Lure

Lure

Lure

Deborah Kerbel

Copyright © Ponytail Productions, Ltd., 2010

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

Editor: Shannon Whibbs

Design: Jennifer Scott

Printer: Webcom

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Kerbel, Deborah

Lure [electronic resource] / by Deborah Kerbel.

Electronic monograph in PDF format.

Also available in print format.

ISBN 978-1-55488-807-8

I. Title.

PS8621.E75L87 2010a jC813'.6 C2010-902308-0

We acknowledge the support of the
Canada Council for the Arts
and the
Ontario Arts Council
for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the
Government of Canada
through the
Canada Book Fund
and
The Association for the Export of Canadian Books
, and the
Government of Ontario
through the
Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit
program, and the
Ontario Media Development Corporation
.

Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

J. Kirk Howard, President

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For my Dad,

Who took me fishing, taught me patience,

blessed me with books, and passed me his pen.

And for my Jonah,

Who loves a good ghost story.

And for my Dahlia,

Sweet, little “me-too.”

This book is based on true accounts of supernatural occurrences at the Thornhill Village Public Library.

1 - John

Of all I’ve had to endure over the past century, the darkness is what bothers me the most. It fills my head, clogs my eyes and ears, pins me down like a weight upon my chest. The darkness has drawn a curtain between me and the rest of the world. I can see out, but no one else can see in. The darkness has become my prison; my sentence is forever. Unless, of course, I can find someone to help release me.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. My dear mother would have scolded me for being so rude. Of course, I should have started with an introduction.

During my brief life, my name was John McCallum. I was the fifth John to live at 10 Colborne Street. Although I wasn’t born in the house, it was the core of my childhood, the witness to my awkward adolescence, and my home when this young life was cut off so suddenly — like a limp sapling severed by the gardener’s shears. But although my life was short, over time my roots have grown surprisingly long and deep. They’ve remained with the house even after so many years have passed, after other families have come and gone, and in the years since, the building has taken on a new life of its own as a library.

Granted, I’m not the only one. There are other people with roots here. I’ve passed their cold souls in the hallways, heard them moaning at night, smelled their earthy scents. My own mother is one of them although, ironically, she can’t seem to see my face as much as she searches for it. Yes, this house has been a magnet for the unsettled. And yet I can assure you that none of the others have an attachment to this place as strong as mine. Since my sudden passing, the walls of 10 Colborne Street have become my skin, the beams my bones, and the lingering memory of what took place here has become my life’s blood.

When you walk through the doorway, tread lightly and treat me with care. For my eyes never close … even after you’ve come and gone.

2 - Max

“Help! Stop that dog!”

I turned to see a small black pug dashing frantically up the road toward me, barking and yelping like it was going mad. Curious, I stopped walking and stared. There was a pretty blonde girl running behind the dog. She was yelling at the top of her voice.

“Come on, help me catch him!”

Was she talking to me?
That would be a switch! Up until that moment, the only people in this crappy little suburb to speak to me had been my teachers — and they were getting paid to do that. The girl’s panicked eyes met mine as she sprinted closer.

“Please … before he gets hit by a car!”

Yup … she’s definitely talking to me
.
My eyes darted around, looking for cars. There were none in sight on the quiet side street where the dog was coming from. But if the little guy made it up to where I was standing on Yonge Street, I knew that nothing was going to keep him safe from the rush of the morning traffic. Thinking fast, I jogged down the road to block his path. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the blonde girl closing in behind the pug in the hopes of cornering him. The poor dog was barking wildly as he zigzagged back and forth across the road. Although I’d never had a dog of my own, I knew enough about them to understand that this one had been badly spooked by something. He wasn’t going to be easy to catch without some kind of bait. Unzipping my backpack, I reached in and pulled out my lunch bag.

Baloney … perfect!

Ripping open the wrapper, I held the sandwich out toward the yapping dog and shook it to get his attention.

“Come here, boy! Come get a treat!” I called out in that high-pitched kind of way that dogs like. Within seconds, his flat little nose caught the scent. Suddenly, he switched direction and began running toward me.

“Good boy … that’s right. Come get your snack.”

When he reached me, I gently took hold of his collar and gave him the sandwich. I could feel his body trembling beneath my fingers while he ate. Hoping to calm him, I stroked his little black head in the spot behind his ears where every dog loves to be scratched. He looked at me with his scrunched-up face and licked my arm. Moments later, the blonde girl caught up to us, gasping for breath from the chase.

“Thank you so much!” she panted, falling to her knees and hugging the dog. “Peanut’s never run away like that before … I-I don’t know what happened.”

I shrugged. “Well, something must have scared him. Look, he’s still shaking.”

She leaned over, kissed the top of his head, and cooed in his ear like he was a baby or something. I looked away. What was it with people and their little toy dogs? She wasn’t one of those weirdos who liked dressing them up in those stupid outfits, was she? I turned my eyes back to look at the girl more closely. She didn’t look like a weirdo. She was dressed in jeans, a light sweater, and a pair of red Chucks. She was probably a few years older than me and she wasn’t wearing any make-up, but she didn’t need to. She had sunny blonde hair that bounced off her shoulders and bright blue eyes. There was something about her face that was familiar. Like an actress that I’d seen in a dozen movies, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name.

“That was a genius idea you had there,” she said to me once she was finished kissing her dog.

“What idea?”

“You know, with the sandwich? It was perfect. I wouldn’t have thought of it in a million years.”

A flash of embarrassed heat warmed my face. I’d just turned sixteen, but I still hadn’t figured out how to take compliments from good-looking girls. “Oh … yeah, thanks,” I said, picking up my backpack from the road. “Well, I better go … see ya later.”

I turned back south and began dragging my feet down Yonge Street, trying to clear my head from the commotion of the past few minutes. I wasn’t exactly sure if I was heading to school or not, but I tried to be cool and pretend like I knew exactly where I was going. It was late September, the sky was a cloudless blue and the air was as fresh and crisp as a ripe apple. Normally a day like that would make me feel good in a new-school-year, fresh-start kind of way. But not this one. My first year at Thornhill High School was shaping up to be the worst year of my entire life. I didn’t know what was wrong with the kids in that place, but nobody had said a word to me in the three weeks since school started. Nobody! It was like I was see-through. For the millionth time since we moved here last month, I wondered why my parents had brought me to this suburban hellhole.

I only made it a few steps before I heard the girl’s voice calling out from behind me.

“Wait!”

I looked back over my shoulder. She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with the black pug by her side. Something about the look on her face reminded me of a lonely little kid searching for someone to play with.

“At least let me buy you a replacement lunch,” she said, walking toward me. “There’s a deli up on Centre Street that makes a fabulous submarine to go. That is, unless you have a class to get to …”

I paused to consider her offer. Truthfully, I didn’t like baloney enough to care about losing the sandwich. If I went with her now to the submarine shop, I’d be late for my first class. And the idea of ditching school felt like a good one. Just so you know, ditching wasn’t something I’d ever done before. Back in Vancouver, I’d been a pretty good student. But over here, the thought of being in school made me want to hurl.

“So, do you have a class to get to or not?” she asked, her shoulders curling up like question marks.

“Um, no … no class. I have a free period on Wednesday mornings,” I heard myself lie.
Hunh … where’d that come from?
The girl and her dog were quickly closing the gap between us. I could hear their footsteps crunching through the fallen leaves as they approached.

“Really? Great … so, what do you say to that sub?”

My mind spun with options.

1. Go to school and be miserable and alone.
   
2. Ditch classes and wander around the city alone.
   
3. Let the pretty blonde girl buy me lunch.
   

It was a total no-brainer.

“Um … okay,” I said with a nod. “Thanks.”

The girl smiled and pointed her thumb back in the direction she’d just come from. “Great … come with me for a minute and let me get my purse.”

I followed her half a block down the narrow road and up the path toward a white, clapboard house. There was a sign hanging from a hook on the front. It read:
Thornhill Village Library
.

A library?
Really?
I took a closer look at the building. It had a peaked roof, green shuttered windows, and a bright red front door with an old-fashioned knocker. Truthfully, it looked more like a cottage than a library.

“What is this place?” I asked the girl. “Do you live here?”

She laughed, which totally made me wish I could take the question back. “No, I don’t live here … although sometimes after a long day of work, it can definitely start to feel that way.”

Too embarrassed to look at her, I kept my eyes glued to the building. There was something peculiar about it … like it had a story it was aching to tell. She must have noticed me staring.

“Interesting, isn’t it? Ten Colborne Street was one of the first homes in Thornhill. In fact, the town has designated it a historic site.” She pointed up to a round plaque on the far left side of the house. “See?”

I took a step forward so I could see it better. It read:
Mrs. Ellen Ramsden, née Frizzell. 1851.

Wild.

“So … this used to be a home?” I asked, finally turning my eyes back to the girl.

“Yeah, that’s right. There were lots of different families who lived here over the years, but it was bought by the town and converted into a library sometime back in the sixties. My grandmother was one of the original librarians.” She smiled and put a hand over her heart. “By the way, I’m Caroline.”

For the first time, I noticed the little gap between her two front teeth. It was kind of quirky. I liked that. Something about this girl was so intriguing. And it wasn’t just because she was the first person to actually notice me around here. What was it about her?

She cleared her throat, bringing my thoughts racing back to the moment. “I said my name is Caroline,” she repeated.

Oops!

“Sorry. I’m Max.”

She tilted her head to one side, studying my face.

“Have I seen you here at the library before, Max? You look familiar.”

Her eyes were such a vivid shade of blue — like forget-me-not flowers. The skin on my face was getting warm again. I glanced down at my sneakers, suddenly wondering if this sub thing was such a good idea. “Um … no, my family just moved to Thornhill a couple of months ago. I … I haven’t met too many people yet.”

That was, quite possibly, the understatement of the millennium. I’d met nobody. And nobody here seemed too eager to meet me.
It takes a while to make friends … give it time
, my mom has been telling me at dinner every night since we got here. But how much time was I supposed to spend walking around feeling transparent? Man, why did we ever have to leave Vancouver, anyway?

“Well, now you know me,” she said, striding up the winding garden path toward the side entrance of the house. “I’m very glad to meet you, Max. And so is Peanut.”

I followed close behind, curious to look around the inside of the library. I’d seen lots of old buildings before … even worked on a few with my grandfather. So, I really couldn’t explain why I felt so drawn to this one. But I was. It was kind of like the thing was pulling me over to whisper a secret in my ear. As we approached the side door, the pug narrowed its eyes and started to growl. Deep, guttural, and ferocious — it was a surprisingly big sound coming from such a small animal.

“Quiet now, boy. It’s all right,” I heard Caroline whisper as she reached for the door handle. But Peanut clearly didn’t agree with her. Before she could pull open the door, he began to bark and back away from the building. I could sense that he was only moments away from taking off again.

“Um … call me crazy, but I don’t think he wants to go in there,” I said.

Ignoring me, Caroline reached down for the dog, but he scampered away from her hands and hid behind a tall cluster of daisies. She stood back up and shook her head in defeat. “Okay boy, you get your way. I guess I’ll just leave you outside,” she said with a sigh, turning toward me. “Sorry, Max, but would you mind watching him while I get my purse? I honestly have no idea why he’s acting like this.”

No idea? Really? How could she not see it?

I crouched down so I could keep an eye on Peanut and make sure he didn’t run into the street again. “Sure … but I can tell you what’s wrong with your dog if you want.”

Her lips pressed together, like she was trying to hold in a smile. “Oh, are you some kind of dog whisperer or something?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all. I just think it’s obvious why he doesn’t want to go in there.”

Her lips lost the battle and widened into a big smile. “Okay, let’s hear your theory,” she said. But I could tell by the look on her face that she was humouring me. And her hand was still gripping the door handle, like all she wanted to do was go inside and get her purse.

“Well, it’s not exactly a theory,” I replied. “More of a fact, actually. Your dog is obviously terrified. Something in there must have freaked him out.”

Caroline’s hand floated slowly down from the door handle and her mouth fell open into a circle of surprise. “You know, you might be right about that. Something similar happened to one of the other librarian’s dogs a few months ago,” she said, her voice suddenly distant. “It was growling up a storm in the front parlour.”

A parlour? In a library? Okay, this I had to see.

“Yeah, it was bristling and baring its teeth, like it was getting ready to fight off some kind of monster.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. It almost looked as if she was fending off a sudden chill.

“So … what was it?” I asked.

“What was
what
?”

“You know … the thing in the parlour that spooked the dog?”

Caroline’s mouth curled up into a perfect Mona Lisa smile. “Oh yeah, that’s right … you’re new around here. I guess that means you haven’t heard about our ghost.”