The Starfish Talisman

by Lark Griffing

  “Get. Out.”

  “Okay, did you hear that?” asked Olivia, her eyes wide.

  “I don’t know. I think it was the house creaking. This place is really old, you know? Let’s go back upstairs.” They turned and quickly made their way to the other side of the basement, to the welcoming door that led to the outside and the narrow stairs that would take them back to the kitchen. It was still raining, so they took the stairs up a floor and entered the kitchen.

  “You didn’t hear a voice down there, did you?” Olivia asked, clearly shaken.

  “At first I thought I did, but I think it was just the sounds of the house. I mean, we were pretty amped up as it was, and our imaginations ran away with us. Maybe it was the wind blowing down through an opening in the basement or something, but I don’t believe in ghosts or any other spooky crap like that. Do you? I mean, do you really?” asked Reagan as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of Pepsi’s. She threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

  “No, not really. Well, not like in the movies and stuff, but there are a lot of things that just can’t be explained. Not only that, but why do we think we know everything? Why do we think that we are so superior that there is nothing beyond our comprehension that can’t exist?”

  “Well, you’re a whole lot more open minded than I am.”

  Grabbing their Pepsi’s and the popcorn, Reagan led the way out of the kitchen and headed toward the front of the house. Instead of walking into the parlor where the TV was located, she turned into a large, dark paneled room lined with bookshelves.

  “This is crazy,” said Olivia, whistling at the sight. “This house has its own library. How many books do you think are here?”

  “I don’t know. My first day here, I came into this room and got all excited because I figured I would have never ending reading material, but none of the books look interesting. They’re old and dusty with boring covers.”

  “Yeah, none of them look all that great.” They plopped down on the floor in the center of the room, munched on popcorn and looked over the contents of the shelves.

  “Are those photo albums over there on that shelf?” Olivia pointed to a low shelf on the far side of the room.

  “I don’t know.” Reagan got to her feet and made her way over. “It looks like there are a lot of old albums here.”

  She pulled a couple off the shelf. Olivia moved over, bringing the food with her. Leaning against the bookshelves, they opened the first album. Reagan flipped through a few pages and was stunned when she saw her father’s face staring at her from the page. He was young, but his gray eyes and boyish smile were unmistakable.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Olivia.

  “That’s my dad,” Reagan whispered. They both studied the picture, and Olivia murmured her uncomfortable condolences.

  As they turned the pages, they caught a glimpse of Wolf and Willow’s life, captured in film. Fishing on a pier, a class picnic, a ski trip, all with Wolf’s patented smile shining from the page. Willow looked carefree, a normal kid in a time gone by. Then Reagan turned the page and saw an eight by ten senior picture of her father. His smile had changed, and his eyes looked haunted. The boyish, carefree countenance was replaced by a gaunt young man who carried a world of pain on his shoulders.

  “He looks so sad,” Olivia said.

  “He really does.” That was the last picture of Reagan’s dad. There were a few more of Willow and presumably their parents, Reagan’s grandparents, but Wolf had completely disappeared from the record.

  Olivia’s phone chirped, and she stood up, gathering her empty Pepsi can. “Mom says she needs me to stop by the store and pick up some things for dinner, so I need to head home.”

  “So, are you going to tell your friends you survived a day at the crazy lady’s house?”

  “Nah, it’s none of their business. You can tell them when we go to the movies in Portland Friday night. If you want to go, that is.”

  “Sure, as long as Darcy doesn’t mind.”

  “Forget Darcy. She’s not a bad person, just a bit dramatic. You’ll get used to it.”

  Chapter 10

  After Olivia left, Reagan gathered the Pepsi cans and empty popcorn bag and tossed them in the kitchen garbage. It was still gloomy outside, so she decided to explore more of the albums. Heading back toward the library with Wiley padding silently beside her, she suddenly heard the faintest sound of singing. Wiley stopped and cocked his head, his ears lifting. Reagan strained her ears. Was she really hearing singing? She was aware of the rain pelting the side of the house and the sighing of the wind, but still, the faint strains of singing were coming from the library.

  Wiley’s tail began a slow wag, and he moved ahead of Reagan pushing himself through the library door. Still wagging, he walked over and leaned against an old velvet covered settee and stared upward, raptly. His ears pressed down against his head, and he stretched his neck to the side. If Reagan didn’t know better, she would swear Wiley was getting his neck scratched. Crazy dog, she thought. Then she stopped in her tracks.

  Sitting on the settee was one of the photo albums. This one looked old, with a leather embossed cover. She didn’t remember putting an album there. She glanced over at the stack that she and Olivia pulled off the shelf. They were still piled neatly on the floor where they had been sitting. No, no one had put an album on the piece of furniture.

  Reagan heard a light musical laugh, and Wiley got up lazily and moved over to Reagan, softly licking her hand as if to say everything was going to be okay. She absently reached down, scratching the dog’s soft ears. This day was just getting creepier.

  Convincing herself that Olivia had dropped the album there on her way out, Reagan walked over to pick it up. Settling on the stiff velvet couch, she opened the album and was transported into a time long ago. Ancient brown and white photos were held in the album under ornate paper frames. Spidery old-fashioned script graced the pages, naming the stiffly posed people in the formal poses. Reagan idly flipped her way through the album, being careful not to cause harm to the decaying pages. The ancient clothing looked constricting and uncomfortable, yet the dresses were dripping with delicate lace making them exquisite.

  She paused at one page, struck with the beauty of the young lady in the portrait. Long ringlet curls cascaded down the delicate shoulders of the stunning girl. Unlike the other grim ladies in the album, all prim and proper, this girl’s eyes were lit up, and she was smiling with delight. Everything about her was happy and full of life. Delicate lace covered the bodice of her summery white dress, and in her gloved hand, she held an ornate metal starfish. Deciphering the faded antique writing below the picture, Reagan read, Adelaide.

  She stared at the picture of the girl who had lived in her room, the girl that Cora Rose said was dragged down the stairs. Reagan could easily imagine this girl in the beautiful blue bedroom. Both the room and the girl exuded happiness and light. “Adelaide,” Reagan whispered. A tinkle of laughter reached her ears, and Wiley wagged his tail again. Reagan snapped the album shut. I’m losing it, she thought. Now I am imaging ghosts laughing. Enough of this crap. She put the albums away. Retrieving her book from her room, she went out on the front porch to watch the rain and read the evening away.

  It was late in the evening when Willow’s car drove up the driveway. Wiley raised his head from the porch floor and his tail slapped a rhythmic thud, thud as he waited patiently to greet his master. Reagan stirred stiffly as she put down the most recent crime novel she was reading.

  “Hello, Aunt Willow. You look tired.”

  “Yep, it was a long day.” Willow sighed as she lowered herself into a rocking chair.

  “Would you like me to get you a Pepsi and a sandwich?” asked Reagan. Willow looked up surprised.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t, but I would like to.”

  “Yes, that would be nice. You know I like tomatoes on my sandwich, right?” Willow asked.

  �
��I know just how you like it. I’ll be right out.” Reagan skipped into the house, eager to be of some help. She quickly made two sub sandwiches, complete with thinly sliced tomato and mayo on Willow’s. Grabbing the two plates and shoving the Pepsi under her arm, she headed back out to the porch. Willow startled when the screen door slammed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” stammered Reagan.

  “Just resting my eyes,” said Willow as she reached for the Pepsi and the offered plate. “That looks amazing, thanks.” They settled themselves comfortably next to each other and ate silently while listening to the creak of the rockers on the old wooden porch. It would be dusk soon, and the frogs were beginning to sing in the pond by the barn.

  Willow sighed when she finished. “That really hit the spot. Thanks.”

  “Did your visit with the galleries go well?”

  “Actually, they did. I have a huge order to complete. It will keep me busy most of the summer. I have to deliver it by August first, which means I will be practically living in the barn, but it will pay the bills.”

  “Willow, do you like being a potter? I mean, would you rather go to an office and know you are getting a paycheck every week?”

  “Not in a million years. This is hard work, and it’s feast or famine. There are long stretches where I won’t get any work, and then it all hits at once, but there is nothing I would rather be doing. I have simple needs except for keeping up this house, so I am glad I can make a living this way.”

  “This house is important to you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. I would do anything to keep this house. It’s been in our family since it was built. Your entire family was born here, except for you.”

  “Seriously? You and my dad were actually born in this house?”

  “Yes, we were, and our daddy before that, and his daddy before that, and his daddy… get the idea?”

  “Was Adelaide born here?”

  “Of course, she was. She was a James. What do you know of Adelaide?”

  “Not much. Only that you said she wouldn’t mind if I had her room, and that Cora Rose said she was dragged down the basement stairs. That’s a story I want to hear. I had forgotten all about that stuff until I saw her picture in an old album in the library.”

  “So, you spent this rainy day exploring the albums, huh?”

  “Yep. I saw pictures of you and my dad when you guys were in high school. There were some great pictures, but then they stopped after his senior picture. Then I found the old album and saw Adelaide’s picture. She was beautiful. So, who was she?”

  “Adelaide is your great-great-great aunt. She’s a kind soul, but her heart was broken young.”

  “You talk about her as if she is still alive.”

  “Well, isn’t she? She is still alive in you and me. We are James’, and we are linked. Her essence is still in that room. It looks the same as when she lived in it. Her spirit is all through this house.”

  “She seemed like she was a happy girl. Did she sing?”

  “So, you fancy you have heard her singing?”

  “No, I’m certain it was just the wind I heard. I don’t know why I asked that question. Did she get married? Did she have children? Where are her ancestors, and do they ever come here to the house?”

  Willow sat quietly, gathering her thoughts. She spoke carefully and softly when she finally answered. “Adelaide died very young. On the morning of her wedding day, she fell from the cliff top to the rocks below. It was a terrible tragedy,” said Willow. Reagan sat stunned. It was straight from some ridiculous romance novel. She figured Willow was pulling her leg.

  “Right,” said Reagan, “and she haunts the cliffs on a full moon.”

  “Of course not! She haunts the house on a daily basis. Thanks for the sandwich, I’ll see you in the morning. Remember, do not stay out here after dark, and be certain to lock the door.” With that Willow went into the house and left Reagan sitting in the rocking chair with her mouth wide open.

  Reagan regained her composure and looked down at the Lab, who looked back at her with his liquid brown eyes. “Wiley, all of these people here in this town are crazy. My aunt is crazy, Cora Rose is crazy, Olivia might be a little crazy, and we know her father is. Please tell me you aren’t crazy, too?” Wiley thumped his tail, then got up and walked to an empty rocking chair. He raised his paw, as if to say hello, then flattened his ears on the side of his head and smiled his happy Lab smile. Reagan could have sworn he was getting the top of his head petted, but there was no one there.

  “Come on you stupid dog. Let’s go inside.” She picked up her book and her empty Pepsi can and held the screen door for the dog. He reluctantly got up, licked the air, and then followed Reagan into the house. She locked the door and threw away the garbage, turning out the lights as she started toward her bedroom.

  As she passed through the dark dining room, she heard Wiley give a low, throaty growl. It was so menacing, she stopped in her tracks. “What’s wrong boy?” She looked down at Wiley to see him staring across the dining room at the huge antique table. His growl deepened and grew louder. Reagan’s heart beat harder in her chest. As she peered into the gloom of the darkened dining room, her eyes tried to adjust. What was wrong with Wiley?

  She took a step toward the table. Wiley leapt at her, throwing his body in front of her, and leaned hard against her knees. His hackles raised all along his back. His lips curled completely over the top of his nose, and his long canine teeth were bared. “Wiley, what is it?”

  There was a note of hysteria in her voice that she didn’t recognize. Suddenly, in the dark underneath the table, she saw strange red reflections, like eyes in the dark. Wiley let out a sharp bark. The office door snapped open, and Willow stood in the door frame. “Wiley, out!” commanded Willow. The light from the office dispersed the shadows in the dining room and the only thing under the table were the legs of the numerous chairs surrounding it.

  “Reagan, is there something wrong?”

  “I…I don’t know,” Reagan stammered. “Wiley just went a little crazy. He just started growling and wouldn’t let me near the table. I don’t know what is going on, but I thought…”

  “You thought what, dear?”

  “Nothing. It’s silly. I just saw a strange reflection or something. What was up with Wiley, though?”

  “Probably saw a mouse or something. I’ll tell Cora Rose to set out some traps tomorrow. She’ll like that.” Willow grinned at the thought and wished a shaken Reagan goodnight.

  Reagan nodded mutely and started up the stairs. She was still a little frightened. It was like she had seen eyes under the table. Cora Rose’s wolves? No, she was not that stupid to think that there were wolves under a dining room table.

  Chapter 11

  Reagan woke up to sunshine streaming in her windows. Despite the upsetting evening she’d had the night before, she had slept like a rock.

  Wiley put his two front paws on her bed and washed her face with his big sloppy tongue in a good morning greeting. Out of habit, she glanced over at her dresser, expecting to see her hairbrush there where it was every morning since she had moved in. She was shocked it wasn’t on the dresser. She moved her gaze over to the vanity where she had lined up her brush, lotion, and perfume the night before. There it lay, in perfect position, just as she had left it. She smiled to herself. This was the first night she felt she had slept soundly, and her brush was where it belonged. Willow must have been right. She must have been sleepwalking because she was in a strange place. Well, strange is certainly true Reagan thought, but at least her hairbrush mystery was solved.

  After a quick shower, she skipped down the stairs. The smell of maple syrup, coffee, and waffles was calling to her. She smiled to herself, feeling spoiled. How was she going to go back to not eating breakfast once she was home and school started? She was really going to miss Cora Rose’s cooking.

  “Good morning, Cora Rose. The wonderful aroma of your food roused me this morning,
and I can’t wait to eat those waffles.”

  “You’re in an annoyingly good mood for some who saw the wolves last night,” Cora Rose muttered. “Now your aunt wants me to set out stupid traps to catch non-existent mice, because no one wants to admit that this place is possessed by demons. If Willow thinks I am going to crawl under that table to put a trap, she has another thing coming. I will not go there.” Cora Rose punctuated her statement by waving her spatula wildly about. Bits of waffle flew off and Wiley snapped the air in an attempt to capture the minuscule crumbs.

  “Cora Rose, if it upsets you that much, I’ll put the traps under the table. There aren’t any wolves, and I don’t believe in letting fear get the best of me. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” said Reagan as she helped herself to a golden waffle and poured a generous amount of pure maple syrup on top. Sliding three sausage links into the pools of syrup that flooded the sides of her plate, she walked her way back to the kitchen table humming to herself.

  “What are you humming, and where did you hear that?” gasped Cora Rose.

  “Hmmm?” asked Reagan absently, as she checked her cellphone for texts from her mom.

  “That song you were humming? Where did you hear it?”

  “I have no idea. I really didn’t realize I was humming. What has you so upset on this gorgeous morning?” Reagan pushed.

  “You do. You and your arrogant, youthful, citified ways,” scolded Cora Rose. “You come here and act like you don’t see what’s going on. You act like you’re too good for the likes of those of us who have lived here all our lives and know what goes on here. Well, mark my words, you will pay for your arrogance. Just you watch.”

  With that Cora Rose swept out of the kitchen, carrying a handful of mouse traps. Reagan watched, speechless, as Cora Rose passed the dining room table and placed a few traps near the sideboard and then continued on into the front entrance hall. Bat-shit crazy, thought Reagan. Certifiably, bat-shit crazy. Still, Cora Rose’s threats were beginning to bother her. No one liked being told that they were going to pay. It made Reagan nervous. Shaking it off, she finished her breakfast and then grabbed the two remaining baited mousetraps from the counter near the garbage. She waltzed into the dining room, got down on her hands and knees and stared under the massive, antique dining room table.