Something in the Shadows

by Elle Beaumont

  Seth's gaze hones in on mine with a glimmering, unspoken misery , and I want to understand what is haunting him. Once we're settled at the hotel, hopefully I can ease whatever is eating at him. Perhaps he'll talk to me.

  "Babe, seriously, you've got this. I believe in you!" I reach out and touch his hand, running my fingers up his forearm.

  He nods, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "We've got this."

  We turn down a long dirt road. Trees stretch toward the sky on both sides of the driveway, heavily laden with green leaves. If it were sunny out, they'd block the sunshine, but it just makes for an eerie, dark passage into the front yard of the inn.

  My stomach clenches as I stare out the window. Aside from the untidy landscaping, the plantation house sits in near perfect condition. Yellow paint contrasts with the greenery surrounding the area, and the white trim remains unblemished.

  Seth steps out of the car, and I follow suit. He holds his iPhone in his hand, the screen lights up, and he sighs.

  "What is it?"

  "Go figure, they will be late... Might as well head inside and get started."

  His production team is late, but when aren't they? They aren't at the top of my favorite people list, and for many reasons—one of them being laziness. Another is how gross they can be, especially Jimmy. I don’t like the way his eyes always linger on me a little too long.

  I shudder and study the abandoned inn. Spanish moss hangs from an oak tree, mocking the weeping willow close to it.

  Seth has already disappeared from sight. Annoyance ripples through me. I huff and stomp toward the open front door, then more carefully step inside. The last thing I want is to fall through a rotten board.

  Inside the house, cobwebs hang from the ceiling and catch the afternoon light just enough to warn me where they are. Thank God. I hate spiders. I step through the foyer and turn into what I assume is the dining room. To my surprise, it doesn't look half bad. The floorboards are intact, no rot in sight, and although cobwebs hang from the corners and doorways, everything appears in working order.

  Half-turning around, I see thick webs near my head and immediately rescind that mental statement, squealing and jumping backward. Minus the cobwebs, it isn't half bad, I amend.

  I shriek, batting at the webs dangling in front of my face. "Ew! Why, why couldn't you leave trails of gumdrops instead of sticky, horrifying webs?" I shout at the invisible foes lurking in the corners.

  Aside from the dust, cobwebs, and faded wallpaper, the house is in perfect condition. No sign of rot or water damage. Curiosity tugs at me, pulling me beyond the dining room and toward a spiral staircase. The banister spins around, stretching toward the second and third floors. God, I would have loved living here when I was little. This place is like a small castle.

  The sound of a car door shutting breaks my focus on the banister. A moment later, Seth mutters to himself and his equipment bag thuds on the floor. The last thing I want is to get in his way, so I continue up the stairs, all the way to the third floor.

  "Ugh!" I pull at the front of my shirt, willing my core to cool down. Sweat almost instantly coats my skin. The shut windows trap the heat inside, and although it's only June, the warmth in the house is excessive.

  The layout is fairly simple. To my left are three rooms. I peek inside each one. Both are fairly simple; a queen-sized bed against the far wall, a dresser against the wall closest to me, and windows to peer out over the property.

  On the left side of the hallway are two bedrooms that mirror the others, but one particular door gives me a hard time. The knob twists back and forth, but nothing happens. I wonder if it's locked, or jammed? I grunt as my shoulder connects with the door, and I use the momentum to shove it open.

  Half-stumbling inside the room, I quickly assess my surroundings, and spot old wooden blocks stacked against the wall. A rocking horse covered in cobwebs lies on its side and an old, white crib, still dressed for an occupant, faces me from the opposite wall.

  A nursery, I muse. It's odd they’d retain a nursery throughout the years. Perhaps they once used the room for the guest’s children. On the far wall hangs an aged photograph of a little boy near a pond. His hair is cropped short, allowing me to gaze into his large, almond eyes. He’s beautiful, whoever he is.

  I kneel and pick up a block, running my fingers along the smoothed over wood. I wonder how many hands played with these? Sighing, I turn my attention to the rocking horse. The yarn mane has long since matted from humidity and cobwebs, but the paint has chipped none. The horse’s bay coloring is still intact, as is the white star, however, I curl my lip when I think of how many mice have been in and out of those strands.

  Behind the rocking horse, a round knob juts out on a part of the wall, catching my attention. Curious. I crawl toward it and tug open the door. As I duck my head, I scan the crawl space for any offending creatures, whether they be rats or evil spiders. I gag immediately. Cobwebs hang low, but I grab an old teddy bear and use it to disperse the webs. As soon as they're gone, I drop the bear and squeal in disgust.

  Several boxes line the floor, and on top of one is a newspaper dating back to the early 1900s. A faded picture of a youthful man with long hair and coppery skin looks up at me, but his features are hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Two long braids dangle down his shoulders, and over the jacket he wears.

  "That's cool," I mutter.

  Another box is full of clothes, and as I rifle through them, most are a small child's. My fingers linger on a stained flower dress and I pick it up. I've always wanted children of my own, but the plan was to wait until I finished college. That was years ago. Every time I mention something to Seth, he changes the subject. Could that be why a rift has steadily grown between us? If he doesn’t want children that’s fine, but I need to understand so I can move on with my life. That seems to be a theme as of late, avoiding and prolonging the inevitable.

  My eyes slide shut, fingers clinging to the dingy dress. I remember the few pregnancy scares we've had over the years, and how relieved Seth was, in contrast to my disappointment. Shaking my head, I clear the memories away.

  The nursery door creaks and I freeze. Did Seth already make it upstairs?

  A moment ticks by. I strain to listen, but no, I would have heard his heavy footfall. Spinning, I keep my head down and scurry out of the crawl space. Nothing is there, except for a faint shadow that moves over the floor. It grows closer to me, then stops. Fear paralyzes me. I’m unable to tilt my head back, because if I see some ghoulish figure staring back at me, I think I'll expire on the spot.

  A cool breeze tickles across my neck and cheek in a soft caress. The shadow pools around my kneeling figure, but somehow I'm not shaking or on the verge of tears like I thought I'd be. The presence doesn't seem malevolent, because anxiety doesn't spread through me like a wildfire. Instead, calm reassurance floods my body, settling whatever fear rises. The sensation is almost like fingertips beneath my chin, but when my head tilts to peer up, the shadow fades and nothing is there.

  Good gravy. This place is haunted.

  Whatever touched me in the nursery didn't mean any harm, but it still charges me with enough energy to get the hell out of there and downstairs. Maybe I can convince Seth to venture upstairs. I bet he'd catch high readings.

  At the bottom of the stairwell, Seth is talking. His show voice booms loudly, showing far more enthusiasm than I've heard in weeks. Trav is walking around with him, so is the minimal film crew. Seth has a meter in his grasp, reading the room for paranormal activity, and I do my best to stay out of the way. Small beeps ping off the walls, detecting a supernatural presence.

  When they spin around, I dodge out of the camera's view and hide in the nook by the stairs. They don't stop to glance at me, instead continue up the stairs where the readings crackle to life.

  "There's a story surrounding this house," Seth says. "Once, it was a cotton plantation, but during the war soldiers would come here for food, rest, wound treatment, or to die here. After
the war, the owners wanted no part of the house. They said evil lived in the walls. Not to mention they went bankrupt." Seth pauses dramatically as the equipment screeches. "Wow. Not keen on the story?" he asks no one in particular.

  "Anyway. The house passed through a few hands over the years, and in 1902, it fell into the possession of Anita Wells. She took orphans in and raised them. In her will, she left everything to a boy she cared for. No one knows his full name, just that his last name was Rainwater. Years later, someone murdered him one night in his sleep. Why? It was never uncovered, but the house passed into another's hands, and from there it became a bed and breakfast. Some say Rainwater still lurks around, too."

  Seth always studies the places he ends up going to, so I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. The house itself is a mystery, and something about Rainwater's story makes my heart ache. I glance around the stairwell, wondering how many people this place has housed. Frowning, I think of the boy who inherited it all, only to lose it several years later. How was his murder never solved?

  I need air.

  Above me, their conversation turns friendly, losing its showy, over-the-top sound. I wonder if they've paused filming for a moment. "Seth, babe, I'm going outside!" If not, they can edit my voice out. I cringe.

  Nothing.

  Annoyance ripples through me. "Seth!" I grind out this time.

  "See that?" Trav shouts. "Turn the camera on again."

  Anger tears through me. I'm so tired of being ignored. "I hope I fuck up your filming!" I scream, then storm through the kitchen and outside. I'm being dramatic, but I'm minimally owed a grunt of acknowledgment. This is a theme as of late, and I'm just beyond tired of it all.

  I need a change of scenery to calm myself down, so I dart through the kitchen and out the door leading me to the backyard.

  To my surprise, a pond is there. A wicker table and two chairs sit under an enormous maple tree near the body of water. I kick off my shoes and walk toward the edge. The pond is clean, with a sandy bottom. My toes squelch in the wet sand, which makes me laugh as it oozes between my toes. After a moment, I wade up to my thighs.

  This is exactly what I need to clear my head. When I exhale, it relieves some stress, allowing my shoulders to fall forward. Every muscle in my body hurts, and I chalk it up to more stress.

  "Hey, why not try out here?" Trav asks loudly.

  My head whips around to glance at the kitchen door. Seth stands there, his eyes flicking toward the pond—to me.

  "Why would I?" Seth turns around.

  "Humor me, okay?" Trav skulks toward the pond, the device in his hand, and he points it at the water.

  Loud beeps hold my attention, but the movement from the corner of my eye steals it. Seth is angrily marching up to Trav.

  "Stop it." Seth seethes, but fear swirls in his gaze.

  What is he afraid of? I peer down into the water and wonder what he isn't saying. At the same time I'm questioning this, tiny fish weave in and out of my legs. Their dancing urges me to move away, because I imagine them as tentacles, and something sinister. But when I go to shift, something curls around my ankle tightly. A scream lodges itself in my throat. No sound escapes me, but something pushes against my side, which dislodges me. I stumble on the embankment, looking around, hoping to catch whoever—or whatever—that was.

  Seth is unsurprisingly oblivious to my plight.

  "Not funny. If that's one of your stupid cameramen, Seth!" I huff.

  His gaze lingers on me, then he shakes his head and storms off.

  Curses fly free from his mouth. Trav barks at him to calm down, but Seth is stomping off toward the front of the house. I grimace and follow him, because if I don't, I'll be stranded here.

  I run up the tiny hill, toward the parking lot, and hurriedly slide into the passenger seat before Seth even has the chance to open his door. When he does, he stares at my soaked body and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  "Coming here was an awful idea," he says, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  "Babe, you didn’t know how oppressive the energy would be, so don’t blame yourself. I didn't know any of that about the house. All the history inside that building... pretty insane."

  The strange thing about his reaction is, I didn’t feel any oppressive energy, but the look in Seth’s eyes tells me he thinks differently. The skin around his eyes is tight, and his eyebrows pitch inward just a little, which only happens when he’s anxious.

  "No wonder no one wants to buy the house or live inside for long. There is so much darkness surrounding the house, I don’t need my sensors for that.” Seth pauses to exhale a shaky breath. “I should cut the trip short.” He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway.

  I know better than to answer him; it was rhetorical, and no matter how much of an argument I put up, it's ultimately his decision. On some of their filming trips, the guys came across buildings causing physical illness. Seth told me he'd wake up, unable to catch his breath, as if someone was suffocating him. Others, it was like his mind was being toyed with. Grim thoughts intruded, plaguing him with depression. I trusted his intuition when it came to leaving a place.

  I'm compelled to glance back at the front porch of the house. My heart leaps as I see a shadowy figure leaning against the railing. All I can discern is they're tall and wearing dark clothes, blending into the dim lighting of the porch. With a galloping heart, I turn around in my seat and wonder, Is that the same apparition from the nursery?

  Instead of returning to the inn the next day, Seth takes two days to gather himself and, as he says, to "cleanse his body and mind." I can't say I blame him, I've seen the aftermath of a particular hard building. He's still jumpy, his blue eyes are bloodshot, and beneath his eyes hang purple bags.

  Half-asleep on the bed, Seth curls his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "Do I have to go today?" he murmurs in my ear, squeezing me tighter.

  "You don't have to do anything.... Unless that anything is me." I nudge him with my bottom and laugh.

  To my delight, things seem to be returning to normal, despite my outburst a few days ago. I think my decision to join him down here was the right one.

  After we get dressed, we're back on the road to Green Meadow Inn. Seth's demeanor visibly changes as we near the house again. His easy going attitude shifts, and tension etches itself on his face as he works his jaw continuously.

  The sun is out in full force, bringing the heat with it. As much as I dislike it, the glow of the sun casts a fresh light on Green Meadow Inn. The yellow paint seems brighter, lending it a hopeful glow. The peonies along the front porch bloomed in the early morning, offering hues of pink to contrast with the white trim. Two days ago, I was too busy to note the beautiful flowers surrounding the house, and now that's all I seem to see.

  I wonder, what did this house offer to those in need? What did they think of it as they walked to the front steps, desperate and in search of answers or help?

  Seth parks the car and abruptly exits. He's withdrawing from me already. I sit quietly and watch him mill around outside the house, muttering to himself. Not ten minutes later, the rest of the crew shows up, which means I need to make myself scarce.

  They're heading back inside, so I venture around the back toward the pond to investigate. I walk toward the embankment where I crawled out and squint into the water. There doesn't seem to be a lot of scum, or even twisted branches that could have ensnared me. Perhaps Seth is right, and there is a malevolent presence lurking not only in the water, but also in the house.

  "I'm not scared of you," I whisper harshly.

  Yet I'm still drawn to the depths, as if something is calling to me, capturing my body and soul. With a splash, I fall in, head first.

  Invisible tentacles wrap around my arms, legs, and head, holding me hostage beneath the water. As much as I flail, I can't free myself, and I can't surface to scream. I kick, thrash, and pull toward the surface, but with no luck.

  When my hope of breaking free v
anishes, and I realize I'm going to drown, that's when I feel arms wrap around my waist, yanking me free. I gasp for breath, gobbling air. Sputtering, I claw at whoever is holding me. Did Seth finally notice I left?

  I open my eyes to find a pair of luminous black eyes staring at me. This isn't Seth. I don't know who this man is, but his chiseled jaw leads to a pair of full lips pressed in a grim line. Dark, unbound hair tumbles over his shoulders, contrasting with the white t-shirt.

  "I've got you," he says in a husky voice.

  As my eyes focus better, I take in the man's appearance with an assessing once-over. His hair is as black as a raven's feather, and it's long—longer than my dark brown waves. His skin is gorgeous; a flawless caramel. I register what he says and promptly remember he's cradling me in his arms.

  "T-thank you," I whisper. The shock slowly slips away. Moments ago, I was dragged under the water by something, and nearly drowned. "I don't... I don't know what happened, it was like something drew me in, then kept me under. It wouldn't let go." I sound hysterical, even to myself.

  "You’re okay, I promise." He places me down in a wicker chair and stands off to the side. "Are you here alone?" His dark eyes sweep the immediate area before he turns back to me.

  "No, my boyfriend is inside with his crew."

  "Ahmm," he hums, then a lone eyebrow lifts in question. "A crew?"

  My hair falls into my line of vision, blocking me from staring at the tall stranger. "Seth, my boyfriend, he films ghost hunting adventures."

  "Uh-huh." The handsome man's expression takes on a pinched appearance, lending him a mildly annoyed look. "I see."

  "It sounds weird, but..." Does he not believe in ghosts? Not everyone does, which is fine, but it's difficult to know what someone will find offense with these days. Perhaps he doesn't believe in the afterlife.

  He smiles, which shifts the ominous clouds from his visage. It instantly warms his face, and his teeth, dear heavens, are so white!

  "Hardly. People have always been fascinated with the dead—or demons. It isn’t always wise to poke around, though." Tall, dark, and handsome motions toward the house. "We should get you inside. There are towels in the house."