The Ghosts of Summerleigh Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  “He is lying,” I whispered.

  Father walked to the window and peered down at the lawn below. He held his gold pocket watch in his hand, apparently to check the time. I knew that he had made up his mind not to believe me. “I am sure you are confused, Mariana. Maybe Jacob is right. You were dreaming.”

  “I wasn’t dreaming,” I said as I flopped back in my chair. “I was not dreaming, Father. I saw them together.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “You have heard by now that I intend to marry Claudette. I wish that whoever had told you would have done me the courtesy of allowing me to share this news with you, but I can see that the servants have been gossiping again. Or was it Mrs. Tutwiler?”

  “No, Father. Mrs. Tutwiler has not been gossiping.” I felt all my joy vanish in that moment, and I wiped at my tears with the back of my hand.

  “Good. I know that the idea of my marrying again seems strange to you, as I have been a bachelor for so long, but it is my intent to do so. Judge Paul has agreed to the union, and as you and Claudette are friends, I believed you would be happy to have her so close by. Whatever disagreement you have with your friend, you must settle it—because she will be my wife, Mariana.” He wiped my face with his handkerchief and handed it to me. “Keep it, but I want those tears gone when you come down the stairs.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Time to put those childish ideas away now. No petty jealousy between you and Claudette or your brother. We will be a family.” He popped open his pocket watch one last time and snapped it shut. “From this day forward, you must behave like an adult. I have been patient with you, Mariana, but it is time to move on. You cannot grieve for your mother all your life; you never even knew her. There is so much you don’t know.” He walked to the door and stared at it, his back to me. He was struggling with the idea of telling me something but, unlike me, decided against it. “Finish getting ready for your party, and no more idle talk.” He left my room without another word to me. And I could think of nothing else to say to him.

  I had told him the worst, and he did not believe me. I was no fortune-teller, but I could see the future in that moment.

  Horrible things were about to happen.

  Chapter Fourteen—Jerica

  For the first time, the nursery felt warm and peaceful. Almost welcoming. At least that’s what I told myself. Tucking myself into an overstuffed seat, I rubbed my hand over the soft throw blanket. We had decided that this would become the upstairs parlor, a kind of bonus room for guests staying on the top floor. None of the ghosts of yesterday could touch the beauty of this space now. What a great idea to go with this lively blue and taupe color combination. It was the most contemporary-looking room in the house, the complete opposite of what it used to look like. And that was due in no small part to Renee, who had proved to be invaluable in the renovation and decoration process. She’d managed to completely change the room, no more dark foreboding shades of deep burgundy and hunter green covering the walls. I sighed, the warmth disappearing from the room—and my bones. This room had been such an unhappy place, and no amount of paint and throw blankets and candles would change that.

  Not anymore. That can’t be true. Not anymore.

  Even as I thought the words, I did not believe them. Nope. As much as I pretended otherwise, the nursery still played an unhappy note, a mournful strum that hummed beneath everything else. No, this place did not want to be happy.

  “Well, it’s going to be,” I said to no one in particular. And that’s when I heard the notes, soft and sweet at first and then more frantic. Oh yes, this was a familiar sound. Was that a piano? Yes, it was a piano!

  I sat up on the settee and moved the pillows to the side. I heard nothing, but then the music returned, only louder, more present. Yes! There it was again. The sound of the piano! But we had no piano. I had to investigate this noise immediately. Jesse and I had talked about installing a stereo system but had not taken steps to do so. Not yet. Was this a CD player? It couldn’t be; the sound was too close, too full, like there was a recital taking place downstairs. I walked to the open door and poked my head into the hallway. I suspected that as soon as I stepped into the hallway the sound would disappear, but it didn’t. Now, I heard the piano playing even more loudly. I swallowed and checked the other rooms. All the doors were closed. I checked every room, but there wasn’t a soul in the place, no CD player and certainly not a grand piano.

  “Renee? Jesse? Are you still here? Anyone?”

  No one answered, and I swore silently under my breath. I wasn’t one to swear much and didn’t do it well, but this was definitely a swear-word moment. Why had I sent everyone home? I was beyond goose bumps, and my hands and arms felt icy cold. Instinctively, I rubbed them to try to warm myself back up. Out of the blue, a stabbing pain in my stomach struck me so hard that it made me bow forward slightly. I clutched my gut in surprise and felt a wave of nausea hit me.

  “Oh God,” I whimpered as I gripped the nearby doorframe. I waited for the pain to pass and then flicked off the light and closed the door behind me as I headed to the stairs. The piano notes became softer, the music calmer; it was a familiar tune. Was that Chopin? It was certainly not Mozart. I racked my brain trying to remember, trying to recall those long-ago days in my Music Appreciation class. Back then I would’ve known who I was listening to. Then it dawned on me. Beethoven! That was it! Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

  As I put my foot on the top of the stairs, the music stopped and I heard the moving of furniture, as if someone had hurriedly pushed back the piano bench. But again I had to remind myself that there was no piano here and no piano bench. I hurried to the bottom landing and stood there, steeling my nerves to make the final few steps into the Great Room. Once more, the pain twisted in my stomach. I leaned against the wall gasping for breath between spasms.

  When I could finally breathe normally, I called, “Jesse?” I hoped he would answer me, that someone would answer me, but I knew I was alone. My hand went to my stomach, and I half expected to pull it away and see blood there, so deep and painful was this sensation. I closed my eyes as they watered and waited for the pain to pass. As the pain loosened its hold on me, I waited. A board creaked below.

  Probably the house settling. That’s all. Just the house settling. Please be that.

  A familiar voice echoed from the Great Room. “Hello, Jerica. I have been waiting for you. Impatiently waiting.” With heavy legs and even heavier footsteps, I walked down the last few stairs and stepped into the Great Room. The custom-made furniture had arrived earlier, and the place was beautifully accommodated, ready for guests. But this visitor was certainly unwanted and unwelcome.

  How did he get in here? Had I left the door unlocked? I couldn’t have. I never do!

  Eddie Poole sat in one of the chairs near the large picture window. His bony arms were crossed as if he were some sort of demented physician waiting to diagnose his patient.

  “Please, Jerica. Dear wife, come and join us.”

  I stepped closer. “Us? Who are you talking about, Eddie?”

  I had another visitor, who manifested like an inky portrait image being developed right before my eyes. She sat like an old-fashioned wooden doll in the chair beside Eddie. I watched her touch my ex-husband’s hand as if they were the greatest of friends. The closest. The most intimate. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  I was looking at the ghost of Claudette Paul.

  Chapter Fifteen—Jerica

  The deep, stabbing pain returned, and my knees buckled. No, please. Don’t do this now. What is happening to me? My nurse’s brain worked on a diagnosis, but the agonizing ache was like nothing I could describe. I had to be hallucinating. That couldn’t really be Claudette Paul.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I think you know why I am here. I was invited, dear wife. I am here to collect on a debt that I am owed.”

  I put my hand up to fend him off as he walked toward me slowly. Eddie behaved like a
man impaired, under the influence of some sort of narcotic. But he was clearing the distance between us rather quickly, and panic rose within me.

  “What debt? You have to get out of here. Get out of my house, Eddie!” I yelled as the pain increased. “Leave before the police arrive. I have this place wired. They’ll know you are here.”

  Eddie walked up beside me and stared down at me, and he seemed to enjoy my pain because I heard him laughing. “By the time they arrive, I will have collected my debt and then it won’t matter. Will it?” He chuckled, and it was a low, horrible sound. How was Claudette involved in all this? Was it she who had summoned Eddie here? Or was it just his pure hatred for me, his absolute disgust for me, that led him to Summerleigh?

  Whatever the answer, I knew I was in trouble. Why had I told Jesse to go home? He had wanted to stay, but I had to push myself. I had to be here at Summerleigh by myself. I had to visit the nursery just one more time. Check it out, just to make sure everything was safe. But it wasn’t safe. Not at all. And now I’d made a horrible mistake.

  I had my cell phone in my pocket, and that gave me hope. If I could get to it, I could call for help. But right now, I had to focus on getting to my feet.

  Harper! If you can hear me—I’m in trouble!

  Finally, the pain lifted, but Eddie had me by the back of my hair. He dragged me to my feet as I screamed, more in anger than in pain. “Stop, you bastard!”

  “Oh, nice. So classy, Nurse Jerica. Is that any way to talk to your husband?”

  With a twist of my upper body, I lifted my foot and kicked backward, hitting him in the leg. It wasn’t enough to take him down, but it freed me from his grasp. No way! I wasn’t going to die alone at the hands of Eddie Poole! I backed away from Eddie but didn’t dare make a fast move, and I sure didn’t risk pulling out my phone. Not yet. I had to make a run for it first, but I needed more time.

  You know how to do this, Jerica. You were a counselor and a nurse, for Pete’s sake. You can do this. Focus on the patient.

  “Okay, Eddie. I know that you are hurting, but you have to explain to me why you are here. Tell me, what do you want? What can I help you with?”

  And then I had the opportunity to look him fully in the face. This man was a shadow of the man I once loved; I had loved him so deeply that I had been willing to do anything for him. His long, narrow nose looked so out of place in his face. Had he broken it recently? Yes, it was crooked. There was no trace left of the man I had loved. He’d shaved off his hair, and I could see scars on his hands, face and arms. For an instant, I felt sympathy for him until I saw what was in his right hand.

  Eddie was holding a pair of silver shears.

  “Eddie, put those scissors down. You don’t need those to talk to me. I think we can work this out if you…”

  And then to my complete surprise, Eddie swung the shears in front of him like a child swinging at a piñata. But this was nothing as pleasant as that. He wanted to cut me, to kill me, to make me bleed. And now, a few feet behind him, Claudette was moving closer. She appeared washed out like a black-and-white picture, and she wore a raggedy ball gown. Claudette looked like an awful creature. Her dead eyes were ringed with black shadows, her white lips moved, and she wore a hungry expression as if she would love nothing more than to devour me. She was speaking but not to me—she was whispering to Eddie.

  I screamed as I tumbled backwards, tripping over my own two feet, but I quickly regained my footing. I sprinted around the couch to escape them, but I didn’t make the mistake of trying to run any further. Claudette’s image flickered out and reappeared near the front door, as if she knew I was going to try to escape. Eddie growled like an animal next to me, and he began to sob as he waved the shears again. He waved them wildly like some sort of macabre puppet under the control of an invisible, devilish puppeteer.

  “You killed my daughter! I knew you hated me; I knew you were going to leave me. You planned the whole thing, didn’t you? I thought you might try to take Marisol from me, but you murdered her instead. Why, Jerica? Why? You merciless bitch! You took everything from me.”

  I sobbed at the accusation. He believed it—he really believed it! “Eddie, I wasn’t leaving you. I never even considered that. I loved you, and that is not what happened. How dare you believe that I would harm Marisol? I loved her! I loved you! I am sorry. If I could take it back, I would. Don’t you think I wished it was me that died and not her?”

  As if to answer my question, he plunged the shears into the couch nearest me, his hateful glare focused on me. With all his rage, he stabbed the couch again and again. I should have run, but I was stunned by his savagery and could do nothing but watch.

  “You are a liar, Jerica. A murdering liar!”

  Remember, stay focused. Talk to him. All you need is ten seconds to get to that door.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Eddie, but it’s not too late. If you are sick, and you must be, I can help you. You are delusional if you believe that I would hurt our daughter!” I replied to him as calmly as possible. Yes, I had to be calm. Being calm would help him. The police should arrive soon. The alarm system had been active, or so I hoped. Surely they would arrive any minute now.

  “Eddie you shouldn’t have come here. There are spirits here that influence people who are sick. You are sick, Eddie. You need a doctor, and I can help you find one. You know I can. Remember that time your appendix burst? I was there. And that time you wrecked out on your motorcycle? I was there every minute. I loved you, Eddie.”

  I continued to move to my left around the back of the chaise, and I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I didn’t want to cry, but I also didn’t want to die. It didn’t appear that I would be able to get to the front door, but there was an alternate exit in Ann’s bedroom. If I could just get there.

  That’s what I would do. I would make my move and run down that hallway. The kitchen would be too far, but this way…I could make this run.

  And then the lamp crashed to the floor. Eddie struck it down with his hand, and I jumped at the sound of the breaking pottery.

  “Don’t talk to me, Jerica, and don’t speak her name. You are not worthy of her! And you were never worthy of her, you crazy—” Before he could finish his slur, footsteps banged across the ceiling above us. Someone else was here. “Is your friend hanging around? Isn’t he man enough to come face me? Hey! Come down here, you punk! I’ve got something for you too!” He was distracted, or so I thought, so I tossed a glance at the door that led to the hallway. The footsteps continued, louder now, as if someone in heavy boots were stomping around. Those weren’t high heels clicking on the wood but the boots of a soldier. Then the floor shook and the chandelier began to swing.

  Immediately, I saw Claudette’s image change. Her face morphed into one of terror, and she wavered as if she were an image on an old television screen that flickered in and out. And just like that, she vanished. Eddie’s eyes widened; I saw confusion and terror there. Was it possible that the spirit’s hold on him, the evil influence of Claudette Paul, had been broken or at least weakened?

  “Eddie, we have to leave this place. You have to stop this. This is madness!”

  He was crying now but still had the scissors in his hand. “My daughter! You killed her, Jerica. You took her from me.” He continued to cry and swear, and now he was waving the shears in great arcs as he came toward me. I could run to the front door now if I wanted to, and I might be able to make it. But maybe not. Even as I glanced in that direction, his eyes followed me. His pale lips were cracked and covered with sores. As he snarled at me, I could clearly see his broken teeth. Oh, how could I have loved this man? This couldn’t be my ex-husband. This creature was nothing but a disgusting doppelgänger of Eddie Poole.

  “You aren’t going anywhere, Jeri girl. You are gonna pay for what you did to my daughter. She was the only good thing left for me. The last of my soul, Jerica. She was the last of my soul.”

  “No, Eddie. You are still in there.
You can still have a life. Marisol would want you to live, and you know I would never harm her. I loved her as much as I loved you.”

  “I told you not to say her name! You’ll pay for that!” The gaunt skeleton of a man launched himself toward me. I have to make my move now! No more stalling!

  I pushed the armchair over as hard as I could. It wouldn’t stop him for long, but maybe it would slow him down. I raced toward the hallway that would lead me to the bedroom hallway. I slammed the door with a scream of anger, wishing it had a lock. I ran as fast as I could, but the pain in my stomach returned and seized me again. I flung myself against the wall opposite Harper’s bedroom. I couldn’t speak or breathe; all I could do was lean against the wall and wait for the pain to subside.

  What is going on? What’s wrong with me?

  Eddie slung the door open, and I crept away as far as I could until the pain was so great that I collapsed on the floor. He laughed as he walked toward me. And here I would die. Here in the hallway at Summerleigh, so close to Harper. So many had died here—why not one more?

  Although my stomach pain intensified, I dragged myself away with both my hands. Surely this pain would only last a few more seconds, just like before. If I could wait it out, I could get away. I still had a chance.

  I crawled a few inches, but then Eddie was next to me. I could see the scissors in his hand. They were old scissors, antiques, really. They were severely rusted, or was that dried blood? I could hardly tell.

  “Eddie… Don’t do this.”

  I expected him to say something cruel, to taunt me as he did his horrible deed, but that didn’t happen. I heard a door squeaking and shoes walking toward us. Then I could see the shoes. Whoever she was, she wore old-fashioned saddle shoes, the black-and-white ones. I couldn’t look up as pain held me in its grip, but I knew by the bobby socks and shoes who it was that approached. Was this Harper come at last to collect me since I was about to die?