The Haunted

by Jessica Verday

  Not all of the candles were lit, but they lined the room from top to bottom, and I realized that they were place markers. One for each person that was buried here. This had been one large family.

  A giant rectangular stone rested near me, and I pried loose one of the candles. Moving closer, I saw that it was a black marble slab. Even under the thick layers of dust, bright veins of gold shot through the heavy stone and sparkled at me. I swiped a hand over the dirt-encrusted name plaque and read MONTGOMERY ABBOTT 1759–1824. With such a large monument, he must have been the patriarch of the family.

  Nodding my head in respect, I paused for a moment. Should I say a prayer or something? Bits and pieces of a Catholic benediction rambled through my brain, but as I tested the words on my tongue, they felt foreign and out of place. I made the sign of the cross instead and whispered, “Rest in peace.” Hopefully Mr. Abbott wouldn’t mind me poking around his family’s final resting place too much.

  Of course, if he did decide to visit me from the beyond, what was one more ghost?

  A small iron bench was to the right of the stone and spread across one end was a… jacket? It had to be Caspian’s. The urge to put it on came over me, and I almost did.…

  But then I saw the pictures.

  They were drawings of me. Dozens of them. Almost covering the entire wall beside the bench. Black-and-white charcoal sketches that showed me standing, sitting, smiling, frowning, scowling, crying… They were amazing.

  I lifted a finger and gently traced the outline of one of them. Who was this girl? She was sad and beautiful all at once. It couldn’t be me. I wasn’t that pretty.

  A bit of wax suddenly rolled down my thumb, leaving a burning trail. The light dipped and wavered, casting dancing shadows across the room. Several boxes were piled nearby, and I turned to them, curiosity aroused.

  Two of them were overturned and being used like tables, but a couple of smaller ones had stuff inside. I sat the candle down and knelt to take a look.

  There was an alarm clock, a picture frame with an old school picture in it, a couple of books, and some clothes. I picked up the frame, feeling a thrill run through me. It was almost like being in his room. I smiled when I saw a copy of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” sitting next to the alarm clock. Guess he’s finally gotten around to reading it.

  On the nearest overturned box rested a sketch pad, a set of charcoals, and another book. It was one of the Christmas gifts I’d given him. I opened it, flipping through the illustrations of stars.

  An abrupt scraping noise had me scrambling to my feet, and the door opened. I dropped the book and the candle. The candle rolled and sputtered once before dying.

  Caspian looked surprised to see me. “Abbey?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Glancing down at my feet, I saw the book sprawled open with several of the pages sticking out at an odd angle. I bent to pick it up and put it back on the box.

  I waited for him to confront me, but he just turned away.

  “How did you find this place?” he asked.

  “I—I saw you. I, um, sort of came looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just… After last night, I wanted to see you again.”

  “So you came in here and went through my stuff ?”

  I could feel my face flushing, even in the semidarkness. Then I got mad. “Well, you were hanging around my house. And…” I glanced over at the drawings. “And you’ve been stalking me!”

  Caspian glanced at the pictures too. “You saw those? What did… what did you think?” The hopeful look in his eyes completely threw me off balance.

  “I… um… I thought the drawings were really good. I mean, there’s no way I look like that. That pretty, I mean.…” I blushed. Then I decided to be truthful. “It was kind of weird, actually.”

  “I’m not stalking you,” he said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not!” he protested. “Everything I drew, I drew from memory. It’s kind of like my way of having you here with me.”

  At that moment I wished desperately that I still held the candle. I wanted to see his face clearer. Did he mean it? He drew them so that I would be “here”? I didn’t know if that was totally creepy or totally swoonworthy.

  “They really are good,” I said again. I didn’t know what to say beyond that, so I waited for him to speak. Instead he moved to the bench and sat down. I just waited. For what, I didn’t know, but now I was here. He had to do something.

  The “something” he did was ignore me. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Are you hoping that if you don’t talk to me long enough, I’ll turn into a pile of bones like all the other ones in here?” I flung my arms out in exasperation. “Sorry, but it won’t happen.”

  “No, I was hoping that if I stayed quiet long enough, you’d take the hint and leave,” he said.

  Wow. That hurt. “If you want someone to leave, just tell them.” I turned and started to storm off, then stopped. “Oh, and since we’re on the subject of people leaving, this is a tomb, if you haven’t noticed. Not a place for squatters. You shouldn’t be here either.”

  I was breathing fast and getting all worked up. The space around me felt like it was growing smaller and warmer every second.

  “I know,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t be here. But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  The loneliness I heard behind those few short words made my heart ache. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Just leave, Astrid. Please.”

  “Why?” I asked him. “I want to stay.”

  Caspian shook his head. “We discussed this last night, remember?”

  His voice was so hollow. He’d given up already. Rash impulses filled me, and I crouched before him. We were face-to-face, and I could see his shadowed eyes. “Don’t do this, Caspian. Don’t give up on yourself.”

  “Don’t give up on myself ?” He laughed weakly. “What is this, an after-school special? I don’t have anything to give up on. I’m nothing.”

  “That’s not true. If I can see you, that means you’re something. We just have to figure out what.”

  “I’ve already played that game, Abbey. When I first met you. It didn’t turn out so well, remember? I broke you.”

  I slammed my hand against the hard floor, surprising both of us. “Don’t throw that back at me. I had every right to be upset.”

  “And I don’t?”

  “Yes! Yes, you do. That’s the point. Get upset. Get pissed off. Yell at me for coming into your place and going through your stuff. Feel emotions. If you have that, then you’re not nothing.”

  Caspian suddenly leaned forward. Startled, I stood up.

  He echoed my movement, placing both hands on the bench and pushing himself to a standing position. We were inches apart, and I took a nervous step backward. I don’t know why I did that, but his eyes looked strange. Wild. My stomach fluttered. What was he going to… do?

  He took a step forward. I took a second step back. He advanced, and I retreated, until I felt a wall behind me. He took another step forward and slid his hands on either side of me. Bracing himself against the wall, he had me pinned in.

  My throat went dry, and I swallowed. My legs turned to water, and my clothing felt like it was sticking to me. I swallowed again, burning everywhere. It was so warm in here.

  Caspian leaned in and put his lips right next to my ear. I fought very hard not to shiver. “You want me to have feelings?” he said. “I already told you that I love you. What else should I say? That I long to be near you every second of every day? I see colors, only around you.… I smell perfume, only around you. God, it’s like… like I’m alive again. Sometimes I go crazy just wondering if I’ve imagined it all, and I wait to see when it… you… will be taken away from me.”

  The sputtering of a dying candle nearby distracted him, and then we were plunged into darkness over in the corner of our little world. The sound of his voice in my ear and th
e soft darkness blanketing around us had me biting my lip to hold back a moan. My skin was growing hotter. Aching for his touch, for any part of him to fuse with me and make this terrible need go away.

  How could I do this? How could I feel this way, knowing that nothing could be done about it?

  “I feel all these things, Abbey,” he continued on. “Rage that I can’t run my fingers through your hair. Sorrow that I can’t lay my face next to yours. Agony that I can’t steal the breath from your lips. I can’t eat or breathe or sleep for wanting to touch you, and yet I don’t eat or breathe or sleep. I’m just here. Stuck in between.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek and I closed my eyes, turning my head away from him. This was too much. I couldn’t handle this longing and emotion. This much pain. I broke too easily.

  “I crave your companionship, your friendship, your conversation,” he said. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to go from having everyone see you and talk to you, to having them all ignore you? You’re left with nothing but your thoughts and a whole lot of free time.”

  He moved his arms, and the prison lifted. I cleared my throat and tried to find my voice. “I want you to feel those things, Caspian. Feeling means you’re human. Hold on to that. Grab on and don’t let it go.”

  He was drawing away from me. I felt it, and I was desperate to make him stay.

  “I don’t know if I can,” he said, mumbling. “It’s too hard to pretend. I get too angry.…” He trailed off, and I was lost.

  “What do you mean? Does something… happen?”

  Caspian laughed bitterly. “Yeah, it’s called my temper. When I first found out what happened to me, I was really angry about it. Pissed off at everyone. And I did some stuff. Stuff I’m not proud of. It’s not like I hurt anyone, but I damaged property and things. I just don’t want to go to that place again. I don’t want to become… destructive.”

  My brain was on overload. I’d bounced from confusion to anger to lust and now back to confusion again. I leaned against the wall and massaged my temples. He was watching me.

  “I don’t know how to process any of this,” I said. “So I’m just going to leave now and think about it. Can I… will you… be here tomorrow? Can I come back?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If you want to.”

  “I do.” My voice cracked, and I tried again, saying firmly, “I want to come back.”

  Chapter Ten

  CRAZY BEAUTIFUL

  He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air…

  —“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

  W hen I first stepped out of the mausoleum, the bright sun shocked me, rendering me temporarily blind. But now the darkness was fading, and I suddenly felt weary. I put my hands to the back of my neck and massaged the muscles. They were all tense and knotted up, and my head ached. I stopped for a moment to release my hair from its ponytail and ran my fingers through the tangled curls.

  I didn’t pass anyone as I exited the cemetery. Not even the landscaper. Everything was still and silent, and I wondered where they’d gone.

  The house, however, was not silent when I got home.

  Mom was talking loudly on the phone, with the TV blaring in the background. I let the back door slam behind me and then angled toward the couch. Plopping down, I stretched out my feet. They were aching too. I picked up the remote and flipped through all the channels twice but there was nothing on. Summer television sucks.

  Mom came into the living room, and I turned the TV off. She had that look on her face that said she wanted to “talk.”

  “Where did you go?”

  I shrugged. “Took a walk.”

  She sat down beside me. “Abbey, I wanted to apologize to you for last night. I’m sorry your birthday dinner wasn’t to your liking.”

  “You’re apologizing for the food ? What about the other stuff ?”

  She looked dumbfounded. “What other stuff ?”

  “Well… how about the fact that you completely embarrassed me and got drunk in front of my friend?”

  “I was not drunk,” she sputtered. “I only had a couple of sips—not enough to do any damage.”

  “Could have fooled me,” I mumbled.

  “What’s that?”

  I stood up. “Nothing, Mom. I’m going to my room.”

  “But don’t you want to hear what else I had to—”

  “No. Not interested.”

  That was clearly the wrong thing to say.

  “Fine then… just fine. If you’re not interested, I won’t waste my breath.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Whatever. I couldn’t believe she didn’t see anything wrong with the way she’d acted.

  I left the living room and climbed the stairs, shaking my head the whole way. Once I reached my bedroom, I kicked off my sandals and padded over to the bed. Rolling my head from side to side, I slid down onto the edge and closed my eyes.

  I felt all tight and itchy on the outside. I couldn’t tell what I was feeling on the inside.

  A soft beeping noise sounded, and I opened one eye. My phone was on the desk, its red light flashing to signal that the battery was dying.

  Getting up, I grabbed the phone and plugged it into the wall charger. Then I flipped it open and saw I had a voice mail. Hitting the button to connect me to the mailbox, I put it to my ear and listened.

  “Hey, Abbey, it’s Beth. I just got back from babysitting the Wilson kids, and I heard that you babysit for them sometimes too. I wanted to let you know that they have this new trick to lock you in the bathroom. Whatever you do, don’t let Eli show you his magic numbers game.” There was a pause, and then, “So, uh, that’s all. I just wanted to tell you that. You can call me later…”

  Beth rattled off her number, and the phone prompted me to press nine if I wanted to save, or seven if I wanted to delete. I hit nine, staring down at the keypad. How did she get my number?

  I placed the phone back on the charger and pulled my hand away, but I accidentally knocked into a large bottle of apricot-kernel oil that was sitting on the desk. I tried to reach it in time but couldn’t. It fell, and the loose cork top bounced off.

  Liquid started to seep across the papers that were scattered there.

  “Damn it! Those are my notes for the Ashes Turned Bone perfume,” I said.

  Lunging to sweep my papers out of the way, I hit a test tube, and it fell too, splintering into a dozen pieces. Quickly righting the apricot oil bottle, I held the damp notes to my chest with one hand and reached down to the floor with the other, groping blindly for something I could use to clean up the mess. My hand struck what felt like a crumpled T-shirt, and I threw it down on top of the puddle slowly inching its way across my desk.

  I carried the papers over to my bed and used the corner of a pillowcase to dab at the excess oil as I spread them out to dry. Then I went back over to clean up the broken glass.

  I picked up my garbage can along the way and carefully deposited the fractured glass into it. It didn’t look like there were any small splinters to worry about, but as I picked up the last piece, it sliced across my thumb. Immediately, blood welled up, and I wrapped my finger in the bottom of my tank top to stop the bleeding.

  Only after my hand started turning white from applying so much pressure did I look down to assess the damage. My tank top stuck to the wound, and when it finally pulled free, it was spotted with bright red splotches of blood. Lots of blood.

  I felt a curious sense of detachment as I gazed down at it. Blood had never bothered me before, and it was almost like I was looking at someone else’s injury. More bright beads welled to the surface of my thumb, and I shuffled over to the bathroom. First-aid kit was in there.

  I opened the medicine cabinet one-handed and pulled out a small plastic container, then flipped the latch and grabbed some antibiotic ointment and a large square bandage. I squeezed a line of thick ointment across the cut. The gel clotted with the blood, tinting
the mixture pink. After peeling back the white plastic strips of the bandage, I wrapped the sticky ends first around one edge of my thumb and then the other.

  Satisfied with my patch-up job, I stuffed the antibiotic ointment back into the first-aid kit and returned it to the medicine cabinet. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror then and stared at my reflection. I was a mess.

  Blood speckled the bottom of my shirt, while apricot oil stained the top. My hair was ratty and tangled, and my cheeks were bright red. I turned to the left and checked out my exposed shoulders. They were red too. Sunburn. The indent left behind by my thumb turned white and then red. Ouch. That’s going to peel.

  Feeling all sticky and dirty, I stripped out of my clothes and jumped into the shower. It hurt my shoulders at first, but after a couple of minutes they grew numb to the stinging sensation. I reached for the shampoo bottle and turned it over, preparing to squirt some of it into my palm. My thumb had bled through the bandage in a small crimson circle, darker at the edges and lighter in the middle. The spray of water was making it soggy, and I wondered if it would bleed again when I replaced the bandage after the shower.

  My mind jumped to Caspian. Did he bleed? He was dead, so the logical answer should be no. Yet he was solid in some ways. Could his skin crack or peel? What would be underneath? Could he feel hot and cold? Did he shower?

  Water drummed off the edge of the shampoo bottle, forcing my attention back to what I was doing. I had so many questions for him. Which ones would he answer? Which ones could he answer?

  I turned off the water, wrapped myself in towels, and grabbed a pair of gym shorts and a new T-shirt. It felt so good to be clean again.

  The sunlight in my room was shifting and changing, slanting away from me and toward the walls. I stopped at my desk to finish cleaning up the rest of the mess.

  Pushing the crumpled T-shirt once more over the sections where the oil had spilled, I noticed that several dark stains had bloomed. The spots felt smooth and slick, not wet, under my finger, and I knew the wood had absorbed the oil. Sighing, I threw the ruined shirt into the garbage.