Through the Mist

by Ferrell, Cece

  The sane, logical world I thought I knew no longer made sense. Josie began waving her arm in front of my face, which finally broke me out of my intense thoughts.

  “Earth to Ros. Where’d you go? You’re so out of it, I practically shouted your name! If the arm-waving hadn’t worked, I was about to start screaming out obscenities to see if it would get your attention,” she joked.

  I would love to say she would never do it, but I knew Jos far too well to make that bet. She wouldn’t have minded the attention she would draw.

  “Sorry, I just kinda zoned out for a minute there,” I replied shakily. “So, was there anything else you learned about him?” I asked, eager to have the attention off of myself.

  “Oh, yeah. He died in 1906 in a steamer ship accident. He wasn’t initially supposed to be on the ship at all, he never even appeared on the passenger manifest. His fiancée happened to be on the ship though, and she was one of fewer than forty people who survived.”

  “If he wasn’t on the manifest, how did they know he was on the ship at all?”

  “The only reason they knew he died in the wreck is because Helena survived and was able to give her account. There were a few other survivors who remembered seeing him before he died and backed up her story. Archer and Helena were only a few months away from getting married,” she said, taking the last bite of her food. “So yeah, that’s pretty much all I know. Care to tell me what has you so freaked out?”

  “Can we wait until we get back to the house? It’s nothing major, I promise.”

  “Okay.” She simply nodded her head, keeping the question in her eyes to herself.

  “Thanks for taking the time to research all that.”

  “I enjoyed doing it. It was fun getting to know more about the person who would have lived there before you, if he hadn’t, you know, died.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her honesty. It was maybe my second favorite thing about her. My first? Her undying, unquestioning loyalty. She called me out on my bullshit all the time, but there was never a question of whether she would have my back.

  Twelve

  “So, you want to tell me what had you so spooked back there?” Josie asked right after we stepped into the house, before I even had a chance to shut the door.

  I wondered if I could come up with a convincing lie in the next thirty seconds that would both pacify her and shut the conversation down. Jos leaned on the kitchen island, tapping her phone on the countertop, an exaggerated sign of her impatience. She quirked up one brow and gave me a knowing look.

  Fuck. I was stuck. She obviously knew I was trying to think my way out of this. Jos read me better than anyone, so I would have already needed to have had a good excuse at the ready.

  “Fine, I’ll talk, but let’s take it to the balcony.”

  I began making my way to the balcony off of the living room without giving her a chance to respond and without checking to see if she was following. I grabbed one of the pillows off the outdoor sofa and sat down, wrapping my arms around it and hugging it tightly to my body.

  “Remember how I was telling you about all those strange dreams I’ve been having? The dreams that began the minute I stepped in this house?”

  Jos didn’t say anything, probably afraid I would stop talking if she did, and nodded her head.

  “Well, do you remember me telling you about the man who has been in every one of those dreams? The one I seem inexplicably attached to? The one I can’t get out of my head, even when I’m awake?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I was feeling far too close to hysterical for comfort, and Jos could sense it too.

  “Well, it’s him. Archer is the man I’ve been dreaming about.”

  “Whoa. Wow. Fuck.” Jos loudly exhaled. “I mean, maybe they just look similar, or maybe you’ve seen his picture before somehow? Maybe somewhere here in town?”

  She was grasping for an explanation, just like I had been in the restaurant.

  “No, Jos. I’ve never once seen any picture of him. I’d remember. I know this man, Josie. How the fuck is that possible? I can tell you things that aren’t in the picture. I can tell you the top of my head barely reaches his chin. I can describe to you how damn good it feels to be in his arms, like I belong there. And I can describe in perfect detail what his eyes look like. They’re green. The most vivid, clear shade of wet grass with a hint of gray around the edges. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes that color.”

  “I get that you believe all this, but how is this possible, Ros?”

  “I don’t know, Jos. I’ve been trying since lunch to come up with some kind of answer, and I keep coming up empty. I fucking. Have. Nothing.”

  I laughed hysterically, and before I could stop them, the laughs turned to sobs. I was completely and utterly wrung out.

  “Shh, shh,” Jos said as she came to sit next to me and wrapped me in her embrace. “You’re not crazy, I believe you.” She held me for a few minutes, rubbing soothing circles on my back.

  “There was an article I read, some gossip column where they talked about Archer’s hobbies and social habits. There was special mention made of the odd color of his eyes. His green eyes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  When I looked up her face was as pale as mine felt and she had a shaken look in her eyes. We continued to hold and comfort each other, not knowing what else to think or do.

  “Well, at least we know your ghost is a hottie,” Jos joked eventually, hugging me closer and kissing the side of my head.

  * * *

  Before I knew it, the holidays were over, and Josie was on her way back home. We had spent most of Christmas Eve with Marie and her family and friends, eating, drinking, exchanging small handmade gifts, and singing carols.

  Dan wasn’t able to come home for Christmas, and a five-minute FaceTime call was all I got with an explanation that made sense, but fell short. I had never been so thankful to have Jos there, and at least he had had the foresight to arrange that.

  We’d only talked about Archer Breckenridge once after that lunch. Josie never did end up experiencing the things I did. She never got the feeling someone was watching her, never caught a hint of the scent I’d come to love. It happened once or twice while she was staying with me, but never, ever when she was around.

  At the end of her stay, I begged her to stay. I loved it here, but she was like my sister, and I missed her. She asked me if I wanted to come back home with her, saying she would extend her trip if I wanted to move back, that no one would blame me.

  I wished I could say it was even a consideration, but it wasn’t. I was meant to be on this island, in this house for a reason, and until I figured that out, I couldn’t leave.

  * * *

  Over the month that had passed since the holidays, Dan had only come back to the house once for a night. He was stressed out and exhausted, a shell of the man I knew. His phone calls dropped to once a week, and in those few minutes I could hear the terseness in his voice, and our conversations, even through texts, were stilted. I didn’t think either of us knew how to fix things when we were more distant than ever.

  I realized him being away from home during these long projects was probably the best thing for all involved. Trying to maintain the workload and stress from a project that wasn’t going as planned was exhausting, and he just didn’t have it in him to be physically and emotionally present for us.

  After his last visit, I came to the conclusion I needed to ask him to focus on getting the project done so we could be together because the time we spent when he managed to get away was full of distance and awkwardness.

  He wasn’t happy with the conversation or my idea, but he finally caved, and I would be lying if I said I couldn’t see the hint of relief in his eyes when we had the conversation over FaceTime. By the end of the call, he was reassuring me he loved me, but I could see his shoulders lighten with a burden no longer weighing on him.

  The weird occurrences in the house only incre
ased. They had slowed down quite a bit while Josie was here, but once she left, they picked up again and began occurring more frequently.

  I had gotten used to books showing up randomly, hearing my name whispered in the wind, the unexplained breezes, feeling gentle touches, and no longer feeling alone most of the time.

  I tried to take comfort in the moments it happened. I still was unsure of what exactly the cause was, but it felt like a little bit of magic in my otherwise very ordinary world, and I couldn’t help but revel in it a little.

  Sometimes late at night while lying in bed, staring out into the sky as the fog crept up from the water and trees and onto my balcony, I would start to think of Josie’s theory of Archer being the ghost and the house being haunted. She still joked about it during our phone conversations, asking me to say hello to Archer for her.

  I always brushed the jokes off, laughing along, but when I was all alone and felt the soft sweep of fingertips on the back of my hand, or smelled sandalwood and tobacco and salty ocean, I couldn’t help but think for a moment maybe I was being haunted.

  Everything came to a head when I experienced all of these things in one day, which had never happened before. It led to a nearly sleepless night where I was lucky if I got a few hours of fitful sleep, and I realized something had to change.

  I couldn’t continue to live this way, barely sleeping half the time from fear, always worrying and wondering about the things going on in this house, if it was all in my head, a way for my mind to ease the loneliness that especially hit at night, or if I was being haunted by Archer or some other unknown entity.

  I’d reached my limit. On the porch, as I was about to pull the door closed, I leaned my head in and called out to the empty house, “If you’re there, if there is someone or something here, please either let yourself be known or stop and leave me be. I can’t stand this anymore.”

  I waited a few minutes for something to happen, but nothing did. I closed the door, shaking my head and laughing to myself, feeling far sillier than I had ever felt before.

  Thirteen

  I came home later than usual that night and walked right into that now familiar scent. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, a sense of comfort washing over me before the prickly, slightly nauseating feeling of unease set in.

  I waited for the sensation of being watched to hit, but after a few minutes, I felt nothing. I made my way to the balcony off my bedroom, putting away my things and grabbing some tea and a blanket on the way.

  I sat down with my legs curled under me and snuggled under the blanket. With the mug clasped tightly between both hands, I stared off into the fog. It was exceptionally thick, so much so I could barely see past my balcony, and definitely couldn’t see the water or trees below.

  I didn’t think about anything while I was out there, my mind pleasantly and surprisingly clear and free. I reveled in the feeling, letting all the stress and worry that had taken up residence in my body drift away. I finished my tea, set the mug down, and curled up against one of the pillows, half lying down, just enjoying the cold, fresh air around me.

  Sometime later I startled awake. I stretched, looking out into the night sky, wondering what had woken me up, knowing I hadn’t dreamed.

  Through the mist, I began to see a shape take form. I rubbed at my eyes, shook my head, and then looked back as though the movement would clear my eyes or change what I was seeing, but there standing before me was a man.

  He was almost completely opaque, but not fully solid. His back was turned to me, his posture straight with an innate confidence radiating off him in waves. I could tell by his clothing he was not of this time.

  Ghost. You are looking at a ghost.

  My brain screamed these words and I shook my head, refusing to believe what was right in front of my eyes, what my mind was already trying to process. A part of me wanted to run, to slam the doors to the balcony and leave the house as quickly as possible.

  I couldn’t, though. I was rooted to the spot. I should have been terrified, my heart should have been pounding through my chest, but I wasn’t.

  All the weird occurrences in the house over the last several months began to play out in my mind, ending with my call-out to the unknown occupant of the house this morning. When Josie and I had joked about the house being haunted, it might have freaked me out, but I’d never really believed it to be true.

  As I continued to stare, I began to question what I was seeing. Maybe I was seeing what I wanted. Maybe my intense loneliness was playing tricks on my eyes, on my mind. That had to be it.

  I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until a strangled gasp escaped my lips, the heat from my breath creating a steamy trail in the frigid air. The sound I made must have been louder than I realized, as the form began to shimmer and move.

  He stiffened as if startled and began to turn. I stood up clumsily, grasping at the arms of the chair to keep myself from stumbling. My mind willed me to move but my body was utterly unwilling to comply.

  Something in me wanted to see him, see his face, to finally know who I had been sharing this space with. As he turned I took a sudden, involuntary step back and the air pushed out of my lungs in an audible whoosh. This was most definitely not a hallucination or my imagination taking over. There was an actual ghost standing in front of me.

  He’s so much more attractive than his picture or how he looked in my dreams.

  That thought was the first thing that popped in my head. Archer, my mind whispered, the name never passing my lips.

  He was wearing a suit that looked like it was from the late 1800s, maybe early 1900s, but I wasn’t an expert. A long suit coat, trousers with a crisp crease in them, a matching vest, shirt and tie with a chain attached to a pocket watch.

  It was too dark and foggy to tell the color or any other details. My eyes drifted back up to his face, all of his features arranged into a fashion far too familiar for comfort. He was clean-shaven, had a slim, angular nose, a tiny cleft in his chin, and full lips in proportion with the rest of his features.

  His hair looked to be dark brown, trimmed short on the sides, a bit longer on the top, but not quite reaching his ears. There was a slightly off-center part, and it was slicked back nicely. It was a pretty stylish cut and it was slightly jarring to think it had been popular all those years ago too.

  His gaze was what got me. It wasn’t the vacant or distant look I had expected. He really saw me, met my look, and his eyes instantly filled with warmth and something that looked a lot like affection. A slight smile touched his lips.

  My own mouth dropped open in shock, and I was still stuck where I was, unable to move, unable to even look away. His mouth broke into a full smile at my reaction, amusement now dancing in his eyes, and I smiled back in spite of myself.

  Before I knew it, his form was shimmering again, moving closer to me. The icy current of panic flooded my veins, a scream got stuck in my throat, and my brain was telling my body to run, but I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot.

  Within seconds he was right in front of me, mere inches away. I shivered at his proximity. But looking into his eyes, I could see uncertainty and shyness there, nothing evil, no ill intent. The rush of the panic I was feeling seconds before receded.

  Now that he was closer I could see him in more detail by the porch light. His hair was dark, dark brown, almost black, but with hints of lighter brown throughout. He had tiny wrinkles next to his eyes and mouth, a sure sign this man had laughed a lot in his short life. For some reason, it calmed me further, tempered my fear.

  He was slim but well built. It made me wonder if he had done a lot of labor while alive to give him the muscles he obviously had. Men born during his time didn’t really exercise for vanity or strength, right? It wasn’t like they had a gym on every corner the way they did now.

  His suit was obviously well made and well tailored. Just like in my dreams, he was much taller than me, definitely over six feet, which had to be rare for the time. I always pictured men a
s being shorter at the turn of the century, but there were obviously exceptions.

  His eyes were a deep, piercing green rimmed in gray. I had never seen eyes like this before.

  Except I had. Every single time I had a dream with him, I looked into those eyes. A wave of familiarity and comfort washed over me. He smiled tentatively and I nodded my head, as though answering a question.

  “Well, finally,” he said in a deep, melodic voice.

  I was expecting it to be like a whisper on the wind, but I could fully hear him like he was alive and not a figment of a man. I was utterly speechless. I didn’t even know how to respond.

  After what seemed like forever, I managed to squeak out, “What do you mean ‘finally’?”

  He laughed then, and I smiled at the sound, warming me from within as it settled over my body. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for quite a while. It’s not easy making myself visible.”

  His voice hit me then, like a punch in the stomach. I knew that voice, recognized it deep within. This really was the man I had been dreaming about since arriving. I couldn’t believe it.

  The face, the smile, the voice. It was all the same.

  “So, if you’ve been trying to make yourself visible, if you’ve been the one doing all these things, why now? Why didn’t you just show yourself sooner?” I asked, completely confused and baffled.

  “I wanted to see if you were open to the idea at first, if you even believed. I suppose I could have presented myself to you sooner, but I didn’t think it was a wise course to take,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

  I shivered and rubbed my arms absentmindedly. He reached out to me, but stopped himself just shy of making contact with my arm.

  “You look like you’re freezing cold, we should take this inside.”

  “I don’t even know your name, and you’ve been with me this entire time and probably know mine,” I replied, not bothering to respond to his statement.