Tales From The Mist: An Anthology of Horror and Paranormal Stories

by Scott Nicholsonan

  “I can’t,” she whispered. Tears stung her eyes. She retreated before she made a fool of herself in front of him, in front of her tour group. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

  She forced herself not to run as she turned the corner, leaving him and her group behind. The weight of his care hurt almost as much as her grief; she let the tears slip free, ignoring the curious stares. The sight of the Necropolis, crowning the hill above Glasgow’s ancient cathedral, eased a bit of that weight. Sarah moved faster, let the wind dry her tears as she pulled her suede jacket closed against the cold of the grey October afternoon.

  The isolated cemetery suited her need to be completely alone. No well–meaning, friendly tour member clamoring for a photo op, needing her help, or asking yet another question—only her and the worn stone monuments.

  She snapped a photo of a beautifully carved tombstone sunk into the side of the hill, shed some of her constant despair as she climbed the steep path. Reaching the top, she walked through the open wrought iron gates, admiring the detail, and anticipated the peace of an hour with only herself for company.

  It all went downhill from there.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  “Cuidich.”

  She whirled, the whisper sending an icy shiver down her back.

  There was no one behind her. No one anywhere in sight.

  I’m tired. She pushed hair off her face, the humidity turning it into a curly mess. That’s all it is—I’m just tired, and hearing what I need spoken in my head. Help.

  “Ma ’s e ur toil e.” This time the familiar lilt of the Scottish Gaelic brushed over her ear. Before she could react it assaulted her again. “Please, help us.”

  Sarah stumbled backward—until she smacked into the side of a mausoleum. Closing her eyes, she let out a shaky breath. There’s no one here, just me and my overactive imagination. Her heart stopped trying to pound its way out of her chest, and the cool breeze was simply that—a breeze.

  She opened her eyes. The Necropolis greeted her, empty, somber, hauntingly beautiful. Embarrassed by her reaction, and thankful no one else witnessed it, she moved back to the wide, central walkway. She decided to head back down to the cathedral, sit in the cool, quiet nave until her still jangling nerves calmed a little more.

  She stepped up her pace to a brisk walk, all out running by the time she rounded the path leading to the wrought iron gates.

  With an ear–splitting shriek the gates slammed shut.

  Sarah skidded on the rock–strewn dirt and collided with them before she could stop herself.

  “No—” Numb fingers fumbled with the latch. It refused to budge. “Please—”

  “We require your help.” She stilled at the voice. This time it sounded real. Substantial. “You will be needing to turn around at some point, leannan.”

  She automatically translated the endearment. Sweetheart. Closing her eyes briefly, she braced herself and turned to face the owner.

  He towered over her, dressed in a black suit about two centuries out of fashion. Dark hair curled over his stiff collar, the style just as dated. Piercing blue eyes studied her, impatient and annoyed. The fact that she could see through him should have sent her screaming, but she was oddly insulted by the attitude he threw at her.

  She crossed her arms and stared right back. “What?”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “I do not scare you?”

  “Did you slam the gates in my face?”

  “A necessity, as you were running away from me.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  The smile that threatened before spread across his face, startling and beautiful. Sarah clutched the gate behind her. She could feel the blood drain out of her face as hallucination became all too real. Between one breath and the next he stood beside her. “Are you unwell?”

  “I’m talking to a ghost, so I’d say yeah.” She closed her eyes again, opened them. He was still there. The ice chill surrounding him simply confirmed her fear that she wasn’t hallucinating.

  “You are the first.” He winked out, reappeared in the middle of the path. “The first to hear me. To see me.”

  “You’ve done this before? Tried to terrorize someone into a heart attack?”

  “Answer me this, leannan.” The tall figure faded, his voice reaching out to her on the rising wind. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he materialized, almost on top of her. Every inch prickled from the cold of his presence, that icy blue gaze. “How is it that you are walking the city of the dead on All Hallows’ Eve?”

  “Is it—how did I lose track?” She could answer her own question—she didn’t want to know the date. It was a year ago tonight. Her fiancé Edward died, leaving her alone in a country where no one knew her. Taking the job as a tour guide started out as desperation, became a welcome distraction from her grief. “How long have you been trying to—contact someone?”

  “Months now.” Those piercing eyes studied her, as if he judged her, measured her worth. She was more than a little sick of being measured by strangers—never mind a ghost. “Even my nephew James turned away from my plea, convinced himself he did not hear. You are the first, perhaps the only, so you will have to do. Even if you are a bloody Yank.”

  “Thanks. I feel so honored.” That beautiful smile lit his face again. She stared up at him as his words sank in. “Do for what?”

  His smile faded, replaced by a raw grief that scraped across her own.

  “The way is closed. And we are trapped.”

  “The way to—oh, God.” She understood the we when they began to appear. Spirits, all shapes and ages, walked through the worn monuments as they moved closer, surrounding her. She retreated, backing along the gates until the stone post caught her shoulder. Every panicked breath iced the air in front of her. She locked her knees to keep them from buckling. “What do you want?”

  He glided forward, trapping her against the post.

  “You.”

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  Sarah tried to climb the stone post behind her. The effort left her with broken nails, some nasty scratches and the start of a panic attack. Shivering so hard she felt it in her bones, she hugged herself and slowly turned around.

  They all waited for her.

  Their leader moved in front of her, waved off the rest with one hand.

  “Please forgive their—eagerness. Some of them have been waiting months to be reunited—”

  “The way—” Sarah prayed she was wrong, knew it was a futile prayer. “You mean the way. White light, crossing over, eternal rest.” He nodded. “Oh, God—”

  “God is blocked from us.” For the first time she saw the uncertainty in those piercing blue eyes. “I have helped many find their way since I passed. But we are trapped here, and we need help.”

  Swallowing, she whispered her question, terrified of the answer. “What help?”

  “A messenger.” He turned to the spirits, spread his hands. “Leave us. I will call you when we are ready.”

  As one they turned away, floating over the ground. Sarah collapsed under the weight of their pain, their despair. Images of their former lives tangled around each other, layered with the small joys, the disappointments, the profound moments that gave every life meaning.

  Kneeling on the cold ground, she cradled her head, tried to shut them out. Tears slipped down her face, hot on icy skin. Like the touch of a cool breeze, his fingers brushed her cheek. “Please tell me what ails you, leannan.”

  “I can feel them.”

  Cold blasted her. “Look at me.”

  She figured she had no other choice, so she did. And blinked at the shock on his face. “What is—”

  “Why did you come here today?”

  “I needed some peace.”

  “Among the dead?”

  “Well,” she couldn’t stop the smile. “They’re usually quiet.”

  “For most, aye.” His hand rested on her shoulder. Through the cold, she felt the weight of it, the comfort. “You carry a burden, one that ties yo
u to death.”

  She jerked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “What is your name, leannan?”

  She scrubbed at her face, embarrassed by her tears. “Sarah.”

  “I am Nathaniel. And I would ask for your help, Sarah. Not for myself, but for the souls who touched you. Their pain grows every moment they are trapped here, reliving the lives they lost and cannot change.”

  “How can I possibly help them?”

  “They need a messenger. Someone who cares about them enough to step through the veil and speak for them. It may not be a return journey.”

  “No.” She all but climbed the gate trying to get to her feet. With the rest of the spirits gone, she had room to run. Like she could actually get away from something with the ability to pop in front of her at any moment. “Let me emphasize that with a Hell, no.”

  “Leannan—”

  “Stop calling me that!” She backed toward the hedge, and the shorter fence that divided the old cemetery from the new. “I can’t help you, so just let me go. Leave me alone—”

  She sprinted for the hedge—and skidded, dodging to avoid running straight through him. He simply appeared in front of the hedge. Sarah slipped on the damp grass and went down.

  When Nathaniel crouched over her, she curled into a ball, understanding there was nowhere to run.

  “Sarah.” Cool air brushed her cheek. “I will not keep you here.” Her breath stuck. Turning her head, she met the piercing blue gaze, and saw remorse. “I will not force your cooperation. But I will ask you a question. Answer it, and you are free.”

  He faded, gave her room to move, to breathe again. Every muscle ached as she got to her feet. A squeal spun her around; the gates swung open, giving her the promised freedom. Nathaniel’s voice surrounded her, quiet and raw.

  “If you had the chance, leannan, would you take it to change a decision you regret? To take a different path?”

  Tears burned her eyes. Swallowing, she turned back to face the Necropolis. “In a heartbeat.”

  “And you have the time, the life, to perhaps make that change. These souls can merely relive their regrets, feel time and again the pain they caused, the hurts they cannot be taking away. If you could change that, if you could help to give them peace, would you take it?”

  Not fair. Just the memory of all that despair tore at her. Could she walk away, with that burden, that possibility laid on her?

  What if it was Edward, trapped here, endlessly reliving the decision that cost his life?

  The sob escaped before she could stop it. Clapping one hand over her mouth, she let the tears come, losing her battle with the grief she fought every minute.

  “Why did you come here, Sarah?” The gentle tone, the concern in his voice shattered the fragile wall that kept her grief in check. He followed her when she sank to the ground. “You wear your pain like the dead wear their sorrow. There is too much life left for you, too many chances for happiness, to hide among the dead and grieve for what can never be.”

  “How—” She hated the way her voice shook. Wiping at the tears she couldn’t seem to stop, she met Nathaniel’s gaze. His anger calmed her more than any sympathy. “How do you know?”

  “Your misery surrounds you like a cloak. Tell me of him.” She felt the color drain out of her face. “Sarah—you need to tell his story, out loud, or his death will never let you go.”

  Closing her eyes briefly, she pulled her legs up to her chest, needing something to hold on to.

  “My fiancé, Edward, dragged me to London to visit friends. I’m not a fan of big cities, but he grew up there, and wanted to show me off. We were walking back to our hotel, and this car just—came out of nowhere. Edward saw it first, and pushed me out of the way—” She covered her mouth with one hand, the images slamming into her mind. Fresh tears spilled down her face.

  Nathaniel’s deep voice was gentle. “He took your place in front of the car.”

  She whispered through the grief clogging her throat. “I didn’t have time to react. One second I was walking with him, planning for tomorrow, and the next I’m falling into a stack of chairs outside a restaurant, and Edward—he died before I could reach him. He died alone, and it was my fault—”

  “No.” His sharp denial snapped her head up. “It was the bloody driver. Too much drink was the cause, and the excuse. Tell me I am wrong.”

  “She was going home after a Halloween party. She thought she was fine, but she fell asleep. God—she never even saw us.”

  “Yet you blame yourself for Edward’s death, carry the weight of it. Sarah.” His fingers brushed her cheek, a cool, soft touch. “It is time for you to let that go.”

  “I want to—I left England, tried to put it behind me. I just—I miss him so much.”

  “And you will. Always. That is love, leannan, when it is true. But if you allow it, the pain will fade, become part of who you are.”

  “It’s been a year, and it hurts more now than when it happened. I don’t know how much longer I can live with this pain.”

  She felt his grip on her wrists, the press of his fingers, the cold. It comforted more than she expected.

  “You heard me, when no one else did, or chose to hear. I will thank you for listening, Sarah, and make good on my promise.” He released her. “You are free. Go back to the city of the living. It is where you belong—where you need to be now. I will not stop you.”

  She got to her feet, the effort leaving her lightheaded. She was alone—not even a hint of the cold that told her Nathaniel was nearby touched the air. Only the brisk, natural chill of October.

  Letting the air dry her tears, she headed to the gates, every step slower than the last. With one more step taking her beyond the gates and to freedom, she stopped, cursed under her breath, and turned around.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  He guided her to his mausoleum, which was a bit warmer inside, and incredibly—atmospheric. Oil lamps hung from hooks on all four walls, candles burned at the corner of each elaborate tomb. There was even an upholstered chair, which Sarah sat in, trying not to read the dates carved into the stone next to her. Nathaniel’s dates. She focused on his name instead, carved in a bold hand. Nathaniel James MacGregor

  “There is a reason you were drawn here today.” Arms crossed, he leaned against the opposite wall, giving her as much space as he could in the small room. “On All Hallows’ Eve, the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, when those from either side can cross without fear of becoming trapped.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I have been a—guide, for those who needed one. A hand to hold while they cross.”

  “Why don’t you—cross? There must be family waiting for you.” She could slap herself, repeatedly, and still not get over that she sat in a house built for the dead, talking to a ghost.

  Anger radiated from him. “I wanted nothing to do with them in life, and refuse to share my death with them. Staying on this side of the veil is my choice—as was building my own mausoleum, rather than be trapped with those money–grasping cowards.”

  “Please—tell me how you really feel.”

  His laughter echoed around them. Before she could blink he stood next to her, blue eyes thoughtful. “You no longer fear me.”

  “Don’t get the wrong idea—I’m beyond terrified. I deal with most uncomfortable situations by using humor. A tactic not everyone understands—or appreciates.”

  She clasped her hands together and tucked them between her knees, to keep them warm, and to keep Nathaniel from seeing how much they trembled. Why did she trust him? He was a ghost, for heaven’s sake, and only heaven knew how he got dead to begin with. And why was she thinking of this now, instead of when she stood at the gates, closer to freedom, civilization, other living, breathing people?

  “How did you die?” The question popped out before she could stop it.

  Nathaniel raised his eyebrows, and to her
surprise, answered her. “I was shot, by my younger brother. He harbored a deep desire for all I would inherit as eldest son, and decided it must be his instead.”

  “Oh, my God—I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Resurrect unpleasant memories? Two hundred years has helped smooth the edges, along with watching my brother go to his reward not long after he bestowed mine. He lost a duel, and had not been dead five minutes when the ground opened up, a claw reached out and ripped his soul from his body.” Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment, turned his head to stare at the far wall. “I would not have wished his fate upon my worst enemy, but I cannot deny he had a part in creating it. I was not the first he murdered in his bid for power.”

  “Nathaniel.” His head snapped around, surprise on his face. Sarah realized it was the first time she used his name. “These souls you help—do you do it to make up for your brother?”

  “In part.” He shook his head, the grief in his eyes easing. “You are a wonder, leannan. In so short a time you understand me as my family never has, after decades in the same home.”

  “They would have, if they paid attention.”

  His smile would have lit the room, if he’d been alive. “Are you ready?”

  “I don’t know if I can ever be ready for something like this.”

  “Please know you will have the opportunity to say no, to walk away at any time.”

  “And with a disclaimer like that, it’s not going to be good.”

  Nathaniel crouched in front of her. “I need you to step through the veil. To be our voice. I do not know what, or who you will meet on the other side, but you must tell them we are trapped here. Can you still do this?”

  She met his gaze. “I will do it for the people out there. I can’t walk away from the pain I felt from them. I deal with my own every day—but unlike those spirits, I have the chance to grow beyond it. Eventually.”

  “I cannot make a guarantee on your safe return.”