The Haunted

by Jessica Verday

  “No. I don’t think I want that. I’m just not sure what I want.” I turned away and glanced at the display cases again. Nothing was standing out to me there.

  Then I saw a smaller display case, tucked away in the corner. A wild purple plant was the only thing in it. “What’s that?”

  He came over and lifted it out to show me. The delicate brass pot it was in was gorgeous but looked like it could hardly contain the plant. Blooms tumbled everywhere.

  “This is the heliotrope plant,” he said. “I’ll give you a good deal on it. They’re not usually sold in florist shops. It’s a very old plant. This one came mixed with a recent shipment.”

  The purple flowers seemed to be calling out to me, and I touched a clump of petals. “I’ll take it. And a single red rose, too.”

  “You know, the heliotrope has a very distinct meaning,” he said as I pushed open the door to leave.

  “It does?” I said. “What is it?”

  “It symbolizes eternal love and devotion.”

  I smiled at him. “Perfect. It was meant for me, then.”

  He smiled back and waved as I walked out. I switched the plant to my left hand and turned to Caspian. “Can you lead me back to the cemetery?” He nodded, and we made it there about ten minutes later.

  I found his headstone and knelt down to carefully arrange the plant beside it. The blooms arched around the stone, almost lovingly, looking like they’d always been there.

  “Heliotrope for devotion,” I told him. “And a red rose for love. Eternal love and devotion.”

  I placed the single rose on top of the headstone, then pulled away suddenly. A sharp thorn had sliced into my thumb. Caspian had his eyes closed and didn’t see what happened next.

  But I did.

  A drop of blood fell from my finger and splashed onto the flower. The crimson bead rolled, then spread across one perfect red petal. It blossomed there, like an ink blot, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away from it. It was obscene and beautiful. Death and life, all rolled into one.

  Footsteps behind me made me turn around, and an old woman dressed in black came walking across the graveyard. She stopped at the row of tombstones before Caspian’s, and nodded to me. I nodded back. And decided it was time to go.

  Running my finger over that C, one last time, I whispered, “I love you,” and prepared to leave. As I passed by the woman, she looked up at me.

  “Remember, child,” she said, “you’re never alone.”

  “You’re right,” I replied, looking Caspian directly in the eye. “I’m not alone.”

  ˜ ˜ ˜

  We left West Virginia to head for home, as Ben talked on and on about some new car project he had planned now that he’d visited the junkyard. I had no idea what the difference was between an alternator and a carburetor, and I didn’t really care to find out. But Ben was happy to try to explain.

  Caspian kept looking out the windows the whole way home, and I distracted myself by talking about Kristen. We were only ten minutes from the house when I pulled out my phone to call Mom and Dad. But they didn’t pick up.

  I was about to try Mom’s cell when Ben pulled into our driveway.

  “Thanks for going with me, Ben,” I said, when he came to a stop. “Really. You have no idea how awesome that was.” I wanted to hug him or something, but I didn’t know how awkward that would be.

  He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. “I’m glad you asked me to go, Abbey.” His eyes flashed to the clock. “I better get going, though. I was starting to feel pretty tired back there. I’ll catch ya later?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I hopped out and grabbed my suitcase, briefly holding the door open for Caspian. “Don’t fall asleep on the way to your house.”

  Ben laughed. “I won’t.” And with a final honk he drove away.

  I glanced over at Caspian, trying to keep it discreet, certain that Mom was going to come flying out the front door any minute. “I’m gonna go in and greet the parentals,” I said quickly. “I’m sure they’re just bursting with curiosity.”

  “I’ll wait in the backyard,” he replied. “When you have a moment, slip out for a walk.”

  I nodded, then wheeled my suitcase up the front walkway. The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open, leaving my luggage near the stairs. “Mom, Dad,” I called. “I’m home!”

  Silence greeted me.

  I walked through the kitchen, peeking into the living room and dining room along the way. They weren’t in either of those rooms.

  “Mom? Dad? Are you guys upstairs?” I yelled. “There better not be some type of let’s-get-freaky-now-that-our-kid-is-gone alone time going on here! If I find chocolate syrup anywhere other than the fridge, I swear, I’m moving out.”

  Taking the stairs two by two, I sprinted to the top. Mom and Dad’s door was closed, which was always a good thing… but mine was open. I know I shut that before I left. If Mom thinks she can go in there and mess with my stuff while I’m gone, she is sadly mistaken.

  I pushed my door open all the way, getting ready to assess the damage…

  And stopped cold.

  The overhead lights were off, but dozens of candles covered the desk, my nightstand, the fireplace mantel… Long shadows leapt and danced along the walls, their tiny flames flickering wildly as if a sudden gust of wind had blown through the room. What the hell is going on… ?

  I took a step closer and felt my eyes widen. Too wide; it felt like they were bulging out of place and would pop out at any second.

  My bed was littered with roses. Long-stemmed, heavy-blossomed, bloodred roses. They covered the entire surface in a massive heap, dozens upon dozens of them. There was something vaguely familiar about how they were arranged, almost like a bunch of… funeral sprays.

  And stretched out among them, in the center of the bed, arms crossed in a classic funeral pose was… Caspian?

  I screamed. My stomach twisted violently, and I knew I was going to throw up.

  Then his eyes popped open. “This is how you like ’em, right?”

  My heart stopped as I recognized that voice. Vincent.

  He sat up slowly, uncrossing his arms, and the likeness to Caspian was uncanny. He’d dyed his hair the same white-blond shade and had even put in the black streak angling across his forehead. His hair looked longer—he must have flat-ironed it to get the same style—and he was dressed in a black suit. I watched in horror as he came toward me.

  “What do you think?” He stopped for a moment to straighten the lapels of his jacket. “Do I make a good dead guy, or what?”

  My stomach was still roiling, but I couldn’t tell if it was from shock, or fear.

  “Aren’t you going to give me a big kiss?” he said, advancing again. My knees started shaking, and I ground my nails into my palm to try to focus on something else. “Come on, Abbey.” His voice turned hard. “I set all this up for you. The least you can do is show your appreciation. Do you have any idea how much it costs to get this many roses delivered?”

  I dug my nails in so hard that I felt my palm start to get sticky. And still my terror was mounting.

  Vincent finally reached me and ran a cold palm down my face. “Feel that? Why would you want to be with him, anyway? Necrophilia, Abbey.” He shook his head. “It’s not a pretty thing.”

  I tried to hold still, to not let him see my fear, but I couldn’t tell if I was succeeding. He watched me closely, then suddenly smiled.

  “Now,” he said, bending low into a grand bow. “Would you consider this our first date? Or our third? Technically, we had that little outing in the cemetery and our meeting in the alleyway behind your uncle’s store, so I think… Yes, this is our third.”

  “We haven’t been on any dates, asshole,” I said quietly.

  He looked affronted. “What do you call this?” And spread his arms wide. “I brought you flowers, we have mood lighting, I’m all dressed up, and we’re quite alone. That, my dear, is a date.”

  I snorted.

  Vin
cent’s face turned hard, and he leaned down closer to me. “Am I not pale enough for you? Not cold enough?” He yanked my wrist and held it against his chest. “This is the problem, yes? My heartbeat? Sorry, darling. I’m not dead enough for you.”

  Something about the way he said “dead” struck a cold spot inside of me. I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. Vincent was going to kill me.

  Then his gaze shifted. “What’s this?”

  He caught sight of my perfume cabinet, my lovely brand-new perfume cabinet that Mom and Dad had worked so hard on, and pulled my hand. Forcing me to follow him as he moved toward it.

  I dug in my heels, but he was too strong. My arm felt like it was being pulled from its socket.

  “Leave it… ,” I managed, “alone.”

  He cocked his head at me. “What was that? You have to speak up.”

  The pain in my arm increased, and red-hot pokers shot under my skin. I whimpered, then clamped my mouth shut.

  Vincent ran one hand over the outside of the cabinet, then opened one of the drawers and grabbed a handful of glass bottles. “Speak up,” he said. Opening his fingers wide, he released the bottles, and they went crashing to the floor.

  The smells, and glass, went everywhere. A cloud of scent enveloped me, and I coughed once, trying not to gag.

  Vincent opened another drawer.

  “Stop… it,” I pleaded. “Just… stop it.”

  But he grabbed a second handful and this time threw them gleefully to the floor. Tiny splinters of glass bounced and shimmered. Puddles of liquid started seeping into the wood.

  “That’s a wonderful noise!” he said. “A symphony of sound!”

  I had a split second of comprehension, a clear, perfect understanding of what he was going to do, but still I couldn’t stop it.

  Vincent gripped my curio cabinet with both hands, lifted it up, and threw it against the wall, an angelic smile on his face.

  “Noooooooo!” I screamed.

  Pieces of wood cracked and splintered. What was left of my perfume stock still inside the cabinet drawers exploded, and the sound… was heartbreaking.

  I dropped to my knees, heedless of the glass that now covered the floor. My fingers clenched into fists, and the fury that filled me was pure, unadulterated rage. Then, suddenly, I heard another noise.

  It was my name, coming from Caspian as he charged through the open door and threw himself at Vincent.

  They both fell to the floor.

  Vincent seemed shocked to see him, and in that brief moment Caspian reared back and slammed his fist into Vincent’s eye. He managed to get in another blow, this one to his jaw, and I heard the snap as Vincent’s head whipped back.

  Then, just as suddenly, Caspian went flying.

  Vincent’s hands were outstretched, like all he’d done was simply extend them, and Caspian landed against the fireplace mantel. The force he hit with was so strong that immediately a crack ran up against the wall beside him.

  “Caspian!” I yelled. He looked stunned for a second, and then his head slumped forward.

  Vincent got to his feet and came to me, grabbing my arm again. He pulled roughly, trying to yank me over to the window, but I couldn’t get my balance. My knees went sliding across the floor, and I screamed as glass shards ripped through my skin.

  He stopped, looking down at the bloody trail I was leaving behind. “Messy. Messy. Messy. So damn messy.” A brief look of distaste crossed his face, and then he scooped me up into his arms. “Try not to get any blood on the suit,” he said.

  I struggled. As much as I could struggle with knees and legs that were torn and bloody, and him squeezing me tighter. It felt like bands of steel were wrapping themselves around my lungs, and I took a gasping breath. “Can’t… breathe…”

  Instantly he loosened his grip. But didn’t let me go.

  My tears came then. I was so completely broken down and overwhelmed that I stopped struggling and just cried. My whole body shook, and Vincent held me out away from him.

  “Just kill me,” I hiccupped. “Just do it already.”

  I felt an awkward pat on my head. “Why would I want to kill you, Abbey?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re here for? Didn’t you… Didn’t you kill Kristen?” I tried to slow my sobs. “You said you were there… the night she died, and now I know about it.”

  “Of course I was. And I guess you could say that since I let her fall in, I’m responsible.” He shrugged elegantly. “But don’t you see, Abbey? It was my bad. I had the wrong girl. I thought she was Caspian’s other half. I’ve really wanted you all along.”

  “Me? You wanted me?” A pain so intense and so searing that it felt like my heart was physically being ripped in two filled me, and I would have doubled over if I could. “You mean,” I choked, “that I’m the reason Kristen’s dead?”

  “Yes.” Vincent smiled down at me. “Yes, that’s right.”

  An anguished moan escaped me, more wild emotion than intelligible speech, and I grabbed at my head. The pain was there. In there. And it was killing me.

  “Now that he’s found you, I can’t kill you,” Vincent continued. “Or else you two will be completed, and that would just ruin everything. No, I’ve got to make sure you stay perfectly… alive.”

  Suddenly feet came pounding up the stairs, and angry voices echoed in the hall.

  “They’re coming,” Vincent said. “But they can’t do anything yet. I’ve made sure of that.” Then he whispered in my ear, “Don’t even think about doing anything stupid. Stay. Alive.”

  Uri, Cacey, Sophie, and Kame burst into the room, and Vincent dropped me without a second’s hesitation.

  Sophie shot me a worried glance. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Three’s a party, but seven is a crowd,” I heard Vincent say. “That means it’s time for me to leave.”

  There was the sound of someone rushing past me, and then Kame shouted, “Vincent, wait!”

  I looked up just in time to see Vincent run to the window and leap out of it. Uri and Cacey followed, but they stopped short.

  “He must be protected,” Cacey said. “He disappeared.”

  Uri’s face was furious—he looked like he wanted to leap right out the window and chase after Vincent—but Cacey put a hand on his arm. She shook her head once. “Wait,” she said. “There is still time to find out what he’s after.”

  In the blink of an eye, all four of them were standing over me and reaching down. I had an absurd urge to laugh at what they were wearing. They were coming to collect me in matching khakis.

  “It’s okay, Abbey,” Kame said. “We’re here for you. Just trust us.”

  His voice was soft and beautiful, and I glanced at him, feeling myself get pulled under the endless ocean that was in his eyes.

  But I’m not ready. It was the first thought that came to mind, and I said it out loud. “I’m not ready.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks go to:

  The inspirations: Washington Irving, Sleepy Hollow, L.J. Smith, Caroline B. Cooney (I’m still your number one Fangirl), Elizabeth Chandler, George A. Romero, and Johnny Cash.

  The team players: Michael Bourret, Anica Rissi, the Simon Pulse team, and Lee Miller.

  The support system: fans, friends, and family.

  Thank you one and all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jessica Verday wrote the first draft of The Hollow by hand, using thirteen spiral-bound notebooks and fifteen black pens. The first draft of The Haunted took fifteen spiral-bound notebooks and twenty black pens. She spends her days and nights buying stock in pens and paper. She lives in Goodlettsville, Tennessee, with her husband. Find out more at jessicaverday.com.

 

 

 
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