Beckoning Spirit (A Romantic Paranormal Short Story) (3 page)

Her gaze latched onto a cottage with a country-style thatched roof and a flagpole out front. With her heart beating in her ears, she noted the old tire swing still hung from the big tree out back, and the picket fence still needed painting. Many fond memories of fun-filled days and star-studded nights were linked to that little home. How she missed Grandma! The ache she felt in her chest turned to a deep, agonizing burn.

Before tears blurred her eyes, she wandered to the cemetery. Although the sky was darkening and getting gloomier by the moment, the melodic symphony of birds chirped all around her. They welcomed her home again.

A flash of light streaked across the sky, causing Devin to jump. When a cool breeze whipped her hair around her face and rustled the tops of the trees, she had to admit Kipp was correct. The storm was moving in, and it was coming fast.

She quickly walked under the elegant iron archway and marched straight to her grandmother’s grave. Someone had recently placed a pot of red geraniums there. Kneeling, she slid her finger across the glistening hard surface of the marble headstone. Tears sprang to her eyes as she lowered her head and whispered a fervent prayer.

“Grandma, why am I here? Please help me unlock the secret of my dreams. Who is the woman in white, and what does she want with me? You advised me to follow my dreams and I’d find love. Where is the love you foresaw?”

She lay on her side and rested her head upon the mound of grass. For a year, sorrow had swelled inside. Finally, it was time to let the tears flow. Like the rain that began to softly fall, the tears washed over her in waves, refreshing her spirit and nourishing her soul.

Fat droplets splattered rhythmically onto the headstones throughout the cemetery, sounding like musical notes. Next to her, a young bird flapped its wings as it splashed in a small puddle formed by the footprint of her sandal.

Devin lifted her head as a sudden cold gale carried an eerie whistle upon the wind. As though she were a puppet on a string, her neck rotated toward the abandoned lighthouse. The light was on in the tower.

How could the light be on? She knew the light hadn’t worked in years.

Stumbling to her feet, she dashed between the maze of headstones and out the cemetery gate. In the manner of a typical island storm, the wind and rain blew into a frenzy within moments. Devin jerked off her sandals and ran barefoot to the base of the lighthouse. Shaking from sudden exposure, she stared up at the small oval window fifty feet above. A jagged bolt of lightning sliced through the darkened sky, and in one sharp instant, Devin saw her. The woman stood at the window, her shadowy face staring down. Rain slashed at the glass, and the small window rattled wildly in its ancient casing, caught in the fury of the burgeoning storm. With a blink of her eye, the vision was gone.

Devin’s fist flew to her mouth. Had she really seen someone? Or was her imagination playing tricks? Thunder boomed and another jagged flash lit up the sky, illuminating the window again. The figure was still there! The woman’s long auburn hair lay curled around her shoulders, and the wide lace collar of her white dress accentuated the slender arch of her neck.

Devin stood trancelike as the ghostly shape of a man magically appeared at the woman’s side. He placed a spectral arm around her waist. His hair was dark and he wore an odd-looking shirt with a ruffle down the front. His face, like hers, was cast in long shadows. An icy thread wound its way up Devin’s spine when he tenderly took the woman’s chin between his fingers and brushed his lips against hers.

Another clap of thunder wrenched Devin from her trance. She jumped and blinked, and the two smoky shapes dissipated into thin air.

“No! Come back!” she shouted.

She pounded her fist upon the small lighthouse door. It was padlocked. “Open up!” she called desperately into the wind. She pounded again, and the lock magically broke apart and the chain thudded to the ground. With her mouth open in shock, she flung the door open and planted one foot on the bottom step of the old wooden stairs. Her gaze lifted at the exact moment the two phantoms glided down the staircase, hand in hand.

Frozen with nowhere to turn, Devin gasped when they rocketed through her body with the power of a freight train. Knocked backward onto the ground, her chest burned with the impact.

With the air literally knocked out of her, she fought to breathe. Struggling to her feet, she saw the couple float across the wet grass. The beaming light in the woman’s kindled eyes caught Devin’s gaze and held. She summoned her with ethereal fingers. Unable to resist, Devin staggered across the ground following the vaporous couple. They drifted through the air and hovered at the edge of the cliff.

It took only an instant. Still holding hands, the couple took one giant step into the air and vanished over the cliff.

Devin clutched at her throat and scurried to the edge and peered over. She saw nothing but the sheer cliff walls, sharp rocks, and crashing waves below.

“Devin!”

Whirling, she saw Kipp running toward her. He opened his arms, and she walked into them and rested her head on his chest. Her clothes were soaked through, and she was emotionally drained.

“Did you see them?” she asked wearily. “Did you see the man and woman on the cliff?”

He glanced around. “There’s no one out here, Devin.” He set her back. “You’re drenched and so am I. Let’s get out of this storm.” Shrugging off his rain jacket, Kipp wrapped it snuggly around her shoulders and helped her down the hill to the village.

When they entered the Island Inn lobby, the lights flashed several times. The hotel manager handed them matches and candles in the likelihood the power would go out. Frozen to the bone, Devin couldn’t stop shivering.

“I’ll show ya to your room,” Kipp said, pulling a door key from his pocket.

She pushed strands of wet hair from her face. “You reserved a room for me?”

“Yeah. I was afraid they might fill up quickly due to the storm.”

“Thank you.” Exhausted, the simple phrase was all she could muster.

He walked her down the hall, drew a hot bath and lit several candles, and then retreated to his own room, promising to return.

Sometime later when both were warm, dry, and dressed in robes provided by the Inn, they sat together on the sofa in her room. The electricity
had
gone out, and the soft glow of flickering candlelight made for a romantic atmosphere.

The room was decorated in Victorian style, with dark, plush fabrics on the furniture, a four-poster canopy bed, and an oriental carpet covering the gleaming wood floor. They finished the iced tea and cold sandwiches someone from Room Service had delivered.

Refreshed from the warm bath, Devin felt almost human again. “Thank you for reserving a room for me. It was very thoughtful,” she said.

“You’re welcome. I didn’t want ya to be left out in the cold, literally.”

They stared at one another for what seemed an eternity. Then Kipp’s hand covered hers. His gaze held her in an iron grip. “Do you want to talk?” he asked. “I’m a good listener.”

She armored herself against the pull of his vibrant eyes and took some steadying breaths. It would only be a matter of time before she shared what had happened up at the lighthouse. There was no use in putting off the inevitable.

First, she told him about the dreams. When she saw he didn’t freak out or look at her like she was a lunatic, she calmly described the ghosts at the lighthouse. Detailing their hazy features the best she could, Devin told him how drawn she felt to the woman each time she dreamed of her. Remarkably, Kipp didn’t flinch when she said the ghosts had passed through her body and disappeared into thin air at the edge of the cliff.

“Do you think I’m a nut?” she asked.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No.”

“You don’t?” She sighed in relief.

“No, but I want to ask one question. How were those two people dressed?”

There was no hesitation on her part. “They appeared to be from the Victorian age. The woman wore a white dress with a lace collar and puff sleeves, and the man wore a long-sleeved shirt with a fancy ruffle down the front.”

“Just as I suspected.” Kipp’s brow snapped together. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“I need to show ya something. Come with me.” He lowered one of the lit candles into his empty drinking glass and laced his fingers between hers. They walked through the hotel lobby dressed in their robes and slippers. Other guests openly gawked, but Devin didn’t care. And evidently, neither did Kipp. Holding her hand, he made a beeline for the hotel parlor.

Through more muted candlelight, Devin glimpsed the room’s deep red embossed wallpaper, Persian carpet, comfortable leather chairs, and stone fireplace. Books covered one entire wall, and hanging on the remaining three walls were oil paintings in ornate frames.

“Do you trust me?” he asked mysteriously.

She smiled. “I barely know you, but for some odd reason, I do trust you.”

He placed a hand over her eyes and guided her toward the back of the room. Then he gently pressed her back against the wall and removed his hand. “Stay right there until I tell you to look.”

“Look at what?”

 A muscle quivered in his jaw.

Foreboding rose like the tide. “What is it? Why are you looking at me that way?” she said.

“I want ya to be prepared for what you’re about to see.”

Her stomach suddenly rolled like a wave. “What am I about to see?”

Kipp swiped a hand across his mouth. “While I as waiting for ya to come down from the hill, something drew me into this room. It was like a thread pulling me straight to this portrait.”

“What portrait?”

“The one in front of me, beside you.”

“And?” Devin’s nerves rippled beneath her skin.

“And…when ya see this painting…well, it may come as a shock. I can’t quite believe it either. And I sure don’t know how to explain it.”

“Kipp, you’re talking gibberish. And you’re scaring me. Can I please look?”

As if on cue, the lamps sitting around the room shimmered to life and engulfed the parlor in light. Devin shoved Kipp out of the way and gazed at the large oil portrait. A silent scream lodged in her throat.

Her wide-eyed gaze met his and then moved back to the painting. She slid her finger across the date on the etched metal plate screwed to the frame. It read
circa 1889
.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “She’s the woman in white—the one I’ve been dreaming about. I could never see her face, never in the dreams and not this afternoon, But I
know
it’s her. She’s the one who looked down at me from the lighthouse window this afternoon. And he’s the same man. He’s wearing the shirt with the ruffle. But…how can this be? This couple…they…” The words stuck in her throat.

Kipp completed her thoughts. “It’s you and me. The couple in this portrait is the spitting image of the two of us. I have chills running down my arms.” He lifted the sleeve of his robe to show her. “I couldn’t believe it when I came in here this afternoon and saw this painting. I had to find ya. That’s why I went to the lighthouse.”

Devin couldn’t take her eyes off of the portrait. “Aside from their solemn expressions, they look so much like us. He has your dark hair and granite jawline, and even your purple eyes.”

“And she has your thick red hair, your beautiful lips, and the same freckles splattered across the nose.”

When the shock had ebbed somewhat, Devin said, “I wonder what their names are. Do you think we can find out?”

“I asked the lady at the front desk about this exhibit earlier. She told me the Monhegan Historical Society collected the paintings. Apparently all the pieces, including this one, were donated through the years by local people and stored in the basement of the Historical Society office until they finally decided to display them here at the Inn.”

“My grandmother was a member of the Historical Society for most of her life,” Devin remembered. “She used to tell me all kinds of tales about the people of Monhegan, but I don’t ever recall seeing this painting anywhere on the island. There must be a story about this couple. If the vision I saw today was a reenactment of their real lives, then they committed suicide together. This is a small island. Surely that story would have been passed down through the years. Someone knows it.”

“I was just getting to that,” Kipp said eagerly. “The lady at the front desk called the president of the Historical Society, a Mrs. Grey. She let me talk to her. Mrs. Grey told me the couple’s names. They were Kenneth Summers and Darla Freemont. He was a fisherman’s son, and she was the daughter of the lighthouse keeper. Darla’s mother was a popular local painter.”

Devin’s eyes popped open. “Kipp! Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the coincidence? KS. Kenneth Summers and Kipp Sullivan. And DF. Darla Freemont and Devin Fuller.”

“Yeah. I did notice.”

Devin could barely contain her enthusiasm. “You said Kenneth was the son of a fisherman. You’re a fisherman. That’s not a stretch, given this is Maine, but I can’t believe Darla’s father was the lighthouse keeper and her mother was a painter. My grandpa was the lighthouse keeper and my grandma was a painter!”

Kipp agreed with her. “This is too weird to simply be coincidence.”

She continued to stare at the painting. “I wonder why they committed suicide together. Such a tragedy. Did the president of the Historical Society offer any information on that?”

“As a matter of fact, she did. Legend is the families wouldn’t allow them to marry. There was a long-standing dispute between the clans. Darla was being forced to marry another man she didn’t love. Kenneth couldn’t bear to think of her with anyone but him. According to a letter the two wrote and signed on the day of their deaths, they explained how they had secretly commissioned the portrait to be painted as a symbol of their eternal love in hopes of bringing an end to the feud between their families. Then they committed suicide, choosing to remain together for all eternity.”

“Wow. True love can make people do crazy things.”

“True or not, it’s stupid to kill yourself over love,” Kipp said.