Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Addy, are you listening?” Susan narrowed her eyes, sharply resembling Lucy Daingerfield. “You... ah, I see where your thoughts are. Thomas Cooper.”

  Adelaide widened her eyes innocently. “What are you talking about, Susan? I was being polite.”

  “Is that a fact?” Annie giggled and pointed a gloved finger at her. “I’ve noticed you always have an easier time being polite to the handsome gentlemen in town.”

  “Shhh!” Adelaide hushed their giggles. “If Lucy hears you—”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Yes, if Lucy hears us we all know what will happen. We’ll have to listen to her blather on about Armory workers and not associating with them. She’s the expert, after all, being the paymaster clerk’s daughter and always sees it fit to tell us who is quality and who is to be shunned.”

  Adelaide smirked. “My, Susan, such vinegary words. I thought Lucy was your friend.”

  Susan didn’t answer.

  “Well, I’ve heard rumor,” Annie leaned forward, “that Lucy speaks quite fondly of Mr. Cooper. And I’ve also heard that he’s said quite…complementary things about her.”

  Adelaide rolled her eyes. “Did you hear that from Lucy, Annie? Because you know quite well she says she likes whatever happens to be in discussion at the time.”

  Annie shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”

  “That one seems foolish, though.” Susan’s words echoed Adelaide own thoughts. “First, I can’t imagine any man with soundness of mind to have affection for Lucy. Second, I have yet to see them speak. I’m not even certain Mr. Cooper knows who Lucy is, but I’ll ask David on your behalf, Addy. If anyone knows it would be David.”

  “I think it’s just foolish talk, Susan.” Adelaide fell silent. Movement on the hill caught her attention; it was brief, almost a wisp, but it was there. Something was standing at the edge of Harper Cemetery.

  Annie turned, her skirt swinging outward with the movement of her hoop. “What do you see?”

  “It was fast.” Adelaide shook her head, searching the hill for any further movement. “There and gone, really, but I feel it. I sense it.”

  Susan and Annie exchanged a look.

  “Addy, you go this time.” Sarah elbowed her sharply. “I’ll stay here and watch for Poppa.”

  Adelaide nodded, pushing her reticule into her sister’s hands. “Annie, you swing down from the far side of the cemetery. I’ll take it from the front.”

  She didn’t audibly respond, but began climbing the stone staircase ahead of Adelaide.

  Taking a deep breath, Adelaide cut across the front courtyard of St. John’s and climbed the stone steps up into Harper Cemetery. Her mother and baby sister were buried up here, as were so many of Harpers Ferry citizens that she’d faced in a dark side street or along the banks of one of the rivers. Digging her hand into pocket she’d sewn into her skirt, she pulled out a pocket watch.

  It was the only thing she had of her mother. The watch was supposedly fashioned by the original watchmakers who came across when the country was settled in the 1600s and blessed by a native priest. However it had actually come into being, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter; all she knew was that this one timepiece, mottled and nicked from time, only ran backwards. It was something about that descending time, something maybe in the gold it was fashioned from, that was able to stop the spirits.

  Most of them.

  She crossed the cemetery slowly, craning her head from left to right. The creature was standing at the top of the hill; it had been looking down at the congregation standing outside the church. Not all spirits seemed to recognize the living, in fact, many seemed to be nothing more than an echo of the living being, trapped between this world and the next. It was the ones who were cognizant, who acted out of their own desire, that were dangerous.

  And then she saw it: it was standing in front of a headstone, its arms clenched at its sides. It seemed to move slower than Adelaide did, like it was in a different time stream separate from the concrete present. The body was draped in gray, the skirt and stringy, greasy hair blowing to the side.

  The air around her was still.

  “I can see you.” Adelaide spoke quietly, side stepping down the row of stones in front of where the spirit stood. “You don’t belong here. You’re dead.”

  The spirit stood still. It ignored her.

  “You need to depart from this life and enter the next.” Adelaide pressed her thumb into the watch clasp, urging the face open. “And if you won’t go on your own, I’ll take you there myself.”

  The creature finally looked up at her. Its face was expressionless, the eye sockets in the skull black and gaping. There was no jaw and the tongue lolled outward; it stared at her and, deep in her mind, Adelaide could hear its raspy, grating voice. Death…approaches…

  “You don’t scare me.” Adelaide locked her knees, rooting herself into place. “I’ve looked into the eyes of the dead before and I have no fear.”

  The spirit slunk backwards, melting through the headstones behind it. At that moment, Annie darted out from the woods, her hands out in front of her. She thrust a crucifix forward at the creature, driving it back from her. Adelaide couldn’t made out the words her friend was saying, but she knew it was a chant in Latin. The words seemed to bite into the creature; it was as if what Annie was saying dug into the rotted flesh of the spirit and started ripping it apart.

  Using a headstone to separate herself from the creature, Adelaide held up her pocket watch and flipped the face back. “The power of Christ protects me, spirit, and you will depart this life to the next. Now.”

  The spirit screamed. A beam of light, hazy and opaque, shot out from the watch and into the ghost. It writhed against it, trying to force its body against the pull of the light; bucking and stretching and squealing. The watch blazed hot in Adelaide’s hand. She gritted her teeth against the pain—she had to see this through.

  With a howl that cracked the tombstone at Adelaide’s knees, the creature was yanked backwards and into the watch. At the very last instant, it jammed its arms against the gold and clawed for her arm. You…will see…death.

  Adelaide stared at it.

  Annie was at her side, flinging a handful of sage into the creature’s face. There was a sizzle, a pop, and then the arms crumbled to dust. The spirt was sucked into the watch and, in an instant, the face swung shut. The timepiece shuddered.

  And then everything was silent.

  Annie was breathing heavily; sweat dripped down her forehead and she dragged her sleeve across her face. She leaned heavily against the stone in front of them. “Did it hurt you?”

  Adelaide shook her head and shoved the watch back into her pocket. “No.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Annie shoved back from the stone and circled around it. She glanced over the headstone the creature had stood at, her brow knitted in a deep frown. “Andrew Staunton.”

  “The man from the Armory?” Adelaide shrugged her shoulders. “He shot himself. I remember, I was only eight or nine, but I remember it. They pulled him out of the river right afterwards, but his head was half off his neck.”

  “I don’t think that thing was Andrew Staunton.”

  “You know why he killed himself, right?” When Annie shook her head, Adelaide continued. “He was having an affair with his sister-in-law. She was only sixteen, she killed her sister and then drowned herself when it secret came out.”

  “So was it the wife?” Annie glanced at the stone. “Or was it the sister?”

  Adelaide smoothed down her hair and then cocked her head towards the staircase. “It doesn’t matter who they were. What matters is that they’re gone now.”

  They walked down the staircase and back into the church’s courtyard. Sarah ran up to Adelaide and linked her arm around hers. “Did you get it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Poppa’s looking for you.”

  “Here I am.” Adelaide
looked back at Annie and Susan, who had crept up to the group. “It’s been almost a year since we last saw one. What changed?”

  No one spoke.

  “I could understand,” Sarah spoke slowly, as if she was feeling it out, “if someone had recently died. But that’s not the case.”

  “It’s gone. Perhaps it was a fluke.” Adelaide saw her father waving his arm at her from the top of the stone staircase; she lifted her hand in acknowledgment. “We’ll discuss it at our next meeting.”

  With Sarah at her side, Adelaide rushed to the staircase and followed her brothers and father downward, carefully picking her way across the sloped cuts of stone. Poppa was always in a hurry to get home after services, since his child bride was nearing the end of her pregnancy confinement. Adelaide hated her and the feeling was mutual. She’d rather face a thousand shadow specters than have to spend one moment in conversation with that woman.

  Sarah grabbed her elbow as they reached the bottom of the stone steps. “I haven’t forgotten, by the way. You are rather distracted by Thomas Cooper.”

  “There are more important things than men.” Adelaide cast a sideways glance at her sister. “And I’m not distracted, Sarah. I hardly know him.”

  “But you could easily be distracted by him.” Sarah smirked. “I know you, Addy. We’ve been sisters what, sixteen years now?”

  “That’s what happens when you’re two years younger than me.”

  “You’re avoiding the question, Addy.”

  She laughed quietly, thoughts of the creature in Harper Cemetery dissolving from her mind faster than the spirit had been pulled into the watch. “Maybe I am. But it’s none of your business and I refuse to speak of him further. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. We merely exchanged greetings after service and there’s unsightly or vulgar about that.”

  “You’re hopeless.” Sarah announced as they reached the corner of Ferry Lot, the section of Harpers Ferry nearest where the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers met. They hurried up the back staircase to the living quarters above their father’s dry goods store. Adelaide hoped she could finish preparing supper early enough to relax on the large portico off the second floor parlor before the evening chill set in. Sometimes she liked to stand outside and simply stare across the two neat rows of white Armory buildings. There was something strangely elegant about the Armory complex, from the compact little engine house closest to the house to the tall smokestack of the Smith and Forging shop that reached high into the air. The Armory was the lifeblood of Harpers Ferry and somehow beautiful—even if it cut a large black stain into the sky. Its intentions were pure, there was no question as to its function.

  Sarah followed her to their shared bedroom in the back corner of the house. Adelaide’s fingers flew down the tiny hooks and eyes on the front of her fitted brown bodice. “I got the feeling today that Susan doesn’t care for Lucy Daingerfield.”

  “I don’t blame her. I don’t particular care for her either.”

  “We’ve known her since we were children and she’s never changed her behavior.” Adelaide pulled her brown skirt over her head then untied her petticoat and hoop skirt. “I don’t understand the sudden change.”

  “I think Lucy considers herself the queen of Harpers Ferry sometimes.” Sarah wrinkled up her nose. “Maybe all of the time. You know she’s never on the hunt with us. When we face spirits, she always hangs back. She’s afraid.”

  Adelaide slipped on her corded petticoat and then yanked her blue work dress over her head, carefully tucking her pocket watch in her hidden pocket. “Well, she may be the Queen of Harpers Ferry, but she looks like a bird.”

  Sarah covered her mouth and dissolved into giggles. “Addy!”

  Grabbing her apron, Adelaide dashed out of the room and headed to the kitchen. Since Rebekah—ahm, Mother—was in her pregnancy confinement, cooking for the family fell entirely on Adelaide’s shoulders. The rest of the household chores were divided between her and Sarah.

  She wadded her apron in one hand and carefully lifted the lid from the pot atop the stove. The brisket was finally starting to get tender, soaked in a beef broth and onions. After replacing the lid, she walked over to a storage barrel and fished out several potatoes. Since the beef was almost tender, now was the perfect time to add potatoes.

  Sarah walked in as Adelaide started to cut the potatoes in half. “Do you need help?”

  “No, it’s under control. I think Rebekah could have handled this on her own.” She looked up from the potatoes. “Can you ask Robert to bring in some more water?”

  Sarah nodded and left the room.

  Adelaide piled the sliced potatoes into a small wooden bowl and carried them over to the cooking stove. After removing the pot lid, she slowly added the potatoes to the beef brisket; the thick aroma of boiling meat and onions immediately filling her nostrils. Her stomach ached for supper, but her mind was still on her confrontation in the cemetery. You will see death. What did that even mean? Death was commonplace, everyone dealt with it. Children, mothers in labor; women who got too close to fires and were incinerated while standing in their crinolines.

  It had been a year since a shadow had crossed the Ferry. Something had changed—but she still didn’t know what it was.

  The door swung open with enough force to slam against the wall. Robert lugged a large bucket of water into the work room. At nineteen—the oldest in the family— he worked with their father in the family dry goods store. He had no interest in apprenticing at the Armory, although their younger brother Luke, at thirteen, had already begun his apprenticeship.

  “A fine wife you will make, Adelaide.” Robert loudly sniffed the air. “I can only hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

  She rolled her eyes. Her brothers didn’t know anything about the spirt hunting abilities. It was probably for the best. “I’m grateful for your vote of confidence.”

  Robert set the bucket down and wiped sweat from his brow. “I needn’t remind you of the Cornish hen incident.”

  Adelaide put her hand on her hip. “Robert, that’s not fair. I had never made the hens before. They weren’t really that bad, they were just a little dry.”

  “A little dry.” Robert leaned against the doorframe. “Little sister, I could have written a letter on the skin and mailed it to London.”

  She snatched a rag from the table and threw it at him. He caught it and laughed heartily. “A noble effort, Fair Adelaide! But, you’re no match for me.”

  “Fine, if you’re so critical of my cooking ability, you don’t have to have to eat the brisket.” She lifted the pot lid and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon. “All the more for me.”

  Luke burst through the door. “Addy, Poppa wants to see you and Sarah in the parlor.”

  Adelaide sucked in a deep breath. This had better not be about her disappearance from church. There was no way she could explain the situation to him; he’d never believe her. Setting the wooden spoon down on the table, she stuck her tongue out at Robert. “Pest.”

  Sarah was waiting for her in the hall and, linking her arm through Adelaide’s, they walked into the parlor together. Their father sat at his writing desk and turned as they entered. He removed his spectacles. “Hello, girls.”

  “Hello, Poppa.” They chorused.

  “I have something for you two.” He patted his pockets and frowned, obviously pretending he couldn’t find what he was looking for. “Now where did I put that envelope?”

  Sarah giggled. “Poppa!”

  He withdrew a small, cream-colored envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Ah, here it is. For you, my dears.”

  Being older, Adelaide took the envelope from Poppa and looked at the front. In fancy swirled blue ink was written: Misses Adelaide and Sarah Randolph.

  Sarah crowded next to her. “Oh, Poppa, who’s it from?”

  Adelaide carefully tore the envelope open and pulled out the matching cream-colored paper. She unfolded it and read out loud, “The honor of your pre
sence is requested at an ice cream social in celebration of Miss Lucy Daingerfield’s eighteenth birthday, to be held October 10th, 1859.”

  Sarah squealed. “Oh, Addy! Ice cream! Such a rarity.”

  Adelaide stared at the exquisite invitation, excitement boiling up in her stomach. Regardless if Lucy was a vinegary, spoiled, bird-like girl, she wasn’t going to miss a social. Especially not a social that promised ice cream.

  * * *

  HER MIND WAS still on the ice cream as she walked to the vegetable market Wednesday morning. Because of her chores and responsibilities at home, she had not yet had a chance to gossip about the social with Susan or Annie. Sarah was all atwitter at the thought of ice cream—which they never had because it was so expensive—so she was useless to discuss the matter with. She tried to stay focused, tried to stay alert incase another shadow crossed…but it was difficult.

  She clutched her large basket and walked down Shenandoah Street towards the Market House. Even though there was so much to do that day—cooking, washing, mending—the promise of the social made everything else seem insignificant. The creature in the cemetery? Probably just a fluke.

  As she drew near the Master Armorer’s house, Lucy Daingerfield’s home, her eyes fell on a broad shouldered, familiar figure dodging carriages and people as he crossed the filthy street. He was making his way to her.

  Her lips twitched up into a grin.

  “Mr. Cooper,” their eyes locked as he fell into step next to her, “it’s a pleasure to see you again. Are you headed to the market?”

  Thomas Cooper shook his head. “No, Miss Randolph, I’m taking my lunch right now. I’m renting a room past Market Street and sometimes it’s nice to leave the Armory grounds. Can I accompany you as far as the market?”

  She nodded. Another welcome distraction. “If I may ask, you’re not from Harpers Ferry originally?”

  “Does my peculiar accent give me away?” He chuckled, sliding his hand to hers and taking the basket from her. His touch radiated heat across her shoulders; her pulse launched into a frenzy. “No, my family is from Massachusetts and I was previously employed at the Springfield Armory. I can earn a much better living here. The work is all very specialized.”