The Visitor

by Amanda Stevens

  “Yes. You warned me about a collective rage. About being used as a conduit. But I don’t think that’s why I’ve been brought here. I don’t think the ghosts want to use me. I think they need me to find a way to free them. They can’t move on until the puzzle is solved.”

  “Perhaps we need to take into account the human equation, as well,” he said. “I don’t just mean you. It seems as if Louvenia’s grandson may somehow be connected to all this.”

  “Maybe the entity, this malcontent, is using him. Owen Dowling told me that Micah has been troubled since childhood. He’s been in and out of institutions for most of his life. It seems to me he would be easy prey. Although there could be another, less esoteric reason he’d want to thwart the restoration. Devlin said the cemetery could cause problems if the land were put on the market. It would be easier and far cheaper to make the graves go away than to try to relocate them.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose. Although I don’t think Louvenia would agree to such a plan.”

  “Nor do I. But if she were to meet with an accident or be declared incompetent, it would certainly open the door for her beneficiaries.”

  “That’s a very serious accusation, my dear.”

  “I know. But it would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

  I lowered my window to allow in a cool breeze. It was still early afternoon, but it seemed an eternity since I’d left the Durant farm for the cemetery. Amazing how so much could happen in such a short amount of time. Frightening how quickly one’s whole world could change forever.

  I turned back to Dr. Shaw. “As long as I’m coming clean, there’s something else you should know. Do you remember the silhouette I told you I saw in Oak Grove the day of the dedication? I had a sense that she was connected to Nelda Toombs, that she might even be her dead twin, Mott.”

  “I remember,” he said. “We discussed the possibility of your having experienced the Old Hag Syndrome.”

  “I’ve seen her again. And now I know she’s not a vision or a hallucination or a waking dream. She’s real. She exists. Not as a human, not as a ghost, but as a being that dwells in the shadowy space between the living world and the dead world.”

  “Half in, half out,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s an old saying about cats. They’re half in this world, half in the next. In mythology, if someone needed to enter the underworld, they would sometimes use a cat to guide them. Maybe it’s the same with Mott. She’s half in, half out. Neither alive nor dead but something in between.”

  “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve seen her. I know she’s real. I know she exists. But I don’t understand how such a thing can be possible.”

  “As I’ve said many times, there are things in this world that will never be explained simply because we don’t have the capacity to conceive of them. The scope of our reality is too narrow. Your visitor at one time was as real as you and I. Flesh-and-blood real. Perhaps when she died, something of her essence was left behind. A physical and spiritual bond to her sister so powerful that rather than moving on, she evolved into something else. Not human, not ghost, but a being that retained enough of her humanity to mimic life.”

  “What do you think she wants from me?” I asked.

  “Undoubtedly, she’s another piece of Rose’s puzzle. We can only speculate as to her purpose, but if your calling is to help the dead move on, then maybe a being that’s half in and half out is the means by which the door to the dead world can be opened. In any case, I don’t think you have anything to fear from her. Think of her as your guardian and protector. I would surmise the gifts she’s left around your house are her way of making contact.”

  “As innocent as all that.”

  He smiled. “Sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I suggest we drive back into town and regroup,” he said. “If what you suspect about Micah Durant is true, I should warn my colleague. I don’t think it a good idea that any of us be alone in that cemetery.”

  It was a sensible plan and one I agreed with wholeheartedly. But as I started the engine and eased onto the highway, I felt an almost irresistible tug from the direction of Kroll Cemetery.

  Thirty-Nine

  Once we were back in town, Dr. Shaw directed me to the bed-and-breakfast where he and his colleague had taken rooms. The house was a charming Tudor cottage located on a quiet, tree-lined street far from the hustle and bustle of the main thoroughfare.

  I pulled up to the curb and parked, taking a moment to admire the colorful window boxes and beds of purple verbena that lined the flagstone walkway. Then I got out of the car and followed Dr. Shaw up the steps.

  The small foyer was light and airy with a step down into a parlor furnished with a hodgepodge of antiques. Through French doors, I could see out into the garden where a woman in an old-fashioned bonnet clipped roses from well-tended bushes.

  Nelda Toombs gave us a cheery wave as she placed her basket and clippers on a nearby table. She wore cotton gloves to shield her hands from the thorns and an artist’s smock that not only protected her clothing, but also partially disguised the hump on her back.

  “How nice to see you both!” she exclaimed as she peeled off her gloves. “Louvenia said you might stop by. The guest cottage is ready and waiting if you require it for the night. It’s just across the garden.” She gestured to a pitched roof rising above a large magnolia tree. “I think you’ll find it cozy.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  She cocked her head as her gaze flitted over my features. “Forgive me again for staring, but I find myself taken aback every time I’m in your presence. The resemblance to Rose is still so startling.”

  “It might interest you to know that since our last meeting, I’ve learned that Rose was my great-grandmother.”

  She smiled. “I’m not at all surprised. You must be Caleb’s granddaughter.”

  “You knew Papa?”

  “I knew about him, and only the little that Rose chose to share. She loved him very much, but as you can imagine, her son was a painful topic.”

  “I would love to hear more about her, but I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  “You’re nothing of the kind,” she said warmly. “As I told you before, I like talking about her. And speaking with you is like visiting with a dear old friend.” Her eyes were still on me and I saw something flicker in the shadowy depths. Something that might have been meant just for me. “Even after all these years, I sometimes feel as though Rose and Mott are still with me.”

  Was she trying to tell me that she had seen them, too? Or at the very least, felt their presence?

  Dr. Shaw cleared his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll leave you to your conversation. I’ve some phone calls to make.”

  As he moved away, Nelda took my arm. “Let’s sit for a spell, shall we?” She motioned to a pair of green metal chairs tucked back in the shade of the magnolia.

  “This is such a beautiful garden,” I said. “So lush and cool.”

  She glanced around with pride. “The place was a mess when I inherited it from an elderly uncle. I’ve put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into it over the years. Of all my business endeavors, the bed-and-breakfast holds a special place in my heart because it gave me a home and a means of providing for myself so that I didn’t have to rely on Louvenia’s good graces. I’m not a Kroll by birth, but I seem to have a knack for making money. Or maybe I’ve just been lucky.”

  “You’ve certainly done a lovely job here,” I said. “But it must be difficult running Dowling Curiosities from a distance.”

  “Owen’s been a godsend. But enough about me.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “You wanted to hear about Rose.”

  I nodded. “You to
ld me the other day that she had a fascination for all kinds of photography. I’m an amateur photographer myself. Do you know if any of her pictures or equipment were saved?”

  “Not many, I’m afraid. After you left the shop yesterday, I went through some of my boxes of keepsakes. I did find one of her old viewers, and now that I know you’re her granddaughter, I’d like for you to have it.”

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  “It’s the least I can do after you so kindly returned Mott’s viewer to me. I’ll bring it by the guest cottage later.”

  “Thank you so much. It would mean a lot to me to have something of hers,” I said in earnest.

  “Then, so you shall. It was Rose’s first stereoscope, I think. She picked it up in a secondhand shop along with a box of travel cards. That was the start of her interest in stereoscopy. We used to sit out on the front porch and daydream about visiting all those exotic places. Of course, none of us would ever stray far from home, but there was no harm in pretending.”

  She sat back in her chair, letting her gaze drift over the garden. “Did you know that Rose also had an interest in the occult?”

  I tried to keep my tone neutral. “As in séances? Tarot cards?”

  “As in ghosts. Mott and I never told anyone for fear we would be forbidden to see her again. Rose believed the living world and the dead world existed side by side. Like a stereogram. She claimed there were times when the two worlds merged, making it possible for the dead to cross back over into our world. I think that’s the reason she was so enthralled with stereoscopy. The concept of duality fascinated her.”

  “Miss Toombs—”

  “Call me Neddy, won’t you? No one has called me that in years. Not since Rose passed.”

  “Neddy...” The name felt strange on my tongue. “I visited Rose’s house a little while ago. Just before I came here, in fact. The room beneath the stairs... That’s where you found her, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes closed briefly. “Who took you there?”

  “No one. I stumbled upon it by accident. Those keys hanging from the ceiling and the numbers scribbled over the walls... Do you know what they mean?”

  “I’ve wondered from time to time if those keys were still there,” Nelda murmured. “Mott was always fascinated by them, too—she used to spend hours sorting through them. Sometimes she would pull certain keys aside and Rose would make up stories about them.”

  “Do you remember any of the stories?”

  “That was a long time ago and so much has happened since then. Although there is one thing you might like to know.” Nelda’s fingers fluttered to her throat. “Rose used to wear some of the keys on a ribbon as a necklace. As I recall, there were three in particular that she seemed to favor. The one I remember best was very old and ornate. Quite beautiful as I recall.”

  I felt the weight of the skeleton key around my own neck and tugged the ribbon from my collar. “Like this one?”

  Nelda stared at the key for a moment before slowly lifting her gaze to mine. “Where did you get that?” she asked in a strained voice. “You didn’t find it in Rose’s house.”

  “It was given to me years ago when I was a child. It only recently came back into my possession.”

  Nelda pressed a hand to her heart. “Forgive me if I sounded abrupt, but I was just so startled to see that key, even though I know it’s not the same one. It can’t be. Rose was buried with her key.”

  My fingers trembled as I tucked the ribbon back in my collar. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes. I remember seeing it around her neck at the viewing.”

  “Then, you’re right. This key can’t be the same one.”

  “It only looks like hers,” Nelda insisted.

  “Yes, of course.” But I somehow knew that it was the same key. It had been transported by ghostly means from Rose’s grave to my hideaway in Rosehill Cemetery and then later to my nightstand. “You said she wore three keys around her neck. Were the other two buried with her, as well?”

  “No. They didn’t seem to mean as much to her. One of them was to the room beneath the stairs. I don’t know why she kept that room locked. Her house was so remote, and other than Mott and me, her only visitor was my brother. As for the third key...” Nelda trailed off.

  “Was it the key you found clutched in her hand the day she died? Do you know what happened to it?”

  “I assumed the police took it. I never asked. I made an effort to put that awful day out of my head. But when I saw you at Oak Grove Cemetery looking enough like Rose to make me wonder if she’d come back from the grave...” Nelda drew a shaky breath. “So many memories came flooding back.”

  “Can you tell me anything else about those keys?”

  “Only that the skeleton key had been in Rose’s family for generations. Supposedly there had once been a sister key, but it had been lost a long time ago.”

  “Do you think that could explain her obsession with collecting keys? Maybe subconsciously she was searching for the lost key.”

  “Given her fragile mental state, it’s certainly possible,” Nelda said. “Rose had a tendency to fixate. The keys, the stereograms, all those numbers. To her, everything had meaning, but I think her obsessions had more to do with her illness than anything else. She did say something about that lost key once that I’ve always wondered about. I suspect it was just another of her fairy tales, but I’ve never forgotten it.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That her life would be very different if she still had the key.”

  “Different how?”

  Nelda leaned in with shimmering eyes. “According to Rose, the lost key had the power to close the door to the dead world forever.”

  Forty

  I desperately wanted to believe that such a key existed. That it really could be my salvation. But Rose had lost her grip on reality before she died and I couldn’t take her story seriously. I couldn’t afford even a glimmer of hope that the door to the dead world could be locked forever, thereby allowing for a normal life without all the ghosts, without all the secrets. I couldn’t put my faith in that missing key because the moment I started to believe in Rose’s fairy tale was the moment I became as lost as she.

  After I left Nelda in the garden, I hauled my spare set of clothes out of the car and settled into the guesthouse. It was a small space, but charmingly appointed with whimsical antiques. After I’d had a look around, I walked over to the town center to pick up a few items I would need for my overnight stay. When I returned, I found Rose’s viewer on the nightstand. As curious as I was about the stereograms I’d taken from her sanctuary, the claw-foot tub beckoned. It had been a long and emotionally exhausting day, and I hoped a long soak would help relax me.

  Releasing my ponytail, I turned on the taps and opened the small window over the tub to allow some of the steam to escape. Then I eased down into the water, sighing as I rested my head on a folded towel. But I still couldn’t let go of all that had happened. The lavender body wash conjured the memory of Rose’s ghost and I found myself dwelling again on the gruesome way she’d died and the lonely way she’d lived. I lay there in the bubbles, washcloth over my face, thoughts churning with everything I’d learned about my great-grandmother. All those numbers and keys. The stereograms. So many obsessions. Rose had left behind an intricate web, one that I wasn’t at all certain I was up to untangling.

  I lay there trying to sort through the confusion until the water grew tepid, and then I climbed out of the tub, dripping and shivering as I reached for a towel. I must have been soaking for a very long time because outside the tiny bathroom window the garden lay in deep shadows. The sun was setting and twilight would soon fall.

  The urgency that had driven me to hallowed ground since childhood propelled me into the bedroom, where I slipped the skeleton key aro
und my neck once more. I placed the other two keys on the nightstand, lining them up just as I’d found them and wondering what remaining purposes the two might serve.

  Restless and claustrophobic, I dressed and took the photographs and viewer out to the porch to study them in the remaining light. The air had cooled as the shadows grew longer, and the scent of roses wafted from the garden.

  Plopping down on the top step, I placed the first card in the viewer and lifted it to my eyes. The dual images came together to form a three-dimensional view of Rose’s house. I could see curtains at the windows and flowerpots on the front steps. It was a pleasant-looking place if one didn’t notice the shadows from the woods that crept across the yard. If one didn’t speculate about the fence that enclosed the space beneath her house.

  I viewed one card after another until I’d gone through the whole stack. All of them were of Rose’s house, and as I’d observed earlier, they had been taken from different angles at different times of the day.

  What an odd collection, I thought as I went back to the first card.

  This time I studied the images more carefully, turning the viewer slightly until I caught the best light. I tried to peer into the windows of Rose’s house, into the treetops, even underneath her front porch. The longer I studied those photographs the more unsettled I became.

  I was certain the shots weren’t random. Rose had deliberately set out to photograph her house from every possible angle in every conceivable light. But why?

  As I scoured the images for clues, I suddenly had the feeling of being watched. The sensation was so strong that I lowered the viewer to scan the garden. Then I lifted my gaze to the windows at the back of Nelda’s house. No one was around. No one watched me. So why the crawl of flesh at the back of my neck? Why the tingle at my spine?

  I glanced over my shoulder. The door to the guest cottage was closed. I saw no one at the windows. No one in the shadows.

  I turned back to the garden, bringing the viewer to my eyes once more. I started to remove the card from the holder when my gaze lit on the enclosure beneath the front porch.