Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  “Let it come,” I said. “We have everybody we need. Except Helena, but she’s staying home with Arden.”

  “I’m anxious to know the extent of Helena’s psychic powers,” Lucy said.

  “We’ll have to wait till the next time.”

  “I was counting on wrapping up the mystery today.”

  “Mmm. Unlikely.”

  With Lucy, Misty, and the bakery box safely stowed, I set out for the house on Loosestrife Lane. The sky was overcast. On Brent’s property, willow strands whipped back and forth over the pond in a growing wind. It tore pink petals from the loosestrife and tossed them onto the grass.

  The house waited for us, silent and brooding and wrapped in shadows. It didn’t look particularly welcoming. On the other hand neither did it seem forbidding—from the outside, that is. Inside I turned on the oversized fixture, and light flooded the living room.

  “That’s better,” Lucy murmured.

  As soon as I freed Misty from her leash, she took off up the stairs, a sleek white comet on a mission.

  “There’s a strong sense of peace here,” Lucy said. “That’s good.”

  “How do you feel otherwise? I asked, remembering her sick spell.

  “Fine. Eager to strip the layers from the mystery, one by one.”

  She set the doughnuts on the kitchen counter. Nothing had changed in this room. I thought Brent might have sent someone from the barn to tidy it. Obviously that hadn’t happened, but the coffee maker had reappeared. Beside it sat a gleaming new electric teakettle and a box of Red Rose teabags, probably furnished by Brent with Lucy in mind. Four clean mugs were drying on a large white towel.

  “What now?” Lucy asked.

  “We wait. Brent should be here soon.”

  “We might as well sample the doughnuts while we’re waiting,” Lucy said.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  I slipped the string off the box and lifted the top. Ah, all jelly doughnuts.

  Misty began to bark angrily as if she’d discovered an intruder in her domain and was sounding the alarm. The barking came from the second story, but it sounded closer.

  Lucy paused in the act of filling the teakettle. “What’s gotten into that dog?”

  “Let’s go,” I said, forgetting Lucy’s problem with the landing.

  She must have forgotten it as well. She followed me up the stairs, bypassing the haunted area without incident.

  Misty stood outside the furnished room barking at… What? I came up beside her and peered inside. Nothing was there; nothing appeared to have been disturbed since our last visit to the house. Misty seemed focused on the window and the trees visible through the window with their blowing leaves.

  I stepped inside and scanned the room, confirming my initial impression. Everything was the same. There was nothing to send an excitable collie into a barking frenzy.

  Except for the annoying scratching sound that suddenly broke the heavy silence.

  Thirty-seven

  “Annica’s giant rat strikes again,” Lucy said.

  “I doubt it.”

  “What is it then?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m glad you can hear it, too.”

  “Have you heard any other inexplicable sounds in the house?” Lucy asked.

  “Once I heard a siren outside. I was in the kitchen with Brent and Annica, and they didn’t hear anything. It stopped abruptly.”

  “As sirens do when they reach their destination,” Lucy said. “It could have just been a normal everyday siren. Or could it have been an echo of a tornado siren—from the past?”

  A tornado siren? Of course. If Holly was in the house, she would have heard it and gone immediately into panic mode. While Holly’s emotions were trapped in the walls of the house, the sounds she had heard also lived on. I didn’t understand how this could be, but because we were dealing with the unknown, I simply accepted it.

  “I have an idea about the scratching,” Lucy said. “The other day I closed the porch door without realizing that Sky was sleeping on the other side. She didn’t bark but scratched desperately at the door. That sound reminds me of this one.”

  Desperate scratching. A dog locked in a room by mistake. Or out of it. Another holdover from the past?

  “That’s a thousand times better than a scratching rat,” I said.

  Piece by piece, Holly’s story was coming together. Where did Micah Frost fit into the picture? If he did. In any event, I thought I could say goodbye to the elusive rodent and was happy to do so.

  “That could be it, Lucy,” I said. “You’re a marvel.”

  “It’s just an idea.”

  Misty hadn’t followed us into the bedroom. She stood in the doorway, growling softly, her eyes fixed on me. The scratching sound had gradually died away. No, that was wrong. It had moved away. I still heard it coming from the general direction of the kitchen. But why wasn’t Misty following it?

  “I wonder if Tristan was trapped in the basement,” I said.

  “I can close my eyes and almost see Holly and Tristan,” Lucy said. “I think they were together to the end.”

  “The end? Do your feelings tell you that Holly died in the tornado?”

  “Sadly, yes. But there’s more to their story.”

  Misty gave a yelp, spun around, and dashed down the staircase as another sound invaded the house—a door slamming and heavy footsteps on a hardwood floor.

  “I’m here,” Brent called. “Where is everybody?”

  His booming voice brought the echoes to life.

  “Enter the homeowner,” Lucy said as we started downstairs.

  Once again Lucy was able to glide past the landing with no dire consequences. We met Brent at the foot of the staircase.

  Misty had forgotten her manners. She was leaping at the large white bag Brent held about a foot above her nose, communicating her desire for food with high pitched yips.

  “I brought burgers,” he said. “Who’s hungry besides Misty?”

  “Do you have one for her?” I asked.

  “Sure thing. With just meat and a slice of cheddar.”

  He handed the bag to me. It was wet. For the first time I noticed the sheen of rainwater on his green jacket and in his hair and the light pattering of raindrops on the window.

  “Is the ghost at home today?” he asked.

  “We haven’t seen her,” Lucy said, “but we heard the scratching. It’s stopped now.”

  “Well, let’s forget about it and eat. I’m celebrating. The new contractor starts work tomorrow. This is the last meal we’ll have in a torn-up kitchen.”

  “Is coffee all right for everyone?” Lucy asked, hovering over the coffee maker.

  It was. Brent unwrapped the burgers. He’d also brought large orders of French fries and garden salads. I shouldn’t be hungry yet but found that I was. His enthusiasm for the burgers was infectious.

  “It’s all coming together,” he said. “The house will have a new look. I’ll move my caretaker and the dogs in as soon as possible. I’ll stock the pantry and buy dog food and treats. We’ll have a grand old house warming.”

  Lucy looked up in alarm. “But we’re not ready yet.”

  “It’ll be okay. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  I sympathized with him. His project couldn’t remain in limbo forever. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel that plans for a grand opening were premature.

  ~ * ~

  Another sweep of the attic netted a surprise. On opening the old trunk, I found a Christmas stationery box that contained one of those ‘Anything’ notebooks with a blue unicorn on the cover and, inside, entries from Holly’s journal dating from the year of her disappearance.

  Finally, a real clue. I couldn’t wait to go home and read it.

  “I expect a report as soon as you finish,” Brent said.

  “Me too,” Annica added. “Before you do anything else.”

  “You’ll both hear from me later. I’m so glad I opened that box.”
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  Brent closed the lid with a resolute bang. “That’s it for today then.”

  A bolt of thunder rolled across the sky. Annica started and Misty whimpered as heavy rain began a merciless pounding on the roof. I felt as if it had the power to break through the shingles and saturate us.

  “Looks like the storm’s back with a vengeance,” Brent said. “We’d getter go back downstairs.”

  Misty whined again.

  “It’s all right, girl,” I said. “She doesn’t usually fuss during storms. Let’s wait inside till it eases up.”

  Clutching the ‘Anything’ book, I led the way out of the attic, walking carefully across the uneven floor, down the stairs, and across the landing. I grasped the bannister, glad the workmen had stabilized it before they fled the house. The stairway had darkened considerably. On the landing, the rainbow colors of the stained glass window momentarily regained their brilliance as lightning struck at the window.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw a shape. Something brushed against me. An unexpected weight pushed me off balance, and I felt myself falling forward down the stairs.

  ~ * ~

  The dog was in my arms. I held her so close to my chest that she might have been a part of me. She was heavy, but I couldn’t relax my grip. I had lost Holly’s ‘Anything’ book. Somewhere. That didn’t matter. If I lost the dog, I would die.

  The dog I held was Misty. She cried as we went whirling through the void with the leaves and the furniture and the trees, buffeted by a mighty wind.

  A train. We had to reach the station or the train would leave without us.

  All aboard!

  The voice drowned in the wind.

  It wasn’t a train. I had heard that sound before in a nightmare-turned-to-life on the day the tornado touched down in Oakpoint. The day the massive poplar tree in my backyard crashed into my house. The day…

  Misty didn’t want to stay in my arms. She tried to free herself. She fought desperately to regain the ground and control of her legs. I held fast to her, but the monster winds were too strong for me. They ripped her from my arms.

  I had lost her.

  I tried to call her name, but I had no voice.

  My world broke apart with a weak cry from an unknown throat.

  Thirty-eight

  It was like a dream. You, the dreamer, are the main participant, and at the same time, you remain yourself, observing the proceedings. Difficult to comprehend, yes, unless you’re experiencing it.

  I was Holly torn away from her dog, Tristan, and I was Jennet separated by the all-powerful winds from her collie, Misty. I was Jennet cast adrift in the void. I forced my eyes open, afraid of what I was going to see.

  The air was filled with moving objects. An entire tree sailed past me, trailing its massive root system, dripping particles of dirt. In its wake, a white lawn bench flew perilously close to my body. Leaves, ripped from their branches, whipped against my face in passing. I felt wet and chilled as if I’d been dunked into water and pulled out again.

  In the distance I could barely make out a patch of white, a shooting star in the shape of a collie. Could I possibly reach her?

  Strong hands closed around my wrists, tugging me downward to an unfamiliar earth, a desolate plane stripped of vegetation.

  Was this my world? Or had the mighty winds set me down in the magical land of Oz where I didn’t belong?

  Oh, how I wish again I was in Michigan, down on the farm…

  The dream began to slip away from me. The darkness, the debris whirling through the air, the white collie—all vanished. I lay on the hard earth, unmoving and hurting.

  “Holly, wake up. Holly—”

  I knew that voice. Micah. He had come to rescue me.

  I tried to sit up. Pain exploded in the back of my head.

  “Tristan,” I murmured.

  “I didn’t see him. Lie still for a moment, Holly. It was a tornado. It’s gone now.”

  “Where are we?” I asked. “Is the house gone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I tried to remember. Bits and pieces danced giddily in my mind, just close enough for me to grasp them. “I was inside writing,” I said. “I heard the siren—didn’t think I could get out in time. I couldn’t find my dog. I promised Tristan we’d be together forever.”

  A memory flickered in my mind. A bride standing proudly beside her groom, saying ‘Forever.’ Was that my memory? I was never married.

  Micah pushed aside a piece of wood that in another life had been an intricately carved mahogany table leg.

  “I’ll see if I can find him, but later.”

  I closed my eyes again. “It’s so quiet. It’s like the world ended. Maybe that’s what happened.”

  “It was a tornado,” Micah repeated. “It passed. Hopefully it didn’t take anyone with it.”

  I felt a strange emptiness as the Holly spirit left my body—and I was Jennet again. Brent lifted me and carried me to a red striped ivory sofa I’d last seen in the attic of his house on Loosestrife Lane.

  ~ * ~

  “She’s waking up,” said a familiar voice. Not Micah’s.

  “Oh, thank God. Oh, Jennet.” Another voice, a woman’s voice. I recognized it, then heard a plaintive little whimper.

  “That damned dog.” That was the first voice. The man.

  “It wasn’t Misty’s fault. Jennet would never blame her, not in a million years. That accursed landing tripped her.”

  How could a landing do that?

  I reached into space. My hand landed on warm fur, and my world came back to me slowly. But it came. My white collie, Misty, stood at the sofa’s side, ears flattened, tail wagging. It wasn’t Micah hovering over me but Brent and Lucy and Annica. My dear friends.

  Misty placed her paw on the cushion, and collie kisses brought the rest of my world back to me.

  “Welcome back, Jennet,” Lucy said softly, touching my forehead lightly.

  “Yeah, welcome back.” That was Annica. “Don’t you dare leave us.”

  “Crane,” I whispered.

  “The sheriff’s going to kill me,” Brent said. “He gave me orders to keep you safe. I promised I would, but hell…”

  Fully restored to consciousness, I said, “I’m all right, Brent, except my head is pounding. Do you have some aspirin in your purse, Lucy, or any pain killer?”

  “Sorry,” Lucy said. “No.”

  “You’re not taking any pills,” Brent said. “We’re going straight to Emergency.”

  I tried to sit up at that pronouncement. “No. I just lost my footing—”

  “You fell,” Lucy said. “All the way to the ground floor. Misty made you lose your balance. You fell on her.”

  I didn’t remember that. I never ever wanted to hurt one of my collies. “Oh, my poor baby. I might have crushed her.”

  “She wasn’t hurt. Just surprised.”

  I tried to sit all the way up, but my body rebelled. I felt as if it had been slammed against a concrete wall. Not that I’d ever had that experience.

  “You lock up, Annica,” Brent said. “I’ll carry Jennet out to the car. Lucy, you come with me.”

  “Wait!” I said.

  “No arguments, Jennet.” He lifted me. “And we’re off and running.”

  Under her breath, Annica said, “This house is haunted. It’s vengeful. There’s no doubt of it now.”

  There never was, I thought.

  As Brent carried me to the door, I noticed the ‘Anything’ book lying at the foot of the stairs where it had fallen out of my hands. Holly’s journal. The answers.

  “Annica,” I said. “Get the book.”

  ~ * ~

  Hours passed before Crane took me home. Hours of questions and watching each second pass on the clock. Lying on what must be the most uncomfortable bed in the hospital. Drive-by visits from medical personnel. Being pushed down cold corridors to rooms with strange equipment.

  I was thirsty. I longed for a tall glass of fruit juice with ice cubes
in it, but all they offered me was water.

  I didn’t even attempt to keep the whine out of my voice. In my room, in a brief peaceful interlude, I said, “I want to go home. I just took a tumble—”

  “You will,” Crane said. “Be patient.”

  “Should you take Misty to the vet?”

  “Misty’s okay. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “They said my tests were good.”

  “It’s your knack for inviting trouble,” he added. “You shouldn’t have been anywhere near that house. I don’t know what its attraction is.”

  My beloved husband had slipped with ease into his stern deputy sheriff’s lecture mode. I wondered what he had said to Brent.

  My head started to ache again.

  “You’re right, Crane,” I murmured. “Right about everything.”

  I set my mind on a walk down Jonquil Lane where golden daffodils bloomed in the spring and our green Victorian farmhouse in its surround of summer flowers waited for me at the end of this terrible day.

  Where the dogs were.

  Thirty-nine

  At home with a clean bill of health and a myriad bruises, I sat in front of the bay window with my beautiful collies grouped around me. Halley and Misty insisted on lying closer than their sisters. The message from all seven was clear: We thought you were never coming home.

  I sipped herbal tea, rested, and remembered. In my unconscious state, I’d had a dream that was more than a dream. Perhaps like Lucy I’d had a fragmentary vision of a world long past. I had been Holly Wickersham. I remembered the tornado, Micah, losing my collie, Tristan, and being carried to a distinctive green-striped sofa that existed in the real waking world.

  Facts previously guessed at were now clear to me. Holly loved Micah. He seemed solicitous of her. In the dream, that is. The tornado had flung her far from Loosestrife Lane to an area ravaged by the killer winds. Here Micah had found her. Along the way she had lost Tristan.

  One more detail surfaced. As I was propelled through the air, I’d felt as if someone had dunked me/Holly in cold water. In the pond, perhaps. Was there anything I’d forgotten?