Mrs. Trask grabbed Caitlin’s chin, lifted it up, and stared her straight in the eyes. “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I’ll make sure you, and your friend, never work again.” She released Caitlin.
Devastated, Caitlin ran away.
CAITLIN HAD TO COVER HER ears her mother’s shouting was so loud. Overcome with anger, Erin then locked herself in her bedroom. Caitlin tried to stay awake and decide what to do next, but exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep in a heap on her bed.
She slept until the next morning and discovered her mother had left by the time she got up. Hoping Duncan might be able to help, she fled into her father’s darkroom. Duncan hovered near the door and had written the word sad in the dust on the floor. All Caitlin could do was break down into tears.
“Oh, Duncan. I lost my friend and I don’t know what to do,” she babbled through her crying jag.
Caitlin saw his ghost fingers write in the dust Stop crying. Go apologize.
She wiped the tears from her face. “Aye, you be right. Time to stop feelin’ sorry for myself.”
Duncan nodded, then faded away.
When she arrived at the Collins’ building, the entire floor of apartments in her friend’s tenement building was abuzz. Neighbors laughed and drank, someone was even playing the fiddle somewhere. Puzzled at the activity, Caitlin wound her way through a small throng of people to the open door of Jeanette’s apartment. Unlike where she lived, Jeanette’s tenement was grossly run down with paint peeling off the walls, holes big enough for rats to pass through, and mold growing from leaky pipes.
Caitlin entered the Collins’ apartment and saw Mrs. Collins showing off a lovely but simple dress to a group of friends. It was made of hunter-green wool with tiny chartreuse silk inserts around the skirt. The bodice had a high neckline embroidered with tiny flowers with matching cloth-covered buttons. There were no metal accents as that would not be appropriate for anyone of their station. Caitlin stared more than was polite as she knew Mrs. Collins could not afford such a dress. When Jeanette’s mother saw Caitlin she frowned and all her friends went silent. She jerked her head toward her daughter’s room. As soon as Caitlin was out of sight, the group chatted and laughed again.
The door to Jeanette’s room was blocked by trunks and two of Jeanette’s younger brothers sitting on top of them. Caitlin edged her way around them to find her friend packing her belongings.
“Jeanette? What’s going on?”
Her friend gestured at her siblings to get out. “Get. Now!”
“No,” they both whined in unison.
Jeanette gave them a look that said she meant it, and the boys high-tailed it out of there. Once they were gone, she went back to packing. “What do you want?”
“Why are you packing? And why does your mother have such a dress? She can’t afford it,” Caitlin asked, confused at the whole situation.
“That dress is mine, and it was a wedding gift,” Jeanette replied, her voice flat and emotionless.
“What? Who are you marrying?” When Jeanette failed to reply, Caitlin knew the answer. “You’re marrying the grocer’s son? Why? How could you do that?”
Jeanette slammed her trunk shut, whirled around, and confronted Caitlin. “Why? Because I lost my position. And even though Mrs. Trask has said nothing about the whys of it, everyone is whispering we did something wrong. Now I can’t find another one. No one will hire me.”
“I’m so sorry, Jeanette. Please let me help. I can teach you to read. Find you something better.” Caitlin pleaded.
Jeanette shook her head. “No. You’ve lied to me once. Who’s to say you won’t be doing it again?” She locked the trunk with a violent snap. “Now go. There be work to be done before the wedding.”
“It’s not too late, Jeanette. You don’t have to be doing this. The banns—”
“—be posted this morning.”
“Jeanette, please…,” Caitlin begged her friend, “Don’t be doing this. You deserve better.”
“That’s why I be doing this. So I can have better.” Jeanette puffed out her chest. “I’m going to be a Middle District lady someday.” With that, she turned her back on Caitlin and began to fold up a stack of handkerchiefs.
Dumbfounded and distraught, Caitlin backed away a few steps, then fled the room, her heart broken over the loss of her friend.
CAITLIN WALKED THROUGH THE NEIGHBORING streets near Jeanette’s apartment for hours, not seeing or hearing the bustling city around her. Life became a blur as if she were a ghost walking among the living. Later, she found herself outside the door to her tenement building. Caitlin thought she could stand there forever until a freezing wind bit at her, forcing her inside.
When she opened the door to the apartment, Caitlin saw her father sitting at the kitchen table taking apart and cleaning one of his cameras. It was a job he did with deliberate care after he finished one of his longer trips. Caitlin thought his face looked peaceful and relaxed as he set each piece on a linen cloth. His serene countenance transformed to sadness when he noticed she had entered.
“You know?” her voice croaked.
“Duncan told me some. The rest I figured out by sorting through the gossip.” He gestured toward the bench. “Sit, Caitlin.”
She did as he asked while avoiding his eyes. “Where’s ma?”
“I thought it best she go visit the neighbors.”
“She’s mad.”
“Aye, but for not the same reason as I be.” He set the camera lens down. “Look at me, Caitlin.”
The thought of disappointing her father was almost more than she could bear. Caitlin took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him.
His face had more lines and crags than she remembered. The circles under his eyes were deeper and had faint purple discolorations as if he had been hit a while ago and was just beginning to heal. It occurred to Caitlin that her father had gotten old and she’d never noticed.
“I see I made a mistake not teaching you more about being a Medium. Not that I want you to be doing what I’m doing, but to better understand what it means.” Andrew took her hand in his and squeezed it.
“Da, I’m so sorry. I didn’t….” Caitlin choked up.
“I know, luv. ’Tis all me fault that you got into the trouble you did. I’m sorry about the boy and Jeanette.” He shook his head. “Not all ghosts and the like are evil, but you cannot control how others will react. It can be a dangerous thing. You be scaring people with the truth and they not be likin’ that too much.” Andrew frowned. “This Mrs. Trask… she be a Medium?”
“Aye.” Caitlin became solemn. “She denies it. The boy thinks it be as natural as breathing.”
“It sounds as if this Mrs. Trask will be trapped in a hell of her own making. Neither being herself or like anyone else. The boy….” Andrew considered for a moment. “Life will not be easy for him.”
“After Jeanette be married and settled, maybe she’ll forgive me.”
Andrew shook his head. “No, lass. She’s taken a different path. One I’m fairly sure you’ll never go.”
“Being married might not be so bad, but not to someone like the grocer’s son.” Caitlin shuddered at the thought.
Andrew chuckled. “Aye. That wouldn’t have made for a good match. I’m thinkin’ someone a wee bit more educated.” For a moment Caitlin saw his eyes light up as if he saw some future happiness for her, then it faded away. “But the burden we bear often forces us to walk alone.”
“What do I be doing now?” she asked with a heavy heart.
“You already know a lot about making photographs, but I’ll teach you more about what it means to be a Medium. There be supernatural beasties out there I never dared talk about, but I guess it be time I did.” He sighed. “At least for your own protection.”
“Ma will be furious.”
“Your ma must never know what I… we do,” he insisted. “You study hard and be a teacher. That will be your way out of the South Side. Not doing what I be doing.”
“Aye, da.”
He shook his head. “No, say it to me properly. Like a Middle District lady would.”
Caitlin cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Yes, Father.”
“Aye. That be the ticket.” He stood up and gestured to the camera parts. “Now, gather up me things. Your lessons start now.”
WHILE RUNNING AN ERRAND A few weeks later for her father, Caitlin had no choice but to walk past Kage House. At first she began to march in a hurry, but then she wondered if by chance Mr. and Mrs. Kage had allowed Matthew to come home. Caitlin looked up at Matthew’s old bedroom window, and to her surprise she saw Mrs. Trask there instead. The woman stood so close to the glass, you could see her breath. Her eyes were distant and unfocused. She jerked her head, and a faint whisper of a smile appeared on her face, then lit up in joy. Behind Mrs. Trask, Caitlin could see a woman—it was Regina.
Caitlin’s body began to shake and her hands clenched into fists. She could feel her face flush, and all she wanted to do was scream and cry at the same time. Overwhelmed by these feelings, she moved off the side walk and leaned against a building to hide her face from passersby. Caitlin tried to control herself, but she burst into tears. That’s when she realized she was jealous of Mrs. Trask and Regina. Here was a woman who accepted her daughter even if she was a ghost, and her own mother could not stand her. It was time to let that hurt go.
With new-found resolve, Caitlin wiped the tears from her eyes. No matter what happened in the future, she would not let her mother dictate who or what she would be.
She was her father’s daughter after all.
“Take us to the demon,” Samuel Hunter ordered, as if he was addressing a dimwitted servant.
The girl, maybe ten years of age, chirped at him in a short, hysterical laugh. “You can’t find him unless he wants you to.”
“That’s why I be here, lassie,” Andrew O’Sullivan reached out to comfort her, but the girl shied away from the Irishman, wrapping her torn light wool frock against her chest. “We be here to kill it.”
The girl stared at Andrew as if his mind was addled. “It can’t die,” she murmured.
Samuel chuckled. “Who said that?”
“The demon did.”
Without another word, she turned and fled into the forest.
A MESSAGE HAD ARRIVED AT SAMUEL’S office on Boston Harbor begging the two demon hunters to come at their best speed to a small town north of the city called Essex. The few families who lived there had unearthed a demon from before the time when the Americas had first been colonized. While plowing a new field they disturbed a stone crypt that had unknown inscriptions carved into it. By the time they realized it was a binding spell imprisoning a demon it was too late, the creature had run rampant killing several men and women.
The demon had kidnapped most of the children and kept them alive to lure unsuspecting victims into its grasp but that was not the worst of it; the children were forced to watch while the demon eviscerated the adults, often their parents. This information had come from one young boy who had escaped.
Local officials sent word to the Boston police and even a few of the Great Houses for help, but the only message the townspeople received in response from the police read, “False Reports Will Be Dealt With Harshly.”
They were on their own.
When Samuel and Andrew arrived in Essex before dark, every house they saw was abandoned except for a large two story brick building in the center of the small town. Samuel, an ex-Pinkerton detective, was handsome in a way that grew on you. His hazel eyes squinted at the palisade the locals erected around the building noting it was made of a mixture of stones, bricks and timber. A small maze had been constructed leading up to the wood-and-metal door of what Samuel assumed was the town hall. Two steam-powered buggies were positioned at the entrance and exit of the maze, blocking entry. Terrorized, the town had imprisoned itself.
Samuel and Andrew’s horses plodded through the mud, then stopped just outside the palisade. The horses carried axes, ammunition, guns, traps, and Andrew’s box camera. Samuel was glad he had had the foresight not to drive his steam-powered buggy as the spring rains had turned the road into a bog. He surveyed the scene and saw several guns were aimed in their direction through strategically placed holes in the walls. He gestured to Andrew to get off his horse without making any sudden moves.
The Irishman complied, but his shorter, stockier body was far less nimble than Samuel’s and he landed in the mud with a thud. He trudged forward brushing his graying red hair out of his eyes.
Though Andrew O’Sullivan was older than Samuel by at least twenty years, he had the stamina of those half his age and the wits of a man educated on a knife. Andrew immigrated to the Americas as a young man with his wife in tow in search of a better life as many before him. What he found was a soot and rat-filled tenement that most of his kind were destined never to leave. Andrew knew he never would, but he had hope for his young daughter, Caitlin. Unlike most of Boston’s Irish, Andrew had a gift that allowed him to make a good wage; he was a Medium with the ability to draw out demons and ghosts. He used his unique knowledge of photography and his psychic abilities to make demons visible to a normal human.
A raspy male voice cried out from within the building, “Who goes there?”
“Samuel Hunter! You sent for me.”
As the door to the town hall opened, the first thing Samuel saw was a gun barrel aimed straight at him. Two armed young men fanned out on either side as two others pushed the buggies back just far enough for Samuel and Andrew to negotiate the maze. An older man with a heavy gray beard poked his head out and gestured for them to come in.
“Don’t dawdle!” he snapped at the two demon hunters.
Samuel and Andrew entered as the young men closed off the maze using the buggies, then shutting the doors behind them.
Sealed up tight inside the building, the stench of many scared and unwashed bodies and smoke from the fireplaces permeated the room. Samuel pulled out his handkerchief and held it over his nose while Andrew’s eyes watered. Men, women, and a few surviving children huddled in family groups. Pews were stacked up against the walls to make room for the remaining inhabitants of Essex. Samuel noted that even with the distance from Boston, a few of the townsfolk had copper and brass woven into their hems or their jacket lapels, indicating this town wasn’t poverty-stricken; they simply saw no need for ostentatious finery.
Right after the House Wars, the Great Houses had started a new fashion of adding metal appliques to their clothing. The Middle District adopted a similar style since they could afford it. However, what began as a fashion trend became a statement of class and entitlement imitated around the country.
Samuel soon found himself face-to-face with the owner of the raspy voice; an older man whose rheumy eyes and stooped posture didn’t belie the fact he was the one in charge.
“You took long enough. I’m Jonah Beckett, minister and mayor of Essex. And this is?” He peered at Andrew.
“My medium and spirit photographer. Andrew O’Sullivan.”
Jonah glared at the Irishman. “There are no spirits here. Only death and the tears of the living.”
“He can capture images of the demons which others cannot. We use it to study them later,” Samuel explained.
“Leave it to the Irish to carry the devil’s mark no matter how useful.” Jonah dismissed Andrew with a glance and turned his attention back to Samuel. “My son found that damnable crypt and was the first to die. His wife soon after protecting my grandchildren I imagine. We’ve lost eight more since I sent you that letter.”
“Do you know if your grandchildren still live?” Samuel asked.
Jonah shook his head. “I pray for it, but there is little hope for any of us unless—”
From outside, a young girl’s voice crying for her mother interrupted their conversation. A pale young woman, her face raw from weeping ran toward the door, calling the child’s name. A few of the men stopped her
before she did something rash. Samuel deduced the woman was the girl’s mother. Apparently, this was how the demon lured the adults out to kill them.
Samuel knew they needed to put a stop to this. “We need to go—now,” he hissed.
THOUGH THEY LOST SIGHT OF the girl, Samuel and Andrew followed her trail through the muddy landscape. She made no attempt to hide where she was going. The better to lure those who thought to save her, Samuel suspected. Each step produced a sucking sound in this barren and lifeless woodland. Both men were exhausted yet they still had a demon to kill.
Samuel noticed small signs of early-spring growth: a budding tree branch, blooming crocuses, and the occasional daffodil. The only thing that marred the hope of an impending spring were the traces of blood swirling in this morass.
Samuel loaded his 12-gauge, multi-barreled gun with ammonia-laced salt crystals and glass shard ammunition as they followed her trail. On his back he carried several sized axes, cables made of brass and copper, and a short multi-barreled gun for close-quarters fighting. He noted that Andrew had the traps out and was anchoring his camera on his chest, using straps to secure it over his neck and around his waist.
It didn’t take them long to discover the demon’s lair; a cave with a stream running through it provided the damp living space demons favored. Human bones and body parts were strewn near a handful of children caged in a makeshift wooden box by a stone outcropping. They stared at the two men.
Samuel could see the tension rise in Andrew’s face as the older man fought against his instinct to run over and help them. Samuel was just as angry as his partner over their plight, but they had a job to do first. They could not afford to alert the demon to their presence. Otherwise, it might jeopardize their lives and those of the children. It was better to wait.
Both men studied the lay of the land for a few minutes noting the best spots to set up their traps; the main egress into the cave as well as trails made by demon tracks were always good. The traps could restrain or kill any demon they had discovered so far, but not wanting to take any chances he double-checked the 12-gauge and made sure he could reach the axes strapped to his back. Samuel brought regular bullets, but found that more often than not they just irritated the supernatural creatures. He hid behind a tree a good fifty feet from the cave entrance while Andrew ducked below fallen logs closer to the children. Samuel considered himself prepared, but having the older Irishman as his partner was crucial.
Boston Metaphysical Society Page 18
