Tangled Webs

by Bibiana Krall

  Not willing to listen anymore, she couldn’t keep going at this pace, but she realized that this must be a personal keepsake from Sarah’s lost daughter.

  It was quite evident that Sarah didn’t welcome the intrusion, but Abigail was getting closer to understanding why.

  “I’m setting the necklace back where I found it. If there’s anything else I can do to help you, please show or tell me how. I know you’ve watched me grow up. It must’ve been hard for you to see me so happy here, especially when you probably wished I were someone else. No more haunted stuff though.” She gulped, “I meant it.”

  It was time to leave and go pick up Elle.

  She prayed that Sarah would not torment her friend or continue to be aggressive and physical.

  Exactly how far might this go?

  At the ferry dock, she pulled up next to an abandoned ice cream stand, just as the boat came in.

  Elle was easy to spot in her signature riding boots and cashmere sweater dress. She didn’t even wait for Abigail to get out of the car and tossed her suitcase in the trunk.

  The passenger seat opened and she chunked a paper bag of roasted cashews in Abigail’s lap.

  “Hey. What’s with the nuts?”

  “They smelled delicious at the FBO. The pilots were wolfing them down with mineral water waiting for Muriel to arrive. I’ve had mine already and brought you some too. They’re stone-cold-killer with a G & T.”

  Along the way, Abigail filled her friend in on what had been happening.

  When she got to the locket part, Elle seemed really upset.

  “This ghost is aggressive and actually knocked your hand away? Yikes. Maybe we should consider sleeping somewhere else?”

  They were pulled onto the drive as she said this, but it was dusk already. Perhaps too late to get anyone at an inn to answer the phone.

  The darkness that hovered over the house was pervasive, but Abigail knew that if Sarah really wanted to hurt her, she’d had more than one chance and hadn’t taken it.

  “Maybe not. I was here by myself and she didn’t do anything except knock on the walls a few times and try to grab the necklace. It’s okay, Elle. Instead, let’s try and help her. I hope somebody would care if I were stuck. You know, find the mystical doorway to a better place.”

  “Zombie apocalypse, baby. Double down and kick some ass. Know I would. You’re so right, Abby. It’s just weird. I mean feeling badly for a ghost. If it is a ghost? Uh, uh. Wait a hot second, did I just say that?” Elle made a funny face and jumped out to get her suitcase.

  The evening was perfectly social and they cracked open a second bottle of merlot as they jammed to Indie-pop, sautéed diver scallops in the gourmet kitchen and made endive and pear salad.

  Elle adored Watch Hill and said more than once as they looked around that she shouldn’t sell it, consider going into private practice and plan to live here full time instead.

  Everyone they knew in the city was dying to get out of the rat race, but from rat race to widow’s walk?

  The meal was wrapped up with crème brûlée and snifters of amaretto on the deck.

  It was amazing here and Abigail realized that she was fortunate to own the house, but Watch Hill was too much square footage for her.

  The utilities alone, especially in the winter would be ridiculous and she was not up for roommates.

  Law school had seen to that emotion, considering the bums who’d never paid their half of the rent and their annoying boyfriends who’d hogged the remote or guzzled her last beer.

  The breeze was an elixir.

  It brought back so many wonderful memories, “Wish I could stay. I mean…I adore this place. A person alone in a drafty, old house like this might end up having three hundred cats and wearing red suspenders or something.”

  “Doubtful. Your stylish friend here, A.K.A., moi would not allow that. Cats are independent, intelligent and resourceful. Suspenders? No way. Look, I figure that if this phantom won’t leave, perhaps you should stay and negotiate? Would miss you, but I could come at least twice a year and hang out. Have always wanted to start a boutique, real brick and mortar. Doesn’t have to be in Chicago.”

  The possibilities were there and she wanted to think beyond the look of success and actually have it in every way, not just money in the bank, but the lifestyle too.

  “Hmm. This dessert is decadent.” Quite buzzy and definitely feeling tipsy, Abigail almost didn’t see it.

  “Hey. Look down there. At the water. Two o’clock.”

  Her friend looked the wrong way and she poked her in the ribs, “Over there.”

  A liquid shadow moved from the rocks and limped towards them with a silk opera hat gripped in one hand.

  “What the heck is that?”

  The spook limped closer.

  His face was contorted in pain and the other hand gripped his bloody chest.

  Caterwauling while dragging one foot, “For-giii-ve me.”

  In a blink, he vanished.

  The music box song Clare De Lune drifted from above them and Sarah was on the roof in a beautiful gown covered in sparkling beads with fresh flowers tucked in her hair.

  “Holy carpe diem.” Elle stood up to see better and stumbled backward, as her crystal snifter fell off the rail and smashed on the rocks, “Is that our girl?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Then Sarah did it again. She tumbled forward and fell from the roof on purpose, as the waves crashed over the breakwater and she disappeared.

  “Okay. This stuff is whack.” Elle gripped the porch rail, her face was pale and drawn, “No more drinking tonight, and no way in hell am I sleeping alone. I’m tripping.”

  With no argument from Abigail, they got settled in her parents’ suite with their flannel pajamas on. The bed was a California king and almost as big as Abigail’s living room downtown.

  The house was serene and silent while they lay in the dark beside each other.

  She was bone-tired, but felt like it was her fault that Elle might be in danger and hoped that she wasn’t too upset about what had just happened.

  “You ‘wake?” Not sure of how to broach the elephant in the room.

  Elle’s muffled voice answered back, “Is water wet?”

  “Do you think we can help her? I mean I saw her sometimes when I was little, but it was nothing like this. She wants me to do something, but I can’t figure it out.”

  “Nothing to figure. The lovebirds made crappy choices, now we get to watch them self-destruct over and over again. Yay! Dunno which is creepier, the corpse with a giant crater in his chest or a flippin’ music box on the roof?”

  “There has to be more to it than that.”

  “Oka-y Nancy Drew. Let me know when you figure it out.” Just as Elle sounded like she was headed into a rant, she began to snore softly.

  Abigail turned over with a sigh. She jammed a feather pillow over her ears and finally fell asleep too.

  Black coffee is magic after a spirited night and its nutty aroma jolted her awake.

  What could she do about Elle? Would she want to go home now? She’d been a bit grumpy the night before, but travel and too much wine afterwards can do that to anyone.

  With a deep yawn, she threw on a fuzzy robe and followed the invigorating scent downstairs.

  Almost to the kitchen, she noticed that some of the photographs in the hallway were crooked. Next to the last one, there was something scratched in the soft plaster.

  She grabbed a pencil and lightly scribbled over it trying to shade it enough to read. Call me.

  Huh?

  Elle stopped banging a metal spatula and said, “That you Abby? Cripes…it better be. I’m making brioche French toast and broiled a pound of uncured bacon. Exactly how much did we drink last night?”

  “It smells incredible in here.” She moved into the kitchen and hugged Elle, “A lot.”

  Fishing a clean coffee cup out of the cupboard she asked, “Did you make that gorgeous bread?”

  “Na
h. I cheated. Bought it here from Pulaski’s, scalded milk, golden raisins and a dash of Madagascar cinnamon. Nom nom! When you fly private, they don’t take your goodies away. The lush life is a dream. Bread this yummy should be illegal.”

  They sipped coffee together and chatted about the night before while they ate the delicious breakfast.

  Elle was anxious and worried.

  She had completely changed her tune about keeping the house, “Look. If these entities can just show up whenever or however. What’s to keep you from getting pushed off the roof or something? Maybe worse? Don’t like it, Abby. Think we should leave here together. Nobody else has to know why. This spirit has attached itself to you. I think you might be in physical and mortal danger.”

  She scoffed. “Wow. So dramatic,” and devoured another piece of bread.

  In her heart, she knew it had come to the tipping point.

  Perhaps Sarah wanted her to feel as lost as she did? What if she simply wanted the place to herself and would cross over just to hurt her or Elle?

  The text messages on her phone started going off and she finally pulled it out of the bathrobe pocket.

  There were at least six missed calls.

  Apparently, she had been so inebriated that she’d sent drunken texts the night before and totally forgot.

  “Crap on a cracker. What did I do?” There are some things you can’t take back, this was one of them. Showing the evidence to Elle with a groan.

  “Who is this mystery person? Well, well, well. You want to do what to him? You are a bad girl.”

  “I don’t remember anything. Thought I deleted his number. How was I texting him, if I was sleeping?”

  “Wait a hot second. Who is this person again?”

  “It’s Adam. Adam O’Neil. Remember, the one who got away?”

  “Ah hah. That’s rich. You mean the one you’re still totally, one hundred percent in love with?”

  “Not funny.” She was over it and deeply embarrassed.

  Why was she always throwing herself on the coals?

  Barely able to spell correctly on a normal day and meanwhile she’s buzzed out of her gourd and texting indecent sentences to an ex-boyfriend.

  Uggh. No, no, no. Please send help.

  Only a close friend can give you such a hard time and still make you laugh. Elle truly was the best. So, cringey though, she wanted to crawl in a hole.

  The last message on a list of them was Adam texting her back at five in the morning.

  We should talk.

  Then it struck her. They’d gotten this all wrong. “Oh snap. Elle. You have to come see this.”

  “Is it PG, rated R or what?” Her snarky friend stuck out her tongue and grabbed a coffee cup to follow her into the entrance hall.

  The scratch on the wall was revealed. “Call me. See. It’s right there. Don’t you get it?”

  “Um.” Elle took a slurp of her coffee, “Nope. Sorry, guess I don’t.”

  “I told you about what I thought about Sarah. Oh my gosh. She’s playing matchmaker. She doesn’t want me to be sad about losing my aunt or hurt me. He was here a few times. Sarah has seen him. Drove his motorcycle all the way up from Chatham just to say hi. His family moved away to Pennsylvania. They didn’t approve of us dating, because of our age and all. We tried to get together later on when we were both in college, but the timing wasn’t right. Wasn’t sure I could handle the long-distance part. It got weird, so I broke it off with him.”

  “You have everything you need, but I know that you don’t date or go out much because you’re holed up at my house almost every weekend. If he’s constantly on your mind, maybe you should give it a shot? You and I both know what regret feels like. Maybe it won’t go anywhere. That’s fine, but what if it does? Nobody wants to end up like Sarah or the creep with a hole in his chest. Just do me a favor and don’t tell him that you’ve just inherited a ten-million-dollar house. We need to verify his ass.”

  “Okay, dance mom. Give me a second, and I’ll dial him. Pretty sure I will regret this.”

  “I will give you some privacy. Need more coffee anyway.” Elle went and got busy putting things up in the kitchen.

  Abigail was a teen again with sweaty palms, braces and frizzy, blond hair, as she stepped outside on the deck.

  Sarah was perched on the widow’s walk and so was the grim-faced man in a blood-spattered tuxedo. He wasn’t standing right next to her, but it was obvious that they were aware of each other.

  With a banshee screech, they pushed something heavy off the roof.

  It fell straight down and snapped the railing off the deck.

  Barely blinking, after the object almost hit her head.

  The text messages she’d sent last night were so bleak, she was in misery.

  Was debauchery her subconscious wish? Was she pathetic, desperate, and lame?

  The old sea chest lay in pieces on the grass. Photographs flew away, and teacups were dashed to bits.

  A piece of yellowed paper fluttered in the wind and landed in front of her bare feet, but she was oblivious.

  Some of the requests for images of him were so over the top, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t turned off his phone or just blocked her.

  Finally getting up the nerve to dial his number, Sarah and her estranged husband leapt off the roof together in a swan dive, and the soles of their shoes disappeared in the waves.

  A transformer on the lane behind the house blew out with a sizzle and bang and her phone went nuts with text messages, saying the same thing over and over from a number she didn’t recognize.

  Call him. Call him. Call him.

  With her hand shaking, Abigail dialed Adam’s number back hoping on many levels that he wouldn’t pick up, so she could pretend like this had never happened.

  On the fourth ring he answered, “Abigail? Is this really you?”

  In a flash, everything came rushing back.

  Their easy friendship, summer adventures at the cove, quoting passages from “Lord of the Rings” in the garden as they weeded vegetables in exchange for pizza money and the butterflies that never went away.

  “Adam. Hey. Um. How are you? Sorry about last night.”

  “How long has it been? Oh, yeah. Uhh. You mean the messages?”

  He chuckled mischievously, “I mean yours were totally awesome, but some spooky chick named Sarah left me a voicemail and screeched at the top of her lungs, ‘Call Abigail.’”

  “Dude. It was so loud, she broke my Bluetooth speaker. She a friend of yours? I’ve wanted to apologize for losing touch and stuff. If you get out this way maybe we could grab dinner or something? Moved back to Chatham a few years ago to start my own business. I know cool guys aren’t supposed to say things like this, but I miss you a lot.”

  Indescribable. The joy of possibility, not for the perfect conclusion, but for a new beginning.

  Was this really happening?

  “It’s funny you mention it. I’m in Falmouth right now. How ‘bout tomorrow night?”

  “What? You are? Yes, yes. It would be great to see you. Wow. This is fantastic. Can’t believe you still have my number. Text me where and what time to meet up. What a surprise.” He sounded ecstatic and wasn’t even trying to hide it.

  “Sounds good. Um. Okay then. Text you tomorrow. Bye.” She hung up before she embarrassed herself. As sappy as it was to admit, she felt giddy.

  Elle stepped back outside when she saw that the call was finished. “What’s this? Holy fozbot. What the freak happened to the railing?”

  She bent down and picked up the brittle paper, “Hmm. Looks like property lines or something. Odd. How did that trunk fall off the roof? Spill. Give it to me down and dirty, baby. Hey. Are you all right?”

  Her friend laughed like a lunatic, as she wandered around with her coffee cup and perused the mysterious map.

  “The ghosts shoved it off together. Dunno why. It came pretty close to me, but I’m fine. Took your advice. We have a date tomorrow and he doesn’t have a
clue about my inheritance. Promise I won’t do anything reckless, but I need to go up on the widow’s walk to thank Sarah. Be right back.”

  “They just chunked a flipping piece of furniture at you. Don’t think you should...”

  Her protests went unheard as Abigail took the stairs two at a time.

  The upper floors didn’t feel creepy or frightening anymore.

  They could have broken her ribs with the antique box, but it felt more like a childish prank than anything truly evil.

  Even the attic felt like it accepted her presence, but something else was niggling her. What about the missed call when she arrived the first night?

  Was it the same anonymous number from the bizarro ‘call him’ text messages?

  At the foot of the lighthouse stairs up to the roof, she stopped and scrolled through her phone log. Gasping aloud when the missed call number matched the texts.

  Sarah must have planned this all along. What a schemer.

  Considering they didn’t have telephones when Sarah was alive, it seemed that she didn’t need technology lessons.

  Pushing open the door to the widow’s walk, wanting to connect.

  Grateful that she’d been able to glean a higher purpose from the residual haunting. Making room for more wisdom to come in.

  Abigail felt wild, happy and free as she glided along the roof ridge and watched the sea foam churn against the rocks below.

  This time around she wouldn’t hesitate or waste another second on anything that didn’t feel right. Promising herself to leave the past behind and to live in the moment.

  Sarah never showed.

  Perhaps she was finally on her way?

  In knowing the secret they would share to the grave, a new era of happiness became possible on Watch Hill.

  With a nod and a salute to the ocean vista stretching across the horizon, Abigail’s spirit soared.

  For the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid of the shape her future might take and finally let go of her fear.

  Down below, a shriveled hand shot out of a wave, then an arm followed in a tattered, woolen sleeve.

  Finally, a head and broad shoulders emerged, as the water receded and the rocks were exposed.

  Their sights were set squarely upon the beautiful, young woman standing atop the roof. The surreal woman keeping watch over the hill.