Bridgette had gathered some blankets she found in a linen closet and wrapped them around Janet. Though she insisted she wasn't cold, her shivering that started in the hidden tomb eventually subsided under the warmth.
"What happened back there?" Bridgette asked.
"I don't know," Janet said, racking her brain. "It was almost like... have you ever been doing something and suddenly you feel a shiver run through your whole body that makes you think someone's thinking about you or touching you or something?"
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Bridgette said.
"It was almost like that, only way, way stronger. That's the only way I know how to describe it. It felt like someone was touching me, but it wasn't one of you guys."
Bridgette looked at her with concern. "And what do you feel now?"
"Nothing. I feel fine. Like it never happened."
"I'm worried about you, Jan. I don't like what this place is doing to you."
Janet tried to put on a weak smile. "I'll get through it," she said. "It's not every day you get to live in a mansion. Plus we're not going to be here for that long."
Billy strode in the room carrying a stack of old papers and saw the two of them sitting there. "Orianne was Jasper's daughter," he announced. "She lived here in this mansion with him until she died of heart failure at the age of thirty-five."
"Thirty-five?" Bridgette said. "That's awfully young to die of heart failure."
Billy shrugged it off. He sat in a chair across from them and shuffled through the stack of parchment in his lap. Some of them had been crumpled and torn before he smoothed them out, and all of them were discolored and warped with age. "The only other information I could find on her is that her father shipped her away to France for a while to attend school when she was younger."
"But why was she buried under the floor and not with the rest of her family behind the mansion?" Bridgette asked. "With that and the way she was locked up... it was like they were ashamed of her."
"Your guess is as good as mine," Billy said, selecting an old piece of parchment from the pile. "But I found something else, too. All the information on display here in the museum says that Jasper started his trading company in 1692, and that he built it from the ground up by himself. But I found an old document showing a transfer of ownership to him from an unnamed party." He scrutinized the parchment. "It says here who it is, but the ink's too faded to read."
"What does it matter?" Janet asked.
"It implies Jasper didn't start the company," he said. "For such a simple detail, why lie about it? It's just fishy, is all.
"I also found some payroll records after that date that showed he was paying quite a bit of gold to some employees for services rendered. It says they were a crew of traders, but the odd thing is that this seems like far too much payment just for sailing a shipping vessel. The payment is made out to one 'Lazare Gaspar'."
"Gaspar?" Bridgette said. "Sounds like a pirate."
"He was likely French, seeing as how the French owned Louisiana at the time," Billy said.
"So what are you getting at?" Janet asked.
Billy looked at them carefully. "I'm starting to get the feeling that all these displays and history around the mansion might be an elaborate act. I think there's more to this whole story, hidden under the surface. Just like that coffin."
"Do you think that pirate siege had something to do with it?" Bridgette asked.
"Maybe," he said. He rubbed his eyes. "More to think about for later. In any case, after looking through all these old papers I think I've run myself ragged for today. I'm going to go hit the hay."
"Good idea," Janet said.
Sometime later, everyone in the mansion found their way to bed and settled in for the night. As a soft breeze rolled along outside, each of them harbored a different but similarly intense fear of the peculiarities of the mansion around them.
In the night, the mansion slumbered as peacefully as the six inhabitants inside of it. The friends' doors were all snugly shut, each of them in their respective beds, their faces buried in their pillows and snoring softly into the night. All of their worries had faded away as sleep overtook them, and their bodies softened from the tension and rigidity into the sweet embrace of their various dreams.
Karen snored loudly next to him, but Billy was fast asleep, breathing in and out as softly as a lamb. And sitting on the table next to him was the amulet. The emerald in it had lain dormant all night, but now it started to glow again. The green color pulsed in and out, washing the room around them in its murky glow. But Billy's eyelids were heavy; his mind was distracted by a fanciful dream of exploring a new university on his first day of school, and so he didn't notice.
Next door, Bridgette slept peacefully. But beside her, Janet was embroiled in the trappings of a nightmare. Her face creased up in anguish and she tossed from side to side.
Finally, her eyes flitted open and she glanced around the dark room. She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. Her face was hot, having worked herself up from the nightmare. She tried to recall what it was about, but the blanket of forgetfulness was already settling over her. She fidgeted, trying not to wake Bridgette, but finally she gave up and got out of bed. She walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light, softly closing the door behind her. She stared at herself in the mirror over the sink and saw that she looked a lot more haggard than she usually did. Her pale skin seemed even paler, her red hair was tossed about in a frightful mess (even for just coming out of bed), and her green eyes looked lifeless and dim.
Janet turned on the tap and bent over the sink, cupping her hands and splashing cold water in her face. She immediately felt some refreshment and respite from her terrible condition, and she slowly lapped the water onto her face, savoring the feeling.
When she righted herself and gazed into the mirror, she saw a pirate staring back at her. His ugly face was caked with grime, his hair greasy. His eyes were sallow and sunken into his skull, and they fixed on her as his mouth broke into a crooked grin.
He raised his cutlass and extended it through the mirror like it was a window. Janet watched in horror as blood dripped from the sharp edge into the sink.
She screamed and stumbled backward, hitting the wall behind her. She fell to the floor and curled into a ball in the corner of the bathroom. The sound of the running water filled her ears, and she clutched her knees to her chest, waiting to feel the blade chop her into pieces.
Her skin prickled like ants crawling over it, but she didn't feel the cut. She peeked through her fingers and looked up at the sink. She couldn't see the mirror above it.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, keeping her back pressed to the wall as the mirror came into view. The only thing in it was her reflection.
She gazed down at the sink and only saw clear water running in it. Her reflection looked even worse now. Tired bags that she thought only old people get sat under her eyes. Janet shut the water off and dried her face with a towel.
There was movement in the bedroom and finally a knock on the door. "Are you okay in there?" Bridgette asked, half-asleep.
Janet lowered the towel from her face and glanced back in the mirror. But still there was nothing other than her own reflection. The gruesome and shocking image she thought she'd seen was absent, and she wondered if it was ever there at all.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
She heard Bridgette go back to bed, and a moment later she turned out the light and slipped under the covers herself. Bridgette was awakened again, and she rolled over and asked Janet if she was all right. When she said that she was, Bridgette turned away and went back to sleep.
Meanwhile, Janet pulled the covers over her head and cried.
Coming to Blows
Bridgette's eyes snapped open. She tossed around in bed for a minute or two, then she lay on her side staring at the wall. She slipped out of bed and stood up; she was restless and she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.
Janet was underneath a cloud of bu
nched up covers. The small amount of her face poking out from under them looked uneasy, but she was fast asleep.
Bridgette turned and opened the door quietly and stepped into the hallway. She needed to stretch her legs. She peered along the dark hallway at Orianne's room and saw that the door was closed. There was no one in the hallway but her—no strange shadows tonight.
She headed for the living room and walked down the stairs, holding the railing tightly and rubbing her eyes. She walked up to one of the windows overlooking the bay. The mansion was butted right up to the edge of the cliff on the other side of the glass, and when she looked down she saw a steep drop leading to some sharp rocks coming out of the water. The moonlight sparkled across the gentle waves and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Bridgette could see all the stars tonight. She thought they looked more majestic than she'd ever seen before, but maybe it was her location that made it seem like that.
A cough drifted from the dark hallway next to her.
Curious, Bridgette followed it, moving carefully through the sticky shadows. When she approached the parlor, she heard the cough again, then she smelled smoke.
Trevor was standing in the loggia, leaning against the railing. He stared at the deep blue and brought the cigarette up to his lips.
"Can't sleep either?" Bridgette said.
Trevor saw her, then he looked back over the water and took another drag. "Yeah, something like that."
Bridgette leaned on the railing next to him. "It really is beautiful from up here."
The water sparkled calmly. Some birds swooped across the edge of the bay from treetop to treetop, and crickets sang merrily in the night. The air was still sticky and hot.
"Do you think we'll find it?" she asked.
He gritted his teeth and squeezed his cigarette until he snuffed out the fire. He looked down at it then he flicked it into the bay. "Of course we will," he said, his voice full of grit. He started to reach into his pocket to pull out the piece of map they'd found, then he changed his mind and left it alone. "I'll probably head out tomorrow to take another sweep across the bay. You know, if you want to come or something."
There was something uneasy about his demeanor when he said the words, and Bridgette studied him carefully. "You're afraid, aren't you?"
He turned to her. "What?"
"I can hear it in your voice," she said. "When we got lost out there, something spooked you, didn't it? And I don't mean the police."
"What the hell are you talking about? Ain't nothing spooked me."
"Something's definitely going on around here," she said. "There's something off about this place, something not natural. I think we've all felt it."
"You're a loon, you know that?"
Bridgette couldn't help but laugh. "I'm a loon? You're the one who dragged us all the way out here on some crazed quest for gold."
He matched her smile. "To which you came willingly, and might I add, eagerly." A moment passed where both of them fell silent, Bridgette averting her eyes as she reflected on her own motives. "You ever think back on how things could've turned out if you'd made a different choice?" he asked suddenly.
"Well sure," she said. "Who doesn't?"
Trevor shrugged. "Just seems to me that you're stuck between two worlds."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You still got that taste for adventure," he explained. "You had it back when we were together. You never lost it. Then you decided to get with that wet blanket Dawson. Sometimes I feel like you're going to explode if you let him stifle you anymore."
Bridgette's face reddened. "You don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Oh, I don't?"
"No, you don't."
"'No, Bridgette, you can't go to Louisiana,'" Trevor said in an imitation of Dawson. "'No honey, I don't want you going out on the water. No sweetie, taking a walk by yourself is far too dangerous. Hold on honey, I have to hold your hand and make sure you're okay.'" He ended his castigation with a wide grin.
"Okay, I get your point," she said, somewhat bitterly. "He can be a little overbearing sometimes."
"A little..." he chided.
"So what's it to you?" she asked, turning to him.
He faced her, too. "I just think that maybe things could've been different, don't you? Like if maybe we had stayed together."
Bridgette's eyes flashed big and wide in surprise. "That ship has long since sailed," she said.
Trevor glanced out at the bay. "Some ships don't stay buried forever."
"What are you saying?" she asked.
He took a step toward her, baring his teeth in something she wasn't entirely sure was a smile. "I see the way you've still been looking at me," he said. He reached out and touched her arm, running his fingertips along her smooth skin.
"Excuse me?" she replied, nearly stunned. She didn't pull her arm away.
"Don't deny it," he said. "I still remember that little girl inside. The one that was bursting with energy and adventure before her wet toad of a boyfriend wore her down. That girl that just wants to be free and let out of her shackles. I understand her. I really do." He took another step forward and held her other arm.
Bridgette leaned back, but she didn't move from the spot. She wasn't sure what to do. She gazed into his eyes and saw that he was serious. "Don't put words in my mouth," she said sternly. "I love Dawson."
"Sure you do," he said. "You love him as much as I love a good root canal." He stroked her cheek and her face reddened more. He turned his caress downward and caught the corner of her lip.
"What are you doing?" she asked, finally taking a step back.
"What I should've done a long time ago." He followed her and moved a hand up her stomach, spreading his fingers and running them over one of her breasts.
"Stop it!" she said, trying to push his hand away. But he persisted. She backed up to the railing and leaned against it, with nowhere else to go. He ignored her protests, persisting in running his hands over the front of her body. As red as a tomato, Bridgette's eyes darted around, trying to figure out what to do. In her horror, she saw that Trevor was leaning in for a kiss.
"Hey!"
Both of them turned and saw Dawson standing in the parlor. He paused for only a moment to size up the situation, then he marched toward Trevor like a runaway train.
Trevor grinned and backed away from Bridgette. He faced Dawson squarely, but he put up no defense. Dawson grabbed him by the throat and thrust him against the railing.
"Dawson, no!" Bridgette cried, fearing what he might do.
Dawson gave him a hard shove and Trevor tipped halfway over the railing, teetering precariously over a thirty-foot drop to the rocks below. Dawson slugged Trevor across the face with his other hand. A loud crack rang in the air and blood ran down from Trevor's nose.
"Dawson, stop!" Bridgette said, pulling on his arm.
He pulled back and yanked Trevor to the floor. He stood over him, glaring down as Trevor wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand then shifted his jaw around. He smiled and looked up at Bridgette.
"He's always there to fight your battles for you, isn't he?" he said. Then he got to his feet and sized up the two of them. Dawson stared at him with pure anger and malice, and Bridgette looked on with a mixture of horror and shock. He glanced at Bridgette once more and slowly nodded his head. "That's what I thought. As far as I'm concerned, you two were made for each other." He touched his fingers to his lip to find that it was split open, then he walked forward defiantly, giving Dawson a shoulder check on his way by.
When he left, Bridgette and Dawson turned toward each other. Dawson stepped in to console her, but her reaction was very different from what he was expecting.
"How could you!" she cried.
"What?"
"You could've killed him!"
He paused. He thought the searing anger he'd felt when he walked in on Trevor harassing her was starting to fade, but it suddenly bubbled to the surface again. "That's really what
you're going to say to me right now?"
"Dawson, it wasn't a big deal!" she protested. "You really could have hurt him!" She was still stunned from the sudden shock of everything that had transpired in such a small amount of time. And Trevor's words had cut deeper into her than she had expected. "I don't need you to save me from everything," she added. "You're really such a bother sometimes."
"Bridgette..." He balled his hand into a fist, squeezing his fingers so tightly they hurt. Anger flooded behind his eyes and he saw the world in sheets of red. "You know what?"
He wanted to say something else to her, wanted to tell her how impossible she was being, how angry she was making him, how unfair it all was. But after another moment, he simply turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone.
As soon as he left, Bridgette stared blankly at the space where he stood just a moment before. Then she threw herself against the balcony's railing and cried. Her tears dripped from her cheeks and fell into the bay below. The gentle breeze brushing across her skin did nothing to calm her down. She stood there and looked at the moon and the stars through watery eyes for a long time. She didn't hear any other sound in the mansion, and her tiredness began to return. Defeated and feeling deep regret, she returned upstairs to bed, hoping that she could explain herself a little better in the morning.
She peeked in Dawson's room and saw that his bed was empty. Where he had gone, she didn't know. But she worried about him. She turned and entered her own bedroom, closing the door behind her and getting under the covers. She fell into bed with a bit of a thud, and she rolled over to apologize to Janet, knowing that she must have woken her.
The spot in bed next to her was empty.
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 48