by L C Kincaide
They sipped in silence by the warmth of the flames. Emma finally warmed up and was nestled against him.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Nothing was going to keep me away. And when this is over maybe we can go camping.” He said trying to lighten the mood.
“Sure! As long as we don’t tell ghost stories around the campfire!”
Emma’s gaze turned from the fireplace to the windows. Rain was pattering against the panes, just as it did a year ago, before it all went horribly wrong. All they had to do was get through the night and figure out how to set a psycho ghost free.
“Maybe it will be over tonight. The Weekends never lasted past Sunday night.”
“That would be nice. But this isn’t a Weekend, more like a train wreck. Nothing so far has worked, and she’s more pissed off than ever. I have a bad feeling about this.” She pulled away from him and hunched over, her arms resting on her thighs. “What if I can’t do what she wants and then traps me in here with her? What then?”
“That won’t happen.” He rubbed her back. “Don’t even think it.”
Emma shook her head miserably, seeing no way out.
“Your arm.” John noticed it had come free of the sling, and she was leaning on it. “It isn’t hurting you anymore?”
Surprised, Emma sat upright and flexed her arm, rotated it at the shoulder. “No. It feels fine. Imagine that?” She met his eyes, then saw the bruise that had bloomed on his forehead when he arrived had vanished.
“What about your head? Does it still hurt because the bruise is gone.”
“No.” He replied, his fingers brushing the once tender spot. “How…”
An insistent pounding came from the other side of the door. Emma screamed and shot to her feet. More blows sent the doorhandles rattling. John was beside her, poker in hand.
“Stay here. I’m going out.” He whispered and stepped in front of her.
Emma grabbed his sleeve. “No, don’t go!” Her whisper was urgent and laced with fear.
Both panels of the double door shook as the aberration on the other side tried to force them open.
“If she gets in here, we have nowhere left to go.” John voiced what they were both thinking.
More violent pounding ensued. The wainscoted walls resounded with it.
“Maybe we never did.” She whispered, her expression that of a battle-weary warrior ready to accept defeat.
Turning to her, he dropped the poker and cupped her face in his hands, still cool to the touch despite the warmth of the room.
“It’s not over, Emma.” His eyes fixed on hers. “Don’t you give up!”
She blinked and some of their defiant gleam returned to her eyes. She nodded. “All right. We do this together.”
He took her by the hand and led her to the door. The pounding stopped and something in the hall was sliding, then it clattered on the marble, most likely a chair. Beneath the door, the first wisps curled into the room. They exchanged a wordless message, and he turned the handle.
To their relief, no one burst in through the opening, and they proceeded with caution into the central hall in the shaft of light cast from the parlor fireplace. The shadows preceding them faded into the darkness as they moved forward and disappeared altogether when John stopped beneath the skylight.
No, not here! Emma gripped his hand, and before she could voice the warning, the specter was bearing down on them from above. With a swipe, it pushed John aside as if swatting a fly, and he spun away from her, letting go as he stumbled and fell to the floor.
“NO!” Emma screamed and rushed to his side as the thing approached in its writhing form. “It’s me you want.”
Already, John was scrambling to his feet and positioning himself between it and Emma.
The apparition laughed, a familiar, hateful sound to Emma’s ears, and shot forward.
Emma jumped in its path. “It’s me you want!” She shouted, again bracing herself for what it will do next.
~*~
Matthew ran for the car with Rachel on his heels, their recent experience with it having completely escaped him.
“Is he all right? What happened?” She slammed the passenger door as he turned the key. The engine revved to life.
“I’ll be damned!” He uttered and drove up the circular drive.
“Matt! What did she say?”
“She only that he was in a car accident. Nothing else.”
“Oh, my God! It’s starting again!”
“We don’t know that yet. Let’s just get there.”
~*~
The apparition watched them from the shifting murk. At one time, she had been a beautiful, young woman with all the privilege that the Ruskin name could afford at her fingertips. Then she laid eyes on Mason Everdon, and her life’s opportunities unravelled bit by bit until she was left with nothing but a bitter and lonely existence, a brittle husk of what her promise once held. That, he sensed is what presented itself before him, reaching for Emma with single-minded determination.
“No, Victoria!” He shouted. He reached for Emma’s hand and pulled her aside, stepping in front of her. “You won’t do this. She is not yours to take.”
The dusky mass of her coalesced into solid form, and she took a step forward, appearing more as the woman she had been, and yet unearthly with writhing serpentine coils sprouting and waving in all directions. Medusa must have looked something like this, he thought.
“I will take what I want!” She leaned toward him. “Who will stop me? You?” She threw her head back, some wisps detaching and fading to nothing at the sudden movement, and uttered a laugh that made him shrink away in its madness. “This particular Everdon is very much within my reach.” She stepped aside to face Emma, whom John was trying to shelter behind him. “Come out, little Emma. You’ve been here for quite a long time and still, you haven’t released me. Now, you must come and keep me company — those were the terms.”
“Damn your terms!” John shouted at her.
“I wouldn’t harm my own kind, but don’t try my patience.” She warned.
“All right!” Emma stepped forward. “I forgive you for everything, and I release you! Go! Be free!”
Those weren’t quite the magic words that would inspire a miracle to happen, and of course, it didn’t work. It was ridiculous to think otherwise.
The Medusa-like vision undulated, then a long, snake-like coil darted for John and wrapped itself around his neck, pulling him closer.
With a scream, Emma hurled herself against the mass and it swallowed her instantly.
~*~
“We came as soon as we heard.” Matthew and Rachel burst into the waiting room where they found very distraught Ruskin parents. “What happened? Is he all right?”
“He’s been in a car accident.” Godfrey said. “He was unconscious when they brought him in.”
“Was?” Blood drained from Rachel’s face, and she dropped into the nearest chair.
“The doctor is with him now. It appears he’s slipped into a coma.”
“What? How…” Matthew was struck speechless. He had spoken with him just hours ago.
“They did scans and there doesn’t seem to be any brain injury. He simply won’t wake up.”
“Where did it happen? Was he alone?” Matthew feared that Emma too was hurt. They had probably been on their way back home.
“He was on the outskirts of Fairmont when his car veered off the road and hit a rock. What on earth was he thinking heading out there?” Frances asked baffled.
“Heading out?” Rachel couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Yes.” Godfrey took over. “The car was going northwest when it happened.”
“Oh my God! Matt, he never made it!”
“Would someone please tell me what is happening and why my son was very nearly killed driving to the manor?” Frances Ruskin demanded in a tremulous voice.
Rachel answered for them both. “He was on his way to be with Emma.” She turned to Matthew. “She’s out there all alone!”
“So that’s why the sudden interest in family history.” Godfrey dropped to the vinyl couch.
Frances’ gaze fixed on him. “What is this about? Is it happening again? It should be over and done with.” Two bright spots blossomed high on her cheeks of her otherwise blanched complexion, appearing clownish. “What is this about Emma being out there? Now my poor John is in peril!” Following the outburst, her indignation evaporated, and she slumped down beside her husband, burying her face in her hands. “Oh dear God! This is not possible!”
Godfrey circled a comforting arm around her.
Neither Matthew nor Rachel voiced soothing words as none at the moment presented themselves.
“Matt, we have to go. We can’t leave Emma on her own.”
He calculated the time it would take to get there, assuming he didn’t meet the same fate as John, further providing the car co-operated. Nearly dark and with little to no traffic, he estimated forty minutes if he broke the speed limit the entire way.
“I’m going with you.” Rachel said before he had a chance to talk her out of it.
“We’ll be in touch.” He rushed out to the parking lot.
~*~
Swathed in the billowing haze, John’s voice calling her name drifted to her ears from a distance. He was safe, and she was glad having accomplished that much. Weightless and drifting, the sensation was not unpleasant. Even her fear had dissipated since she resigned herself to her fate. She had fought Victoria for two days, had allowed her to wear her down over the past year until she had no more fight left in her. Maybe this is the way it was meant to be all along, and she only realized it now. A lifetime of living with ghosts had been good preparation.
John’s voice still called after her, and tenderness for him swelled in her heart. If only she had given him a chance instead of pining for Robert all those years like a silly schoolgirl. John was the one who cared for her, even then, and she realized he loved her. What a surprise to discover that in her final act of selflessness, she found she loved him too. Too late now, she was alone here, wherever here was. Not even Victoria appeared to taunt her, a small mercy. If she were to float away and never wake up again, this will have been worth it to keep them all safe.
She drifted along, a lone leaf carried by a gentle current without a care, trusting in the surrounding forces to deliver her where she needed to be, and she closed her eyes to the infinite grayness around her.
A feather-light stroke against her cheek opened her eyes. Was someone there? She turned her head left then right, knowing whoever was there was not Victoria. Her touch was cold and ruthless and revolting. This was a gentle caress.
Penetrating through the haze, a soft beam of light shone forth and the figure of a woman emerged as if from between parting clouds, gliding toward her, arms outstretched.
“You are not alone, child.” The voice spoke to her clearly though without a sound. “You never have been.”
Emma tried to understand what was happening, and how it was possible to hear the words that were not spoken aloud. The features closer now looked familiar, but she still could not place them in this context.
“Who are you? Why have you come?”
The lady smiled. “I was here before you. I revealed to you what happened before as I showed Ivy. She has moved on and I shall too. There is but one task left for me to do. Then you too must return.”
“I don’t understand…” Emma watched this ethereal being, so different from what Victoria was. Who was she, at once familiar, yet not?
She turned to her and placed both hands on Emma’s cheeks. In a brilliant coruscation, a series of scenes unfolded in her mind — music rising from the ballroom, the long corridor lined with portraits, the rush down the short connecting passage, and Amelia poised straight in her path. The hands withdrew and the visions — Margaret’s most haunting memories stopped abruptly. It was she, the ancestor that had most intimidated her with the scowling face. Oh, how unfair she had been in her judgement! As if sensing her remorse, Margaret smiled. She then turned and gestured to a vague figure in the distance. Appearing small at first, it grew as it approached, writhing and twisting as if struggling against the force pulling her near. It shrieked, “No!”, but it made no difference. Even Victoria was no match for Margaret Everdon, not in this realm. She drew her forward until she was close enough to touch.
“Keep away from me!” Victoria glared at Margaret, but not with the cold hatred she had shown Emma, but with terror. She was terrified of her. Margaret merely showed her enigmatic smile, keeping her in place. A spectator, Emma watched mesmerized, standing beside the spirit of a woman born nearly two hundred years before her, six generations of Everdons having come after. It shouldn’t be possible, yet it was. A Ruskin of four generations past glowered at them both.
Margaret waved, and the mist evaporated before them. They were in the central hall, below the skylight, standing in front of John. Speechless at what was before him, he watched, motionless. With the softest touch, Margaret took Emma’s hand and placed it in his. She then turned to Victoria, who shrank back as if preparing to ward off blows, but Margaret only gazed upon her, a hand skimming gently from her shoulder to encircle her waist. Startled beyond action, Victoria allowed Margaret to direct them toward the stairs, and they slowly ascended. Near the middle, Margaret tuned to give Emma a backward glance.
“Go, child. Live your life.” The soundless words echoed in Emma’s mind. The mist reappeared as the two climbed their way to the top and gradually closed around them until they faded from view.
Their fingers entwined, John and Emma sought each other’s eyes.
“Am I still alive?” She asked. “Don’t let go.”
Then everything started to spin.
~*~
Matthew slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt inches away from Emma’s car’s bumper. The sun had set hours ago, and it was pitch dark in the country on a clear, moonless night. He and Rachel stumbled out of the car, their bodies cramped and stiff from the journey and frayed nerves, and they rushed up the steps, careful not to trip over the chain that lay coiled on the top step. Exchanging the briefest of glances, Matthew pushed the door open to the darkened manor.
“Emma!” They both shouted into the gloom.
“Where could she be?” Matthew turned in place, not knowing where to start.
“There!” Rachel was already running toward the parlor where she noticed faint glowing light. A heartbeat behind her, Matthew stopped in the doorway of the makeshift campground, noting the cooler and sleeping bag. Emma was lying on the settee.
Rachel rushed to her. “Emma!” She took her cold hand in hers and patted it. “Oh my God! Matt! She’s not waking up!”
He felt for her pulse, and finding it steady, he exhaled. “She’s all right. Not in the greatest shape, judging from things, but all right.”
He made to pick her up. “We have to get her checked out. God only knows what happened here.”
Rachel’s skin prickled. “Quite a lot, would be my guess.” Picking up the lantern, she found her overnight bag and brought it along with her tote and jacket. Emma wouldn’t be happy if she left her leather behind.
~*~
John opened his eyes to find his mother weeping in a chair beside him. He blinked uncertainly, confused about his whereabouts.
“Nurse! Get the doctor! He’s awake!” Godfrey shouted into the corridor and strode to the bedside.
“Where am I?” He croaked.
Smiling through her tears, Frances handed him a cup of water he gratefully
sipped through a straw.
“Do you remember anything?” She asked stroking his brow.
John tried, but his head felt fuzzy, and what recollections he had were choppy and made no sense.
“You were in a car accident.”
“A car accident?” He creased his brow. He remembered swerving across the road, then it hitting a rock.
“Never mind, it isn’t important. What matters is that you’re all right!” Frances said. “I have to tell Carrie. She was just frantic.” And she left the room.
Godfrey watched her leave. “What were you thinking going to the manor?”
The manor. Yes. He had been in a hurry to get there… Emma!
“Emma is out there alone.” A memory grabbed hold of him, and he cast his blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge. He made it to his feet when the doctor entered the room in time to catch him as his patient’s legs buckled under him.
“Not so fast, young man!” He helped him into bed and covered him up. “You’re in no shape to be running about just yet.” He took out his penlight and shone it into his eyes. He muttered something in approving tones and tucked the instrument into his pocket.
“You’ve had a nasty bump on the head and were out for quite a while. You’ll be all right, but you need your rest.”
“Emma.” John insisted and made to move the blanket again. “You’re in no condition to be of use to anyone yet.” The doctor said firmly.
“Matthew’s gone out to fetch her.” Godfrey assured his son.
John was only slightly relieved, but he wouldn’t rest until he saw she was all right with his own eyes. He suspected there was much more than what his memory was blocking.