Return to Seven Sisters

by M. L. Bullock

  “What’s going on?” Ashland asked as he watched the screen over my shoulder. “That can’t be right.”

  Clutching her sketchbook to her chest, Cassidy sat in the chair beside me and began tapping on the keyboard. “Everything is connected. You can even see the clock running at the bottom of each screen. They are all recording, but it’s like we left all the lens caps on the cameras…and I know we didn’t.”

  “Somebody doesn’t want us to see what’s going on up there,” Carrie Jo added in a dreamy voice.

  “Maybe. Let’s take it step by step. Ashland, will you check those cases? There should be lens caps inside there.”

  Ashland tugged the cases out from under the table and snapped them open.

  “Yeah, here they are. Let’s see, one, two…all four.” He held one up and put it back in the case before closing it and sliding it back under the table.

  “All right. I don’t think it is a coincidence that the upstairs cameras have all gone dark. You can see on the screen that the ones overlooking the two gardens are fine. It’s dark out, but they are recording perfectly. I can see bugs, flowers and that statue. Keep an eye on all of it, Cassidy. That’s so odd. It’s like someone has thrown a sheet over them.”

  “Maybe it’s too dark for the cameras,” Carrie Jo offered halfheartedly. I sensed she’d already decided that the house was haunted. I believed it too, but I had to go through the process of elimination. That’s what the Stuarts wanted too, or else they wouldn’t have called me here. “It can get pretty dark up there at night. You can hardly see the streetlights at all.”

  “Possibly, but hey…look! That camera is working fine now. It’s the one in the hallway, the one by your room,” Cassidy said as she leaned forward to get a closer look. “I can see the bed, the chair, everything. The other feeds are still dark, though. Okay, so whatever is up there isn’t in that room anymore. If it is paranormal, it must be pretty strong to be in so many places at one time.”

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Ashland asked me quietly.

  “No, but let’s not jump to conclusions. There could still be a logical explanation for all this. We won’t know until we do some hands-on investigation. Ashland, come with me and bring the handheld. We’ll see what’s going on with those cameras, starting with the ones in the hallway.”

  “Sure,” he said without a trace of a stutter.

  I grabbed the handheld off the charging station next to me, reached for a walkie-talkie and gave the other one to Cassidy. “Cassidy, feed the DigiPro into the display. Pull us up on the screen. Go ahead and record everything.”

  A loud crash above us startled me. It sounded like a heavy dresser had been knocked over. I heard glasses clinking nearby. I don’t know why, but I clutched the back of the chair as if we were experiencing some sort of earthquake. After a few seconds of waiting, it was over. At least for now.

  “That’s a similar sound to the boom we heard when y’all pulled up this afternoon, but this door is still open,” Carrie Jo said as she stepped into the hallway. “We thought it must be the doors slamming shut, but I don’t see any doors closed now. What could that be, Ash? Lily’s dresser?”

  “Let’s stop guessing and find out.”

  We all froze again as a long, horrible scream broke the silence of the house. A disembodied voice filled my ears, and not just mine. Cassidy’s eyes widened, and Carrie Jo caught her breath. Ashland reeled slightly on his feet like he felt sick. I wasn’t sure what they heard, but I knew what I heard.

  A rough, scratchy voice that sounded almost inhuman said, “GET OUT!”

  Like the fool I am, I didn’t get out. I didn’t run away, even though that’s what I wanted to do with every fiber of my being. I ran for the stairs like a lunatic. “Come on, Ashland. Let’s go.”

  And that’s when all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Twelve—Carrie Jo

  Cassidy and I sat in silence as we watched Ashland’s camera footage. I practically bit my fingernails off waiting for them to clear the top step. I could see Midas clearly on the camera feed. What was he doing? “Hey, we heard you, but we’re not leaving. If you think some stomping around is going to scare us out of here, you’ve got another thing coming. This house belongs to the Stuarts. Not you. Not anymore.” Midas sounded dead serious. I hoped whatever was hanging around up there didn’t take his statement as a challenge. Spirits had the ability to take things personally, especially intelligent ones.

  Midas and Ashland wandered around the top floor and tinkered with the two cameras in the hallway, but they didn’t light up. And neither did the one in Lily’s room. They all still showed black, but the one in our bedroom was fine.

  Cassidy wasn’t looking at the feed, even though Midas had asked her to, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the live-action investigation unfolding in front of me. If it hadn’t been my house, my husband and my new friends I might have found this all fascinating, but I was terrified. “These look fine, Cassidy. Are the feeds live yet?”

  “Nothing. Why don’t you check the…” Cassidy paused and glanced toward the open doorway.

  “What is it?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Just a shadow. Sorry to be so jumpy.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m just as nervous as you are, for real,” I said as I wrapped my hair into a bun with my ponytail holder.

  “What was that?” Midas asked. He and Ashland went back and forth a minute, but whatever connections they suspected were off weren’t. There really wasn’t any logical reason for those cameras to be off. “Cassidy, bring up the thermal. The stationary camera. It’s in the gray box. Let’s try something else.”

  Cassidy wasn’t paying him a bit of attention. She was scribbling in her sketchbook page; it wasn’t a very large sketchbook, and judging by the worn edges it was frequently used. I waited a few seconds to see if she would respond, but she was already deep into her project.

  “Hey, Midas was talking to you, Cassidy. Something about the thermal camera.”

  “Okay. Be right there.” She tapped on the walkie-talkie, and I saw her expression shift. Her eyes narrowed, and she put her face so close to the screen that I had a hard time seeing what she was looking at. “Activity in the little girl’s room. The camera is on in there. I think…yeah, I think there’s someone standing in the corner. Unless that’s some sort of doll, or a trick of the light?”

  I realized she was talking to me. Focus, Carrie Jo. You really need to focus. This is no time to dream walk!

  “Uh, that’s no doll. Lily doesn’t really like dolls all that much. Yes, I see what you mean. Oh, God.” The sight of the dark figure hovering in the corner made me physically sick, so sick I wanted to slap the screen off the table, but that wouldn’t do any good. Neither would running up those stairs and banging on the door. Whoever or whatever was in there, it was doing its best to keep us out. I saw a woman now.

  “Bringing up the thermal.” Cassidy tossed the sketchbook on the table and rummaged through the stack of hard-cased plastic boxes beneath the table. Finding the one she wanted, she said as she walked out the door, “Be right back.”

  As soon as she left, I picked up the sketchbook. The image she’d been working on both intrigued and sickened me. It was a woman wearing a ragged, dirty gown. She had loose, messy hair. Dark. Black. The hair hid her face. Behind her were many other strange shadowy figures.

  Could that be Jacinta? I flipped the page and gasped in surprise at the next face that greeted me. This wasn’t Jacinta Ademar Delarosa. I was looking at Isla Beaumont, the psychopath with the face of an angel. No, please don’t let her be back. God, anything but that.

  I flipped the page again and sobbed in horror at the next drawing. It was a strange amalgamation of faces, faces I’d seen in my dreams. It seemed an unholy thing that took on the appearance of Lafonda, Calpurnia and also Christine. With each passing second, the air thickened so much that I felt if I touched anything around me, I would experience a static shock. And I had
a feeling it would do more than give me a friendly zap—I might die.

  A door appeared before me. I got the impression that I was being invited to step through it and see for myself who was haunting our home. Did I trust such an invitation? At first, I could see only the shimmering outline of a corner of the door, but as I blinked it became clearer. I was sure that if Cassidy were here, she’d see it too. Yes, this type of manifestation was something new for me. Usually I stumbled upon doors to the past. I’d step through, and bam—I was dream walking. Other times I initiated such journeys, but that took a lot of focus.

  But this? This was clearly a door, and it was intended for me to step through it. I glanced at the hallway and then back to the camera where I could hear Midas, Cassidy and Ashland talking. If I left to get Ashland, the door might disappear. It was now or never.

  “Ashland, I love you, baby!” I managed to say as I began to move toward the door.

  With my eyes closed and my hand outstretched, I took two steps forward.

  Chapter Thirteen—Jacinta Delarosa

  Ademar! What have you done to our son? Jacques’ sorrowful moaning filled my ears. What have you done, Ademar?

  “Nothing! I have done nothing, Jacques! Why do you accuse me?” I screamed myself awake. How quickly my dream had twisted into a terrible nightmare! Only Jacques had ever called me by my middle name. He loved whispering it in my ear when we were courting. Yes, and look at what that earned you, stupid woman. Now to hear my family name spoken aloud, even in a dream, brought me nothing but fear and regret. But I had broken that curse, the curse of the tragic Ademars. I had not given Lafonda that name. As much as she hated me now, I was glad that at least I’d done that.

  Ademar!

  How could this be? I was awake, and yet I could still hear Jacques speak, his voice like the growl of an animal. Maybe it had not been Jacques after all but another ghost, another entity eager to kill me. This house was full of them; I knew that now.

  Oh, Lettie. I wish you and not Jacques would come to me, for I know you would be kind to me, as you always had been.

  I smothered a sob as I pulled the covers over my head like a child. Why I thought I could hide from Jacques, I could not say, but my instincts screamed at me to flee, hide, run! Why, Jacques? Why? No, I must not think of him or he would come and rain down his anger upon me.

  But he’s here already. I can feel him here. Lettie?

  I could not expect poor dead Lettie to rescue me tonight. Yes, she too was dead like all the others, but at least I had no hand in any of that. God’s final act of vengeance against me for all my past sins was taking away my only friend. As I experienced the sorrow that came with this thought, I felt agony strike my heart as sure as any arrow. I did not always recall things as accurately as I should and felt confused much of the time, but here in the darkness of my bedroom I usually found peace. That peace was gone now. The unhappy ghost of Jacques hovered nearby, and it terrified me. I had always believed that when he and I met again, in heaven, hell or purgatory, I would be joyful at our long-awaited reunion. That maybe in death he would love me, but clearly Jacques had other intentions. He blamed me for Jonatan’s death, when all I ever wanted was our son’s happiness. But that mattered not at all for my dear, sweet boy was gone and not at my hands. How could anyone believe I was responsible? Lafonda did. I could see it in her eyes. And although her father never upbraided me, I knew he had believed it too. As if I’d strung the hangman’s noose over Jonatan’s neck! As if I had murdered Jonatan’s wife and, oh…the baby…

  No, Jacinta! Do not think about this again.

  I closed my eyes, but the feeling that I was not alone did not leave as it usually did. The bed rocked back and forth for a few seconds, and then everything went still. Except for the horrible breathing. Yes, I could hear that perfectly. Breathing. It did not dissipate with the passing of the seconds. Ade-mar…

  I could not lie in the bed forever with the blankets pulled over me. I needed to urinate in a most desperate way, my mouth was dry, and I felt stiff all over. With each passing second, the presence in the room grew stronger. Perhaps I should call Lafonda? Perhaps I should. Despite my abject fear, my body would not allow me to remain here. I would have to face the Terrible Thing that wanted to kill me. Maybe I would die tonight. Wouldn’t I find that a relief to finally die? Tears streamed down my hot cheeks, and I could barely breathe.

  Suddenly the fear twisted into anger.

  I was not ready to die. I wanted to live! I, Jacinta Delarosa, would not lie here cowering in the darkness one more second. I did not kill Jacques, Nobel did that, but Jacques had dealt with me deceitfully from the beginning. Why should I fear him? He had no power over me.

  As if he heard my defiance, his heinous whisper chilled my bones. Ademar!

  Clutching the edge of the blanket in my hands, I eased it down and uncovered my face but kept my eyes closed tight. I would open them soon if he did not touch me. But if he did, I would die; I felt for sure that I would die.

  You knew what he was going to do, and you did nothing, Ademar.

  No. This was not Jacques’ voice but my own. Was I dreaming all this? Yes, that had to be it. I was locked in a dream—a nightmare of my own making! Yes! Yes! I did know, and I did nothing. What was I to do? Jacques, you know how you left me! You knew that I was carrying your child, but you refused to claim me. Even that I could forgive you for, but you married quickly after deserting me. You married Penelope, a woman you knew I hated. Did you do that to spite me?

  Yes, that had been the last brick. Or the last straw, as they were fond of saying in America. I slowly crept up in the rickety bed, the blanket in my lap, my body quivering with fear, my eyes clamped shut.

  Yes, I could recall the details of that night clearly.

  I had positioned myself perfectly in the gardens. Nobel always walked the olive gardens on Sunday afternoons. His family had a rather large one, but they allowed villagers to walk the pathways on Sundays after church. It was a tradition that the older Mrs. Delarosa had begun when she first married and came to the Delarosa Estate. I’d walked with him once before I fell hard for his brother. Yes, Nobel loved me, he had all but told me so, but I quietly rejected him in favor of his beautiful brother. Yes, Jacques had been a beautiful man.

  Even more beautiful than Jonatan, our son. Jacques had the perfect face, though his heart was anything but lovely. In the end, he rejected me, and that rejection had shaped my whole life. I would never forget his elegant speech, his hurried manner. As if I had been an unwanted guest. An ill-mannered social climber. Did he imagine that he was my better?

  “We had our time in the sun, dear Ademar, but now that time is over. You are a fine and handsome woman and will make any man a good wife. Please, accept this as my last word on the matter.”

  In stunned silence, I watched him walk away from me. I could say nothing as he climbed onto his horse and galloped toward the white sandy road. I had no one to blame for what happened to me. No one at all, except myself. I was always a reasonable woman, even when I was young. Not the type to give myself to anyone before marriage. But I had been desperate to possess Jacques in any kind of way…ah, but I had deluded myself to think I had any kind of hold on him.

  Ademar…you must pay for your crimes.

  Keeping my eyes closed, I responded, “Why? You never did, Jacques! You never did!” He said nothing else, but I could hear paper moving on my desk and feel a foul wind blow my covers. I kept my eyes clamped closed as my mind returned to the moment of my betrayal.

  At first, I had planned to go to Nobel and tell him what betrayal I had suffered at his brother’s hands. But when I saw him walking up the path toward me, I changed my mind. No, I would not do that. It was too late to compel Jacques to marry me—he was married already and had done so in secret, undoubtedly to keep me at bay. Public confrontation now would be a fool’s errand. But there were other ways. I would never be his happily wedded wife. He would always hate me, and I would never forget
his slander.

  You are a handsome woman, Ademar, but I do not love you. Not as a man should when he marries.

  What choice had I but to go to Nobel? I greeted him in the olive garden that day and gave him my most agreeable smile. Yes, I treated Nobel as if he were an old friend, as if I’d never rejected him or wanted anyone else but him. And from that moment he was mine. We married quickly, as had been my plan. My mother suspected my condition but did not openly ask me; no one did. Another cursed Ademar. Poor Mother and her dead husbands. She had three, each dying not long after her wedding day. The only marriage that had lasted longer than a year was her marriage to my father. I never knew him, not as Lafonda knew hers. Yes, Lafonda was Nobel’s child. Stubborn, sullen at times. Her dark eyes always accused me of something or other. But she never knew. She couldn’t have guessed, and I would certainly never take my daughter into my confidence. How could I tell her of my illicit love with her uncle or that her own father was a murderer?

  Ah, but Nobel knew me well. He knew as soon as Jonatan arrived in the world with his lovely face and elegant, long fingers. He was the picture of Jacques, and I immediately fell in love with the tiny squalling replica of the man I’d once loved. It wasn’t unheard of for a child to favor a near relative, but there was no denying who he belonged to.

  Nobel left me after the birth, his mood dark, and yet he asked me nothing. What was there to say? He knew the truth about Jacques and me from the beginning. He must have known. I suppose I did know that he would confront you, Jacques. Yes, I knew he hated you, but I did not know he would kill you. I did not!

  “I did not know! I did not know, Jacques!” I whispered to the air around me.

  My son, Ademar. My son…murderer!

  But on this accusation I could not deny my own feelings of guilt—I could not remain here another minute! For the first time in months, I would find the strength I needed to leave this room; I would end my self-imposed exile and return to the world of the living. Lettie? Where are you? Clearly, Jacques would not be satisfied with any answer I offered him. He would not hear me or understand. How could the dead understand the affairs of the living? He would surely kill me, for why else would he come to me after all these years?