“So, you’re basically giving the ghost a cold?”
She stares at me for a second. “That’s an interesting way of putting it, but yes, I suppose you could look at it that way. I’m making the ghost sluggish and robbing her of her energy. I’ve sent a few ghosts away permanently in the past, but they weren’t malevolent. Some entities can be reasoned with and will leave you alone if you ask them to. Ghosts like Angelina won’t be eradicated so easily. She’d give a priest a run for his money, that’s for sure. I’ll be robbing her of some of her power, but she’ll in no way be completely gone. I’m not naïve in my abilities, I know what my limits are. A ghost that can curse an entire town is a force to be reckoned with.”
Miss Jenkins follows me home.
As soon as she exits her car, she blows out a breath.
“Yes, she has definitely gotten stronger. This entire area is saturated. Can’t you feel the heaviness?”
I nod, because actually, I can. I blamed the altitude, the way the air feels thicker, how it seems you have to take two extra breaths just to fill your lungs.
She slips a necklace over my head; a black, polished stone on the end of a silver chain. “For protection,” she says, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“Thank you.”
I take her around back and start fumbling with my keys. She had been following me up to this point, but I no longer feel her behind me. I turn and look over my shoulder. Miss Jenkins is staring at the swing set.
I lean against the banister to get a better look. “Hey! You okay?”
“You’re right,” she calls. “She does sit on this swing. A lot. She sits here and watches you.”
You’d think I’d be used to getting the willies by now, but I’m not. It’s one thing to know that your home is haunted, but it’s another to feel like you’re being stalked.
“When she isn’t trying to communicate with you, she observes you. It’s…strange. It’s like she’s fascinated with you.”
“That’s just great,” I snort sarcastically.
“It is what it is,” she says, dropping her satchel to the ground and rummaging through it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to bless the swing.”
She lights a bundle of sage and waves smoke all around the swing set. I busy myself with opening the door. Salem greets me, all plucky and curious. I decide to let him out while Miss Jenkins blesses the house. I have a feeling he won’t be fond of the smoke.
He crosses Miss Jenkins’s path.
“Holy crap!” She jumps away from him.
“What? What is it?”
“That…that cat is filled with psychic energy!”
Now I scowl at her. “So what? Now the cat’s psychic too? Come on…”
“Don’t be ridiculous…the cat…” she reaches out to stroke him. “Angelina did something to the cat. His energy is like nothing I’ve ever felt.”
“Is it bad?”
“No, no I don’t think so.”
Salem takes off for the field.
I gesture towards the house. “Shall we?”
Miss Jenkins steps across the threshold and into the kitchen. She takes a deep breath.
“I know you’re under age, but have you ever been inside of a bar?”
“Actually, I have. Once. To pick up dad.”
She nods. “The same way a bar is heavy with smoke; your house is heavy with energy. It’s hard to breathe in here.”
She starts waving the sage around, and I swear I feel a shift. A subtle sort of tension. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“Miss Jenkins, maybe we shouldn’t do this?”
“Nonsense. If you want help, this is what I have to do.”
She dips her finger into a clear bottle of liquid and makes the sign of the cross.
A picture falls off the wall.
Miss Jenkins doesn’t pay it any heed, but I notice that the glass is cracked. She waves the smoke in the corners of the room and asks God to bless the house. She passes by the living room and ascends the staircase.
“I think I’ll start at the top and work my way down.”
She starts in my room. She opens the closet door and waves her smoke in there. I open the windows. I’d rather avoid explaining this smell to my mother. Miss Jenkins makes the sign of the cross near the closet and a book flies off the shelf. She moves to the bathroom and a shampoo bottle explodes. In Mom’s bedroom, a jewelry box drops to the floor; her silver rings dancing in circles. With each passing room, the negative energy intensifies. There’s a flurry of constant motion as we walk through the house: books flip open and pages flutter, curtains lift and strain, doors open and close for invisible visitors and dishes clank in the sink.
“Miss Jenkins, I think she’s getting angry!”
“That’s typically what happens,” she says, without missing a beat.
My anxiety is through the roof and I think the house is going to explode, but she keeps on waving her smoke and telling the ghost to get out.
We’re in the living room—the last unblessed room in the house.
A sonic boom goes off, vibrating the very nails in the floorboards. The walls lean forward, then jerk away as if they were breathing things. Pots and pans beat angrily in the kitchen while the spoons wage war with the forks. A butcher knife flies in gleeful circles, a witness to the chaos below. Mom’s unfinished manuscript takes flight from the coffee table and surrounds us in a paper storm. A Yankee candle sparks to life and relentlessly chases the paper.
“Miss Jenkins! We should stop!”
“We can’t! This is the last room to be blessed!”
As if enraptured by her brilliant flame, a piece of paper stops to kiss the candle. He folds a corner and touches the wick. He burns hot and fast as if consumed by passion, blowing around us in manic circles. He turns to ash quickly, but he has started a trend. The papers slap and crumple against each other, competing for a fiery kiss.
“Miss Jenkins, we have to get out of here before my house turns into an inferno!”
Miss Jenkins throws holy water at the corners of the room. She’s praying, chanting, or maybe condemning, any of those would work, but I can’t hear her over the stomping of the living room furniture. Bored with the chaos in the kitchen, the butcher knife sails into the living room for better entertainment.
She’s screaming something now, throwing the empty bottle into the fray. I can’t explain it, but I don’t like how the butcher knife is looking at her. I grab her by her meaty arm and shove her towards the front door. We’ve barely busted through the screen door when the wooden one slams behind us.
Thuck!
I turn to look behind me. The tip of the butcher knife is peeking through the wood.
We lay sprawled across the porch, panting, for a few seconds.
Miss Jenkins rolls onto her side to face me. “You shouldn’t have done that! I wasn’t finished!”
“Oh! You were finished, alright! That butcher knife had it out for you!”
Her expression softens, but I can tell she’s still pissed.
“You’ve blessed this house before, is it always like this!?” I ask.
Miss Jenkins shakes her head. “Never. She’s thrown things at me before, but never anything like this.” The woman seems to deflate before my eyes. “I don’t know how she managed to get so strong, but I’m out of my league on this one.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Jenkins, but I really believe you should go home now. And take Dewey Road, don’t chance the bridge.”
She cups my face with one of her hands. “You’re a sweet child, Annie. I’m sorry you were chosen to carry such a burden. I should at least help you clean up the mess.”
“No! Don’t you dare go back in there. I can’t be sure of it, but I think all of that was meant for you. Not me.”
She nods. “Yes, I believe you’re right.”
“Then don’t come back. Don’t ever come back.”
Miss Jenkins leaves a
nd I sit in the outhouse and smoke for the next hour. I just can’t bring myself to go back in there. What will I ever tell Mom? Salem rubs against my ankles, completely oblivious to my anxiety. It’s dinner time. He wants to eat.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever let you back in that house, little boy. You might be safer out here with the coyotes.”
He stares at me with those big, mysterious marbles.
“Alright, I’ll let you in, but it’s at your own risk.”
Up the front steps I go with Salem at my heels. I put my hand on the knob and pause. I don’t hear anything.
I take a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
I shove the door with greater force than I intend to, causing it to bounce against the wall. Salem brushes past me and moseys into the kitchen as if nothing were amiss. I guess because nothing is. I stand in the doorway with my mouth hanging open. Absolutely nothing is out of place. There’s no singed carpet, no misplaced forks, no scattered remains of a manuscript. It’s like the tornado I just experienced with Miss Jenkins never happened. But then I turn and look at the door. It’s old, heavy, and made from real wood, not the hollow crap you find these days. A tiny slice is visible about six inches from the handle. The wood is stained a dark walnut, so the cut is barely visible. Mom will probably never notice. I only found it because I knew it was there. I know Miss Jenkins will always agree that this happened, but it helps that there’s something tangible to prove that it actually did.
20
Annie
Several days pass without incident. No thumps, no squeaks, no random clumps of hair. I’m not naïve enough to believe that she’s gone, but I am holding out hope that she’s sleeping. Maybe we forced a certain amount of peace into her? Or maybe she threw so much of a fit that she’s too exhausted to harass me further. Either way, I’m enjoying the bliss.
When something new comes to town, I’m one of the first to see it. It’s a perk of living on this mountain. While sipping coffee on my porch, I’ve watched the gradual growth of mechanical monsters. Looks like they’re putting the finishing touches on the Ferris Wheel today. I could see the workmen if I narrowed my eyes and focused, but I’ve contented myself with the clanging of metal and the evolution of large machinery. The Scrambler, in particular, takes my eye.
My phone hums in my pocket. I get an occasional text from Moof, Bella, or Zane, but the majority of the time, I expect to see Copper popping up on the screen. I’m not disappointed.
“Hey, Copper.”
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Just sipping some coffee and watching the fair come together. They’ve been beating and banging on The Chainsaw for days, makes me leery about hopping on that one. Gives you a different perspective on things when you get to see the rides in bits and pieces.”
He laughs. “Well on that note, you might not go to the fair with me even if I asked you to.”
I smile and run my fingernail along the porch railing.
“I’d go anywhere with you,” I whisper, hoping I’m not too cheesy.
I can feel him smiling through the phone. “Alright then, I’d like to take you to the fair tomorrow night.”
“Can’t wait.”
“The wind is cool on those rides at night, so be sure to bring your hoodie. That is, if you feel brave enough to get on anything.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine,” I say with more conviction than I feel. Nothing like putting your life into the hands of a half-drunk carnie.
“Pick you up at eight then?”
I feel a twinge of panic.
“Umm…can I just meet you there?”
“If that’s what you want...” He sounds a little hurt. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is not what I wanted.
“Annie…I’ve offered to help finish with the whitewashing, I’ve offered to help fix the leaky sink in the bathroom, I’ve offered to pick you up twice this week and you keep shooting me down. It’s almost like you don’t want me to come over. Have I said something wrong? Did something wrong? Is your mother upset with me for some reason?”
“No! Gosh, no. My mom adores you. It’s just…”
I don’t know how to tell him without looking like a crazy person. After the episode with Miss Jenkins, I’m afraid to have Copper over. If anything happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.
“If there’s a problem, I’ll fix it. I promise I will. You just have to tell me what’s going on.”
Ugh. Sweet Copper. No, I don’t think you can fix this.
“Okay, look, you have to promise to not think I’m a freak.”
“I’d never think that of you, Annie,” he says softly.
“There’s been some…unsettling stuff going on around here and I’d rather you not be a part of it, that’s all.”
“What sort of stuff?” There’s an edge of worry in his voice.
“Angelina stuff.”
He goes quiet for a long time.
“Copper? You still there?”
“Do you have The Cough?” He sounds heartbroken. “Have you actually seen her?”
“I haven’t seen her. I don’t have The Cough, either.”
He blows out a breath. “Okay, good. At least you’re not hurt.”
I’ve already gone this far, so I might as well go all the way. “Copper, have you heard from Aria?”
“Nobody’s heard from Aria. They locked her away at Nettle Grove until she comes to her senses. I don’t know what happened to her, but something made her go off her rocker. She hasn’t spoken since that night.”
“Angelina is what happened to her. She was on the bridge, wrong place, wrong time. Everything the seniors believe in are true. Angelina’s real, and she’s deadly. If you came to my property and something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself and I’d never get over it, especially if it was my fault.”
“Listen, I’ve lived in Vein River my entire life without any run ins with Angelina. I’ve followed the rules and stayed off the bridge at night,” he says placatingly.
“But that doesn’t matter, Copper. She’s haunting my house! I don’t have to be on the bridge to experience her, and neither do you, if you’re here. That’s why I think it’s best you stay away from my property. I appreciate your willingness to help with things, but I just can’t risk it. You’re basically the only thing that’s keeping me in Vein River, as it is.”
“Is it really that bad? The hauntings, I mean.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You know you’re more than welcome to stay with me.”
“No, I’m not going to leave Mom here by herself any more than I have to.”
“What’s your mom say about all of this?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“You’re royally freaked out and nothing at all has happened to her?”
“She says there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
“What are you saying, Copper?”
“I’m saying your mom might be trying to keep you safe, just as you’re trying to keep her safe. You got me?”
“Yeah, I got you.”
“Well, now I don’t feel right about you being there by yourself.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. I don’t think Angelina’s out to hurt me. She scares the crap out of me, but she’s never hurt me.”
“Well, my offer stands. Anytime, day or night, you feel threatened, you call me. I mean it.”
“Yes, sir.” I smile into the phone. “But onto better subjects, how are things with you?”
“Can’t complain. I have a date with a hot girl tomorrow night.”
“Since you can’t see me, I’ll just tell you that I’m blushing,” I laugh.
“Good. I guess I better run. Geno needs me to give the oven a good cleaning and help with prep work. Meet you at the Ferris Wheel at eight?”
“I’ll be there.”
21
Copper
My uncle’s breathing is so labored tha
t I can hear it from my bedroom. The walls are thin, that’s true, but it’s not fair that a man should struggle so hard just to breathe. That’s not the only thing that’s changing. Silas used to have the keenest set of ears. Anytime I wanted to sneak out of my window for a cemetery party, it was a gamble as to if I’d actually get away with it. The days of climbing from my window are over. Now I can walk right out the front door and Uncle will never hear me. It shatters me to see him this way, and what’s even worse, is now I have to worry about Annie. This is all too much. These are innocent people who have never done anything to anybody and this ghost is ruining their lives. It’s not fair, and something needs to be done about it.
I’m afraid for my uncle; his body can’t stand much more. He’s lost weight, he hardly eats, and his complexion is a grayish color. I have to do something, even if it’s stupid. If I sit on my hands, I might as well just watch him die. I check to be sure that Silas is genuinely asleep, then I cover him with a blanket, and tip-toe out the door. The poor man fights for his every breath, even in his dreams.
Just to be on the safe side, I kick the battered Chevy into neutral and coast down the driveway.
It’s a short drive to Angelina’s Bridge, especially in the dead of night. I’ve never seen the phantom, and I suspect tonight will be no different. The wind picks up around the bend, the leaves turning their stems to the sky. There’s a promise of rain in the hush of darkness, an electricity that charges your bones.
I pull the truck to the side of the road. The river below is angry. The ripples rise to jagged peaks as if flicked by a sea monster’s tail.
I enter the bridge in complete darkness, my boots clicking across the floor.
“Angelina?” I call.
I see nothing, I hear nothing, but I feel the very rafters are listening. I walk midway and stop at the shrine. A rusted rosary sways furiously on a peg. I wonder briefly if it’s a suggestion from the great beyond that I should stop and pray for my soul.
But instead, I’m here to make a deal with the devil.
It comes from behind me, the noise bouncing around my ears: a wet, wheezing whistle, like wind through a straw. I feel two taps between my shoulder blades. I turn slowly and come face to face with a very petite, very pale, bare foot. I follow the foot to a slender leg, across a nightgown and up to a face.
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