Haunted

by Alexandra Adornetto

  “Please!” she screamed with what was left of her mouth. “Somebody … anybody … help me!”

  I managed to stifle my own scream as Alex leapt forward and grappled with the door handle. But it was locked … they all were. Upturning my bag on the asphalt, I fumbled for the keys. My trembling hands sent items rolling in all directions — lip balm, stray mints, tampons — but in that moment I couldn’t care less.

  I found the keys and snatched them up, furiously hitting the unlock button. Nothing happened. It seemed the battery had died. The girl remained trapped in the car with all four doors locked fast. The car alarm began to wail and the high beams flashed like strobes. I felt the child’s intense panic resonate in my own body and knew Alex felt it too.

  “What do we do?” I cried over the noise, wondering fleetingly why no one had come to see what all the commotion was about. It didn’t cross my mind that perhaps we two were the only ones witnessing the tragic scene.

  Inside the car, a thick smoky vapour rose from the dashboard, snaking over the windows and obscuring the girl from view.

  “There is nothing else for it,” Alex replied. “We must break the glass!”

  I looked around and grabbed the first thing my eyes fell on: an avocado-sized rock in a nearby garden bed. I didn’t even think about it, I just drew back my arm and swung.

  The side window shattered, spraying glass at my feet and across the back seat of the car where the girl was being burned alive. Then everything fell silent. The alarm stopped, the lights went out and the fog dissipated to reveal an empty car. The child was nowhere to be seen.

  I heard a soft click as the locks were released and the doors flung open of their own accord. Diving in, I searched every inch of the car from the hood to the trunk, but there wasn’t so much as a hint to suggest anyone had been there.

  I glanced around the empty parking lot. The sun hung like a blistering ball in the cloudless sky, and glossy palm trees swayed in the afternoon breeze. My little high school in the valley was the most non-threatening environment you could imagine. Strange happenings were non-existent here. Until today, Sycamore High had felt like a safe haven for me; a place where petty teenage dilemmas such as failing calculus or not scoring a cute prom date were the worst things you could imagine. Now that world had shattered before my eyes.

  I turned to Alex, who was staring with a nauseated expression at the place where the child had been. “Okay, I’ll say it.” My voice was a little hoarse. “What the hell was that?”

  “I … I do not know,” he murmured, pushing away the damp hair clinging to his forehead.

  It was such a human thing to do. I’d seen Alex wrestle with a wild spirit and not break a sweat.

  When he spoke again, his voice was concerned. “Chloe, you are bleeding! We must find a doctor.”

  I looked down to see a small triangle of glass wedged into the flesh of my palm. I hadn’t even noticed. “It’s no big deal,” I said, inserting a fingernail under the rough edge and wiggling the glass out. The blood flow intensified, but the wound wasn’t serious enough to warrant stitches. “I just need a temporary bandage. There’s a scarf in the trunk. Could you open it for me?”

  One look at his face told me that “trunk” was foreign terminology. “Never mind.” I pulled it open with my good hand and wound the scarf tightly around the wound.

  Alex didn’t look satisfied. “Are you sure you are not in pain?”

  “Physically I’m fine,” I said. “Emotionally, I may need therapy for the next ten to twenty years. That was pretty horrifying. Do you have any idea who that little girl could be? Where do you think she disappeared to?”

  “I have no answer, but I think we should leave this place.” Alex looked around uneasily. “It is not wise to linger.”

  I had to agree with him, although … “I really don’t want to get in that car.”

  “I am not eager to do so either,” he said. “Do you live far from here?”

  “About ten minutes on a clear run.” Alex frowned but rather than explain I slid behind the wheel and leaned over to open the passenger door so he’d know where to sit.

  “That seems a tolerable length of time,” he said, trying to look casual as he got in. “Then we shall be able to discuss the matter in private.” I let out an involuntary shudder recalling the vision of the trapped and burning child.

  “Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  As I drove, Alex stared tensely at the lights and knobs on the dashboard. His discomfort over the burning child seemed to be replaced by concern over my driving. I supposed car travel was nerve-racking for someone who was experiencing it for the first time.

  “You should put your seatbelt on,” I instructed. “And there’s no need to look so worried.”

  “I am not worried,” he said a little too quickly. “And what should I put on?”

  There was nothing he could do to conceal his ignorance here. Alex was in over his head and the modern world was running circles around him. I decided to brush over the moment; there was no point making him feel even more like an outsider. Besides, I was working on a strategy and I wasn’t about to blow it.

  “This.” I reached around his waist and fastened the belt, very aware of my shoulder brushing momentarily against his chest. I couldn’t help noticing that he smelled exactly as I remembered: like sandalwood mingled with understated notes of something both spicy and sweet. I clicked the seatbelt into place. “See? It’s for safety.”

  He held my gaze for a moment, before dropping his eyes and clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. Each time I glanced in the rear-view mirror I wondered if our friend would decide on an encore performance. Every “back-seat car attack” scene I’d ever seen in a movie came back to me. I wanted to believe I’d be calm if the girl did show up again, but in reality I’d probably run the car off the road. Who was she? Why had she shown up now and what did she want from us?

  I exhaled loudly, unable to hold back my relief as we pulled into the driveway of my house. I wasted no time cutting the engine.

  “So this is where I live,” I said as we climbed out.

  Although I’d been to, and in fact lived in, Alex’s home, I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be showing him around mine. Bringing the boyfriend home to meet the family, I thought, swallowing back a bitter lump that sprang into my throat. How apple-pie normal it sounded. Only Alex wasn’t my boyfriend, I no longer had a functioning family, and nothing about this situation could begin to pass for normal. Alex didn’t even know who I was. Hell, I wasn’t sure he knew who he was.

  From outside, our Cape Cod-style home looked warm and welcoming with its white shutters and dormer windows. Inside, it was a slightly different story. The silence was the first thing to hit you. It wasn’t a peaceful silence, like you might find in a library or a church. It was too quiet; the sort of stillness in a horror flick when the protagonist comes home to a strangely silent house to find his whole family murdered at the dinner table. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but there was definitely the sense of something amiss.

  It was never like this when my mom was alive. There was always noise and bustle of some sort. I remembered complaining about how I could never find a moment of peace, but now I realised that noise had signified life. I missed the rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen, the reedy twang of Rory’s clarinet from the den, or the sound of Frank Sinatra spinning on Dad’s old record player. I’d never taken much notice of those things before, but I sure noticed their absence now. The house smelled different too; like air freshener and the chemicals used by the cleaning lady Dad had hired. It used to smell like Mom’s favourite cinnamon candle or pie baking in the oven.

  Once inside I called out to Dad and Rory as a formality. No one answered, and the resounding silence seemed more aggressive than usual, like it was trying to drive home a point: Alone. Alone. Alone. I hadn’t expected anything
different. My family was falling apart at the seams. The three of us might live under the same roof, but we were more like roommates than relatives. At the start of every day we retreated into our own private worlds and didn’t surface unless it was absolutely necessary. We didn’t even eat together any more; we just shared a communal kitchen. Rory was probably still at his swim meet, and as for my dad — he kept such irregular hours I never knew where he was any more. But I did know one thing: when they eventually showed up, they’d be hungry. My brother had been living off cereal lately and Dad barely ate anything at all. I pulled a frozen lasagne out of the freezer and punched some buttons on the oven.

  Alex watched me with fascination, but his expression quickly reverted to neutral when he noticed me noticing him.

  I set the oven timer and grabbed a couple of cold drinks from the fridge. “Come on,” I said, and ushered him out to the yard. “We can talk by the pool.”

  Our backyard was still peaceful — at least that hadn’t changed — with crystal-blue water in the heated pool and the canvas sails over the pergola rippling gently in the breeze. I dragged two sunbeds to the edge of the pool and sat down. Darcy, our chocolate Lab, bounded over to us as soon as we stepped outside. Normally social around people, he behaved oddly with Alex. He sniffed him warily at first and then began barking so vociferously that I ended up having to lock him in the pool house before I sat down.

  “Sorry about that; he’s usually pretty friendly.”

  “Dogs are more intuitive than people,” Alex replied. “I confused him.”

  Alex remained standing, surveying his surroundings with a frown. “Is it always so warm here?” he asked, squinting at the sun like he was willing it to disappear.

  “Pretty much. We get a handful of cooler days but not many. Would you rather go inside?”

  “No, this will be fine.” He sat down on the other sunbed.

  Small talk wasn’t going to help us solve this mystery. I decided to jump right in. “So what do you think is going on?”

  “I think that’s perfectly obvious,” he replied with a level stare. “Your school is haunted.”

  “It can’t be,” I answered automatically. “I’ve been at Sycamore High since the ninth grade. Of all people I would know if it was haunted.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well …” I hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to explain myself. It felt strange having to reveal myself all over again. He was watching me curiously. “The thing is … I can sometimes see ghosts … people who haven’t moved on. It’s a little quirk I’ve had since I was a kid.”

  I tried to gauge his reaction, but his face was inscrutable. I noticed that detached look in his eyes again, like he wasn’t fully present.

  “Seeing the dead is an unfortunate affliction,” he said eventually. “I would not call it a quirk.” His tone was formal and gave nothing away.

  I decided to try a different angle. “So how old are you?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Aren’t you a bit old for high school?”

  My lame attempt to lighten the mood didn’t help. Alex examined me with those penetrating eyes of his; a look so intense I didn’t know what to do with myself. Eventually I couldn’t take it any more and was forced to shift my gaze.

  He pressed his lips together, as if having an internal debate, then said, “There is something I must tell you, Chloe. And I am only telling you because you do not seem entirely normal.”

  “Thank you?” I replied. I was torn between feeling embarrassed that he thought of me as a nutcase, but also pleased with the outcome. I really needed him to confide in me, so the reason why he was didn’t matter. If he did, we just might have a chance of getting somewhere.

  “What I meant to say is, you do not seem alarmed by things that are … shall we say, out of the ordinary.”

  “That’s true,” I said with a smile. “I’m the queen of weird. You couldn’t out-weird me if you tried.”

  Again, he failed to share in my humour. “First I must be sure I may trust you with what I am about to say.”

  “It will never reach another pair of ears,” I assured him. “You have my word.”

  He looked away, as if readying himself to spit it out, then dropped his voice to a tightly controlled whisper. “I believe I have been in some kind of accident.”

  “What accident?”

  “I am not entirely sure. But I have no memory of how I came to be here. Where am I? What is this place?”

  “You’re in California,” I told him. “The Golden State.”

  “The golden state,” he mused softly. “Do they call it that because of the perennial sunshine?”

  “I think it’s because of some gold rush in 1849.” I saw something flash across his face at the mention of a past era and seized the opportunity. “Why don’t you tell me the last thing you remember? It might help.”

  Alex didn’t answer immediately. Instead he stood up and stared at the soft ripples on the surface of the pool. But he seemed to be looking through them into some other time and place.

  “Alright,” he agreed finally. “I was at home. I was arguing with my brother. Then everything went black and I felt as if I were falling from a great height. For a time there was only darkness. Then a blinding light woke me and I found myself here.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “At your school. It was already night when I arrived and I had nowhere to go. So I sat on a bench and waited till morning. People began to arrive and I thought someone might help me. But when they all looked so different I realised something was terribly wrong; I was not in my own world. Yesterday it was 1853 and I was at home at Grange Hall. Today I am here, in this place I cannot make sense of.”

  What did he mean that yesterday it was 1853? An unpleasant feeling stirred inside me.

  “Alex,” I said slowly, “I need you to tell me everything you remember before you woke up here.”

  He looked at me like he hoped I might have the answers. He was going to be bitterly disappointed when he found out I was as much in the dark as he was.

  “Very well, although my mind is still cloudy.” He fixed his eyes on the ground as he struggled to dredge up the memories. Seconds passed before he spoke again. “I was in the library and Carter — my brother — was shouting at me. I could tell he had been drinking. His wife, Isobel, was growing agitated so I tried to calm them both. My infant son — I mean my nephew — was sleeping upstairs. He is like a son to me, you see, and I was concerned that Carter might wake him. I believe I said as much, which caused Carter to laugh in a crazed fashion. Then he said something and Isobel ran from the library, and a few seconds later I heard her footsteps flying across the upstairs landing. I was confused. What had happened? I turned back to my brother and that is when I felt the strange sensation — all went black, as if ink were slowly flooding my vision. I felt a pain in my chest, but it eased quickly. The last thing I remember with any clarity was Isobel’s screaming …”

  “You must miss your old life,” I whispered into the silence.

  “I do miss my nephew.” His eyes became tender. “His name is James and he is but eight months old. I must go back to him. He needs me.”

  My heart was suddenly a deadweight in my chest. This was far worse than I could have imagined. Alexander had no idea of the fate that had befallen him all those years ago. I had seen for myself the scene he’d described: the fatal moment when his brother had put a bullet in his chest; and later, Isobel sinking into the icy lake with the body of their dead son in her arms. But Alex didn’t know any of that. His memory had been wiped clean.

  “I suppose there is only one explanation for it,” he said, more to himself than to me.

  “What’s that?” I asked tentatively.

  “Somehow … by some dark magic … I must have travelled through time. I know such a thing is impossible, but I cannot think of any other explanation.”

  “Time travel?” I couldn’t keep the scepticism from m
y voice.

  “I know how ridiculous it must sound, but I do not know what else to think. Unless all of this is an exceptionally long and detailed dream from which I cannot wake. I need to go home, and you, Chloe, are my only hope. If you can see what others cannot, surely you must be the one to help me?”

  A wave of nausea welled up inside me. Alex wanted to go home, but he had no home any more. He hadn’t had one for over one hundred and fifty years. How could I help him? How could I break the truth to him?

  He was silent, waiting for me to say something, but words eluded me. I could only focus on the questions that kept playing over and over in my head.

  How do you tell someone they’ll never go home again?

  How do you tell someone they’re dead?

  The sound of my dad’s BMW pulling up outside drew our attention. I couldn’t say I much looked forward to seeing my father these days, but right now he was a welcome distraction. What I had to tell Alex wasn’t something that could simply be blurted out. News like that had to be handled carefully, with kid gloves. For all I knew, learning the truth could send him into a full-blown meltdown. It might be like dying all over again.

  And what if he couldn’t handle it? It wasn’t exactly an easy truth to accept. What if the same madness that had consumed Isobel in the afterlife now took hold of him? I couldn’t bear to see him suffer, especially if I was the cause.

  I never thought I’d see Alexander Reade again until the day I died. Now that he’d come back, I had no intention of letting him go. His memory of us would come back, I was sure of it. He just needed time. Didn’t Rochester’s sight return once he was reunited with Jane Eyre? Although my life was not a Brontë novel I was fully convinced that true soul mates had a way of making miracles happen.