G is for Ghosts

by Rhonda Parrish

  “Good evening,” I said. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  The woman turned to me, yet I could not see her face in that dark flickering shadow. Two dark eyes glimmered set in deep, black sockets, her pale skin drawn tightly across her cheekbones. Sister, it was as if this woman had not nourished herself in quite some time. I asked her if she was quite well, but before she responded, there was a great crash indoors. I hurried back into the parlor to find Mr. Carter sprawled on the floor, the card table turned over, cards strewn on the woven rug. Burwell really ought to reconsider his passion for cards.

  When I returned to the terrace, the woman was no longer there. I suppose the mystery of who she was must endure.

  Burwell had a brandy and a smoke in the parlor while I went upstairs to bed. When I peeled off the dress, my skin was speckled with strange red spots. They felt hot, like when a when you accidentally get too close to a candle flame. Yet I know I did not burn myself at the party.

  As I write, my skin has healed but I am still not feeling well. Perhaps this is what it feels like when you are expecting your first child. Ellie, how did you feel when little Eliza was on the way?

  When you respond, please be sure to address your letter to Myrtlewood instead of the house here in Archerville.

  All my love,

  Alice

  June 19, 1856

  Dear Alice,

  What happy news! Eliza and Agnes have already begun knitting socks for their new niece or nephew. We are also very excited to be seeing you very soon. We leave tomorrow for Myrtlewood. Miss Lauretta needs to go into town to buy writing diaries for the girls so that they can continue their tutelage. Miss Lauretta will be joining us at Myrtlewood. I hope you don’t mind. She will be a great help, especially because William will not be able to join, as he must stay in Chicago attending to business. He sends his apologies, but will join as soon as he can.

  News of your party and of your vibrant green dress reached me here in Chicago. What a success, dear sister! However, my friends knew not who this strange woman in the red frock may have been. You must think nothing of it though, Alice, some women are not as in love with the latest fashions as you are.

  What does concern me, however, is your description of your health. I shall bid the coachman to hurry us to Myrtlewood as fast as the horses can take it.

  Your sister,

  Eleanor

  June 30, 1856

  My Dearest Eleanor,

  I am delighted you and the children are journeying to Myrtlewood, though I am saddened your husband cannot join. My Burwell remains in Archerville unable yet to take respite from his work. The train company grows with each passing day and needs his attention. I remain alone at Myrtlewood, until you arrive of course. I long to see you and my nieces again.

  You will certainly marvel at the summer parlor. The new Parisian furniture, wallpaper, and drapes bring such lightness to the room. The fabric is a delightful hand painted floral design of pinks and greens. The French have such wonderful taste, Ellie. I take my afternoon tea on the settee and relax in the sunlight that streams in through the tall windows. The weather has been quite hot recently though. The windows let in the perfect breeze, but it does not quell the humidity. I suggest you bring fans with you.

  Despite the sunlight and country air, I wish I could report that my health has improved. Alas, I continue to be unwell. This baby must be as stubborn as his father. I find myself unable to sleep, and when I do fall asleep, I am plagued by strange and terrifying visions. That woman in red haunts my sleep, sister. Only when I see her, her eyes are empty sockets and her skin gray. She opens her mouth as if to speak, yet I hear nothing. I jolt awake, covered in sweat and feverish. The ravens crow incessantly from the branches of the old elm by the bedroom window.

  Ellie, this is the strangest of all, but sometimes I think I see her. I have to pinch myself to ensure I am not sleeping on the settee. But I could swear I have seen a flash of crimson out of the corner of my eye at the windows or heard the rustling of a bustle.

  I fear I may be going mad. Did you have such unnatural dreams when you were expecting Eliza?

  I am very much looking forward to your arrival.

  All my love,

  Alice

  July 15, 1856

  My beloved William,

  I have arrived safely at Myrtlewood only to find my sister in quite a state. Please implore Burwood on my behalf to hurry, for I truly fear for Alice. I sent him a letter a week ago and have not received a response. Perhaps he will listen to you.

  When we arrived, we waited at the door for some time, yet Alice did not respond. Eliza grew impatient and tried the handle, which was unlocked. Both girls bounded past me, dropping their cases on the foyer rug. Miss Lauretta tried to call them back, but they would not obey. Then I heard them shriek.

  “Mama! It’s Aunt Alice! Hurry!”

  I had never heard Eliza yell like that. In the parlor, I discovered Alice draped over the settee, shaking, with a shawl pulled tightly across her shoulders despite the oppressive heat and humidity. She was gaunt and skeletal except for the curve at her stomach. I immediately sent Lauretta to the nearby town to fetch Dr. Peterson and sent Eliza to fetch me water.

  “Oh sister, you came,” Alice said, placing her hand on my cheek. She felt so cold, her fingers so bony. Bright red blotches afflicted her fingers. I have never seen an illness like this. It is certainly not sickness due to the coming baby.

  Dr. Peterson arrived swiftly. I helped him carry Alice up to the bedroom where he requested my presence at his examination. Here is all I witnessed:

  Her entire body was covered in those red welts. She was also sweating. There was another container beside her chamber pot where she had retched many times. Tufts of her hair were all over the pillow cases. When the doctor forced her eyes open, the whites had turned green.

  His expression told me how grave it all was. “This is very strange, but I must ask,” he said. “Has she been poisoning any unwanted creatures? These symptoms are very similar to those who work with arsenic poisons.”

  I replied that she had not mentioned any infestations of mice or any other unwanted pests, but that I would search for the poisons that may be here at the house. Certainly Alice would have hired an expert pest controller and not handled the substances herself. Especially not in her condition.

  Dr. Peterson treated her with a tincture and told me to administer it to her twice a day. He also said he would call upon her in two days time to see how she was progressing.

  I am glad I am here for her, but I am so deeply worried. Please convey to Burwell the severity of the situation and that he should leave for Myrtlewood without delay.

  Your love,

  Eleanor

  July 16, 1856

  My governess, Miss Lauretta, says that I must practice my writing if I am to improve my style and write like a lady. I don’t know what to write about. If I were at home, I’d write about my friend, Martha, and my cat, Old Scampers. I miss him. I hope Papa remembers to feed him.

  I must write something though.

  Oh, I know! I have a peculiar story about my sister. My Auntie Alice is very ill. I hear her vomiting in the night, though I know I’m not supposed to mention it though because it is unbecoming of a lady. Mama sends Aggie and I to play outside. She says the air is good for us, but I think it is so that we don’t see her tending to my Auntie.

  Yesterday, it was already hot early in the morning. Mama and Miss Lauretta were taking tea on the settee in the parlor fanning themselves, their faces were red and wet with sweat.

  “Go play outside,” said Miss Lauretta. “We will start our lessons in the afternoon.”

  Aggie and I were very happy not to have morning lessons. We ran down the dirt path weaving between the pink crape myrtle trees. Aggie pointed up. “Look! A raven!” And she sprinted to follow it.

  “Aggie! Wait!” I called, but she did not. We ran throu
gh the tall grass with the raven in sight overhead until it landed in the highest branches of the gnarled oak tree growing beside the pond. It cawed as if to laugh at us.

  “You know Mama doesn’t like us to come to the pond by ourselves,” I said. “So we must be extra careful.”

  We dangled our feet in, but the water was warm and offered no respite from the heat. “Come on, let’s climb the lower branches. The shade will be nicer,” I said as I helped Aggie before hoisting myself up.

  Then Aggie gasped.

  “What is it?”

  She pointed in the direction of the house. And that’s when I saw it, too. A figure of a woman with hair as dark as Auntie Alice’s paced in the boxwood garden, wringing her hands. The tattered hem of her brown-red dress dragged in the mulch. Aggie gripped my arm so hard I cried out.

  “Who is she, Eliza?”

  I knew not, but I had heard my Auntie speak of a woman in red and the figure seemed real enough. She wailed as she looked into the parlor windows. Her pale hands clawed at the casement as if seeking entry. What kind of visitor would do that?

  The branch crackled under me as I shifted my weight. I clasped a hand over Aggie’s mouth as the figure turned away from the window and faced me. We were too far to see her face clearly, but her eyes looked sunken and very dark. Then she cried out and vanished behind the crape myrtles.

  “We will be cursed for seeing such a creature,” Aggie said, trembling. “We will have nightmares.”

  That night, I woke when I heard Auntie Alice retching again. And Mama was crying. I’d never heard her cry like that before. I lit a candle and tread the hallway to Aunt Alice’s room. Mama saw me and yelled at me to go back to bed. But when I went back to bed, a raven had settled in the tree by my window and would not stop its horrible singing until morning. Stupid bird.

  I decided right there in the darkness that if the woman in red was hurting my auntie, then I would catch her and end her evil curse. I promise.

  July 29, 1856

  Dear William,

  Thank you so much for writing to Burwell. We received word from his secretary that he left for New York for a very important meeting but says he has sent a letter to Dr. Peterson saying to spare no expense in caring for Alice. Alas, Burwell will woe to read the letter I am sending him today.

  My sister’s child is lost.

  It happened last night, and William, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Dr. Peterson worked, applying compresses and tinctures. I was helpless as my sister screamed. Her eyes were wild. She squeezed my hand, and I swear I could hear sobs echoing from somewhere outside. Even those wretched ravens stopped their cawing when that poor soul came into the world, lifeless and too small. Alice and I cried together. When she saw the sheets, red with her own blood, she clung to me and said “She has done this, the woman in red. See, it is her mark.” Then Alice fainted on the pillow. I stroked her head, but clumps of hair came away in my fingers.

  Dr. Peterson wrapped the baby in the sheets. “I shall take him to Father Thomas,” he said. I agreed it was the best course of action. The baby could be blessed in the morning and given a proper sacred burial.

  When he left, I reclined beside my sister, listening to her ragged breathing. In the silence, there came a tapping at the window. Thinking it merely a branch, I rose and opened the pane. There was nothing in the darkness, but William, I swear to you I thought I saw a glint of a taffeta crimson bustle disappearing into the shadow. Perhaps it was just a hellish vision brought on by the hellishness of what had just transpired. I said a prayer for Alice.

  This morning, I brought the poor tiny soul to the churchyard in town. Alice was too weak to say her final goodbyes, but bade me to ensure the child’s journey to Heaven.

  My heart is so, heavy, William. I wish you were here to comfort me. However, you should not make the journey for I fear my sister’s illness is spreading.

  I, too, am having red splotches on my skin. I have noticed they erupt more viciously when I lounge in the parlor. Perhaps it is due to the heat and humidity of that room. We were able to dismiss the poison as my search of Myrtlewood did not locate any. Dr. Peterson is now concerned that there may be a new plague beginning here and he does not recommend that anyone else come to Myrtlewood. We here must make do on our own.

  Your love,

  Eleanor

  July 30, 1856

  Mama and Miss Lauretta act so strangely when they spend time in the green parlor. Mama is more exhausted than usual and Miss Lauretta delays our lessons, which she never does. Angry, red blotches have blossomed on their legs. I did not tell them so, but I believe it is due to the woman in red who claws at those windows and haunts our dreams.

  Aggie and I brought Mama and Miss Lauretta tea and toast in their beds before setting up the trap for the ghoul. According to Father Robert back home, ghosts don’t like salt, iron, holy water, or crosses. I had found all of those things, except holy water.

  I made a tidy line of salt under each window in the parlor. Next, Aggie and I went into the boxwood garden where we fastened twigs with twine to make crosses. We hung them from the branches of the crape myrtles. We also hung old nails we found in the garden shed beside the crosses. I wasn’t sure if they were truly made of iron or not, but it was all we could find.

  “Now, we wait,” I said to Aggie.

  We walked through the tall grass to the pond. We climbed back into the lower branches. We watched.

  The sun felt like coal fire, even through the leaves of the tree. Aggie fell asleep with her head in my lap. The sweat dripped into my eyes and they burned. But I kept watch. The garden had a watery appearance in the short distance. Something red blurred amongst the pink myrtle flowers. I squinted. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I caught sight of a pale figure passing between the boxwood. I held my breath.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Dark gray clouds approached. It would rain soon and all of my salt would be washed away. I woke Aggie. “She’s here.”

  We slid down from the branches and crawled through the tall grass. The figure moved with unnatural speed about the myrtles. The thunder boomed over our heads, closer this time. Aggie shouted and clung to me. As huge droplets of rain fell upon us, a fearful scream rang out from the garden. Aggie and I rose to our feet. The creature was gone.

  We ran back into the boxwood garden. The salt borders had already begun to wash away.

  “Look!” Aggie pointed at a myrtle branch.

  A shred of red cloth hung from one of the crosses. I took it. “She must have gotten caught up in the branches somehow.” I examined the cloth. It somehow seemed less red and more reddish brown dyed over a bright green fabric. How strange that from afar or in dim lighting, the color appeared more strikingly red.

  We left our muddied boots on the stone floor of the kitchen and I visited Mama, Auntie Alice, and Miss Lauretta. They were all asleep in their beds, unaware of the summer storm.

  My trap had nearly worked. The woman in red will not escape me again.

  August 1, 1856

  My Beloved Burwell,

  This letter may be short as I have been so weak. But, dear husband, my heart is empty. This pain is bone-deep. Were I not too weak to travel, I would come home to Archerville. But Dr. Peterson says we must all stay isolated here until he can deduce the cause of our illnesses. The house is cursed. I swear it.

  Ellie now withers. Dr. Peterson has prescribed the same tinctures for her. Miss Lauretta has recovered, though she remains weak. She cares for Eliza and Agnes while Ellie tends to me. My sister puts on airs of strength, but I see the sweat on her brow. Her eyes dart to the corners of the room when we both hear the rustling. Or the cries that seem to come from nowhere and everywhere. I know you must think me mad, but the woman in red is real. I am certain she has cursed Myrtlewood. But why?

  Yours faithfully,

  Alice

  August 15, 1856

  Aggie and I beheld the most beautiful gown today
! Uncle Burwell sent it with a note that he would be departing soon and a family soirée would be just the thing to lift our spirits. It arrived in a box fastened with a red ribbon. Auntie Alice was so happy that she rose from her bed and pressed the dress to her form in the mirror. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale.

  “What do you say, my ladies,” Alice said to us. “Shall we have a fancy supper this evening?” She sat on the edge of the bed to catch her breath.

  Mama nodded. “I think it would bring us some joy. I love the smile that French dress has brought your face. It is the one medicine Dr. Peterson does not have.”

  “Pick out a ribbon to plait your hair tonight,” said my Auntie, “both of you.”

  Her jewelry box sat upon the vanity. The lid sparkled. It reminded me of shells from the beach. Aggie rushed ahead of me.

  “Aggie!” I complained. I should get first pick, I’m the eldest, but she cared not. She had already pulled a blue silky ribbon out and was trying to tie it in her hair.

  Auntie Alice laughed. “Perhaps your sister can teach you how to tie that properly.”

  Aggie planted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to do it by myself.”

  Once Aggie made up her mind, it was set.

  I secretly hoped Auntie Alice had a pink one because it would complement the party dress Mama had just brought for me in April. It had delicate lace around the collar and ribbons at the sleeves. It made me feel like a princess, too.

  Before tonight’s dinner, I would have to sneak back into the kitchen to steal more salt. I did not want that ghoulish woman bothering us. If only I could have gotten some holy water!

  I sat at Auntie Alice’s vanity and as I began to untangle the heaps of ribbons, I noticed something pale in the mirror. Behind me, Aggie twirled around the bed, twisting the ribbon in her hair and Auntie Alice clapped. But behind them, a small white face peered in the window pane. The red of her collar glimmered in the sunlight. For the first time, I saw her face.