Everyone exhales, but then immediately tenses back up as Malachi pulls the door open more fully. All we can see is darkness at first. Not until there’s a gap wide enough for a head to pass through does light permeate the space and reveal dusty outlines of boxes and random items. It looks like a disorganized mess and I worry we’ll be stuck here sorting through things all afternoon, but Malachi’s eyes go directly to a stack of small boxes that look like they were made to hold old photographs.
I’m not sure why he zeroed in on them until he pushes the door fully open and squats down in front of the stack to brush away the dust. HL, KL, AM, and K are printed neatly on the front of each box. I recognize the first three as initials for Malachi’s sisters and can only assume the one labeled K is for Kyran. Where is Malachi’s?
Fear strike’s me like a lightning bolt. Was this whole trip a waste of time? Did someone else move it after Madeline died? Did she forget where she put it? How could the one box we need not be here?
Malachi reaches for the stack of boxes and pulls them forward. When he does, everything that had been leaning against the boxes topples over, unleashing a cloud of dust that sends everyone into coughing and sneezing fits. Malachi pushes the boxes out of the closet as he tries to wipe off his face and clear the dust still floating in the air. Kyran and Cerise each grab a box, flipping off the lids, searching for something we can use. Maybe Malachi’s stuff got transferred to one of the others?
“It’s just trinkets and pictures,” Cerise says. “Little reminders of their time here on the estate as kids. Memory boxes.”
Kyran fishes through his box, hopeful, but his shoulders fall after a few seconds. “Recipes and pictures. Nothing about ghosts or soul eating monsters.”
Panic begins to set in. There have been so many new revelations in the last few days I can barely keep up with them, but one thought that solidified quickly and I’ve yet to share is why Archer was attacked when he was. I can’t make myself believe it was coincidence that he was taken after admitting who and what he was. So far nothing has come for Malachi, but hearing these stories doesn’t exactly mean he believes what his great grandma said about him. He hasn’t taken any action to claim his destiny or right to protect me from ghosts. That holding back might mean he’s protected from the creatures for now, but it also means I’m not.
In a non-crazy situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to keep Malachi out of this if it meant keeping him safe, but what about all the ghosts, their power, the horrible damage these beings could cause if they succeed in killing me? I don’t know what to do other than search for more answers. Until we know what’s going on, I fully believe we’re both in terrible danger.
Trying to right the mess he made when moving the boxes, Malachi struggles to get all the random bits and packages stacked back up. He pushes aside something that looks like an old coat and I gasp. Peeking out from under an afghan blanket is a boldly written M. Pushing past everyone, I fall to my knees and latch onto the box. I almost rip my hands away a second later, but I’m too shocked by the sensation to do anything at all.
Heat and vibration pulse through my fingers, up my arms, encompassing my entire body. It’s not frightening, not in a scary kind of way, but I’m terrified of finding out what it means, of what the box contains. It feels both foreign and familiar at the same time. The same energy ghosts possess hums through my body, alongside a deeper thrum of something I can only describe as…safety. It’s so consuming I never want to let it go.
“Are you okay?” Malachi asks quietly.
“I….” Turning to look at him, I hold the box up but don’t let go. “There’s something in here. Something important.”
Malachi hesitates for a moment, then extends one hand toward the box. He seems confused when I pull back out of fear. Not fear of him. Fear that if I let go of this box every bad thing I’ve ever experienced will come at me in an onslaught to rival Pandora’s Box. Malachi’s fingers twitch, and I wonder if he feels it too. If he knows that opening this box will change everything.
“We need to open it,” Malachi says. His voice is as hesitant as my heart, but there’s an undercurrent of determination steeling his words. “Whatever’s in there….”
“Could put you in a lot of danger,” I interrupt.
Malachi’s shoulders square up. “It will also keep you safe.”
Biting my bottom lip, I look down at the box. “What if I’m not worth the cost?”
Warm fingers slide onto my cheek, gentle but insistent pressure forcing me to meet his gaze. “That’s not even a question for me, Echo. My fear is that I won’t be good enough, or strong enough, not enough of whatever it’s going to take to protect you. That’s always been my fear, way before we found out about any of this stuff.”
Somehow bound by mutual doubt in ourselves and our abilities, admitting our biggest fears makes them real, but it also makes them manageable. My fingers feel stiff as I release my death grip on the sides of the box and inch them to the lid. Malachi mirrors my every movement. Our gazes lock as we each grip an edge. The breath we both take is a gathering of fears, strength, doubts, and hope. In silent agreement, we begin to lift.
I don’t know what I expected to happen. An Arc of the Covenant blast of disintegrating light maybe. A hydraulic sigh as if there were moving parts involved even though that makes no sense. I was expecting something, but…nothing. Nothing at all. Startled, and a little annoyed, I toss the lid to the side and pray the contents are more spectacular than the opening of the box.
This time, I’m not disappointed.
“Whoa,” Kyran says from over my shoulder.
Holden follows up with, “What the hell?”
Zara barges past everyone and reaches into the box, dragging out a handful of photos and newspaper clippings. She flips through them like it’s a race before thrusting them at Malachi. “Why does your grandma have all this stuff about Echo?”
Too stunned to say a word, Malachi only shakes his head after taking the stack from Zara. A clipping falls from his hands and I flinch when I realize what it’s about. Making the paper might be a good thing for most people. It definitely wasn’t for me. I remember going to the county fair all too well. It was my first and only visit. Being put on a kiddie rollercoaster only to have a ghost squish in next to me and try to touch me at seven years old didn’t lead to anything good. The operator stopped the ride when he saw I had wriggled out from under the safety bar and was crawling across the cars to get away. I didn’t get hurt, but someone snapped a picture and everything blew up the next day in the paper.
That wasn’t the only time something like that happened either. Somehow, Madeline knew about it all. I’m stunned, stuck sitting there wondering how I ever came on her radar when I notice a blue envelope sitting on top of what’s left in the box. The envelope itself is nothing special, except I recognize it as one of my mom’s. They had been left over from a set of thank you cards. I snuck one out of her box during some of my first attempts at helping the ghosts and escaping their torment. My juvenile cursive handwriting stands out against the envelope like a neon sign.
I reach in for the envelope, my hand trembling. I can feel more than hear the hallway going quiet around me. Holden curses somewhere to my right. I swear the paper feels ice cold when I pick it up, but I’m sure that’s just my imagination. Scanning the address, I realize this wasn’t sent to Madeline. It makes me feel less crazy, because I couldn’t imagine I had contacted this woman as a child and not remembered. Apparently, though, I had sent a letter to her neighbor.
My fingers feel detached from my body as I extract the letter and try to read the looping writing that wasn’t my own even though I wrote it. It’s a simple message, a note to tell this woman that her late husband had left the keys to their safety deposit box inside the gun cabinet because he’d been afraid their son would find it and take whatever was in the box. Nothing astounding or shocking. I wrote dozens of letters like this and mailed them out whenever I could manage to sneak one pa
st my mother.
Was it kismet that one of my letters ended up in Albert, Georgia? Maybe it was just chance, but Madeline finding me as a ghost wasn’t. She knew about me for years before her death, seemed to be keeping close track of me even. I want to ask why, but knowing what I know about her now doesn’t lead to that question but another.
Why didn’t she contact me, try to protect me? Why gather up all this info and then just stick it in a box for Malachi? Did she not feel compelled, or suited to watch over me like Archer did? Did she somehow know Malachi was the one meant to become my Keeper? When was she going to tell him? How long was she willing to let me continue being labelled as delusional and borderline schizophrenic, suffering under the reign of the ghosts that ruined most of my childhood?
Anger builds fast and strong. She knew about me, knew I wasn’t crazy or messed up. She knew I needed help but she just left me there to struggle through it on my own! What kind of Keeper was she? Why would she do that to me?
“Oh wow,” Malachi says, sounding like the breath has been knocked out of him.
Kyran is leaning over him a second later, staring at what Malachi is holding, shaking his head in amazement. “I’d completely forgotten about that.” He shakes his head again, then stops abruptly. “It was all because of Echo, wasn’t it?” he asks Malachi, who nods slowly.
Frustrated and not about to be blamed for anything else, I snatch the papers out of Malachi’s hand, fully intending to defend myself. The words poised on my lips die a quick death as I find myself staring at a trio of plane tickets. At first I don’t understand why they were so worked up about airline tickets. Then two letters catch my eye and it all starts clicking into place. CA. California. Santa Barbara, California.
Three tickets. One for Madeline. One for Malachi. One for Kyran. Dated two days after Madeline’s death.
Maybe it’s a leap to say they were coming to see me, but it’s a jump I make with full confidence. Madeline wasn’t content to let me endure everything on my own. She was coming to save me. I don’t know if she had any idea whether it would be her or Malachi, but I now believe she wasn’t willing to take any chances. Was there a reason she planned to bring Kyran, or was it a guise to make the trip seem more natural? I have no idea, but all the sickening anger that had been trying to swallow me only a moment ago morphs into a blanket of comforting knowledge that she believed me and she tried to protect me.
Someone or something found her before we could connect and that brings back all my anger in a rush. It’s followed closely behind by a chaser of confusion. “How?” I demand. “How did they know? The creatures, or the men? Who actually killed her and how did they know she was trying to get in contact with me?”
Malachi’s mouth falls open, but he only shakes his head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“There’s more in the box,” Zara says, pointing at the remaining papers and half-covered items.
Before Malachi can react, I’m tearing into the box. More clippings, reports on me I have no idea how she got a hold of—including my involvement with Martin Coulter’s wife—pictures she must have hired someone to take, which is admittedly a little freaky, and a few non-ghost related keepsakes for Malachi. I reach for another saved drawing Malachi must have done, desperate to reach the bottom and find something useful, when a flash of cold hits me a split second before Archer yanks my hand away.
“Don’t touch that!” his ephemeral voice booms in my head. It’s so loud and painful my free hand snaps up to my head as if it might ward off the agony. Seeing my reaction, Archer pulls back. “Echo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Straightening as his influence recedes, and with it the pain, I glare at him. “It’s just a picture.”
Archer shakes his head. “Beneath the picture…there’s something…powerful. I think it’s…my granddad mentioned a...something physical to bind me as a Keeper, but I never saw it. I only felt it once, and it…” His voice fades inside my head as he stares at the box.
My first thought it to go after it and see if he’s right, but I fear Archer will clobber me and induce another spontaneous migraine if I do. We turn to look at Malachi simultaneously. It’s his box. Left for him by Madeline, a Keeper who had been about to bring us together. Just like knowing freeing Archer will require defeating the monsters, I know Malachi is the only one who can touch whatever’s in the bottom of that box without being seriously injured.
Swallowing hard, Malachi steels himself. One hand reaches forward and lifts the drawing from the box. He tosses it aside absently and we all stare at…something. The two-inch disc looks to be a charm made of pewter. Inscribed on the disc is a myriad of symbols. Some I recognize, like the Star of David, Om, Celtic knots, a cross, an Ankh, a crescent moon, but others I have no clue about. The few I recognize seem to be wards or meant to protect. They’re all crammed in together as if someone tried to squash in every known religious or cultural symbol that might keep them safe from whatever darkness they’re facing.
Like soul devouring oily black ghost monsters.
I don’t notice there’s a piece of paper tucked beneath the disc until Malachi pinches the edge of the paper between his fingers and slides it out from beneath it without touching the metal. Crowding in close, everyone is leaning over his shoulder as he reads the note.
“Malachi, in case I can’t give this to you myself as I’m beginning to fear, I’m leaving you instructions on what to do with the talisman. My journal will explain everything else, but should you need protection before you’ve been trained, this will provide it both for you and Echo by unlocking the abilities you were born to use.
“The symbol must be pressed against the skin of your forearm of your dominant hand. Doing so will bind you to your destiny. It is not an action to take lightly. I hope I’m proven wrong, and during our trip to California I will be able to explain everything and begin to properly train you, but if the Devourers or their masters come for me before then you will need to take up my responsibilities. You’re the only one of my line who has inherited the Keeper abilities, and young Miss Simmons will need you desperately if she has any hope of surviving the coming battle.
“Be strong, Malachi. Be brave. Rely on Kyran for help and guidance. You two are forever bound in friendship and purpose. Never take off the necklaces I gave you. I love you both and will miss you dearly when I am gone, but I promise to watch over you as best I can. I have taken precautions that, should they come for me, they won’t be able to take my soul or body and my spirit will remain behind to protect my dear ones.
“Trust in your power and purpose,
“Grandma Maddie.”
I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take. Battles? Devourers and their masters? Kyran? Magic talismans? I feel like I’ve been dropped head first into a foreign world I haven’t got a prayer of understanding. Confused, terrified, and more than a little pissed off all of this has been going on and no one ever bothered to let me in on the secret, I’m about ready to walk out on the whole thing and dedicate myself to being a hermit when Malachi’s hand moves.
I shout at him to stop, to be careful, think about this, to just wait! The talisman is in his hand before I can stop him from touching it. He waits only a second, only long enough for his gaze to lock with mine, and then it’s too late. The second the metal touches his skin, our world explodes into chaos.
35: Instincts
(Malachi)
Pain like I have never experienced in my life tears through me as a tidal wave of agony. Concern for Echo is a faint thought behind my screaming. The stench of burning flesh hits me and I realize my arm doesn’t just feel like it’s on fire…it’s actually burning. It hurts too badly to even consider sitting up, but I claw at my arm, trying to dislodge the talisman and end the pain. Nothing I do will get rid of it.
Everyone around me is panicking. I can hear them shouting and moving, but all I can focus on is making the agony stop. Rolling and thrashing, eyes closed as I try to s
hut out the pain, I beg for it all to end.
Just like it started—all at once—the talisman falls away and the pain is simply gone. I roll onto my side, gasping for breath and feeling as though my muscles have turned to jelly. It’s all I can do to breath and not throw up from what I just went through. As my body calms, a heavy, dark feeling presses in on me. That’s when I realize the entire house is absolutely silent. Not a creak or groan, not even a breath or subtle movement.
Forcing my eyes open, I don’t see anything at first. There’s a moment of panic that something’s wrong with my eyes, but Kyran’s shoes come into focus a moment later and I realize I’m not blind. It’s simply dark, which makes no sense. We got to the estate a little after one o’clock in the afternoon. None of us were stupid enough to want to visit a possibly haunted house in the middle of the night. But it’s dark. Moonlight streams through the glass panels on the front door, highlighting the bloodstains in the entryway. I have no clue what just happened. Not hard to figure out it isn’t good.
It’s a struggle to get my limbs to obey my brain’s commands, but I drag my hands beneath my body and jerkily push myself up to my knees. That’s as far as I get before a hand grabs the back of my t-shirt and yanks me up to an unsteady standing position. I almost collapse immediately, but not because of my weakness.
“Shit,” I say as my eyes take in the horde of oozing black Devourers closing in around us.
I have no idea how I ended up lying on the ground in the middle of the entryway when the last place I remember being was right in front of the closet door, but I’m the furthest from the creatures. In fact, there seems to be a buffer around me while the others are practically nose to nose with them. That’s when the thought hits me.
The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 29