Conjured

by Chelsea Luna

  We pulled up to the guard shack.

  “How can I help you today,” an elderly security guard asked.

  “Hello,” Peter said. “We’re here to visit a patient.”

  “I’ll need your names.”

  “Peter LaViollette. Two ‘L’s and two ‘T’s and Alexandria, uh…Long.”

  “Follow this road up and park in the left lot. Have a good day.”

  “Thanks.”

  We drove away to the static of the guard’s walkie-talkie announcing our arrival. High security. The smooth road snaked up the hill and we parked in the visitor’s lot. The sky was cloudy and flurries were falling.

  “After we leave today, I think we’ve had our fill of eerie,” I said, walking around the car to the sidewalk that led up to the enormous hospital.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Peter pulled open the front door. A wide hallway led to another security checkpoint. The walls were painted a puke-green with matching linoleum floors. A blonde woman sat behind a glass window watching a small portable television. To the right of the desk was a door. The only entrance into the hospital.

  A friendly smile claimed the lady’s face. “Hello, there.”

  “Hi,” I said. “We hope we aren’t too late for visiting hours.”

  “Not at all. You have until five p.m. Who are you here to see?”

  “Uh, Ethan Long.”

  “If you could sign your name on this clip board here and give me one second.” She twirled around in her chair.

  The lady pulled out a thin book from a crowded bookshelf. “This is Ethan’s visitor’s log. In addition to signing in with the hospital, we require all visitors to sign in for each patient. It helps the doctors. If a patient gets antsy on a particular day, we can check the visitor log and see if it’s due to an outside source.”

  I plucked a pen from the coffee mug filled with writing utensils, signed the clipboard and waited for her to hand me Ethan’s visitor blog. “Where would you like me to sign?”

  “Right there.”

  The entire top half of the page and opposite page were full of signatures. Next to each date, written in elaborate cursive, was the name “Nancy Long.” My grandmother used the fake last name, too. Her penmanship was like an art form.

  That’s how I noticed the other name.

  The other name - or initials rather - looked like ugly chicken scratch in comparison. There was one entry at the top of the open page. The signature was dated three weeks ago.

  “Is this your first time here?” The lady asked.

  “Yes.” Peter answered because I was unable to.

  “Let me give you a map. These hallways can be confusing.” She went to the file cabinet behind her desk.

  Once her back was turned, I flipped through as many pages of Ethan’s visitor’s log as I could. Before she turned back around I closed the book.

  “Go down this hallway to the back staircase. Once you’re on the second floor, you’ll pass two nursing stations. Hang a left and then a right. Room two-seventy-two.” She pushed a buzzer beneath her desk and the door unlocked.

  Peter and I walked through the gated door and down the hall. The click of the door locking behind us would have made me nervous on a normal day, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything except for what I’d just discovered.

  “Tell me,” Peter said, once we were out of earshot.

  “Ethan’s visitor’s log goes back for years. I couldn’t get a good enough peek in the time that I had.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “The majority of the signatures were Grandma Longfellow’s.”

  Peter’s forehead crinkled. “Shouldn’t all the signatures be hers?”

  “I know, but I saw another name sporadically throughout the pages.”

  “Whose?”

  “It was actually initials, but I’m sure you can guess who it is.”

  Peter stopped. “Lex, the suspense is killing me. Tell me already.”

  “V.R.”

  Peter blinked. “Victor Ramsey?”

  “Weird right? The last entry was three weeks ago.”

  “When we saw him freaking out in the bathroom at the Gamma house?”

  “Same date.”

  We climbed the stairs, both of us lost in thought.

  Peter rubbed his knuckles against his bottom lip. “Why would Victor visit your father?”

  “I don’t know. How did he know Ethan was here? Grandma Longfellow had to have noticed the signature in the visitor’s log. She must have known she wasn’t the only one visiting Ethan,” I said.

  The second floor hallway buzzed with activity. Nurses and doctors flitted in and out of rooms. Patients dressed in light blue terrycloth robes sat on chairs and benches in the hallway.

  One man was grabbing the air in front of his face. An older woman was staring at the wall with an intensity that was hard to fathom. Clearly, these patients were not a danger to themselves or others because they were free to roam the hallways. But the hospital had a sterile coldness that made me feel uncomfortable.

  We passed the first nurse’s station. The woman downstairs was right. It would be easy to get lost in this building. This place was massive.

  “Maybe Victor knew about Ethan and was checking on your dad as part of an agreement with his own father,” Peter said.

  “But Victor looked shocked when they realized the coffin was empty.”

  “Right, but he could’ve been acting. What if Victor had a secret pact with Jonah? Think about it. William didn’t know, obviously, but he was the hotheaded brother. Maybe Jonah knew Ethan was in the hospital and confided in Victor. Jonah could have left the chore of checking on Ethan to his youngest son.”

  I bit my lip. “That sounds possible, but-”

  We walked by an open room. An old lady was sitting in a wheelchair staring into space like many of the patients on the floor. Her hair was unruly and she was wearing the Ipswich Mental Hospital’s standard issue blue robe. What caught my attention were her eyes.

  They were red.

  The entire eyeball was filled with the same blood red color as the reflection of the spirit I conjured in my basement.

  “Lex, what’s the matter?”

  I pointed at the woman.

  “Do you know her?”

  “No. Her eyes. Don’t you see her eyes?”

  “Of course, I see her eyes. What’s wrong with them?”

  I turned to Peter. He was looking at the woman, but he wasn’t shocked or horrified. “What color are they?”

  Peter squinted. “Light brown. Why?”

  “Brown?”

  “Yes. What color do you think they are?”

  “Not brown.” I unwillingly looked at the old lady again. I blinked. Her eyes were no longer red, but light brown.

  “Are you okay?”

  I turned away. I was positive that her eyes were red only seconds before. My mind was not playing tricks on me. I know what I saw. Was the spirit following me? Was I going crazy?

  Peter’s eyes roamed over my face.

  “It must have been the florescent lighting,” I said.

  “Could be. Do you want to keep going? His room shouldn’t be much further.”

  He was right. Room two-seventy-two was around the corner. A brass plate with the name, ‘E. Long,’ hung on the wall beside the closed door. There was a tiny square window located in the middle of the white painted wood. All I had to do was peek inside, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

  I twirled around. “I can’t do this.”

  Peter placed his hands on my shoulders. “We don’t have to. We can come back whenever you’re ready.”

  “Can I help you?”

  We turned around to find a young man, wearing blue scrubs, pushing a cart full of medical supplies. “Did you want to see Mr. Long? I’m going in now to change his IV bag.”

  I stood dumbfounded. It was now or never.

  The man waited for us to step aside and then opened the door. He pushed the me
tal cart into the room. A curtain was pulled halfway around the bed, obscuring the patient from the knees up. A pewter armchair and a side table with a vase full of flowers were beside the bed. Floor to ceiling windows let in the cloudy light from outside.

  The man walked to the curtain and pulled it back.

  I drew in my breath.

  It was undoubtedly the same man from the pictures at my Grandmother Longfellow’s house. He wasn’t smiling and his dark hair was graying at the temples, but there was no denying it was the same man. His face was relaxed, calm as if sleeping, which I guess he was in a sense. His arms lay motionless at his side and the blanket was pulled up to his waist.

  “Don’t be shy,” the man said. He checked my father’s tubes and machines.

  I glanced at the man’s nametag. Neil.

  Peter waved me into the room, but my legs wouldn’t work. My brain was telling them to walk, but they wouldn’t. They were stuck in the linoleum. Peter backtracked and gently pulled me to the armchair next to Ethan’s bed.

  My father’s eyes were open, unblinking, staring up at the ceiling. Grandma Longfellow’s pictures didn’t do Ethan’s eye color justice. In person, they were soft butterscotch, like you’d find in the candy store.

  “You’re family, right?” Neil asked bending over his cart. He had a thick Boston accent.

  “Uh, yes.”

  “I can tell. The resemblance, you know?”

  “I’m his daughter.” I felt the need to announce it.

  Ethan blinked.

  I shot up from my chair and clutched the bed railing.

  Neil looked alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you see that? He blinked.”

  Neil’s scrawny shoulders relaxed. “You scared me for a second. He blinks sometimes. His hands also twitch and his lips move like his mumbling, but we can never make out what he’s saying. All of the movement is completely random and sometimes it’s weeks between activity.”

  I placed my hand over my father’s. It was warm. “Can he hear us?”

  “I think so, but what do I know? The doctors don’t think he can. And there’s no real evidence to indicate he can, but like my mom always says, you never know, do ya?”

  Peter looked at Neil. “Why do you think he can hear us?”

  “I talk to all of my patients. It can get pretty quiet in here, you know? I have faith that they hear what I say. Because if not, then what’s the point? Right?” Neil smiled and pushed his cart to the door. “Have a nice visit with your father.”

  “Thank you.”

  Neil shut the door behind him.

  “You found him, Lex.”

  I squeezed my father’s hand, willing him to feel it. Peter was right. I found him. I was holding his hand, but I had absolutely no way of communicating with him. I’d never get to know him. Never speak to him.

  I sat down in the chair. “I can’t believe he’s been here for the past seventeen years. While I was off living my life, worrying about stupid things, here he was. Day after day. All alone.”

  “He had Nancy. And now that you’ve found him, you can visit whenever you want.”

  “I don’t want to tell Emma. Not yet. She’s getting better and I don’t think she could take another shock to her system.” I looked down at my father in his perfectly immobile state. “And this is a big shock.”

  “I wonder what’s wrong with him.”

  “I don’t know. Do you think Neil is right? Do you think he can hear us?”

  “There’s a chance.”

  I leaned over my father’s unmoving figure. “Should I?”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  I took a deep breath. Would hearing my voice bring my father out of his coma? Could it be like a fairytale? Why not? Magic was real.

  “Ethan? Can you hear me? It’s Alexandria.”

  Nothing.

  Peter nodded at me.

  “I’m your daughter. It worked. Your plan worked. Mom and I are safe.”

  Ethan didn’t move.

  He didn’t blink. He didn’t move a muscle. There was no sign whatsoever that he’d heard me. No sign that he knew I was there. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach as I realized that I’d found my father, but he was still completely lost to me.

  CHAPTER 21

  Diary of Alexandria Longfellow

  Sunday, January 2nd

  After that horrible night in the cemetery, I had two goals. Two mysteries to solve. 1) Find Ethan’s body and 2) figure out who killed Grandma Claudia and why. It was an enormous task, but I persisted.

  I dug deeper and deeper into each mystery. And that’s what they were. Mysteries. Each time I uncovered some clue, I was faced with more questions. More mysteries. One step forward, two steps back.

  I found Ethan. That was a miracle in itself. He’s alive and in that horrible coma. He’s been in that same state for seventeen years! Seventeen! And yet, still no cure.

  I plan to tell Emma about Ethan in a few weeks. She’s coming out of her own type of coma and making progress. I won’t jeopardize that. In the meantime, all I can do is support Ethan and visit him when I can. And hope that one day, he’ll recover.

  I still don’t know what happened to Grandma Claudia. It has something to do with the spirit she conjured. But I don’t know what happened when the spirit arrived. Was she too weak? Did the spirit overpower her? Was someone else in the house?

  I might never know what happened to her.

  Speaking of spirits, I made a huge mistake when I conjured that spirit in the basement. Every since that night, I’ve sensed something wasn’t right. An ominous horrible feeling that the ground beneath my feet is on the verge of disappearing. Several times, I’ve felt someone behind me. Watching me. Following me. Eyes on my back. Breath on my neck. But when I turn to face my stalker, no one is there.

  The spirit didn’t break the plane of the mirror. It tried. But I stopped it. Right? I was too strong for it. There is no way it escaped. So why do I feel like I’m being followed?

  Then there is the issue of the eyes. I know, without a doubt, that the old woman’s eyes at the hospital turned red. Blood red. I didn’t imagine it. Peter couldn’t see it. Only me. Was it the spirit?

  And what about what the spirit told me? Liam is coming. Why? I don’t understand why an ancient, world-famous evil witch would come out of hiding after three hundred years. To Hazel Cove? Is that why Grandma Claudia had Liam’s name written in her journal? How did she know he was coming? Nothing made any sense.

  School starts up again in the morning. The thought of sitting in a classroom while all of this stuff is going on is hard to grasp. Does any of it even matter anymore? What’s the point?

  P.S. - Again, I think I’m using this journal incorrectly. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not a diary. I’m supposed to record supernatural occurrences or any magic that I use. For example, conjuring and possibly inadvertently releasing a spirit.

  I am seriously paranoid.

  Anyhow, I worked on some levitation a few hours ago. Small objects are no problem now. I can raise them and move them at will without getting too tired.

  However, I think I got too cocky, because after I made my purse do laps around the room, I tried to pick up the recliner. Fat chance. It hovered about two inches off the ground and then came crashing down. My whole body convulsed in spasms and I’ve had a splitting migraine ever since.

  Some witch I am.

  CHAPTER 22

  “What do you mean you don’t have a dress yet?” Olivia looked like I’d slapped her in the face.

  “I haven’t got around to picking one up.” I stuffed a handful of fries into my mouth. I’d use any excuse to end this conversation.

  Olivia dramatically threw her hands in the air. “It’s the Winter Ball, Alex! We had two weeks off from school and you couldn’t find the time? I swear, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

  I shrugged with my mouth full. I turned to Sadie for moral support, but her face was cri
nkled into a frown. I nudged her in the ribs.

  Sadie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Olivia’s right.”

  My bottom jaw unhinged, which wasn’t good because my mouth was full of half chewed potatoes.

  Sadie turned bright pink. “You’re not going to find a dress before Friday. At least not in Hazel Cove. Where would you go? To the boutique on Main Street? It’s already been picked over.”

  I swallowed.

  Olivia smiled. “See?”

  Sadie never took Olivia’s side. Ever. That probably meant I was wrong on some level. Maybe I wasn’t working hard enough on my normal life. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I hung out with my friends and acted like a regular teenager.

  I swallowed a mouthful of lemonade to clear my throat. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I’ll see what I can find in my closet.”

  “You can’t re-wear something!” Olivia shuddered. “Are you crazy? This is the Winter Ball!”

  “I bought two dresses.” Jillian nervously peered through her bright red hair at Olivia, then back at me. “I liked them both and couldn’t decide which one I wanted. You can wear the other one, if you want.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. I might have to take you up on that.”

  “I’m just glad that the stupid town curfew was lifted,” Olivia said. “Ten o’clock on Friday nights? Could you imagine the Winter Ball with a curfew?”

  “A killer was on the loose,” Sadie said. “It was for our protection.”

  I dropped my eyes. It was time to redirect this conversation. “Who are you taking to the Winter Ball? I know Sadie is going with Luke, but what about you two?”

  It was Jillian’s turn to frown. “We discussed it this morning. Remember? Outside the gym?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. She pulled out a compact mirror and lip gloss. “Alex wasn’t paying attention. Like always.”

  “Keith Ayers asked me,” Jillian said quietly.

  By the look on Jillian’s face, this was big news. I felt guilty that I hadn’t noticed Jillian’s new crush. I’d been a bad friend lately.

  “And I’m going with James,” Olivia said sweetly.

  That took a moment to digest. “Van Curen?”