She stopped at the fireplace, turning back toward the room to take one last look around. She was interested to see the furniture he had chosen for himself. An extra desk, bookcases, and the abundance of books that filled the bookcases showed Mr. Cole Edwards to be a kindred spirit. The room was otherwise bare of other personal effects except for two portraits hanging side by side. Claire hesitated and then stepped closer. One was a woman, fine boned with light brown hair and rosy skin. She looked young and innocent, with a half-smile on her face, as her eyes, a bright sapphire blue, seemed to gaze somewhere beyond the observer's shoulder.
The second was a portrait of a man. His face was more arresting with large dark eyes, a sharp blade of a nose and strong chin. Although not conventionally handsome, he had a strong face, and his eyes shown with an eerie light. His hands were long fingered and rested on the arm of the chair, his positioning and posture somehow conveying a certain tension. On the ring finger of his right and was a large band, gold and wrought in such detail Claire could almost read the inscription on the side.
She felt a niggling doubt. Had she seen him before? Something in his face was so familiar. She brought a tentative finger up to the painting, running her fingertip over the ridges of the painted surface.
Noel, rushing in like child caught in a game of hide and seek, jerked her from her revere.
"Okay, you ready? I want to eat lunch before I go meet Ben."
Claire gathered her supplies and left, closing the door firmly behind her.
"Meeting Ben again? That's twice this week. Is he still helping you with classes or is this a more casual meeting?"
Noel had the grace to blush. "It wasn't all my doing. I said I had some studying to do, and he just invited me over. I think it's finally working; he's finally noticing me."
Claire looked at Noel's hot pink shirt and skintight jeans. "I can't imagine him not noticing you. Did you paint those jeans on?" Claire said, eyes alight with amusement.
"No, but I did lie on the bed to get them zipped. I really hope I don't have to pee while I'm at his house. I don't want him catching me lying on his bed sucking in my stomach and yanking on the zipper of these things."
With Noel out for the evening, the house seemed strangely empty. Claire went into the library and browsed through the books, fingers lightly skimming the spines as she walked. Leather bound classics butted up against paperback thrillers. She pulled a few from the shelves and looked inside the front covers for clues to who owned them. But most of the new texts were blank while the bookplates on the older ones held names such as Horace, Frances, and Abraham. A few were written in a feminine hand, and two of the older historical books held the name Caroline, a change from the rest of the masculine scrawls.
The lights flickered, and Claire looked up. Dusk had settled outside and shadows blanketed the room. She slowly approached the desk and turned on the lamp there, throwing a circular glow on the dusty desktop. She cast one last look around the room and walked out into the foyer.
"John, are you here?" she called softly, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears. She looked around the foyer, the light overhead casting long shadows on the tiles. The house was deathly quiet, and ever so softly a tiny squeal sounded from above. She looked up quickly to see the ancient chandelier swing slowly, just inches at first, but the arch increasing with each sway. The thing was horrid, a mere skeleton of its former glory with most of the crystals gone, long since smashed on the tiles below. Only a few of the bulbs still worked, and those were flickering dangerously. The workers hadn’t touched the fixture yet and it dripped with dust covered spider webs that swayed with the motion. Claire backed away, imagining the thing coming loose from its moorings and falling to the floor, taking her down with it as she stood frozen in its path.
A thunderclap of a noise sounded with a huge rattle from above, and Claire's heart leaped to her throat. She looked up the staircase and heard a second noise, a steady thump and drag. She backed quickly against the front door, her fingers curled in tight fists by her sides. It would have been funny if it was happening on the movies. The failing lights, the boom, then the pathetic pacing of a thing, some unknown creature exploring the upper floors.
"John!" she called out, her voice still diminished in the empty room. If this was his idea of a joke, she would kill him. She tried to imagine him upstairs, stomping against the scuffed hardwood floors. Please let it be him. If only it was him! But she knew it wasn't John and strongly suspected it wasn’t anyone. Not anyone real or human. She had felt the shiver of dread, and the urge to run was almost insurmountable. She knew it was coming, it was happening, and it would be soon be coming for her. The noise continued, gradually increasing in volume while Claire stood frozen at the front door.
Closer and closer, a low roar began to build, and she turned in panic to unlock the front door, trying to escape what was surely racing down the stairs. But the key, conveniently left in the lock, refused to budge in her sweat slicked fingers, so with a backward glance she fled, running straight into the parlor. The pastel room was muffled in darkness and the dark maw of the fireplace opened like a giant mouth at the opposite end of the room. The air rippled and an acrid stench seemed to emanate from the dead fire, from beneath the shrouded forms, from the walls themselves. A flutter of a movement beneath the pale sheets stirred the air and the shapes seemed to breathe.
Her heart was pounding in her ears, the sound so loud she could think of little else. But she could still hear it; the roar escalating into a high keening sound that now seemed to rip down the chimney in the room with her, and with a huge burst, a deathly black cloud of ashes and smoke exploded out into the parlor.
Claire felt the thrust of heated air strike her and she stumbled, almost falling. The dark mass blanked out the room, filled her vision until everything was darkly distorted. She doubled over, her arm thrown protectively over her face. Crouching, she turned and staggered out, her lungs burning as she tried to breathe the tainted air.
The foyer was completely black, the light extinguished from above, and she had no idea if the chandelier was still swaying in the darkness. The door of the library straight across from the parlor was cracked open, a sliver of light from the fireplace barely visible. Claire pushed the library door ajar and stood shaking, her lungs aching with each breath. She grabbed the edge of the heavy wooden door and slammed it closed, shutting out the darkness and the smell from the foyer.
The firelight cast a warm glow over the room, the flames blazing from a hearth that had been stone cold just moments before. Fire? Who set the fire? She raised a trembling hand to her head. Was she finally losing her mind? Her eyes slid from the bright flames. The fireplace wasn’t the only thing that had changed. The books in the shelves had shifted as well, several pulled free and dumped to the floor. Papers were scattered on the rug as though struck by a hand. She couldn’t swear to the position of the furniture, but she felt like some of the pieces had been moved as well, scooted out of place by an invisible body. Her head jerked around as another boom sounded from outside the door. There was a painful crack on the wooden door, and a hot gust from behind her pushed her forward while the protective door slammed open behind her with a booming echo allowing thin plumes of smoke and ashes to swirl from the foyer into the room with her. Her hands reached out to the nearest chair, clutching desperately and avoiding the heat from the yawning doorway, trying vainly to keep on her feet.
"What the hell is going on here?" A voice roared and a figure rose, standing impossibly tall and dark before her blocking the opposite doorway into the empty music room.
Claire had a moment to register that familiar face, the man from the portrait in the upstairs bedroom. A face from the painting, a ghost from the past. With a stifled cry, her fingers slipped on the smooth fabric of the chair, and she went forward, her numbed limbs no longer obeying her, her head filled with darkness. She sunk into blessed oblivion. The man in the doorway had barely reached out from his place at the threshold of the library
before the door slammed closed on his astonished face.
She coughed weakly, feeling as though she had been swimming underwater for a long time. She put a hesitant hand to her aching chest. Her head was pounding a steady rhythm of pain, radiating likes snakes around her skull. Her eyes squinted, and she blinked rapidly.
"Claire, Claire. Wake up now."
Noel's concerned face hovered above her. Her hair with mussed from running her fingers through it, and her eyes were wide. Claire had seen her friend mildly frightened before, but she had never looked as scared as she did now.
"Where am I?"
"We're back in the library. Don't you remember? Ben is here too."
His pale face came into view over Noel's shoulder. "You scared the crap out of us! Are you hurting somewhere? Do you need an ambulance?” His eyes went to Noel where she was squeezed in close next to him. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.” His eyes went back to Claire. “Do you think you passed out or did you fall? Did you hit your head?" Again, he looked toward Noel. “Maybe she has a concussion.”
Claire shook her head slowly. "I don’t know.” Her voice was hoarse, low with an unfamiliar rasp. Then the memories starting flooding back and panic overtook the pain in her head. “No, no ambulance. I think I just passed out. It was so hot,” her mind was still trying to process the moments before her fall. Then she remembered, and her hand caught Noels’, squeezing tight enough to feel the bones beneath the skin. “The house. There's something here. There was someone here. And there was a fire! In the parlor, Ben, there’s something in the fireplace! I can't remember but..." she closed her eyes, feeling hysterical. She realized she had been reaching out toward Ben, fingers hooked like claws. She lay back, feeling helpless tears fill her eyes and leak beneath her closed lids. Nightmare pictures flashed through her brain, the ashes gritty on her skin. How could she explain something that no one else had experienced? How could she sound rational when she didn't feel sane at all? She tried to gather her thoughts, swallow panic, keeping her eyes shut for a moment longer.
“Ok, ok. Calm down now.” Ben sounded as though he was comforting a child. “You’re all right, and we’re here.” He paused. “It’s just us here now,” he said forcing calm into his voice. “We haven’t seen anyone else here, and I haven’t see any fire or smoke.” Ben was leaning down, one hand on Noel’s shoulder, the other catching Claire’s grasping fingers.
“There was someone here.” Claire’s voice was harsh and painful.
“Yes, Mr. Edwards, Cole Edwards, is here. We didn’t know he had arrived. He probably unintentionally scared you. We know he was here when you fell.”
“But I saw someone else. And I saw a fire, and smoke, the ashes,” Claire’s voice trailed off.
Noel's cool fingers caressed her brow. "Don't worry. Ben said Mr. Edwards has checked the house and didn't find anyone. The house is fine, no fire. It was probably a dream. No stranger was here, and no one broke in the house. There was no fire, but we think something happened in the chimney, maybe something broke loose and made a noise. You were alone and may have gotten freaked out. Then you just ran into Mr. Edwards unexpectedly, and that was enough to panic you. You maybe tried to run and fell and hit your head. You’ve got a pretty good lump here on the side." Her fingers fluttered over Claire’s icy ones. “You’ve just been working too hard. Maybe you’re not eating enough...”
"But the fireplace. The ashes. Didn't anyone see the explosion?" Claire's eyes opened wide and panic laced her voice. She sat up quickly, the movement making her voice rise uncomfortably. "Didn't anybody see him?"
"See who?” Noel knelt next to Claire. “Claire, Ben checked all over. There wasn't anyone in the library except Mr. Edwards, and he certainly didn’t break in or mean to scare you."
"No, not a man. It couldn’t have been just a man. It was a ghost. I saw him. He was a ghost."
"What do you mean a ghost? There were no ghosts, sweetie. Just Edwards. He was in the library when you ran in. That’s all.” Noel’s voice became soothing and she took Claire’s hand firmly in her own. "Here, lie back down, we'll talk about this later. Let me get you a drink." Noel stood with quick efficiency, and Ben took her place beside Claire.
“There was no one else?” she asked him faintly.
“No,” he said, rubbing his hand over his face as though trying to wake up. "We found you collapsed on the floor in here with Edwards. He said you must have hit your head when you fell. He saw you standing in here and heard a loud noise. Then there was a draft and the door closed in his face." He gave her a slight smile. “I think you must have freaked him out too.”
Claire raised a shaking hand to her face, pausing to look at the dark stains on her fingers. “But the fire,” she said softly, pleading. She turned her head and looked into the open fireplace set between the bookcases. There were no flames cheerfully burning. It was empty. Dead.
"We saw your hands,” he agreed. “You were pretty dirty, but Noel said you had been going through some of the books in the library. And with the crap that came from the chimney, it’s no wonder the room is so messed up.”
“That’s impossible,” she replied, her voice gaining strength. She was looking between the fireplace and Ben as he stood over her. “I saw something. It came from the fireplace, not the one in here but the one in the parlor. And it wasn’t just something falling down the chimney. I swear!”
“I know what you think you saw,” Ben said, his voice softening. “But we’ve gone over everything. There was no explosion, no ghosts, no fires.” He forced a smile and said wryly, “Although I have to admit, this place would make a good haunted house."
Claire considered his serious face. "Did you go in the parlor? Did you see the fireplace?"
"It's fine structurally. Looks like a big clot of stuff fell and crumbled when it hit the floor. There was a mess of ashes in the parlor around the fireplace, but just that. Some ashes on the hearth and some dragged through the foyer and in here that might have been on your shoes and clothes as you walked. It’s not much. And it’s just there in that one room. There was nothing unusual in any of the other rooms down here. Mr. Edwards has gone to check on the upstairs rooms himself."
Claire closed her eyes again. She knew what she had seen. And she knew it had been real. She could tell the difference between a flesh and blood person and a spirit. Couldn’t she? And since when did she believe in ghosts or things that go bump in the night? She felt a little sick and closed her eyes again. How could it be happening again? She had thought she was done, over all that craziness. But here she was, swearing something had flown out of the chimney and blown up the parlor. And better yet, she was sure she had seen a real ghost. Not some foggy impression wafting through the air.
Why, she thought desperately? Why me? Why now? She opened her eyes and looked up toward the ceiling. Ben was still studying her, leaning back in his chair. The expression on his face was a mixture of fear and concern, not for the house, but for her. She couldn’t let that happen again. She couldn’t let her friends and family down like that. She couldn’t look crazy.
“Okay,” she said softly and pushed her hair from her face, still feeling the grit on her cheeks. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did just hit my head. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing.” She tried to keep her voice steady. She was determined to appear sane, to talk herself into thinking she was sane. She gathered her tattered dignity and silently counted to 10, aware of Ben’s scrutiny. Feeling calmer, she beaconed him closer and let him help her ease up into a sitting position. “I’m fine. Really, my head just hurts.” A forced smile seemed to calm him because his expression relaxed. He sighed and stepped back as Noel returned with a huge glass of ice water and pain reliever. Claire took the pill and downed it quickly hoping that when her head cleared, she could convince herself it had been a dream. Of course, she knew that was a lie.
Chapter Eight
Claire sat at the kitchen table, her head resting in her hands as she wearily considered her full plate. N
oel was sitting opposite her friend, her eyes concerned as she attempted to fill the silence with meaningless small talk. Ben sat next to Noel, fingers nervously drumming the tabletop. Noel had insisted they sit down then and busied herself making food no one wanted to eat. Now the table was set, and the food was cooling in the uncomfortable silence.
The tension was broken when Charles walked in, John following him through the back door.
"What smells so good?" Charles asked, looking cool and comfortable in tan slacks and a striped shirt.
John went immediately to the stove and took the top off the pan, dipping a spoon in even before Noel could respond.
"We're having dinner. Do you want any?" Noel offered, holding up a bowl full of salad.
"No thanks," Charles responded, "I was just dropping John off and came in to have a meeting with Mr. Edwards at 8:00. I’m a little early yet, but I’ve still got some paperwork to go through. Have you seen him?"
Ben and Noel exchanged glances and Ben slowly got to his feet, moving to stand behind Claire’s chair as a silent sign of support.
“We saw him a little while ago, but he said he had some phone calls to make,” Noel supplied, turning concerned eyes in Claire’s direction. Claire maintained her composure, concentrating on moving a piece of lettuce around her bowl. "When did Mr. Edwards arrive?" Noel asked casually, her eyes once again drifting to her silent friend and back to Ben’s serious face.
"I dropped him off a few hours ago. He said he needed to get settled in, maybe take a rest. I got back into town to meet John around 3:00."
Claire was silent, watching Noel's face. Noel looked frankly relieved. Claire could almost read her thoughts as she pondered Charles’ statement. If Mr. Edwards had come in during the afternoon and had indeed closed himself in his room for a few hours, then when he emerged in the evening, Claire would have been surprised since they hadn’t been told about his arrival. That and the mess in the chimney were certainly enough to scare Claire if she had thought she was in the house alone.
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