Haunted (10 page)

She gave a stiff smile as she walked by him. “Sure. Sorry, then. Excuse me.”

He let her pass him while he fought his simmering temper, wondering why the hell she could get such a rise out of him, when he was usually level, sane, and careful in any judgment or assumption. Tension rippled through his muscles; he got a handle on it and turned, determined that he would politely help her mount back up on Nellie.

But before he could do so, she was already in the process of easily swinging up on the mare.

By the time he mounted Vernon, she was headed back through the forest trail.

He followed her, staying slightly behind and noticing, just as they left the forest trail, that dusk was falling at last.

Across the field, Melody House stood on its little hillock, bathed in a strange and eerie glow of crimson and gold.

The brilliance of light lasted only a few seconds; the sun dipped.

Night was coming in earnest, wrapped in shadow.

 

Despite Matt Stone, or maybe even because of him, dinner at Melody House was an entertaining affair, and Darcy found herself laughing a lot throughout the meal.

Matt and Penny didn't seem to agree on anything, but the affection between them was visible and real. Penny wanted to tell legends. Matt wanted to correct her when her legends became too lurid, romantic, or
too
anything.

“It was as if the entire Southern army was taking refuge at Melody House!” Penny said.

“The entire Southern army!” Matt snorted. “A company at best. Twenty men, Penny.”

Penny waved a hand in the air. “They were exquisite soldiers,” she said, shaking her head and dismissing Matt's correction. “They might as well have numbered thousands. They beat back the Yankees—”

“What? The entire Northern force?” Matt queried, a sparkling light in his eyes.

“There were at least one hundred!” Penny said, glaring back at her employer. “The point is, our boys wouldn't give up, and they saved the day, but their leader, a young captain, was killed. Shot in the heart by a minnie ball that whizzed right through the parlor windows. Now, he is said to be here, still guarding Melody House.”

Matt leaned low across the table, amusement in his eyes as they met Darcy's. “And no one seems to have told him that the
war is over, that the South lost. He's not at all fond of Yankee accents—so they say.”

“Thank God, then, that I don't have one,” Darcy told him sweetly. “All those years watching late-night shows seems to have paid off.”

“But you trained to be an actress—of course you can get rid of an accent!” Carter applauded her admiringly.

“An actress, hm,” Matt said.

“I was
going
to study acting,” she corrected. “I never did. Not in college, anyway.”

“That's right. She majored in everything else,” Matt said.

“You can't major in ghosts these days, can you?” Clint asked.

“Don't be silly!” Penny reprimanded.

Both Carter and Clint shrugged.

Dessert had been served. An exceptional baked Alaska. Darcy was certain that at any moment, an immaculate butler was going to walk in and suggest that the ladies retire to one room, the gentlemen to another, for brandy and cigars.

But there was no butler—not tonight, anyway. They had all helped to serve the meal.

“So?” Penny said excitedly, looking at Darcy expectantly. She had a feeling that she was going to hear the word “so” from Penny a lot.

“So?” Darcy repeated, smiling.

“Do you see him?”

“Who?”

“Our captain!”

“The captain who saved Melody House from the marauding Yankees who were going to burn it down,” Matt reminded her dryly.

Darcy shrugged. “I try just to get accustomed to a house the first few days I'm in it,” she told Penny.

“Oh! Of course. Let all the vibrations get through to you,” Penny said, nodding sagely.

“Something like that,” Darcy agreed.

“So, are there vibrations?” Matt asked, seemingly polite.

She stared straight at them. “The place just trembles,” she murmured.

“With?” he prompted.

She widened her eyes. “Hostility.”

Clint burst into laughter. “The living give out vibes, too, huh?”

Matt stared at Darcy, the flicker of a rueful smile curving his lips. A remarkable transformation came over him. He was almost devastatingly appealing, when he looked so.

“If I'm giving out hostile vibes, it's not with intent of malice.”

From him, Darcy decided, that was the best apology she was going to get.

“Sometimes it's not easy to pinpoint just where vibes might be centered,” she said, surprised to realize that she was smiling as well.

And that Penny, Clint, and Carter were all staring at them.

She rose, her movement not as fluid and easy as she would have liked. “It was a wonderful dinner. Thank you all very much. I've just realized how late it has gotten. If you'll forgive me, I think I'll turn in for the night.”

Matt, Carter, and Clint stood as one. A certain amount of courtesy seemed to have been bred into these men; it was as natural as breathing.

“You'll be fine,” Carter told her. “I've slept in the Lee room. And I'm still here.”

“He didn't even run down the stairs naked,” Clint said with a wink.

“Thank the good Lord for that!” Penny breathed.

“Hey!” Carter protested. “I look good naked.”

Darcy laughed softly. “Well, I imagine I'll be all right.”

She was startled to see that Matt looked just a little concerned. “I'm in the house tonight, if there is any trouble, just scream.”

“Ah, but you don't believe in ghosts!” Darcy reminded him.

He shrugged. “I believe in the power of men to do evil,” he murmured. For a moment, his strange deep gray eyes fell on hers. “I'll be down the hall.”

She nodded, bid them good-night, and headed out of the dining room and for the stairs to the second floor. She walked slowly, thinking it somewhat amazing that Matt Stone couldn't feel a thing regarding his house. Penny had asked about vibes. The house throbbed with them. Gentle, lost souls for the most part.

The only malice seemed to come from the Lee Room.

Upstairs, she decided on a quick shower, then brushed her teeth, and prepared for bed.

The room was cool, cooler than it should have been in summer. She ignored it, and the feeling of being watched.

She crawled into bed, somewhat exhausted. She fell asleep with the television on, watching a program on the history of Britain.

Deep into the night, she began to dream. She was herself, sleeping upon the bed, and yet she was not, for she moved, and moved within another persona. Fear clutched the heart of her sleeping self for a moment, for from the moment she felt the coming of the Other, she sensed the anger, a fury that was deep and dangerous. And then…

She was the Other, seeing, feeling, knowing everything he did.

A woman scorned…was a deadly one.

He came in deep thought and silence that evening, angry, but not at all sure, in his conscious mind, just what he intended. In the darkness, he stared at the house, and reflected on all that had been, and all that might come to pass.

The house…the majestic house sat as always. A place with as rich and deep a character as any living person. So it had been from the moment they had first broken ground. Time did nothing but add to the drama that must exist in such a place, as he well knew.

She was there.

He knew that she was there.

And there were things that must be said. Things that must be cleared, or ended, between them.

Still…

He stared at the house. And waited. He denied in his mind that he had come with any malice as to his intent.

His heart felt like stone. Seeds of ideas played deep down within his soul, truth and the physical essence of what must be banned from thought. What happened must happen.

At his sides, his hands flexed, eased, and flexed again, as if already slipping around the throat of the lover he knew to be inside.

Because a woman scorned…

Just might as well be dead.

 

Darcy awoke with a start, shaking. She had felt the past, as if it had entered into her. Felt not so much a person, but the fury and malevolence that had been part of a distant time.

She sat up in bed, and looked around the room, closed her eyes again, and opened them.

Whatever had been with her, whatever remnant of emotion, was gone.

And yet…

Something else was there.

Something, someone, quiet, stealthy.

Watching.

Waiting.

“W
e all know why we've come.” Elizabeth Holmes' voice, though feminine, had a deep resonance. She wasn't exactly what Darcy had been expecting when she had heard that a local novice—who had found her dedication to the occult in the last year—had begged Matt Stone to allow her to run a seance. She wasn't theatrical. There was no turban wrapped around her head, and her eyes weren't dark and deep set and heavily lined with makeup to add to a mystical image. Rather, the woman was about fifty-five or sixty, slender, tall, elegantly slim, with nicely styled silver-white hair and pleasant, powder blue eyes. She looked like a typical businesswoman.

Only her voice might have fit the image of the eerie Gypsy fortune teller.

It seemed to fill the dining room at Melody House with a strange tenor, as if the walls themselves were part of a state-of-the-art speaker system.

And thankfully, the woman hadn't opted to rename herself. She wasn't going by Madame Zara, or anything like that. She was Elizabeth Holmes, a native of the northern Virginia area, and a real estate agent by day. Darcy had wondered at first if this medium wouldn't prove to be a slightly crazy friend who was convinced that she needed only to dress the part to have the powers. She seemed to be a very nice woman, and committed to what she was doing. Whether she really had any ESP or not remained to be seen.

And her opening was intriguing.

“Melody House. She has stood upon this hill since the year of our Lord seventeen-seventeen. And she has, in her years, hosted both joy and tragedy. She is one of the few such surviving grand old homes of our nation still owned by descendants of her original builders. George Washington slept here!” Elizabeth paused, smiling at the group gathered around the dining room table in the muted candlelight. “George got around, it's a wonder Martha wasn't a great deal more upset! But I digress. Washington wasn't her only well-known guest. The likes of Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and others of tremendous renown who lived in Revolutionary times came here as well, and later, she was hostess to many great statesmen and generals of another sad period of war—Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Jeb Stuart, and then, even Ulysses Grant and Abe Lincoln were thought to have taken rest at this place. Bullets once riddled the walls, and many still remain, from battles fought on the ground. Soldiers perished within her walls. Naturally, there were other sad occurrences here, not having to do with the specific pain of battle. There is the case of the beautiful Melody herself, daughter of the builder, distraught by her suitor's argument with her father. She is said to have been rushing to his defense when she careened down the stairway, only to die in her lover's arms on the foyer floor, just feet from where we now sit. There was Eliza, the daughter of General Stone, who might well have been poisoned by her rival, Sally Beauville, who was, when accosted, shot dead by the girl's father, who then faced the hangman's noose. Those are not all the stories. There are so many more.

“Melody House has stood for nearly three hundred years, and in that time, we can only imagine all the dramas that have been lived—and the passions and dreams that have perished here as well. They say that we are energy, and energy cannot be destroyed. Just as they say that Melody House is haunted.
If ghosts and spirits are those who remained, their energy still fiercely alive due to trauma or tragedy, then there would be nothing more natural than the fact that Melody House indeed be haunted! Throughout the years, many have seen, or have believed they have seen, the ghosts of those tragic souls. In the early eighteen-hundreds, the courageous Andrew Jackson, later to be president of the United States, once spent only half a night here, and mentioned to someone later that he'd rather face the British army again than spend another night at Melody House. Some swear there is a woman in white, still walking the halls. Others have seen soldiers, still, perhaps, fighting their long-lost battles.” Elizabeth paused, something of a rueful smile on her face. “So. We shall all join hands, in the circle here created, and see what haunts or specters might wish to appear, to convey last words, wishes, or needs.”

Electricity had long ago come to Melody House, but tonight, other than the lights attached to the cameras, there was no illumination within the dining room except for a single candle burning in the center of the table.

Darcy had already felt the cold. Whether Elizabeth was able to communicate with any of the “energy” remaining in the house or not, Darcy again felt the sense of being watched. Whatever entity or entities remained at Melody House, they were watching. Across the table, she saw Penny shiver.

Darcy felt herself nudged. Hands, yes, hold hands. She set hers upon the table. She was next to Jason Johnson, a local writer and historian, and, naturally, another friend of Matt's, and Clint Stone. Carter was on Clint's other side. Clint covered her hand warmly with his own, and seemed both amused and curious, as if he might have an open mind to the happenings. Matt was across the table, seated next to Elizabeth. He wore a look of carefully restrained impatience on his hard-sculpted features. Mae, the woman who had been welcoming to her when she had first walked into the Wayside Inn, was there, at
tractively dressed and groomed, her round face split into a smile of excitement as she sat on Matt's other side. To round out the group, a pretty young woman with the improbable name of Delilah Dey, newly elected to the town council, sat between Jason Johnson and Mae.

David Jenner, of Jenner Electronics, also at the Wayside Inn when Darcy had first arrived, stood a distance from the group, with video and audio running. Darcy had considered bringing down some of her own equipment, but then had decided that this was not the night for Harrison Investigations' high-tech “ghost buster” electronics.

“We have joined in a benign and caring circle,” Liz said, addressing the spirits. “We wish to help with any problems, past or present. We have come in love and friendship, and wish to communicate with any presence in his house who desires a voice. Our minds and hearts are open. If there is a presence here, please let yourself be known.”

Darcy felt a breeze at her nape, and she closed her eyes.

The fear had never really left her. Josh, who had been born with his unique perception, had not been afraid. But to Darcy, knowing that a very strange door was open was still a frightening experience. She knew that she had to allow the sensations in, but each time, it still seemed that cold fingers clutched her heart, and it was a fight to do what she knew she did well.

They were not alone.

Talk to me
, she thought in silence.

But then her eyes popped open as she heard a rapping at the table. She frowned, then felt a very physical force as the hands grasping around the table all seemed to tighten as one. Elizabeth spoke excitedly.

“We have made a communication! Rap again, please, if you are with us.”

A tap sounded.

Darcy looked around the table, doubting that any of the ghosts were tapping. Matt, too, was looking around the table.

The presence that had been so near Darcy and so apparent to her backed away. It didn't disappear; it simply receded.

“Are you the spirit we call the Lady in White?” Elizabeth asked.

There was no response.

“Perhaps a soldier?”

There was another rapping.

Matt was staring at Darcy, a certain hostility apparent in his eyes. Anger burst through her. He assumed that she was the one somehow managing to tap the table.

“Did you live during Revolutionary Times,” Elizabeth asked, earnest concern in her voice.

No response. Matt was still staring at Darcy.

“The Civil War?” Elizabeth asked softly.

Another rap.

“Yes! Yes!” Elizabeth said, her eyes closed, her concentration intense. “We believe we know your story. You fought hard, so hard, for what you believed to be a just cause. You died here in this house. But you needn't stay and fight on. The war is over. Peace has come. And the outcome, in the end, was right. The only outcome that could be right, and the world has moved on. We seek now to offer true justice and equality for all men. You may rest in peace. Do you understand me? Can my words help you find rest?”

Another rap, then a number of excited raps.

Penny whispered softly to Elizabeth. “We don't want our ghosts to go away! We just want them to be happy.”

“They're only happy when they're at peace!” Carter said, staring at Penny with a strange smile.

“This is so exciting!” Mae whispered.

“Hush!” Elizabeth said, moaning softly. “We'll break the very tenuous thread that is linking us to the entity.”

There was a sound at the table, one of total impatience.

Matt.

“Please!” Elizabeth said. “Captain…you are a captain, right?” she said, addressing the ghost.

There was nothing.

“Let us know. We're here for you,” Elizabeth said.

There was another rap.

“Yes, you're a captain. A true gentleman, still fighting for his cause!”

There was suddenly the sound of a shriek. The table jumped.

The sound had come from Delilah. “Someone…something touched my thigh!”

“The captain isn't such a gentleman,” Clint suggested wryly.

The table jerked again.

Matt swore, and rose, breaking the circle. “David, can you just go ahead and hit the lights?” he asked.

The room was flooded with illumination. “Okay, who was touching Delilah's legs?”

“Matt, we had contact, real contact,” Elizabeth said, dismayed.

“Oh, please!” Matt said.

“By one horny ghost,” Carter suggested, amused.

Matt glared at him. “Not me!” Carter protested.

All eyes naturally turned to Clint.

“Not on your life!” he protested.

“I'm telling you, we contacted a Civil War soldier,” Elizabeth said stubbornly.

“Absolutely,” Penny agreed. “And one of you destroyed our communication. Matt, you just can't have those two around the next time we have a seance. Delilah, we really have ghosts here.”

Delilah shivered. “You do really believe that—that a captain from the Civil War was in this room with us?”

“I must say,” Jason remarked, “Everyone's hands were on the table.” From the way he spoke, it was difficult to tell if he
was impressed with the tapping, or merely curious as to how it might have been managed.

“We're ignoring our expert,” David said, his video still running as he turned the camera on Darcy. “What do you think?”

She answered slowly with a careful shrug. “I'm afraid we weren't into it long enough for me to really give an opinion.”

Jason smiled at her. “But what do you think? Or feel, or intuit, whatever. Is Melody House haunted?”

“The house has a tremendous history,” Darcy said. “Just being in it makes you feel an affinity for the past. Maybe that, in itself, makes a place haunted.”

Clint laughed. “Boy, you can talk your way around anything, can't you, Darcy? What if this were one of those game shows and you had to give a yes or no answer?”

“But it's not a game show,” Darcy said.

“I was excited!” Elizabeth said. “I know that I made contact. And we'll set up to do this again. We've only just begun. I don't think tonight would be good. I mean, I don't think we should try again so soon. Matt—”

“Forgive me, Elizabeth, but I don't want to set up any more dates right now. Bear with me. I'm sorry. My opinion is that someone here managed to tap on the table—and snag Delilah's leg in the process, whether on purpose or not.”

“Matt, you are such a cynic!” Penny protested.

“Oh, my,” Delilah said, and she had a half smile on her face as she surveyed the men in the room.

“He's accusing either you or me,” Carter told Clint, but with no malice.

“Yes, actually, I am,” Matt said sternly, but he didn't sound overly angry, just impatient. He hadn't wanted anything to do with a seance from the beginning.

“I think I'm going to step outside for a minute, if you'll excuse me?” Darcy said.

“I'll get drinks and some snacks out,” Penny told them.

“Drinks!” Carter said with pleasure.

“I'll give you a hand, Penny,” Mae said. “I'm still all a-tingle! I'm certain as well that Elizabeth made contact. Couldn't you feel it? The room was so cold. Oh, yes, there was someone with us. Something. Definitely. And Matt, you must do this again, please? Oh, you must, you must, you must!”

Darcy heard the last as she slipped through the foyer and out the front door. She felt a little guilty for not offering to help Penny herself, but there were others there, and she'd had the strangling sensation that she'd needed to get out.

Night could be so strange. The summer sky like velvet, and so near the mountains, a million stars showing cleanly against the darkness. She leaned against the porch rail for a minute, inhaled deeply, and smelled the fragrant, flower-filled air that marked the season.