The Man from Shadow Valley

by Regan Forest

  She gazed at him for a time, feeling her pulse throbbing in her throat and spiraling down, awakening every female cell of her body. The energy of her own pulse was exploding in her. “Then guide me.”

  “Is that what you...what you want, Ellen?”

  “Guide me,” she repeated on an exhaling breath, moving both hands over him. “You implied that there is magic in my hands....”

  He moaned with pleasure. “Ah, my love, there is!”

  “Then show me,” Ellen whispered. “Show me how to believe in magic.”

  He moved his hand over hers. “You’re the one leading me right now, to a place of no return. You already know, my love.”

  How was it possible to feel such weakness and such power at the same time? Ellen wondered, realizing her intuitive touch was rendering him quite helpless.

  “You’re making me crazy,” he muttered. His quick breaths filled the silence of the room until they were more moans than breaths. “I can’t—” he began, and the word caught on a shudder of release. His eyes closed. He trembled.

  Ellen, caught in a whirlpool of passion, kissed his closed eyes. He looked at her dreamily. “My sweet love...” Reaching up, he caressed her hair and her face with his fingertips. “I want you to feel what I do.”

  His fingertips moved to her breasts and along her body. Gently he urged her onto her back and leaned over her, raining kisses upon her—kisses that felt like butterflies dancing. Her whole being floated and fluttered with them.

  His hands began to explore again, gently, then more boldly, searching for her weakness and her power and her feminine beauty. Searching. Finding. Possessing. She moaned with pleasure.

  He whispered, “Just let it be, Ellen. Just let it happen....”

  As if she could do anything else. She closed her eyes and invited in the seduction of his passionate hands and the luxury of his love.

  Until stars burst behind her closed eyes.

  She felt herself falling into a pool of light made by the fragments of the stars.

  10

  DREAMS, CODY THOUGHT, were warnings. Years ago he had been warned of the falling tree branch in a dream, and because of the dream, long forgotten, he had saved Ellen from serious harm. Now his dreams had returned. Twice he had dreamed of himself and Ellen in the old Whitfield mansion.

  Warning glimpses of danger.

  Ellen, too, had dreamed of that place. What it meant, Cody couldn’t fathom. He only knew something in the old house was a threat to her. Its ghost, perhaps. She had spoken lightly of ghosts, without fear. But forewarnings came in strange disguises; this he knew from the outcome of his early dream.

  Danger lurked behind those walls.

  While Buster trotted off down the path tracking the scent of a squirrel, Cody stood at the rusting gate, looking up at the mansion. It stood reclusive and aloof against a gray-blue sky, a sad, forsaken old outcast, confined to silence, clinging to its noble dignity. Unwanted, ill-omened, friendly it was not.

  Strangely, it looked as distant as when he had seen it as a child. Like the other kids of Shadow Valley, he had always pedaled by quickly, never looking up. In those days the gate was chained shut.

  The chain was still there, its lock holding tight, but the hinges of the iron gate had long since corroded away. Only a leaning post held the gate vertical. Cody touched the bars with some hesitation. He didn’t belong here. Yet his dreams indicated otherwise. Something was in that deserted house that he needed to know, and it had to do with Ellen. With Ellen’s safety.

  The gate creaked and groaned in protest as he pulled it against a barrier of tall, thick-stemmed weeds. Buster, not wanting to be left out, followed, but when Cody started up the weed-grown path to the door, the dog whined a protest.

  “You don’t like this place, huh?” It was not a good sign, because normally Buster was curious. Tail down, he gave his friend an I’m-not-going-up-there look and scooted off sideways, rounding the hill, picking up another interesting scent.

  “What kind of sport are you?” Cody called after him. “Not afraid of ghosts, are you?”

  He proceeded up the hill alone until he moved into the invisible shadow of the house, where, whether he imagined it or not, the air felt cooler. He kept climbing until he reached the narrow, railed porch. His dreams had hinted of elaborate ceremony. One ought to be highborn and well fitted-out to enter such a grand estate; jeans and boots seemed almost disrespectful.

  “Hell, I’m not intimidated by you anymore,” he said aloud to the imposing structure. “Maybe you’ve had impressive beginnings, but now you’ve known privation, same as me.”

  He made his way up the steps. The door was locked; he knew it would be, even though in his dreams it had been open to him. There were still curtains at the windows, shielding the inside from the eyes of intruders like him.

  As Cody circled to the rear of the house, Buster was nowhere to be seen. The back door was also bolted. With each passing moment he became more certain that the house didn’t want him there, and more determined to get in. If there was a threat here, he was going to find it now, not wait a dozen years as he had done after the last warning dream.

  He checked the basement windows one by one until he found one hidden by iris stalks and twining morning glories that had a torn screen and broken pane. With his knife, Cody was able to jimmy the lock and pull open the window. Dust rained on his head as he lowered himself down into the bowels of the house.

  In the dim light, he pushed aside cobwebs and hurried toward the stairway that led to the kitchen. Cody knew exactly where he wanted to go—the dining room where he had seen Ellen. And a ghost. His footsteps echoed on the wood floors of the hall.

  At first he didn’t recognize the dining room, now bare of furnishings, until he saw the chandelier. Covered with dust and cobwebs, it hadn’t caught sun rays for many years. Heavy curtains darkened the room. Cody looked around, astounded. No question, this was where he had been in the dream. Those were the same maroon drapes over a series of narrow windows. The same fireplace framed by elaborate carved woodwork. He moved to the place where Ellen had turned to greet him. Here she had taken his hand. How could he have known what this room looked like?

  As in his dream, Cody had the feeling he was not alone. Tensing, he listened but heard nothing. His eyes, adjusting to darkness, scanned the corners of the room. A shadow darted across at the edge of his vision.

  A shiver began at the back of his neck and coursed down his spine. The ghost was really here!

  “Who are you?” he asked softly. And he thought, Why were you invading my dreams?

  Against a far wall was a tiny shadow quivering like the flame of a candle—a candle Cody couldn’t see. As he stared at it, strangely he had the same sensations as if he were staring into an actual flame. Mesmerized, he began to hear soft strains of music. His head went light and he felt himself becoming dizzy. He blinked repeatedly to make the vertigo go away, but when he closed his eyes it was worse.

  Then the room suddenly came to life. The shadow of the flame flickered from a silver candelabra on a table set with flowers and gleaming china. Voices surrounded him, and then faces came into view.

  A dinner party was in progress. The women wore dresses trimmed in beads. Each one had upswept hair held with sparkling combs. The men were in dark jackets. The talk was congenial, happy, but a sense of something being terribly wrong swept over Cody.

  At the head of the table sat a woman with light hair and an oval face like Ellen’s. The likeness was distinct—the small sensual mouth and wide blue eyes. She was holding a wine goblet and smiling at a gentleman seated next to her. But the smile was not genuine. Her eyes were tormented, frightened—not of the man, who must be a guest; she was frightened of something hidden and sinister. Was the woman Ellen? She looked different, but surely it was her. This time he wasn’t asleep. He was under the spell of a very haunted house.

  The vision faded in seconds but the vertigo remained. Cody leaned against a wall holding his h
ead, wondering what was going on. What had he seen? A party that had taken place in this room decades ago? Or was it in his own imagination? Hell, he didn’t have that good an imagination! No question about it, the house was not only haunted, it was bewitched. And somehow it was connected with Ellen.

  And so was he, in his dreams.

  The room darkened with late-afternoon shadows. Thick cobwebs on the chandelier quivered; the curtains moved slightly as if someone were passing by. The silence was oppressive.

  Ill at ease, with the vision of the party and the woman stubbornly clinging, Cody was eager to get out of the decaying mansion. He turned his back on the dining room and what he had “seen” there and walked into the foyer, from which opened two front parlors, one on either side of the house, each with a bay window. These rooms had been beautiful, once. He glanced up the staircase with no desire to climb it only to find more dust and cobwebs and echoes of the past.

  Normally, he would be rushing up to satisfy his curiosity, but something else was going on. The strange energies of the house were pushing him away. Yet at the same time, they were pulling him in, because of their connection with Ellen, whatever the hell that connection was.

  And his own bond with Ellen? More real than dream? To his annoyance, it seemed impossible in the setting of his dreams to know the difference. Tracing his steps back through the kitchen and the dark basement, Cody couldn’t get the flash imagery of the dinner party to leave—not simply because the woman resembled Ellen, but because of the fear he saw in her eyes.

  * * *

  DURING THE NOON HOUR of that same day, Ellen waited for Meredith at the side of a rain-rutted back road that led to the Whitfield mansion. She was apprehensive over Meredith’s idea of going inside, but she’d always ached to know what it was like.

  Meredith pedaled up on a three-speed bicycle and dismounted, catching her breath. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “No. I was early. I’m not sure about this, Mere. Breaking and entering—”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure about it, either, now. Not after your grandfather’s funeral. I was so astounded to see Cody there.”

  “So was I. I thought he’d be in the hospital a few more days. He turned up out of nowhere. What’d you think of him?”

  “He’s a hunk, all right. Too much so. A woman can get caught in the snare of a guy who looks like that.” They had started to walk, but Meredith, pushing her bike over the bumpy, hilly road, dawdled. Her usual vivacious enthusiasm definitely wasn’t part of her persona today.

  “Is something the matter?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes. We have to talk. When I saw how Cody was at the cemetery, holding your hand so protectively, not caring who saw him... I mean, at such a time—” Meredith stopped still. “Well, I have to tell you, Ellen, I got some very strange vibes.”

  “What kind of vibes?”

  Meredith turned to look at her childhood friend with concern in her eyes. “I felt danger.”

  “Danger?” Rarely did Meredith’s psychic pronouncements surprise Ellen, but this one did. Danger was a strong word.

  “Something has happened between you two,” she said. “I sense something odd going on. When I was thinking about you this morning, trying to get some kind of psychic message, the pattern of tea leaves in my cup gave me quite a start.” She looked into Ellen’s eyes. “Thank heaven I remembered to warn you about the consequences of kissing Cody while he was unconscious.”

  “Why bring that up?” Ellen asked apprehensively.

  “The leaves. They warned of...of separation.”

  “Separation is a given. We already know that. I can’t see what it would have to do with danger.” Ellen sighed. “Anyhow, Meredith, I’m not as superstitious as you.”

  “Superstitious? Is that what you call my psychic insights? After all this time? All these years? I thought you were a believer.”

  Ellen felt a slight chill in the summer breeze that ambled down the side of the high mountains. “I am, to a point. But there are some things. I mean, where do you get some of this stuff, like kissing a sleeping man causing bad luck?”

  “From Mrs. Volken, of course. There isn’t anything she doesn’t know. And I’ve never known her to be wrong. The ancient ways of her people...” Meredith’s voice slowed to a stop. She turned to Ellen again with anguish. “Omigod, Ellen! Tell me I’m not reading between the lines, here! Surely you can’t be saying that you didn’t heed my warning?”

  “I didn’t heed your warning, Mere.”

  She raised her hand in horror. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Hey, I couldn’t help myself. He looked so...beautiful lying there and I was feeling a lot of gratitude because he got badly hurt saving me. If it hadn’t been for Cody—”

  “You kissed him?” Meredith interrupted, her mouth still agape. “When he was unaware of it?” She shook her head. “That means you set bonds with him too soon. It means...” She paused, scratching her forehead. “It means there will be an intense physical relationship followed by heartbreak because of uniting too soon.” Meredith held her hands, crossed, in front of her. “No. It mustn’t happen. Maybe there is some way to reverse—”

  “It’s too late for reverse,” Ellen said softly.

  Meredith’s eyes rounded as if she’d seen a snake crawl by. “What? The two of you? But no!” She lost her grip on the handlebars of her bike and it toppled over with a thin crash. Letting it lie there, she plopped down on a grassy embankment with a howl. “You vowed you would leave Shadow Valley...without ever...!”

  Ellen sat down on the slope beside her. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “It’s because of that kiss in the hospital.”

  The two women sat in silence for a time. Laughter of children sounded from down the narrow lane, and soon they caught sight of two boys and a dog running across the road. Ellen remembered how as a child she often came by this very spot on her way to see the mansion. Now, after all this time, to be headed back there again, but with a bizarre plan to break in with her old partner in crime...

  “It’s because I can’t help loving him,” Ellen countered. Silence ensued, broken only by the distant barking of a dog. “I don’t want to but I do,” she muttered weakly.

  Meredith shook her head in wonder. “I’ve often secretly wished you’d fall in love with a local guy and not leave home, not leave me. Though, of course, I’ve always understood why you have to.”

  “Even falling in love can’t stop me from leaving.”

  Silence fell over the pair of friends, until Ellen broke it. “Are we going to sit here all day getting our seats grass-stained? I thought we had a mission to accomplish.”

  Meredith was thoughtfully chewing on a weed. “The mansion, you mean. We can’t do it now, Ellen. We absolutely don’t dare.”

  “Why not?”

  “Believe me, you don’t want to take that risk. It’s too dangerous. It’s because you connected somehow with this guy in a dream state, and then you sealed the passion when you kissed him when he was not in waking consciousness. And you have fallen in love just weeks before you want to find another life. To go into the mansion now would bring horrendously bad luck.”

  “I’m not following you,” Ellen said.

  “Mrs. Volken has talked a lot about the dangers involved in making a transition from waking to dreams. She says spirits of the dead can communicate with us in our sleep. Something like that must have happened with your dreams. That ghost is in there, Ellen, and maybe it is what’s interfering in your dreams. You don’t dare get close to it. No telling what it could do.”

  “That’s pure speculation,” Ellen replied, not wanting to admit that Meredith’s words were giving her chills. There had never been a reason to fear the ghost of Whitfield. On the other hand, she had always believed the gypsy woman of Pebble Street knew matters of the occult; it would be foolish to defy her warnings.

  “Ask Mrs. Volken about ghosts and dreams,” Meredith advised.
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  Ellen sighed. “No. Mrs. Volken gives me the creeps. You’ve always known that. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t too keen on breaking into the mansion, anyhow. We probably couldn’t have gotten in.” She rose from the bank and pulled the bicycle by its handlebars to an upright position.

  Meredith got to her feet, stretched, and brushed clinging seeds from the seat of her jeans. “May I remind you of what I’ve always said—the reason Mrs. Volken disturbs you is because deep inside, you know the truth of a gypsy’s powers. She says I have gypsy blood and that’s why she’s been willing to teach me so much.”

  “Damn it, Meredith, you’ve paid her to teach you.”

  “Even so, she won’t work with just anyone.” Meredith held her hand out defensively. “Oh, don’t say it.”

  Ellen smiled. “I know you’re psychic. I’ve seen your predictions come true too many times not to know it. I respect your opinions, even though sometimes I really don’t want to believe, in bad luck and such. I want to believe we make our own luck in this life.”

  “I believe that, too, to a point,” Meredith said. “But there’s another dimension around us where spirits are supposed to live and not interfere with what’s going on in our dimension. Yet too many of them think they have unfinished business on our plane, and since they’ve lived here, they sometimes hang around instead of going to wherever it is spirits are supposed to go after their earth life is over. They interfere with people. Some even cling to people. I had one clinging to me once. Mrs. Volken was able to communicate with it and demand that it leave.”

  They were walking back down the gravel road toward town, Ellen pushing the bike. Ellen was tiring of the subject of ghosts. Her mind kept wandering back to Cody and the sensation of his warm breath against her neck. She thought, too, of Meredith’s remark about the curse of separation. What difference did it make if she’d kissed Cody when he was asleep? They were destined to separate anyway. If she hadn’t kissed him, would she have been able to resist making love to him? Had her kiss somehow reached some depth of his being and caused him to get up out of his hospital bed and come to her, wanting her?