Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

by Lara Parker

  “You’ll see.” They walked across the wide expanse behind Collinwood and toward the abandoned structures several hundred yards away rising like a ghost town out of the white expanse.

  She was silent again, and her dark mood made his throat tight. It had been over a week since their crazy evening, and he wanted to talk to her about what had happened, but he was afraid of upsetting her. Already the nightmare was fading, becoming implausible, all but the hands pressing on his back in the pool house. Part of him never wanted to think about any of it again.

  Now he was immensely curious about Jackie. Until he had seen her with Barnabas, he had been mystified by her peculiar habits, but he had accepted them, even liked them. Now there was so much more he wanted to understand. She was elusive, but there was a reason for her silences. It was as if something otherworldly possessed her.

  He knew she suffered from some sort of illness, and he had always shrugged it off. Everyone in his family was weird—what you might call mentally ill in one way or another. His aunt Elizabeth, for instance, was a recluse, never leaving the house. For some reason she had remained mostly shut up in her room for twenty years. His father slaved away at the shipyards, but exuded a cloud of irritation that seemed to stem from feelings of guilt and apprehension.

  His cousin Barnabas—missing during the day as though he only went out at night, and, even after horrible injuries, refused medical help. Did he have some kind of power to cure himself? Ever since he was a young boy David had wondered about Barnabas and suspected some connection with dark forces. It was entirely possible that he was—of all things—a vampire. The thought was unnerving.

  Carolyn was so bored she was like a firecracker about to explode, and Quentin was a drunkard who never seemed to have a hangover, or even to age, for that matter, when he went away for years. Then there was Jackie’s mom, an over-the-hill hippie stuck in the 1960s who still believed in the power of marijuana. To do what? To ease all the pain of life, to reveal all the truths? Well, she was as kooky as they come. The problem was Toni was Jackie’s mother, and she had some sort of hold over her daughter. She could send her into a depression that was like a deep well she couldn’t claw her way out of. Was that what it was like to have a mother, he wondered.

  He listened to the crunch of their footsteps in the snow until their silence became too painful. “Hey,” he said as lightly as possible. “What happened the other night, after I left?”

  She sighed and waited several moments before she answered. “She has forbidden me to go down there. She said he is not dying, that he will recover, and that no one is to know he is staying at our house.”

  “Doesn’t that worry you? It seemed like he was so badly hurt.”

  “My mom won’t talk to me. She’s different all of a sudden—really out of it.”

  He wondered whether her mother still nagged her about the missing portrait. Somehow it had become the clue to understanding everything.

  “Why do you think the picture is so important to Quentin? Is it a painting of him as a younger man?”

  “No— I don’t know. I have never seen it.”

  “But surely you can … I mean you…” He waited to see what she would say.

  “Conjure up some vision?”

  “Yes…”

  “I’ve tried,” she said, as if it were perfectly normal. “There are signs, a dark place … a stone wall, but not a room.”

  “There are a hundred places like that around Collinwood. Like a needle in a haystack. So we’ll look through all these abandoned buildings behind the house and we’ll see if you get any, you know, vibrations.” He laughed softly. “It’s funny…”

  “What?”

  “I’ve always been warned about wandering back here and now I’m taking you.”

  “Why? Are you frightened?”

  “No, but who knows what is there. Secrets, supposedly, something about the history of our family. Why do you think it has all been left to fall into ruin?”

  “I thought it was because no one cared.” She pulled her coat closer to her body and bent her head. Her hair tumbled over her face and he reached over and pulled it back so that he could see her.

  “Are you ready for this?” he said quickly. David was looking forward to her reaction when she saw what he had discovered, something he himself could not have imagined.

  The day had cleared, but a blanket of snow stretched out before them on the Collinwood lawn like a vast crystalline lake. When she saw the ruined greenhouse, she stopped and caught her breath. It rose like a beached whale out of the snow, its giant steel arches curved up and over into the blue sky. Gleaming in the new light, the ribs of the huge cage overlapping and rising to gothic wonders, it was an airy cathedral, a symbol of another era when the family had been wealthy beyond imagination and every architectural whim was indulged, regardless of the cost. This greenhouse, very much like Collinwood itself with its towers and turrets, was copied from a great English estate as were the splendid grounds, carved lions at the gate, formal hedges with Greek statues, and an enormous ballroom now boarded up. The carriage house and stables were also a part of the great Victorian plan, and so was the pool house with its Doric columns.

  When they approached the greenhouse, they discovered it was much larger than it had seemed from a distance, much like a huge barn. Inside, the low brick foundation still contained rectangular flowerbeds, and peeking though the snow were dried skeletons of Queen Anne’s lace, thorny rosebushes, and bare branches of peach trees, their gnarly fingers bearing buds.

  “It must be an overgrown jungle in here in the summertime,” said David. “But once it was beautiful.”

  “There is nothing here now,” she said, sounding disappointed. “No place where a painting could be stored. It’s all open to the sky.”

  “Come over here,” he said. “I want you to see this.”

  They crossed to an area in the center of the greenhouse where there seemed to be water reflecting the sun, but it turned out to be shards of glass, the shattered remnants of the roof, strewn about in sharp-edged plates under the snow.

  “It’s all ruined,” said Jackie.

  But David simply pointed to the sky. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

  Jackie lifted her head and David followed her gaze. There were pieces of glass still set in the frame, some whole, some jagged, where storms had rent the panes. But there was something else, a glittering blur across the entire structure, a fringe of icicles that hung from each arch, repeated over and over along the entire length of the huge roof. They were slowly melting in the sun, and their long dagger points vibrated as quivering drops fell from their tips. Each icicle caught the sun and formed a prism that flashed and trembled.

  “I found it this morning,” he said. “Look at all the rainbows.” He searched her face for what he hoped would be wonderment. “I thought you would like it because … well, because you are an artist.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s beautiful,” she murmured, and together they stared up at the spectacle above them. She smiled at him, and when he caught her hand, he felt her fingers inside her glove.

  There was a fetch of wind, and a blast of cold air.

  David put his arm around her when he saw her shiver. Her eyes grew dark, and she glanced up quickly just as the sky paled and the wind came strong from off the sea. It whipped into a gust, and the greenhouse trembled like the rigging of a great ship. There was a tinkling sound, as icicles shook loose and fell, landed on the glass, and shattered.

  Jackie threw her hands up over her head, and David grabbed her arm and turned one way, then another, searching for the easiest escape, but the rain of falling spears surrounded them. He saw her bewildered expression when she ducked just as an icicle flew down, barely missing her face, and his chest tightened. He had been showing off, and like an idiot he had brought her to a place of danger.

  The wind wailed and shook the greenhouse with a sound like a string section out of tune, and the clattering ice was the tympani
striking the ground. David reached around her and tugged on her arm. “Come on!”

  When they looked up, they saw the icicles whistling down, like the arrows of English bowmen in numbers too great to count. The wind shrieked though the frame.

  Finally, braving the barrage, he buried her head against his chest, chose a direction, and sprinted for safety. He lost hold of her, and she tripped and fell, and cried out as a jagged piece of glass stuck in her knee. She reached to remove it, but she stopped, seeing the blood flow onto the snow. He pulled her to her feet and then felt a sharper blow as an icicle struck the side of his head. Finally, ducking and scrambling, he dragged them both out of the greenhouse and onto the snowy lawn.

  They collapsed in the snow and lay still for a moment, staring blankly up at the sky. David’s mind was in turmoil. Had something come after them? Something demonic that lived back there? When he was able to speak, he reached a hand over to her. “Are you okay?”

  He heard a smothered sound and he realized she was laughing. He looked at her incredulously. “You think that was funny?”

  She nodded, her face lit by a smile, “Yes.”

  “Why? We could have been killed.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. It was just icicles.”

  “Yeah, falling like knives.”

  “But we weren’t hurt.”

  Impulsively he grabbed her and rolled her over in the snow, playfully, as if he was wrestling with her, and she was laughing as well, until he realized he was lying on top of her with a sudden bulge in his pants, and he was embarrassed when he saw her grin. He lifted off her and lay beside her, looking up at the sky, both of them still laughing at what could have been a disaster, and he thought he could feel the earth move beneath them. He was insanely happy.

  “I’m so glad you moved in next door,” he said, just to tease her. “You’ve made my life much more exciting.”

  “Oh, really?” she said. “Do you think I’m the one causing these unusual happenings?”

  He smiled, and then nudged her. “Look at the greenhouse.”

  The wind had calmed, and it was quiet again, almost benign. The floor was littered with shattered ice, but the blue sky shone through the steel arches as bright as before. Then he heard Jackie moan.

  “David, what do you think? My knee is bleeding.”

  He sat up to see. There was a shard of glass sticking out of a deep cut, and blood had already dripped on the snow—her blood—blooming like a rose and so bright red it hurt his eyes to look at it. He shook his head. “You have to pull that out.”

  “You…”

  “Me? You want me to do it?”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together, then looked away. He scooped up a handful of snow and carefully dropped it over the cut. She winced and drew in her breath.

  “In a minute, the cold will deaden the pain,” he said, “and then you won’t feel anything.” He cupped his hand and held it there over her bent knee, feeling the cold snow in the center of his palm and her warm skin at the edge of his hand.

  “If I didn’t think it sounded crazy,” he said, “I’d say these buildings actually are bewitched, or spooked, just like Willie said, and that they don’t want us around.”

  “Or enchanted.” She looked at him now, waiting, her eyes dark. The damp tendrils clung to her neck.

  David cupped her knee and placed his other hand on her thigh to steady it. Because he was afraid to look at her, he looked at her shadow on the snow, faint and barely moving.

  “I want to tell you something,” he said. “That night, you know, I was certain there was someone in the pool house.” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but his voice was rough with a frog in it.

  “Was there?” She was shivering now. He could feel the muscle of her leg, firm and warm, and her body trembling.

  “Something pushed me into the pool. It was crazy. Freaked me out. I can’t seem to shake it.”

  “Pushed you in?” Again, she sucked in her breath. “Restless ghosts,” she whispered. He wondered if he was hurting her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, grimacing. “And today was just as freaky, the way that wind came up all of a sudden.”

  “But the icicles were already melting.”

  “I know, but the whole barrage. Came out of nowhere. As if something was behind it.”

  “Maybe you’re right. How can you expect a place as full of life as this once was to not have wandering spirits? They’ve been ignored for so many years.”

  “I’m going to take the snow off now. Does it feel numb?” Her knee was bright red.

  She nodded and looked into his eyes. “Maybe they’ve been waiting for us to come along,” she said. “They wouldn’t appear to the type of person who wouldn’t be receptive. Instead they would wait until someone came looking, someone who might acknowledge they were there. Someone like us.” She was gazing up into his face, but he was turning away from her eyes, concentrating, so very scared of hurting her.

  He took the piece of glass between his two frozen fingers and pulled gently. She cried out as the shard came loose and blood spurted.

  “There.” He grabbed another handful of snow and pressed it against her knee. Splatters of blood lay around them, like scarlet petals. “I don’t know. I think Willie was right. Maybe we should stay out of these deserted buildings.” The blood trickled down her leg, and he wanted to kiss the place where it oozed.

  “But if there is something…” She looked off toward the greenhouse again and he was not sure what she saw.

  A shiver went through him. “What? Something that doesn’t want us snooping around?”

  “Or something is trying to reach us. Don’t you want to find out what it is?” Her face was flushed.

  “I thought we were just looking for a painting.”

  “Well, what about the painting? Quentin might want it back because it has some kind of power over him. Paintings can take on spells; they can be magical. There’s something back here, David. I can feel it. Something is … speaking to us.”

  He felt a tremor as he pulled his hand away. “There.”

  “It’s okay. It’s stopped bleeding. You fixed it.”

  He sat back and watched as the blood seeped more slowly now out of the cut.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said, and climbed to his feet.

  She looked surprised. “You don’t want to stop looking now, do you?”

  “Don’t you?” He gathered more snow and pressed it into a snowball. It had some of her blood in it. He stood quietly for a moment holding it, moving it from one hand to the other. Jackie backed away grinning.

  “Aren’t you going to throw that at me?” she teased, and took off across the snow.

  He tossed the snowball and it exploded on her shoulder. She laughed, and he ran to catch up. “What happened the other night with Barnabas?” he said. “What was that all about?”

  She shrugged and looked away again. “It’s just an old gypsy trick. The salt from tears is a curative.”

  “But was it a … you know, a spell?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You seemed to be doing something else. I heard you saying things, like an incantation.”

  “Don’t worry, David. My spells are fool’s gold.” She grimaced as she put weight on her leg. “But if there are spirits back here, we should try to find out who they are. It could be they want us to find them. Aren’t you curious?”

  “Why did your mom show up? And you just left her with him?”

  She didn’t answer but brushed the snow off and turned to look at him. “We can look one more place, can’t we? You said there were stables.”

  “Are you really a witch, Jackie?”

  She looked into his eyes, shrugged, then smiled. “The greenhouse was beautiful. Rainbow after rainbow.”

  “Yeah, and ice pick after ice pick.” He reached for her and pulled her close, his hand around her waist. He looked down at her flushed face.

  “Let’s not stop now,” she said
.

  * * *

  When they slid open the door to the carriage house, the stale odor that assailed them was of moldy hay and frozen earth. A black Bentley sat parked in one of the larger stalls just in front of the opening. A mute guardian, it was as silent as a coffin in the gloom.

  “That’s Barnabas’s car,” said David. “He gave me a couple of driving lessons, but he doesn’t seem to drive it anymore.” He caught Jackie’s eye and they both frowned. “I wonder if he ever will again.”

  Jackie leaned over and cupped her hand against one of the tinted windows. “Empty,” she said. “I thought maybe…”

  David opened the back door and glanced under the backseat. “We should look in the trunk, or the ‘boot,’ as Barnabas always called it.” As he closed the door, he noticed that the key was in the ignition, and he was gripped by the flash of a daydream, of taking it for a ride. The trunk was empty as well, except for the battery and the spare tire.

  They wandered farther into the barn, searching in dark corners for anything stored away. “It wasn’t that long ago that horses were kept here,” said David, and he could hear the anxious tone in his voice as they made their way between the gloomy stalls. They found nothing but cobwebs and decayed sawdust. David’s chest ached in a way that made him feel sick, and he reached out to steady himself on one of the gates. Was he doing it again? Leading them into danger? Risking her safety when he was supposed to protect her?

  But drawn by her curiosity, Jackie went ahead, and he watched her move into one of the stalls.

  Rays of sunbeams poured in through a tear in the roof and dust motes danced about in the shafts of light. The entire interior was ancient wood, and the huge rafters bore the scars of a hand adz. The walls and the flat boards of the stalls were a dark stain as well, and the floor had been strewn with straw, now decayed and crumbled to dirt. Thick spiderwebs, fuzzy with gray chalk, hung between the posts. Feeling anxious, he reached for Jackie’s hand. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She nodded and moved farther, with David following reluctantly. When she spotted several large enclosures at the end of the building, Jackie asked, “What were those rooms for?” Her voice had a frenetic ring to it, and David was wary, already spooked by the uncanny silence. Not a board creaked or a rafter shuddered.