He’s changing. She closed her bedroom door behind her and gazed at the little blanket fort they’d made. He was never really outgoing. Neither of us was. But since Mum’s accident, he’s talking less, making less jokes, spending more time in his books… It’s like he doesn’t want to live in the real world anymore.
Am I changing, too? She rubbed her hands over her jeans and circled around the room, searching for something to distract her from her thoughts. The Polaroid camera, May’s present, sat on her dresser. Tara took it and flipped it over, checking inside. It held a full pack of film.
She’d tried photography for a stint when she was twelve and had even won an amateur contest with a luckily timed snap of a bird yawning. It had been years since she’d touched a camera, though, and she’d never used a Polaroid.
Some pictures of the farmhouse and its surroundings would add colour to her blog, but neither the Folcrofts nor the library had a scanner. I’ll just have to wait until I get home to upload them. The idea that she might not be leaving the Folcrofts’ for a long time threatened again, and she slipped the camera’s strap around her neck before maudlin could sink its claws into her. She skipped down the groaning staircase and passed May in the kitchen. “Can I help with lunch?”
“Thank you, Tara, that’s very sweet of you.” May’s smile crinkled her eyes as she spread condiments over bread. “But I’m all right here. Go and have some fun.”
Tara nodded and stepped through the front door. A scattering of grey clouds kept the sun from being too warm, so she zipped her jacket up to her chin as she strode across the lawn.
She followed the driveway as far as where the trees opened into the clearing, and turned back to take a picture of the house. The building was old and weathered, but it looked almost regal with the woods rising up the mountain behind it. Tara tried to guess which window belonged to her room and which was Kyle’s, but there were too many for her to be sure. She lifted the camera to her eye, made sure she’d framed the building properly, and snapped the picture.
The camera whirred, and a black Polaroid slid out. Tara stared at the square for a moment before remembering she wasn’t supposed to get light on it, and slipped it into her pocket to develop. She turned and followed the clearing in a circle around the house. Several narrow, overgrown paths speared into the woods, and Tara made a mental note to see where they went later.
Soft scraping noises came from behind the house, and as Tara rounded the corner, she found the source. Peter dug trenches in the garden. He grunted and nodded as he saw her, and she lifted the camera. “Can I take a picture?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t stop to pose, so Tara snapped the shutter mid-dig, hoping it would come out all right. She slid the undeveloped Polaroid into her pocket as she approached her grandfather. “Are you planting something?”
“Yep. Potatoes here.” He dug the shovel into the ground and leaned on it as he waved a hand across the plot. “Carrots are already planted there. Once it’s a bit closer to spring, we’ll start on the lettuce and herbs.”
“I’d like to try gardening. We never had room at our old place. Just a couple of flower pots on the porch.”
Peter snorted. “I don’t see the point in growing what you can’t eat. But May likes flowers, so we always keep a few patches around. You can watch them come out in spring.”
Tara fidgeted with the camera. “If we get to visit again in spring, sure.”
Instead of answering, he stomped his foot into the shovel, digging up a fresh clump of dirt. Tara watched for a moment then continued through the garden, admiring the neatly dug trenches and bare pickets that would hold climbing plants in a few months.
She’d nearly circled around the house when she heard May calling from the porch. “Tara! Peter! Lunch is ready.”
May had prepared platters of several kinds of sandwiches—more than the four of them could hope to finish in a meal—along with a pitcher of juice and two new types of soft drink for Kyle.
“I can always make something warm if you prefer.” She fussed around them, filling cups and patting Tara’s hair before taking her apron off and settling into her own seat. “It’s a cold day, after all. And if you want something sweet, I have biscuits in the oven. Peter, how’s the garden coming along?”
“Good.” He chewed on one of the sandwiches and lifted his eyebrows. “Gonna finish the potatoes this afternoon.”
“You’ll have time to take the kids down to the lake, won’t you? You promised you would.”
“Yep. We’ll go after lunch.”
May beamed and patted his hand. “That sounds lovely.”
They ate quickly, and Peter stood and pulled on his long jacket. He disappeared into the house while Tara and Kyle washed their hands, and when he returned, he was carrying a long, sleek rifle.
“Wha—” Tara took a reflexive step away from the gun, bumping into Kyle, who’d moved behind her.
Peter snorted, amusement evident in his face. “Don’t panic. It’s for the cougars, not you.”
“Is it… legal?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Tara wanted to believe him.
May came up behind them and rubbed warm hands over their shoulders. “You almost never see the cougars, but it’s still wise to have some defence when you’re in the forest. Don’t be afraid. Grandpa Peter knows what he’s doing.”
“Okay.” Tara hoped her voice sounded braver than she felt. She glanced at Kyle and saw he was watching her for cues. She forced a smile for his benefit and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
7
The Lake
Peter slung the rifle over his shoulder as he led them around the back of the house. His paces were quick and long, and Tara had to jog to keep up. He took them past the vegetable garden and into one of the trails that wove through the woods.
Despite the overcast sky, the pace warmed Tara up quickly, and she tied her jacket around her waist. Peter led them over fallen trees and down steep banks, his long legs making the job look easy, and Tara was breathless by the time the path widened and the ground levelled out.
Birds flitted through the trees, and she could hear their wings rustling and muted, quick calls. The crackle of dry leaves betrayed the presence of something larger and heavier just out of sight, and she was suddenly grateful Peter had brought the rifle. Peter seemed unconcerned by their unseen companion. His face was peaceful, and his breathing deep and even.
“There it is,” Kyle hissed.
Tara peered through the thinning trees and saw the sparkle of light on water. The road took a final bend, then they were at the lakeshore. The egg-shaped lake, filled with stunning, crystalline blue water, stretched toward the mountains. The ridges rose around it, creating a natural bowl, and the water was perfectly still except for when a breeze nudged it.
“It gets fuller when it rains,” Peter said. “It’s fed by the Calif River, which comes down the mountains. There’s about eight different types of fish in it, but only two grow big enough to make a proper meal.”
“It’s beautiful,” Tara murmured. She moved closer to the lake’s edge, but a steep embankment separated her from the water.
Peter nodded to their right. “There’s a pier down there.”
Tara and Kyle exchanged a glance, then they were racing each other to the wooden boards jutting out over the water. Kyle beat her—just barely—and Tara gasped in laughing breaths as she followed him down the dock. Lazy waves created slapping sounds as they hit the pier’s supports. Kyle followed it to the end and bent over to peer into the water.
Peter’s feet made the weathered boards groan as he followed them. “Can both you kids swim?”
“Sure,” Tara said. “We lived near the beach. Mum used to take us there on weekends when she wasn’t working.”
“You can swim here, too, if you like. Just make sure you tell either May or myself first. It’s good to have someone who’ll keep an eye out.”
“Fo
r the cougars?” Kyle asked. “Or are there, like, crocodiles in the water?”
“No crocodiles. Just some leeches.” Peter fell quiet for a moment, watching as Tara leant forward to dip her hand into the water. “My sister and I used to swim down here when we were kids. Anna loved the water. My mother used to say she should have been born with gills. We were all shocked when she drowned.”
Tara, not sure she’d heard him right, turned. He stood just behind them. His eyes had taken on a hint of sadness as he stared across the water. “She was eight. We’d finished our chores and had an hour before dinner, so she wanted to go for a swim. I sat right where you are, Kyle, and watched her dive as deep as she could. She went down again and again, pulling up handfuls of seaweed and sometimes little crabs, but then one time, she just didn’t come up at all.”
Kyle had pulled away from the dock’s edge and wrapped his arms around his torso. His eyes were huge as he fixated on the rolling blue that suddenly seemed too deep and too dark.
“We never found her body.” Peter exhaled, sounding much older than he looked. “We searched for days, but the lake has currents, and once something’s lost in it, you’re not likely to find it again.”
Tara opened her mouth, but words failed her.
“Sometimes I come down here and talk to her. I like to think she stayed with the lake she loved so much. Like she’s a part of it now.”
“I want to go home.” Kyle’s words came out as a whisper, but the air was calm enough that they both heard him clearly.
Peter looked at his grandson, faint surprise touching his expression as though he’d forgotten they were there. “All right.” His boots thudded on the pier as he made his way back towards the woods.
Tara held her hand out to Kyle. He took it with a grateful sigh and clung to her as they followed Peter back into the woods.
The walk back was less relaxing than the earlier hike. The birdcalls seemed faintly ominous, and the narrow, winding path felt claustrophobic. Tara was thankful when the trees opened up, and they stepped into the clearing.
“You kids okay from here?” Peter asked. “I’d like to spend some more time at the lake.”
Kyle didn’t answer, so Tara nodded for him. “Yeah, we’re good.”
He turned and disappeared back into the trees. Tara watched him go then squeezed Kyle’s hand. “He didn’t mean to scare you.”
Kyle’s face had taken on an awful grey-green shade. “I never want to go back there again.”
“You don’t have to.”
He nodded then let Tara lead him back towards the house.
She knew why he was so upset. His imagination was always working, and he would have already relived death by drowning a dozen times since hearing Peter’s story about Anna.
Peter didn’t realise the effect it would have on Kyle. He probably just thought it was an interesting story—a bit of family history. He couldn’t have known that sort of stuff gives Kyle nightmares.
When they stepped through the front door, the house seemed strangely quiet. May had cleaned away their lunch, but Tara couldn’t hear her anywhere else in the house. “Want to go upstairs?” she asked.
Kyle nodded.
The air in the stairwell felt stuffy and old. Kyle’s hand was clammy, and breathing felt harder than normal. She passed the door to her own room and continued to Kyle’s. The bronze handle wouldn’t turn. She frowned. “It won’t open.”
“No, it won’t.”
Both she and Kyle twitched from shock. May stood at the top of the staircase, hands folded neatly over her maroon-striped dress. She smiled, but her eyes were strangely emotionless. “We can’t go into that room. The door swelled and froze shut some years ago. Kyle’s room is the next one along.”
“Oh—of course. Sorry.” Tara had forgotten that Kyle’s room wasn’t next to hers. She turned, Kyle still clinging to her hand, and led him through the correct door.
Her heart was beating too quickly, and she pressed a hand to her chest to quiet it. May had followed them silently—something Tara hadn’t thought was possible on the creaky staircase. Kyle finally released her hand and went to the bed, where he’d arranged his books in a semi-circle. He sat in the middle of them, almost as if they created a physical shield, and opened one. Within seconds, he was senseless to the world around him.
Tara didn’t want to sit alone in her room, so she crossed to the window instead. The forest behind the house took on a darker ambience when the sunlight faded, and she watched as a cluster of black birds flitted out of the trees, circled, and swooped back into the boughs. She closed her eyes and drew in a series of slow, steady breaths.
May had said the other room’s door was jammed shut. That wasn’t true, though—Tara had felt the handle catch when she turned it. The door was locked.
Why would she lie about something like that? And what’s in the room that she needs to hide it from us?
Tara turned back to Kyle. The furrow between his eyebrows told her he was still upset about the lake, though the books seemed to be doing a good job of distracting him. She sat next to him, picked up a volume with a painted dragon on the cover, and tried to read. Her eyes glazed over before the end of the second page, so she tossed it back onto the bed and flopped onto her back.
Something firm poked at her hip, and Tara felt inside her pocket to find the two Polaroid photos she’d taken before lunch. She pulled them out to see how they’d developed.
The colours were off, but Tara thought they looked cool. She grinned as she looked between the one showing the house and the photo she’d taken of Peter. A blur in the second photo caught her attention, and she squinted as she held it close to her nose. “Hey, Kyle?”
“Mmm?”
“Take a look at this. What does it look like to you?”
He sighed as he pulled his attention away from the page and held out a hand. Tara gave him the photo then pointed to the shape behind Peter’s shoulder. Kyle’s face scrunched up. “I dunno; looks like you’re a rubbish photographer.”
“Don’t be rude. Doesn’t it look like a person? There’s the head. That bit would be the shoulder…”
Kyle snorted. “It’s a camera glitch.” He hesitated, tilted his head to one side, and frowned. “What, do you think it’s, like…”
“I don’t know what it is. Just that it looks like a person.” Tara pulled the photo back her way to re-examine the grey shape. It was smudgy, but it really did give the impression of a tall, thin man standing a few paces behind Peter. “You’re probably right. It must be a glitch. Peter was moving when I took the photo, so maybe that blurred part of it.”
They both continued to stare at the picture. Kyle worried at his lip. “Those white points would be the eyes. And there’s even a fuzzy bit down by Peter’s side that looks like a hand… you don’t think it could be, like, a ghost, do you?”
Tara snatched the photo back, feeling stupid for scaring Kyle again when he’d already had a bad day. “Nah, just a glitch,” she insisted, her tone firm. “I think it looks pretty cool, though.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, but his face collapsed back into anxiety within a second. “It is.”
8
Journal
“Don’t you like coleslaw, Tara?”
Tara startled at her name. She realised she’d been picking at her food, and managed a smile. “No, no, it’s lovely. Thanks, May. Just a lot on my mind.”
May made small comforting noises in the back of her throat and ran a hand down Tara’s hair. “I know. Everything’s so different. It’s a lot to take in. But you know your Grandpa Peter and I are here to help. We want you to be happy.”
“Thanks.” Tara scooped up a forkful of the coleslaw. May had made it and the dressing from scratch. It tasted worlds apart from the store-bought kind her mother got, and Tara felt a swell of longing for their old home.
Sensing May’s eyes on her, she tried her hardest to look happy as she ate. It didn’t help that Kyle hadn’t spoken a word since being cal
led down for dinner. May continued to scrutinise her for a moment then rose to fill the kettle.
“Peter and I were just saying earlier how nice it is to have children in the home again. Family really is the most important thing in the world to us. We want you both to be happy here. Especially as we hope you’ll be spending a lot more time with us from now on.”
Her tone was light and happy, but the words dropped a veil of unease over Tara. Kyle seemed to sense the implication as well and frowned as he swallowed a mouthful of food.
Tara cleared her throat. “Maybe Mum can bring us here for holidays.”
“Yes.” May’s long fingers folded together as she beamed at him. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
A silence fell over them, but it wasn’t the ordinary, comfortable kind. Tara hunted for something to break it with. “I was just thinking… I know almost nothing about you two. Do you work?”
May laughed as she fetched teacups and laid them out beside the boiling kettle. “Oh, goodness no, not for a long time. Peter’s parents invested wisely and left him a tidy little nest egg, so we were able to retire early.”
“What did you do before you retired?”
Peter and May exchanged a very brief glance, then Peter said, “May looked after the house. I did a bit of farm work.”
“And, of course, we’ve always been very involved with the local community,” May said. “Fetes, fundraisers, festivals…”
Tara put her cutlery back on her plate. “Did you have any other children? Mum didn’t talk about siblings.”
“Sadly no.” The kettle clicked off, and May turned away as she poured the boiling water. “I would have loved more children, but life decided to withhold that blessing. Still—it worked out all right, didn’t it? You’re both delightful. I’ve never known such sweet children.” She placed a cup beside Tara and stroked her hair again. “I know you must miss your mother dreadfully. But your grandfather Peter will take care of you. Now, would you like to play a game before bed?”
The Folcroft Ghosts Page 4
