by Terri Reid
Ian smiled at her. “A wee bit of cinnamon, a wee bit of cocoa, and some strawberry preserves mixed in for sweetness,” he said. “That’s all.”
Mary took another bite. “No wonder Clarissa licked her bowl clean,” she said. “I’m never going to be able to make plain oatmeal again.”
He sat down next to her and smiled. “Well, now I’m flattered,” he said.
“Yeah, well, before you let it go to your head,” Mike said, “we should be talking about what happened last night.”
Mary dropped her spoon loudly in her bowl and, with a look of astonishment, looked at the others sitting at the table. “Oh my goodness, I nearly forgot,” she said. “Last night.”
“What?” Bradley asked.
“I had a really bad dream,” she began. “And we need to talk about that, but later. So, after the dream, I came downstairs just to check on everything because I was a little freaked out. Everything seemed fine. Bradley’s blanket had slipped off, so I went over and put it back on him. Then, when I turned, I thought I saw another shadow in the kitchen.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Bradley asked.
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I guess I wanted to be sure it really was a shadow and not just a reaction from the dream. I stood in the same spot and watched, but nothing happened.” Then she stopped and thought about it for a moment.
“Something did happen,” Ian suggested.
She slowly nodded. “Now that I think about it,” she said, “I remembered smelling the scent of pine and vanilla.”
“Pine and vanilla?” Mike asked.
“And it was comforting,” she continued. “Like suddenly all the tension from the dream just slipped away. My whole body relaxed, and I was standing in the middle of the room yawning.”
She looked at each of the men. “I don’t really even remember making it back up to bed,” she admitted. “I was just, like, floating in relaxation.”
Ian nodded. “Which could also explain your sleeping in and Bradley’s non-responsiveness when I knocked on the door,” he said.
“Were we drugged?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Ian said.
“Was the shadow the same size as the one you saw earlier?” Mike asked.
Mary took a deep breath and thought about his question. “No,” she finally said. “No. I don’t think so. I think this one was bigger, more a man’s size than a child.”
“And the feeling you had?” Ian asked. “Did you feel panicked? Like someone was forcing you to relax when you didn’t want to?”
She shook her head. “No, it was lovely,” she said. “It was like I was a child again, safe and protected. It wasn’t frightening at all.”
Ian turned to Bradley. “Did you dream last night?” he asked.
“Now that you mention it,” Bradley replied, “I did. I remember I finished the dream just before I woke up.”
“What did you dream about?” Ian asked.
“Christmas,” Bradley replied. “I dreamt about Christmas.”
Chapter Eleven
“I dreamt about Christmas, too,” Mary added. “But it was more like a nightmare than a dream.”
“What happened?” Bradley asked.
“It was a lucid dream,” she turned to Ian and smiled. “And thank you for giving me that bit of knowledge. It was weird because as I was dreaming, I was aware that I was dreaming. I was saying to myself, ‘Oh, that’s right. Ian told me about this. I’m lucid dreaming.’”
“Good job, professor,” Mike teased.
“I’ve a brilliant student, that’s all,” Ian replied.
“So, I was walking down the second-floor hallway in a house,” she said. “A house I’ve never been in before. I walked to the staircase, and I heard the front door open and close. Then I smelled smoke. I went down a couple of steps and saw that a Christmas tree was on fire and spreading throughout the house.”
“Was there anyone else downstairs?” Ian asked.
She shook her head. “No, actually, I thought about that in my dream. But there was no one there, so the sound of the door must have been someone leaving,” she replied. “Then I went upstairs and tried to pound on the doors, but my hands just slipped through the wood like I was a spirit.”
Ian started to speak and then shook his head. “Go on,” he said.
“Okay, so then I tried shouting, but my voice didn’t work,” she said. “And then I tried ramming the door, but instead, I slipped through the door into the bedroom. It was a room with two little girls, and it was filling with smoke. I tried to open the window, but I couldn’t. Then, because I was lucid dreaming, I tried to conjure something up. So, I told myself that I had an ax.” She shook her head. “No ax.”
“So, you were aware enough of the situation and of the fact that you were dreaming that you were manipulating your dream, but it wasn’t working?” Ian asked.
Mary nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “Then I was drawn to the window, and there was a boy standing outside looking up at me. I could hear his voice in my mind, and he wasn’t going to go for help. He was watching the fire. He was enjoying the fire.”
“He set the fire,” Mike said.
Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, you’re right,” she said. “He’s the one who walked out the door, just before I saw the fire.”
“Do you remember what he said to you?” Ian asked.
She turned to him, astonishment on her face. “He knew my name,” she said slowly. “He called me Mary. And he welcomed me to his home.”
“Okay, that was a Twilight Zone experience,” Mike said. Then he turned to Ian. “So, professor, what do you think?”
“I think I’m glad you came for me,” he said, his voice low. “Because I think this is something more dangerous than we’ve ever dealt with before.”
Chapter Twelve
Rosie woke up stiff and sore from a night of sleeping on the couch. She slowly sat up and tried to do some of the stretching exercises she’d learned years ago in a short-lived yoga encounter. She moaned softly as she stretched her sore arm muscles.
“Rosie, what’re you caterwauling about?” Stanley asked, still buttoning his shirt as he walked into the living room from the hall. He looked at his bride and shook his head. “We got a perfectly good bed in our bedroom. Why are you sleeping on the couch?”
Rosie took a deep breath to control the immediate, angry response and calmly looked at him. “Well, if you must know,” she said, “your snoring kept me up, and I finally had to come into the living room to fall asleep.”
Shaking his head, Stanley shrugged. “I didn’t hear nothing,” he said.
“That doesn’t mean you weren’t snoring,” Rosie insisted. “You just slept through it.”
Scratching the back of his head, he looked a little confused. “Couldn’t have been that loud iffen I could sleep right through it,” he said.
“Oh!” Rosie huffed. “Of all the ignorant…” She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Do you think I’m lying to you? Do you think I don’t know loud snoring when I hear it? Do you think I would sleep out here on this lumpy couch with creepy shadows darting around the room—”
“Creepy shadows?” Stanley interrupted her. “Creepy shadows? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you heard that did you?” Rosie said, rolling her eyes and storming past him towards the bedroom. “Well, perhaps you and the creepy shadows can make your own breakfast.”
The door slammed loudly behind her.
“I heard that, too,” he muttered softly, looking over his shoulder towards the door. “Iffen a woman ain’t upset about one thing, she’s upset about something else.”
Shaking his head, he finished buttoning his shirt and walked across the room into the kitchen. “I’m just fine with making my own breakfast,” he muttered softly. “I was making my breakfast fer years afore you moved in.”
He opened the refrigerator door, looked inside and weighed his options. There was a bowl of le
ftover spaghetti and meatballs, a pie plate with a large slice of a peach pie, some vegetables to make a salad, and eggs and bacon. He pulled out the bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, scooped a generous serving onto a plate and popped it into the microwave. Then he pulled out the pie slice, put it on a smaller plate and sprayed whipped cream over the top of it. He put a placemat down at the table, put a napkin and silverware down on it and then placed a glass of ice cold milk alongside it. When the microwave beeped, he pulled out the steaming plate of pasta and set it on the placemat.
“Well, that’s a well-balanced meal iffen I ever saw one,” he said with a triumphant smile.
He sat down at the table and mixed the spaghetti with his fork to evenly distribute the sauce.
“Stanley,” Rosie called out from the room. “You had better remember what your doctor said about your diet.”
A frown appeared on his face. “Them doctors don’t know what they’re talking about,” he grumbled. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”
He looked down at the meal before him, slipped the spaghetti plate to the side and dug into the peach pie with relish. He devoured the pie and whipped cream and scraped the plate clean with his fork, just as Rosie opened the door to their bedroom. Glancing around frantically, his eyes landed on the folded newspaper at the end of the table. Quickly, he slid the dessert plate inside the pages of the paper and then pulled the spaghetti plate in front of him, twirling a bite of spaghetti onto his fork.
“What are you eating?” Rosie asked, now fully dressed.
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Stanley said, his eyes wide with innocence. “Healthy as the day is long.”
She smiled at him. “I’m proud of you, Stanley,” she said. “I thought for sure you would be eating peach pie for breakfast.”
“Well, I ain’t, as you can see fer yourself,” he replied, feeling a little guilty about lying to her.
She started to walk towards the refrigerator when he jumped up and waylaid her. “I want to apologize for the snoring,” he said. “Why don’t you let me make you breakfast.”
“Why Stanley, that’s so sweet,” Rosie said. “But I couldn’t let you…”
“No. No. I insist,” he replied, pulling out a chair for her. “Now what would you like?”
She studied him for a moment and noticed that his shirt seemed to have flakes of crust on it. Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced around the table noting the large bump in the middle of the newspaper. Then she turned back to Stanley. “Well, since you’re being so generous,” she said, “why don’t we both split that last piece of pie. I think that would be considered moderation, don’t you?”
“Split the piece of pie?” Stanley choked, feeling like his last bite was caught in his throat.
She smiled widely and nodded. “Yes, that sounds just perfect to me,” she said. “Peach pie.”
He looked panicked, and he searched around the room, desperate to come up with something to stay out of trouble. His eyes landed on the phone, and he took a deep breath and smiled.
“Sure. Sure, we can have pie,” he said. “Mary can wait.”
Rosie shook her head. “Mary? What’s going on with Mary?” she asked.
“Well, never you mind,” he said. “Breakfast is more important. A phone call to Mary can wait.”
“She wanted me to call her?” Rosie asked, suspicious of Stanley’s motives.
He nodded his head. “Yeah, she said she wanted you to tell her about the shadowy thing you saw last night.”
Rosie picked up the phone and stared at Stanley for a long moment. “I’m going to call Mary, and if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, so help me Stanley…”
“Just call her and find out,” he replied.
Watching him, she dialed the phone. “Hello Mary, this is Rosie,” she said. “Stanley was just saying I should call you about the shadows I saw darting around the living room last night.”
Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “Why, of course we can,” she said, staring at Stanley. “Yes, we’ll be right over.”
She hung up the phone and shook her head. “Well, I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” she said. “Can you forgive me?”
“‘Course I can,” Stanley said, picking up his plate and walking it across the room. “I’ll just stick my plate in the refrigerator, and we can go right now.”
“Yes,” Rosie agreed. “She seemed a little anxious.”
“Well, it’s probably nothing,” he assured her, helping her with her coat. “But we shouldn’t let her worry, you know, considering her condition.”
“You’re right. It’s probably nothing,” Rosie agreed, but her voice didn’t quite convince either of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Mary hung up the phone and slowly laid it down on the table. “That was Rosie,” she said, her voice heavy with concern. “She said that she saw a shadowy figure in her house last night.”
“When?” Bradley asked.
“I didn’t ask,” Mary replied regretfully. “I was so worried I just asked them to come over here right away.”
“Do you think it was the same spirit that visited you?” Ian asked.
“Why would he have gone to their house?” Bradley asked. “And didn’t you think you saw him later when I was asleep?”
“If that was the same shadowy figure,” Mary said.
“How many shadowy figures do we have in our house?” Bradley asked.
“Well, there’s Ian…” Mike replied, trying to lighten the mood. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, inappropriate timing I know. But, you know, there could be more than one spirit involved.”
Mary looked at him. “The last one, the one I saw when Bradley was asleep,” she said. “I didn’t feel as creeped out by it. I mean, if I were as creeped out, I wouldn’t have gone upstairs to bed, right?”
Ian shrugged. “Well, it all depends on the entity,” he explained. “If he’s a spirit that can influence your thoughts and actions, he could have wanted you to feel safe and go to bed.”
“Why would he do that?” Mary asked.
Bradley sat back in his chair and glanced around the table. “Because if we were all sleeping, he could set another fire,” he said slowly. “And if we were sleeping hard enough that someone knocking on the door couldn’t wake us…”
“It would have been like my dream,” Mary said, a chill running up her back. “We would have died in our sleep.”
She rested her hands on her stomach, instinctively protecting the child inside of her. “So, why didn’t he do it?” she asked.
“It could have been that I interrupted his plan,” Ian said. “It sounds like I arrived an hour or so after you’d gone back to bed. So, perhaps he was waiting until you were sound asleep, and by then it was too late.”
“That makes sense,” Bradley said. “I don’t like your answer, but it makes perfect sense.”
Mary looked over at Mike. “Can he do that?” she asked. “Can a spirit come into my house and set a fire? I thought there were rules.”
Mike met her eyes and sighed. “This one wasn’t sent to you,” he said. “He didn’t come needing help. He followed you from the asylum. And, really, the asylum wasn’t in the plan book either. So, to answer your question, this one is beyond the rules. He writes his own rules.”
She turned back to Bradley, fear in her eyes. “What do we do?”
He placed his hand over hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Well, first, we don’t panic,” he said. “We have more power on our team than he does.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“We pushed him back at the asylum, and Mike pushed him out last night,” he said. “It sounds like he prefers to lurk in the shadows and cause problems when no one is watching.” He turned to Mike and Ian. “So, we watch.”
“I like that plan,” Ian agreed. “But we’re also going to need to find out who he is and why he’s here if we are ever going to get rid of him.”
“So, we divide and conquer,” Mary s
aid.
“Wait a minute,” Bradley said. “I don’t like the sound…”
“We both can’t go this time,” Mary said, interrupting him. “We can’t leave Clarissa here without one of us here. Mike is powerful, but…”
“But sometimes my hands are tied,” Mike admitted.
“And we can’t send Clarissa over to Brennan’s, because he could follow her,” Mary continued. “We can’t risk their family, too.”
“Mary and I can go back up to the asylum,” Ian said. “We can look for records there and in the nearby town.”
“We can also find out if the house fire was local,” Mary said. “Small towns remember things like that.”
“You won’t take any risks?” Bradley said.
“I promise,” she replied, meeting his eyes. “I will do nothing that will put me or Mikey in danger.”
“Aye, and she wouldna have a choice, anyway,” Ian replied. “I wouldna allow it.”
Bradley ran his hand through his hair and nodded. “Okay, I have a friend who has a vacation house up there,” he said. “I’ll call him and ask if I can use it.”
“We can just stay in a hotel,” Mary said.
Bradley shook his head. “There are too many places to start a fire in a hotel,” he said. “This place is easier to protect.”
“Good point,” Ian said, turning and smiling at Mary. “I guess we get to be roommates again.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“For what?” he asked.
“For dropping everything and coming to help,” she said. “For interrupting your life.”
His smile faltered slightly. “Ah, well, I was looking for a wee distraction just now,” he said softly. “And this seems to fit the bill.”
He turned to Bradley. “The fellow you borrowed the ghost hunting equipment from,” he said. “Wyatt, right? Wyatt Hermann?”
Bradley nodded. “Yes, why?”
“Do you think he’d mind if we borrowed it again?” Ian asked. “It’d be helpful to have some sensors around the house to tell us if we’ve got company.”
