watching the concert, hands in his pockets. The girl next to him smiled at him, and he gave her a smile back. August bent as if he was about to whisper in her ear, his eyes light, his fingers moving back a lock of tawny hair.

  And then the screaming began.

  Sam swore. “All right, June, I have to leave the rest of the party prep to you—I’m off to find August,” she said, then turned to rush back out of the house.

  She opened the door and crashed right into Mrs. Livia Peabody, a local scion of the Baptist church.

  “Sam, dear, the house looks beautiful! Am I the first to arrive? I’m always the first—and let me say, perhaps I will also be the first in heaven.”

  “It’s lovely that you arrive so early,” Sam said quickly. “June will take your coat. I’m afraid I forgot something, so I need to run out. I’m so sorry.”

  She sped past Livia before the older woman could stop her.

  The plastic Santa began to sing “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”

  Sam raced out to the road, wondering who on earth had thought it was a good idea to put that song onto the playlist of a smiling plastic Santa—and realized that she didn’t know where she was going.

  Stop, think, she told herself.

  The house wasn’t far from Salem Common, so she hurried in that direction.

  Would August have stayed around?

  Perhaps. He might have been eager to see the chaos his actions had caused.

  She passed crowds of people on the streets, both locals and tourists. While Salem’s main tourist season was summer through to Halloween, people poured in for the holidays as well, because the town and its inhabitants knew how to do Christmas.

  Bright lights were shining everywhere, and at least
half the people she saw were wearing red and green. But when she listened as she passed them, they were all talking about the tourist who’d claimed she was bitten during the concert.

  “At least the poor girl is going to live,” one woman said to her male companion, shaking her head as she read the latest news on her smartphone. “Apparently she didn’t lose much blood. But the doctor says it was definitely a human bite, which is ridiculous. Humans don’t bite.”

  “Are you sure of that?” the man said with a smile. Remember how James bit the dog when he was two?”

  “That’s different,” she said. “James was teething at the time.”

  Sam hurried past them, glad to hear that the woman was going to live. As long as she didn’t bleed to death, the damage could be repaired.

  She reached Salem Common, bright under the lights that had been set up for the concert. People were still standing around in little groups. The live music had stopped; now the music came from a sound box up on the stage.

  She saw a couple of local college students talking to Nils Westerly, a young vampire. His friends obviously had no idea what he was or they would have run away shrieking, considering the earlier events.

  Sam headed toward him with long strides. He saw her and went pale.

  “Nils!” she called, then asked, “Did you see August Avery here earlier?”

  “Um, hey, Samantha,” he said, his expression uneasy. “Meet my friends Charlie Sizemore and David Hough.”

  She nodded curtly to both men.

  “Wow, Nils, you should introduce us to all your friends,” the man named David said. “Nice to meet you, Samantha.” He offered her a hand, his smile obviously flirtatious.

  She smiled back briefly but ignored his hand. “Nils, where’s August?”

  “I don’t know. I swear I don’t know, Samantha,” Nils said. There was a pleading tone in his voice. “He was here earlier, but then I lost sight of him. He’s been depressed lately.”

  “Depressed? Why? What has he been saying?” she demanded.

  “His girlfriend left him,” Charlie offered. “He was madly in love with her—and she just up and left him.”

  “When?” Sam asked.

  They all looked surprised by her interest, but they answered her anyway.

  “Uh, I’m not sure,” David said. “Recently. He was crushed—went on and on about Christmas being a sham, that there was no love in the world and when love did exist, the world conspired to make it end badly. He says he hates what he is… Though, you know, I didn’t get that, ’cause honestly? His grades are great, and he’s on the football team—a starter.”

  “Do you have any idea where he hangs out?” Sam asked.

  “He likes to walk around the Old Burying Ground,” Nils said.

  “Or Dead Horse Beach,” Charlie said. “Crazy—middle of winter, the guy likes to hang around at the beach.”

  Sam inhaled a deep breath. From the Common she could see the Gothic edifice of the Salem Witch Museum. It was one of the best venues in the city if you were looking for a concise history of the witch trials, she thought. She just hoped August Avery’s stupidity wasn’t going to plunge them into another dark era worthy of a museum.

  “Thank you,” she told the boys, then turned and hurried away from the Common, passing last-minute shoppers and carolers.

  It wasn’t late; it wasn’t even evening yet—it just felt like it because of the darkness.

  She passed the Hawthorne Hotel and raced back down Essex Street, turning to head toward the Old Burying Ground.

  A sign announced that it closed at dusk. As if that word meant anything anymore!

  Despite the holiday, a few people were visiting the memorial connected to the cemetery, sitting on the benches provided for visitors paying homage to the innocents who had been executed. She’d always thought the place was beautifully done and that there was something extremely special and poignant there, especially in winter, when the tree limbs were skeletal and the old gravestones rose beyond the memorial in the cemetery itself.

  She hurried through the memorial area and entered the cemetery.

  Gravestones broke through the snow that covered the ground. She hurried through them, thinking of what it had been like growing up in Salem—knowing the town’s history, learning the lessons of tolerance born of hate.

  “Samantha!”

  Startled at the sound of her name, she turned quickly. For a moment she didn’t see anyone. Then old Ogden Taylor—a benevolent ghost who often chose to haunt the cemetery—materialized.

  Ogden had been arrested during the witch craze, but when the governor disbanded the first court and refused to allow spectral evidence, he had been judged innocent. Luckily he’d had the money to pay for his time in jail and his chains, and he had lived another forty years.

  “Ogden,” she said, smiling.

  “Merry Christmas Eve,” he told her, and smiled back. She felt the cold touch of his fingers on her cheeks. “Dear girl, what are you doing running around in the cemetery? You should be getting ready for your annual gala.”

  “Ogden…I have to find one of my charges. August Avery. He bit someone, and I’m worried that he… The darkness… Oh, never mind.”

  “Oh, dear! That’s certainly a shock. And on Christmas Eve.” Ogden had long, curling gray hair that gave him a dignified look beneath his hat. He wore a handsome frockcoat and carried a cane. He looked at her curiously. “Were you saying you think this fellow has something to do with the darkness? Doesn’t seem like something a vampire could manage.”

  “I don’t know, Ogden. I know we all have to worry about it, though. And I know that I have to find him before he bites someone else.”

  “He was here,” Ogden said.

  “He was? But he’s gone now?”

  Ogden nodded somberly. “He came through, sat on a grave, cried like a baby—then hopped up and jumped the fence down to the street. I tried to talk to him, but you know how it is. People don’t hear me or see me unless they choose to.”

  “Thank you, Ogden. Thank you so much.”

  “I’ll see you later—I love to slip into your house during the party. And don’t worry—I won’t materialize and scare anyone, I promise. I just love all the love that fills the house when you have everyone over.”

  “You’re always welcome,” Sam assured him.

  She went into vampire mode to give herself added strength and speed, grateful for her Keeper ability to take on the characteristics of her charges, then leaped over the fence and raced down the street. Dead Horse Beach was a fair way off; she had to hurry if she was going to get there in time to prevent further trouble.

  She ran past the crowds still thronging the streets, past the brewery where the Christmas celebrations seemed to be in full swing. She raced by one of her favorite tourist attractions: a popular museum housing an array of movie monsters.

  But she couldn’t pause to think about the things she loved about Salem. She couldn’t even pause to think about the words that Ogden had spoken: that he loved the love that filled her house on Christmas Eve.

  Those words made her think about Father Mulroney, too.

  Light burns from within.

  Well, her light didn’t seem to be shining very brightly anymore.

  She realized she probably should have taken her car if she didn’t want to be noticed because a woman racing down the street as if the hounds of hell were at her heels didn’t really blend into the crowd. Once she made it out of the busy tourist area, she slipped behind a tree and emerged as a bat, which would certainly raise a lot less notice than her other available option: a wolf.

  At one time, Dead Horse Beach had been well beyond the residential area and, legend had it, people would therefore use it to bury their dead horses. Eventually it became known as Dead Horse Beach—
a strange name for a beautiful little spot of land. It offered a view to the northwest, making it a popular place to watch sunsets in the summer.

  In winter…

  In winter it was a cold stretch of sand near Willows Park, fringed by the skeletal brush and trees of winter, frigidly cold when the night wind blew.

  Sam gauged her abilities as she flew. She didn’t change often, and her sonar wasn’t good. Near the House of the Seven Gables, she swooped low. Something was going on at the property—something that created a burst of light against the darkness.

  A holiday bonfire surrounded by laughing partygoers.

  Salem residents were a resilient lot. They would have their holiday parties no matter what.

  She was glad of that. Concentrating, she lifted herself higher into the sky. She passed over residential streets and out where the houses thinned out, and soon she was soaring above Willows Park and wishing that she could smile as she heard the laughter of children. There was snow on the ground, and the air was crisp and cool, but it wasn’t a bad night for winter. This year they even had the 1866 carousel up and running, and the children loved it.

  She got to the beach at last and made an awkward pitched landing on the frosty sand as she shifted back into human form and stumbled to her feet. She saw someone standing in about a foot of ice-cold water.

  “August! August Avery, what in the world are you doing?” she called to him.

  He looked back at her.

  It was a day with no sun, and the moon had yet to rise in the sky over the gray clouds of winter. From a distance, Christmas lights twinkled as if they were colorful little rays of hope.

  “Sam!” he said. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

  Then he turned and continued walking into the icy sea.

  Sam rushed into the water. It hit her flesh like a wave of knives, it was so icy cold. “August!” she shouted again as the salty spray shot up over her face and onto her lips.

  She struggled to keep her footing. The waves were vicious. She was still in the shallows, but the swells threatened to bring her down.