“Well, I hate to ruin your ghost story,” said Reagan, “but the boy you are talking about was my dad. He fell into the surf, but his dog was able to pull him out. The dog is the one that died, not my dad. I am proof positive because here I am.” Reagan added a smile to the end of that statement to let the group know that there were no hard feelings. The brunette smiled back, but the redhead’s back was up, and she was not going to give.
“My grandma also says that your aunt, that potter lady, made a pact with the devil. No one has ever seen inside that old barn where she goes to do her work. Grandma says that the UPS guy said that he went to make a delivery one day. Your aunt didn’t answer the door to the house, so he went to the old barn, thinking your aunt was out there. When he was walking to the barn, he heard this chanting, singing sound. He said it sounded like the hounds of hell were baying, and then he heard the devil’s voice. He changed his mind and was turning to leave the package on the porch when all of a sudden, the barn door opened, and your aunt, her hair and eyes all wild, came out. He said he could see smoke and smelled fire and brimstone. He said that he could see the devil over your aunt’s shoulder. He threw the package on the ground and never went back.”
The redhead looked triumphant. The brunette looked ashamed, and the boy looked on, curious as to what was going to transpire. Reagan thought about that for a minute, slowly drawing another mouthful of malt. Man, that malt was really tasty. She was going to put some weight on this summer if she wasn’t careful, she mused.
“So, this UPS guy heard the hounds of hell, heard the devil’s voice, and saw the devil himself. It seems to me that the UPS guy is strangely familiar with the devil, don’t you think?”
The brunette ducked her head to hide her smile, and the boy turned curiously toward the redhead, waiting for the fireworks. The redhead pouted and tossed her head.
“Well, I don’t know about that. All I know is that I won’t be caught dead going to Willow James’ house, and you’d better watch your back. That place is haunted, mark my words.”
“Well, I appreciate your concern, and I guess I won’t count on you for movie night at my place.”
With that Reagan flashed a final smile at the group and headed back to the lunch counter to finish her malt. The redhead gathered her purse and a package and looked expectantly at the young man who jumped to his feet and tossed some money on the table. They said their goodbyes to the brunette and left. The brunette put her own money on the table and made her way over to Reagan.
“Let’s start this again, please. My name is Olivia, and I’m sorry about my goofy friends. Darcy doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just has a superiority complex.” Olivia offered a smile to go along with the apology.
“You aren’t responsible for your friend, but I appreciate the apology. Does she really believe that stuff?” asked Reagan, incredulously. “Do you?” she added as she watched Olivia’s face.
“You have to understand, we’ve heard stories about that place all of our lives, and our parents heard stories all of their lives. Ghosts at the house on the cliff are an institution. You just believe it because, well… you just do. Then one day, when you hear someone telling the story to a newcomer, you realize just how silly it all sounds. But you have to understand, it is the town’s tradition.” Olivia blushed at the thought as she realized the whole explanation sounded really lame.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t really buy into the whole thing, won’t you?” asked Reagan. Olivia nodded. Reagan continued, “Does that mean you would come over for movie night?” The gauntlet was thrown, and Reagan waited to see if Olivia would pick it up.
“If somebody would have asked me that question yesterday, I would have said hell no, but yeah, I think I would. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be scared though. It’s in my blood to be afraid of that place.”
“Okay, I won’t push it. So, what do you guys do around here for fun?” asked Reagan. “I’m enjoying reading my afternoons away, but I might need some companionship with people my own age one of these days.”
“We spend a lot of time at Orchard Beach, but honestly, there’s not a lot to do. Sometimes we head over to Portland, but not very often. For the most part, we just hang out.” Olivia smiled apologetically. “We are kind of used to the quiet village life, and we like it. I have to go, so I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, sure. See you around,” offered Reagan, acutely aware that they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. Olivia started out the door of the store, stopped, and suddenly turned around.
“Reagan, I will take you up on that offer for a movie night some night. Just let me know when.” She pulled out a scrap of paper from her purse and scribbled her phone number on it. Reagan tore it in half and did the same. Olivia left, and Reagan turned to finish her malt.
The waitress approached her with the check. “You know, you can’t blame the kids for talking like they do.”
Reagan looked up at the waitress who was peering down at her. Reagan hadn’t noticed earlier that one of the waitress’s eyes was clouded over, blind. The waitress went on.
“There’ve been stories about that place going way back. I heard ‘em when I was a kid, and my kin ‘fore that. Folks around here say some mighty unkind things about your aunt, not that I take any stock in it, mind you.” The waitress was starting to wind up. “They say she made a pact with the devil. She locks herself in that barn, and no one is allowed to go in there when she’s making her pots. And she’s been wildly successful. People say the only reason is because she’s no longer the one doing the pots. The devil is. A reporter came out to do a story about her for an art magazine an’ she ran him off the property. She said she didn’t want anyone taking no pictures of her studio or her while she was working. Things like that make people suspect. That an’ people drowning and bodies disappearin’ right off the beach. Mind my words, you be careful, now. You may not believe those stories, but they didn’t come about out of thin air. There’s a reason people talk. You just watch your back.”
Reagan loudly slurped the last of her malt through the straw and smacked her lips.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I don’t believe all of that stuff. I don’t mean to say that I don’t respect your ideas, but I wasn’t raised the same way you were. I will say that you make an excellent malt. So, thank you, and keep the change.” With that, Reagan left the building.
Chapter 9
Two days later, Reagan woke up to rain pounding on the windows. The wind was howling, and the house seemed to creak. She stretched and glanced over at her dresser. Her hairbrush lay sideways across the top, the same way she had found it for the last two mornings.
She tried to brush aside the voices of the kids at the Corner Grill telling her the house was haunted. There had to be a reasonable explanation, but try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what happened every night. Before she went to bed, she would brush her hair, untangling her long tresses. She carefully lay the brush down in line with the perfume bottle and her hand lotion. Every morning, the brush was in the middle of the dresser and placed defiantly sideways.
She sighed. It probably should have creeped her out, but it was more perplexing. Surely there was a solid explanation, she just hadn’t figured it out yet. She never was one for sleepwalking, but you were never too old to start. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she reached with her toes to find her slippers. They weren’t there. What the hell? She always put her slippers next to the bed so that she could slip them right on. Despite the fact that it was summer, the hardwood floors were always chilly in the morning. Climbing out of bed, she got on the floor and looked under the bed… nothing. This is nuts. Turning around, she looked across the room. There, neatly placed in front of the rocking chair were her slippers. That didn’t make sense. She hadn’t sat in that rocking chair for days, preferring to read her books in bed, yet her slippers were sitting there as plain as day.
She walked over and reached down to grab them, and as she did, th
e rocking chair eased backward on its rockers and returned forward to its resting position. Now she was spooked. Even more frightening was the fact that the slippers, which had been parallel to each other, now sat crooked, the right one canted outward a little. A chill ran down her spine. Maybe the window was open a little, and the wind had blown the chair. This was an old house, and surely it was a draft. Not wanting to think about it anymore, Reagan grabbed her slippers and hustled downstairs still dressed in her pajamas, something she was not accustomed to doing.
Cora Rose was the only one in the kitchen. Willow had gone out of town to meet with a gallery owner down the coast. Cora flipped two pancakes on a plate and gestured to a pile of sausages on the table. It was obvious Cora Rose was not in a talkative mood today.
Reagan ate in silence, considering what her afternoon would entail. She was stabbing at a sausage link when her cell phone vibrated. Startled, she hadn’t heard that sound in a while, she glanced down at the table where the phone sat announcing a text from Olivia. ‘So, is that invitation still open for a movie day at your place, or am I being incredibly rude?’. Reagan smiled to herself. ‘Sure,’ she texted, ‘if you have the nerves for it.’. The phone stayed blank. One minute. Two minutes. Shoot. Maybe she shouldn’t have teased about that. Three minutes. ‘Sorry, I had to let my dog out. I’m game. What time should I come over, and do you need anything? Popcorn, Chips?’
“Cora Rose, do we have any popcorn or snacks?” asked Reagan.
“There is some microwave popcorn in the little cupboard over the microwave. What, you don’t like my pancakes?”
“No, Olivia is coming over today, and we were going to watch movies. I wanted to make some popcorn.”
“Olivia Hodges? Caleb’s girl?” Cora Rose was scowling fiercely.
“I guess. I met her at the Corner Grill. Why? What’s the problem?”
Cora Rose looked down and angrily swiped the counter with her rag. “Caleb Hodges isn’t going to like that one bit, and neither will Willow. Did you ask her if you can have guests, especially ones from the Hodges clan?”
“No, I didn’t think I needed to. I live here now until my mom comes home, and I am going to have a social life. I don’t intend to cause any problems, but I don’t intend to be isolated. What’s the beef between this Caleb person and my aunt?”
Cora Rose continued to wipe down the counter like she was trying to scrub away the surface.
“Cora?”
Cora spun around exasperated.
“Seriously, girl? Are you daft or something? You are telling me you don’t know what goes on around here? Haven’t you noticed things out of place, strange noises or voices? For the love of God, haven’t you seen the eyes under the dining room table?” Cora Rose demanded.
Reagan wasn’t ready to admit the singing she’d heard, the fact that her slippers had moved, or even the rocking chair rocking was remotely related to ghosts, or the supernatural, or any other gobbley-gook. All of that could be explained, but looking at Cora Rose, it was clear the woman really believed that there were freaking wolves under the damned table. The people of this town were unstable as hell. And what about Caleb?
“No, I don’t think there are strange things going on here, and what does any of that have to do with Olivia’s dad?
“Olivia’s dad was driving on the road past the house one night. A woman ran out in front of his truck. He swerved to miss her but slammed the truck into the tree by the corner of the driveway. Willow heard the noise and went out with Wiley to find out what happened. Wiley went crazy with barking. Willow couldn’t shut him up, and Caleb kept insisting that there was a woman. He was afraid he hit her with the corner of the truck. In fact, he pointed to what looked like blood on his front bumper. Willow told him he was crazy. By the time the sheriff came, Willow and Caleb had about come to blows. The sheriff investigated and found nothing. The blood on the bumper wasn’t there when the sheriff checked it out. Caleb was cited with failure to control his vehicle. The sheriff left, and Caleb was left to wait with his truck until Randy Ovsberger came with his tow truck. Right before the tow came, Caleb watched the same woman walk across the road and head toward the house. He pointed her out to Willow, who was still standing there with Caleb. Wiley was looking at the woman and wagging his tail. Willow said that there was no one there. Then she looked at Caleb, smiled, and wished him a good night. She walked back to the house, but she didn’t go alone. Caleb said he watched her walk next to the woman. It looked like Willow was having a conversation with her, and he swore the woman patted Wiley’s head the entire way. He also said she was dressed like she came from another century, like she didn’t belong here. He said they all walked into the house together. Trust me. He will not like that his daughter is coming over to hang out.”
Reagan smiled sweetly and texted Olivia. ‘We have popcorn here. When do you want to come over? Also, do you have a movie?’
“Okay, who invites a person over to watch a movie, but doesn’t have a DVD player to watch the movie on?” Olivia stood in the parlor with Reagan, looking at the TV.
“I really didn’t think about it. I only assumed. Who doesn’t have a DVD player or something?”
“Apparently your aunt,” said Olivia. “Is there another room with a TV?”
“You know, I’m not sure. Most of the time I’ve been in my room, the kitchen, or out on the porch if I’m not down on the rocks by the ocean,” said Reagan.
Olivia looked at her sideways. “You mean the same rocks that your dad fell off of, but didn’t die, but there was a body, and then there wasn’t? Those rocks?”
Reagan smiled, remembering Darcy telling the story with relish and the deflated look she wore when Reagan explained the truth. “Yeah, those rocks. At least, I assume. I really don’t know. No one has said anything about that here. In fact, no one has really said much about my family, this place, or anything. Willow and I eat breakfast every day in the big kitchen. Cora Rose makes it. Then Willow goes out to the barn to work, Cora Rose does stuff around the house until late morning, and I read or take walks. It’s getting lonely.”
“Don’t you ever ask your aunt anything?”
“No. When she comes in from working, she usually grabs a sandwich or a snack and then goes to work in her office. Sometimes, we watch TV, but that’s about it. I haven’t really been here all that long, so there is still hope…”
“So, now what? I’m feeling brave, so can we explore this creepy old house? Darcy is going to flip when she finds out I was here.”
Reagan stared at Olivia.
“Is that why you came? So, you can brag to your friends that you went to the crazy house?”
“Nope,” said Olivia, completely without guilt, “I came because I wanted to watch a movie with you, but you have to admit, Darcy is going to flip.”
“How about your dad? Is he going to flip, too?”
“Well, Dad doesn’t need to know everything. How did you find out my dad wasn’t fond of this place?”
“Cora Rose.”
“Enough said,” Olivia remarked. “So, can we explore?”
“Sure. I’ll show you my room, first.”
Reagan led Olivia up the stairs to the third floor. She showed her all the rooms that she had to choose from, and Olivia agreed that Reagan had picked the best one. When they left the room, Reagan headed for the narrow hall where her aunt’s room was located, but Olivia started up the stairs to the next floor.
“Whoa,” said Reagan, “we can’t go up to the fourth floor.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure, but my aunt says it is dangerous. I think the floor up there might be in disrepair or something. All I know is that I was told in no uncertain terms that it is off limits”
“Doesn’t that make you want to go up there?” asked Olivia.
“It does, but I promised my mom I wouldn’t disrespect my aunt’s wishes. Come on, let’s go through the old servant’s quarters and down the back stairs.” They stepped down the singl
e step into the narrow hall and passed all the tiny rooms. When they reached the end of the hall they descended the steep, narrow stairs to the kitchen, then passed that floor and headed to the first floor. They opened an old wooden door and entered a stone room. The room was half underground with high, tall windows. It was dank and gloomy.
“Okay, this is creepy,” said Olivia, as she brushed aside some cobwebs.
The ancient basement was filled with dusty tools and an old wooden cart. There were shelves along one wall that held murky remnants of canned fruit, perhaps peaches or apricots from years gone by. The light filtering in from the windows shone through the liquid, making the bulbous fruit look like entrails from a small animal.
The basement was broken up into rooms, each one holding groups of tools. One room had a large butcher block table, and the walls held rusty butcher knives. Evil looking hooks hung from the ceiling. Another room held hanks of reeds and several half-finished baskets. As they wandered from room to room, glimpsing into the past of a once prosperous farm, they meandered back into a dark corner. This was the opposite side of house, far away from the outside access door that could accommodate the wooden wagon they had first encountered.
They found themselves at the exterior wall of the basement. Cold, damp stones formed the foundation of the home that loomed above them. At the far end of the wall, in the darkest reaches of the basement, they came upon a heavy wooden door hung on thick wrought-iron hinges. A large iron handle held a padlock. In the upper reaches of the door, a window, covered in a heavy mesh of metal, leaked musty, rot-tainted air. Reagan’s hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Olivia grabbed her hand. They stared at the door, a feeling of dread in the pits of their stomachs.
“What the hell is that door, and what’s behind it?” whispered Olivia.
“I don’t know, but it smells like decay. I don’t much like it.” They turned their backs to leave when a soft whisper, barely audible, shuddered through the air.
The Starfish Talisman Page 5