by L C Kincaide
“I promise you, I’ll be perfectly safe. First of all, the place will be crawling with cops.” Well, at least two. He said in his most soothing tones. “Secondly, nothing can happen to me because I’m not an Everdon.”
“What?” Rachel raised wet eyes to his. “What do you mean you’re not an Everdon?”
“Come. Sit down.” He guided her to the sofa where she sat down stiffly and waited.
Matthew studied his hands gathering his thoughts. His wife of six years didn’t know everything about him; he thought it wasn’t important, and in reality, it hadn’t been except in the current context. His eyes met hers.
“I have nothing to do with that place, not what happened there, and not what may or may not be in it. Elinor isn’t my birth mother. My father married her when I was very young, two years after my mother died. It never seemed important to make a deal of it.”
Rachel gaped at him, uncharacteristically lost for words.
~*~
“How did it go?”
Anxious for his return, Elinor, greeted her son at the door with Rachel and Emma standing behind her, all of them wide-eyed with quizzical expressions on their faces. Certain their trained canine would find nothing, they nevertheless sought the reassurance of each other’s company.
“Like you said,” Matthew turned to his mother, “they didn’t find anything. The dog sniffed around in circles outside.”
“Did they insist on going in?” Elinor questioned him further as he took off his coat.
Night had fallen, and all the lamps were switched on. He squinted in the harsh light after having spent the last hour of the journey driving back in the dark.
“Did you go in?” Rachel asked over Elinor’s shoulder.
Matthew squeezed past the women into the living room. Judging from their nervous expressions, hand-wringing and empty wine glasses on the coffee table, they must have been on edge imagining the worst since he left, which was just before noon.
“The detective insisted on it in the interest of a thorough investigation.” He hooked his fingers indicating the quote. “He probably wanted to avoid having to come back on some technicality or other — no, don’t worry, mom. It took the two of them to force the door open, and once they saw how the looks of the inside, neither wanted to waste any time poking around. Even the dog didn’t want to be there.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Elinor sank into her favorite chair by the fireplace. “It’s finally over.”
“It looks that way.” Matthew agreed.
“But, did you go in?” Rachel tugged at his sleeve like an ignored child might.
“Only a couple of feet in. No farther.”
“And?”
“And nothing. It was cold and dark and rundown. As if no one’s set foot inside in months, maybe years.”
Emma stared at him. “How is that even possible? We were just there two weeks ago.”
“There is no one to maintain the illusion.” Elinor stated mysteriously.
Emma turned away. “Unreal!” She muttered under her breath and surveyed the offerings on the bar shelf. “And they say I’m flaky.” She eyed an unopened wine bottle.
“Really, Emma! Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“No. Not really. Not by a long shot, actually.” She replied reaching for the corkscrew and jabbed aiming for the cork, but it glanced off the lip of the bottle. “Ow!” She raised the injured hand to her lips.
A memory of her drinking with Ivy — the night of their great escape, rather their attempted escape and before her disappearance came to mind. Ivy had to uncork the bottle because she was too drunk to manage it herself. A familiar pain tore at her breast and her eyes welled. The corkscrew clattered on the marble bar top.
“It’s okay.” Rachel was at her side, her arm wrapped around her shoulder in a rare show of support. “We’ll take you home. Would you like that?”
Emma nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks and sniffling.
“I think we should go.” She turned to Matthew, who watched the two of them surprised and touched by Rachel’s compassion.
His mother could have been more supportive, but she had other matters to deal with and for quite a long while. Maybe she had no solace left to give.
He helped his sister on with her jacket wondering, not for the first time, if she was on her way to serious alcoholism and possibly a nervous breakdown. It was unwise for her to be alone when she was like this.
Emma didn’t utter a word during the twenty-minute trip to her apartment in her brother’s car while Rachel followed in hers and was surprised when instead of just dropping her off, they insisted on coming along to her door to make sure she’d be all right.
“I don’t think you’re fit to be left on your own.” Matthew said after stepping inside and appraising the state of her living room.
He’d judge the apartment un-lived in except for the discarded pizza boxes and empty bottles. Wine glasses stood silent witnesses to drunken evenings, and random clothes littered the floor and draped over the furniture. He imagined how the place will be a week from now.
“What? Is this an intervention or something?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“I don’t want it to come to that.” He said.
Emma shot him a withering look. Easy for him to judge!
“It’s nothing like that.” Rachel took over.
Matt was being the protective big brother, but sometimes his sensitivity skills were lacking, though he meant well. He was right though. His sister was in a dark and dangerous place, on more than one level. Something had to be done to help her. She hoped Emma will at least be open to a bit of support even if it came from an unexpected source.
“I know we haven’t always been close, but I understand how you feel.”
“You do?” She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Tell me, Rachel. How many friends have you sacrificed for the cause?”
As she feared, this wasn’t going to be easy. “I didn’t. I just don’t want you to be next.”
A shiver took hold of Emma’s body. “It’s all my fault. I thought all those weekends were a silly, dress-up game and I went along with it. I should have known better when George died. Didn’t you think that was weird, Matthew? Because I did.”
The tears started flowing again. It seemed to her she was crying all the time. “I lured my friend into a trap and killed her! What does that make me? Some kind of hero for saving the family? Mum will have a plaque made for me or maybe award me a damned medal! She’ll probably have me sit for a stinking portrait to hang on the wall of fame right there beside Mason and Amelia!” She drew a ragged breath. “I’m so glad everyone can go on happily ever after, because I don’t know how I’m going to do that!” Emma slumped over the breakfast bar and sobbed loudly.
“OK. That’s it. You’re coming with us.” Matthew said decisively.
Rachel was already heading to Emma’s room to pack some clothes.
~*~
It was over. Finally over. No more Weekends — how many had she participated in over her lifetime? The question really should be, how many did she host because she had been going there all her life. It was a natural thing to do, and it would have been more pleasant if it hadn’t been for them. They were always watching and waiting, but it was in fact, he who waited patiently, year after year, one decade after another. He was never impatient as if he knew it was only a matter of time. In fact, he was perfectly willing for this to continue for another hundred years if that’s what it took. What did he care? He had all the time in the world — well, not in this world. Mason Everdon was already dead. At least he was happy now that he had his beloved Amelia back. That is what it had taken to lift the Everdon Curse, and he did. Yes, it was over at last, and both the Everdon/Langstone clans and the Ruskins were free to carry on with
their lives without fear of Mason Everdon’s retribution.
Poor dear, George. His death had been unfortunate, and he became a casualty. At least no one else did, not in these two generations, in any case.
To commemorate the event, Elinor enjoyed a luxurious bubble bath after which, dressed in her velvet robe, she savored a rare sip of a fine Bisquit Cognac by the flickering flames in the gas fireplace. Yes, it was over. Except now, she had Emma and her extremely troubling behavior to deal with. Already, she had lost her job, not a great loss in her opinion, for her daughter was smarter and more capable than that, but it had at least provided a diversion. These days, alcohol was the distraction of choice, and it had to stop.
Perhaps, she had been delinquent in making her daughter understand what they were trying to accomplish each year during the Weekends. She should have explained it properly to her a long time ago, but to be fair, Emma had resisted every attempt she had made to educate her on the situation that defied explanation, never mind logic. While Elinor rejoiced in the success of the salvation of their family and friends, she wondered if she too had led her own child to a sacrifice of a different sort. Maybe one day when Emma was back to herself, they would sit down for a chat. It was not too late for her to comprehend the origin of the bane of Everdon Manor. If she’d only make an effort.
A month later, Elinor received wonderful news; the disagreeable detective in charge of the case called to thank her for her cooperation. He went on to say that while Ivy Wylmot’s disappearance and whereabouts were yet undetermined, they would no longer require their assistance.
In other words, they weren’t considered suspects anymore! I should think not, Elinor thought. There had never existed a scrap of physical evidence to begin with. A cellphone — the missing woman’s roommate insisted had belonged to Ivy, offered no fingerprints except her own, and the data had been completely erased, the SIM card blank and the phone damaged beyond repair. Elinor had expected nothing less. The manor also protected its own.
~*~
After a lengthy stay of several months with Matthew and Rachel, Emma decided by October, it was time to return to her own apartment. Living in the former guest cottage on the farther side of the garden had been a welcome refuge from loneliness if not from the nightmares that still plagued her on most nights. Fortunately, she made up the difference with afternoon naps.
Once their family home, the Colonial Revival house now belonged to her brother and Rachel, when Elinor decided to simplify her life by moving into a condominium several years ago, taking Emma with her. Living in familiar surroundings with fond childhood memories had helped in soothing Emma’s raw nerves, and she spent much of the spring and summer in the garden. She strolled among the flower beds and blooming shrubs and read under the great maple they had planted with their father when she and her brother were kids.
Her wine consumption too had dwindled, alcohol not being readily available — Matthew and Rachel made sure of it, but Emma didn’t mind. The path she was on led nowhere pleasant that much was certain. It was coming up to a year’s anniversary since it all happened, and Emma dreaded what that may entail.
If the horrible dreams were indeed Ivy’s pleas for help, she had ignored them, and Ivy, she presumed, could become desperate and possibly hostile. If she continued to do nothing, and the nightmares persisted, she would go crazy. Too many ifs and no answers. The situation had paralyzed her, brought her life to a halt with no clue how to move forward. Maybe the only thing to do was to return to Everdon Manor.
“I’m sorry I made fun of you after that séance.” Emma confided.
They had finished their dinner, and she and Rachel were spending one of the last warm October evenings outside by the light of the patio lanterns.
“To be honest, you weren’t the only alone, but I appreciate you saying so.” she gave her a smile. “What made you remember that? It must be years.”
Emma gazed up at the clear evening sky glimmering with stars. “I’ve been thinking about family history and the manor. Mum said he talked to her.” A shiver surged through her body. “Can you imagine chatting with a ghost?”
“At one time I thought I could until that night.” Rachel uttered a self-deprecating laugh. “It scared the hell out of me.”
“What did you hear?”
She considered the terracotta planters standing empty of greenery between them and their shadowed garden. “I’m not even sure anymore. It could have been voices. That would have freaked me out.”
“Hmmm. Do you know any psychics?”
Rachel turned to Emma, momentarily taken aback by the question. “Not personally, no. Why?”
“I need to know if Ivy’s okay.”
“Elinor insists that she is fine and is where she belongs.” Rachel said not entirely convinced, having voiced a similar opinion to her husband. She was not about to unsettle Emma by agreeing with her, though the truth was when it came to that situation, she was at a loss what to think.
“Yeah. I’ve heard it a million times.”
“And you don’t believe it’s true?”
“It’s more than that. I have a terrible feeling that Ivy is still there. Trapped.”
“But the police with the dogs would have found her.”
“I don’t mean trapped like being locked in a closet. I mean her Spirit is trapped.”
“Oh.” Changing the course of these speculations was not going to be easy.
“It is possible, isn’t it?” Emma pressed on.
“I suppose. That’s what a haunting is. Why do you think that?”
“I’ve been having nightmares for months about her being abandoned, locked in and calling for help. If I don’t do something about it, I think I’ll go crazy.”
Rachel shifted in her chair and leaned toward her. “I’m sorry, Emma. I had no idea. You should have said something. There was no reason for you to have to go through this alone.”
“Probably because everybody already thinks I am crazy.”
“Well, I don’t. And if it will help to find a psychic so you can find out for yourself, then, absolutely, count on me.”
“Then you’ll help me?” Emma asked hopeful.
“Sure thing.”
~*~
The central hall hadn’t changed at all since the last time she was there. Her footfalls on the marble floor echoed against the wainscoted walls as she walked toward the great staircase. Emma stopped under the enormous skylight and looked up to see not a blue sky, nor clouds, nor even a star-filled night, but an iridescent cluster shifting just beyond the glass. It was as mesmerizing as it was sinister. She was at a loss to explain that particular reaction to it, but her skin prickled nonetheless.
Her eyes roved from the faded carpet, up the stairs and to the open gallery that spanned the width of the hall. The connecting hallway to the portrait gallery lay in deep shadow. No one was about, which seemed strange since she had been asked to come. Someone should have been waiting to greet her now that she was here.
“Ivy?” The name of her friend repeated on the surrounding air. “Ivy, I’m here. Where are you?”
Nobody acknowledged her. Was she alone? Had she made a mistake by coming here?
A subtle change raised her head up to the skylight again and startled, she stumbled backward. The curious shimmering haze was drifting down from the ceiling toward the floor, but instead of dissipating, it was coalescing. Too frightened to move, Emma watched as the diaphanous form slowly took the shape of a person — no, a woman. Was this Ivy — what was left of her? Emma’s heart pounded as the milky-white translucent form quivered before her.
“Ivy?” She asked in a hoarse whisper. “Is it you?”
The vapor-like figure undulated, then bent forward at what would have been its waist. A wide slash of a mouth stretched open.
“RELEASE
ME!”
Emma screamed and bolted upright, blinking in the dark and slick with sweat. Oh God, not again!
The nightmares that started last fall were just bad dreams compared to the nighttime horrors the episodes had evolved into, and they were becoming more frequent as well. She’d already woken up twice from such a nightmare this past week, and it wasn’t getting any easier to deal with, no less frightening. If she hadn’t been seasoned through her experiences at the manor, and if her family life had been normal, she would be convinced by now her sanity was at risk, not that going crazy was out of the question. She had enough reasons to.
Turning toward her bedside lamp, she noticed the numerals of the digital alarm clock were flashing in the display as if the power had gone out again. But she knew it hadn’t. The clock always went weird after a nightmare, similar to the clocks back at the manor the way the hands seemed to be stuck at six minutes past eleven, every single one of them until the night of the party. If only she could forget that episode. Poor Ivy had been totally out of it, and the storm raging, it was too late to break her out of there. Still, she had tried.
Were these horrible nightmares Ivy’s way of reaching out to her for help? Or was she looking for payback? Almost a year passed since that night happened, and instead of finding the peace that had been promised when the terms of the curse were finally met, like everyone else seemed to have, she’d found nothing but misery. Adding to that, Robert had announced his engagement last Christmas, shattering forever her dreams of them as a couple.
Settling back on her pillow, Emma’s mind drifted to more pleasant thoughts of her lifelong companions at the Everdon Weekends. At thirty-two, Robert Langstone was the eldest of her generation; tall, dark and handsome as a true Everdon descendant should be. The next time, they’d all be meeting would be at his wedding in May. Emma grimaced. His twin, George, though not identical had also been a lot like him, but a bit of a reckless, free-spirited type until… suffice to say, his unexpected death had been difficult and sobering for them all.