A Whispered Darkness

by Vanessa Barger

  I pulled the bag from his grasp and handed him the one full of soda. “Not a chance. You take this and then we’ll see if you get your cheese balls.”

  A fine mist fell as we walked inside. Appropriately dark and gloomy. I glanced at the sky before we headed for the door. Haven caught my movement.

  “You know it’s supposed to be rain off and on until Halloween. The weather guy predicted storms.”

  “Great.”

  “Well, I suppose God has a sense of drama.”

  “Or a really warped sense of humor. Do me a favor—if you’re at my house in the next week during a storm or power outage, don’t run upstairs in your underwear. Those are always the first to die.”

  Haven chuckled. “Damn. There goes my Halloween costume.”

  ***

  October is a touchy month for those who can speak to the dead. The wall between worlds doesn’t fall at midnight on the thirty-first and then flip back up again twenty-four hours later. It’s a gradual thing, like flower bulbs that peek through in spring and explode overnight into full bloom.

  As we sat in front of the adventure movie, listening with half an ear to Haven’s engraver buzzing across the metal in the kitchen, I caught the feel of another person in the house. It was faint, almost like it snuck through our midst.

  I closed my eyes, opened myself and searched.

  Behind Haven in the kitchen, a thin, flickering form hovered.

  “I don’t freaking think so,” I muttered, jumping to my feet.

  I slid into the kitchen, fisted my hands on my hips, and frowned. Haven turned off the small tool and looked up. “What did I do?”

  I ignored him, keeping my eyes on the wall behind him. “Show yourself this instant.”

  The flicker moved toward the door, and in a moment of angry impulse, I reached out with a mental hand and grabbed the tail end of it. I jerked, hissing and opening my fist. A red mark arced across my palm.

  Haven moved from his chair, cradling my hand. His other arm circled me, pulled me against him. His muscles tensed. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. There was a spirit there, and I tried to hold it back.”

  The mark was already fading, though the spot throbbed a bit. I opened and closed my hand gingerly.

  “Is that normal?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never tried to hold a spirit before.”

  He slid a hand under my chin. “Let’s not try it again, okay?”

  “Not anytime soon anyway.”

  He frowned at my word choice, but I didn’t take it back. No sense in making a promise I would probably break later. I rubbed the spot, the pain already faded away. “I think it was the one your mother talked about. Vale.”

  Haven glanced around the room, then released me after a quick squeeze. “I thought there was a presence, but maybe it was my imagination.”

  “Why would he be here?”

  Haven shrugged and put the plastic safety glasses back on. He picked up the small engraving tool and positioned it over the silver disc, clamped carefully on a block of wood. “Sometimes he pops in. I don’t always notice anymore. I assumed if he was my father, he was looking in on me.”

  “And if he’s not?”

  “I hope Mom sent him.”

  Blowing out a deep breath, I wanted to shake him. “You talk about me and my attitude toward things. You can’t assume. What if it is something from my house?”

  “Why would it come here? They don’t seem to have any range outside the house, or we’d never have gotten the bracelet off Grant.” Haven shifted the tool in his hand. “Go back and enjoy the movie. A few more minutes, and I think I’ll have the engraving done. The lettering is a pain on this thing.”

  “You’re done talking about this, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “Claire, we need to deal with one thing at a time. I believe it was Vale, and for right now, he’s not a problem.”

  I stood there, debating, while Haven turned the tool back on. The grinding whine made me flinch and I backed out of the kitchen to the living room. Grant raised her brows at me.

  “Nothing. I remembered something I needed to tell Haven.”

  He rolled his eyes. “We’ve really got to work on your lying.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Later, as the movie wrapped up, I left the couch again and pulled Haven with me. We gathered paper plates and headed to the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up.

  “I need help, Haven.”

  He dumped the plates in the garbage. “Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

  “You’re sweet, but I mean real help. I need someone who can get rid of whatever is taking over my life. There has to be someone.”

  Haven leaned back against the countertop, one hand rubbed through his hair. “Believe it or not, Bryan and the Spirit Searchers are the local experts.”

  “Do you really think they can help?” I wanted help, but I didn’t believe Bryan or Laura wanted anything more than an exciting evening of ghosts and scares. They weren’t interested in anything more.

  “You met them, didn’t you? What do you think?”

  I squinted at him. “Are you sure you can’t read minds?”

  “I don’t have to with you, Claire. It’s written all over your face.” He moved, grabbing the rest of the trash from the counter. “Laura and Bryan aren’t the best examples, but I’m surprised you didn’t find Cain more convincing.”

  “He talked to Mom, not me. I didn’t see him because I was so irritated with the other two.”

  “Ah, well, Cain can help. But you’ll have to talk to him alone. When it comes to Laura, he’s got a blind spot. If you tell him the facts, he’ll listen. If she’s there, she’ll convince him you’re full of crap. When she wants something, she gets it.”

  “So how am I going to talk to him alone? She knows I don’t think this whole thing is a good idea.”

  Haven winked. “Leave that part to me. I’ll set everything up, and then take you to meet him this week.”

  “You really think they can help?”

  He walked over, sliding his hands around my waist. “The truth?”

  I nodded.

  “I think we should torch it. But that does present some problems.”

  The idea of the house in flames did have its appeal. “I’d have to move, for one thing.”

  He leaned down, his breath fanning across my lips. “Definitely not okay with me.”

  Any response was lost when he kissed me. All my questions sank away when his body pressed against mine.

  Until Grant started making gagging noises in the doorway.

  Haven pulled away and grinned at her. “Yes?”

  “Save it, lover boy. Cleaning up the kitchen, my ass.”

  He released me, and I tried not to look guilty. Even though I enjoyed it, I had to wonder if he’d known what I wanted to ask, so he’d distracted me. He’d done a damn good job of it too.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have to get home. Sooner or later she’ll come looking for us.” Grant’s smile faded and he grew pale.

  “It’ll be fine, Grant.”

  “What makes you believe I think different?” His words were surly, but I let it go. He tried hard to act macho about it.

  Haven took the silver charm from the kitchen table where he’d been working, and held it up with the original, careful not to touch anything but the napkin the older jewelry remained wrapped in.

  “Who knew you were such an artist?” I stroked a finger across the surface he’d etched. The delicate swirls and loops of the initials were exact copies of each other. He’d rubbed some sort of black polish into it to replicate the worn look, and without close inspection, they were the same.

  Grant sucked in a deep breath and took the one Haven offered. I tied it around his wrist when he thrust it toward me.

  “Now let’s get this show on the road. I don’t want to have to wait
and see what horrible things happen when I get back to the house.”

  We gathered our things and headed to the car. Nerves made my palms damp with sweat. Haven tried to make small talk, but worry painted his expression when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  I glanced back at my brother in the rear seat, one hand fiddled with the copied charm around his wrist. It didn’t have to work for long. We only needed enough time to figure out what the hell to do.

  ***

  Mom wasn’t home when we got there. She’d left a note on the counter, written in a strange mix of looping curves and mom’s round print.

  Working a double shift, and then I’ve taken off the remainder of the week to prepare for this weekend’s festivities. I cooked dinner for you. It’s in the icebox.

  I slid the paper to Grant and opened the refrigerator door. Two neat plates complete with parsley garnishes sat on the top shelf, neatly wrapped in cling film. I pulled them out, turned, and looked at Grant.

  “Never, in our entire lives, has our mother made food that looked like the cover of a foodie magazine.”

  Without another word, I ripped off the cling film and dumped each into the garbage.

  “Good choice.” Grant was pale and pointed to the sink.

  I turned, my heart plummeting to my gut. A box of rat poison peeked out from behind a bottle of soap on the counter. The flap was still open, and my stomach turned over.

  “She wouldn’t. Would she?” I murmured.

  “I know Mom wouldn’t,” Grant said. “But I can tell you from my brief experience, whatever is inside her would.”

  “That’s it. Don’t drink anything you didn’t open. Don’t eat anything she fixes.”

  “Not a problem. But if she’s going to be here all week, what will we do?”

  My gaze returned back to the box of poison. “Refuse to eat anything she fixes or brings into the house. Gloves are off now, and I’m not worried about hurting her feelings.”

  I pinched the box between two fingers and dumped it into the trash as well. One thought nagged me. “Why would she leave it out where we could see it? The spirit is smarter than that.”

  “Maybe Mom’s not totally gone.” Grant sounded so hopeful. I latched on to the feeling.

  “Let’s hope so. For now though, we have to find some food.”

  Grant went to the pantry and returned with a box of mashed potatoes and a couple cans of veggies. “Despite this being healthy, I vote for canned and boxed items.”

  I nodded. “All right, then.”

  We made dinner and ate in relative silence. My mind bounced between the belief the food had been poisoned, and the thought perhaps the whole thing was an elaborate ruse designed to suggest the idea. To make us more paranoid.

  It worked.

  Though I’d finally caught up on my sleep, I felt ancient. My brain refused to turn off, and the old fear I would lose it again swamped me. If I lost it here, my life was over, and so was everyone else’s.

  We washed dishes, and by unspoken agreement, brought our homework to do downstairs. Neither of us wanted to be alone. We’d managed to spend as much time outside of the house as possible. Now, being here, I realized how much the thinning of the barrier between worlds affected it. Being with Haven, and living in the house and becoming more comfortable with myself, I’d been able to begin to come to terms with my gifts, despite my fears.

  That came with a price.

  Though I blocked them out, the presence of the ghosts in the house still made me flinch. The longer we stayed, the more I could feel them. The souls flickered around us, pacing and waiting. We turned on the television while we worked, but half my attention stayed focused on them. They were stronger now. I didn’t know if that was because of the approaching holiday or because they were wearing us down. It could have been both.

  One in particular kept walking past the doorway. I didn’t think Grant noticed until I heard him curse.

  His eyes were riveted on the doorway, where a filmy figure of a boy, a little older than him, hovered. He was dressed like a newsboy, complete with tweed cap, though he faded out at the knees.

  His eyes burned with intensity and were much darker than they should have been, though they weren’t black like the others. His lips twisted into a snarl, and a low rumble echoed by us.

  “Ernest Levingworth,” I said, the name coming to me without my choosing. “Stop it.”

  The hate on his face grew, and he moved forward. As soon as he did, the temperature dropped, and fear replaced the rage on his face. He winked out, as quickly as he had come.

  My heart stuttered, and I wondered what else was there.

  “Shit. Is that what it’s like all the time for you?” Grant rubbed a hand over his face.

  “Only when they want to be seen.”

  “Why would he want to be seen right now?”

  I tapped the charm we’d made for his bracelet. “EL. Ernest Levingworth. I think our lie has been discovered.”

  He blanched. “What does it mean?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

  “Is anything else going to make an appearance?” The temperature in the air dropped even more. Faint white puffs plumed in front of our faces.

  With a groan, I nodded. “I’m thinking yes.”

  I got up and moved closer to Grant. Everything in the house paused, still as death. The air bit into exposed skin, and something around us shifted. My entire body jerked at the sensation, as if I’d stuck my finger in a light socket for an instant. I refused to open myself up and look at it.

  I wanted to. Whispers started, barely audible, around me.

  Claire.

  Help us. We need you.

  Just a tiny peek will tell you everything you want to know.

  All the answers.

  I covered my ears, but they continued, growing louder though muffled. They wanted me to look at them so badly.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, curling into a crouch. Vaguely, I was aware of Grant moving beside me. He spoke, but it was a whisper from a distance against the mumbling crowd pressing in on my brain.

  Listen to us and it will stop.

  You must help us.

  A dull ache formed at the base of my neck, working its way up by skull. Like fingers, squeezing.

  It isn’t us. Not our fault.

  We need you. You’re our last hope.

  Listen.

  Listen.

  LISTE—

  Something warm touched me, and the almost unbearable pain began to drain away in dull throbs. My eyes fluttered open. Haven knelt in front of me, chest heaving and water dripping from his nose. His eyes were wild with panic and bright with moisture.

  “Haven? W-what are you doing here?”

  “I was searching, and then the vision changed. You’re okay. One of you is okay.”

  His words slurred with panting breaths and fear. He pulled me toward him, his arms squeezed me tight. Water soaked into my clothes, but I didn’t care, as long as he held me. His touch chased the pain away, helped warmth to seep back into my limbs. His words finally registered, and I pushed away enough to look at him.

  “One of us is okay?” Grant stood in my field of vision, pale but fine. “Who else are you worried about?”

  A shudder passed through him. “The home called. My mom is missing.”

  “Oh no. When? What happened?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. They said she packed a bag. There is food missing from the kitchen. She planned it. I was out in the woods looking for her. I thought maybe she’d be where we found her before. I reached out to try and have a vision of where she might be, and instead I got slammed with a vision of you, and the ghosts pressing down…”

  His voice trailed off, and I knew I didn’t want to hear what the ending would have been without his interference.

  “Anyway, you’re all right. I can’t leave you here, but I have to go for Mom.”

 
I grabbed his shoulders. “We’ll help. Whatever they would have done, they can’t try the same thing again. I’ll be fine. Your mom is more important at the moment.”

  I was ashamed to admit that any excuse to focus on something else, to get away from the house, was welcome.

  Haven pressed a hard kiss to my lips. “Thanks. Just be careful. If you’ve got any extra flashlights, we’ll take them too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Haven did his best to seem calm, but he shifted from foot to foot, glancing out at the increasing drizzle with alarm. Tonight was not a good night to be lost, or be looking for someone who was. If we weren’t careful we’d end up hurt, or pass right over her without even knowing it.

  I pulled the hood of my coat over my head as we went outside.

  “I’ve already covered most of the way between your house and mine. I haven’t checked in the direction of Bryan’s house yet.”

  “I’ll do it,” I volunteered. “He’s less likely to arrest me if he finds me wandering past his house.”

  “All right. Grant, you can search in between with me. We’ll meet back on the porch in an hour. Call if you need help. If your cell doesn’t work or gets lost, yell. Someone will come. And don’t do anything stupid.”

  ***

  Grant and I got back first. We were soaked through, cold, and I had found nothing. Grant found a hair tie, which could have been hers or one of a hundred other girls’. I checked my phone’s display again. We’d both been late, but Haven was working on a good twenty minutes.

  “Do you think he’s found anything?”

  “He’d have called,” Grant said. Worry creased his forehead, as we both listened for a shout and scanned the darkness around us.

  Finally, Haven emerged from the inky blackness around the circle of porch light right as I decided it was time to go after him. Something was bunched in his arm, and he held it against his chest as if it was precious. My heart plummeted.

  Next to me, Grant drew a sharp breath.

  “I didn’t find her,” he said. “Only her jacket and locket.”