by Amy Cross
"Yes," I say. "I understand completely."
"Good," he says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "If anyone calls for me during the morning, please inform them that I will be at my surgery. I am not to be disturbed unless the situation is particularly urgent. All other cases can come back in the afternoon and receive my attention at the appropriate time. Is that understood?"
I nod.
"I think we shall have a very effective working relationship," he continues. "You strike me as a hard-working young lady, Victoria, and I admire hard work very much. It's the only way to get through life, and it indicates a good character. You'll go far in this position. Why, I'm sure I'll soon be treating you as if you were my own daughter."
I smile meekly. His praise if effusive and a little over-the-top. In truth, I would prefer to merely focus on learning my new role and ensuring that I do not disappoint the doctor. After all, he plays a very important role in the community, and it wouldn't do for him to be distracted. I just hope that he leaves soon, since I find it rather discomforting to have him watching me so intently.
"I shall be heading out now," he says finally, after what feels like an eternity.
I nod, but it takes a moment before I realize that he's waiting for me to assist him with his coat. "I'm so sorry," I say, rushing over and taking the coat from the hook before holding it up for him.
"That's quite alright," he replies. Once he is wearing the coat, he steps to the door and pulls it open. Outside, the snow is starting to melt after the recent bad weather. "I shall be back at around midday," he says with a smile. "I'm very much looking forward to seeing what you have prepared for my lunch."
"I shall endeavor to please you," I say, before realizing that there is something I must ask him. "Dr. Collings," I say cautiously, "I was wondering if I might ask you one question. I'm afraid that it's not related to my duties here, but it's something that has been concerning me greatly."
"What do you want to know?" he asks. "If it's a medical problem -"
"It's about Mayor Caster," I say. "Is he -"
"Albert Caster is no longer the Mayor of Devil's Briar," he replies, interrupting me. "As you well know, that position has been taken on a temporary basis by your uncle."
"I'm aware of that," I say, "but I was wondering if Mr. Caster is okay? I understand that he is in your care, and I would like to know that he is being properly looked after."
Dr. Collings pauses for a moment, as if he's a little uncomfortable with my question. "I am dealing with Mr. Caster to the best of my abilities," he says eventually, choosing his words carefully. "His progress is slow, but I'm confident he will eventually make at least a modest recovery. Whether he will ever be the man he was, only time will tell."
"But have you discovered the cause of his breakdown yet?" I ask.
"No," he replies, "and I'm not sure I shall ever get to that point. My aim is not to explain his problems, but to eradicate them. I do not see that digging into the past is any way to deal with the problems that currently beset him. In my opinion, the man will likely never again be in a position to serve as Mayor of Devil's Briar, but he might yet be able to walk down the street like a normal person. Then again, perhaps the Lord has a miracle in mind."
I smile, pleased to hear that he seems to be improving. "Might I see him?" I ask. "If it's not too much trouble?"
"Out of the question," Dr. Collings says. "The man requires one-on-one sessions with me, and until then he is in a very sensitive and delicate situation. Contact with other people might derail his recovery permanently. I'm sorry, but you'll just have to be patient along with everyone else. The most important thing is that your uncle is taking on the necessary mayoral duties. For that, we should all be very grateful."
"Of course," I say. "Thank you. I shall get to work."
Once he has gone, I go back through to the kitchen and look through the cupboards. Sadly, it seems that Dr. Collings has kept a very tawdry set of supplies, which means I shall have to go out to the store and purchase some items using my employer's line of credit. Deciding to not wait a moment longer, I am about to head through to the hallway when I hear a distant noise somewhere else in the house. I pause, listening for any further sign of movement.
"Victoria," says a light, fragile voice that seems to be coming from the pantry.
I feel my blood start to run cold. The only thing in the pantry, as far as I know, is the coffin of Catherine Collings. She has been dead for a few days now, and the prospect of hearing any words at all coming from her lips is rather unnerving. Then again, it has happened before. Yesterday, when I came with my uncle to visit Dr. Collings, I heard Catherine reciting the Lord's Prayer while she rested in her coffin. I spoke briefly to her, though she did not acknowledge my presence. Perhaps I'm imagining the whole thing, but I find it hard to believe that - yet again - I am concocting such hysterical fantasies in my mind. All my life, I have believed that I hear voices coming from the mouths of the dead, but I had hoped I was cured. Now it seems that I am once again hearing words fall from the lips of those who have recently passed.
"I'm cold," the voice says. "Won't you come and keep me warm?"
I pause, wondering if I should reply. Whether the voice is genuine, or in my head, is a matter for debate; what is not a matter for debate, however, is the fact that the voice seems to require some kind of answer. If, as Dr. Collings says, Catherine is to be buried imminently, it might be better for me to simply go along with the voice's requests and maintain a dialogue for now.
"I need to warn you about my father," she whispers. "I need to tell you about him. If you're not careful, he'll take more from you than you know you possess. He might seem amenable now, but that man has a dark heart and, one day, he will have you laid out in a box. He killed my mother and he killed me. Whatever you do, please get away from his influence as soon as you can."
I open my mouth to reply to the voice, but I don't know what to say. More and more, I have come to the belief that the voices of the dead come not from the spirit world, but from my own rampant imagination. Catherine Collings is not talking to me, but I am clearly extremely impressionable and - as such - I create these fancies with very little provocation. I must simply block off the part of my mind that is coming up with such delusions.
"I know you can hear me, Victoria," she continues.
"I must go to the store," I mutter, pulling my shawl onto my shoulders before hurrying out the front door. At least I am safe from the voice while I am outside, although I worry that I shall inevitably have to return to the house within the hour. If only I could discipline my mind a little better, so that I focused more fully on the world of the living. Walking along the street, I find myself trying to think of additional errands to run, so that I might be out a little longer. In truth, however, I know that I must go back and risk hearing the voice again. I can only pray that Dr. Collings will soon be ready to bury his daughter, and that this will be the end of my torture. I simply cannot let myself be driven insane by such voices. Not again.
Chapter Two
Today
At a rough estimate, there are approximately 270 buildings in Devil's Briar. They can be divided into three different groups: first, there are the large communal sites, such as the hotel or the mayoral office; second, there are the shops, such as a pharmacy, an ironmonger and a grocer's store; and third, there are the private residences, which are the most numerous. It's quite clear that, rather than being a ramshackle little town with no real form, Devil's Briar was a fully-functioning community. It's hard to estimate how many people must have lived here, but if we assume there were two people to every dwelling, we're easily looking at five hundred residents. I can't tell what the main local industries were, and there seems to have been no mining activity in the area, so the economic basis that supported the town remains unknown. Nevertheless, Devil's Briar was clearly a large and thriving community.
So where the hell did everybody go? And why does it sometimes feel like I'm going round a
nd round in endless fucking circles, doing the same thing over and over again?
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I pause to look out the window. I'm in what I believe was the Mayor's office, and I've spent the morning going through a mountain of faded, brown paperwork in the hope of finding answers to at least some of my questions. It has been two, maybe three days since Paula left Devil's Briar, and I've been working eighteen-hour days as I try to get to the bottom of the mystery of this place. Now that I'm alone, I find that I can work much faster and much more efficiently. I've been going from building to building, checking to see what I can find and occasionally discovering a few documents that help me build up a better picture of the town. So far, I have a list of seventeen names, so at least I'm finally starting to understand the people who lived in this place. It's taking a while, but I'm managing to haul Devil's Briar and its citizens out of the past and into the light of the present day. The mystery is being uncovered slowly, but at times Devil's Briar feels like a giant bait and switch: every time I get close to answering a question, I'm presented with a whole new mystery.
Damn it, sometimes I feel like I'm doing the same thing over and over again. Every morning, I get up and start working, and every morning I battle the demons that try to trick me into believing in supernatural events.
Of course, this is an unusual situation and I'm therefore struggling with some unique problems. The biggest problem is that I'm only human, and therefore I'm subject to the foibles and failings of the human brain. When presented with gaps in knowledge, the brain tends to fill in those gaps as best it can. Devil's Briar is a town, and my brain has been trained over the years to expect towns to be populated by people. Faced with an empty, deserted landscape, my brain naturally seeks to find evidence of people, and this leads to certain... problems. For example, when I hear a distant banging sound, my brain immediately assumes that it must be a person or, worse, a ghost. My rational mind insists that the banging is merely some object being battered by a gust of wind, but my irrational mind continues to concoct all sorts of superstitious fantasies. I'm engaged in a constant battle to remind myself that Devil's Briar isn't haunted, and that I am truly alone. I can't afford to let my guard down for a moment, or the madness will creep in.
Still, occasionally, in the corner of my eye, I think I see... Well, anyone would have such fantasies if they were alone in this place. But I remind myself every second that ghosts simply don't exist. Paula allowed herself to be seduced by the romantic possibilities of spirits and hauntings, but I'm not so weak. Sometimes I feel as if the female brain has certain qualities that make it more disposed toward flights of fancy, in which case I guess my male brain gives me certain advantages. I'd hate to be a woman, at the mercy of trivial superstitions. I shouldn't be too harsh on Paula, then; she's just doing what women do best.
The long days are also taking a toll. Having arrived in Devil's Briar with limited supplies, I have had to make do with what I can find. Before she left, Paula discovered a number of cans of meat; despite being the best part of a century old, these cans seem to have survived the years fairly well, and the meat is perfectly edible. As for water, I have managed to find and clean several old metal drums, which I have used to catch the last flurries of snow. It's certainly not a nutritious diet, and I'm looking forward to getting some decent food again when reinforcements arrive from Boston, but for now it's enough to keep me going. Still, I can't help wondering whether the lack of proper nutrition is causing me to suffer from extra fatigue.
"Thomas Paternoster," I say, admiring the large oak desk in the center of the mayoral office. All I really know about this Paternoster guy is that he was the last Mayor of Devil's Briar, and that he had only held the position for a short period of time when he and the other residents disappeared. Beyond that, I've found no records of his existence whatsoever, which makes me wonder if he had only recently arrived in the town. If that's the case, I don't really understand how he could have so quickly risen to such a position of authority, but perhaps there was some crisis that required a man of special abilities. I've decided that the best way to understand what happened here is to start by trying to learn more about Paternoster, but the man seems to have had no roots in Devil's Briar whatsoever. The ledger at the hotel suggests that he and a young woman named Victoria were lodging in separate rooms, so they apparently hadn't managed to acquire a house of their own. It's frustrating to know so little, and I can't help feeling that somewhere in this office there must be a full record of the town. Unless, that is, someone deliberately destroyed as much information as they could. This begs the question: did Devil's Briar vanish from the history books because it was forgotten, or did someone set out to erase the place?
After going through the office's filing cabinets for a few hours, and coming up blank, I decide to take a break and grab some lunch. Wandering out into the town square, I take a deep breath of fresh, cold air. Most of the snow has melted away, leaving the ground rather boggy. I walk across to the hotel, which I have been using as a base for my stay here, and I go in to grab some meat from one of the cans. Bringing my little meal back outside, I sit on the steps and look up at the huge cross that towers over the scene. It's hard not to feel a little lonely when I'm on my breaks, and I try to imagine what Paula is doing. She's probably back in Boston by now, telling the others about the town. I'm sure they're all a little shocked, but they'll be getting ready to come out here and help me with the task of uncovering the truth about Devil's Briar. I'm expecting to see some fresh faces in a few days, and that's when the real work can begin. I'm torn between excitement at having some people to talk to again, and disappointment that my period of isolation will be ending. Then there's the question of Paula. How long will she keep pretending that she's going to leave me? We both know she won't.
Just as I'm about to go back into the hotel, I see something moving over on the other side of the square. Making the mistake of looking over, I see the girl again. She's young, maybe seven or eight years old, and she seems to be just staring at me. I see her a couple of times each day and, even though I know she's just a figment of my imagination, I can't help but find her slightly creepy. How much longer will it be before my brain stops coming up with these things and instead accepts that I'm really alone in Devil's Briar? Turning and going inside, I try not to think about the girl's face. It would be so easy to go crazy here, but I'm strong enough to resist the lure of these hallucinations. There's no doubt that I'm alone in Devil's Briar, and yet... as I go to put the empty meat can away, I notice that the other cans seem to have been disturbed.
I glance around, half-expecting to find that Paula has come back, but there's no sign of anyone.
I pause.
I remember how the cans were arranged a few minutes ago, but now one of them has been moved over to the table by the window. There's simply no way that could have happened unless...
I pause again, listening for any kind of noise.
Silence. Well, almost silence. The only sound I can hear is a gentle hum of tinnitus in my ear.
And yet I'm sure there must be someone else here. Hallucinations can be extremely realistic, but they certainly can't move a can across a room. If I was a woman, I'd probably start to think that a ghost must be responsible, but instead I maintain a rational perspective and soon the truth becomes apparent. Feeling a chill start to rise through my body, I realize that while there certainly are no ghosts in Devil's Briar, there's definitely someone else here. Someone made of flesh and blood. Someone who seems to be dead-set on messing with my mind.
Chapter Three
1925
"I trust that your meal was satisfactory?" I say as I clear the plates from the table.
"Most satisfactory," Dr. Collings says, smiling at me. "I must say, you're a far better cook than Catherine. All her food was rather dry, and often burned, whereas your food is a definite improvement."
"Thank you," I say, although I'm quite sure he's exaggerating. After all, my cooking is fairly rudi
mentary and I'm certain his daughter must have been better. Still, it's very nice of him to pay me such a compliment, and it bodes well for our working relationship. So far, I have found Dr. Collings to be a most reasonable employer, and I only hope I can repay his kindness by performing my duties to his satisfaction. The only problem, from my point of view, is the way he seems to keep staring at me. "Might I ask if there is any news of Mr. Caster?" I add.
"There is no news," he replies. "And now, I think I shall retire to my study. Please bring me a whiskey."
"Certainly," I say, hurrying through to the kitchen with the dishes. As I search for a whiskey glass, I look through to the pantry and see the coffin still resting on the table. Since I came back from the store earlier today, I have heard no more voices from Catherine, but I live in fear that she will start 'speaking' again at any moment. Finally, I locate a whiskey glass and hurry through to the study, where I find that Dr. Collings has settled with a book.
"Thank you, Victoria," he says as I pour his drink and place it on the table next to his armchair. "Tell me something. How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-two years old," I reply.
"A fine age," he says. "How is it, then, that you have not been courted by a young man?"
I smile politely. "My uncle and I have moved around a great deal," I explain. "I'm afraid we have never settled anywhere long enough for such things to happen."
"I see," he replies with a smile. "I was starting to think that perhaps you prefer older gentlemen. After all, young men can be so insubstantial."
"I'm sure," I say, hoping for this conversation to be over soon.
"But you hope to be married one day?" he asks. "And of course, to have children?"
