Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances

by T. M. Franklin

  Ariel wondered if a man had ever stayed in the next room. A visitor special to Miss Anna. The Major perhaps? But such a liaison at that time in history would have been scandalous. She smiled when Miss Josephine stopped speaking. She liked this old woman. She was eccentric, yet seemed to be a timeless grandmotherly sort. A happy old lady living amongst her memories, stories, and ghosts of long ago.

  Stepping back, Miss Josephine seemed at a loss. “I hope you like it here.”

  “I feel at home already. Thank you,” Ariel smiled. “Good night.”

  “Good night, child.”

  Ariel leaned into the hall and watched Miss Josephine float down the hall to her own room. She opened the door barely wide enough to slip through, disappearing inside without another word. A heartbeat later, the door closed securely behind her and she was alone.

  All at once she felt uncomfortable standing in the hall. Stepping back into her room, she almost slammed the door closed. She felt vulnerable and now, closed away in her room, she was safe. Protocol of the house appeared to be that doors were to be closed at all times. Miss Josephine was an odd sort, but given time, she would figure out how the old woman’s thoughts worked. She always did when it came to keeping her employer’s happy.

  Turning from the door that had no lock, she examined her new room more closely. The décor was as antiquated as the rest of the house, a feminine room without being overly fussy. There was no lace, no frills and pink didn’t cover every surface. Thank God. Ariel never had understood the reason for a lot of pink in any girl’s room. Thankfully there was also no institution green, gray, or blue, either.

  The bed was at least a king-size four poster with a mattress that appeared to be a foot and a half thick. It was a handmade piece of furniture with a mattress that had to have been specially ordered and built to fit.

  She touched the mattress and her finger disappeared to the second joint. Down bedding. She’d never slept on such a soft bed. Usually a twin bed with a hard mattress and crinkly plastic cover and harsh cotton sheets. She rubbed her palm back and forth across the watered silk coverlet, entranced by the soft material. She couldn’t wait to slide between the soft sheets. Yawning widely, she promised to unpack in the morning. Right now all she could think about was the soft mattress and fluffy pillows waiting to cradle her.

  Stripping to bare skin, Ariel yanked back the light comforter and sheet then threw herself onto the bed. She rolled to the middle of the mattress, sighing when the down pillow cradled her naked body. She relaxed with a deep breath, curling on her left side the same way she slept every night. Just before crossing the line between consciousness and sleep, she heard a strange rustling. She thought she felt a cool hand brush a stray hair from her cheek.

  That was impossible. She was alone in the room. Wasn’t she? Instead of opening her eyes to investigate, she sighed, feeling a peace wash over her she’d never felt before. With her next breath, she was asleep.

  When she finally left her dreams behind and slowly woke up, she thought she’d gone deaf during the night. No one fought in whispers and hisses around her, no one rustled and thumped as they dressed, no morning announcements came over the intercom system. Most importantly, Kate, the youngest of her five roommates, wasn’t poking at her to crawl out and get ready for the day. Rolling over, she opened her eyes.

  She wasn’t in the dorm room at school. She wasn’t wearing her pajamas. She was sleeping on a cloud. She still abhorred the hours before noon just as she had all her life.

  Sunlight poured through thick, uneven panes of glass, blinding her for a moment. Then she remembered. She was in Goldsboro, in the house from the picture in the jewelry box. She’d been hired as the new caretaker and companion for Miss Josephine.

  The silence snagged her foggy attention. It was too quiet. Not even the birds singing in the pecan tree just outside the window penetrated the room.

  She rolled from the soft, soft bed with a regretful sigh. She stretched, then reached for her clothes. Only they weren’t on the chair where she’d placed them the night before. Instead, a dress of fine cotton fabric in daffodil yellow was carefully draped across the chair. Ariel picked it up. It was floor length. Whirling, she noticed her duffle bag was missing. Glancing down at herself, she shrugged. She couldn’t run around the house without clothes on. Using the pitcher full of cool water, she sponged off quickly then fanned herself dry.

  She pulled on last night’s panties and bra with a grimace, then eased the dress over her head. It fell to the floor as it settled in place. Next to the chair sat a pair of what looked like ballet slippers that matched the dress. She slipped on the delicate yellow shoes; amazed they fit her narrow foot perfectly.

  She tried to open the window to make sure she hadn’t lost her hearing, but the window wouldn’t open. No matter how she strained or where she hit the frame to jar it loose, the windows would not slide up. Giving up, she turned to leave the room. Should she go find Miss Josephine? Or snoop around the house on her own?

  No, finding the kitchen and a cup of coffee was a higher priority on her list. Maybe after some caffeine, she would find Miss. Josephine. Then they would go from there.

  As she strolled to the stairway, the dress swirled around her ankles. She slowed her pace from her normal morning trot. She hadn’t noticed that from the moment she’d donned the gown her posture and gait had changed, becoming more relaxed, more feminine.

  Ariel was only a few steps from the bottom of the stairs when she noticed the change. Recognizing her accomplishment, she promptly tripped on the hem of the dress and fell head over teakettle to the foyer floor. She lay in a heap for a moment, out of breath. Though her new gait was more trouble and used muscles she wasn’t sure she’d ever used before, she felt more feminine than ever before in her life.

  She remained on the floor for a moment but couldn’t stay there for long. She had to find coffee. Otherwise she might curl up and go back to sleep, using the bottom step as her pillow.

  Standing was easier said than done. Her skirts were tangled about her ankles. After untwisting the material, she climbed to her feet. Peeking into the living room, she wondered absently if the sofa would make a good napping spot. It looked hard and lumpy.

  If she wanted to go back to sleep, she would have to return to that heavenly cloud of a bed upstairs. “Aw, forget it,” she muttered. Climbing the stairs was too much trouble.

  The dining room was only a couple of steps away. Maybe Miss Josephine could point her toward either the coffee or the kitchen. She was more than capable of making her own coffee, as long as it was instant and the water was already hot.

  Entering the dining room, Ariel found that someone had guessed her need for coffee as well as some real food. There was enough food laid out on the sideboard to feed a small family for a week. It had been a long time since her last real meal. Her stomach had been protesting since sometime in the wee hours of the morning about the lack of food. Tea and cookies the night before had been wonderful, but they hadn’t stayed with her for long.

  “Please let it be hot, strong, and fresh.”

  She lifted a delicate china cup with purple flowers from the stack next to the coffeepot. It held only half of what the school’s heavy ceramic mugs did. She filled the small cup with coffee, then added a scoop of sugar and a dab of what poured like real cream. She then settled into her chair at the far end of the table. Cradling the cup, she blew across the muddy brown surface. With a hopeful breath, she sipped the mixture.

  The coffee proved strong with a flavor she’d never tasted before. Three swallows finished the cup. Amazingly, her morning caffeine craving began to dissipate instantly

  It was a school legend that Ariel had to consume at least two cups of coffee before she could make sense of any but the most basic of morning conversation.

  “I hate mornings,” she whispered.

  “You’re not alone, lassie. Anna couldn’t face the world without at least one cup of coffee before she climbed from beneath the she
ets in the morning, either.”

  3

  The dark as midnight voice seemed to come at her from everywhere around the room. Startled, Ariel tightened her grip on the delicate cup; afraid she would drop it. A shattered coffee cup would be a tragedy. The dishes appeared to be as old as everything else in the house. They were probably priceless and irreplaceable.

  Cautiously glancing around the room, Ariel wasn’t surprised to find herself alone. She was hearing things again. The voice couldn’t be real. Maybe she was still dreaming. Or maybe she’d gone crazy and just wasn’t awake enough to realize it.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The delicious smells of breakfast wafting from the sideboard teased her nose. Maybe a plate of real food; bacon and eggs, with a biscuit, would rouse her from these strange daydreams.

  Her imagination had to be playing tricks on her. This old house was inflaming her already overactive imagination. Had she heard someone or not? If she had, whose voice was it? She’d never heard voices before in her daydreams. Usually she just visualized places or situations where she’d rather be.

  Standing she circled the room again. There was no devilishly handsome man with pale blue eyes that glittered and a grin that was more effective than coffee in waking her. There was no one behind her, beside her, or anywhere else in the room. She was alone except for the full breakfast spread across the sideboard.

  Who’d cooked all that food? Neither Miss Josephine nor the young girl, Etta, seemed capable of creating such a meal. Ariel didn’t ponder the latest puzzle too long. The early morning fog that encased her brain had yet to clear, much like fog trapped in the hollows of the Smokey Mountains near Asheville. Like the hollows, sometimes it took her until noon to think straight.

  Pushing from her chair, she prepared a second cup of coffee and set it on the table, then turned her attention to breakfast. Two lighter than air biscuits, several strips of bacon and an apple filled her plate. She wasn’t used to eating in the mornings, but the food was too delicious to pass up.

  Returning to her chair, she started when Miss Josephine appeared in the doorway. She moved so silently it was as if she’d simply appeared out of thin air. She wore another oversized dress that covered her from chin to toes in the softest shade of rose that set her cheeks to glowing with color. She was the living monument to the Norman Rockwell interpretation of the word “Grandmother”.

  “Good morning, Ariel. Did you sleep well?” Miss Josephine moved along the sideboard, generously scooping food onto her plate.

  “Very well, thank you. That bed is incredible. It was like sleeping on a cloud.”

  Ariel watched in amazement as Miss Josephine tucked into her breakfast. The tiny woman’s plate was heaped with eggs, grits, sausage, and several biscuits. Though she appeared slender, almost frail, she obviously had a healthy appetite.

  “Very good. Today I think you should just settle in. The job can wait until later. It’s not as if it hasn’t waited long enough already.”

  Ariel nodded and continued eating. Once she finished, she excused herself, rose, and left the dining room. In the foyer, she paused as she neared the stairs.

  The feeling of hot anger and hatred closed in around her, cutting off her air, suffocating her. Dropping her chin to her chest, she concentrated on breathing slowly, evenly.

  Finally, the smothering sensations eased. Straightening, she glanced around, hoping someone was here sending the hateful thoughts her way. But again there were no angry men bearing down on her, planning to do her harm.

  Once she felt normal again, she climbed the stairs, retreating to her room. Unpacking wouldn’t take long, and then she would check out the rest of the house. But there was nothing to put away. Someone had already done it for her. She opened the closet door and found her few shirts and pants hanging on the rod with her sneakers on the floor and the duffle bag at the back of the closet. The rest of her things were in the top drawer of the dresser. The leather box with her necklace in it was centered on the top of the dresser. Ariel didn’t like to leave her only treasure lying around, so she slid it into the duffle bag, then hung the bag on a hook at the back of the closet. No sense tempting anyone who might be interested in her stuff.

  Turning from the closet, she froze as another vision rolled over her. A beautiful delicate woman in a white cotton nightdress like something out of Gone with the Wind stood in her room. Her sable brown hair was caught up in a braid that trailed over her left shoulder, ending near her waist.

  She looked familiar as she backed away from the door, farther and farther into the corner near the windows. Her face was as pale as the white walls behind her. Her eyes were wide and clouded with fear. But who or what wanted to harm her?

  Surely she wasn’t scared of Ariel? After all, this was now her room.

  Meeting the other woman’s eyes, Ariel felt her fear. Her heart began to race, her skin grew clammy and the hairs on her arms bristled. Something truly evil was frightening this woman. But why was she experiencing the fear? Had this search for a link to her past driven her the short distance between merely flaky to true insanity? Were these dreams and visions she’d experienced since arriving real? Or was someone trying to share the secrets of the Bradley House with her? Was this why she felt so comfortable here, like she belonged in this house, like she’d finally come home?

  She felt more at home here than she ever had in one of the many foster homes of her youth. Definitely more so than in school where she’d grown to become more of a mother figure to her roommates than one of the girls. Here she thought she could go out and find her place in the world, as long as she could return here, to this house, at the end of the day.

  The woman’s image faded. Ariel blinked and continued to stare into the corner, but the walls remained blank. Not sure exactly what she’d seen or what she should do about it, she turned and left the room.

  Stepping into the hall, she began her exploration of the upstairs. But there wasn’t anything to explore. Except for her bedroom, the only other door that gave under her touch was the bathroom. The other doors appeared locked, or sealed somehow. Even the door to Miss Josephine’s room refused to give under her touch.

  Giving up on seeing the upstairs, she descended the stairs to explore the main floor. She was hoping to do a preliminary inventory of what exactly needed to be done inside the house. Again she was thwarted.

  The living room and dining room were open, but the other rooms were sealed like the rooms upstairs. Were these rooms the only ones fit to live in? Was the rest of the house falling down around Miss Josephine’s ears and she didn’t want anyone to know? Or were those rooms closed off because of the memories they held for the old woman?

  So many questions, so few answers. “What secrets do these rooms hold? Or are they not fit to live in?”

  “Nay, lassie, that’s not it a’tall. You’re just not ready. But soon, lass. Soon you’ll know all the secrets of this so called haunted house.” The deep dark voice came from over her shoulder, as if the speaker were standing just behind her.

  Ariel whirled to face the living room, but no one stood there. She turned to the dining room, but no devastatingly handsome man loomed there either. In fact, the house felt strangely empty, though she knew at least two other people lived under the roof.

  Ariel wasn’t sure whether to be curious, confused or scared out of her mind. She would find the answers to her questions. There were secrets hidden in this old house, and she would uncover them.

  Just then her stomach rumbled. It had been hours since breakfast. When she stepped into the dining room, she was only half surprised to find the sideboard again loaded with food. There was fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and a salad.

  As soon as she’d filled her plate and sat down, Miss Josephine appeared. Without a word, the elderly woman filled her own plate and took her place at the far end of the table.

  Ariel studied the other woman as she ate. Miss Josephine seemed preoccupied, her expression strangely blank. She look
ed almost ill, her cheeks pale and eyes surprisingly vacant.

  How had she spent her morning? She certainly hadn’t been in any of the rooms Ariel had access to. Had she been hiding away in her bedroom? If so, why? Was that the only place she felt comfortable with a strange woman hanging around the rest of the house?

  Ariel pondered the questions brought up by locked doors and her disappearing employer. She had so many questions but didn’t have a clue how to begin such a delicate and unusual conversation. After cleaning her plate, she folded her linen napkin and settled back in her chair to try.

  “Miss Josephine, there are some things I’m wondering about,” she began uncertainly, not knowing what the old woman’s response might be.

  Miss Josephine stared at her plate without speaking. She stopped eating and dropped her hands to her lap. Two long minutes later she straightened, looking up from her plate into Ariel’s eyes. Her expression was resigned, almost pained, but the vacant look was gone from her eyes.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, ma’am, I was wondering…you see…” Ariel wanted to demand answers, but wondered if, by charging ahead, she might cause Miss Josephine undue pain. “I guess what I really want to know is…is this house really haunted?” The question rushed out in a whoosh before she could do anything to temper its bold, invasive wording or ease the conversation around to the subject she’d become so obsessed with.

  Now that her biggest concern had been voiced, she relaxed. It felt like she’d been carrying around a car on her shoulders. Thankfully, Miss Josephine didn’t burst into hysterical laughter. Maybe there was something to her strange experiences since arriving at the house eighteen hours before.

  “Yes, Ariel, this house is haunted. The Major and Anna Bradley’s spirits are still trapped within these walls. There was a tragic misunderstanding surrounding their deaths. But be certain, they are not out to harm you or anyone else. They simply want the proper ending to their story. Unfortunately, that ending will be a hundred and sixty years too late.” Miss Josephine’s eyes and expression cleared as she spoke. It was as though this information was something she might be reading in today’s newspaper.