The Visitor (21 page)

Thirty-Seven

I
caught my breath and started to back into the hallway, but the sound of footfalls on the front porch checked me. I lingered on the threshold of that tiny room, torn between the unknown danger that lurked within and the human threat that approached from without. Then, drawing a breath, I stepped quickly inside and closed the door, groping for and engaging the lock. I could see nothing now except for a beam of light streaming in through a tiny hole in the outside wall.

The keys tinkled overhead, an eerie serenade that tore at my nerves.

Turning my back to the sound, I pressed an ear to the door, tracking the creak of floorboards as Micah crossed the porch and stepped inside the house. I could imagine him pausing to scan the corners and niches for any telltale movement, then lifting his gaze to the second floor as he assessed the possibility of my having braved the broken staircase.

The footsteps came slowly down the hallway, halting outside the stairwell door to rattle the knob once, twice, three times before continuing on into the kitchen and out the rear door.

I hoped he'd keep going, back into the maze, the woods, anywhere but here. I even let out a breath of relief when I didn't hear his returning footfalls. But I didn't open the door. Instead, I fished a flashlight from my backpack. The light refused to come on at first, but after a couple of thumps, the bulb flickered on and I played the beam over the walls.

The hanging keys were certainly an oddity, but my great-grandmother had left behind another peculiarity. Another obsession. She'd scrawled numbers all over the walls in no apparent order or pattern.

My heart thudded in excitement and trepidation as I took a tentative tour around the room. In one of the darkened corners, the numbers were so tiny that I had to kneel and lean in closely to make them out. I could imagine Rose hunkered there on the floor, frantically scribbling out a coded message that only she could decipher while the ghosts swarmed her tiny house.

In another corner, a row of candles had been aligned on the floor before a cross that had been crudely fashioned from twigs and the same cotton twine used to hang the keys. Several stereograms had been stacked in front of the cross, and as I sifted through the cards, I decided that Rose must have used the cramped space as her sanctuary. A safe haven where she could hide away during the dark hours.

I spread the cards on the floor and held the flashlight over them. The shots were of Rose's house, taken from different angles at various times of the day. I had no idea why she'd been so fascinated by the structure. Without a viewer through which to study them, the images didn't reveal any secrets. But the photographs must have meant something to her or she wouldn't have placed them at the makeshift altar.

I was still deeply engrossed by the images when the flashlight bulb sputtered out, leaving me in near darkness except for the light streaming through the tiny hole in the wall. Maybe the placement of that minuscule opening was just happenstance, but something niggled. I had a feeling that as random as everything in this room appeared to be, there was a method to Rose's madness. Like Kroll Cemetery, the sanctuary was a carefully designed puzzle.

I tapped the flashlight back on and fanned the beam once more over the numbers. If the chaotic scribbling had order or reason, I couldn't discern it. I gathered up all the cards and carefully placed them in my backpack. Then I moved the light around the room, searching for other clues. As the shadows dissolved, I saw a deeper form in the darkest corner.

My hand jerked violently and the flashlight crashed to the floor. The beam arced over the numbers and then went completely dead. I huddled in the dark, clutching my backpack and trying to convince myself that I was alone in the room. No one living or dead had followed me inside.

Just your imagination
, I tried to convince myself as I crawled on all fours across the floor, feeling for the flashlight.

The rough planks creaked beneath my weight. The keys tinkled overhead as if stirred by an unseen hand.

Don't look back.

A breeze brushed through my hair like the glacial fingers of a ghost. My jeans caught on a loose board and for a terrifying moment, I was certain something tugged at my leg. I jerked the fabric free, and then continued my search, flattening my hands over the dusty floor until I bumped up against the rubber housing. Grabbing the flashlight, I spun around while simultaneously flicking the switch.

Nothing happened.

As I frantically slapped the flashlight against my palm, the air suddenly grew cold and dank and a familiar scent drifted in. Not the dust and lavender that accompanied the blind ghost or the smell of ancient decay that heralded the withered in-between. This was an old-fashioned scent. Medicinal and not entirely unpleasant. It reminded me of the witch hazel Papa used to splash on after he shaved.

The scent grew stronger as the entity moved toward me, coming so close I could smell something fetid beneath the witch hazel. I didn't dare move or even breathe. For the longest time, I cowered motionless as the presence crouched beside me. This was not a ghost that needed my help to move on. This was something more powerful. Something with a nefarious purpose. A malcontent that had used a familiar scent to disguise its foulness.

Despite Rose's best effort, evil had found a way into her sanctuary.

Thirty-Eight

I
hunkered in the dark until the scent faded and I knew without a doubt that I was alone. I had no idea where Micah had gone off to, and at the moment, I didn't really care. My primary motivation was to get out of that house.

But as terrified and rattled as I was, I somehow had the presence of mind to lock the sanctuary door before I fled. The walls of numbers and any other clues contained within that room would need to be carefully examined and photographed at a later date, but not now, not alone, not with that thing lurking in the shadows.

I turned and dashed down the hallway, heedless of the creaking floorboards and grasping cobwebs. I didn't stop to look behind me until I was at the edge of the yard and only halted then because I had to chart a course through the maze. The last thing I wanted was to stumble around aimlessly through those endless channels.

Once I got my bearings, it was easy enough to retrace my steps to the cemetery, and from there, I made my way back to the original entrance. As I emerged from the woods, I spotted Dr. Shaw pacing in front of my car. He grasped my arms as I rushed up to him, searching my harried appearance, taking in the twigs and dead leaves still clinging to my hair and clothing. “My dear, are you all right? Where on earth were you? I've been worried sick about you.”

“We should get out of here,” I said on a breath.

He frowned. “Why? What's happened? The way you looked just now...it was as if the devil himself were at your heels.”

“I'm not so sure you're that far off the mark. That's why we need to get out of these woods and head back to town. We're not safe here.”

His eyes clouded with concern. “Of course. Whatever you say. But we'll have to take your vehicle.”

I glanced around anxiously. “Where's yours?”

“I sent my colleague for some equipment.” He scoured my face once again. “I wish you would tell me what happened.”

“I will, but let's get away from here first.”

My frenzied behavior must have gotten through to him, because he nodded without another word and climbed into the SUV. I started the engine and began the delicate operation of turning the vehicle on the narrow road. I knew that Dr. Shaw was bursting with questions, but to his credit, he held his silence and allowed me to concentrate on my driving as I maneuvered along the narrow trail.

I had to fight the impulse to step on the gas. I couldn't wait to be out of those woods. The trees seemed to close in on us from both sides and the ghost voices were starting to chatter. I lifted a hand to wipe a trickle of sweat from my brow as I forced myself to take it slow and easy so that we didn't bottom out in a hole or crash into a tree. The last thing I wanted was to be stranded in that creepy place with the voices of the dead filling my head and flies gathering on my windshield.

Only when I eased onto the blacktop did I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. I glanced in the rearview mirror. There was nothing but clear road in our wake.

I could feel Dr. Shaw's gaze on me and I spared him a glance. “I noticed an abandoned gas station just outside town. We can stop there for a bit. My hands are still shaking. I need to get my nerves under control before we reach a main road.”

“That's a good idea,” he said, and then he turned his head back to the window to watch the passing scenery. A few minutes later, I spotted the faded sign and slowed to make the turn onto the gravel drive. By the look of the building, the business had been out of operation for decades. The twin pumps had long since disappeared and kudzu had claimed most of the roof. The derelict station was a forlorn-looking place and I didn't much like sitting with my back to it. But I thought it best to face the road so that we could spot anyone or anything trying to sneak up on us.

Dr. Shaw rummaged through his rucksack and produced a thermos. “Tea? It'll help settle your nerves.”

“Yes, thank you. You're a lifesaver.” I accepted his offering and wrapped my fingers around the cup so that I could absorb the warmth through my palms. Despite the outside temperature, my blood remained chilled.

“Now,” Dr. Shaw said briskly, after he'd allowed me a fortifying sip. “Tell me what happened.”

I watched a passing car on the highway as I gathered my thoughts. I wasn't quite ready to revisit what I'd experienced in Rose's sanctuary. The confrontation with Micah Durant in the cemetery was an easier place to start. “Do you remember the discussion we had at Oak Grove about Louvenia's grandson, Micah? About how unsettled we felt by him?”

“Yes, of course, I remember. Why?”

“I had the oddest run-in with him back at the cemetery. But even before that, I think he may have been following me.” Quickly, I recounted my previous encounter with Micah at the Unitarian Churchyard. Then I described the incident with the swarming bees and Micah's later appearance in Kroll Cemetery. I even told Dr. Shaw about fleeing under the cover of a cicada cloud.

“The great Southern horde,” he said in awe. “How fortuitous that their seventeen-year cycle culminated at the precise moment you needed a distraction.”

I didn't think it fortuitous at all. Somehow Mott had awakened those cicadas. I hadn't seen her in the cemetery or even sensed her presence. But I suspected she'd been there all along, scrabbling through the cemetery walls or hovering in the gloom watching me.

“What do you suppose that young man is up to?” Dr. Shaw mused.

“Micah? I'm not entirely certain, but I know I don't trust him.” I paused, taking another quick survey of our surroundings. “I don't think I trust any of them. They're an eccentric family, to say the least.”

“Eccentricity is hardly a crime, my dear, and I must say, his behavior with the bees has me intrigued. However, I can't help wondering if there's something more you're not telling me.” His gaze swept over my features. “I've never seen you like this.”

I closed my eyes on a shudder. “Something else did happen, but not in the cemetery. I lost my way in the maze and stumbled upon my great-grandmother's house.”

“Your great-grandmother?”

“Rose Gray. The woman in the stereogram.”

“Ah. So she was related to you, then.”

“She was Papa's mother. She died a long time ago by her own hand, according to Nelda and Louvenia.”

“She committed suicide?” He shook his head. “What a tragic ending to her story.”

“I don't think it was the end of her story at all. There's so much more I have to tell you, Dr. Shaw.”

“Take your time,” he said. “We're safe enough here. We can see anyone approaching for miles.”

I nodded and took another sip of tea. “There's a small room underneath the stairs in her house. I believe Rose used it as her sanctuary. I found some of her stereograms on the floor and brought them with me, but I'm not sure that I should have. It seems wrong taking those cards from her house when they've been there for decades.”

“You can always return them,” he said reasonably. “Have you had a chance to look at them?”

“Only by flashlight and without a viewer. But that room... It's a very strange place.”

“In what way?”

I clutched the cup tighter. “Hundreds of keys hang from the ceiling and the walls are covered with numbers.”

“Keys and numbers,” he said thoughtfully. “Like the headstone engravings.”

“Exactly. They mean something. They're pieces of the larger puzzle. But that's not all I found.” I turned to him, lifting a hand to the skeleton key necklace at my throat. “There was something else inside Rose's house. In that room. A presence that seemed to know me.”

He looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“It used a scent from my past to mask its putrid odor.”

“It?”

“A ghost, an entity...” I trailed off helplessly. “You were right about caulbearers. We do have a special sight. At least Papa and I do. We see ghosts. I don't talk about it because most people wouldn't believe me.”

“But I'm not most people,” he said gently.

“No. I should have told you a long time ago, but old habits are hard to break. I suspect you've known all along anyway.”

“I've always known you were special and I can't say that I'm surprised by your revelation.” I saw a gleam of excitement in his faded eyes. “Naturally, I'm curious about your experiences. Anyone in my position would be. But none of that matters at the moment. I keep going back to the look on your face when you came out of the woods. You were terrified, so I assume the presence you felt in Rose's house wasn't a ghost.”

“I don't know what it was. The entity may be what Papa calls a malcontent. A wraith that lingers to create chaos. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“I've never heard it called by that name. The kind of presence you're talking about is usually described as demonic.”

A shiver went through me as I closed my fist around the necklace. “Earlier, on my way to the cemetery, I experienced the strangest sensation. It was as if I was caught in the middle of something. As though I was being tugged back and forth between two opposing forces. I think the ghosts of Kroll Cemetery want me here. For whatever reason, they need me to solve Rose's puzzle. But this thing, this malcontent wants to drive me away.”

“That's not so hard to understand,” he said. “You said its purpose for lingering in the living world is to create chaos. Perhaps it derives some, if not all, of its energy from the pent-up rage and frustration of all those trapped souls.”

“I had the sense that it had been there for a long time. I think Rose somehow managed to trap it beneath her house, but it found a way into her sanctuary.”

Dr. Shaw sat quietly for a very long time. “I was afraid of something like this,” he finally said. “Do you remember what I told you the other night on the phone?”

“Yes. You warned me about a collective rage. About being used as a conduit. But I don't think that's why I've been brought here. I don't think the ghosts want to use me. I think they need me to find a way to free them. They can't move on until the puzzle is solved.”

“Perhaps we need to take into account the human equation, as well,” he said. “I don't just mean you. It seems as if Louvenia's grandson may somehow be connected to all this.”

“Maybe the entity, this malcontent, is using him. Owen Dowling told me that Micah has been troubled since childhood. He's been in and out of institutions for most of his life. It seems to me he would be easy prey. Although there could be another, less esoteric reason he'd want to thwart the restoration. Devlin said the cemetery could cause problems if the land were put on the market. It would be easier and far cheaper to make the graves go away than to try to relocate them.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. Although I don't think Louvenia would agree to such a plan.”

“Nor do I. But if she were to meet with an accident or be declared incompetent, it would certainly open the door for her beneficiaries.”

“That's a very serious accusation, my dear.”

“I know. But it would explain a lot, wouldn't it?”

I lowered my window to allow in a cool breeze. It was still early afternoon, but it seemed an eternity since I'd left the Durant farm for the cemetery. Amazing how so much could happen in such a short amount of time. Frightening how quickly one's whole world could change forever.

I turned back to Dr. Shaw. “As long as I'm coming clean, there's something else you should know. Do you remember the silhouette I told you I saw in Oak Grove the day of the dedication? I had a sense that she was connected to Nelda Toombs, that she might even be her dead twin, Mott.”

“I remember,” he said. “We discussed the possibility of your having experienced the Old Hag Syndrome.”

“I've seen her again. And now I know she's not a vision or a hallucination or a waking dream. She's real. She exists. Not as a human, not as a ghost, but as a being that dwells in the shadowy space between the living world and the dead world.”

“Half in, half out,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It's an old saying about cats. They're half in this world, half in the next. In mythology, if someone needed to enter the underworld, they would sometimes use a cat to guide them. Maybe it's the same with Mott. She's half in, half out. Neither alive nor dead but something in between.”

“It sounds crazy, doesn't it? I mean, I've seen her. I know she's real. I know she exists. But I don't understand how such a thing can be possible.”

“As I've said many times, there are things in this world that will never be explained simply because we don't have the capacity to conceive of them. The scope of our reality is too narrow. Your visitor at one time was as real as you and I. Flesh-and-blood real. Perhaps when she died, something of her essence was left behind. A physical and spiritual bond to her sister so powerful that rather than moving on, she evolved into something else. Not human, not ghost, but a being that retained enough of her humanity to mimic life.”

“What do you think she wants from me?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly, she's another piece of Rose's puzzle. We can only speculate as to her purpose, but if your calling is to help the dead move on, then maybe a being that's half in and half out is the means by which the door to the dead world can be opened. In any case, I don't think you have anything to fear from her. Think of her as your guardian and protector. I would surmise the gifts she's left around your house are her way of making contact.”

“As innocent as all that.”

He smiled. “Sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one.”

“I hope you're right.”

“I suggest we drive back into town and regroup,” he said. “If what you suspect about Micah Durant is true, I should warn my colleague. I don't think it a good idea that any of us be alone in that cemetery.”