“What?” I said laughingly.
“Would you mind getting me something to drink?”
“Uh, sure, Gran. Where is your glass?” I sure didn’t want to leave Angus alone with my grandmother, but I couldn’t tell her no.
“Left it upstairs.”
“Okay,” I said cautiously. I gave Angus a shrug as I left the room. He didn’t seem to notice there was a thing wrong. When it came to detecting uncomfortable situations, he wasn’t that good at it. I hoped he was a better ghost detective.
Which was another reason why he came by tonight. We hadn’t told a soul, and I knew it was kind of unethical, but we were going to Idlewood after dinner. He wanted to see a ghost, and I knew there was at least one there. But then, so did he, didn’t he? I already had my backpack ready to go complete with a flashlight, walkie-talkies, a camera and power bars. I liked to eat when I got nervous. And I sure as heck didn’t plan on staying all night. I found Gran’s glass and walked back toward the stairs when I noticed that the door to my old bedroom stood open. In the window a candle burned. And not a scented one, just a short stub of a dusty white candle and an even dustier glass holder. I didn’t recognize either of them, but that meant nothing. Gran went through a stage where she was burning candles for everything. Healing, prosperity, breaking curses—you name it. This must have been the remnants of one of those. Still, it was odd because there was nothing else in here, just the burning candle. Who was the candle for? How many times had she scolded me for leaving candles burning in the house when no one was home? I walked over to it and blew it out. She must have forgotten about it. What was up with her lately?
The lack of light left the bare room dark as the night outside. There was faint light from the hallway, but it was a light from the street that grabbed my attention. Someone was there and looking up at the house. It was a child. A little girl stood under the streetlight, her face darkened by the large oak that stood nearby. She didn’t belong. I knew that. She didn’t belong! She didn’t belong on the street, and she didn’t belong in this world. She stepped out of the darkness and continued to stare up at me. I could see her oversize bow on her head and her long, torn dress with the ribbons in the back. She had no socks or shoes on. I tapped the window to let her know I saw her, and then I heard the voice in my ear.
Rachel Kowalski…
I stared out from the second-story window and forgot about the glass I was holding in my hand. It crashed to the ground and shattered into pieces. Luckily for me, I didn’t cut myself. “Oh heck!” I squatted down and started picking up the pieces. By the time I was done, she was gone.
I walked down the carpeted stairs as discreetly as possible so I could snoop and hear what was going on in there. I heard my mother’s pretend-shocked voice, “Mom…” I refilled the glass and brought it to Gran, who was now leaning back in her recliner with a satisfied smile on her face. For the first time ever, Angus appeared uncomfortable, even disheveled.
“Here you go, Gran. Um, Angus? Will you come help me set the table?”
“Hey! We’ll all help. Well, except you, Sabrina. You wait on people all the time. I can help, though.” Everything went smoothly after that, except Angus. He looked nervous, and I was dying to ask him what happened or what inappropriate thing my grandmother said to him. Dinner went awkwardly. Nobody much spoke, but at least Mom put her book to the side long enough to eat. Gran offered to do the dishes, and we’d planned that I was going to say we were going for a walk, grab my backpack and meet him in the car.
“You know, I just remembered I have to do something for my boss. It sounds stupid, I know, but I have to go.” He was by the front door, putting on his shoes and sliding on his jacket. “Rain check on the rest of the evening?”
“Rain check? What? I thought we were going to…”
“I can’t, Rachel. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” My mother passed by and he said, “Goodnight, Sabrina.” To me he said sadly, “Tell your Gran goodnight too.”
Mom gave a pleasant goodnight and walked into her room with her book and her nightly glass of wine. Gran was busy in the kitchen and didn’t answer him. I touched his arm and whispered, “Did my grandmother say something or offend you somehow? She doesn’t mean it; I swear she’s not crazy. And I saw something. Right here—right upstairs! Can you believe that? Surely you aren’t going to pass up this opportunity to see…” I half-joked.
“No. Nothing like that. I’ll text you later. Night, Rachel.” He squeezed my hand and walked out the door, leaving me to stare after him. What the heck just happened? How could I like a guy who let my Gran run him off? And why would she do that? I watched Angus’ truck pull out and rolled my eyes. I’d just seen the little ghost girl from Idlewood—I was pretty sure it was her, anyway—and my so-called detective partner bailed on me. Whatever, dude. I closed the door and went to my room. Flopping on the bed, I stared at my backpack. I didn’t need his help. I’d do my own investigation. I kind of had to now. She’d showed up at my house! What was I supposed to do?
I changed clothing, opting for comfortable jeans, a hoodie sweatshirt and my favorite Converse tennis shoes. I grabbed my backpack and car keys, then left the house without saying goodbye. I wouldn’t be gone long, and quite frankly I wasn’t in the mood to chat with my family.
It was a ten-minute drive from my house in midtown Mobile to the house on Carlen Street. I made the turn off the street and climbed the steep driveway. As I rounded the hill Idlewood rose like an imposing old castle looming over the surrounding countryside. No lights were on, not even a porch light. It was springtime in Mobile, so naturally there was plenty of fog to make the place look even more gloomy and foreboding. I put the car in park and turned it off.
Okay, why am I doing this? What did I hope to achieve by exploring Idlewood at night? I glanced at my watch. It was only ten o’clock. Not that late, right? And it was Friday, so I could hear the sounds of life rising up from the surrounding streets. I heard jazz playing from a local club; nearby Dauphin Street was bustling with crowds who liked visiting the microbreweries, dance clubs and a host of other venues. But here, right here, all that fell away.
Then I saw her, the same small girl who’d stood beneath the streetlight outside my house earlier. Her damp hair hung in clumps around her face. She wore a dingy bow in her hair, and her dress had a dirt-stained ripped hem. All this I saw in a few seconds. She stood a few feet in front of my car, obscured by a patch of fog. And when the fog cleared, she was gone. My skin felt clammy, and I reached for my backpack. I knew why I was doing this. Because Trinket wanted me to. Yes, that was her name.
Suddenly I felt strangely calm, as if I were sliding into a pool of honey. All seemed right. I was doing the right thing. Even without Angus here. I’m coming, Trinket! I whispered into the darkness. Trinket, the missing child. One of the missing Ferguson children. As I walked toward the house, I could finally admit to myself that I’d been thinking about her for weeks. I’d spent hours scouring the internet, staring at her picture, pondering what might have happened to her. It was impossible to know, wasn’t it? Trinket. I felt as if I would have known her sweet name even if I had not read it online. We were connected somehow. She was reaching out to me from the past. So helpless and lost. Trinket needed my help—to find her way back. She’d reached out to me.
Shoving my car keys in my pocket, I zipped up the backpack and walked on to the porch. I glanced toward the road. Nobody could see me from Carlen or Dauphin Street. Not a soul. I felt truly isolated now. The fog thickened so much that my car, which couldn’t have been more than fifty feet behind me, was completely hidden from view. There was nothing now. Nothing but Idlewood. With a lump in my throat, I flipped on the light and reached for my keys. I had one, so there was no sense in sneaking in.
But I didn’t need the shiny new key.
The front door slowly drifted open and revealed a massive black space. The darkness so permeated my view that I could barely discern the grandfather clock, an Austin-Bree
m that I knew stood in the foyer. It had been an amazing find in the house, supposedly an original fixture, except that it didn’t work despite the clockmaker’s diligent efforts. I flashed my dim light over the 150-year-old clock and then around the room. I was alone. But not alone.
Out of the blackness above me, a voice whispered my name.
Rachel Kowalski…
Chapter Sixteen – Carrie Jo
I dried my hair with the towel as Ashland hung up the phone. From his relieved expression, I could tell that his conversation with Detra Ann went well. “She okay?”
“Yes, and she says to tell you she loves you. I think she’s going to be okay. She swears she hasn’t been drinking, and from the sound of it, she hasn’t had the time to. She and the detective have spent the past few days interviewing witnesses.”
“Has she called Henri?”
“Not yet. She says she doesn’t want to talk to him until it’s finished. All we can do is wait, I guess. Sure was nice of your mom to watch AJ for us tonight. I had a great time at the movies.”
I stood between his legs and kissed him. “I hate lying to my mom.” Ever since she got out of the hospital, she wanted nothing more than to spend time with baby AJ. So maybe we were just doing her a favor. Yeah, that was it.
“I know, but it wasn’t really a lie. We did buy the tickets. Just didn’t quite make it.”
“I hope she doesn’t ask for plot details.” He laughed and the phone rang. We stared at each other. Nobody ever called us this late. Not even our friends.
“AJ!” I said as I ran to the phone in the hallway. “Hello?” Ashland was right behind me.
“Carrie Jo?”
“Yes?” I glanced at the caller ID. I didn’t recognize the voice. Not right away. The call was coming from Rachel K’s house. “This is CJ. Mrs. Kowalski?”
“Yes, this is Rachel’s grandmother, Jan. I’m calling you because I think Rachel is going to do something stupid.”
“What do you mean? Is she all right?”
“No, she’s not. She’s gone to Idlewood. By herself. And I can’t explain it, but I have a very bad feeling about it.”
“Don’t say another word, Jan. We’ll go check on her.”
“Thank you. I’ll meet you there.” Jan hung up, and I raced to get dressed. Ashland threw on some clothes too, and we were downstairs and in the car in less than three minutes.
“What could she be doing? It’s not like Rachel to get into séances and the like. She’s not the thrill-seeking sort of person.”
“I agree, babe. It’s probably nothing. She might not even be there. Let’s go check it out, and then we’ll know what to do. You have your house keys?”
“Yep!” We sped down Government Street and were pulling into Idlewood in just a few minutes. It was kind of creepy out. Fog had rolled in off Mobile Bay and practically smothered the old house. “It’s like the fog wants to hide the place.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just me being spooky. You see anything?”
“Just her car, and she’s not in it.” I could see the tension in Ashland’s jaw. That didn’t settle my nerves at all.
We pulled up beside Rachel’s sporty car and stepped out cautiously. I practically ran to my husband and clutched his hand before the fog hid him from me completely. “So weird. Have you ever seen fog like this before?”
“I can’t say that I have. Let’s find out what’s going on so we can go home. I don’t see a single light on. The lights are working now, right?”
“Yeah, they’ve been working fine for weeks. The motion detector lights should have kicked on by now.” We were at the foot of the stairs, and the front door stood wide open. I couldn’t believe Rachel would leave it open like that. The fog was inside the house now. “Shoot,” I whispered in frustration. Antique furniture and fog did not play well together.
“You have your phone? Just in case we need to call someone?” he asked as he peered into the house.
I snapped my fingers. “No, it’s in the console of the car. Should I go back for it?”
“You stay here. I’ll go.” Before I could argue with him, he disappeared into the mist.
“Wait! Ashland!” I whispered after him, but I didn’t know why I whispered. It wasn’t like I didn’t have permission to be here. He didn’t answer me, and every second that passed by felt like an eternity. I hovered on the porch, unwilling to move inside without my husband’s warm hand in mind. An unexpected sound changed my mind. A soft whispering, almost intelligible but not quite.
“Hello?” I whispered again as I stepped inside. My query was met with heavy footfalls crossing the floor above me. I spun around staring at the ceiling above me and heard a scream. I instantly knew it was Rachel. “Rachel!” I called up to her.
Anxious to check on my friend who even at this moment might be fighting off an intruder, I ran to the bottom of the stairs. “Rachel?”
The worst-case scenario played out in my head. Concerned about the house, Rachel came to check on Idlewood and make sure it was secure against this fog, and the intruder caught her off-guard. While I reasoned away, I heard a muffled scream. Then a glass broke and a horrible scraping sound took the place of the heavy footfalls.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I heard Rachel’s panicked voice, and I couldn’t linger any longer. I bounded up the stairs two by two when suddenly the front door slammed shut, shaking the house. I paused, but there was no turning back now. “Ashland?” I whispered once and then ran up the rest of the way. I stood on the top of the stairway confused by the sound of footfalls. Someone was approaching, stomping so loudly that the footsteps reverberated in my head, but I didn’t see a single soul. I looked down at the floor. How could I be hearing footfalls like that? We’d had the runners installed this week, and all the hallways were carpeted now. Then I heard a child’s voice whisper in my ear, “He’s coming!”
I spun around, but there wasn’t anyone in the hall with me. I ran to the nearest door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. I shoved my shoulder into it. This wasn’t a door with a lock. It should come open freely.
Please, oh please, oh please.
The door swung open, and I stumbled inside and closed it behind me. I was breathing so fast that I was practically hyperventilating. Where was Ashland?
“Carrie Jo?”
“Rachel?” I saw my friend’s dark head appear over the side of the wooden basinet near the fireplace. I ran to her and put my arms around her neck. Then I moved her hair away from her wet face. “Oh, thank God. Are you okay? Who is that stomping?”
Her dark eyes were wide and damp with tears. She clutched my arm and whispered, “Look, over there. Do you see her?” She pointed her flashlight to the far corner of the room. A little girl sat on the floor, her thin arms wrapped around her knees. She wore an airy white dress, and her long brown hair covered her arms. I immediately knew who it was.
“Trinket,” I said as the stomping got louder. Whoever was after Rachel or the ghost girl was getting closer. “Trinket,” I whispered again. The child lifted her head, and for one nightmarish moment I thought I’d see something terrible, like a horrific wound or gaping black eyes. But it was only the face of a frightened little girl I’d seen in my dreams. I easily recognized the sad eyes and bow lips. She stared at us fearfully and raised her finger to her lips.
Help me.
The door swung open, and Rachel and I both screamed. I closed my eyes against the expected onslaught of violence, but when it didn’t come, I peeked and watched as Trinket vanished. That was no specter standing in the doorway but my very much alive husband. Ashland flicked the light switch, and the room filled with warm light. There was no one here.
Only the living.
Chapter Seventeen – Carrie Jo
“Please, Carrie Jo,” Rachel said. “You knew who she was. You have dreamed about her, haven’t you?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”
“Trinket came to
the house, my house. She was outside under the light. She’s reaching out for help. And I can’t explain it, but I know she wanted me to come here. I hope you understand.” Ashland opened a bottle of water and handed it to Rachel. He didn’t say a word, but he was making Rachel and me nervous. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally, and once I thought I caught him ducking as if he were trying to dodge someone or something.
“It’s not safe to be here. We need to go,” he said in a deliberately even voice.
Rachel threw up her hands and said, “I know it’s not safe. I’ve been chased all over the house tonight. But whatever this is, it has to happen tonight. I don’t know what’s required, but Trinket needs me. Please. We have to help her.”
I looked at Ashland, who was definitely reluctant. Rachel sobbed again and stared down at the clump of tissues in her hand. We were sitting in the kitchen, and every light in the place was on. The stomping had ceased, but I could feel the shifting of the air. There was more to come. We weren’t alone.
“You know, I thought I wanted this,” Rachel whispered.
“What?” I asked, easing my chair closer and reaching for her hand.
“Our group of friends. Everyone has a supernatural gift, everyone but me. When I started seeing things here, feeling them so much more strongly, I thought that meant I belonged, that I had something to contribute. I’ve felt things before but never like this. But now, now I wish it would stop. Am I ever going to be able to turn these feelings off?”
“You were always a part of the group, Rachel. We love you. Yes, you will be able to turn the ‘feelings’ off. Just breathe. We will get through this. And you should know there is always a sense of urgency when you are dealing with the spirit world. Get used to that.”
There was a knock at the back door, and we all jumped. “Okay, let’s all breathe,” Ashland said as he went to the door. Rachel’s grandmother hurried in and immediately ran toward her with her arms outstretched. Rachel looked behind her grandmother, like she was looking for someone else, but there was nobody else coming. I saw disappointment cross her face before she smiled weakly at her grandmother.
The Ghosts of Idlewood Page 12
