by Sara Clancy
“What happened to the chair?”
Louis straightened but didn’t look at her fully, “Pardon?”
She couldn’t quite read his expression, so her own hovered between playfulness and suspicion. “What happened to the chair?” she repeated as if to illustrate the question, she nudged the toe of one slipper against one of the broken chunks. Her brow furrowed. “Is this from the deck?”
Louis straightened his pillows and struggled to keep his tone light. “Mr. Creeper wanted something to sit on as he watched me sleep.”
“What is his deal with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you okay?”
Louis nodded and watched as Marigold wrapped her arms loosely around her stomach. Just when he thought the whole conversation could meet its end, her eyes locked onto him with a spark of suspicion.
“Did he break the chair, or did you?”
“He did.”
“Why?”
Louis rubbed the back of his head, letting every ounce of his exhaustion show. “Would you mind if we get into this tomorrow?”
Marigold looked between him and the chair. He could see her battling with herself to let it go. Eventually, she relented and, with a weary sigh, she crawled onto her bed. Settling back against the headboard, she curled her legs up and hugged a huge, oversized pillow to her chest.
“I’ll drop it, I swear, but I just have to ask again. Are you sure you’re okay? I might not have dealt with ghost versions, but I’ve had a few encounters with weird, overly forward guys. You know. If you do want to talk about it.”
“He was actually a little less physical this time,” Louis said. And having clothes on had helped. “I’m okay, cher. I promise. I just need some sleep.”
“Don’t we all,” Marigold sighed.
Her whole body seemed to droop as the adrenaline worked its way out of her system. With the pillow cradled carefully in her arms, she rested her chin and stared blankly ahead. In the uneasy silence, Louis sunk down into his bunk.
“Do you think it was really Jasmine?”
She asked the question in a whisper, soft enough that he wasn’t quite sure she had wanted him to hear. Anger slithered through him as he watched her hunch her shoulders and squeeze the pillow with the last of her might. In moments like this, she looked small and scared and many years younger than she was.
He had never known Jasmine, and a part of him would always lament that. Through Marigold’s stories, however, he had come to know that she had been sweet and kind, and had a stubborn streak that rivalled Marigold’s own. Although, since Marigold was her major caregiver, the child hadn’t been taught to hide it like her big sister had. He doubted that Marigold even knew that, on some basic level, the two sisters had been very similar.
Louis had also come to believe that Marigold seeing her sister’s corpse had hurt her far more than her parent’s betrayal. She didn’t like to talk about that night, and it didn’t feel right to push. But by piecing a thousand little snippets together, Louis had learnt that her parents had drowned Jasmine first. That they had left the little body on the bathroom floor when they went to retrieve Marigold. And that she had woken up to see her lifeless sister’s body limp against the tiles.
Even if the demon hadn’t been present that night, there was no way she would have been able to hide that kind of pain from it for long. It was never a possibility that it wouldn’t have used it against her. The longer this went on, the more the demon liked to use her love for Jasmine against her. It gleefully showed Marigold sights she should have never had to see. Planted ideas in her head that would only destroy her as it grew. He wished he could rip it out, but all he could do was watch her mental foundations crack and pray that his kind words could somehow help keep her together.
Louis shifted to sit at her feet. “It wasn’t her.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I know that, given your experiences, it might seem like only bad things survive death. The rage, the hate, and the sorrow. But the good survive, too. Love survives. If Jasmine came back to you, it wouldn’t be to scare you.”
He smiled and dipped his head to catch her gaze. Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to his. There was still a spark of resistance in the bright blue orbs and he smiled in the face of it.
“What if she’s mad at me?” Marigold whispered.
Louis furrowed his brow, “Why would she be?”
She tried for nonchalance and failed miserably, “She trusted me to protect her.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
Marigold nodded but didn’t look convinced.
“She loved you, Maggie.”
“And how could you know that?”
“I see how much you love her. And children kind of adore everyone.”
“Ah, that’s almost sweet. I think.” Finally, she offered him a real smile. “Are there any happy ghosts?”
“Not many. It’s a lot easier for them to pass, to go to wherever we’re supposed to go. If they come back, it’s normally just for a specific moment, or because they’re summoned.”
“You can summon ghosts? That’s an actual thing?”
“There are ways. None of them are easy,” he said.
“What about a Ouija board?”
Louis laughed, “That’s not advisable.”
“Why?”
“It’s like going into an online chatroom. There’s no way you can be sure who you’re really talking to.” She sank deeper against her pillows as she listened to him. “You really want to see her again.”
“I do.”
He thought it over for a moment, picking his words carefully. “A visitation is possible but they’re not common.”
Marigold lifted her gaze up to him. “Why does that happen?”
“Sometimes as a warning. Other times they just want to check on their kin.”
Marigold was quiet for a moment, watching the candle as it slowly melted the white wax. “Do you think it will ever show me my parents?”
“Probably not until you forgive them. It would hurt more that way.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them.”
Louis sighed, “Maggie, just because they were forced to kill doesn’t mean that they were completely void of human emotion. I’m sure they loved you.”
“They tried to kill me.”
“To protect you.”
“I would have preferred they just sat me down and had a heart to heart.”
He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but it didn’t seem like she wanted to continue the conversation anyway.
“How long was I out for?” he asked eventually.
She looked at her watch, “I’d say around three hours. If you wanted to try and get more sleep, now’s the time to do it. It’s only going to get harder later.”
“You think I can sleep after all of this?”
There wasn’t any hesitation in her reply, “You? Yes.”
“You’re right,” he said with a smile.
His stomach twisted a little at the thought of sleep, but he wasn’t in the position to let the opportunity slide. Marigold watched him carefully for a moment. In a bid to ease her worry he smiled and went to stand. She grabbed his wrist.
“I know I sound like I’m five, but would you mind keeping close?”
He almost sagged with relief. “Of course, cher.”
Louis wasn’t quite sure if she had picked up on his apprehension, or if he had just gotten lucky, but for whatever reason, Marigold shuffled over to the side of the bed by the wall. He glanced at the window, just to make sure the screw was still in place and settled back down against the bed. The solid weight of his glasses felt weird as they slid down on his face, but he didn’t remove them. Marigold’s bed was a lot more comfortable than the bunk. The pillow-topped mattress welcomed him and cradled him like a cloud and the sheets were soft cotton. He had given her a few protection washes, concoctions of bless oils designed to keep her sleeping area a little saf
er, and everything smelt like ginger and spices. He had always liked the scents and it soothed some of his raw nerves. Shifting his glasses into a more comfortable position, he closed his eyes and tried to let sleep come. The old, uncertain fear still lingered even as he tried to push the thoughts of the arm from his mind. But it refused to leave him. There was something he was missing and, even as he mulled over the mystery, he wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer.
“I’m sorry I left you alone,” Marigold whispered.
He opened one eye and looked over to her. She was still sitting up but her grip on the pillow had loosened.
“No reason to be sorry, cher.”
“Mr. Creeper hasn’t bothered me before. Maybe if I had stuck around he wouldn’t have come in. It didn’t even occur to me.”
“He gave me a shock. Nothing more. No need to dwell on it.”
He let his eyes drift closed once more and took in a deep breath. The candle was burning low but still emitted a comforting light. Slowly, tension began to leak from him and his mind started to drift. Then he heard a gentle tapping, like someone hesitatingly trying to get his attention. Blinking past his sleep, he turned to look at Marigold.
“What do you need, cher?”
“That wasn’t me.”
Her words were cautious and hesitant. It grabbed his attention and made him look up.
“Do you know who did?”
She shook her head. The tapping came again. A few short raps and then silence. This time, it was easier to pinpoint where they were coming from and Louis squirmed at the discovery. They had to be at least ten feet off the ground but someone was tapping against the glass of the porthole. The mist rolled in constantly changing patterns, slow and undisturbed. Shadows existed everywhere within the off-colored fog but nothing moved. As they watched, the tapping came again, the source unseen.
“Has this ever happened before?” Louis asked. It hadn’t occurred to him earlier that this could have been a night event that she had kept to herself.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m not really looked forward to any more surprises tonight.”
Again, the soft tapping like knuckles on glass filled the room. A quick set and then silence. Marigold turned to Louis and he forced a smile. Without a word, they came to the decision to ignore it. They both settled back, trying to reassume their previous ease. When the knock came again, they silently shuffled closer to each other.
Chapter 9
The design etched into the headboard dug painfully against her spine and it had been at least half an hour since her leg had fallen asleep. But she refused to move. Despite the sharp, random rapping against the glass, everything had once again been lured into a slumbering calm. She knew that the peace didn’t depend on her, and that it was hardly likely to be shattered if she shifted her position, but she wasn’t willing to tempt it. So she remained still, enduring the throb in her back and the tingles in her leg, listening to the steady flow of Louis’ breathing. It seemed that no matter what he was exposed to, sleep never eluded him. She envied him for that.
It wasn’t her first night spent in the grip of insomnia, self-imposed or otherwise, and for a while, she managed to entertain herself with her book. But eventually, her mind began to wander from the words on the page. Afraid of what it might decide to bring to the forethought of her thoughts, Marigold delicately reached into the pocket of Louis’ jacket and pulled out his mobile phone. She had never been all that captivated by the games he had on his phone, but insomnia made just about anything interesting. Not wanting to disturb him, she muted the sound and brought up a game where all she had to do was match bright and oddly happy rocks.
But it turned out that without the sound, it couldn’t hold her interest for long and eventually, she was forced to search for something else to keep her eyes open. She moved into the saved files and found the folder of spirit photography Louis had gathered. Louis had taken each picture that filled the extensive file. Some he had gathered while helping people like Marigold, those stuck in positions they didn’t know how to escape. Others he had quickly snapped while he was leading ghost tours around the streets of New Orleans. She didn’t understand why he got so excited over most of them. The only abnormalities looked more like spots of dust that had caught the light at the right moment, or like something shiny had reflected the flash to create a lens flare. It didn’t matter how many times he enthusiastically explained why they were significant, they still just looked like dirt. But there were others. The ghosts in those pictures ran the spectrum of looking like human-shaped fog to those you would mistake as a living person. Finally, she came to a series of pictures featuring the Wailing Woman.
She knew he would have clicked off a few photographs while she was cleaning up. He wouldn’t have been able to resist. Every time he saw something strange he just had to take a picture of it, or study it, or document it in some way. It was almost a compulsion. Before they had brought her here, she had spent some time in his apartment. He had dozens of boxes filled to the brim with photographs and testimonials, voice recordings and copies of antique documents. The sheer volume of what he had gathered was enough to make any non-believer question their convictions.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Marigold didn’t know which ghostly figure had decided to adopt this new tactic, but they were completely unreliable. She had timed the knocking for a while but hadn’t been able to find a pattern in times or the number of raps. It was just random. A quick knock on the window glass and then silence, as if it just wanted to remind her that it was there. She did her best to ignore it and focused her attention once more on the little screen.
Swiping from one photograph to the next, she allowed herself to fully study the woman. She was twisted and frail. Pitiful, really. But she couldn’t bring herself to feel the amount of sympathy for her that she was sure Louis held. If anything, Marigold thought the woman had skipped out on the punishment she deserved.
She lifted her thumb to swipe to the next photograph when something stilled her finger. Unable to pinpoint what had grabbed her attention, Marigold lifted the phone closer to her face and peered at the photograph. The niggling feeling continued; something she couldn’t quite place but couldn’t dismiss either, as she studied every inch. The camera flash had highlighted the trees that surrounded the ghost and the mud that remained untouched under its feet. The ghost itself was void of color, only shades of black and grey that left her looking like a photonegative. All but her eyes. Her eyes glowed blue.
Louis jerked in his sleep. The sudden movement made her flinch and she swallowed down a startled yelp. Barely keeping her hold on the phone, Marigold rubbed a hand over her face and stinging eyes. It wasn’t likely she would make it until dawn. It had surprised her to learn that she had a set limit of adrenaline she could tap into. That fear alone wasn’t enough to keep her awake. Not indefinitely. Eventually, her brain would shut down and take what it needs, preservation instincts be damned. But knowing this didn’t make it any easier to give in. To the vulnerability. To the dreams. She shook her head, drew in a sharp breath, and searched for something to keep her attention.
Louis released a pained whine but didn’t move again. Even as his face scrunched up and twitched, his limbs remained flat against the mattress. His breathing came in short gasps and punctuated by fractured moans. Whatever he was dreaming, it wasn’t good. She reached out to grab his shoulder but didn’t make contact. Nightmares were a necessary evil here. If she woke him now he would just be dragged into another one the next time he slept. Is it worth it to wake him? If I did, would the next one just be worse?
She was still trying to decide when the tapping came again. Sharp and quick. Shock froze her. That hadn’t been on the window glass. It had been on metal. Not knowing whether to be confused or scared, Marigold turned to face the porthole. It was still latched firmly in place. She couldn’t see anything beyond it, but then she never could. The resounding silence played tricks on her sleep-deprived mind. She found hersel
f questioning if she had heard it correctly. If she was just mistaken and it had been the same as any other. That it hadn’t moved. But she knew what she had heard. The knocking had come on metal but she couldn’t remember where on the ship it had resonated from.
Surrounded by silence, her hand poised over Louis’ sleeping form, Marigold waited. The minutes dragged by but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She just waited, her eyes trailing the room as if she could pinpoint where the sound had come from by sight. Even though she had been waiting for it, she still jumped at the short series of taps. She flattened herself against the bed, eyes focused on the ceiling. The tapping had come from inside the boat, from the floor above her, right above the bed. A shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t dare to move. Even as her rational mind told her repeatedly that having a ghost on board wasn’t anything new, her insides wouldn’t listen. This felt different. It felt like an intrusion. A violation.
Still unwilling to get up, to take her eyes off of the ceiling, she shuffled closer to Louis. Their shoulders pressed together and his solid presence helped ease the twist in her gut. Ease, but not release.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound came from directly above her. It echoed along the metal like ripples rolling out across a lake. She grabbed Louis’ wrist with more force than she had meant to. He whined under the pressure but didn’t open his eyes. She wanted to shake him. Wanted him to be awake with her now, to hear what she was hearing, if not to make it stop then to have him tell her she wasn’t insane.
Her insides twisted and squirmed. Something was watching her, like a snake preparing to strike, and she squirmed under the fixed attention. Louis flinched beside her. Swallowing thickly, Marigold focused on her breathing. She felt the air travel down her throat. Felt her lungs expand and relax. In and out. She let the world filter down to that one sensation and felt her heartbeat begin to slow. Tension eased out of her shoulders. Her heart fought for calmness then imploded when she heard the tapping again. It wasn’t above her anymore. It wasn’t on metal. The sound had come from the foot of her bed.
