Amara Cannon. I am a friend. I am like you.
Now the pathway was full of light, and I knew in ways I didn’t understand that it showed the way to Gracefield. Each step I took, the light preceded my walk. I was grateful for that because I didn’t feel so alone. Stepping into the darkness was terrifying, even for an experienced dreamer like myself.
Selma was hours away from Seven Sisters, but it didn’t take but a few seconds to arrive in front of the house. Again, I was struck by the architecture. I was particularly drawn to the balcony and lower porch; they were the focal points, at least that’s what the builder intended, but each floor felt like a world all its own. The bottom floor was warm and bright, but several of the rooms off the hallway were pitch black. The top floor was pitch black as well; I could see them both perfectly even though I was still outside the house. I shuddered as I looked around. I immediately got the sensation that the building wasn’t finished.
I’m at Gracefield, but I’ve gone too far back. This is the wrong time. Amara! Amara Cannon! You’re why I am here. Where are you?
Nothing. Amara Cannon was not reaching out to me. I was beginning to understand that another person, someone I did not know, wanted to talk to me. Wanted to show me something important to them. Oh, the desperation was off the charts. I felt bad for the determined spirit, but I had another target and I could not give up on her. As I stepped onto the freshly painted porch, the time presented to me became much more real. I could smell food cooking, hear voices talking and even hear the sounds of construction. There was fresh construction—another wing would be added to Gracefield. Off to the left, that’s where the building occurred.
I sensed a male presence. A very strong male presence. He was trapped in the house and wanted to walk in the sunshine. He wanted out!
Let me out! You have no right to keep me here!
“Get away from me. I’m not here for you.”
He stormed away, disappearing through an open door that led to a room of blackness. And there was a woman. A young woman. Oh, she was so young, I could hardly think of her as a woman. She was too young to be so far from home, but she was happy to be here. She wanted to be here. I didn’t sense desperation, not like the man.
I listened to her thoughts as she rummaged through an open trunk. This place felt like a palace compared to the small brownstone she grew up in. She was from somewhere back east, Baltimore, maybe? The woman’s energy was uncontrolled and strong. In life, she would have been a very attractive person, to both the living and the dead, because of her energy. People would be drawn to her and they wouldn’t even know why. Kendal…that’s her name. Was it her last name? Her name was Kendal, and she was a new wife.
Kendal loved being married. This beautiful place, Gracefield, this was her home now and she was very happy here. Her forever-and-ever, dreams-come-true home.
1848. That’s the year I got. Kendal was worried that this place was far too wild, but she would make her home a showpiece and all the neighbors and family would visit for the holidays. It was almost Christmas now. She had to find the silver candlesticks. She was certain she’d left them here; her own hands had wrapped them in soft fabric. She knew she’d placed the candlesticks in this particular trunk along with her other silver treasures. And then she’d need to find the platter and small goblets, the ones she brought out for special occasions like drinking mulled wine at Christmas. More silver, a lovely hairbrush with an enamel inlay of her former home.
I was so entranced with the pretty butterfly of a woman with her bright hair and carefully twisted braid that I forgot to keep my shields up. Another woman came close. And she wasn’t happy about my presence or Kendal’s.
No, not her home! Not her home!
A woman with a cloud of black hair forced me out of the room; her angular face was blurry. She wanted to force me to leave, but I didn’t let it shake me. I remembered myself and why I was here. I had dealt with angry dead folks before. She had scarlet lips—naturally red, she told me as I observed her. Oh, she didn’t like that at all. She never wore rouge, she said, but that was a lie. She had a pot of rouge in her vanity table upstairs and she was mad because this new one, this new wife, would find it and Derry would know the truth about her. Grace hadn’t been all she pretended to be. In fact, that may not have been her real name.
Derry loved me first. He loved me first and most! Derry is mine! This house is mine! Get out! Get out! Get out!
I decided I wasn’t prepared to deal with Grace anymore. This was the wrong time period, and these were the wrong people. How to move along? How to pass some time without leaving the house? It was a nice house, from what I could see. I walked out of the room and avoided the sound of the hammering, the men talking. I couldn’t risk being seen because sometimes they could see you, the ghosts of the past. Grace had seen me, and so had the man. Keep walking. You’ll figure it out. Ashland, I hope you’re there. The dark-haired woman followed me but not too close. She wasn’t happy that I was still here. Get out! She growled at me and her teeth snapped so hard, like she wanted to bite me.
Doors! Use the doors to pass through time in your dreams! That’s what Austin told me, one of the few lessons I’d had with dream walking. I moved further down the hall and closed my eyes, which was kind of difficult. It put my spiritual equilibrium off and made my stomach kind of queasy. I heard Ashland’s voice in my ear.
Babe, are you okay?
“No, Ash. Don’t come here. I’m okay.” His presence diminished, and I settled back into my task. I’m here for Amara. I’m here for Amara Cannon.
When thinking the invitation did not bring me any results, I spoke it out loud. “Amara Cannon…I’m looking for you. It’s me, Carrie Jo.” I opened a door with a shiny brass handle. The door was painted a soft yellow, and the room was dimly infused with yellow light. There was nothing harmful on the other side of this door, but Amara wasn’t here either. Upstairs, maybe? I closed the door and walked back through the hallway. At least creepy Grace and the other two were gone. I began to detect a strange buzzing sound in my ears. What was that? No time to think about it. Go upstairs.
The staircase was strange, not a grand showpiece, not like the one at Seven Sisters. There was nothing decorative about it, and it was tucked off to the right side of the house. Oh wait, this must be the servants’ staircase. With each stair I climbed, I detected that strong male presence again. He felt trapped, and he hated me for being here to see his agony. I asked him his name, mostly because I was curious, but he didn’t want to tell me. Nobody knew his name. Even in life, he wasn’t honest about his name.
Ah…he wanted to be known by one name. The Widowmaker. That’s what he did. That’s who he was. No one was to know his true identity.
“Nobody? Ever?” I asked him as he slammed a door as if that would keep me away. “I’m not here for you, Widowmaker. I am looking for my friend.”
You can’t help anywhere here. Get me out!
I ignored him and opened the door, and my eyes immediately went to the man standing on the other side of the bed. The Widowmaker! But we weren’t alone. There was another couple here, not complete ghosts but imprints—some would call this residual energy. There were two people, a woman and a man. They were married. Was this Kendal? She looked like Kendal. I wanted to warn her about the Widowmaker, but I couldn’t speak to her because she wasn’t really here. This was what the trapped man wanted me to see. Yuck, his smile was so disturbing, but he thought he was handsome. Charming. The ladies always thought he was such a handsome man. I flexed my fingers beside me. Sometimes that helped me focus on particular aspects of a person’s appearance, like spreading my fingers over a phone screen to enlarge an image. This guy had brown hair, no… that’s not right. That’s the other man. This guy, the Widowmaker, he had black hair and he liked wearing his hat. Like all the time. He growled at me. Oh no, the Widowmaker wasn’t going to let me see the truth about him. But he wanted to show me what he’d done, what he wanted to do again.
&
nbsp; See them? They are dead. I did that and so much more. I’m the Widowmaker.
“No,” I said as I closed the door and stepped away. “I’m not seeing that.” He wasn’t happy about my refusal to indulge him. He craved attention; he wanted an audience, and he wanted out. He was a dead person, but he never actually lived here, not officially. The woman in the bed, though, Kendal…this woman had known him well. Oh my. That’s bad. I could tell you didn’t want to get to know this guy. Not at all.
Stay focused on your task, Carrie Jo.
“Amara, I’m looking for Amara,” I said desperately as I felt my connection with the house weakening. I was beginning to wonder if Amara was actually here at all. I saw another door. This door had a shiny blue painted finish. I could feel cold air blowing from beneath it. That was an odd blue, more of a modern blue and not a color that was used in Kendal’s time.
This must be a door to the right time—to our time. Okay, then. One more chance. One more shot at this. It had been a while since I’d dreamed so intensely, and it was taking its toll on my energy.
“Amara?” I asked as I slowly opened the door.
Chapter Eight—Carrie Jo
“Amara, is that you?” A woman with dark hair was hunkered on the ground about five feet in front of me. She was messing with something. I could hear clacking sounds, like she was stacking rocks. “Amara?” I asked again as I stepped closer. She must have heard me because she rose to her feet and spun around with a tiny flashlight in her hand. The batteries were dying, and her hands were shaking. I could hear water running. I wasn’t in the house. I was somewhere else but not far from Gracefield. I could hear the Widowmaker whispering furiously in my ear. He was swearing at me with his deep, southern drawl. He called me things I’d never heard before.
“Go away. I’m not here to help you.”
I stepped even closer to Amara. She was crying and banging on the flashlight hoping to get it going again. The woman was a little older than me, not by much. She wore a black t-shirt and blue jeans. She had straight hair as dark as her shirt, which she wore tied back in a ponytail, but it wasn’t perfect. She was unkempt, dirty. I could see silver earrings, and her tan skin was dirty too. If I had to do a sketch, I would nail it because I was so close to her. I stepped back when I saw her flinch. Remember, Carrie Jo. She’s a dream catcher too. She’ll easily sense you. Don’t frighten her.
“Who’s there?” Her flashlight decided to work, and she blasted the light in my face. “Holy crap!” As she saw me, she dropped her flashlight and I could hear her shoes on the stone floor. “Who are you?”
Carrie Jo. My name is Carrie Jo. I’m here to help you! Can you tell me where you are?
But she wasn’t talking to me. She hadn’t seen me at all. The Widowmaker opened the door behind me. Swear words were falling off his lips as he staggered into the room; his prominent hat cast a horrible shadow and made him seem even taller. With a menacing growl, the angry ghost raced toward her. He couldn’t get me, but he would get her.
Amara! Run! You have to run! Out the door! Run out the door! You’ll have to go for it!
I heard her scream and the sounds of running footsteps, but then it was as if I had been pulled out of the room like a kite on a string. Like water down a drain.
Yes, pulling me. Tugging me. Dragging me back.
I experienced the familiar pins-and-needles feeling in my feet, legs and hands. I was shaking. No. Hands were shaking me. “Ashland?” I asked through clenched teeth. Nope, not Ashland. My knight in shining armor was dead asleep beside me. Sleeping like a rock, like he normally did. The hands were smaller. Lily was here, and she was terrified for me. Even in the dim light, I could see her wide eyes.
“I’m okay, Lil. I’m okay,” I slurred my words, but she didn’t wait for me to fully wake up. She snatched the covers back and climbed in next to me, trembling and cold. Ashland stirred beside me.
“Hey? What’s going on? Lily? What are you doing in here, baby?”
“She’s alright. I’ve got her, Ash. Go back to sleep,” I said as I pulled my niece closer. My mouth was dry and my heart was still racing from my dream walking experience, but my needs could wait. Lily whined as I pulled her close and climbed out of the bed with her. No sense in all three of us losing sleep. I slid my feet into my fuzzy slippers while holding Lily, and then we headed out of the room. My first thought was to help her fall back asleep by putting her back in her comfortable bed, but she clung to me like an octopus and whined.
“No bed?”
“No,” she whined again, and I was too tired to argue with her. Not long ago, Ashland had kindly placed a padded rocking chair by the balcony doors. It had been a life saver on nights when the kids were sick or I just couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to make the long trek downstairs. The Blue Room, my favorite room at Seven Sisters, was too far away on those sleepless nights. I shuffled to the chair and flicked on the lamp light. It was a dull lamp, which was perfect for nights like this.
Easing into the chair, I cuddled up with my niece and whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” It was such a rare treat to hear those words from her lips. Lily Jardine wasn’t one to say “I love you” too much, unless she really meant it.
Putting my feet up on the fabric-covered ottoman, I rocked back and forth until we were both sawing logs. I knew that I was snoring because I woke myself up twice. Lily whined in her sleep, but I patted her back and she settled back down. One of those times when our mutual snoring woke me up, when my back was hurting and my mouth was still dry, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Barely opening my eyes, I glanced up expecting to see Ashland standing there, but it wasn’t my husband. Muncie’s warm brown eyes appraised us, and I felt his hand lift. He touched Lily’s curls and smiled at me.
Fanmi mwen.
“Yes, fanmi mou,” I agreed with him. Feeling emotional, I added, “Please stay close to her.”
Lily stirred and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She frowned up at me and then caught a glimpse of Muncie before he shimmered into nothing. He must really love me to come back to this place, a place that didn’t hold such wonderful memories for him in life. He must really love us both. Fanmi mwen.
“Am I dreaming?” Lily asked in a whisper. “Who are you talking to?”
“No, you are not dreaming, but you were snoring pretty good, Lily Bell. You’re going to have to hop up because my arm is asleep.”
“I don’t want to go back to my room.”
I rubbed her hands in mine as she staggered to stand. Why were we both so cold? Ah, that’s right. The dead always take a little heat away from you. They can’t help it; it’s their energy. “Is something bothering you, Lily? You know you can tell me anything.”
“No, I can’t.”
I winced at her words. “Yes, you can. It might not be easy, but you can do it.” She didn’t act like she wanted to talk and whined about being sleepy. “Why don’t you climb in the bed with Bubba?” That was her name for AJ sometimes when he behaved to her standards and did all she asked. For someone who wasn’t a big sister, she sure had big sister written all over her. She sure loved being his cousin. She took that role very seriously.
“Okay. Will you walk with me?”
“Sure,” I said as we snuck into Ashland James’ room. He was half on the bed and half off. I eased him back up, and he never stirred. Lily wasted no time climbing over him and positioning herself against the wall.
“May I have Super Bear?” she asked in a small voice.
“Is there any room in that bed for Super Bear?” She nodded and patted the pillow beside her. AJ moaned as if to tell us to be quiet. “Okay,” I said as I tried not to sound too put out by her request. God, I was so tired. Completely drained. On near tiptoes, I retraced my steps and then hurried down the hall to Lily’s room. As I flicked the light on, I heard a slight scratching sound. Like the sound you would hear if there was a rodent nearby. Gentle, quiet scratching on wood or paper. Oh, no. Please tell m
e we don’t have mice. Or worse, rats. I’m definitely going to have to call the exterminator in. Is this why Lily was so afraid to be in here? Is this why she didn’t want to sleep in her room? I scanned the room for signs of vermin but saw nothing even when I turned the side lamp on. After flipping the switch, I studied the floor around the bed, but my sleepy eyes could not find the missing bear. Everything was in its place; it was a very tidy room that smelled like scented markers and apple shampoo. I love you, Lily. I hope this is just a phase you’re going through. I can’t do this every night.
“Where are you, Super Bear?”
Usually she kept the bear in the window or on the floor next to her bed. It had been her favorite gift at Christmas, one that I felt exceptionally proud of since I was usually pretty bad at gift buying. Nope. Super Bear wasn’t in her usual hangouts, so I searched the closet and even searched under the bed.
Where in the world have you put him, Lily? I wandered back to my room thinking maybe she brought the bear with her when she came to wake me up. Ashland was dead asleep, but there was not a trace of the world’s greatest bear.
Geesh, what am I going to do now? Lily wasn’t the kind of kid that took no for an answer. Not when it came to her nighttime rituals. Not when it came to Super Bear. Unsure what to do, I grabbed the shabby-looking unicorn from the box in the closet and prayed that my replacement would suffice. Maybe like me she would be too tired to complain too much.
As I slipped out of the room, I turned off the light and closed the door. I lingered outside the door a few seconds to see if the scratching sound would return. It didn’t. By the time I made it back to my son’s room, Lily had fallen asleep. No sense in waking her up to tell her that I couldn’t find Super Bear. I placed the unicorn in the bed between the two children and left them to sleep. I glanced at my watch and fitness tracker.
Haunted Gracefield Page 5