A Whispered Darkness

by Vanessa Barger

  I opened myself, and nearly lost control. Haven’s aura was so brilliant I winced. Grant’s pulsed beside me, worried. The others flickered in the house around us. One stood beyond the closed basement door, a dark, seething mass of black and red. It pulled on my anger, and I saw a thin thread stretched between us. With effort, I cut it off. A howling echoed around us, and I snapped back to myself so fast I almost toppled from my stool.

  “There are so many of them,” I whispered. “They’re like leeches. They want us to stay. They need us.”

  Haven’s hand tightened on mine. “Breathe. It will be okay. You need to focus on breathing. What is going on? I don’t think it’s the ghosts making you panic.”

  “I can’t control it sometimes, and it gets difficult…” I bit back any other confessions and squeezed his hand, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “I’m okay, I promise. It’s just…they’ve never been so obvious before.”

  “You’ve never really tried to see them before.” His thumb feathered across the pulse in my wrist. The movement calmed me somehow.

  I shook my head. “I’ve seen a few because I couldn’t control it. They wanted me to see. But I haven’t tried to on purpose.”

  “You’ve seen more than one?” Grant demanded. Hurt crossed his features. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want you to be any more worried or freaked out. I’m sorry.”

  “Can you see them too?” Grant asked.

  Haven shook his head. “I get flashes of the past sometimes, but I can’t feel them unless they want me to.”

  Grant leaned over and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You okay?”

  I nodded, pulled away my hands, and wiped at the tears leaking from my eyes. “For now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I thanked Haven for his help, and conversation fizzled out. The silence around us was awkward. I sighed. “I’ve done a lot of thanking you today.”

  Haven smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”

  Grant took a seat across from us. “Claire’s pretty easy going. When she gets freaked out, I know things are bad.”

  “Do you want me to stay?” Haven offered, running a hand through his hair.

  Grant and I answered together, with opposite words. I glared at my brother. I wasn’t going to use Haven as my security blanket. Despite what Grant might think, I had a lot of questions. Of course, my heart agreed with Grant, but I wasn’t giving in so easy.

  “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the offer,” I said. “But Mom works the night shift. You can’t stay all night. What would your grandma say?”

  Haven made a face and looked away. “She’s already ticked off I ran out when Grant called. I’ll stay here as long as I can. If I get lucky, she’ll fall asleep before I get back.”

  “You’ve gotten in trouble a lot because of me.”

  Haven shrugged. “I think it’s worth it. So don’t worry about it.”

  I slid from the chair. “How about a movie, and then you can go home. Its Friday, there’s no reason to be up early. Unless you work.”

  Haven shook his head. “Not early in the day. Just in the afternoons on the weekends sometimes.”

  I could see he was lying. His eyes slid away from mine, and he refused to look at me. Why lie about a weekend job?

  “What movie?”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Grant shoved another package of popcorn into the microwave and turned.

  “What?”

  “Let’s not watch another horror movie.”

  I laughed. “Agreed.”

  We watched two movies, a pirate movie we’d seen a million times, and an old Disney flick. The longer we sat, the more tired I became. Now that the adrenaline rush was gone, the urge to crawl in bed and sleep consumed me. By the end, my eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and I found myself leaning against Haven’s shoulder.

  At some point I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew Haven had me cradled against his chest and was pushing open my bedroom door.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Getting chased by ghosts takes it out of you.”

  Haven chuckled softly and sat me down on the bed. My hands automatically curled under the pillows, bringing them closer. A blanket fell over my shoulders, and I was grateful I’d already put on pajamas before my adventure in the basement.

  “Where are your headphones?”

  I pointed to the nightstand. My limbs were heavy and cumbersome. Haven slid the iPod to me, and then leaned over. “You like the ocean?”

  “Mmmm-hmmm. Calms me.”

  I didn’t bother putting on the headphones. I pressed the button and flipped the volume up.

  Haven’s fingers trailed across my cheek to tuck hair behind my ear. “Me too. Good night, Claire. Sleep well.”

  He turned away, and I grabbed at his hand. “Thanks, Haven. You’re almost as good as the ocean.”

  Sleep made the room fuzzy, but I think he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my hair before slipping out. A creak caught my attention, and I frowned, cracked open one eye and turned my head.

  My closet door silently swung open a few inches. Fatigue kept me from shooting from the bed. With a grunt, I pushed the ear buds into my ears and rolled over. “If you’re gonna eat me in my sleep, get on with it. I’m tired.”

  Before the waves covered the noise, I heard the click of the knob as it shut again.

  ***

  When I woke in the morning, the memory of Haven tucking me in brought both a smile and blush to my cheeks. I pushed back the comforter he pulled over me, and swung my legs out of bed. Almost against my will, my attention slid to the closet. The door was closed, and I wondered if I’d dreamed the scene from last night.

  “Get a grip.” I checked the clock next to the bed. Almost eleven. He would be here soon, and I still needed a shower and clothes.

  My leg ached when I stood. While I wasn’t sure I wanted to look, I had to see. Propping my foot on the edge of the bed, I pulled up my pajama pants. My calf looked like a purple and blue tie-dye shirt.

  “Lovely,” I muttered. “Won’t be wearing shorts for a while.”

  The handprint, now that the bruises were more pronounced, stood out against my flesh. Definitely didn’t want to explain it to Mom or anyone else. My palms also ached from tripping, and my fingernails looked worse for wear. After a shower and some clothes, I’d have to locate an emery board and make them more presentable.

  My cell phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I picked it up. Haven sent a text.

  Be there in forty-five minutes. And don’t worry—I’ve got permission to be out this time.

  With a giggle, I punched in an “ok” then snagged my robe and headed for the shower. I dressed in jeans and a cute shirt in record time, and was putting on a couple swipes of mascara in the bathroom mirror when I heard the phone rattle on the nightstand, indicating another text message.

  Be there in five.

  I slid into a pair of ballet flats and grabbed my purse from my desk. When I left, the door to the tower library was open again, the wheelchair in the same position. This time, a silver chain and pendant hung, tangled, from one of the large cracks in the back.

  “Not a chance,” I said. My victory the night before fueled my courage. “Offering me jewelry? I’m not stupid. Whatever you want, forget it.”

  The wheelchair moved forward again, and I held my breath, stomped to the doorway, and grasped the handle. It was so cold it hurt. I gritted my teeth and yanked hard. For a second, it was like someone pulled against me from the other side. I dropped my purse, wrapped my other hand around it, and tried harder, throwing my weight into it. At the last second, the door released, closing with a bang that echoed around the house. The loss of balance threw me backwards, and I slid across the floor until I felt the edges of the banister against my scalp.

  My fear returned, bigger than ever. Whatever lurked in this house was far stronger than me. A
nd knew it. My new confidence wavered and I had to take a deep breath.

  Mom’s door opened across the hall, and she stumbled out, squinting and disheveled. “What’s going on?”

  I heard footsteps at the bottom of the stairs and Grant call out to me. “Nothing. Go back to bed. Just tripped and took the door with me.”

  She yawned. “You okay?”

  “Fine. Go back to sleep.”

  She nodded, returning to her room. She must have been tired to believe that one. I got up, dusting off my pants and grabbed my purse.

  Grant stood in the center of the staircase as I started down. “What happened?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  His hand closed over my arm. “Claire, after last night, don’t even try it.”

  “Something tried to entice me into the tower library. Do me a favor and don’t go in there, okay?”

  To my surprise, Grant laughed. “It won’t be a problem. You’re leaving with Haven, I’m off on my own adventures today. As far from the house as I can get.”

  He followed me downstairs. At the bottom step, I turned, fighting the urge to blush again. “How long did Haven stay last night?”

  Grant grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

  I stood, gaping, as he sauntered into the kitchen.

  Before I could go and protest, my phone buzzed again, and I heard a light knock on the door. Haven was here.

  “You’re going to tell me later,” I said, sticking my head in the kitchen door. “Wait and see.”

  Grant waved and shoved some cheese puffs in his mouth.

  “If you need me, I have my phone. I don’t know when Haven and I will be back.” I glanced at the ceiling. “If you’re smart, you’ll be gone before Mom wakes up and decides to start cleaning the third floor.”

  He gave me a thumbs up and I headed for the front door. Haven waited on the porch, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he watched me, the smile on his face fading as I came outside.

  “You’re limping. Are you sure you’re okay?” I led the way to his car and climbed in the unlocked passenger door. “I’m fine, Haven. Really.”

  He slid behind the wheel and nodded. “Okay. But if you decide you need a break, just tell me.”

  There was something really cute in the way he worried about me. “Sure.”

  “All right. Ready to go?”

  I nodded and the engine roared to life. An awkward silence fell between us for a few miles. When he flipped on a blinker and headed for the library at the center of town. “I swear, I’m not normally this awkward.”

  I laughed. “It’s okay. Hanging out with you is one thing. And now you know my secret and we’re out on something that resembles a date…”

  He held up a finger. “Oh, it’s a date. I hope. Though most dates don’t generally start at the library.”

  A smile spread across my face and I blushed.

  “Besides, you haven’t told me all your secrets.”

  Panic gripped me and I focused on my fingernail as I traced the seams of my jeans. “What?”

  “I thought girls always had secrets. Something about being mysterious and keeping boys interested.”

  A giggle escaped and Haven squeezed my hand in his. In a quieter voice, he added, “I’m not going to press for information, Claire. You’ll tell me about your last school when you want to.”

  “And if I never do?”

  He looked sad for a moment. “I could understand that.”

  “You aren’t real.” I blurted. “Real teenage boys don’t say that kind of stuff.” Heat flooded my cheeks.

  “Are you sure? Because I am all boy. I promise.” A goofy grin spread over his face. “Want me to prove it? I can stare at your chest for a while or take you in a store and complain about how long it takes you to shop. Maybe tell you how I follow behind you in the halls to watch the rear view sometimes.”

  A laugh escaped.

  “I think I’ll take you as is.” I struggled not to laugh. “You have a strange sense of humor.”

  “I will take that as a compliment.”

  He pulled into the library parking lot, which was almost empty. Saturday morning wasn’t exactly their busiest time. My hopes rose. The building was huge and built of stone. The gold lettering over the door still proclaimed, “Hanover Banking and Loan.”

  “The old stuff is kept in the old bank vault. You’d think they had priceless heirlooms back there.” Haven said, holding the door.

  I laughed. “They have to put it to good use, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  I went straight to the front desk, finding a thin woman with glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looked up from a dog-eared romance novel.

  “Good morning. What can I help you with?”

  “I’m new in town. We just moved into the house on Cherrystone Lane, and I was hoping I could find some history on the house.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes. The old Home. Interesting, but we already have a file put together on that place. That paranormal group with all their investigative nonsense came in and gathered up everything at one point. I just left it. No one else is ever interested.” She rose, smoothing her hands over her sweater. “You say you live there now?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She made a humming noise and then sighed. “Well, come with me. This is the easiest research you’ll ever do.”

  We followed her toward the back of the building, taking a seat at a long wooden table she motioned to while she disappeared into a back room.

  “Paranormal group?” I whispered to Haven.

  He leaned back. “They’re popular now. Ask Bryan sometime. He knows all about it.”

  I didn’t get a chance to question him, because she came back with a file folder bursting with pieces of paper. Sliding it onto the desk, she pushed her glasses up on her nose. “These are mostly copies, as some of the old articles are on microfiche or too fragile to handle. Don’t leave with any of them, please. When you’re done, just bring me the file before you leave.”

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”

  She gives me another once over, as if unsure whether she should be disgusted or not, then nods once. “Not a problem.”

  I wait until she’s well out of earshot and then open the file folder. There are tons of articles and photos. The top one has a picture of the house with twenty or so people lined up on the front yard and a huge headline above it: Horace Gunderson’s Home for Wayward Souls Under Scrutiny for Unusual Practices.

  I pause, pulling half the pile out and sliding it in front of Haven. “Here. You read through this stack, and I’ll go through these.” I unzip my purse and pull out a small notebook and pen. “We’ll take notes on anything interesting we find.”

  “What should I be looking for?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. Anything weird.”

  He nodded, flipping through his stack.

  I had no clue what to look for, but it was a start. The articles in my stack started with reports of suspicious disappearances that were easily explained away, or resolved when the missing inmate was found wandering the woods. The first few seemed sympathetic to Horace and his institution. They cited the overcrowded conditions, and supported a move that raised the cost of living and limited the “quality of inmates” as well as the quantity.

  The dates ranged from a few weeks apart to months. Then, at last, they started to be more critical. Claims were made by family members that the people they thought were being taken care of kindly were really being tortured. Then came the article citing the disappearance of Margaret Elliot.

  It wasn’t large. First was a tiny ad from the classifieds offering a twenty-five dollar reward for any information. I snorted.

  “What?” Haven asked, bumping my shoulder with his.

  “They offered twenty five bucks for informa
tion for Margaret Elliot. Is that Maggie?”

  He took the paper and scanned the tiny paragraph. “That’s her. Keep in mind, twenty five dollars in the eighteen hundreds would have been a lot more than it sounds.”

  “True.”

  “How long did they run the ad?”

  I flipped through the papers. There were three more copies with slightly different wording, but the dates were unclear. “I’m not sure. At least three weeks. Probably more.”

  Another article fell out on the desk. Again, it was small, but the headline caught my attention.

  Local Family Demands Closure of Home for Wayward Souls. Cites Murder and Experiments.

  We bent our heads over the article,

  Horace Gunderson, of the Home for Wayward Souls on Cherrystone Lane, has denied all allegations of experimental procedures on his charges. Mr. Hamilton Elliot and Mr. Vincent Elliot have enlisted the help of local law enforcement in the search for their missing sister.

  A letter was discovered at the home, implying the lady might have disappeared at her choice. The family tells this newspaper the letter is a hoax, and insists Gunderson is involved in strange experiments tied to his interest in Spiritualism.

  The police refuse to comment on this story.

  “That’s different.” I said.

  Haven sighed. “I found a small clipping in here where someone had researched Horace’s background. Apparently he was an undertaker before he opened the home. The last town ran him out because he was doing strange experiments and tests on the bodies.”

  My lip curled. “So he mutilated bodies and was overly interested in spiritualism. I’m not sure where that all fits in.”

  Haven shrugged. “I’d be a pissed off ghost if he’d been messing with my body without permission.”

  “Good point.”

  “Lots of Victorians were interested in spiritualism, but it does make me wonder what he was up to.”

  “Why would an undertaker open a home for people who were supposed to be mentally disturbed?”

  Haven’s answer echoed the one in my head. It made my skin crawl.