by John Bladek
Emily enlarged a black-and-white photo at the top of the page. A cold sweat broke out over my entire body. A young girl wearing a nun’s habit stared out, serious and unsmiling. The quality of the photograph was faded and poor. Her look of vicious malevolence was absent, but I’d recognize the face anywhere.
Pamela Mayo was the nun I’d seen on the beach.
chapter fourteen
I stared unblinking at the screen, my hands shaking. “I saw her on the beach,” I said. “That’s her. That’s the girl.”
“The one you saw drown?” Emily leaned in for a closer look.
“This is crazy,” I said.
We sat in silence.
A million thoughts whirled through my mind.
“Well, I guess that explains why they didn’t find a body,” Emily said. She took my hand. “You’re cold as ice.”
I took the mouse and clicked “print,” then scrolled through the rest of the search results, frantically scanning each headline. There had to be something here to tell me the woman I had seen drown really wasn’t a ghost.
Most of what I found were follow-up articles about Pamela Mayo’s drowning. I clicked to the next page. At the top, was an article headed, “Winterbay Abbey Met with Second Drowning: Closure Inevitable?” The date read March 10, 1964. Emily and I leaned in closer.
Winterbay Abbey was struck this weekend with its second drowning victim in just three years. Seventeen-year-old Helen Kelly’s remains were found washed ashore after she went missing on March 9th. The previous drowning at the nunnery of nun Pamela Mayo in 1961 had shaken the small community. Both deaths are blamed on high tides and poor weather conditions.
Local officials are now speculating whether this tragedy, combined with financial difficulties, will lead to a closure of the historic building. The Sisters of Immaculate Conception, headquartered in Boston, who run the abbey, have so far made no comment on the matter, but there is conjecture that the abbey’s mission has become outdated, and these tragedies only add to the desire to close the site.
Official funeral arrangements for Kelly have not been announced.
An additional black-and-white photo accompanied this article. The picture showed another smiling woman wearing a nun’s habit. Her expression was soft, approachable—the exact opposite of Pamela’s.
“Wow, she’s very pretty,” Emily said. “How sad.”
“Outdated mission? I wonder what that means,” I said.
Emily shrugged. “You don’t see nuns around like you used to. I think they’re kind of passé now.”
I nodded and flicked the mouse to check the results further down the page. Seemed that Winterbay Abbey had its fair share of fatalities. Three nuns had all fallen to their deaths, two down a flight of stairs, and another on the rocks above the beach. All were elderly, frail. The first one was the Mother Superior from the earlier story, Mother Angelica. Sad, but nothing supernatural.
“Looks like nuns were dying left and right,” I said. “No wonder they wanted to close the place. It was depopulating.” I thought back to Vaughn’s talk of pranks, the bizarre bonfires. “This must be where the Halloween rituals come from, so many deaths. No wonder the kids think the place is haunted. Winterbay Abbey is tragedy central.”
“It is haunted,” Emily said. “It has to be. That nun, Pamela Mayo, is haunting the abbey.”
I swallowed. “We don’t have real evidence of that, if there even is such a thing as real evidence of a ghost.”
“Of course we do,” Emily said. “You just said she was the girl you saw drown. That’s why the police found nothing. You saw a ghost. I bet those teenagers have seen her too.”
I shook my head. “Her body probably washed out to sea,” I said. “It will turn up.”
Emily sighed as if humoring a disbelieving child. She held up her good hand and ticked off her fingers. “The drawing of the abbey, the girl in the window, the bells, the tower room, the cradle, rattle, the figure in the shadow. She’s trying to contact you, tell you something.”
“No.” I shook my head again. “There’s another, real explanation. There has to be.” Although right at that moment, I couldn’t think of one.
“Will,” Emily said. “Stop being so blind. You saw her reenact her death.” She stopped and looked back at the screen, her gaze suddenly fixed and unmoving, eyes glassy. With her injured hand, she reached down and grabbed her knitting bag, pulling it into her lap where she slipped her hand inside, hiding it from view. After another moment, she said, “It’s up to us to save her.”
“Save her? What do you mean? She’s already dead,” I said.
Emily shook her head. “She might be dead, but she’s not resting in peace. If she was, she wouldn’t be haunting the beach, or you,” Emily said. “It only makes sense. She wants your help. That’s why you saw her.”
The jump in Emily’s logic sounded ridiculous. How could she have come to a conclusion so far-fetched?
“Look, you’ve been chosen for a very special job,” she said.
“Well, I don’t want it.”
Emily’s eyes never left the photo of Pamela on the monitor. “Of course you do. It’s an honor to ease the pain of the dead. I wish she’d chosen me.”
“Okay, Em,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder and turning her toward me. “Let’s just focus on saving ourselves from financial ruin, okay? We don’t need to be helping anyone but ourselves right now. We came here to answer some questions and clear my mind of worry, not go ghost hunting.”
“She needs us,” Emily whispered. “She’s suffering.” Emily turned her head back. Her gaze was locked on the computer, her body rigid, her right hand buried in her bag.
I took her other hand. “Hey, I think we need to go. We can look at this a little bit later. This has been without a doubt the worst day of my life,” I said, standing up.
“No, I’m staying here to find out more,” she said, sharply.
I glanced around. A librarian was staring at us as she cataloged magazines.
“Emily, come on. It’s time to go,” I said, pulling her shoulders back.
She swiveled in her chair, facing me. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Why can’t you just be supportive for once in my life?!” Her shout echoed through the library.
My jaw fell. Emily never yelled like that. Ever. I tried to help her up from her chair, but she swatted my hand away.
The male librarian got up from his seat and headed toward us.
“Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask you to either quiet down or leave,” he said, glancing first at me and then at Emily.
Dumbfounded, I tried to think of something to say. “Uh, I’m really sorry. I think my wife hasn’t been…feeling well,” I said, linking my arm in Emily’s.
“I’m fine,” Emily said. She dropped my arm again and stormed toward the front entrance.
I threw the librarian a sheepish look and ran after her.
I followed Emily back to the hotel. She pushed ahead of me every time I caught up. It was a short walk, and I’d have to return to pick up the car later. Silence loomed between us. I wanted to say a thousand things to comfort her, apologize, and brainstorm solutions, but I didn’t think she wanted to hear any of them now. In any case, I usually said something stupid and didn’t want to make the situation any worse. Maybe we actually needed to see a marriage counselor.
I understood why she was resentful. The hand injury had changed her life unalterably, and I’d walked away unscathed. Yet it made me angry that she’d didn’t seem to understand I lived with the guilt and pain of that day every day.
I really wondered if she would ever be able to truly forgive me. Not only for the accident, but also for my reaction when she told me she was pregnant.
This nonsense of Pamela’s ghost was only making everything worse, and I couldn’t figure out why Emily was so hell-bent on us helping Pamela.
When we got back to the room, I turned on the gas fire, put a blanket over her, and heated som
e water for tea, all of which she accepted without comment. When the coffee pot beeped that it had finished heating, I poured the water into a mug with a bag of Earl Gray and handed it to Emily.
She stared up at me. “She really is a ghost.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying,” I said, a slight edge to my tone.
“I just wish I knew why she chose you,” Emily said, staring into her mug.
I let out a long breath. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Em.” I plopped onto the bed and looked down at the geometric pattern on the hideous orange carpet. “It’s been a long, strange day. Ghosts or not, I’m just going to finish my conceptual drawings.”
“Aren’t you even a little bit curious?” Emily asked. She took a sip and winced, spilling some of the tea on her bad hand. She barely flinched, with much of her sensitivity gone.
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s still pretty hot.”
Emily pulled the blanket closer and blew on the tea. She peered over the edge of the cup. “Well? Aren’t you curious?” she said again.
“I don’t know. A little maybe, but I don’t want to get involved,” I said, hoping we were done with this conversation.
She glared at me. “Not all the spirits of the dead stay behind, otherwise they’d be everywhere all the time. But the ones who do, they aren’t resting. Maybe we both can send her on to a more peaceful place.”
“You say you can feel your dad watching over you,” I said. “But he’s resting in peace, isn’t he?”
Her eyes darted at me. “That’s different. He’s not haunting me. My dad is watching from heaven.”
“And this is different?”
“Of course. This ghost, Pamela, is somehow stuck here on earth, repeating her death over and over. She needs to be released from her pain. We need to release her.”
“Will you just please stop?” I snapped, louder than I wanted. This conversation was becoming repetitive. “I need to focus on the task ahead. Our future depends on it, and I don’t want to screw things up because I’m off chasing after ghosts.”
She continued her hard stare.
What was going on with her? She wanted me to do these new jobs Ted and James had offered. So why wouldn’t she lay off? Hadn’t we argued enough today?
“I’m going for a walk,” she said, coolly. She tossed her blanket aside and grabbed her pea coat.
“A walk? Now? You can’t just go out at night in the cold,” I said.
“Stop trying to control me.” Her face was a mask of sternness again.
“Emily, we need to stop fighting. Please. I’m not trying to control you. I just care about you, and I’m sorry about everything today. I’m on edge and need some sleep. How about we look into this more by talking to some other people in town? There’s a guy I met the other night named Martin. I think he may know some things about the abbey. How about I ask him some questions?”
Emily made it halfway to the door. She stopped but still didn’t turn to face me.
I walked over to her, and put my arm around her. “Please,” I said, trying to ease off her jacket.
Her shoulder muscles tensed as I touched her; then they relaxed a bit as she let out a sigh.
“Okay, thank you. All I want are some answers,” she said, this time more calmly. “I think we need to speak with the police too. I think Vaughn knows more than he’s saying.”
I blinked. This was becoming a full-scale investigation. I opened my mouth to protest and then thought better of it. If I didn’t give in to Emily, this really would be an all-out war.
“And, yeah, I do want you to find out more information through that Martin person,” she added.
“Let me get some work done over the next couple of days, and then we’ll look into it.”
She shifted her stance. “Okay, thank you. I appreciate it,” she said.
I guided her back to the chair and wrapped the blanket around her again. Quickly I turned on the TV, desperate for some distraction. After I put the remote down, I rested my head against the headboard as we watched the local news.
I reached into my pocket and took out my bottle of Tylenol. I swallowed two, all the while brainstorming how I was going to save my marriage, do my job, and not become entangled in the abbey and its supernatural vortex.
chapter fifteen
My sleep was interrupted by more nightmares seeping to the surface. Dreams of cradles rocking on their own coupled with bird attacks had me tossing and turning all night.
Morning came too soon. I dreaded the thought of returning to the abbey, especially alone. Emily and I ate a quick breakfast at another cafe down the street from the hotel, and I took her back to the inn. She curled up with her knitting.
“What’s that you’re making?” I asked. “Another sweater?”
She shook her head. “I’m not quite sure yet. We’ll see.”
I nodded, glad she was at least going to be productive, and that it would keep her from wanting to delve into the spirit world…for the moment.
Emily smiled. Genuine warmth exuded from her expression.
She seemed a lot better than yesterday. Maybe last night’s reaction at the library was just a result of our fight in the car. We were both emotionally raw right now.
Maybe she was also happier because I’d promised I would try to find out information about the abbey’s history. Although, I only planned to do the bare minimum—if anything at all. I didn’t have time to track down Martin. If I happened to see him on the street, I’d ask him a question or two.
Despite her improved attitude, it was still apparent that Emily and I couldn’t stay in Winterbay. I had a feeling this ghost story would drive a further wedge between us. I needed to convince Ted and James I could work from home. If I could get the details I needed to complete my schematic designs and finish the pre-design work, have it accepted, and then tell them that Emily needed to fly home to see her doctor or something, we’d have no reason to remain here any longer. The ghost’s problems would have to wait for the next unsuspecting dupe who happened to see her.
When I kissed Emily goodbye, she didn’t seem overly concerned about me going back to the abbey by myself. Last night she’d acted more interested in helping a ghost than in any danger the situation might pose to me. In all honesty, the thought of being at the abbey terrified me.
I walked back to the library to get the car and drove to the abbey.
The wound on my forehead began to ache again as I made my way over the small bridge outside the abbey. I tried to think of the job ahead and not Pamela. I told myself she was not a ghost, and there was no ghost at all. That didn’t stop the shivering that coursed through me. The closer I got to the abbey, the more my body objected.
A flash of the young nun raided my thoughts. Pamela Mayo. Her expression had been so angry, so accusing. Hate-filled enough that recalling her now frightened me more than ever.
I put my hand on the passenger seat, thinking of Emily. Shaking my head, I replaced the image of Pamela with one of Emily, smiling, happy, and holding our twins in her arms.
Immediately, a thin branch of warmth spread through my chest, and some of the anxiety ebbed. I needed to make this daydream a reality, to see Emily happy again. We had to find joy…to find it with our new family. If I could just hold onto this vision of Emily, maybe it would give me enough strength for today.
I slowed and made my way down the muddy road toward the convent.
I pulled up in front. The drive was empty.
Looming on the horizon, heavy clouds promised more rain. The chill heralded that it would be freezing rain.
After sitting in the car for another minute trying to convince myself to get out, I opened the trunk and pulled out my computer bag. I had a lot of work to do. I needed detailed laser scans of the entire building to move forward with the design, generate renderings, and make working from Seattle just as easy as being here. But it was going to take some time to finish.
I stood at the front entrance beneath the arch.
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After summoning what courage I had, I flipped on my flashlight and walked up the main stairs, figuring I’d work my way from top to bottom. I had to scan every room, including a climb up into the tower with the creepy cradle.
Setting the equipment up, leveling the laser, and starting the scan wasn’t easy in the dim light. I had better lights, but without a power source they were of no use.
The clouds had darkened by the time I finished. Thankfully nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No bells. No toys. No rocking cradles. No shadowy figures looming in the corner. No ghosts.
As the final scan finished its run, I saved all the work on my computer and got ready to head downstairs. The last rooms on my tour were in the basement.
I walked along the narrow entry hall in search of the stairs to the bottom level. The warped, wooden floor must have been flooded at one time, probably a broken pipe. The texture felt like walking across the rocks on the beach, uneven and lumpy.
I still needed to figure out the building’s mechanical systems to see what might be saved and what would need to be replaced. I’d let the engineers figure out what energy-efficient system they wanted. The plumbing wasn’t extensive enough for all the rooms I planned, and the radiators had all looked rusted beyond rescue. Nor was there any way the wiring was up to code.
I tried several doors that led to closets long emptied of their contents. The fourth one creaked on its corroded hinges and stuck halfway open. The floorboards had swollen right in front of it, and no amount of straining on my part would get it to move any further. I stuck my head through the narrow opening and peered down into the dark. Wooden steps as uneven as the floor headed downward, cut off by a turn in the stairs.
The smell, a pungent mix of musty dampness and a sour reek, gagged me like a finger down my throat. I put my left sleeve over my mouth and leaned into the doorway.
Moving the light back and forth, I tried to see further into the depths without actually taking a step. A child-sized slab of mold stained the wall, the source of the stench and yet another remodel problem.