Rosemary's Ghosts (Tess Schafer-Medium)

by Deborah J. Hughes

  I walked to her slowly, giving her time to reject my approach if she so wished. "Children must be protected until they learn how to protect themselves. No one protected you, Rosemary, and I'm so sorry about that. Your mother, I am sure, did the best she could, but she didn't know how either."

  Once I was close enough to touch her, I placed a hand on her folded arms. "Your mother believed herself weak against his greater strength. Of course she would, that's what she was taught to believe. The same for you, Rosemary. You didn't have the knowledge you have now to help yourself. But that didn't mean God left you alone."

  "But what of my mama? She believed in God. She asked for his help and believed he'd help her and he didn't. He didn't!"

  I gave her arm a gentle squeeze, my empathy for what she and her mother went through flooding my heart, making it swell with hurt for them. "She went through so much emotional trauma, Rosemary. Your mother didn't believe she had the power within her to fight him. So she looked to God for help. The problem, Rosemary, is that she didn't believe she could do anything herself and I'm betting, deep inside she didn't feel worthy enough to deserve help. And it was that which stopped her from getting what she prayed for." I put my arms around Rosemary's stiff form and rested my head on her shoulder. "She didn't understand the power she held within her and sadly, there was no one to help her understand that. It was a terrible, awful situation and I don't blame you for being angry but none of that meant that God didn't love her or you."

  "There is no God. But it doesn't matter anymore. My mama is safe from my father and I have Grace. And now, thanks to you, I know how to protect her." She unfolded her arms and gave my shoulder a pat, telling me it was time to step back and let her go.

  "Okay, Rosemary. We'll agree to disagree on this issue. But as for you not being alone now, well you can't live out the rest of your life here on this island with only ghosts for company."

  "Why not?"

  "Because ... well, because they shouldn't be here haunting you."

  "And again I ask, why not?"

  "The fact they are here indicates a problem. We need to figure out the problem, Rosemary."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Hauntings happen for a reason. The spirits that are here shouldn't be here. They should be off on new adventures, enjoying another life or whatever. Active spirit activity like what is happening to you indicates a problem has drawn them here."

  "But we took care of the problem. It was my worthless father. Now he's gone. Let's not talk of it anymore." Rosemary must have forgotten about the tea because she returned to the rocking chair, sinking warily into it and picking up her doily. After staring at it for a long moment, she began crocheting with determined vigor.

  Seeing she was done talking, I let out a silent sigh and wondered what I was supposed to do now. Rosemary had her crocheting. I had nothing. Then an idea began to germinate, growing into a plan. I relaxed against the cushions of the easy chair and closed my eyes. Maybe a bit of silent communication with my spirit guide Sheila would help me figure out what to do.

  I put myself through the paces of relaxation. It was easy to do in the silence of the cabin. But instead of feeling comfortable and relaxed, I felt cold and restless. The cold chilled me through to my bones and oh how that expression aptly applied to my situation. From the inside out was an ever increasing sense of alarm. One part of my brain was clambering like crazy and sending warning tremors to my consciousness while another part was sluggish and unresponsive. I didn't understand it at all. It was like having warring factions inside my head and neither side strong enough to overcome the other. A throbbing pain began to grow with increasing intensity along the back of my scalp to my temples and I almost groaned out loud.

  Was I experiencing a vision? The effects of another's trauma? Only I felt no connection with anyone. I floated in an abyss of darkness and space feeling cut off from everything and then my concentration was interrupted by the crying of a baby.

  Wondering if Rosemary heard it too, I opened my eyes and sought her out. She sat rocking her chair, her hands resting on her doily and a deep frown marring her forehead. I was at once curious as to what she was thinking about. Then she looked up and caught me gazing at her.

  "Is something wrong, Tess?"

  "I hear a baby crying." The sound was muffled but consistent. The cry was sharp at first but growing fainter. I stood and moved about the cabin but couldn't locate its source. Of course I knew there was no baby in the cabin or on the island even, but where was the sound originating from? As soon as I neared the front door, the sound stopped instantly and I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before yanking it open.

  Someone was standing down on the wharf, his silhouette unmistakable even in the swirling fog. My breath caught in my throat as I noted his stance, one so achingly familiar. My heart pounding furiously, I stepped out of the cabin and pulled the door closed behind me. One part of me felt compelled to verify his identity and another part wanted to turn around and go back inside.

  I crossed the lawn at a steady but slow pace, each step an effort to take. The closer I got to him, the more I wanted to turn and run. Finally I reached the wharf and stopped, my feet refusing to go any further, and he turned around.

  It was Mike, my dead husband, looking as alive as me. We stood and stared at each other for a long time and then Mike extended his hand. I put mine behind my back. Why I reacted that way, I can't say. It was an obvious rejection and Mike nodded as if he expected that response and even understood it. He opened his mouth to speak but Rosemary's call behind me made him glance in her direction instead. I turned as well and saw that she stood on the porch, her sweater pulled tight around her, beckoning for me to return to the cabin. I turned back to Mike and he was gone.

  Disappointment rose fast and hard within me and I couldn't stifle the annoyance that rumbled in my throat. A surge of temper rose along with my irritation and I had to really concentrate to calm it down. I felt sure I just missed an opportunity to learn something important but Rosemary's inopportune interruption ruined the moment.

  "I'm coming." After another quick glance around just to be sure Mike hadn't retreated to another location, I turned and headed up to the cabin.

  Rosemary watched my approach with a worried look in her eyes. "Is everything okay, Tess?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you hear something out here?"

  "I thought I heard a baby crying." Rosemary's face, already quite pale, went even whiter and I touched her arm in concern. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes, yes, of course. Come in out of the cold." She pushed the door open and waved me inside.

  Though I wanted to continue questioning her, I decided it best to let it go for now and entered the cabin. But when I sat back down in the easy chair, it didn't feel as comfortable as it had earlier.

  "Have you heard a baby cry too?" Though I knew Rosemary didn't want to talk about it, I felt sure we needed to do just that. Something was definitely going on here and Mike showing up like that made me nervous. The last time I saw him I was in a situation that darned near got me killed! Was he here now to warn me? If only I could have heard what he was about to say.

  "No. Why would I hear something like that?"

  "You just looked really upset when I mentioned it." I was not going to let up on her. Whatever was bothering Rosemary, we needed to deal with it or it would only worsen. The situation Kade and I encountered at our house when we first moved in taught me that valuable lesson. When we finally did get around to meeting it head on, we dealt with it successfully. I needed to do the same here. Only I had no clue what we were dealing with. Not evil. But not anything good either.

  "Of course I was upset. Who wants to hear that a baby is crying? If you heard it, then it must mean the baby is..." Rosemary stopped suddenly, a stricken look coming over her face. A hand flew to cover her mouth and she stood up. "Oh dear, I just don't want to talk about this anymore."

  She headed for the kitchen. "Dinner is ready. Wou
ld you like some more tea to go with it?"

  I gave a silent sigh. More tea. I was going to get waterlogged if I didn't leave this island anytime soon. Meaning tomorrow. Which wasn't soon enough. However for now, the pot pie smelled delicious and I was hungry.

  "Tea sounds fine, thank you." Maybe it would relax her and we could talk some more and I might learn something that could help resolve the situation going on here.

  While Rosemary prepared our tea and dished out our dinner, I went to the window and looked down at the wharf. Though I really didn't expect to see Mike again, I still found myself looking for him. And again I wondered what his appearance here meant.

  "Come eat, Tess, and stop looking so worried."

  Funny her saying that when worry was pretty much stamped permanently on her face. But I joined her at the table and was soon enjoying the most delicious tasting pot pie I'd ever had. And the tea wasn't bad either. "This is incredible, Rosemary."

  Smiling at my enthusiasm, Rosemary nodded. "It's my grandmother's recipe. The secret to a good pot pie is the herbs."

  Once our dinner was finished and the dishes done, Rosemary made us yet another cup of tea. We took them into the living room and settled in our chairs, using the round tipping table to set our mugs on. We looked at each other for a long contemplative moment then Rosemary smiled. I smiled back, relieved she was no longer upset with me.

  Our moment of peace, however, was soon shattered, for the table began to shimmy. Rosemary and I quickly snatched up our mugs then watched in equal amounts of dismay and fascination as it rattled its way across the floor. Once it was out in the open it began to rock back and forth.

  "What's going on, Tess?" Rosemary clamped her hands, pressing them close to her chest. Her mouth opened and closed as though she wanted to say something more but couldn't get the words out.

  "I'm not sure." I leaned forward to grasp hold of the table but it moved out of my reach before I could touch it and started spinning around on one leg.

  Rosemary jumped out of her chair and backed away in horror while I set to work envisioning the two of us cocooned in light. Once I had my mental shield of protection in place, I jumped up from my seat and faced the spinning table. Time to take charge.

  "Enough!"

  The table stopped instantly. But after a few brief seconds it began to tip again. Only this time it was controlled and steady. I knew right away it was tipping out a message and it didn't take long to realize it was repeating the same word over and over.

  Dead.

  I finally reached out and pressed my hand upon it. "Okay. I get it. Now stop."

  Cold air slithered around my legs, creeping beneath my jeans and coating my skin in what felt like icy slime. In all honesty, it unnerved me quite a bit. I took a couple steps back and closed my eyes to better concentrate.

  Fight darkness with light. The mantra filled my head as I imaged light spearing down like a laser beam to the cold below. When I opened my eyes, the floor flickered in and out of view and I wondered if I was losing consciousness. The effect made me dizzy and I swayed on my feet, my hands flailing wildly until coming into contact with Rosemary.

  "Oh my dear, what's happening? Are you okay?"

  I clung to Rosemary's hand, glad for her support. "Close your eyes, Rosemary, and imagine a light around you, protecting you and keeping you safe from the negative entity in the room."

  But even as I directed her, I found it hard to keep up my own mental imagery. In desperation, I called for my spirit guide Sheila to help us. Now that I was doing so, I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't called on her before. Then again, I hadn't really been worried up until this point. Well not too much so anyway. After what Kade and I had been through recently, it was going to take a lot more than chairs flying across the room or tables spinning around to frighten me. I was anxious for Rosemary, though, and quite concerned about what we might yet encounter. After all, speeding down hill in a car without brakes is cause for concern no matter how confident you are that you'll somehow gain control of the situation. This sort of felt like that. We were going down a paranormal hill and gaining speed.

  "What is thinking about a light going to do?" Rosemary jerked at my hands and I opened my eyes to meet her wide frightened ones.

  "When dealing with ghosts, any light you imagine is real to them and negative entities, especially truly evil ones, cannot penetrate it."

  "But I'm thinking about a light, Tess, and I can still feel them all touching me!"

  "What?" I looked at her carefully, noticing her hair was moving as if being pulled. Then I saw the sleeves of her sweater. Invisible hands were pressing against her arms, their imprint unmistakable. Since I was holding her hands, I wondered why I couldn't feel it. Then something grabbed our entwined fingers. Rosemary and I yelped in surprise and jumped apart.

  Just what in the hell was going on?

  Rosemary backed away shaking her head in denial and waving her hands about in an effort to shoo away her tormentors. "No, leave me alone!"

  "Stop now and leave us!" I spoke with as much authority as I could muster expanding my energy field to encompass Rosemary.

  The cold clinging to my legs disappeared at once lightening the cabin considerably. Rosemary sagged in relief and backed toward her chair, dropping into it with a heavy thud.

  "What is happening? Why are they bothering me?"

  If only I knew! "When did all this start?"

  "I don't know. Quite a while ago."

  "What is quite a while? Weeks? Months? Years?"

  Rosemary wrung her hands and shook her head in confusion. "A long time but I can't say how long. It seems like it's been forever."

  Heaving a tired sigh, I rejoined Rosemary. Our cups of tea were on the floor where we set them when the table went berserk and we bent at the same time to pick them up. Smiling at the fact we thought of our cold beverages at the same time, we raised our cups in salute and took a sip. To anyone else it would probably sound strange to be drinking cold tea after dealing with ghostly shenanigans but it seemed the thing to do. It was normal and that's what we needed right now.

  After a few moments of silence, I decided to try again to get Rosemary talking. "Has Grace witnessed anything besides what happened today while she was here?"

  "No, I told you, when she is here nothing happens."

  "But she believed you right from the start?"

  "Yes. She knows I wouldn't make something like this up. She trusts me."

  Grace implored me to get her mother talking. Obviously she figured that would clue me in on what to do. "So tell me what's been happening?" Though she shared a few things with me when I first arrived, I was hoping she now trusted me enough to tell me more.

  Rosemary waved her hand about in a vague gesture. "Just what you've been seeing. The doors either slam closed or open wide and the windows do the same. Things fall or move about. I feel them touching me quite often. My bed shakes sometimes. I often feel the most uncomfortable cold and sometimes it does the opposite and I feel really warm. I hear voices, like someone calling my name. Sometimes I think it's mama. Sometimes I've even thought it was Grace. And one time, I was sure it was my father."

  Hearing one's own name being called isn't an uncommon phenomenon. Many people experience it. But in Rosemary's case, I knew it had to have more meaning. Someone was trying to get her attention. "Rosemary, maybe I can try to contact them." Though uneasy with the idea, especially since Kade wasn't here with me, I felt maybe it was the best option. Though now having voiced it, I was regretting the suggestion.

  "How are you supposed to do that?"

  "I'm a medium, remember? I talk to dead people."

  Rosemary shook her head. "No. I don't think I want to do that right now."

  Good. I didn't think I wanted to either. "So tell me about you and Grace."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You said your husband died but he wasn't Grace's biological father, right?"

  "No. I married him when Grace was fiv
e. He seemed nice enough and I needed someone to help with ... life." Her eyes narrowed with disgust. "After we married, I found out he drank and when he was drunk he was mean. It was a bitter pill to swallow to discover I'd married someone nearly as bad as my father. But he didn't touch Grace. No he didn't. I wouldn't let him near her."

  Rosemary started rocking in her chair, her body stiff with agitation and I knew unpleasant memories were flooding her thoughts.

  "How did he die?"

  Rosemary stopped rocking and picked up the doily she was nearly finished crocheting. "He just died. It was quite sudden and good riddance too."

  A pain shot through my chest, sharp and unpleasant. I pressed my hands against the piercing ache and did my best to control the grimace wanting to contort my face. And then it was gone. I fell against the cushion of the chair, wondering why it felt like bare springs were poking at my back and turned to look. Though it looked comfortable, it certainly didn't feel it. I transferred to the sofa and Rosemary must have taken that as her cue for bed because she set her crochet work down and stood up.

  "You want to try and sleep here on the sofa?" The look she gave me was dubious. "You're not very big but it isn't near long enough for you."

  "I'll be fine, Rosemary. I usually sleep with my legs drawn up anyway."

  "I'll get you a pillow and blanket then."

  "I think I better use the bathroom before I turn in for the night, if that's okay with you."

  "Just go in my bedroom and to the left. Next to the closet you'll see a curtained doorway." Rosemary entered the room before I did and pointed the way.

  As I stepped behind the curtain I saw her pull a pillow off her bed and grab an afghan folded at the foot of it.

  The bathroom was the equivalent of an indoor outhouse. A wooden bench seat sporting a wooden toilet cover served as the commode. I wondered how Rosemary got away with it considering how strict the EPA was these days with all their environmental laws and figured it must be grandfathered or something. And how did she keep the smell under control? I lifted the lid and got my answer. Rosemary had the equivalent of a large potty chair. A ceramic pot was placed below the hole and Rosemary probably emptied it daily. I gave a shrug and sat down. When you have to go, you have to go and that's all there is to it.