Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity)

by Anabell Martin

  Aimee came out of a door marked “Staff Only” soon after, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup and a bagel. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the three of them sitting there on the floor, towels over their heads, and dripping water onto the carpet.

  “Is everything OK?” She asked Lindsey, panic written all over her face. “Did something happen at the house? Did the storm –”

  “Well, um…” Lindsey wasn’t sure that Aimee would appreciate any mention of spirits or ghosts at her place of employment so she glanced at Darby nervously. The old woman seemed to take a hint and shuffled to the waiting area where she busied herself by straightening the chairs and stacking magazines. Lindsey was fairly certain that she was within earshot so she chose her words carefully.

  “Well, something did happen at the house, Mom, but it wasn’t the storm. It was, well, you know that thing I keep telling you about?”

  “Not this ghost bullshit again, Lindsey!”

  “Ms. Foster, she’s right – ”

  “It flung the door wide open –”

  “It growled at us –”

  “The windows flew open –”

  All three girls jumped up and began talking excitedly at once; it was imperative that Aimee listen and believe them. Instead, she put her bagel and tea down on the ledge at the nurse’s station and turned on them, her hands up in the air.

  “I have absolutely had it! This is a hospital and I am at work. You three got in the car and drove here in dangerous weather just to rant and rave about something that exists only in overactive imaginations fueled by the very real effects of the tropical storm hammering us right now.” She turned her glare on Lindsey full blast, “The very storm that you were told to stay out of. I’m disappointed in you, Lindsey. I want you to listen to me and I want you to listen good, all three of you. A house cannot hurt you but you can certainly hurt yourselves by letting your imaginations run amok. You could’ve been killed driving in this mess. Or you could have killed someone else. I swear!”

  Defeated, they stood there and let Aimee rant. Darby was watching them with her weathered hand over her mouth. Aimee seemed to relax a little when they didn’t respond.

  “You three probably watched a scary movie or were telling stories and the storm got to all three of you. It’s an old house and old houses make noise. Mix in the atmosphere this storm has created and you’ve got a spooky setting. But you girls are old enough to know the difference between reality and fiction.”

  “Mom, whatever it was shook the house! If it can do that, don’t tell me that it isn’t real or that it can’t hurt me!”

  “Lindsey, it was either the thunder or the rain shaking the house. The winds are whipping around at 50 miles per hour out there. For the love of all that is holy! Now I want the three of you to march your soaked asses back down to whatever you drove here in and go straight home. If I have not heard from you in 20 minutes to let me know that you got home safe, I will send the entire police force of Walterboro your way. And so help you God if I have to do that and you’re not in a ditch somewhere. We’ll talk about this later, Lindsey.” She turned, picked up her snack, and walked into the second hospital room to the left without looking back.

  “Aw, man,” Maddie said, snapping her fingers. “Why doesn’t she believe us? Why would we lie?”

  “Girls,” drawled Darby, walking over to them. “I would be gettin’ on back home if I were you. Retreat House does have quite a history; maybe I’ll tell y’all about it one day. But for now, just remember that the dead cringe at the name of God, so if you get scared, call on Him. He’ll send one of His angels to protect ya.”

  Darby looked long and hard at the three of them before patting them each on the cheek with her a hand that had been softened by Father Time.

  They drove back in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. When they reached Retreat House, neither of them wanted to go in. But Lindsey had to. She needed to call her mom and lock the house up. They crept in the front door, holding hands and looking around, but everything was quiet.

  “Why don’t we go to the barn, keep Wind Dancer company tonight?” Michelle suggested as they looked up the stairs, each wondering if they were brave enough to go back up to Lindsey’s room.

  Lindsey steeled her resolve, said a quick prayer, and marched up the stairs, the twins on her heels. She grabbed her cell phone, pillow, and comforter then marched back downstairs. She called the hospital and left a message with Darby. The trio then locked the back door, left through the front, locked it, and drove over to the Robbins’ barn without looking back.

  The howl of the storm drowned out the low, sad moan that echoed through the empty house.

  Eight

  Priory of His Holy Powers, Southern Cloister

  Calliel paused before the Rector’s door. Uriel did not like to be disturbed during reflection, but this was urgent. He toyed with the scroll in his hands, the waxy seal on the opening still warm and pliable. He raised a fist and knocked twice on the heavy oak door.

  “Enter.”

  Calliel stepped into the misty, candle-lit chantry at a deep bow. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but Pater Michael said that you should see this. There has been a spiritual breach. It isn’t urgent enough to disturb Camael, but that it is still enough of an issue that it is going to require immediate attention from a specialist in the area.”

  Uriel looked up from leather-bound book on which he’d been concentrating and searched Calliel’s face before asking, “Where?”

  Calliel wiped sweat from his bronze brow and loosened his grip on the small scroll. “Sector 32, sir. The old Retreat place.”

  Uriel ran his hand through his thick, blonde hair and sifted through a stack of papers on his brass table top. “That place again? I thought that area was cleansed and sealed by other agents a while back.”

  “It was sir, but something unforeseen has happened. It appears that a possibly malevolent spirit has been released into the house. The specifics are here.” Calliel extended the scroll in front of him.

  Uriel took the parchment from the messenger’s outstretched hand. He broke the seal, unfurled the letter, and read silently. “Hmmm. There are two residents in the home. Are they both aware of the issue?”

  “As far as I know only one of them has had an experience. Nothing dangerous, though. At least not yet.”

  “Who alerted Michael to the event?”

  “I am sorry, sir, I do not know. All that Pater Michael said was that a witness to the activity in the house notified him just before dawn.”

  Uriel nodded. “Is Brother Thamy back from his watch?” he asked.

  “No sir, I haven’t seen him.”

  “Who, then, do we have to take care of the issue?”

  “Pater Michael suggested Brother Elion. He knows that area well.”

  “Hmmm. Is he currently in chambers?”

  “Yes, sir, he is. I just saw him at the sunrise assembly this morning.”

  Uriel bent over his desk and hastily wrote something at the bottom of the scroll, rolled it back up, and resealed it with dripping wax from a flickering votive candle.

  “Take this to him, please. Tell him that he is to leave at once and to keep his guard up; we don’t know what has happened at that address. It could be nothing, but we can never tell these days. Tell him that I expect a report from him as soon as he has assessed the situation. And above all, tell him that I expect discretion.”

  “Yes, sir.” Calliel bowed at the waist again and backed out of the gilded room. Once the door clicked shut, he straightened and hurried down the hall to his friend’s chambers. He knocked quietly although he was sure that Elion was already aware of his presence.

  “Calliel, my brother! How can I help you?”

  “Uriel would like for you to check on a situation that has arisen. The details are in here,” Calliel passed the scroll to Elion. “He wants an update as soon as you know what the severity of the situation is. God speed.”

  Elion n
odded as he scanned the report. He hadn’t seen anything like this in a while. People these days were always playing with supernatural mediums, but it rarely resulted in anything. To truly reach the other side took specific tools, know how, and intent. This was probably nothing. Then again, if Uriel was disturbed enough to send him out, it could very well be something.

  He stood, bowed before the crucifix on his wall, grabbed his essential tools, and took off into the setting sun.

  Nine

  “Do you work today?” Michelle asked Lindsey.

  For the last few days the twins had been coming over first thing in the morning to have breakfast with Lindsey. They said it was more interesting being there to hear Aimee’s stories when she came home from work than it was at home.

  Lindsey thought, though, that it was out of guilt that they stayed with her so much. She knew they felt responsible for the angry tone of the spirit that lurked the halls of Retreat House. Not a day had gone by without something happening to Lindsey physically. The rancorous spirit would breathe on, scratch, and poke her several times a day. Unlike the friendly spirit before, this angry specter didn’t care if anyone else was around.

  “Look at this!” she squealed at her mother one afternoon when a large welt rose up on upper arm. The stinging wound was obviously a scratch, but it wasn’t bleeding. “See, I told you, Mom. Something is in this house!”

  Aimee rolled her eyes and said with a deep sigh, “Lindsey, you just came in from outside ten minutes ago. You snagged your shoulder on a thorn bush and didn’t feel it. Get a grip, honey. I’m not calling on ‘The Exorcist’ because of the bramble outside.”

  Lindsey knew it was pointless to protest or try to prove her point anymore. This was in her lap now and she had to figure out a way to stop it. She knew the harmless pranks from before had been replaced by something more sinister and that the catalyst had been that night with the board, the night of the storm. But how could she reverse it all?

  She thought back to the morning after that fateful night. She slept on the cold, hard, concrete floor of the barn with her friends. They were there for the mare, they’d told Mr. and Mrs. Robbins. Neither girl wanted to divulge the fact that they had just seemingly angered a spirit from beyond the grave. They woke sore and stiff the next morning and walked, hesitantly, back to Retreat House.

  The morning had been calm and beautiful. The storm had blown up the coast and was hammering North Carolina instead. The doom and gloom had been replaced by bright sunshine and a huge, bright rainbow that arced across the baby blue sky. A thick mist hovered over the estuary waters and low to the ground around the trunks of the trees. For a few moments, she thought it had all been a bad dream.

  One step into the house told her she was dead wrong.

  The air in the house was thick and foreboding, very heavy. It was like a giant hand had pushed the 12-foot-high ceilings down several feet, changing the pressure in each room. As they stood in the living room, they heard footsteps creak slowly across the floor in the room above them – Lindsey’s room.

  “Maybe your mom is home,” Maddie rationalized, staring up at the ceiling.

  “No, her car wasn’t out there,” Michelle said, staring up, too.

  The steps stopped and everything was quiet again, but they felt the presence there all the same; they could feel it looking at them.

  “Lindsey? Are you listening to me?” Michelle snapped her fingers over Lindsey’s bowl.

  “Oh, sorry,” she pulled her focus from her timorous musings and back to the girl sitting across from her. “No, I’m off for the next two days, why?”

  “Maddie and I are going to drive out to Charleston and go to the water park. Get away for a day, you know? Can you come with?”

  “Wow. Yeah, that’d be cool. What time?”

  “Well, now if you want to go.”

  Lindsey tossed her cereal bowl in the sink and ran upstairs. Inside her room, she could feel it watching her, but she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, not on brooding spirit. She hummed “Jesus loves me” softly as she went about changing her clothes and gathering necessities. She walked pointedly toward the door once she had changed into her white two-piece swim suit and a pair of cut off shorts and packed a canvas tote bag with her wallet and her newly acquired student ID. She slipped her sunglasses on top of her head and glanced at her feet. Her nails were a mess of chipped paint so she dashed into her bathroom and grabbed a bottle of pink nail polish.

  On the way out, Lindsey stopped in the laundry room to grab a towel and a new bottle of sunscreen. The lotion was in a box with other extra toiletries on the top shelf of the cabinet. She climbed on top of the dryer and pulled out the box she was after. She fumbled through it, stopping when she saw the brown bottle with coconuts on the front; she tossed it into her bag. As she began to fold the flaps closed she saw the corner of the bent envelope the lawyer had given her mom back in Indiana. She pulled it from beneath the various containers of shampoo, face cream, and saline solution, sparing a nervous glance over her shoulder. Inside, she could feel the papers that her mother had kept from her all these weeks. Without thinking twice, she stuffed it into her bag, too.

  She met her friends at their house a few minutes later. Once she was in the backseat of Michelle’s Jeep, she propped her flip-flopped foot on the seat and painted her toenails. The simple task was more difficult than she’d expected as they headed down Highway 64.

  “Are all the roads around here so poorly kept?” Lindsey asked when they hit what seemed like the 100th pot hole. She completely missed the nail and painted the knuckle of her big toe. She wiped the wet polish off with her fingertip and hit the nail on the second try.

  Michelle shrugged. “Pretty much. Between the constant flow of logging trucks and the people who commute to Charleston and Summerville for work, it would be nearly impossible to redo them. Even the most minor repairs are a pain in the ass.”

  Lindsey watched the trees pass by the car on both sides. The barren stretch of road was upsetting. Every once in a while they would pass a section of land that had been attacked by loggers. Stumps of the dead trees stood up just a foot or so out of the ground, like nature’s tombstones. The stumps were almost always surrounded by a soft mist, as if they had just exhaled their last breaths.

  “Wow, that’s really sad,” Lindsey muttered. She wasn’t against logging, per se, but to see a lot that was once lush and alive now dead and broken was depressing; she wondered how many creatures had lost their homes, maybe even their lives, in the demolition.

  Further down the road Lindsey realized there wasn’t a place to stop anywhere. No place to get a drink, no place to pee, no place to get gas. She remembered her first trip down this road and her mother’s warning about poison ivy.

  “What happens if you run out of gas out here?”

  “You’d be shit out of luck, that’s what. And you better hope you have a cell that gets service out here or you’re going to have one hell of a walk,” Maddie answered. “Thanks to gang activity a while ago, very few people are willing to stop and help a stranger on the side of the road anymore.”

  “Gangs? Here?”

  “Yeah! Don’t you read the newspaper? There was a story in the Post and Courier a week or so ago about state agents arresting like 20 people here in connection with gang shootings. I’m surprised your Mom hasn’t mentioned any of it to you since she works at the hospital.”

  “Well, Mom works labor and delivery, not E.R. But I’m sure she’s heard something. I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned anything?”

  Mentioning her mother reminded Lindsey of the envelope. Inside, there were two regular size envelopes with a stack of legal-looking paperwork. Her stomach twisted and then dropped to her feet as she read the words that had been printed on heavy, rose-colored stationary.

  “Oh my God…” she whispered.

  “What?” Maddie looked over her seat. “What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”

  “My mom,” Lindsey beg
an, her voice quivering. “She said she inherited the house from her ‘mother.’ But she wouldn’t explain further. I assumed she meant Gramma. Listen to this.”

  Thanksgiving 2007

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I know that you are called Aimee, but I named you Elizabeth before you were born, back when you and I were together, inseparable. So to me, you will always be Elizabeth.

  Dearest, the drugs they have me on will soon render me unable to hold the laptop and type, so I must fit in 34 years’ worth of explanations into a few short pages. There are so many things that I want to say to you, but there is not enough ink, paper, or time. I doubt that you want to hear any of it anyway because no matter what I say the people who adopted you are your parents. I am a nobody to you; a nobody that you’ll never meet, a nobody that you’ll never know, a nobody that will never be able to talk to you so that you might understand why I made the decisions that I did.

  But please know this, dear heart, not one day has gone by that I have not thought about you and what might have been. I did not give you up because I didn’t want you. Quite the opposite, really. I gave you up because I loved you so much and wanted you to have a stable two-parent home. You deserved that. And I couldn’t provide it for you, especially not down here.

  I’ve only told one other living soul what I am about to divulge to you here in black and white. I hope that this information will prove useful should you one day decide to explore your roots.

  I was the seventh, and very much unwanted, child to a poor, farming family in Tennessee. I made good grades and was ecstatic when I was accepted at the University of South Carolina. I left home the day I graduated high school and never looked back. That was the summer of 1972. I was 17 years old.

  Back then people didn’t rely on student loans the way they do today. If I wanted to go to school I needed to be able to pay my way. So, I went to Columbia, S.C. and was lucky enough to find a job working as a maid for the Bosley’s – a wealthy family with ties to the university. This job was going to allow me to save enough to pay for my first semester before school even started. And when the term did start, I’d have a place to live rent-free and money coming every week. I thought it would be a win-win situation.