The Stories That Haunt Us (5 page)

Little Cassie Fielding then began to cry. Without thinking, Margaret took the ghost into her arms and rocked her soothingly. She decided then and there that she would adopt Cassie Fielding, ghost or not. Cassie would become the daughter she never had. She knew, of course, that Charles would balk against such an unnatural situation, telling her she was crazy. “Besides,” he'd argue, “officially it can't be done.”
Well see, we'll see
, she thought to herself.

When Cassie stopped crying, Margaret asked her how long had she had been in the attic.

Wiping her eyes, Cassie said, “A very long time—years. I've tried to leave but I could never get the door open. I could never turn the knob.”

“What about stepping through the door? You know, you're a spirit. Have you tried that?”

“No! It never occurred to me. Would that work, do you think?”

“Never know ‘till you try. Want to?”

“Yes.” But when the ghost girl reached the door, she paused.

Margaret whispered, “Go ahead. What have you got to lose?”

Cassie stepped back, smiled at Margaret and walked straight through the door—and just as quickly, stepped right back in.

“I did it, I did it!”

“Want to go down stairs and look around?”

“Oh yes. But the man that was here yesterday…is he down there?”

“You mean my husband? Charles is a big pussy cat. Anyway he's not in the house and won't be back for another hour or so.”

Gingerly Cassie followed Margaret down the long and winding stairs to the front hall. When Cassie reached the front door she pulled the curtains aside and peeked out into the world she no longer belonged to.

“Come,” said Margaret, “I'll show you the rest of the house.”

When the tour was over, Margaret stood by the stove waiting for the water in the kettle to boil. “We'll have a nice cup of tea…I'm sorry, do ghosts…?”

Cassie smiled. “There is no need for a ghost to eat or drink. You go ahead.”

Cassie sat at the kitchen table watching Margaret prepare the tea. Marvelling at her wispy form perched there, Margaret wondered what it was like being a spirit. Cassie said, “I can guess what's on your mind. Are you wondering what it's like, being in my world?”

Margaret nodded. “You never get hungry, or thirsty or tired. Well, that's not quite true. You do get tired of the sameness. The worst part, though, is the loneliness.”

Cassie told Margaret that she could not explain why she ended up in that particular house. Perhaps because it was so old, isolated and close to the sea. “Maybe that's why spirits are attracted to such a place. There could be others—and will be—others. I'm sure of that.”

“Well,” said Margaret, “as of this moment, Cassie Fielding, you are part of the Wicks family.” Cassie's ghost smiled and crossed over to where Margaret was standing, hugging her around her waist. Margaret couldn't feel anything—just a sensation of coldness—but she didn't mind.

The sound of a car pulling into the Wickses' driveway startled Cassie's ghost, who was about to flee back to the attic. “No stay,” said Margaret. “Sit over there, invisible if you like, and observe. You'll find Charles to be a nice person after you get to know him.”

“I'm back,” Charles greeted his wife, hanging his coat on a kitchen chair. “Guess who I ran into in town today? Actually, never mind, you'd never guess his name in a million years. I met Mr. Crabbe. Remember, he's the one who got us interested in this place? He told me there's a good chance the owners will sell. Seems one of the owners passed away and the other doesn't want to come back and live here alone.”

“That sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Margaret.

“Well, here's the thing—I'm not sure if it is so wonderful,” said Charles.

“Meaning?”

“Something else I found out. Do you know how many people have died in this house?”

“No. How would I?”

“Twelve, that's how many, an even dozen. That's a lot of people dying in one house, don't you think?”

“I suppose so, if the house were relatively new. But this house is over two hundred years old. If twelve people have died here during that span of time, it's fairly normal, don't you think?”

“Perhaps, but that's not the case here. All twelve died during the last ten years, and all were accidental.”

“‘Accidental'?”

“Tripping, falling, dying mysteriously in their sleep, choking on food and accidental poisoning.”

“And just what are you trying to say?”

“Well, doesn't it seem strange to you that all these people died the way they did? That's all I'm saying. By the way, any activity from our non-paying guest up top?”

“She's sitting across from you, listening to everything, and I must say with interest too. I do think you scared her a couple of times though. She's there on the stool.”

“What?!” A visible shudder passed through Charles's body. “Margaret, that's not the least bit funny.”

“I'm not kidding. We've had a long talk, Cassie and I, and we've agreed that she no longer has to stay in the attic. As a member of this family, she has the run of the house.”

“What do you mean, a member of this family?”

“Cassie is now a member of our family. It's kind of an in-house adoption, if you will.”

“Come on, there's no one there. Look, the stool is empty. Who are you kidding?”

“Cassie Fielding Wicks, meet your in-house father, Charles Wicks.”

Slowly a form began to take shape. Charles's eyes widened and his heart began pounding as the shape of a young girl with green eyes and hair the colour of gold slowly took form. She slid off the stool and came toward Charles. Not knowing what she was going to do, Charles backed away. “Stay away from me!” he shouted. “Margaret, for the love of—I don't believe in such things.”

“Well,” said Margaret, “seeing is believing. Now act your age. She's not going to put a spell on you or make you disappear. Look at her. She wants to be your friend. Speak to her.”

“Speak to her? I wouldn't know what to say!”

“‘Hello, Cassie' would be nice.”

Charles's greeting was rather more garbled. What he actually came out with was, “Hello there, you girl. Are you really a ghost you are?”

Margaret looked at Cassie and they both looked at Charles and laughed. And then Charles gave a weak laugh. “Okay,” he said, “This isn't natural or normal, and I don't even know if it's happening—but we'll see, we'll see.”

The next morning Margaret convinced Cassie to accompany her while she shopped. Cassie froze at the thought of leaving the safety of the house. Margaret finally convinced Cassie to go along. But would Cassie agree only if she could remain invisible.

“Absolutely,” said Margaret. “How could I explain you to people otherwise?”

Charles gave a faint smile. He told Margaret that while she and Cassie were out, he'd be down in his workshop catching up on some projects. Charles stood in the doorway watching his wife's car disappear over the rise. When he opened the basement door he thought he heard footsteps coming down from upstairs. He stopped and listened. Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen. He heard nothing but his own heavy breathing.

And in the car, if Cassie were visible, Margaret would have seen her small body stiffen and her face fill with fear. Cassie whispered: “We must return to the house immediately, Mr. Wicks is in danger. I will leave the car now. Please turn around and hurry.”

“Danger? What kind of danger?” Margaret asked quickly.

“I can't explain now. You must go back.”

When Charles was about to place his right foot on the basement step, he felt an explosion in his head. He tried desperately to stop from falling but couldn't keep his balance. Then suddenly, it was as if he fell upon a cushion of air—the fall was broken and he was laid gently on the cold concrete floor, where he passed out.

Cassie looked up from the man whose life she had just saved to see a demonic ghost coming straight at her throat. Cassie sidestepped and the creature slammed into the far wall, giving the girl the few precious seconds she needed. She saw Mr. Wicks' electric sander on the workbench and she quickly disconnected it from the power cord, which was plugged in the wall. As the spirit came flying across the room with its claw-like fingers reaching for Cassie, its hot, putrid breath upon her face, she drove the wire into its chest. There was a guttural howling and the evil spirit exploded in a ball of fire. All that was left was a pile of smouldering clothing.

Cassie heard a car door slam, and Margaret ran into the house, calling Charles's name. “Down here! We're in the basement!” Cassie called back. Margaret hurried down, and when she saw her husband's still body on the floor, she became faint, but managed not to pass out.

“He's unconscious,” Cassie said. “But he'll be okay.”

“What happened? And whose clothes are those burning?”

“Oh Margaret. I'm so sorry I didn't warn you earlier. These clothes belong to an evil spirit who also lives here. She's the one responsible for those twelve deaths that Mr. Wicks spoke about. I was intending to tell you about the evil spirit but I wanted to wait for the right moment. I was almost too late, and I'm so sorry.”

Charles was coming around, moaning. Margaret lifted his head onto her lap, and to make sure he wasn't suffering from a concussion, asked him, “How many fingers do you see, and what is my name?” Sarcastically he replied, “Your name is Suzanne, you're holding up six fingers, and I want to know what just happened! I'm at the top of the steps, and suddenly something hard hits the back of my head and down I tumble. But I remember I didn't fall all the way down. Something like a cushion of air broke my fall. It was like I was floating.”

Margaret didn't say anything. She looked over at Cassie and smiled. Charles caught the smile and turned toward Cassie. “It was you that stopped my fall, wasn't it?”

“Yes, it was I.”

“Well then,” said Charles, “I suppose you have an explanation for all this?”

“But first,” suggested Margaret, “let's go upstairs and get Charles a little more comfortable.”

Once they were all seated around the kitchen table, Margaret and Charles looked at Cassie expectantly.

“I could easily vanish, you know,” she said, “and that would be that.”

“Yes,” Margaret gently replied, “But you're not like that, are you?”

“No. Well, all the years I lived here nothing happened. It was even boring, you know. Then she arrived—the evil spirit, I mean. There was an awful thunderstorm that night. I knew immediately that another spirit had come into the house, because the feeling of the place changed. It became dark and foreboding. I not only kept myself invisible but I hid inside that mirror in the attic, and watched and waited. I didn't have to wait long. The room filled with a heavy odour, like dead flowers. And then I saw her. She was tall and ugly and she wore a long black skirt with a black shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was as black as the scowl on her face and it was parted in the middle and fell to her shoulders. She must have known there was another spirit somewhere in the house, as she searched the room so carefully. I froze when she came to the mirror and stopped. And for a moment I felt she saw something else besides her own image in the mirror. I held my breath, waiting. She leaned forward, searching, but then turned away and left the room. If I could have left that room I would have, but I had to wait for father to come for me.

“Well, one morning not too long after she arrived, I heard voices and people moving around downstairs. I crept to the top of the stairs and observed an elderly couple listening to a man telling them about the charms of this house. They nodded in agreement, shook hands with the man, and a couple of days later they moved in. The first tragedy happened very soon. The old man came out of his bedroom, and the demon spirit came up behind him. When he reached the top of the stairs she pushed him and he went headlong down the stairs. It was awful. The evil spirit stood at the top of the stairs laughing at the old man on the floor, and I heard it all happening! I wish I could have helped then, but I didn't even know I could leave the attic.

“Again and again over the last ten years, I have listened to nice, innocent people dying, without being able to help them. And then you came, and you were so kind, and you taught me how to leave the attic, and oh—I wanted so much for you to stay. I should have warned you, but I couldn't bear to lose the only friends I had in all these years. Will you forgive me?”

Surprisingly, it was Charles who spoke first. “Forgive you? Cassie, you just saved my life. Now, those other people who died, they weren't your fault. I reckon now you have got rid of that evil spirit for good, and you can relax and—well, like Margaret said, we never had our own children…”

Charles's voice trailed off as he realized Cassie had stopped listening. He followed her gaze across the kitchen to the back door, which had blown open suddenly in a gust of wind. There stood three ghostly figures. Cassie jumped from the table, ran to the newcomers, and embraced the tallest. At this point, all three figures became more solid, and Margaret and Charles realized what was happening.