by Dave Ferraro
Chapter Ten
“Looks like we’re in for another uneventful night,” Rachel said, Shanna yawning next to her.
Amelia nodded, unable to suppress her own yawn as she stood up from her chair in front of the monitors to let Rachel take her place for the next watch. “It’s been quiet. Have fun, girls.”
Rachel snorted as Amelia turned her back on them and ushered a sleepy Krystal into their room. As soon as the necromancer’s head hit the pillow, she was asleep, breathing loudly, her mouth agape.
Amelia shook her head as she pulled the covers over her. She marveled at how well the girl had adjusted to this life, and so quickly. Amelia had lived a hazardous life, steeped in death and magick, so it was only natural to her, but Krystal was new to all of this. Most people would be overwhelmed, but Krystal seemed able to accept things and process them easily. She admired the girl for that adaptability. However, Krystal had been rather forlorn all evening during monitoring duty, and wouldn’t talk about how her date had gone. She had related the fact that something had been following her in the fog, and her suspicions that it was a zombie, but Amelia questioned the assumption based on a “feeling” that Krystal had. When you were alone and startled, your mind played tricks on you. Amelia was sure that that’s what it had been. But she wouldn’t completely rule it out. They were in New Orleans for a reason. And if zombies were behind the disappearances…well, Amelia would have heard stranger things.
Bending over the bureau near the closet, Amelia dug through the duffel bag she’d stashed beneath the chair until her hands found a coffee can. She pulled it out, able to tell by how heavy it was that there was still plenty of salt left. She pulled off the cap and quickly shook it out in a circle around the bed, having to use her powers over the air to complete the circle at the head of the bed, where the salt ran along the wall beneath the headboard. She had done the same thing last night, but the salt had gotten dispersed in places over the course of the day, and she wanted a fresh circle, just in case. Once she’d finished, she returned the coffee can to her bag and let another yawn slip out.
She eyed the bag of books she’d purchased at the store and pulled the top one out of the pile, bringing it into the bed with her. Very quickly, she found herself absorbed by the pages. Magick fascinated her on many levels. Even if she wasn’t finding what she was looking for, it still made for an informative read, and what she absorbed could always come in handy in the future.
“Power is only as powerful as it is useful. If a spell will provide all the fire you need, and produces the best fire available, but you have no need for fire, then it is not useful to you, and is therefore not powerful.”
Amelia nodded to herself, her lips pursing as she looked up from the page. The power source was important to the sirens. And they needed it for something specific. To see their dark queen, Persephone, in the underworld. What sort of power would allow them to do that? Teleportation? She frowned as she pictured the vial and the blue liquid that replenished itself. How was anyone supposed to wield power in such a form? There were only so many things you could do with a liquid. Spill it, bathe in it, drink it, absorb it, change it into gas or ice…what was the key? And how did it work? What did it do?
Frustrated, she set the book aside and frowned at the ceiling, as if it would produce the answers for her. She stared at the shadows and the cobwebs that clung to the plaster, listening to the sound of water dripping in the background.
Water? Amelia tilted her head. No, it wasn’t quite the sound of water dripping. It was more like…mice skittering over the floor. But that wasn’t quite it either. She scooted off of the bed and glanced over the room to discern where the sound was coming from. Her eyes lingered on the door to the closet. And then she realized what the sound was. Scratching. Fingernails scratching on the other side of the door.
She watched the closet door warily for a moment, the light of the lantern throwing her shadow over the frame menacingly, as if it were free of her and dancing of its own volition.
Perhaps she was letting her imagination run away with her and it was mice, after all. But no, she could tell that what she was hearing was not a sound mice made. They were slow, steady scratches from fingers, digging nails into a surface.
Swallowing hard, Amelia glanced back at Krystal, who was still asleep, and decided she would let her stay that way, taking the risk herself. She hesitated as she stepped out of the salt circle, knowing that whatever was behind that door could very well be trying to lure her away from the safety the circle provided her. Within its line of purity, she was safe from harm. But once she crossed the barrier, she was vulnerable again, and would be left to her own devices.
She almost imagined that as soon as she stepped outside of the circle, that something would charge at her, taking her by surprise and devouring her then and there, but no such thing happened. As soon as both of her feet were firmly planted just outside of the salt circle, nothing changed. The scratching resumed, as if it were unaware of her movements.
Amelia let her eyes stray to the bedroom door for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t get help, but decided that if the noise disappeared by the time she returned, or maybe because more people were present, then they wouldn’t be any further to solving this mystery. No, she would do this alone. She was confident enough in her abilities that she would be able to best whatever was hiding in the closet like a monster from her childhood.
She felt sweat break out on her forehead. She had chosen air as her element for a reason. She could feel what opening the door to that closet would do to her already. Even looking inside would make her chest feel tighter. The walls would feel too close, like they were smothering her. And a closet…why did it have to be an old, dark closet? It was like whatever was doing this was taunting her, perhaps playing off of her fears.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, and hearing her voice aloud seemed to renew her resolve. She stepped forward without thinking about it and threw the closet door open.
Nothing. It was a closet with moth-eaten shirts and pants. She let out a breath and started when she heard the scratching begin again. She stared into the closet and realized that it was coming from the back of the space, from behind the clothes hanging there silently.
“Amelia?”
She glanced back to see Krystal sitting up in bed, staring at her.
“It’s okay,” Amelia told her softly. “Just…stay there. I’ll be right there.”
Krystal nodded.
Turning back toward the noise, Amelia felt her throat constrict at the small space she was gazing into. She squeezed her eyes shut as she imagined rough hands grab her by the upper arm, sending her sprawling into the dark space. Her own seven-year-old screams haunted her as she tried to push the memories back and concentrate on taking deep, steady breaths. See? Your lungs are getting plenty of air.
She opened her eyes and took a step into the closet, feeling the icy panic crawl up her back as she forced herself to take another one. Panic was trying to wrest control from her and she struggled against it, trying to reason with an inner demon that didn’t understand reason, only instinct and fear. But she won this round. She found herself pushing forward, shoving aside the clothes to stare at…a blank wall.
The scratching continued behind the wall and her eyes narrowed.
“Amelia?” Krystal’s voice drifted into the closet.
“Just a second!” she called back, dropping to her knees. Hesitantly, she leaned forward, her head inching closer to the wall, with the scratching on the other side.
When her ear was only an inch away from the wall, the scratching stopped. She paused too, holding her breath, straining to hear anything on the other side of the barrier.
A loud knock caused her to fall back on her butt, and she scooted back out of the closet, her mouth dry. It had sounded like a fist slamming into the wall.
Krystal was suddenly at her side, helping her up, and they both stare
d into the closet together, eyes wide.
“What was that?” Rachel demanded, throwing open the door. She stared at them, then followed their gazes into the closet. “Is something there?”
Amelia turned to her. “I think something was.”
Rachel and Shanna investigated the closet, but could find nothing. The scratching sound did not return.
“I don’t understand it,” Amelia murmured, watching the screens as Rachel rewound the surveillance footage in her room. “Something couldn’t be in the wall.”
“There could be a secret passage,” Krystal perked up beside her.
“There was no one there after the sounds stopped,” Amelia shook her head. “I would have heard. The air would have told me. It was like whatever it was just disappeared.”
“Like a…” Rachel frowned, then sat forward and rewound the tape again.
Amelia bit her lip as she saw herself on the screen, stepping into the closet. A few seconds later, the screen went fuzzy. It was like a light had exploded in the closet and quickly engulfed the whole picture, turning it white and grainy for a moment. Then it was back to normal, and there Amelia was, on the floor, staring into the closet with Krystal at her side.
“Whatever pounded on the wall made the film grainy,” Rachel said quietly. She switched the view to infrared and ultraviolet, but they saw the same thing.
“So,” Shanna said, licking her lips. “I think it’s safe to say that that was a ghost.”
