I pulled it from my pocket, hands trembling, as I ran my finger up the smooth glass. I swallowed hard. I opened my text conversation with Thomas. I clenched my teeth and against my better judgment, I typed the words. Where are you?
My index finger hovered over the Send arrow. I closed my eyes, sucked in air, opened them, and pressed Send. I put the phone down, not wanting to touch it, not wanting to be connected to him in any way. I went to the window and watched.
The light at the inn went out.
Twenty-Three
I hadn’t slept well. Partly because I slept on a sleeping bag since Avi insisted on sleeping in my bed with Gigi and partly because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Thomas. Sometimes he was attacking me or Jackson or Luca. Sometimes he was being attacked by some form of black cloud that invaded his body and turned him into a sort of evil Thomas robot.
I didn’t know for sure Thomas was the one at the inn. Maybe demons used flashlights or candles. Maybe someone else had found the place—a hiker who lost their way in an awful storm and rode it out in the only shelter they could find and who happened to turn off their light at the moment I texted Thomas. Maybe I was imagining things or flashes of lightning were bouncing off windows. All of that—well, not the demon part—was equally as likely as Thomas being there.
I clicked my phone. It was barely five. I sat up and tried to run my fingers through my hair, it was a wasted effort. Apparently, while not sleeping I’d rolled around a lot.
I placed a fresh log on the coals of the fire. I blew on the red coals, igniting the dormant flames. I pulled a leg up, resting my arm and the side of my face on my knee. My eyes watched the flames dance. The fire soon warmed me.
The hiker scenario didn’t explain the other times I had seen the light. Unless a hiker found the place and stayed. But then they would’ve been at the inn when I went to the beach on Sunday, watching me. The thought scared me, but only temporarily. The thought of Thomas being there last night, and all the other nights I’d seen the light, made me more afraid.
It wasn’t impossible the light came from someone like that. Someone who’d gotten lost or maybe even someone who found the inn and decided to stay awhile. None of that was likely, though. Our beach was a very long way from any sanctioned trails, and those who went off on their own were smart enough to stay out of private property, especially in the rural parts of the state where gun ownership was common.
So few people knew about the inn. That was the other troubling thing. It wasn’t a secret or anything, though unless you’d lived in our town forever, you’d never know there was an inn on our property. We invited few people to our home, even when my mom was alive, and even then I don’t remember taking many people to the beach. Certainly, people were aware of it, but the lights just started, which meant whoever was going there needed to have recently discovered it or recently taken an interest in it.
I closed my eyes. I wished I could go back to sleep. Though even if I could, my dreams were no better. I continued with the thought. The only people I was aware of recently discovering the inn were Thomas and Luca. No, it couldn’t be Luca. He couldn’t go near the place without passing out.
I moaned softly to myself and lay back on my pillow on the floor. It must be Thomas. There was almost no alternative. But why would he be there?
Another thought entered my mind. Was that where he wanted to take me? I sat up. What if his desire to go to the beach had nothing to do with getting me alone and everything to do with getting to the inn?
“That must be it,” I said, whispering to the fire.
I lay down and closed my eyes, the fear I had felt all night leaving me. He wanted the inn—for what reason, I didn’t know—he didn’t want me. The heat from the fire was comforting. My body and mind relaxed and I slept.
***
The temperature was dropping though the rain had stopped. The wind was so strong it almost drowned out the sound of the generator in the distance. I wore my rain boots, a jacket, and gardening gloves as I pushed the wheelbarrow that carried the egg-gathering basket. I set the wheelbarrow by the stack of firewood and opened the door of the chicken coop. The chickens were agitated, the way they were on windy days when the sounds and smells of the yard were different.
They clucked loudly as they scurried by me. They always found worms easily in the wet earth. This would help them to calm down. They’d been in no danger last night. Their coop was well built, with a strong roof and four solid wood walls. One wall was extra secure; our firewood was stacked against it. I removed the eggs from the nesting boxes. There were only two eggs. I didn’t blame the other three hens for not laying. The night, even in their secure chicken coop, would’ve been stressful.
“Today will be colder but much calmer,” I said to one of the hens gawking at me.
I left the door open so she and the others could come and go as they pleased.
I began filling the wheelbarrow with the oldest wood from the pile Jason chopped for us long before Luca moved up here. After a few minutes the wheelbarrow was full enough. I looped my arm through the egg basket and began pushing the wheelbarrow back toward my house. From the corner of my eye I spotted movement on the trail. For the briefest of moments, my fears from last night, of Thomas attacking me, returned … then vanished when Luca came into sight. He wore a sock hat and Jason’s thick winter coat. His hands were stuffed in the pockets, which helped to hide that the coat was far too small for him. The sleeves did not reach his wrists and the bottom of the coat sat above his waist instead of falling several inches below it. Thankfully he was thin enough to wear it or, I supposed, he would be out here in nothing more than a long-sleeved T-shirt. He stopped when he noticed me.
“Good morning,” I called, setting the wheelbarrow down.
He continued forward. “Good morning,” he said. “I-I was coming to check on you. I hope that’s okay. We don’t have power and Aunt Sam said I should make sure your generator was working.”
His voice sounded nervous, like he was doing something he didn’t think he was supposed to.
“That was nice of you, and her. Yes, our generator is working. Please tell her she’s welcome to put any of her food in our refrigerator or freezer. She does that if the power’s out for a while.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll tell her … I’ll leave now,” he said, his voice still nervous.
“Luca,” I said, “you don’t have to leave. You can, but you don’t have to.”
He stepped toward me, his face distressed. “It’s just … we didn’t leave things very good between us the other day. I mean, not yesterday with, with Thomas, the day before.” His voice trailed off like he was afraid to say more.
“You mean when you told me you see dead people and demons are hunting my family,” I said, watching him closely.
“I’m sorry I said those things,” he said, now standing in front of me.
“Were they lies?” I said.
He shook his head.
“You’re sorry you were honest with me?” I said.
“It doesn’t matter why I said them. It wasn’t right to do,” he said. “You and your family have been very kind to me. I shouldn’t have scared you.”
“Luca, I don’t want you to lie to me,” I said, though I wished his truth didn’t involve ghosts or demons.
He turned his head toward the wheelbarrow piled with wood, his fingers picking at the loose bark on one of the pieces. He said, “Can I push this up to the house for you?”
“You don’t have to,” I said, though I didn’t particularly want to push the wheelbarrow up the hill.
“I’d like to, if that’s okay.” He placed his hands cautiously on the handles.
“That would be nice, thank you.”
He lifted the handles and began pushing the wheelbarrow. I walked a couple paces behind him. The chickens were clucking happily as they pulled worms from the drenched earth.
As we drew nearer to my house I spoke. “I saw it.”
His pace slowe
d.
“I saw the handprint,” I said. “At first, I thought you made it.”
His shoulders slumped, my disbelief apparently causing him pain.
“Then I realized the print was melted into the stone and there was no way for you to do that.”
“I didn’t make it,” he said quietly, as if confessing something.
“But you witnessed it being made?” I said.
“Yes,” he said with hesitation as he started pushing the wheelbarrow again.
“Will you …”—I cleared my throat—“will you tell me about it?”
He turned to face me, his eyes boring into mine. The intensity of his gaze made me want to turn away, I forced my eyes to stay on his. Finally, he released my gaze and I took a breath.
“It was on the second night that I saw them,” he said, barely loud enough for me to hear him over the wind and the generator. “There were three that night.”
“How … how many are there most nights?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“Every night is different,” he said, relaxing a little, as if he was starting to believe I wasn’t going to call him a liar. “It almost—” He stopped.
“Go on,” I said.
He swallowed and said, “It’s almost as if it depends on the person, or, or the ghost, I mean. Each one stays for a different amount of time.”
“What do they do while they’re here?” I asked cautiously.
“They listen, or at least that’s what it looks like they’re doing.”
“At the place where the handprint is?”
He nodded. “After the first night, when I saw the little girl and old man, then the next night was when I saw the boy who made the handprint.”
“A boy?”
“He was younger than us, but older than Lisieux, I’m guessing. He was the third person or spirit that night. The first was a man. He appeared and walked up the slope, stood by your wall, waiting, and then lifted his head with an expression of total joy on his face. He disappeared. A few seconds later a woman appeared and did the same thing, except she knelt as she waited. Last came the boy. He was older than the other two. I mean, his clothes were from a long time ago. The other two wore clothes that looked pretty normal for today. But the boy’s were from a different time. He was the most excited of any I have seen so far.”
Luca’s voice became light and happy as he spoke of the boy. “He ran up the slope and stood there,” he said, pointing to the side of my house. “He was bouncing up and down. At the last moment, he pressed his hand against the wall, then he grinned the biggest grin, and leaped into the air and disappeared.” Luca was practically laughing as he spoke, the memory was such a happy one.
“That’s when you found the handprint?” I asked.
“No, the next day,” he said. “I woke up thinking about wanting to see the wall. I didn’t have a reason to be near your house. So I told myself I was going for a walk.”
“A walk to the side of my house?” I said kindly.
“Yeah, I felt bad for sneaking around by your house. Once I found the print, I understood why I was drawn to the spot.”
“You felt bad about that, but not about watching my house every night?” I said.
His shoulders fell, and I instantly regretted my question. “Forget I said that.”
“No, you have every right to ask,” he said with an edge of self-loathing. “I tell myself I stay out of your actual backyard and I’m not watching your house, just the souls around it. But that doesn’t matter. It’s still creepy.”
“It looks creepy,” I said, “but it’s not. Well, not in the way it seems at first. I guess it’s actually more creepy since you’re watching dead people roam around my house,” I said, trying to make a joke.
“That’s just it. That part isn’t creepy. It was at first, not anymore. Those people aren’t …. There’s nothing scary about them. They are all really happy to be there. They aren’t evil in the slightest. They are joyful, grateful, even, for whatever your family is doing. Praying, I guess.”
We were silent as we went around the side of my house and entered the garage.
“The wood will dry out good in here,” he said as I led him to what remained of the wood pile that occupied a wall of the third bay, the one we used as more of a shed and less of a garage.
I placed the egg basket on the floor and together we began unloading the wheelbarrow.
When it was almost empty, I said, “After we do our individual prayers, we pray the Rosary and we always dedicate it to the souls in purgatory.”
“Purgatory?”
“It’s a spiritual state. The souls aren’t in heaven yet, though they have chosen God, so they are holy souls. Nothing evil about them. This might explain why you aren’t afraid of them. There are stories about purgatory being a place of purifying fire, burning away sins and imperfections so the soul is worthy of being in God’s presence.”
“Fire,” Luca said, thinking about my words.
I nodded.
“That explains the handprint burned into the stone.”
“Yes,” I said. “As much as anything can explain the unexplainable, that would do it, I guess.”
The wheelbarrow was empty.
“Thank you for telling me,” Luca said, thoughtfully. He put his hands in his pockets and started toward the open yard beyond the garage.
“Luca,” I said.
He turned.
“What do you think the souls are doing in my yard?” I said, taking a step toward him. I realized part of my desire was for the answer to the question and part of it was to continue talking to Luca.
“You already said,” he answered.
“I did?”
“You are praying for them. They are going from one spiritual state to another.”
My face must have betrayed my lack of understanding.
“They are filled with ecstasy and excitement. The boy was literally leaping for joy. They are going to heaven. Your prayers are helping them.”
“My prayers,” I said with confusion.
“Have you been praying all these years because you thought it did nothing?” He stepped away from the garage, the sound of the generator all that could be heard.
“Luca, wait,” I called out as I ran from the garage.
He stopped, waiting for me to catch up.
“Have you been going to the inn?” I asked, my voice unsteady, scared at whatever his answer might be.
“The inn?” He raised an eyebrow. “You know I can’t go near that place. Why?” His expression showed concern.
I hesitated, debating on what to tell him. “Someone has,” I said cautiously.
“Someone, like you?” he said, his eyebrows pulled together in worry.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, not me, I think … I think it’s Thomas.”
He stepped backward, the cold wind blowing between us. “Why do you think that?”
“I’ve been seeing lights there.”
His face showed fear, he didn’t speak.
“And last night I saw the light, and then … I guess after everything that happened yesterday, I had a hunch. So I texted Thomas and the light went out.”
Luca’s face went pale.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I told you the people or spirits I see in your yard don’t scare me.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, Sunday night they did—or they didn’t, but something did. I felt like a scared kid. I was convinced I was being watched, and every single sound made me jump. It’s why I didn’t come back last night. Yes, there was a storm, but by the time I usually go out, it had calmed down enough. It didn’t matter. I was too scared to leave my house.”
“I saw the lights Sunday night,” I said, my heart racing. “And then he was here yesterday and his parents haven’t seen him.”
“They haven’t?”
I shook my head. “Do you think he’s staying at the inn?”
“If he is, where
’s his car?”
“He could’ve hidden it in the woods somewhere nearby,” I said.
“I’ll look for it,” he said.
“No. Now that I know it wasn’t you at the inn, I’ll tell my dad. He and Thomas’s parents can handle it.”
Luca coughed and my lungs burned. The smell of putrid smoke was filling the air. The wind shifted and it went away. We both studied the sky.
Thick black smoke was rising above the trees.
“Sam’s house!” Luca exclaimed, and began running toward the smoke.
I ran into the garage and opened the kitchen door.
“Fire!” I screamed. “Luca’s house is on fire!”
I slammed the door and ran after Luca, hoping someone inside had heard me and would do something to help.
I ran as fast as I could. I reached the split in the path in seconds. On the trail leading away from Luca’s house going toward the beach and Blueberry Trail, I thought I glimpsed movement in the trees, I didn’t stop. I sprinted to the burning house and reached Luca as he was about to step onto the porch.
“No!” I screamed, tackling him to the ground and away from the flame-engulfed house. A second later the roof collapsed.
He fought me and stood, hesitating, trying to get closer, flames kept him back.
“It’s too late,” I said, standing in front of him, blocking his path.
“No, it can’t be,” he said, trying but failing to get around me.
“Luca, stop,” my dad’s voice boomed behind us.
“No, no,” Luca cried. “No, it’s their whole life.” His voice choked with sobs.
“It isn’t their lives and it isn’t yours,” Dad said, taking my place, blocking Luca. “Things can be replaced. Lives can’t.”
Luca tried to push forward, going around my dad. Dad wrapped his arms around Luca and forced him back. With the strength of a father, he held Luca as he cried and fought and screamed.
Twenty-Four
Awakening Page 18
