Peyton was stunned as the girl, wearing only a nightgown, grabbed the barrel of the gun. Only then did Peyton notice the woman on the bed. Her pale face was etched in fear.
"Get out of the way, Caitlyn!" the man shouted at the girl.
"No, I won't, Daddy!" she spat. "Don't hurt Mama!"
He tried to shake the gun barrel away from her as if a mere nuisance, but she showed grit and determination to protect her mother.
In the process of their struggle, the gun went off and the girl pedaled backwards, clutching her stomach with blood spilling out. She fell down onto her back. Her nearly lifeless eyes seemed to focus on Peyton, as if asking for her help.
Peyton looked at the girl's father and cried in desperation, "Please, stop this! Don't shoot anyone else."
As if deaf to her words, the man turned the shotgun on the woman in bed, who was screaming hysterically.
Feeling she had to do something, Peyton sprang toward him, hoping against hope that she could somehow prevent further tragedy.
Before she reached him, the shotgun went off. Peyton faced the bed, petrified at what she expected to see...
* * *
Peyton opened her eyes to darkness. Drenched in sweat, her heart was racing wildly, throat aching as if she had been trying to scream with nothing coming out. She'd had another one of her recurring nightmares. Only this time it was more terrifying than ever.
While trying to make sense of it, Peyton was given a start when, before her very eyes, a girl appeared at the side of the bed. It was the same girl from the bay, mirror, and her dreams. The one her father called Caitlyn. She even wore the nightgown Peyton remembered in the dream. But there was no bloody hole where she'd been shot.
Peyton's eyes widened in dismay and she wondered if she might actually still be asleep. "Are you really there?" she whispered, afraid to speak louder.
The girl nodded, but said nothing. Peyton was still confused. If the girl was a ghost, she wasn't in a ghostly form. Though there was a definite glow to her against the backdrop of darkness, Peyton did not consider the girl to be an apparition. She wanted to reach out and touch her to be sure, but thought better.
"Are you Caitlyn?" Peyton sat up. "Weren't you just in my dream--with your mother, father, and another man?"
The girl looked confused, as if Peyton were speaking in a foreign language.
"It's you and your parents in that picture in the attic--am I right?"
There was no response.
Peyton was determined to get some answers before her courage disappeared. "You were the girl in the bay; then the mirror, right?"
The girl remained mute.
"Say something. Please tell me I'm not imagining all this?"
The girl favored Peyton with a deadpan look, but still did not speak.
"Why are you here?" Peyton asked with trepidation, not sure she really wanted to know. "What do you want with me?"
The girl seemed to ponder this and then lifted a long, frail arm, pointing her finger at the wall.
Peyton turned and fixed her eyes on the words in red that formed on the wall like fire.
"Yes, I'm Caitlyn. You must help me before it's too late for all of us."
"How?" Peyton asked, even as she tried to come to terms with the fact that she was apparently communicating with a dead person. "I don't know if I can help you."
More words suddenly appeared on the wall.
"It's the only way to prevent it from happening all over again."
"Prevent what?" Peyton tried to play dumb, but she had a pretty good idea what Caitlyn was talking about. The dream said it all. Her father had gone berserk and shot her mother, Caitlyn, and another man.
But if it really happened in the past, what can I do to change history?
Caitlyn held her gaze before moving toward the door. Peyton wondered if she would open it, go through it, or what. Instead, when Caitlyn got to the door, she looked back once more at Peyton, as though a final plea for help, then simply vanished as though never there.
Peyton's first thought was that this was all part of the same weird dream she was unable to escape. Even while awake. Or was she actually still asleep, but didn't know it?
Then she realized Caitlyn must have wanted her to follow her, sort of, into the hall.
Though frightened of what may be on the other side of the door, Peyton was more afraid of doing nothing. She reached over and cut on the lamp. After adjusting her eyes, she looked at the wall where the chilling words were scribbled. They were no longer there, which left Peyton wondering whether the whole thing had only been an illusion or if she was truly losing her mind.
Did I really see Caitlyn just now in my room? How do I know that's even her real name and not just one my subconscious created?
Was she really asking me to help her?
Peyton climbed out of bed and went to the door. After taking a deep breath, she opened it, expecting to see the girl on the other side.
Instead there was only darkness, sliced into by the light from Peyton's room. She stepped gingerly into the hall, as if she might drop all the way to the ground floor. There was no sign of Caitlyn.
Then Peyton spotted what appeared to be drops of blood leading down the hall. She began to follow the trail as if her life depended on it. The blood drops stopped at the spare bedroom at the end of the hallway.
Peyton stood at the closed door, her pulse quickening. Should I or shouldn't I?
The decision was made. I have to see if Caitlyn is in there. Maybe she's hurt or something.
Peyton twisted the doorknob. Stepping inside the room, she found the light switch. She gasped when she saw the man on the floor. He had been shot in the chest and was moaning in agony. A puddle of blood lay beneath him, a red roadmap leading from the door.
The man looked familiar.
It was the man who had been shot by Caitlyn's father in Peyton's dreams.
What is he doing in our house? Is the person who shot him here, too?
"Help me..." the man slurred, reaching a bloody hand out to Peyton.
She froze.
"Please..."
"I-I can't," she stammered. "I mean, I have to get my--"
"No time--" he grunted, coughing up blood.
Peyton took tentative steps toward him. "Who are you?"
He moaned something indecipherable.
The closer Peyton got, the more she realized he was in really bad shape--too bad for her to help him single-handedly. She started to back away. But with speed that caught her off guard, he latched a viselike bloody hand around her ankle.
"Let me go!" she yelled, seeking to wriggle free of his powerful grasp.
But he only tightened it, essentially making Peyton his prisoner. His face was contorted in anguish and anger.
All Peyton could see was that he was a danger to her and her mother and stepfather. Using her other foot, she kicked him in the side. He groaned in pain, spitting out more blood, releasing her ankle in the process. She quickly backpedaled toward the door, afraid to look away and allow him to grab her again.
Peyton suddenly felt her shoulders gripped tightly from behind. She screamed, knowing it must be the man who had shot him--Caitlyn's father.
And now he planned to shoot her, too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Peyton fought to break free from the heavy hands on her shoulders. Through her scream, she heard the voice bellow, "Peyton, calm down! It's just me...Vance--"
Swiveling around, Peyton looked up at her stepfather's face, still apprehensive. She saw alarm etched in his eyes.
"Vance...I thought it was--"
"What on earth has gotten into you, Peyton?"
She stopped flailing, somehow feeling protected by him, given the alternative.
Her mother came up behind Vance. "What is it, honey?"
Peyton gulped. "That man...he's been shot--"
"What man?" Vance asked.
"The one behind me...on the floor..." She couldn't bear to look at him aga
in.
"There's no man on the floor, Peyton."
"There has to be," she insisted.
"We don't see anyone," Melody stated.
Peyton sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to look; sure she would see the bloodied man even if they couldn't.
The floor was completely empty. There was not even a trail of blood like before.
She broke free of Vance's hold and looked around the room, as if expecting the injured man to be hiding somewhere amidst the furnishings. But he had seemingly vanished. Just like Caitlyn had at the door of her bedroom.
"You must've had another bad dream, sweetheart," her mother said.
"No, it wasn't a dream, Mom." Peyton shuddered. "He was here. I saw him and I wasn't sleepwalking! There was blood leading down the hall to this room."
Vance cut on the hall light and peered. "Where is this blood?"
Peyton moved past them into the hall and saw no sign of blood drops. Had she conjured up the whole thing against her wishes?
"But the girl..." she uttered weakly.
"What girl?" Vance asked.
"The one I saw in the bay."
"What's she got to do with this?"
"She asked for my help--well, I mean, she kind of asked. There was red writing on the wall--" Peyton looked at her mother, knowing how ridiculous this must sound. At this point she didn't care, needing to speak her mind about what was going on. "She appeared in my room. It was the same girl from the photograph. Her name is Caitlyn--"
Melody cocked a brow. "How do you know that?
"She told me."
"What photograph are we talking about?" asked Vance, looking totally befuddled. "Would someone please tell me what's going on?"
Melody frowned. "We were up in the attic the other day and there was an old photograph of a family who apparently once lived here." She paused. "Peyton thought the teenage girl in it was the same one she saw in the bay..."
"You're not serious about this, right?" Vance looked at Peyton.
"Wrong," she responded sharply. "It's the truth!"
"She's just confused," Melody suggested. "Whatever's happening to Peyton, I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation that we can figure out together."
"I'm not confused!" Peyton said defensively, though doubting her own words. "This house is haunted, even if I'm the only one who can see it. That man in the picture shot his wife and daughter, Caitlyn, and another man a long time ago. Now they won't leave me alone and I don't know why."
Vance fixed her with hard eyes. "Listen, this has got to stop, Peyton. You hear me? There's no haunted house or ghosts living here...or in the bay. We can't keep going through this every time you have a...I don't know...episode. Now I think we should all go back to bed and just forget about this."
Tears welled up in Peyton's eyes as she looked at her mother. "You have to believe me, Mom. I know what I saw tonight. Something's terribly wrong in this house and none of us are safe as long as we turn and look the other way."
Melody touched Peyton's cheek. "We'll talk about it in the morning, dear."
"But it might be too late by then."
"Nothing is going to happen to any of us over the next few hours, Peyton. We'll be more clear-headed to discuss this after some sleep."
Peyton supposed she was right. The danger seemed to have passed for the moment. Or so she hoped. But trying to figure out what Caitlyn's dire warning meant would not be easy, especially when Peyton doubted she would get much support, with Vance more likely to want to cart her off to the funny farm for the rest of her life.
"Please don't let him put me away in a mental hospital," she told her mother.
"No one's talking about sending you anywhere, Peyton," Melody promised, and faced Vance. "Isn't that right?"
He rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, for now, we'll keep this in the family and see how it goes."
Peyton didn't like the sound of that, suggesting she was living on borrowed time before he considered her a basket case.
Unless I can somehow prove something I'm not even one hundred percent positive is happening.
"If you'd like, I'll stay with you for a while," Melody offered, after walking Peyton to her room.
"Would you?"
"Of course."
"Thanks, Mom."
Peyton wanted to be brave, but was a bit unnerved about being in her room alone. What if Caitlyn returned and was angry that there seemed to be no way to change history? Or what if the wounded man showed up asking for--no, demanding--help again?
* * *
Peyton tried to put the whole thing behind her the next day. There was no indication that Caitlyn--if that was really her name--had ever been in Peyton's room or caused words to appear on the wall. Or, for that matter, a badly injured, bloody man in the spare bedroom. Since it all happened after the nightmare, Peyton figured it must have been some sort of dream manifestation causing her to somehow blur ghoulish fantasy with reality.
Yet another part of Peyton was certain that what she had witnessed was anything but an overactive and scary imagination. Why would these things suddenly begin to happen after moving to Shadow Bay? Yes, she'd had horrible nightmares for months after her father's death. But nothing like this. No, there had to be something more to it than her mind simply conjuring up such evil thoughts.
During breakfast, Peyton avoided talking about last night. Neither her mother nor stepfather brought up the subject either, as if fearing it would trigger a relapse or negative reaction.
Vance went to work and her mother to the grocery store, after Peyton convinced her she would be fine by herself.
She decided to brave the attic alone, hoping to find out if there was anything else up there that might provide a clue as to who the people were.
Especially the girl.
But first, Peyton went to the study to get her cell phone from the cabinet where Vance had put it. She planned to use it to take some pictures or video in the attic. Only the cell phone was gone. Vance had obviously hidden it elsewhere.
She frowned. Guess I'll have to do without it this time, but I'll find it eventually.
Peyton climbed the attic stairs, conscious of every creak. She had second thoughts about following through, fearful that she was being watched.
Maybe I'm getting way too paranoid. Even if this house were haunted by ghosts, could they really hurt me?
Peyton put aside her qualms and went for it. She entered the attic and found the framed picture. It had fallen over. She distinctly remembered the photograph being upright when they left that day. There were two windows in the attic, but both were shut so there was no chance a gust of wind had done the trick.
Had her mother come back up and held the photograph?
Peyton studied it. She wanted to believe the resemblance between the family in the picture and those in her dream were purely coincidental. But was it? She sensed there was much more to it than that.
Was the girl's name really Caitlyn? Are you and your mother and that man who was shot dead now? Or are they still alive somewhere? No, that didn't make sense.
She set about to find some answers. Pouring through boxes, Peyton found mostly junk and no further clues about the family in the photo.
Then she found a photograph, this one small and unframed. It was in the bottom of a box of old magazines from the 1960s. The black and white picture was of the same teenage girl in the other photograph, accompanied by another girl around the same age. Peyton imagined it couldn't have been taken too much earlier or later than the family picture.
Could they be sisters?
Peyton studied the girl from her dreams and the bay. Are you Caitlyn? Do you really need my help?
Peyton jumped when she heard a sound behind her. Turning, she saw that a box had tipped over. Was it Caitlyn's way of getting her attention? Scanning the attic, she saw no one, real or imaginary.
Resisting the urge to bolt, Peyton went to the box and peeled off the tape that sealed it. Inside were some old toys and d
olls. She picked up a doll with long blonde hair that looked new, but was obviously from another era.
Wonder what I'd get for this on eBay?
A tag attached to the doll's arm read: To Caitlyn, from Mama.
So Caitlyn was a real person and not just my imagination.
Sensing a presence, Peyton turned around and saw Caitlyn. She was wearing a pretty pink dress and white shoes, as if about to go to Sunday school.
Peyton's first impulse was to run away as fast as she could. But that would only deepen the mystery of why the girl kept appearing to her. Besides, it seemed like there was no way to run and hide from a ghost who was determined to be seen. At least by her.
If only she had her cell phone, Peyton could have videotaped or taken a photo of the ghost girl to prove to her mom and others that she was real, or as real as a ghost could be. Yet Peyton had a feeling that it wouldn't have worked, as she was clearly a ghost who only made her presence known when she wanted to.
Peyton decided it was best to keep her cool and confront the ghost head on.
"Is this yours?" Peyton held up the doll.
The girl simply stared, but said nothing.
"Caitlyn, right?"
She nodded and might have even smiled.
"I'm Peyton, but you already know that."
Caitlyn nodded again.
"Why did you come to my room last night?" Peyton asked. "Was it to warn me about the man who was shot? I saw him in the spare bedroom."
Caitlyn moved her head up and down.
"Your father shot him, you, and then your mother."
Caitlyn nodded sadly.
"I'm sorry it happened, but why have you come to me?" Peyton eyed her. "Do you want me to stop it from happening?"
Caitlyn seemed to be trying to say something, but was voiceless.
"I can't help you fix something that's already taken place decades ago." Peyton wasn't sure if she was getting through to her. "Do you understand?"
Caitlyn moved towards Peyton. Peyton backed away, as if being touched would kill her or turn her into a zombie or something. When she could back up no more, Peyton, heart pounding, waited helplessly for what would happen next.
Ghost Girl in Shadow Bay: A Young Adult Haunted House Mystery Page 7
