Aquarius: Haunted Heart

by Sèphera Girón

Maria stared at her with large brown eyes wide with speculation and wonder with a bit of fear around the edges.

  “Well... everyone knows,” Maria said softly. She braced herself for Madeline’s response. To her surprise, Madeline only narrowed her eyes in confusion.

  “What?” Madeline asked.

  “What you did,” Maria stammered, fumbling with her locker door as she tried to shut it. One of her books slid from her arms and slammed to the ground, papers spilling out in a fan around it.

  “What was it that I did?” Madeline kneeled to help Maria gather up the papers. Students walked along the hallway, oblivious to the girls whispering on the floor.

  “You know. You put out,” Maria sighed. “And I have to say, I didn’t think you were the type.” She stood and snatched her papers from Madeline’s hands. Madeline rose shakily, using the locker for support.

  “Put out? Me?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes, you.”

  Madeline’s mind raced. Even as a 31-year-old adult, she still felt the pang of dismay and disappointment that had spread through her belly like a parasite. The sensation took hold and clung to her, and she had never been able to shake it.

  Jimmy had lied. He had betrayed her.

  Her friend had actually betrayed her.

  When Madeline was finally able to put her thoughts together enough to speak again, she was trembling.

  “I didn’t do anything. In fact, I pushed him away when he tried to shove his hand down my pants. I can’t believe he used me like that.”

  “Oh, come on, Madeline. Everyone knows you go to the park with him on a regular basis to make out,” Maria said as she straightened the books and papers in her arms.

  Madeline grew pale, and she slammed the locker door. She snapped the lock tight and double-checked it. The lock held.

  “We necked, sure,” she said. “I’m not going to deny it, but who knew? We never saw anyone, or at least very rarely.”

  Maria stared at Madeline.

  “You really don’t know?” she asked.

  “What’s there to know?”

  “We all knew all along. He always told Bobby McFarland in great detail about the stuff you got into. And you know what a big mouth Bobby has...”

  Madeline took a deep breath. The gnawing in her stomach grew, and there was a tightening that made her want to vomit.

  “So he never liked me,” she sighed. “He was using me.”

  “You really thought he liked you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he always acted like he didn’t know you at school. At least, except when you were paired up in classes for projects. How could you think he liked you?”

  Even at that tender age, Madeline had learned that sometimes people didn’t understand what she thought. She knew she could never explain to Maria how she felt that she and Jimmy had a special friendship. They were buddies who liked to catch snakes and walk along the railroad tracks, and they were make-out buddies learning how to explore a body of the opposite sex. Wasn’t that special?

  She realized the horrible truth that day. It wasn’t. Nothing was special to anyone. She had been blinded by TV shows and movies that romanticized the kind of friendship they had. The reality was cold and grim. She walked away from Maria and down the hallway and went to English class.

  The teasing followed her until graduation. Dating was a nightmare of pushing away drunken guys who thought she was a sure thing. Eventually word got out that she was frigid or a lesbian, and she preferred it that way.

  By the time she hit university, she had grown a shell of indifference toward men. Now and again, she’d indulge herself when she’d one too many beers, but she was always grateful they never stayed.

  In her late twenties, she had met a man who had changed her life. He was quirky and fun, and they shared a curiosity about the afterlife. Their time together was far too short, and within a few months, he was dead.

  A car crash with a drunk driver. One minute he was talking to her on his cell phone. The next minute, eternal silence.

  The pain of losing him tore at her like a knife, opening the old wounds and creating new scars. Instead of sharing her pain with her loved ones, she pushed it down and gained twenty pounds. Madeline closed up again and returned to her revolving bedroom of indifference.

  Men were interchangeable. Half of their names, she couldn’t recall. The wall was thick, and no one could penetrate it. Several had tried but had given up in frustration.

  However, the wall was beginning to crumble. A small portion of her watched as her friends Maggie and Natasha had each fallen in love. Those two ladies were as cynical as she was, and they had both managed to find rather decent men within the past couple of months.

  She knew that as the planets aligned, this month could be her month to find romance. And she thought she knew where to begin her search.

  She turned from the mirror and thought about the night before her. She was going to record a séance at a pretty renowned place, The Sleepyhead Inn, and had to fling into gear.

  Still warm from the shower, she scurried around the bedroom, pulling together clothes before the February chill took hold.

  A lot of local people held séances in the winter in Hermana. Many of the homes were bed and breakfasts and had a thriving tourist industry in the summer. When the snowy New England winters hit, tourists didn’t venture out to the seaside town, and the locals could unravel their own secrets in peace.

  As Madeline passed by her computer in the living room, she flipped the mouse and clicked on her horoscope for the day.

  Keep to your New Year’s resolution.

  Madeline laughed. Hadn’t she just been thinking about that damn gym? No matter, it had been only two weeks since she’d last gone. There had been so much going on. People not only enjoyed having séances, but they wanted the added bonus of recording any paranormal activity. That’s where she came in.

  She checked her digital tape recorder, her still camera, her video camera and her infrared camera. As always, she threw in two extra packages of batteries for each piece of equipment. These séances had a way of sucking the life out of the cameras, and she always ran out of battery power no matter how many she brought.

  Every camera lens was dusted and checked and packed away. She double-checked for her chargers. She found a small box and threw in pens, paper, string, tape and other assorted things that could come in handy at the spur of the moment.

  The day passed quickly as she made notes about what she hoped to accomplish and drew up lists about images she wanted to capture. She printed off several pages of charts and graphs so they were ready for her to record anything she might experience.

  After eating a piece of leftover pizza and half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz, Madeline washed up and then pulled on her investigative journalist gear. She wore a warm black turtleneck, black jeans, a large crystal around her neck and crystal drop earrings. Her hands were adorned with a ring on every finger that held a different gemstone. Cut and polished amethyst, ruby, garnet, aquamarine and amber sparkled from her hands.

  Before she left, she checked her paranormal research group message board. There was some discussion about the house she was investigating that night, The Sleepyhead Inn. It had been written up in the top fifty of America’s paranormal houses one year.

  Ghost hunters speculated that not only was the house built upon land that had once been a graveyard, but also several unexplained deaths had happened there.

  The Sleepyhead Inn had been a bed and breakfast for only four years. Before that, it had been passed down in the family and was a private home. Guests often complained about strange noises and frightening visions.

  Ghostman888 said he’d been at the house before but was unable to record anything he’d heard. Vincent78 said he had seen pictures of orbs and ectoplasm taken at the house on the Internet but had no idea if they were real.

  Madeline read with interest different theories about who was haunting th
e place and why. The discussion didn’t leave ideas about the graveyard spirits untouched, as perhaps parts of bodies had been left behind during the mass exhumation.

  Jake75 offered theories of the murderers being ordinary people driven mad by the ghastly sights and sounds they had witnessed. Madeline stared at his icon.

  Jake’s profile picture was of a wavy patch of ectoplasm he had shot during a stay at a haunted asylum in Texas. Madeline had been to his website many times to read his ghost-hunting journal and to stare at his pictures.

  There were several albums of orbs and creepy buildings, but the album she enjoyed the most contained pictures of Jake at conventions and book signings and parties. His deep blue eyes stared intensely into the camera under locks of thick, curly, black hair. He almost always was deeply tanned, as he lived in California and spent a lot of time at haunted lighthouses by night and beaches by day. He often talked about surfing and hoped to one day go on a deep-sea dive to an abandoned wreck.

  She wondered what he was like in real life.

  Sometimes she would lie awake at night and think about Jake’s pictures. She imagined his arms wrapped around her, his lips pressed against hers as he thrust into her. The idea of it inevitably ended with her rubbing her hand against her pussy, her pelvis thrusting. She could almost feel the ripples of his muscles along his back as his pumped into her. Always when she came, she remembered he was just a picture on her computer. She would never meet him in real life. He lived somewhere along the coast in California, and she was here in Hermana, on the opposite side of the continent.

  But maybe she could change that.

  As she gathered her equipment, she thought about inviting him and some of the others from the online group to help her capture activity at the Kelly Proctor house when she went there in a couple of days. She had mentioned it a few times, and there was always interest in the place. Maybe she should formally extend an invitation and see if anyone would bite.

  She buttoned up her coat and smiled.

  That would be exactly what she would do.

  Imagine if she created a team of investigators that went to haunted houses all across North America. They could shoot documentaries of their expeditions and put them on YouTube. She could write books about their adventures, even self-publish books about her adventures, and give up her freelance work.

  Dreaming was always nice, but there was work to be done. Madeline piled her belongings by the door and double-checked that she had everything. It was very likely she was forgetting something.

  She paused as she stared at her gear. Then she remembered. Her purse.

  She chuckled as she went to retrieve her large, heavy canvas bag from the couch. It never failed. There was always something.

  As she locked the door, she hoped she had remembered everything.

  Chapter Two

  The answer isn’t always in front of you.

  By the time Madeline arrived at the creaky, old homestead, everyone had arrived except for Natasha. The hostess, Mrs. Audrey Vandercamp, introduced Madeline quickly to the eager guests. There was Audrey’s daughter Melissa with her husband Joe, and friends Richard Hammersmith and Natalie Clemmons. As the small group made introductions, a loud thump from came from above them. Everyone stopped talking and waited in silence.

  “What was that?” Natalie asked, looking up at the ceiling.

  “I have no idea,” Audrey responded. She patted her gray bun primly. “Might be one of the ghost cats. They tend to jump around now and again.”

  “I heard it,” Madeline said as she checked her camera. “Ghost cats, sometimes a dog barking, and who knows what else?”

  “People crying,” Natalie said. “I’ve heard it myself.”

  “Yes, wailing in the night. Ugh.” Melissa shuddered. “My whole childhood, seemed like all the time, all this moaning and crying. Yet when you try to follow the sound, you can never find it. I don’t know how you ever get repeat guests here.”

  “A lot of people are attracted by the mystery. And many more, believe or not, just don’t hear it.”

  “How can you not hear it?” Melissa said. “Lord, sometimes they are so loud I swear you can hear them down on the beach.”

  “Sometimes only people sensitive to such sounds can hear it. Natasha is sure to be able to tell you more about it all when she gets here.” Madeline looked toward the door. It wasn’t like Natasha to be late. And as of that moment, Natasha was officially late. Madeline checked her cell phone to see if there were any messages from Natasha but found none.

  “It’s not so late,” Audrey said looking at her watch. “It’s only five minutes.”

  “But you don’t know Natasha. She’s like clockwork. She’s always early,” Madeline said.

  “Should we be concerned?” Audrey asked.

  “I wouldn’t be. It’s snowing pretty hard out there.”

  No sooner had Richard drawn back the living room curtain than Madeline saw Natasha’s tall dark, form was picking her way carefully up the snow-covered stairs. The snow was coming down so thick and hard that the path Richard had shovelled an hour earlier was already covered.

  “Oh, good. She’s here,” Madeline said hurrying to the front door. Without a thought about where she was or whose house she was in, she opened the door and let Natasha in.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Natasha said. “It’s pretty bad out there.”

  Madeline helped her off with her coat and noticed how dishevelled Natasha looked. Natasha usually wore a bit of makeup and even in rough weather had neatly controlled hair. But this Natasha had rings under her eyes, not a drop of mascara, and her long, dark hair was wild with static electricity.

  Looking around to see if the others were listening, Madeline whispered, “Are you okay?”

  “Sure, I’m fine.” Natasha tried to meet her gaze but faltered. “Just a bit weak today. And Gus is going through some stuff.”

  “Should we cancel and make it another night?” Madeline asked.

  “Oh no. I’m fine. Really. This will take my mind off stuff.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Really.” Natasha took Madeline’s hand into her own icy grip and stared into her eyes. “Everything is fine.”

  Madeline nodded, thinking Natasha was trying to convince herself rather than Madeline.

  Once Natasha had removed her coat and boots, she entered the small front living room where everyone watched her expectantly. Madeline noticed the mood had changed from lively to nervous by Natasha’s mere presence.

  Both Madeline and Natasha were used to this reaction to one of Hermana’s most gifted mediums. Natasha was tall, beautiful, pale and dark-haired. Her large, brown eyes were practically black, especially when she was looking into the other worlds. She almost always wore black, often in warm fabrics such as velvet and fleece. Natasha preferred to wear long, black dresses, but she often wore slacks in foul weather. She was what many people would call a Goth, and her demeanor sometimes came across as disengaged even when she was greatly interested in something.

  Madeline often thought Natasha’s distance had to do with her ability to straddle the worlds. But she also had learned a lot more about Natasha in recent weeks and knew decades of secrets and hunger also made Natasha seem creepy and mysterious.

  When a client ordered a medium, she got a classic Hollywood horror-movie-inspired example when Natasha showed up on her doorstep. But she didn’t just look spooky—she was authentic.

  Natasha stared up at the ceiling, seeing what no one else could see. The tired pallor on her face at her entrance was replaced by trancelike awe as her lips and hands moved as though she was speaking to someone above her.

  Audrey was about to ask Natasha something, but Madeline touched her on the arm and shook her head. Audrey impatiently waited until Natasha was finished with her communication.

  Madeline busied herself by unpacking the rest of her equipment. “Where should I set up?” she asked Audrey.

  Audrey waved her hand toward the
next room, the dining room. A large table was set up in there and lots of chairs around it.

  “All the rooms are the same. You will hear stuff or you won’t. Depends on the day, though, and depends on other stuff too, I imagine.” Audrey sighed, and in that moment Madeline saw how truly old and tired the woman was. She had resigned herself to a life plagued by noises.

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s just me, or if there are guests, or who they are,” Audrey continued as Madeline organized her camera and tape recorder by the séance table.

  “This room will do. The table will fit us all quite nicely.” Madeline nodded.

  Natasha entered the room, her eyes bright from speaking with the dead.

  “I’m ready.” Natasha said. “You may call everyone and we shall begin.”

  Audrey passed along the word to the rest of the guests. They entered quietly, and each found a spot at the table, where Natasha sat at the head, looking regal in her black velvet gown. She had put a crystal locket around her neck and was anointing her third eye with lemon oil. The fruity smell made Madeline think of Lifesavers.

  “Everyone join hands,” Natasha instructed after she screwed the lid back onto the vial and replaced it in her purse. They joined hands as Natasha stared around the room. Madeline could swear she saw strands of Natasha’s hair lift and fall as if unseen hands were stroking her.

  “Welcome, my fellow soul explorers. Keep your feet flat on the floor, hands relaxed. Close your eyes and try to clear your mind.” Natasha spoke slowly, her accent teasing the words longer. “See blackness. Feel blackness.” She took a deep breath. “And most important of all, don’t forget to breathe.”

  Everyone followed her lead, inhaling and exhaling deeply. The sound made Madeline think of a giant beast lurking just out of sight.

  She positioned her video camera on the tripod, aimed it toward the séance table and clicked Play. As she looked through the viewfinder, the candles on the middle of the table seemed to leap and bounce as if dancing to unseen music. She could hear her mother saying it was the high-tempered glass or the cheap wax or the combination of cold wax and hot wax mixing together that was making the candles dance.