He took a deep breath, tightening his grip on his wife as he pulled his chest and shoulders up. The scent of lilacs was sudden, overpowering the smell of the tree. His mouth set in a grim line staring at the downed tree. Stella had been right. It was a cheap parlor trick, quite literally in the parlour.
“Guess the resident ghost doesn’t like the tree. Do you suppose it was the angel on the top? Maybe he, she, it...prefers a star.” He snorted and kissed the top of Myra’s head. If they couldn’t scrape up a laugh over this, they’d cry, that was for sure.
“Did you say she it? Because I’m inclined to agree with you. The ghost is a total shit—not he or she.” She looked up at him and her face was more relaxed.
“Absolutely! I can’t think of a better name.” He looked over at the tree and his voice was loud when he spoke. “Hey Shit! You made quite a mess with our tree! It was our first real Christmas tree too. Thanks a lot, Shithead!”
He began to laugh, pulling Myra along with him when he turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen. He could understand how dark humor helped surgeons, and soldiers cope. The tree balancing on its tip was impossible, except that they’d both seen it. What they were dealing with was really going all out to freak them out.
Myra paused and called over her shoulder to the living room. “Just for that, I’m buying more angel decorations and putting them all over the tree. Angels, the Crèche...anything religious, just to piss you off, Shit.”
Barry chuckled and felt a little more at ease...not completely there, but better now that Myra was also sharing the humor. “I’ll make you some chamomile tea, Babe. I’m having something stronger.”
She laughed and her hand drifted over her tummy. “I could use a stiff drink too, but I’ll settle for the tea.”
When they entered the kitchen, there was an envelope centered on the bare table. It was battered and torn near the one side and looked like it was ancient.
Myra stepped away from him and picked it up. “What’s this?” She flipped the cover back and pulled a document from inside. Her eyes flashed to meet Barry’s puzzled look.
“It’s some sort of record...it’s hard to tell because it’s really old and it’s handwritten.” Myra looked over at him. “It wasn’t here earlier. Do you think it could be Stella’s?”
Chapter 15
Myra flopped into the chair and laid the paper on the table in front of her. Her knees were rubbery from what she’d just seen in the living room. How the hell had the Christmas tree flipped and then balanced on its tip? What kind of force was in the house that could do that?
And now, finding the envelope laying there, completely out of the blue...what else could happen that night? Strange was becoming the new normal. Still...she huffed a long sigh through pursed lips.
Barry cracked a beer and chugged half of it walking over to join her at the table. He pulled a chair close to hers and leaned close to read what was written on the page. The handwriting was spidery, but legible.
May 16 1992
Regarding the junction of the Frontenac and the Forty-fourth ley lines:
Concession 4,Parcel 6, Farm Lot 15, is the junction of these two magnetic ley lines, a source of immense supernatural and paranormal power.
Once, it was a sacred meeting place for Native people, but the land became property of the Crown and was deeded for farm use to early colonial settlers. In the mid eighteen hundreds or thereabouts, the current residential home was constructed.
The earliest known record of paranormal activity was made by Evelyn Braithwaite, my aunt, a spinster who lived at the property and died in her eighty-eighth year. According to her testimony, malevolent forces or spirits linger at this juncture. When left unguarded, these powers escape their dimension to wreak havoc among mankind.
There are a number of these powerfully charged junctions across the earth and at critical times throughout history, security has been breached with disastrous results. Shots fired at Fort Sumter in Charleston Bay in April 1861 were the start of the American Civil War. In January 1933 Hitler rose to power. Rwanda April 1994. Jim Jones November 1978 who led almost one thousand people to commit suicide.
These are but a small sampling of the breaches of the junctures. Human history is rife with examples.
For this reason, it is imperative that —shaman, white witch, psychic or clairvoyant—whatever name is ascribed to such a person, that he or she assume stewardship of these sites.
In the case of 26 Centre Street, I, Stella Braithwaite, inherited the responsibility of stewardship, from my Aunt, Evelyn Braithwaite. While it is preferable that the task of suppressing entry of malevolent, evil spirits, be transferred to a blood heir, it is not advisable in my case.
With neither direct descendent and the only other heir found to be entirely unsuitable for this responsibility, it is with some reluctance and trepidation that I am forced to seek a stranger— a benevolent and gifted person willing to assume the mantle of responsibility.
Myra looked over at her husband. “That’s you, Barry. You were the person she found to look after this house.” She turned back to the document and flipped it over, looking for anything more, any footnote. “She left this here for us to find.”
“Which is kind of weird...why wouldn’t she have included it with the legal papers in the lawyer’s office?”
“I think I know.” Myra tapped the papers. “Include this in the will and testament and you have a strong case for not being of sound mind and body.” She looked up at Barry. “It might have given that Gord creep ammunition to have the will voided.”
“You got a point,” Barry sighed and got up to unplug the kettle and make her tea. “I’m still not sure what it is that I’m supposed to do...” His hands rose and he pantomimed quotation marks with his fingers, “... in order to guard this spot. Seems to me I’m not doing such a bang up job when Shithead in there, wrecked our tree.”
Myra’s forehead tightened in thought looking at the document once more. “Barry. It seems to me that Stella’s leading you with this, just a bit at a time.” She picked up the letter and her hand jerked. “This. It appears right after we get the shock of our lives, seeing that tree.” She shuddered. “That still freaks me out.”
“I know, me too. Stella was here. I sensed her. And now finding the letter, just confirms it.” He picked up the mug of steaming liquid and walked over to the table, taking a seat next to her again. “Every time one of these weird things happen, I hear her in my head. She tells me not to be afraid.”
Myra held the mug in both hands, blowing softly on the surface to cool it. “Easier said than done, of course. And the cat is still missing.” She didn’t need any psychic ability to know that its disappearance and the tree episode were related.
“Today’s the winter solstice, you know. It’s also the worst day we’ve had yet in terms of paranormal stuff happening.” Barry’s mouth pulled to the side and he rolled his eyes. “No coincidence, I’m sure.” He picked up the letter and a small smile curled his lips gazing at it. “Yeah. Stella chose this day to show this letter to us. I can feel her right now.”
Myra jerked at the sensation deep inside. Her hand fell to her stomach and a well of happiness filled her chest. Isabella. She reached for Barry’s hand and placed it on her tummy. “Stella’s namesake is also sensing something.”
Chapter 16
The sounds of banging downstairs woke Myra from a sound sleep. She reached for Barry only to find his side of the bed empty and cool. With arms stretched above her head, she glanced over at the window, and smiled seeing the golden rays of the sun shine through.
As the events of the night before came to mind, her hands fell to the bedspread with a thud. Barry was probably cleaning up the mess in the living room and setting the tree up again. She threw the covers back and got out of bed, already sliding her feet into her slippers and slipping her robe on. The cat. She had to see if it had come back.
When she was at the last few steps at the bottom, Barry ste
pped out of the living room, watching her. He shook his head softly in answer to the silent question in her eyes. Leia was still missing.
“I got the tree back up! This time, I nailed the tree stand to the floor and screwed the tree into it. It’s not going anywhere now. Surprisingly, not every ornament broke. Shithead missed a few.” He stepped over and gave her a quick kiss. “How about after breakfast we go out shopping together? You’re off and I can go in late. I think we both need a break from this place after last night.”
She glanced past him into the living room where the lower branches of the tree could be seen through the archway. The floor was swept clean. It was hard to believe what had happened the night before was real and not a dream. But it had happened, along with another visit from Stella.
“Sure. Sounds great.” She tried to sound upbeat but the cat was still a worry in the back of her mind. She walked over to the door and opened it. The front step was empty and there was no sign of it in the laneway.
At the sound farther down the front of the house, she turned to look. A couple crows were on the ground, their wings flapping as they pecked at each other in a fight for something on the ground between them. When the one nearest moved to the side, a flash of red in the snow and a lump next to it appeared.
Her heart sank like a stone and she turned to thrust her feet into her winter boots.
“Myra? What the—”
“It’s Leia. I’ve got to see.” She sprinted out the front door waving her arms to scare the crows away. The blood streaked fur and body of the cat lay in a mangled heap in the snow under the living room window.
Tears filled Myra’s eyes and she lowered to her knees in the snow. The cat looked like its neck was broken, its body frozen solid and the eyes open. Poor little Leia. The cat had been her first pet. The sweet little thing had really liked her. She wiped a tear from her cheek. It didn’t deserve what had happened to it. It was the house. Somehow, it was responsible for Leia’s death.
At Barry’s footsteps, she turned and watched him squat next to her. His face was tight and his brown eyes sad, watching her. “I’m sorry, Myra. Why don’t you go inside? I’ll take care of Leia.”
She rose and with leaden feet, trudged slowly back to the entrance. When she was inside, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes, the tears rolling down her cheeks. The cat had always followed her around the house. It had really bonded with her and she with it. The poor little thing...it wasn’t fair what had happened to it.
So far, whatever spooky shit had happened in the house hadn’t hurt anyone. But now the stakes had risen higher. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffed loudly. The winter boots bounced off the wall when she kicked them off.
She stomped into the living room. Her teeth ground together and she balled her hands into fists at her sides, glaring around the room. Of course, she couldn’t see anything out of order, but she knew it was there. She could almost hear the soft laughter in the walls.
“Okay Shithead, this is war. You should never have killed my cat.”
The fireplace ignited with a hiss and then dancing flames appeared. Beside her, the Christmas tree branches quivered and the tree top bent side to side. Myra jerked back for a moment but then her eyes became narrow slits of rage. The ghost or spirit or whatever the hell was dominating this part of the house was mocking her!
Well two could play at that game. She’d get the last word but not until later. First she had to get a handle on all of this paranormal crap. There had to be a way of fighting this thing. Myra had been an ‘A’ student in school. It was now time to do some serious research.
She glanced at Stella’s upholstered chair as she turned to leave the room. How the hell had the old lady managed to live there for so long keeping a lid on this horrible energy?
****
Gordon had also woken up. He had a hangover. When he shuffled into the bathroom, he was glad he wore gloves last night. That stupid cat only managed to nick him a little bit before he snapped its damn neck.
He bobbed his eyebrows in the mirror and smiled.
“One down, two to go.”
Chapter 17
Barry went to the trunk of the cab and got the heavy plastic shopping bag. Today, he wouldn’t be needing it to pick up odd items at the grocery store. Today, it would serve as Leia’s burial shroud. He sighed and his feet crunched the hard packed snow walking back to the house to get the cat. He felt bad bundling the cat up so unceremoniously but hell, what could he do? If the ground wasn’t frozen, he would have buried it next to the pond in the back yard.
Myra was so upset there was no way he’d go into details of how he’d dispose of the cat’s body. It was stiff as a board when he slipped it into the bag. He walked back to the cab and set it in the trunk, closing the lid softly afterwards.
When he got back inside the house, Myra was in the kitchen making breakfast. She stood at the counter, with her back to him when he entered. He walked over and put his arms around her, pulling her gently into his body. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
She turned and he could tell by the set of her jaw, her chin held high that she was pissed. His eyes met hers and a wave of relief flooded through his gut. Anger was better than feeling the sorrow of the cat’s death, right? Watching her cry would have torn his heart out.
“Okay? Hardly! But I will be.” Her hands drifted up from his waist to the middle of his back and he could feel her fingertips press firmly. “We need to know more about what we’re dealing with, Barry.” She sighed. “I really wish that Stella had enlightened you. Maybe if she’d told you that she was leaving the house to you, and what was here, we’d be in a better position to deal with it.”
The day the old lady died flashed in his mind. She had known her time was close; why hadn’t she said anything? Had she worried that if he’d really known the true situation, he would have said no? The cat being killed left a queasy feeling in his gut. The next time, would it be one of them or something that would threaten the baby? The stakes were getting dangerously high.
“Maybe you were right when you said we should go back to the apartment. We were happy before and at least we were safe back then.” He looked down at the floor for a moment. “Whatever is in this house really wants us gone. The tree last night, the cat...”
“Barry? You know what’s wrong with you? You’re not a fighter. You’d rather get along with people, even get stiffed sometimes on your fares rather than get into a hassle. Don’t get me wrong. I love that you’re a pacifist but there comes a time when you have to draw a line in the sand.”
His mouth fell open watching her. He was trying to keep his family safe! Stella had been wrong in choosing him for this task. It would take a person with more power than he had...fuck!
He didn’t even want this psychic ability shit. It had cost him his mother and he wasn’t about to let it cost him Myra and the baby!
“Myra! It’s not worth the risk to me! If something happened...”
Her lip quivered for a moment before she looked into his eyes again. “No Barry. Leia was my line in the sand. Killing a helpless animal? No way am I sitting back and taking that!”
Her hands fisted the front of his shirt. “We’re not running away. We’re making progress here because it or whatever the hell it is, is fighting harder. God only knows what we’ve done but whatever it is, we’ve pissed it off.”
She huffed a fast sigh through flared nostrils. “Well, I’m pissed as well. I’m going to spend the day getting more information on this ley line and supernatural stuff. Knowledge is power too.” She pointed in the direction of the office Barry had set up. “Stella left us a ton of books about this—maybe that’s all we need. I’m going to read up on this stuff too.” She held up her finger. “Starting today.”
Barry knew there was no talking her out of this. When Myra made up her mind, she could be stubborn.
‘Accept this part of yourself, Barry. You may need to use it sometime.’ Stella’s words in the cab that
day sounded in his mind. Stella had chosen him. She had confidence in him and now here was Myra, essentially saying the same thing.
The psychic gift wasn’t something he’d ever wanted but he was stuck with it. Instead of fighting that fact, he needed to join Myra in fighting the evil in the house. Stella had known it was important and deep down, he knew it too.
****
It was after seven when he drove the cab into the laneway at their house. Myra had called earlier in the afternoon to let him know she was catching the bus home. She knew how busy he was the few days before Christmas ferrying last minute shoppers to and from the mall. Considering how the day had started out, she had sounded pretty upbeat.
Still, it was a surprise to see every light in the house blazing from the windows out onto the snow covered yard. He parked the car and walked into the house. What was she up to?
A pungent smell, like grass smoldering filled his nostrils, while ahead of him on the stairs, a chunky white candle burned.
“Myra?” He hung his coat on the hook and stepped from the foyer, peeking into the living room. The tree was still upright and she’d hung angel decorations all over it. The small crèche they’d bought was set up near the fireplace.
Even though neither of them went to church, they’d both been raised Christian, so the nativity scene meant something to them. Seeing the religious ornaments and the lingering scent in the air filled him with a sense of peace.
“Hi! How was your day?” She came up behind him holding a smoldering bundle of what looked like brown straw in her outstretched hand.
“I think the question is, how was your day? What’s this?” He nodded to the straw, watching her raise it over his head and use it like an airport wand scanner along his body. He smiled at the intent look on her face, concentrating on what she was doing.
The Ghosts of Centre Street: A Haunting of Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 3) Page 9