Capricorn Cursed (7 page)

Reluctantly, she headed for the bedroom. The ghosts were waiting, as always, and through her annoyance, she was able to block them out.

For a little while, at least.

 

 

A partnership may lead to new beginnings.

 

Kelly Proctor

 

Before Natasha left the house, she reviewed her diary and checked her horoscope. The diary helped her to remember events, and her horoscope spoke of partnerships. Kelly Proctor had lived a long and torturous life under the iron fists of her father and stepmother. In the early 1900's, Hermana had less than 500 residents, plus a seasonal influx of another 500 or so tourists and shippers. The town was growing, and in the summertime, the sound of hammers and saws were heard over the roar of the ocean. Houses were built, babies were born, people moved away and new people replaced them.

The deliveries made by water were often shady shipments of contraband smuggled in from larger docks by varying degrees of riffraff. The person in charge of the docks and, therefore, in control of the ring was Kelly's father, Edwin Proctor.

Kelly's birth had been the result of carelessness during a drunken date with a visiting girl named Trinity. Once Trinity had realized she was carrying the evil older man's baby, she was beside herself. She went to him for help, and he took her in, much to everyone's surprise. When the baby came, he was the proudest father that ever was. Trinity went on to bear him two more children before her untimely death.

No one ever found out how she died in her bed one morning. She had been fine one day. And the next, she was gone.

Edwin didn't take long to replace Trinity with Marguerite, a fiery Spanish woman who had different ways than his. She was cold to the children, yet she and Edwin were together until husband and wife were found dead on a hot September day. Their heads had been smashed in with some sort of instrument. There were no suspects, but Kelly had behaved oddly that day.

The summer had already been unbearable. The headlines were rampant with musings about the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Borden over in Fall River. Had it been churchgoing, hard-working daughter Lizzie who had killed them? The speculations were the entertainment of the summer.

When the double-murder tragedy struck in Hermana, in a house that had already stored a wealth of horrors, people wondered if Kelly, too, had been pushed to the edge.

Natasha learned that Kelly's life may have looked glamorous to the outside world, yet in reality, her dear old dad was a big old thug, and his actions were monstrous. Daily routines were set to a tee. There was no room for error or lateness. Breakfast was served like clockwork. There were errands for Kelly and household chores, such as laundry and shopping.

Kelly had learned at a young age that her father was a crook, and the only reason she kept living with him until she was in her thirties was because she was afraid of what might happen if she ever left his protection. His protection had a price, though. Lateness and sloppiness resulted in spankings. Other forms of misconduct, real or imagined, caused him to lock her in a closet, or worse, in the basement.

Marguerite was always finding new ways to punish Kelly, and Edwin never questioned her.

There were more little zigzags in the story. Natasha knew she would learn plenty on the guided house tour. She remembered Kelly and her parents from her diaries. She definitely remembered Edwin.

In his prime, Edwin had been a dashing, handsome man. The reason he got away with his outrageous behavior lay more in his bewitching Scorpio eyes than in any fear he instilled.

Natasha had been walking along the docks, long ago, watching the birds, when she saw him walking toward her the other way.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her harshly. “I'm just going for walk,” Natasha said.

“Can't. Private property.” He pointed to the No Trespassing sign. “Oh. Since when? I come by here a lot.”

“For about a month. I bought it.” He stood proudly, his face still dark and menacing. At the time, she judged him to be in his early fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair fell in curls to his shoulders; his forehead had the deep wrinkles of a man who touched the sea on a daily basis.

“Sorry.” She turned to go back the way she'd come, and he caught her arm.

“Wait.” He held her as he looked deeply into her eyes. His rough forwardness gave her a thrill. Her teeth itched at the thought of one so feisty.

“Why don't you continue on?” He looked out toward the ocean and squinted. The horizon was empty except for swirling seagulls playing around lobster buoys. He looked back at her. “I'll walk with you.”

His talk was sweet, his seductions simple, and it wasn't long before a drink of whiskey in his hut led to a tumble in the tiny bedroom. He was forceful, and she let him have his way at first. As her hunger grew, she couldn't help but push him back and firmly latch herself to him

with her pussy, all the while staring into his eyes. His hardness swelled in her, and she raised and lowered her hips, drawing him in deeper. She leaned over, nuzzling at his neck, biting and sucking on the salty fluid that pulsed into her mouth.

“You're rough,” he muttered, losing himself in his thrusts. She drank a bit more, pressed her fingers over the wound and let her pussy take over the rest of her feast.

She came with a groan, sensation fanning through her so intensely that she threw her head back. The sight of his blood dripping from her mouth and her chin upset him so greatly that he pushed her off.

He jumped off the bed, grabbing the blanket to cover himself up. He was shaking as he screamed.

“What the hell are you?” he asked. “What have you done?”

“I'm sorry,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “I got a little rough.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You must have a helluva set of teeth to draw blood like that. Why don't you go clean yourself up now?”

“I'll give you a blowjob when I get back,” she said playfully. “Uh, no, thanks,” he said. “I think I've had enough.”

While she was washing up, he muttered while he examined his wound in the hall mirror. She smiled as she enjoyed the feeling of fullness, at least for a moment.

Edwin Proctor's smuggling business turned a great profit, and it wasn't long before he made enough to buy a house and run a legal business importing goods from China and the Middle East.

Natasha fed from him twice more over the years. As he grew older, she never aged. Her beauty always shocked him. He was a man who liked to act on impulse, and he didn't worry about little things like being married.

It would be strange to go to the house where he was murdered. A murder unsolved to that very day.

Madeline had been aching to stay over in the house, the whole house, to see what she could pick up. She was a real ghost hunter, while Natasha was a medium. Madeline had always felt that they could work well together. This evening would be the first time they joined forces.

Natasha and Madeline knew each other from Lucy's circle. Madeline was a bubbly Aquarian, rather skittish, and Natasha often wondered why she'd chosen ghost-hunting as her profession.

Madeline had rented one of the rooms for the night. The owner reluctantly ran a bed and breakfast that was mostly frequented by repeat clients. Ghost stories abounded about the house, although many other houses in Hermana were similarly haunted. Natasha thought about her own loft and the growing number of spirits who seemed to be taking up residence in it.

As Natasha walked up the creaky porch stairs, she though back to how the house had first looked when it was built. Shiny and new. Trinity and then Marguerite could often be seen with the children out in the front or coming and going from their many errands. The children grew up, and two left home while the strange and likely crazy Kelly remained a spinster until she died in that house.

A chill ran through Natasha as she thought about Kelly. She paused on the porch steps and looked out at the street. The main downtown area of Hermana was two blocks over. The snow was falling steadily, and the glow of the lamplight created shadows from the tall, twisted trees that framed the driveway. As she stared at them, remembering when they were only tiny twigs in the ground, a shadow moved beyond the hedge. She squinted, trying to identify it. Her head began to throb, and she knew that it was no animal. The shadow fled to the side of the hedges and set off down the street, hugging the foliage until he was far from sight.

The feeling of unease continued as her thoughts about dead Kelly returned.

There were many times that stories about Kelly swept through the town. After her parents died, she continued to live in the house. Many speculated about the reasons. Perhaps she had indeed killed them and now gloated at the thought of them every day. Perhaps she was too attached to the house to leave it. She had never been one for adventure and travel.

As Natasha thought about it over the decades, she surmised that Kelly didn't move because victims of abuse are often attached to things that cause them pain.

Kelly became rather wild after her parents died. She was known to hold parties that lasted for days. Fancy cars came and went. Music and noise emitted from the house that had stood quiet since it had been built.

Kelly died when she was old, with a pile of cats. She partied right up until that day. Her companion, Lady Marisha, who had been traveling with a circus until she discovered love in Hermana, was the one who found her.

Funny
, Natasha thought.
Here they are calling her a spinster when the old lady probably had more action than anyone. People just ignored the existence of Lady Marisha. Lesbians didn't exist back in the day.

Madeline had already arrived. When the front door opened, she bolted in from the living room, clutching her camera.

“It's so weird to be here with no one else,” Madeline said. “So creepy.”

“It is.” Natasha stared wide-eyed around the house, the furnishings still intact from the day it made history for the supposed copycat double murder.

The air shifted around her, as if urging her inside with curling tendrils of hot and cold. The busy pattern of the carpet combined with the patterns of the raised, velvet wallpaper made her head spin.

“You're back.”
The voice was loud in her head. Male. Stern.

Edwin's.

“Oh…” Natasha sat down in the closest chair as her knees grew weak. Whisperings and whining whistled through her head as if a classroom of children were arguing. The whisperings of the house invaded all her thoughts, and she looked up at Madeline with wide eyes.

“What is it?” Madeline asked.

“There's a lot of them here.” Natasha nodded. “Ask them something.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe who did the murder?”

“I'm sure they get asked that all the time.”

Madeline looked around the room, shooting off her camera. “Do you think they would answer?”

Natasha closed her eyes. “Who murdered you, Edwin?”

The room grew hot. Madeline stared at Natasha holding herself. The camera hung loosely in her fingers.

“What's happening? The air is so thick and so hot,” Madeline said.

“I know.” Natasha's cheeks were burning as the air continued to swell with heat and humidity.

“I'm drenched,” Madeline said. “Hell, it's January. This place was freezing when we got here.”

“It's why there's no point in getting air conditioning,” a voice said from the hallway. Natasha and Madeline jumped as they looked over at Mrs. Cookson, the current owner of the property. “You'll see. One minute you're looking for your coat, the next you want to run around naked.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” Madeline said. “God, you're quiet.”

“Sorry. I tend to scare guests a lot. In a way, it's kind of fun,” she said as she patted the bun in her hair. Mrs. Cookson was dressed in a period outfit from the twenties. The simple gray dress with a white cotton apron and her severe hairstyle. seemed a contrast to her cheerful demeanor. Natasha presumed she was in her late fifties, but she couldn't tell.

Mrs. Cookson had secrets. Natasha could sense it. Most people did. Natasha wondered what Mrs. Cookson had seen in the house that she wasn't sharing.

“Have you seen anything here?” Natasha asked.

“Oh, certainly. In fact, I'll tell you all about it on our tour. Would you like some coffee before we start?”

“Tea?” Natasha asked.

“Coffee for me,” Madeline said.

Mrs. Cookson led them into the kitchen, which was a simple affair with a huge wood-burning oven and a microwave on the counter. The coffee and tea had already been poured into thermal canisters, and Mrs. Cookson led them into a dining room. She placed the tray on a long table covered with a flowered tablecloth with a white doily on top.

Natasha picked up swells of different personalities throughout the rooms. Sadness was the dominant feeling, but there was a lot of anger as well.

Most of the anger was masculine.

Most of it seemingly from Edwin himself.

“What do you want?”
Natasha asked him in her mind. There was only heat again, and she willed him away in her mind so she could enjoy her tea. A cup rolled across the table and fell onto the floor.

“That would be the children,” Mrs. Cookson said as she settled into a chair.

“Sit.”

Madeline took one of the cookies Mrs. Cookson offered and prepared her coffee. “Children?”

“No one's proven there are really children. Sometimes I think it's the Proctor children enjoying a happy childhood instead of the grim lives they ended up living once Edwin married Marguerite.”

“What was her deal? Why was she so evil?” Madeline asked.

“Was she evil?” Mrs. Cookson asked. “Or was it the way of her country? To punish so severely.”