Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  A loud thud echoed from the staircase outside the parlor. Anne looked towards the door and took the viewer back from her. “Would you take photographs like this? For a certain Mr. Cooper?”

  Adelaide’s cheeks flushed. “Waiting for a likeness to be captured is long and daunting. I don’t think I could hold a vulgar pose for that long. And, honestly, if he wanted to look up my skirts, all he’d have to do is ask.”

  “I know he stayed at your house the night of the raid.”

  “We’re courting.”

  “So that means your father lets him sleep in your bed?”

  The noise from the staircase sounded again, a patterned pounding like feet hopping from one step to the other. There was a soft laugh, a sing song jumble of words Adelaide couldn’t quite understand. “He slept beside my bed, on the floor. Next to his musket.”

  “Where did you sleep?”

  “Next to him.”

  The sound from the stairwell was louder and this time, it was the distinct sound of someone treading up the stairs. Annie was staring at the doorway, her brow knitted in concern. “Tell me you don’t hear that.”

  “Someone of the stairs?”

  “There shouldn’t be anyone on the stairs. Our quarters are private. My father is down in the ready-made store and there’s no reason he’d send someone up here. None.”

  Adelaide swallowed hard, sliding her hand into her pocket. “We could look.”

  Annie slid to her side, reaching underneath her bed and pulling out a small glass bottle. Holy water. “It’s laughing.”

  Not only did Adelaide hear laughter, but she heard soft singing and whistling. It wasn’t a vengeful spirit or angry. If she had to guess, it almost sounded…lost. She pulled out her watch and cocked her head to the door. “Come on.”

  Annie slowly slid the box of the stereopticon cards underneath her mattress. “She isn’t hurting anyone.”

  “Neither was Lucy’s mother. But they don’t belong in this life, they’re gone.”

  “I think she’s just residual. She doesn’t know she’s gone.”

  “Annie.” Adelaide stood, awkwardly clinging to the bedframe as she maneuvered around her cage crinoline. “That’s all the more reason she needs to cross.”

  Annie pulled a small, leather pouch from her bedside table and shook out several colored stones. “For protection and cleansing…just in case.”

  Together they crept out into the stairwell. There was a large landing at the top of the staircase; on the bottom floor, an L shaped hallway led to the exterior door in one direction and to Frankel’s Ready Made Clothing store the other. Midway down the stairs, Adelaide could see a young girl dressed in the shift style, low cut gowns of the early century. She was staring at the wall, silently; her behavior suddenly very sullen.

  Adelaide clutched her watch at her side. The spirit knew. She knew they were coming for her.

  “Aliquam requiem puer.” It’s time to rest, child. Adelaide descended several steps closer to the girl.

  But I like it here. It reminds me of my Momma.

  “Videbis iterum verberabat.” You will see her again.

  The girl shook her head and began skipping down the steps, humming an off key tune.

  Adelaide glanced back at Annie. She nodded and then pulled the stones to her mouth, whispering an incantation in unfamiliar words and phrases, possibly even another language.

  Stepping down two more steps, Adelaide pressed her thumb to the watch clasp. “Vade cum Deo, fili mi.” Go with God, my child.

  The watch face swung open and soft, pure light poured down the staircase. It lit up the stairwell like the first rays of sunlight, enveloping the little girl in a warm, buttery glow. She started giggling, swaying from side to side as the watch drew her in.

  And then she was gone.

  Annie was still standing at the stop of the steps, her fist locked around the stones. “Do you know troubles me about this?”

  “That she didn’t want to go?”

  “No.” Annie started walking back towards her bedroom. She stopped. “She’s never once responded to me. Since I was a child, she’s walked up and down these stairs, singing and humming. God, it must have been fifty years ago when she died. My father told me she’d been playing on the stairs and slipped. Broke her neck at the bottom. But, Addy, my entire life, she’s never once spoken. It’s was the same movement, the same song, over and over again; every time I saw her. What changed?”

  Adelaide hesitated. “Are you sure she was residual before? Or did you just not see her often?”

  “I’m positive. I could have followed the pattern alongside her. My first attempts at divination were trying to contact her. I’d see the apparition and I’d hear her, but she never responded. She never stopped moving. What made today different?”

  “Something’s driving souls out of the grave. Like that thing we saw in Harper Cemetery.” Adelaide looked down at her watch, running her fingertip over the well-worn gold exterior. “I feel like something’s coming, like Brown’s raid was just a distraction.”

  Annie shifted the stones in her hand, her eyes still transfixed on the lower level. “It think it’s worse than that, Addy.”

  Adelaide stared at her.

  “I think it woke something up.”

  Chapter 11

  Late July, 1860

  THE SUMMER’S HEAT was overwhelming for the month of July and it seemed to only get worse as the days progressed towards August. The rivers were down, the soil parched. Adelaide had taken to sitting on the portico in the afternoons to work on her mending and stay away from the overbearing heat of the indoors. She felt damp all over, the sweat soaking into the waistband of her underdrawers and making her, on the whole, feel uncomfortable.

  But work had to continue. There were still chores to be done, washing to do, and baking to do every day. Nothing got to pause just because of the heat.

  She was also suffering from another, continual heat: her desire for Thomas. The intensity of his eyes and the pressure of his fingertips; everything they shared together building up the need—the craving—for each other. His letters were full of constant yearning; she remembered most of his last transcribed message:

  Surely there will be a time we can meet alone. Or, perhaps, I shall just have to work the nerve to call on you one morning, well before your father needs your help in the store, and have my way with you…let you touch me wherever those nimble fingers of yours want to touch. Knowing you are just outside the gate of the Armory each day drives me mad; knowing the feel of your skin and the taste of your lips yet unable to touch you again is enough to bring me to my knees.

  If she didn’t feel his touch between her legs soon, she was going to have to do it herself.

  “Did you put rocks in here or apples?” She turned the crank of the cider press as hard as she could, but it refused to budge. “Sarah, honestly, this shouldn’t take so long.”

  “It’s the heat.” Sarah peered into the upper bucket of the press and experimentally poked a finger inside. “It’s just jammed, that’s all. I’ll fix it, just give me a moment.”

  Adelaide stepped back and mopped her face with her apron. It was sweltering outside and she was covered in sweat and sticky apple juice. Though the sleeves of her work dress were rolled up, it seemed every other piece of fabric was sticking to her. Her underdrawers, her petticoats, her skirts; layer upon layer of sweat drenched fabric and a chafing corset were enough to drive her mad.

  “I hate a surplus of apples.” She complained to Sarah, waving a few inquisitive bees away from the juice. “The amount of cider we produce is not nearly equal to the amount of work we put into this.”

  “And, on the whole, decidedly unfair.” Sarah withdrew an apple core from the bucket. “Try it now.”

  Adelaide forced the crank around; it moved markedly smoother this time. “Better. Though, I would be happier if we were finished.”

  “It isn’t long now, just the rest of this basket.” Sarah motioned towards
a half full basket of apples. “Do you see those two gentlemen in the Armory yard?”

  Adelaide was glad her face was so flushed from exertion or else Sarah would have seen her blush. “I do.”

  “The one is Mr. Cooper.”

  “And the other is Mr. Hamilton.” Adelaide glanced up at her sister. “Is there a point to your statement, Sarah? Because you could help more. Anytime.”

  “It was merely an observation.” Sarah dropped a few more apples into the press. “He’s watching you.”

  Adelaide cranked harder. “Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Sarah, I don’t have time to be daft.” Adelaide gritted her teeth as she worked through the apple cores. “I want to get this finished so I can rinse off.”

  Sarah wiped her brow with her apron. “I think the smell of apples is refreshing.”

  “Certainly, but I smell of apples and sweat.” Adelaide wrinkled her nose. “I reek.”

  Her sister giggled. “It’s a good thing you are downwind from Mr. Cooper, in that case.”

  Adelaide cracked a slight smile, but continued with her work. Part of the apple cider was for their personal use, the rest her father would sell in the store. She wasn’t entirely sure what made working the cider press a woman’s job. It seemed that Levi was perfectly capable of running the press, yet, Poppa never made him. It was unfair.

  “Marvelous work, my dears.” Her father strolled down the steps and over to the cider bucket. “I had a feeling those were juicy apples.”

  Adelaide wiped her brow before sweat streamed into her eyes. “Yes, Poppa.”

  He studied the remaining apples in the basket. “Adelaide, I need you to tend the store for me while Robert and I attend to business matters in Charlestown. It won’t be for more than a few hours. I expect Robert to do his fair share this time.”

  Adelaide groaned and momentarily ceased turning the crank. If there was anything she hated more than making cider, it was tending the store. “But, Poppa, the cider.”

  “No arguments, Adelaide.” He motioned to the staircase. “Sarah can handle it. Now, you get upstairs and get cleaned off. I’ll not ask you again.”

  Defeated, Adelaide stormed up the staircase and into the house like a reprimanded child. She quickly peeled off her wet work dress, corset, petticoats, and chemise and tried to dry some of the sweat off with a rag. It helped a little, as did dry a pair of dry underdrawers and a chemise, but she still smelled apples. It was nauseating. She slipped her corset around her body and fastened it, tying a cage crinoline and two petticoats on before yanking a brown and ivory striped gown over her head. Poppa demanded she look her best when tending the store, but there wasn’t time to style her hair. Instead, she shook it loose—again smelling apples—and twisted it into a plain chignon. It would have to do, especially on such short notice. She didn’t even bother to change her stockings.

  Her father met her in the store and kissed the top of her head. “That’s a good girl. We’ll be home before long; mind the store until then.”

  She watched him clamber up into the wagon next to Robert. It seemed to take extra effort on his part, the heat was really getting to everyone. Not that winter was a real treat, but it would be markedly better than the humidity of summer.

  The store, as it had been most of the day, was empty. She figured it would be slow, since the Armory workers wouldn’t get paid for a few more days. Once their wives had the pay in hand, though, the store would be bustling. The Armory and factory workers in the Ferry made the money, but it was usually their wives who spent it.

  She settled down on a stool behind the counter and picked up the latest issue of Peterson’s magazine. Idly, she flipped through the pages and scrutinized a pattern for a knitted shawl. It was beautiful, but she hated knitting. It seemed just when she had her project started, she’d get her knits and her purls confused. She’d much rather spend her time crocheting. Or spirit hunting—nothing beat the thrill of adrenaline as she forced a specter to cross to the other side. Or guided it, as the case was with the child in Frankels. It was still so strange…

  Adelaide put her head down on the counter and fanned the back of her neck with the magazine. She was sweating already. Besides that, her back hurt from hunching over the cider press crank all afternoon. The heat seemed to boil over her collar and hang in her face like a thick, wool blanket. Between the heat in the store, the pain in her back, and the constriction of her corset, she was beginning to feel sick. What a miserable day.

  Sliding a hand up to her throat, she quickly unbuttoned the first few hook and eyes. It wasn’t ladylike and nowhere near proper, but she would take the chance. If anyone came into the store, she would quickly turn her back and re-hook them. Besides, she felt less suffocated without the collar pressing into her throat. She unhooked a few more, tugging the dress fabric and chemise away from her skin.

  Even Peterson’s had occasion to mock the current fashions. Skirts were at their most ridiculous circumference, but supposedly, it was how Queen Victoria wore her gowns. If it was good enough for the Queen of England, it was certainly good enough for her. There were times, though, that Adelaide longed for the gowns of the past. She had read of light, flimsy gowns with low cut necklines and sheer fabric. What a treat that would be in comparison to the high necked, long sleeved, bell skirted gowns of the present. Movement would be less restricted; she’d be more nimble as she combated the dead. That’s what she needed. Or a man’s trousers—now that would be ideal.

  The door to the store creaked open and quietly closed, a nice change of pace from the usual slam most patrons delivered. Someday, the glass panels in the door were just going to shatter. She figured it was Sarah to declare the cider finally finished, so she only looked up lazily, not bothering to button her bodice. “If you’re here to gloat about the cider, you can just leave. I’m not in the mood.”

  She nearly fell off the stool when she saw Thomas instead of her sister. Regaining her composure, she spread her lips into a coy smile. “The cider isn’t ready yet, if you’re wondering. I noticed your eyes on me. Highly inappropriate.”

  “No, I’m here to see you.” He leaned against the counter and cocked his head towards the door. “I saw your father and brother just left.”

  “They’ll be back soon.”

  “You must not have been expecting anyone to be a patron of your store today.” His eyes were locked on her exposed underpinnings; he glanced upward and into her eyes. “Though, I must ask: which of us is highly inappropriate?”

  “It’s been slow today.” She trailed her finger across the top edge of her corset. “You’ve seen me now, Thomas Cooper. Now what?”

  He placed his hat on the counter. “I told you, I came to see you. I took to lunch when I noticed your brother bring up the wagon. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you, my sweet, it was my desire to see you alone again. Short of breaking into your home and carrying you away, this is the best I can manage.”

  Her pulse quickened, desire radiating across her low abdomen. She squeezed out from behind the counter and took a few steps away from him. “It is unbecoming of a gentleman to be so desirous of a lady.”

  Thomas laughed and caught her arm as she passed. He pulled her close to him; she could smell the whisky on his breath. “Am I not always a gentleman around you, Miss Randolph?”

  She reached up and trailed her fingertips down his cheek, wetting her lips with her tongue before she spoke. “To be sure, you most certainly are, Mr. Cooper. Though, your letters, at length, sometimes are quite bawdy. And to me, a girl so innocent.”

  “I don’t think you’re quite as innocent as you claim to be, my lovely.” He cradled her cheek in his hand, sliding his hand back into her hair. “At least, I hope not.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “You’re what I want.”

  She squirmed out of his embrace and slid back behind the far counter, leaning up against the bolts of fabric on display. She pursed her lips together c
oyly. “My sister could come in any minute and catch you back here. Or David Hamilton: certainly he must be outside looking for you.”

  He laughed again and followed her behind the counter. “He’s not.” He suddenly stopped his advance and put his hands on his hips. “You will soon run out of room, Adelaide. Don’t think I won’t chase you around this store until I get my hands on you.”

  “Perhaps that’s my intention.”

  “Is it?” He seemed to think for a moment, and then lunged forward and grabbed her wrists, pulling her to him. “Then by all means, let me oblige.”

  His eyes dropped to her exposed throat and he reached up, gently trailing fingertip across her hot skin. Her pulse pounded; it was like his touch radiated down her body and in between her legs. She could see the desire in his eyes.

  He pulled her against him and guided her face to his. His face broke into a shy smile and very, very gently, he kissed her. It was soft and sweet, his lips gentle against hers with just the hint of his mouth parting and caressing her lower lip. He swept her against the back wall, pressing awkwardly against her hoops, and cupped her cheek with his hand. “You smell like apples.”

  She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and then tilted her chin up so she was looking directly at him. “I like it.”

  He pressed his lips to hers again. The kiss deepened almost instantly, his tongue lapping against hers and exploring her mouth at a maddeningly gentle pace. He pulled back with a soft smack. “It was worth waiting for.”

  Before she could say anything, he dipped his head down crushed his mouth against hers. It took her breath away; his lips were soft, the rhythmic movement of his tongue in her mouth turning her on to the point she sighed softly in her throat. She felt drunk with the heat and the pressure of his body against hers; she wanted to pull him up the back staircase and into her bedroom. She knew he wanted it, too. He kept her pinned in place against the wall with his hip, but had raised his hands to the front of her dress; fumbling with the hooks and eyes to further unfasten them.