“My God,” I breathed.
“No worries,” Owen said. “They won’t hurt him. They know he means them no harm.”
“How do they know that?”
“Because he told them.”
I thought of the way Micah had lifted the honeybee from my neck, rotating his hand so that man and insect remained face-to-face.
Owen smiled. “You look skeptical, but honeybees are very communicative. Back in the old days, they were highly revered by the community. If the keeper died, someone from the family was dispatched to the hive to inform the bees of the news so they wouldn’t die or fly away.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“When Micah first left home, Louvenia actually lost some of her hives. But they seem to be thriving now.” His gaze was still on Micah. “You’re familiar with the term ‘bee bearding’?” He put a hand to his chin. “There’s a trick involving a caged queen that most keepers use to attract the workers. Micah doesn’t do that. He’s a natural lure.”
My attention was still riveted on the swarming bees. How did they not smother him? I wondered. His face was entirely covered. I started to ask Owen that very question, but just then Micah jumped up and down, gently dislodging the workers. After a moment, they scattered into the trees.
“Show’s over,” Owen said.
I had no doubt the spectacle had been for my benefit. Perhaps it was even meant as a subtle threat.
I’d seen and heard enough for one day. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you and Louvenia have a lot to talk about.”
Owen was still scowling at Micah. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” he yelled.
Micah didn’t respond. He merely stood there smiling at us before he, too, turned and disappeared into the trees.
“Don’t mind him,” Owen said. “He likes to show off and you’re a fresh audience.”
“It is quite an impressive trick,” I said, edging toward my vehicle.
“We all have our talents,” Owen muttered. “Anyway, about those directions...”
“I’m sure I can find the cemetery on my own.”
“You may think that now, but wait until you’re in the woods.” He gestured toward the end of the driveway. “You’ll need to go back a couple of miles the same way you came in. Once you’re around the first sharp curve, start looking for an old iron marker to your left. Ironically, it looks like a cross now that the sign has rotted away, but it used to be a no-trespassing warning. The entrance is overgrown with vines and branches, so you’ll be apt to miss it if you don’t spot that marker. The road through the woods is passable in a vehicle like yours, but you’ll have to take it slow.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Eventually, you’ll come to a dead end. From there you’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot. There’s a path of sorts, but it’ll still be a rough hike. Louvenia was right. The woods are dense and the scenery is disorienting. You can easily get lost if you don’t pay attention to where you’ve been and where you’re going.”
“She also said something about a trick to the maze.”
“It’s simple. Bear left, always. There’s a spot in the middle where your instincts will tell you to go right. You’ll recognize what I mean when you get there. Ignore the impulse and keep left.”
“And the gate?”
“The latching mechanism is released by pulling out a loose brick in the wall. You’ll know it by the markings. Again, easy to overlook if you don’t know it’s there. Got all that?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
I climbed into my car and closed the door, but the window was open and an errant bee landed on the back of my hand. Before I could shake it off, the barbed stinger sank into my flesh. I felt the prick of a red-hot needle, followed by a slow-spreading heat. The angry bee circled for a moment and then fell to the ground outside the car window. Quickly, I flicked the stinger from my skin.
Owen moved up to the car, transfixed by the dead bee.
“I thought you said they wouldn’t sting unless they felt threatened,” I said.
He lifted his gaze. “They must perceive you as a threat.”
“Why?”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the spot where Micah had disappeared into the trees.
I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re not suggesting Micah told them I’m a threat, are you?”
Owen turned back with a shrug. “I don’t exactly know how his rapport with them works. It goes beyond that of any normal beekeeper.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first time he was sent away was because he let loose a colony in the school playground. They swarmed a boy that Micah didn’t like. One of the other kids swore he’d heard Micah whisper the boy’s name to the bees before he released them.”
“Was the boy all right?”
“He lived, but it was touch and go for a while.”
“And the authorities believed Micah had deliberately set the bees on him?”
“They believed he deliberately released those bees in the playground. That was enough to send him away, especially after a number of similar incidents. But enough about Micah. You should probably put something on that sting.”
I glanced down at the welt on the back of my hand. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not allergic to bee venom,” I tried to say calmly.
“It’s not the poison from a single sting you have to worry about. It’s the alarm pheromones left behind on your skin to warn the other workers of danger. If the colony decides to attack, there’s not much you can do to get away. Even if you jump in water, they’ll just wait you out.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “And for the directions.”
“No problem. Mind that sting,” he said. “If I were you, I’d be on my way before the colony gets wind of those pheromones.”
Thirty-Three
I didn’t let up on the gas or breathe easy until I was well away from all those bees. Once I no longer felt threatened, I started to worry about Dr. Shaw and the remoteness of Kroll Cemetery. I comforted myself with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. He had at least one investigator with him.
Even so, I felt the need to warn him of my growing unease about the Kroll family. Micah wasn’t the only one who had left me unsettled. Louvenia Durant was an enigmatic woman who seemed haunted by her past. This alone was not enough to make me distrust her, but I did have to wonder about her guilty conscience and the falling-out she’d had with Ezra. If he really had cut her out of his will—a will that had never been found—then she was the one who had stood to gain the most from his death.
All of this rolled around in my head as I placed a call to Dr. Shaw. When he finally answered, I told him of my trepidation and then repeated Owen’s maze instructions to him to make certain that I hadn’t been deliberately misled.
“Directions don’t mean much in the maze or even in the woods,” Dr. Shaw warned me. “They’re both quite disorienting. I’ve never experienced anything like them. I think it best that I meet you at the end of the road and walk you through.”
“That’s probably a good idea, but please be careful, Dr. Shaw. Maybe I’m being overly cautious or even paranoid, but despite Louvenia’s invitation, I’m not sure either of us is particularly welcome here.”
His voice sharpened. “Has something else happened?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. For now just please keep an eye out.”
“You as well, my dear. I’m heading out now, but in case you arrive first, wait for me in your car.”
“I will.”
We said our goodbyes and then I turned my full attention to the road. The light shining through the windshield was warm and so bright I found myself squinting even behind sunglasses. As I came around the first
curve, I slowed the vehicle, my eyes on the passing hedgerows as Owen had instructed.
Even though he’d been exact in his directions, I still ended up making three passes before I finally spotted the cross. It was set back from the road and so tilted from decades of wind and rain that it was nearly invisible against a backdrop of weeds and brambles.
The road to the farm was private so I didn’t have to worry about traffic. I sat with the engine idling as I searched for the entrance. From my vantage, the road looked to be nothing more than two dirt tracks disappearing into the trees. As I scanned the access, I detected the remnants of an old wrought iron archway covered almost entirely by ivy. The vines were entwined around and through the scrollwork so that the dangling curlicues provided a natural curtain over the entrance.
I made the turn cautiously, easing through the lush tendrils as my apprehension mounted. I’d been looking forward to a tour of Kroll Cemetery with Dr. Shaw, but now as I headed straight back into the forest, I couldn’t forget something he had said to me the other night on the phone. He had the sense that I was approaching a crossroads in my life, a spiritual turning point from which there would be no return.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. The vines falling back over the entrance seemed symbolic—like the closing of a door.
Taking a resolved breath, I forced my attention to the overgrown trail in front of me. It was cool and dark in the woods. I rolled down my window, allowing the intoxicating scent of honeysuckle to seep in, along with the woodsy aroma of the evergreens.
But as I drove deeper into the trees, a heavy stillness settled over the trail, a claustrophobic oppression that didn’t come from the heat of the afternoon or the closeness of the woods but from something unnatural. Quickly, I raised the window as if a layer of glass could protect me from those dark things that slithered through the underbrush. Things I couldn’t yet see but knew were there just the same. I tried to ignore my newfound perception, but the feeling of being watched, of being sought, grew more and more pervasive.
A quick glance at the map assured me that I was still some distance from our rendezvous point, and yet I could sense Kroll Cemetery as though it were a living, breathing entity. Such a notion would have seemed strange even to me a few days ago, but now I wondered if I really had crossed a threshold.
The noise in my head began as a low rumble that ebbed and flowed as the vehicle bumped along the tracks. Not the droning of Micah Durant’s bees, but a humming of what I imagined to be the dark emotions of all those trapped souls. I could feel the vibration all the way through my being. My own heart started to pound in unison, as if I were becoming one with that pulsating throng.
The awareness intensified as a gust of wind blew through the trees, rippling the leaves in an isolated pattern that reminded me of a wave crashing to shore. As the undulation swept toward me, the windows fogged and the whole car began to tremble as though caught in a powerful vortex. The air grew thick and fetid and flies began to gather on my windshield.
It was hours until twilight and yet I could feel something bearing down on me from beyond. A collective presence straining against the shackles of death.
I wanted nothing so much as to lower the window and let a fresh breeze scrub away the foulness inside my car, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t know what was out there. I could feel the chill of the ghosts, but there was something else pushing me away from Kroll Cemetery. It was as if I’d been caught between two opposing forces.
I’d come to a complete stop without even realizing it, my hands still gripping the wheel. The sense of dread overpowered me as I sat there scanning the woods. Every now and then I glimpsed something white and wispy floating through the trees. If I stared long enough, I spotted diaphanous bodies crouched on low branches, pale faces with hollow eyes and gaping mouths staring down at me.
The forest was deeply haunted. A thin place. A dark place.
Find the key, I could hear Rose whisper. Save yourself.
Carefully, I removed the three keys from my backpack and placed them on the seat beside me—the key that had been tossed into my cellar, the key that had been left in Rosehill Cemetery and the strange key that matched the motes in my eyes. All three were different. Each served a special purpose.
I hadn’t wanted to touch any of them when they’d first been left on my nightstand. I’d been too afraid my curiosity would be misconstrued as acceptance of a gift or offering. Or worse, barter for my soul.
But the keys no longer frightened me. Instead, I felt compelled to keep them close. On impulse, I slipped the pink satin ribbon over my head, allowing the skeleton key to rest against my chest. The metal instantly illuminated as it had in Rosehill Cemetery. The voices grew louder, screaming for release as the pressure in my chest tightened. I could feel a rush inside me, almost like a strong wind being sucked through an open doorway.
It was a terrifying sensation, and my first inclination was to rip the key from around my neck and fling it into the woods. The last thing I wanted was to open yet another door.
But instead of removing the key, I turned it so that the teeth pointed away from my heart. Why I did so, I couldn’t say. Perhaps it was instinct or divine intervention. The guidance of an unseen hand.
Oddly and perhaps coincidentally, the noise in my head quieted and the pressure eased. The dark things in the woods grew still and watchful. The flies scattered and the odor faded as the wind died away. I didn’t know why or how, but a door had been closed.
I sat for a moment, clutching the skeleton key to my breast. I knew the ghosts weren’t gone for good. I could still feel the chill of their presence. Rather, the key had granted a temporary reprieve. Maybe like hallowed ground, the metal provided a layer of protection, if not salvation.
The other two keys still lay on the seat beside me. I picked up the eye key and held it in my palm. The metal didn’t glow like the key around my neck, but I fancied I could feel a throb. And with the vibration came a disturbing notion as to why Rose had blinded herself. Maybe her only way out had been to unsee them. If the function of the skeleton key was to provide a reprieve, then the key with the pointed teeth could have offered my great-grandmother a final solution.
Thirty-Four
I soldiered on toward Kroll Cemetery. Up ahead where the trees thinned, beams of sunlight spangled down through the branches and I could see a butterfly dancing among the wild columbine that grew beside the trail. The weight of the dead world had lifted from me, but I cautioned myself not to let down my guard. Not to be fooled by the reprieve or the cathedral-like tranquillity of the woods. The peace was only a stay, an illusory calm before a gathering storm.
The road ended abruptly and I came to a rocky halt. A wall of green rose before me. The fingered leaves of the oaks and sycamores tangled with the feathery bowers of the cedars to create an impenetrable canopy. Evergreen saplings sprouted so thick at the end of the trail that I could barely make out the footpath.
I had expected to find Dr. Shaw waiting for me, or at the very least, his parked vehicle, but I saw no sign of either. No footprints or tire tracks to indicate anyone had been this way in years. I knew better, of course. I’d spoken to him only a short time ago. He was undoubtedly on his way to meet me at that very minute. All I had to do was sit tight.
But as I huddled over the steering wheel, listening to the engine tick down, I began to wonder if I might have taken a wrong turn after all. He should have been here by now.
I took another quick glance at the map, satisfied that I had come to the right place. Drumming fingers on the seat, I waited another few minutes before taking out my phone to call him. But after several rings, I gave up.
His absence niggled as I sat there. If something had delayed him, he would have alerted me or at the very least kept his phone handy so that I could call him.
I got out of the car and stood in the shade
as I contemplated what I should do. On the surface, the countryside was quiet and still, but if I listened intently and concentrated hard enough, the forest came alive. An owl hooted in the distance as the underbrush rustled from the scurry of tiny feet. A flock of blackbirds took flight and circled for a moment before drifting back down into the leaves. I was so spellbound, my senses so heightened, I could hear the swish of their feathers and the click of tiny claws as they resettled themselves on the branches. I found it strange that I could be so attuned to my surroundings and still feel so completely out of my element, a million miles away from the safety net of my sanctuary.
Checking my phone for a signal, I placed another call to Dr. Shaw with the same result. The phone rang and rang. I was just about to hang up when I became aware of a new sound, distant but jarring in the hush of the woods. I lowered the phone and turned my ear to the trees, closing my eyes so that I could vector in on the disturbance. From somewhere deep in the woods came the sound of a ringtone.
I ended the connection and the ringing stopped. Then I called the same number and the sound came again, even fainter than before, as if Dr. Shaw was moving away from me.
An icy panic stole up my backbone. He was getting on in years, and the previous autumn he’d survived a terrible trauma. No doubt the stress had taken a toll. I had visions of him suffering a breakdown like poor Rose and wandering around lost in the woods or lying unconscious somewhere from a fall or a heart attack. Or even worse, what if Micah Durant had taken a shortcut through the woods and intercepted him at the cemetery or in the maze? Dr. Shaw would never have seen him coming.
I tamped down my runaway imagination as I pressed the call button yet again. I told myself there might be any number of reasons why he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t getting a signal. Maybe he’d set the phone down and forgotten to bring it with him when he came to meet me.
The Visitor Page 19
