K.J. Emrick - Darcy Sweet 13 - Ghost Story (5 page)

“Williams here, he got himself hung for the crime.  With his dying breath, he cursed Roderick Chauncy.  Cursed the town.  Cursed everyone.  Said he would rise up from his grave and kill everyone.”

“The story I read said he was killed for being a witch.”

Benson shook his head.  “Nope.  Wasn’t no witch.  Wasn’t no Pilgrim either, but that don’t stop people from calling him that.  He was just a jealous, money hungry man angry at the whole wide world.”             

Darcy looked at the painting of the man who would come to be known as the Pilgrim Ghost, hanging from a rope as punishment for his sins.  She studied his face.  It was the angry visage of a man who had been wronged, a man who hated everyone, and everything.  The rest of the picture was just as vivid, from the faces of the gawkers to the timbers of the Town Hall to the intricate designs carved into the beam the hangman’s noose was suspended from.  Even the grandfather clock standing in the corner was rendered in perfect detail.  The hands showed Darcy the time of the hanging.  Eleven fifty-nine.  Through the windows she saw the black sky of night.

It was one minute before midnight.

The exact time that the clock on the Town Hall was stuck at.

The door to the study burst open and Darcy jumped up from her chair, unseating Twistypaws.  The poor cat streaked out of the room between Jon’s legs, like a streak of furry lightning.

“Sorry,” Jon said to them.  “I didn’t mean to let the door bang like that.  Hi, Benson.  Do you mind if I borrow Darcy for a moment?”

“Sure, sure.  Kind of the end of my tale, anyway.”

He went to stand up, but Darcy had one more question.

“Did Williams ever make good on his threat?”  Coming from anyone else that would have seemed a bizarre thing to ask.  Ghosts couldn’t curse people.  They couldn’t rise up from the grave and exact revenge.

Except in Darcy’s world, they could.  And did. 

Benson settled back into his seat, with a sad nod of his head.  “In 1796, year after Williams was hung, the Town Hall burnt down.  With Roderick Chauncy in it.  Five decades later, the main support beam in the new Town Hall cracked and came crashing down on the head of Whitmarsh Grace’s grandson.  Boy died where he stood.  Other things have happened here in Misty Hollow, if you haven’t noticed.  Some of it is just normal small town stuff.  But the rest of it?  No, sir.  Can’t be this much evil in one town less it has a source.”

He didn’t say what that source was, but the implication of his words was clear.

“Darcy, I need to talk to you,” Jon whispered.  “Now.”

“Okay.  Benson, thank you,” she said.  The old man only nodded, staring down at the picture of the hanging Nathaniel Williams.  He was lost in thoughts too dark to share, perhaps, or worrying about the ones he had already shared.

They left him there in his study, and Jon ushered them out of the house as quickly as he could.  Twistypaws watched them with quiet cat reserve, looking like she had already forgotten about the fright Darcy had given her.  Although the way her tail twitched Darcy wasn’t so sure.

Out in the driveway, at the car, Jon huddled close to Darcy and held his voice pitched low.  “They identified the woman.”

“Really?  Who was she?”  Darcy was still processing what Benson had told her inside.  She wanted to know who the victim was and how she could possibly fit into the nightmarish history that Misty Hollow had come from.

“Her name was Bonnie Verhault.  She was a real estate agent.”

“So, nobody from Misty Hollow.”

“No.  That’s why none of us recognized her.  We didn’t know her.  But guess what she was doing in town?”

“Jon, how could I know…” Real estate agent, Darcy thought.  What did real estate agents do?  “She was here to buy property?  Here in Misty Hollow.”

“You got it.  Specifically she was here looking to buy land out on Coldspring Road next to where the new Dollar Store complex is going in.”  He smiled grimly, like he’d swallowed something sour.  “Wilson did some digging, looking to see who owned the land out there, to see if maybe whoever owned it would have a grudge against her for buying it.  Guess what name the property is listed under?”

Darcy felt a chill go up her spine.  “Williams.  It’s the Williams family land.”

“You got it.  It’s belonged to their family since back in the 1700s.  None of them still live in Misty Hollow, but they still hold the deed in absentia.”

Things were starting to come together, but Darcy didn’t like the way it was shaping up.  Nathaniel Williams was a murderous spirit, intent on revenge and holding onto what he thought was his, even from the grave.

How was she supposed to stop him?

Jon drove straight to the police station.  He wanted to help Wilson with the case, both to pitch in for the department and to find out if they had learned anything more about Bonnie Verhault.

He had been very insistent that Darcy stay with him.  As much as she wanted to do exactly that, she needed to get home.  She wanted to call and check on Grace and Aaron, not to mention Helen and Andrew.  Then there was Smudge to take care of.  Well, he could take care of himself, pretty much, but she hated leaving him alone for so long.  They were best friends, after all.

Jon had argued with her, but in the end she won out.  With an exasperated sigh he drove her to their house, insisting that she call him if anything at all happened.  She agreed, kissing his forehead to seal the promise.

Mostly, she wanted to get home to consult with her books and see what would be involved in exorcising a two hundred year old ghost from the town.  No doubt there would be a lot involved in it.  Whenever she did a communication, calling on the ghost of someone who had passed on, it took something out of her.  An outpouring of her personal energy.  A piece of her soul, kind of.  What would a full on exorcism cost her?

The house was quiet when she got back.  It was close to eleven o’clock now, and the day had been exhausting.  Especially for one that had started out so lazily with just her and Jon hanging out together.  Darcy sighed as she poured a cup of tea for herself, standing in the kitchen.  When she and Jon got married they would have to honeymoon far, far away from Misty Hollow if they expected to have any time at all for just the two of them.  Australia seemed nice.  Maybe they could go there.

The phone calls themselves had taken over an hour.  Grace was very matter of fact in asking questions and getting information, but then had choked up a little when she talked about how scared she had been for baby Addison.  Darcy remembered the little voice in the back of her mind while Nathaniel Williams’ ghost had railed at them, and had no problem admitting that she was worried for Addison, too.  The sisters promised to watch out for the newborn child, no matter what.

The conversation with Helen had taken a lot longer.  She was an emotional wreck, terrified by what had happened and what might happen and unsure what to do about either.  As the town’s mayor, she needed to make sure the citizens of Misty Hollow were safe.  She had a certain image to uphold for the community, as well, and dead bodies showing up on her lawn didn’t exactly help her with that.  Not that her image was anything more than a minor concern.

Her real concern, was who had killed Bonnie Verhault.

That was Darcy’s concern, too.

After promising to call Helen the minute she knew anything else, Darcy had finally been able to relax a bit.  After locking both doors and all the windows.  She’d had her experiences with ghosts trying to break into the house before, and with human intruders as well.  She had told Jon she was a big girl, and that was true, but she wasn’t stupid.

After changing out her jeans and her shirt for a pair of pink fleece pajamas, Darcy took her tea to the couch and curled up on the one end, with her feet tucked up underneath her.

Smudge came around the corner of the couch and jumped up next to her.  She reached down to stroke the top of his head between his ears.  “Hey there,” she said to him.  “Guess what?  I saw Twistypaws today.”

He blinked up at her, nuzzling his face against her fingers, as if to say, “Sure.  I know.”

Darcy smiled at him.  “Of course you know.  You always know.”

The tea had a warming, soothing effect on her, just like her tomcat’s comfortable presence did.  Before long, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.  It was late.  She should be researching in her books, but sleep sounded so good right now.  Jon would be home soon, she hoped, but he had his own key to get in.  Right now, she had just a few moments to herself, and she wanted to spend them catching as much of a nap as she could.

“Don’t sleep too long.  You’ve got a lot to do.”

She looked down next to her, where the familiar voice had come from.  Smudge smiled up at her with his tail flicking gently against the couch.  “Sorry,” he said to her.  “I know you just want to sleep.”

“I really do, Smudge,” she said, her voice heavy and drowsy.  “I’m really tired.”

He rubbed his head against the side of her leg.  “I know.  You should be like me.  Sleep during the day.  That way you can stay up at night.”

“That’s fine for you.  I’ve got things to do during the day.”

“So do I,” he agreed.  “Sleeping is one of them.”

Darcy scratched his ears again.  “I’m glad you’re always here for me, Smudge.  I don’t mind telling you, I’m scared this time.”

“You deal with ghosts all the time,” Smudge reminded her.

“Not like this.  This ghost…he’s already killed once.  He’s going to kill again if I don’t stop him.”

“Are you sure about that?”

That was an odd question, she thought to herself.  “Of course I’m sure.  Smudge, I saw the body.”

“What did you see?” he asked her, regarding her in that way that cats did so well whenever they knew something you didn’t.

“It’s a fair question, Darcy,” said a kindly voice.  A woman’s voice.

She sat in the chair opposite the couch, across from Darcy, her long dark dress matched with a pearl necklace this time.  Her floppy hat with its wide brim sat at an angle on her head, her white hair tucked neatly inside.  Aunt Millie had taken to wearing that hat all the time now.  Darcy kind of thought it suited her.

“You did tell me there would be worse coming,” Darcy said to her. 

Picking up her own cup of tea, Millie winked.  “Sweetheart, did you think I’d leave you all alone to face this?  I’m always here when you need me.  You know that.”

Darcy couldn’t help but smile.  She wasn’t at all surprised to see her dead aunt coming to visit.  After all, this was a dream.

“I know I can always ask you for help, Millie,” Darcy told her, honestly grateful that she was here now.  “I just don’t understand why you stay around.  The other side must be calling to you.  You lived a good life.  You deserve your rest now.”

“Oh, tish tosh,” Millie tsked.  “I have a few more things to check on.  Maybe a skeleton or two in my own closet to work out.  Nobody is perfect, you know.”

Darcy had trouble believing that her Great Aunt had any dark issues still holding her to this mortal coil.  There was a question here, about why Millie’s spirit had yet to cross over.  A mystery to be solved.  Darcy knew she was the only one who could do it.

“Now, you let that be,” Millie scolded her.  “We’re not worrying about me.  Not when there’s something worse to worry ourselves over.”

“She’s always been like that,” Smudge said with a yawn, turning over onto his back and stretching.  “Darcy thinks about everyone else’s needs first.  It’s just one of the many reasons why I love her.”

“Aw,” Darcy said.  “I love you too, Smudge.”

“Darcy, I’m serious,” Millie continued.  “You’ve seen what Nathaniel Williams can do.  You’ve got yourself one dead woman to worry about already.  There might be more, if you don’t put a stop to him.”

“I know, Aunt Millie.  It’s more complicated than that, though.  One of us killed that woman.  I need to figure out which one.  But if I do, then whoever it was will be facing a murder charge.  I’ve got no way to defend my friends from this, but I still need to figure it out. I have to.”

“Do you?”  Millie seemed surprised by that idea.  Then, with a shrug, she set her cup of tea down on the coffee table between them, next to Darcy’s.  “I suppose.  Finding out who killed that poor woman won’t necessarily help you stop Nathaniel Williams.”

“I know he has to be stopped.  I want to stop him.  No.  I need to stop him.”  Darcy heard the conviction in her voice, felt the heat in her face.  She had rarely been this sure about anything in her life.  “I don’t know how, is the thing.  I’m not an exorcist.”

“Oh, neither was I,” Millie said with a smile.  “But I did my fair share.  There’s a method, and there’s a way.  The method is in a book.  Spelled out for you all nice and neat.  It’s right up there, sweetheart.”

She pointed up at the wall behind the couch.  Darcy turned to find Smudge up on the shelf Millie was indicating, pulling a book with a red cover out with his teeth.  “Thif if it,” he said around a mouthful of book spine.

“Hey, don’t you ruin my books!” Darcy scolded him.  She knew which book Millie meant.  She’d read through it last night in her search for clues about Nathaniel Williams’ ghost.  Exorcism 101, basically.  “Okay, Millie, that’s the method.  You said there was a method, and a way.  If that’s the method then what’s the way?”

Her Great Aunt reached out and took her hands, holding them in her own, studying them closely.  “Oh, my.  What pretty rings you have.”

Darcy rolled her eyes.  “You’ve seen my rings before, Millie.  I wear them all the time in the shop.  One of them was yours, remember?”

The world around her, the dream world, violently rocked sideways as lines blurred across her vision like something was trying to tear it apart.

It hurt.  A lot.

“Millie,” Darcy said in alarm, “what was that?”

“Hm.  I was afraid he’d find you here.  I just thought we’d have more time.  I always wish there was more time.”

She shook her head sadly and reached for her tea cup again.

The table bounced up on two legs and then thumped back down to the floor, knocking both cups off with enough force to shatter them, tea spilling out across the rug.  Darcy gripped the arm of the couch, holding on tightly against a sudden invisible force trying to pull her away.

“Millie!” she screamed.

“It’s right where it belongs, you know,” was her aunt’s calm reply.  “It’s where it’s always been, right where it belongs.  It’s right—”

The world turned upside down and Darcy was looking at the floor above her and the ceiling beneath her as she fell upward.  The dream was being shredded around her.  Some dark force that she couldn’t see had ahold of her and would not let go.

She was being attacked.

“It’s right where it belongs,” Millie said again, as her image smeared and drifted away into nothing.  “It’s where it’s always been.  It’s right where it belongs.”

Then Darcy woke up.

***

She was on the floor, a warm, dark liquid seeping out under her.  A dark form hovered over her, shadows that might have been someone or no one or nothing at all.  Darcy could feel the pain of the beating she had just taken, the attack that had woken her up from her sleep.  Everywhere hurt.  Was she bleeding?  She reached up with her hands to ward off her attacker.

His hands grabbed hers.  He held her down, held her in place, and shouted at her.

Darcy screamed.

“Hold on!” he said.  A very strange thing for an attacker to say.  “Calm down.  Darcy, calm down.  It’s me.”

Her eyes finally managed to come back into focus and she forced herself to concentrate on the face that hovered so close to hers, on the man who was holding her down on her own living room floor.

Jon.  It was Jon.

Sobbing, breaking down into hot tears, Darcy allowed him to scoop her up into his arms and hold her.  “Ow,” she managed, sucking in a breath between her tears.  “Jon.  Careful, it hurts.”

“What happened?” he asked her, loosening his grip but not letting go.  “I came in the house and I found you here on the floor.  What happened?”

She remembered feeling the warm wetness under her and in a panic she reached up to feel the back of her head, her neck, her shoulders…there.  Her fingers came away wet and she brought them up in front of her face and for a moment she was sure it was blood until she smelled the bittersweet aroma and realized she had landed in the spilled tea from where it had been knocked off the coffee table.  She looked down now and saw the broken teacups.

Two cups.  Hers… and Aunt Millie’s.

“I was attacked,” Darcy told Jon.  “Somebody…somebody broke into the house and they were…hitting…beating me…”  She couldn’t remember what had happened, now that she was trying to.  There had been the very vivid dream with her and Smudge and Millie and then there had just been this topsy-turvy feeling of being dragged off the couch and thrown around and now everything hurt.

Jon was looking at her very intently.  “Darcy.  There’s no one else in the house but us.  The door was still locked when I got here.”

“But Jon, it was real.  It happened.”

“Okay, okay.  I believe you.”  His tone didn’t sound all that convinced.  “But if you were attacked, where is the guy?  How could he get by me?  Do you think he’s still in the house?”

Darcy wasn’t thinking that at all.  She was thinking about possessing spirits and how the people who were possessed rarely remembered what the ghost had done through them.  She was thinking how she had woken up being beaten and then seen Jon standing directly over her.

No.  Oh, God no.

“Jon,” she said slowly.  “Can you stand over there?  For just a minute.  Please?”

His brows knitted.  “What’s wrong?”

“Just go over there.  On the other side of the living room.”  She pushed at him, gently but firmly, and he let her go.  She stepped back, slowly, wishing she wasn’t thinking what she was thinking.