I decided that seeing I had food in the house and I wasn’t terribly hungry, I’d shower before the sun went down. I’d need to use the bathroom after dark but at least I’d be clean and not getting up in the near dark to shower in the morning. One less thing to worry about. I could sleep in a little longer if the ghost reappeared and kept me awake again.
All that drove me to tears, realizing how limited my life was. How had I survived like that for so long without questioning things? It had taken a coworker to die and a ramping up of the haunting to make me realize how boxed in my life had become.
That had to change. One way or another. As I had no desire to die, wasn’t planning on dying, I needed to survive my encounter with Lucy. Another week and this could be over. At least I hoped so.
24
Traci September Now
I didn’t sleep much Sunday night and I was thankful when Monday morning rolled around. I had lain looking towards the doorway all night and my neck had stiffened up. My bladder felt ready to burst because I’d been too afraid to get out of the bed until dawn. I hadn’t dreamed, probably because I’d just dozed my way through the night.
This was similar to what I’d gone through shortly after the attack. I’d been too afraid to sleep because dreams of that clawed hand reached out for me, grasping a cupboard, or perhaps sneaking up behind the sofa would have me waking in terror. It had taken months before I could do more than doze my way through the night.
I’d slowly gotten better, getting a decent night’s sleep at least half the time. Months went by when I’d be okay and then other weeks when I wouldn’t sleep hardly at all. The time in between I would sleep, but be torn apart by nightmares.
Someone in my building made bacon for breakfast and the smell reached me even in my bed. I didn’t have an appetite, and the idea of something that greasy made my stomach feel queasy, though normally I liked bacon.
I sat on the edge of my bed, covering my face. I had plenty of time to waste, particularly if breakfast held no appeal. Slowly I pushed myself through an abbreviated morning routine, checking and double checking shadows around me, avoiding looking in the bathroom mirror.
I arrived at work only a few minutes early. Around me the underground parking garage was swathed in its normal amount of shadows. I drew in a breath and let it out as I sat in the car. I hadn’t ever seen Lucy in my car. As a result, I felt reasonably safe there, though I’d never tried sleeping there. The safety I felt inside the car disappeared the moment I turned off the engine, when I was no longer able to flee if Lucy turned up.
Although it was early, the sun was up, not quite all the way. Getting out, I felt the humidity and heat. The day was already starting out warm. You’d think with all the sunshine and heat that ghosts wouldn’t like the South, but oddly, in my reading, the South was one of the more haunted places in the United States. Given that Lucy seemed to want to appear only when I was alone, I would have thought a city that bustled with 13 million people would be safe. I had no idea what kind of a beacon I was to the ghost and how she kept finding me, but somehow she did. I needed to destroy her before she completely destroyed me.
Having a plan to deal with my fears allowed me to work a little more effectively that day. I wasn’t at my best, but I got through my emails and worked on some things that needed to be taken care of, particularly if I was leaving for a few days.
Anson came in and stood over my desk.
“Yes?” I asked.
“You’re still going out there?” he asked.
“I am,” I said.
He shifted from foot to foot. Finally, “I think it’s good you’re going back to where you were attacked. I hope you’ll give up the idea of it being something supernatural. It’s one thing to consider that, to mull over it, but it’s not something you can believe in, you know?”
“No.” I leaned back looking at him. “I don’t know. I’m particularly confused because you were the one leading me down the path of believing in the supernatural and now that I’m willing to consider it, to go with it, you’re telling me I shouldn’t. Which is it?”
“I like to play with ideas. It’s not like they’re all possible. It seems like what happened to Deborah has no answer because we didn’t see anything, but there has to be a mundane sort of thing. The guy went out the window or something, like I said Saturday morning. I can’t believe you and Will were even talking about spells to banish ghosts. At least you could have called a minister to do it for you if you had to go that route.”
“Is that the issue? Spells?” I couldn’t get a handle on where Anson was coming from.
“Look, I don’t know what you saw at that rest stop when you were attacked. Only you know, but it had to be someone who was killing people. There were other deaths there, you know. It may be some sort of initiation into a cult so you thought you saw something. Deborah was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her death had nothing to do with the supernatural. Maybe it was another woman who killed her. A small woman could have gone out that window.”
A very small woman, I thought. And a fast one, too, because she’d killed Deborah and then gotten out and closed the window behind her. I wasn’t going to argue with Anson.
“So you’re here to tell me that if I believe all the stuff you said the other day I’m crazy? I shouldn’t believe your crazy rantings because it’s okay for you to toss off ideas but not the rest of us?”
“No,” Anson said. He looked really uncomfortable. “I just want you to know that I said what I did because I was stressed. It’s logical for the brain to try and find a way to explain the unexplainable, okay? I couldn’t. I still can’t. The supernatural is the easy out. I think you’re better than that and I’ll feel badly if you suddenly start believing in ghosts and stuff because I ran my mouth off. I can’t believe how much people seem to want to think it exists. Will is completely into this in ways that I couldn’t even begin to imagine and he wasn’t even there.”
Anson still didn’t make sense to me. “So you’re mostly worried that you suggested I believe something that had never occurred to me before? Or encouraged me in believing in something you think is crazy, right?” I hoped I wasn’t being insulting.
“I guess,” Anson said. He looked around at the office. He hadn’t stopped dancing around as he spoke. “I was also hoping to be a voice of reason because I’m worried about what you and Will have planned. It’s crazy to think that any sort of ritual will help. I mean, I know it might make you feel better, but if you’ve been carrying around your terror for that long, it’s not going away because of a ritual. You’ll need to see someone who understands this kind of thing and talk to them.”
“Thanks for your advice,” I said. “I have talked to people. And nothing has ever made sense out of this. The supernatural is as likely a reason as anything. I appreciate your support when Deborah died, but I’m doing what I need to do. I’m a big girl.”
Anson didn’t look at all cowed. He just nodded and left. I was fuming. I had thought he was an ally and then just when I had confided something to him, he had become like everyone else. He didn’t believe what had really happened to me. He hadn’t been there.
It was a reminder, though, that I couldn’t share too much with Lois nor could I share any more with Will than I already had. As far as I could remember, anything I said could be taken as just someone bouncing ideas around. I was just a woman going back to confront her past, planning on returning to work afterwards because that was what people did.
I finished the day fuming at Anson. I snapped at Sandy when I took her some work and immediately apologized. She was gracious about it, realizing I was not at my best after having been the one to find Deborah.
“You’ll feel better after we have her celebration of life. We’ll have it at the conference center downstairs. She had some friends in the area but we decided that since Deborah didn’t have a regular church, we’d just hold it there. It can hold all the people at the bank and we can offer our prayers there
as well as anywhere,” Sandy said. “She was a Unitarian and I’ve contacted that minister to speak.”
“Thanks for doing this, Sandy.” I was grateful someone was thinking about it because I was lost in my own little world. Deborah wasn’t my favorite person. She annoyed me often, probably because she thought our mutual past in the Northwest should have made us instant friends, but she wasn’t a bad person. She deserved to be remembered.
25
Traci: September Now
The conference room that Deborah’s service was held in was less like a typical conference room than it was an auditorium. The bank held company meetings in that space, so there was no question that there were plenty of places to sit.
A stage in the front held only a table behind which hung a large plain white wall to project images on. Today it was covered in images of Deborah, a few personal ones of her as a child, as well as adult ones, most from around Charlotte. Her friends in the area must have provided them. Flower arrangements decorated the room.
Seats were arranged on tiers going up and formed a horseshoe shape around the stage. Every seat had a good view, assuming you weren’t too uncomfortable in them. None of the padded blue chairs leaned back very far and the aisles along which they were arranged were as narrow as the most crowded theater seating.
The overhead lights were dimmed, as they often were, giving the room a somber mood. I waited until it was nearly time to start before going in. I hadn’t want to sit in the semi-dark for any longer than I had to.
I slipped into a seat in the second row on the right, sitting next to a young man in a suit that I didn’t know at all. He glanced over at me and then turned to the front. I noticed Anson in the very back on the right. I didn’t see Will. Nils was in the front row, nearly at the center. He’d just sat down when I slipped in.
A man in black robes walked onto the stage, appearing as if from nowhere, though I knew there was a space behind the white wall. Reaching the podium he began to talk about Deborah. I listened, trying to be polite, trying to learn about Deborah’s life and maybe find any clues as to why she was chosen by Lucy. I wanted to know what Deborah could have done to attract the ghost, other than use a rest stop toilet, one that was used by millions who had never been murdered while they did their business. While I resembled many of the other murdered women, Deborah did not. I understood why Anson believed there wasn’t any supernatural involvement. If I hadn’t seen what I had in Steely Woods, I wouldn’t believe it either.
I watched as pictures behind the minister changed. There was one of Deborah at a company picnic, something I’d actually gone to. I remembered the sunny day and how happy people were.
The next slide was of a grinning skull. I put my hand over my mouth, biting back a scream. No one else commented as the minister droned on. I turned to look around. Anson was looking to the side of the room, not at the screen. Nils, I noticed, stared at the image. He and Anson saw the skull, too. I was sure of it.
The next slide was black. I watched, thinking that my own haunting was over and that someone had just put in a poorly lit image. But no, in the background something lighter moved, appearing slowly like in a movie. In a moment, I made out a skeletal hand reaching towards the minister.
My heart began to pound and my hands began to sweat as I watched the arm come out of the image, a stray bit of skin, now gone brown from ages in the dirt clinging to the index finger. It brushed the back of the minister’s head.
The minister rubbed his hand against the back of his head, like he was brushing off a fly.
I gasped, but it was a slight sound, and only the young man in the next chair looked over at me, frowning.
I didn’t say anything, just bit down on my finger, wondering what to do. The hand had pulled back, avoiding the minister’s hand wave. It reached out again but the slide changed.
This time Deborah’s face smiled out at us from the screen.
I breathed out, realizing I’d been holding my breath. I hoped it didn’t sound too much like a sigh. My thumbnail was bitten down practically to the finger.
I glanced around, looking at people. A couple had phones out, but most were paying attention to the minister. No one looked as horrified as I felt, though I didn’t have a good view of many faces.
Someone coughed in the back and a few people shuffled feet. I got a whiff of a too-strong chemical rose scent of perfume. Probably the older woman on the other side of the young man. She’d just shifted in her seat. I wondered how he could breathe through the smell.
In a picture of Deborah sitting down at a group meeting of the marketing department, where I was sitting in the chair next to Nils, a dark figure hovered behind me. I stared. A couple of people gasped, the same sort of low gasp I had made earlier. This picture wasn’t just my imagination.
I looked around. The young man stared back at me horrified.
The next slide came on and it appeared normal. The minister continued talking about Deborah’s kindness to others and her interest in their well-being. If I hadn’t been so horrified by the photos, something you expected in a horror movie, not real life, I’d have chuckled. What a grand way of saying she was nosey.
The minster wound down and called for a moment of silent reflection. He bowed his head. The screen went black behind him, this time because the slides of Deborah were over. I didn’t close my eyes, though I bowed my head. The room went nearly silent except for the occasional brush of fabric against fabric as people fidgeted in their chairs.
I remained still. The comfort of the chairs, or lack of it, made no difference. I stared at the screen, my heart still beating rapidly, as I waited for a hand to come out and stroke the minister’s hair. I kept staring at the dark screen, long after the minster finished the moment of silence and moved aside so that Nils could stand up and offer a few words about Deborah. Apparently, he’d talked to people in the office because he had a lot to say, telling a few favorite stories, which made me smile a little.
In one, Deborah had been brand new and she’d gotten off on the wrong floor on her second day. Arriving where her desk was supposed to be, she’d found Sonja sitting there. Instead of believing Sonja that she was on the wrong floor, Deborah had argued with her, thinking, for some reason, that this was some sort of horrible hazing ritual. Only when Sonja had called HR and asked what floor Deborah worked on did Deborah relent. By that time, she’d probably noticed that no one else looked at all familiar.
Even then, Nils said, she’d come down, looking around defensively as if she still wasn’t certain she wasn’t being toyed with. Deborah had even gone to his office and asked, just to be sure.
I remembered that. Sonja had talked about the incident for weeks. She couldn’t believe anyone would think we’d be that mean to a new employee. Sonja was generally quiet, keeping to herself. She dressed formally and kept her hair cut very short, probably so she didn’t have to mess with it every morning. Her deep brown, nearly black skin practically sparkled with health. The fact that she went on about this for some time was out of character and finally allowed many of us to get to know her a bit better than just a name and a familiar face.
Soon enough Nils finished speaking. No one else went up to talk. The lights came up and people stood, eager to get out of the uncomfortable chairs. A few went down and chatted with Nils. Other people talked and gossiped with each other. Pretty soon conversations swirled around the room making it hard to hear even one’s own voice.
I slipped out of the room, not caring to talk to anyone. I saw Anson sitting in a chair, a hand partly covering his face, staring at the screen as if there was something to see. Maybe there was, at least to him. I didn’t know. I was thankful the white screen looked blank to me.
I rode the elevator back to my nearly silent floor. I hurried down to my office, passing empty cubicles. We were Deborah’s closest coworkers, so of course most people had remained in the conference room. Although being alone in such a large space bothered me, I reminded myself the lights were brig
ht and my office had a window.
I slipped into my familiar zone and settled in front of my computer. As I moved the mouse around on my desk, planning to the get to work, the lights above my head went off and my computer died.
I swore softly. My heart pounded. After having just seen the images on screen, I was in no mood to have to deal with the darkness. The blinds on my window were up, letting in light, but the day had gotten surprisingly overcast and what light there was remained muted gray.
Somewhere in the office, a faucet dripped. It wasn’t the sound of a bathroom faucet drip, I reminded myself, sitting very still, moving my chair as close to the window as I could.
I pressed the side of my face against the cool window glass, picking up the faintest hint of citrus. I kept an eye on the office door. I considered closing it, but if something happened and I needed to get out, it would take me longer to flee.
I wished I had taken a moment to grab my cell phone, which sat just out of reach on a charger. Not only would it allow me to call for help, it had a flashlight app. But I needed to stay in the pool of gray light.
I heard papers being shuffled. I wondered if someone else had returned just after me or if the sound was of something moving in the depths of the office.
I drew in a breath. I thought I heard someone walking, the slight squeak of a rubber-soled shoe on carpet. I waited, staring at the door.
Who had on rubber-soled shoes? I couldn’t think. More than likely, today, it was a man. Many women had dressed in skirts, perhaps wanting to look their best for the ceremony for Deborah. I had on a black skirt and a gray blouse with black and white pinstripes. It had a ruffle on the sleeve making it more festive than I would have liked, but it was the only sort of black thing I had.
No one came by my door.
I hated waiting. My muscles remained tense, protesting against remaining frozen by the window. They’d been held in one position too often for too long recently not to start protesting quickly.
The Haunting of Steely Woods Page 11
