The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery

by Debra Castaneda

  Destiny is saying something off-camera, something about the crystals. The camera pans toward her. The bright light washes out her pale face and for a moment, her blonde hair looks like a halo.

  “Can you say that again, Destiny?” Daniel prompts.

  Destiny gives a tight nod. “The crystals I used to invite the spirit. They're warm.”

  The camera moves down to the white and blue crystals sitting on the palm of her hand. “Were they warm earlier?”

  “No.” Destiny frowns and shakes her head. Madison is hovering next to her. Her exasperated sigh can be heard loud and clear, picked up by the wireless mic.

  “Madison, can you please confirm that for us?” Daniel says. “For the record.”

  The camera moves to Madison. Even without makeup and her hair caught up in a messy ponytail she is photogenic. She grunts and touches the stones. She yanks her hand back with a gasp. “They're practically hot,” she says, shuffling back into the gloom.

  It's the first time the rest of us are hearing about the crystals. “That happened?” Alfie says.

  Madison, sitting next to Raj on an over-sized loveseat, crosses her long legs. “Yes,” she says grudgingly. “But there's probably an explanation for it. Like they got warm in Destiny's pocket or something.”

  Daniel taps the screen to get our attention. “Just keep watching.” His voice is urgent.

  I drag my eyes back to the enormous TV set that's attached to the wall. The light from the camera is no match for the inky blackness that stretches beyond my two friends who stand there frozen, faces startled.

  Without warning, the camera swivels. A shape moves across the screen. We jump. The camera rushes past the girls to capture whatever is there. A shadow hurtles by so fast I think I'm imagining it. But I’m not. There are gasps around the room. Alfie is now on his feet, his face inches away from the screen. The camera shifts to a doorway. Something is hovering there, about a foot off the ground, a vague human shape. Then it collapses and disappears.

  Daniel presses pause. “I heard something, so I just pointed and shot, but I didn't see anything. And neither did Destiny or Madison.”

  “What the hell was that?” Raj says.

  Daniel shakes his head. “I've tried adjusting the contrast and slowing it down, but this is as good as it gets.”

  “Are you sure you aren't messing with us? Did a little trick photography?” Chloe says, sitting bolt upright. “Because if you are, ha ha, it's not funny.”

  “He wouldn't do that, Chloe,” I say. But there's uncertainty in my voice. After all, I don't know him that well. Daniel glowers at me.

  He holds up a hand. “That's right, Samantha. I wouldn't. That’s not my style. And if you remember, we all promised to play it straight. Do you want to watch the rest or not?”

  Chloe makes a face. “Sorry, Daniel,” she says in a small voice. He smiles tightly and points the remote at the screen.

  This time, the camera is following me and Gabe as we make our way down a hallway. When I look over my shoulder, it's like a scene out of every horror movie I've ever seen. Pale face, eyes wide open, shoulders up.

  “You okay over there?” Daniel's voice calls from off camera. I'm shown nodding. But it's far from convincing. I look like I'm on high alert, ready to run.

  As we continue along the dark passage, a rustling sound begins and slowly becomes louder. Someone is murmuring, but Gabe is ahead of me and it's clearly not his voice. Then it's a conversation, an angry one, but it's distant and muffled as if two people are arguing at the bottom of a well or at the back of a closet. This is soon replaced by soft footsteps and then, somewhere far behind Daniel, doors begin slamming. But Daniel doesn't react. Neither do Gabe and I. None of us have heard a thing. The camera follows our retreating figures surely and steadily.

  The video stops.

  “All that you just heard was not recorded on the video,” Daniel says, expression grim. “It was picked up by the wireless mics and recorded on a separate channel. Don't ask me to explain it because I can't.”

  Fear crawls up my back. We're all staring at the screen with our mouths open, except for Gabe. When I glance over at him, his head is between his knees. I tap his shoulder. He gets up suddenly and strides out the door. The attention in the room shifts to me. Chloe gives me a meaningful nod. She's right, of course. I need to go after him, see what's going on.

  I find Gabe in the kitchen leaning against the sink, gulping down a glass of water. He looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his black eyes and his uncombed curly hair is a mess. “Hey,” I say.

  Gabe runs his fingers around the rim of his glass, avoiding my gaze. “Sorry about that. I guess I freaked out.”

  The thing is, he's acting more upset than scared. With a jolt I wonder if it has to do with me. Maybe he's had enough of this ghost stuff and blames me. Wants out, but there's no way to do it without dumping me first. It's a ridiculous thought to have when we've just been presented with evidence of a ghost, but my mind is spinning out of control in unwanted directions. He pours himself another glass of water. My sense of unease grows with every silent moment that passes.

  Then his eyes lock on mine.

  “I didn't like her,” he blurts out, his chin dropping to his chest. Suddenly he's a little boy confessing something, except I have no idea what it is.

  “Didn't like who?”

  His eyes begin to water. “Nicole. I didn't like my own sister. My little sister. She was difficult. Selfish.” His voice cracks. “It's not all her fault, the way she was. My mom spoiled her. My dad wasn't around when she needed him. And I wasn't around, either. But I'm angry. Over what she did.”

  I walk up to Gabe and wrap my arms around him. His body relaxes. My heart beats faster in selfish relief that this is not about me. “It's not your fault,” I say into his shoulder.

  He kisses the top of my head and pulls away. “No. But it's hard looking at that video, knowing that Nicole is the cause of it all. Which is just like her. Stirring things up. Not thinking of other people. Not giving a shit about consequences.”

  A loud knock makes us jump. It's Alfie, scowling. “Intermission is over. You better get back in there if you want to see the rest.”

  Gabe and I follow Alfie back to the living room. We're met with tense, exasperated looks. Everyone is tired and cranky after our long night at the Wirth Mansion. Raj is rubbing his eyes even though he got more sleep than the rest of us. Daniel is tapping his foot, lips pursed.

  “Sorry guys,” Gabe mutters, sinking into the couch. Destiny moves closer and clutches my arm. When I glance over at her she's staring trance-like at the paused screen. Madison is gripping the armrests of her chair like it's a rollercoaster cresting before a giant dip. We're so focused none of us react when a gust of wind rattles the windowpanes. Broken-off tree branches fly by.

  With a final disapproving glance in my direction, Daniel presses play. “Okay, guys. This is the biggie. Hope you're ready for it.”

  Chloe scoots closer to the screen, her elbows resting on her knees.

  The scene picks up with all of us together on the second floor. There's a shriek, and the camera whips around, zooming in on Destiny and Chloe taking in their shocked, wild-eyed faces. But there's more to it than that. There's a faint, eerie, bluish glow that surrounds Destiny. It's almost like the flame from a gas stove. Then something moves closer out of the darkness and looms behind her shoulder, a shadow that takes human shape, but nightmarishly stretched. Then it slowly rises into the air and hovers there before receding beyond the bright light of Daniel's camera.

  Raj throws his hands into the air. “I'm repeating myself, but what the hell was that?”

  “Whatever Destiny invited,” Alfie says. I feel, rather than see, Destiny flinch and shrink back into the cushions.

  Chloe gets to her feet in one fluid move. “It's our ghost,” she says, strangely calm. “Which is what we suspected, by the way, so we shouldn't be all that surprised we found it. We went ghost hunting
, remember? Now we've caught one.” She nods to Daniel. “Thanks to him,” she adds.

  “But we still can't be sure if this ghost had anything to do with Mary and Nicole and the others,” Madison points out.

  Daniel does a double take. “Whoa! You all heard that, right? Madison just admitted there's such a thing as a ghost.”

  “It's the same spirit,” Chloe says firmly. She takes a deep breath, then exhales noisily. “I know it is. Because I got the same feeling last night at the mansion that I had when I was in the bathroom after Monica Goodman died. Evil. Something evil at both places.”

  At this, I half expect Madison to shout something rude, maybe throw a pillow. Instead, she sits there staring at Chloe as if she's never seen her before.

  Alfie staggers to his feet. “You were in the bathroom after Monica died?” I'm a little surprised she never told him, or maybe decided not to. Chloe scrambles to explain. Once that's cleared up, with Alfie still reeling from his girlfriend keeping such a secret, I clear my throat to get everyone's attention. What I'm about to say is the last thing I want to do, but there's no avoiding it.

  “We need to watch again,” I say, looking around, registering my friends' still shocked expressions. “And this time, we need to take notes.”

  Daniel nods. “We'll do it frame by frame if we need to.”

  He waits for me, Chloe and Alfie to open our laptops. Then he points the remote at the screen.

  Chapter 43

  San Francisco, March 13, 1868

  Dear Edward,

  I am hoping these lines find you well on your travels but prepare yourself dear brother for I have the most dreadful news. I take pen in my hand to let you know all is not well at our summer home in Hillside.

  As I write this, I realize there is much I have not told you. There has been little time for writing letters these past months. Our father's prospering business is like a great beast that demands all my attention. And when I am not in San Francisco, I travel the twenty-six miles to Hillside as often as I dare to see the most beautiful woman in the world, my Marguerite. But this girl who was to be my wife is no more.

  I have returned to find her dead.

  With fingers shaking and tears falling upon this paper, I can hardly believe it. Any of it. For what has befallen her is truly the most horrible tale that I have heard in my twenty-seven years upon this earth.

  The house has descended into utter chaos. Some of the servants have abandoned us. Poor Mrs. Arundel is managing as best she can, the dear soul, but this is testing even her devotion to our family. Our mother has locked herself in her room and refuses to leave it, though I slam my fists upon the door. Maybe it is well enough she does not face me again for there is no telling what I will do when the moment comes.

  There is nothing but a dark and festering hole where my heart once was, thanks to the devil we both call a mother.

  This is but a brief account of my discovery, as I must post this letter soon if it is to reach you before you depart for Greece. For I fear I have a request that may alter your travels.

  When I arrived for my weekend visit, smoke was billowing from the back of the house. You will certainly recall the structure, as our mother made such a fuss over its construction, insisting upon the addition for the purpose of a servant's wing.

  The families who live nearby had come running to see if they could be of assistance. Pail after pail of water was needed to put out the fire. Luckily, it did not spread to the rest of the house as it might have done.

  When the last flame was doused, everyone turned to me for direction, for our father had remained in San Francisco to be with the lovely widow Mrs. Verein. You met her during your last visit home when our father confided in us the sad state of his marriage to our mother.

  Mrs. Arundel was in such distress she could hardly make herself understood. All the poor lady could do was cry and point at the blackened ruins. Getting any sense out of her was impossible and our mother was not to be found anywhere. Finally, a maid newly arrived from Scotland did approach me. Mrs. Lynch wore such an appalled expression that I found myself in the grip of an unspeakable dread.

  Her words, my brother Edward, I will never forget: “Your young lady, sir. She was locked in one of those rooms. And trapped there she was, for us all to hear her pleading to save her life.”

  It is said that I fell to the ground and was insensible for a time. For when I was finally raised to my feet, several brave men stood before me, heads bowed, and with great solemnity confirmed that Marguerite had perished in the fire. I pushed past them to see this terrible truth for myself, but I was held back by strong and determined hands.

  It did not take long for unwanted thoughts to creep into my already disturbed mind. How did Marguerite come to be confined in a servant's room when she was no longer a maid?

  Marguerite had her own set of rooms at the opposite end of the house. What purpose had she to enter the servant's quarters? And how could this girl, as tall and strong and lithesome as she was beautiful, find herself unable to escape? She was quite capable of carrying even the heaviest loads of laundry from one end of the house to the other, as I unhappily once witnessed.

  I posed these questions to Mrs. Arundel, but she could only shake her head and blubber. Mrs. Lynch, who seemed a sensible sort of lady, at first was unwilling to answer. But I finally prevailed, appealing to her duty to tell the truth.

  As she spoke, I could hardly believe the words that left her uneasy lips. For she herself had heard mother and Marguerite exchange angry words. It seems Marguerite had entered the servant's work room for a bit of sewing and mother found her there. It is not known exactly what was said, only that mother's voice was loudest.

  Mrs. Lynch says she then heard a door slam and soon after, Marguerite's cries and fists pounding “fit to raise the dead.” When Mrs. Lynch came to inquire, ready to help, our mother said it was no business of hers and ordered her away. With great reluctance, she followed these instructions and left Marguerite. Mrs. Lynch sought the advice of Mrs. Arundel, but soon both women smelled smoke coming from that part of the house.

  Marguerite's screams could be heard all over the house and beyond into the gardens.

  But it was too late, my dear brother. Too late for my beloved girl. Flames and thick black smoke forced the women and other servants back. All stood by, helplessly, as they watched the servant's wing burn. Trapped within its fiery confines, still screaming for help, was Marguerite.

  When I finally found our mother, she was contemplating our portraits in the Grand Parlor.

  When I fell at her feet, begged her to explain her actions, she said in the coldest of voices, “I could not let her come between us, son.”

  Her eyes were terrible to behold. Had they always been so black, so fathomless? An impenetrable evil lurked there, and lurks there still, my brother. For there is no doubt.

  Our mother killed Marguerite.

  I am in agony, Edward. Please make haste and come home.

  David

  Chapter 44

  It's nearly impossible to concentrate on normal stuff. We have an editorial meeting, but when it's over all we can talk about is Daniel's video.

  We create a group text so we can discuss it all night long. Daniel is part of the group. He's just as abrupt in texts as he is in person, but funnier too. We've proved there's a ghost at the Wirth Mansion but we're no closer to figuring out what to do next. Destiny prefers the term “spirit.”

  For the next update of Not-the-Clarion, all the writers contribute to Mary McKissick's obituary except for Raj and Alfie. They get a pass because they still haven't recovered from finding her like that.

  Mary had a small group of friends who tearfully share stories and pictures. I interview Mary's AP science teacher. He'd been trying to convince her to apply for a scholarship at Cal Tech. She was that smart. After Chloe hits publish, it quickly becomes the most read and shared article we've posted. Somehow, that just makes us feel worse knowing what we know.

>   The logical part of my brain says okay, you saw a ghost. The other part, the primitive one, can't handle it. That night as I'm sitting in bed, trying to read, I start thinking about the Halloween Dance. I text the group saying there's no way we should have it at the Wirth Mansion. It's just not safe.

  Alfie immediately responds: Too late. Tickets sold out. Most popular event ever!

  Daniel quickly replies: That's the way you roll?

  Madison hops in: Deposit NOT refundable.

  Daniel follows with: Hardcore, Madison.

  I think we should call the whole thing off. Period. We get together at Gabe's house to talk it over. Raj surprises us by saying Mary wouldn't want us to cancel and suggests we hold it in her honor. Chloe offers to create a memorial display. The whole idea makes me nervous, and the memorial is plain creepy, but this time I keep my mouth shut because even Daniel has changed his mind.

  “Can I go? Even if I'm not a student?” he asks. “I think I should be there. And bring my camera.”

  “You can go with me,” Madison says briskly. Like she's doing him a favor, but she's not fooling anyone.

  “You need help with the lights?” Gabe asks Daniel. Then he leans over and whispers, “Is that okay? That I go?” My heart swells. The Halloween Dance has been a nagging worry. Inviting a bunch of students—some of them seventeen and blonde—to ghost ground zero is insane. I've also been torn over whether to invite Gabe. Why would he want to go to a high school dance? Him asking me is better than I could have hoped for.

  “I'm going to look into a new spell,” Destiny says, getting to her feet and stretching. “For protection at the dance. My spell for warding off sparking seems to be working, so there's that.” She smiles, pleased with herself.

  Destiny's interest in witchcraft has turned into an obsession. But it's not just about healing and changing her life anymore. She spends every spare minute tracking down and reading books of magic. Ever since she successfully conjured the spirit, she's convinced there's a way to stop it from killing more girls, if only she can discover how. Never mind that we still haven't proved the spirit is responsible for the deaths of Emily, Nicole, Monica and Mary.