Authors: Loni Lynne
This. Could not. Be happening.
This was un-freakin’ believable!
With her heart racing she slowly turned back to view the fields and sneezed loudly. Eyes from the past looked up from their work and stopped their toiling. They were as shocked to see her standing there on top of the knoll as she was to see them.
She had to get out of here. This was too much for a sane mind to fathom. But her mind refused to obey her command. She stood there in shock and awe.
The figure of a man appeared, his broad shoulders and lean hips encased in tight fitting beige breeches and a linen shirt. His dark hair was tied back in a queue. He stood between her and the fields perusing his workers, but as if he too sensed her presence, he turned around.
April’s breath caught in her throat as they stared at each other across time and space. His quizzical interest turned to one of possible recognition, his lips quirked into a smile, and he touched two fingers to his forehead in salute. It was James Addison, the man she’d met last night, the one in the portrait, the legend she’d been assigned to research. As soon as she made the mental connection, the images around her shivered into nothing but mist, and then disappeared altogether.
The atmosphere in the cemetery hung thick and damp and a cold wind whistled eerily around the barren trees as the small group of people made their way deep into the grounds. The old, white marble obelisks and arched stones, large crypts, and wrought iron fences were natural decorations for this night. Even the misty fog rolling along the hallowed grounds couldn’t have been improved upon by a Hollywood studio special effects department.
April found the scene beautiful in a surreal way. The pungent aroma of wood smoke from the festive bonfires in the streets and surrounding chimneys mingled with the damp smell of foliage. She sneezed into her wad of tissues and blew her nose. A couple in the tour group ‘blessed’ her under their whispered breath as Tony began the tour talk.
“We’ve been given the run of the cemetery so it is just us tonight and possibly a few ghosts,” Tony joked as he led the group of thirty people into Lilac Grove, Kings Mill’s oldest cemetery. “Stay close, the one touching you may or may not be of this world. If anyone gets too spooked, you are free to leave but please, let me know so I don’t assume you are trapped in some crypt or have been turned into a zombie.”
Stunted laughter and attempts at ghoulish jokes to lighten the eerie mood made April snort in amusement. This was a cemetery. Nothing here at night that wasn’t here during the day. Not even on All Hallows Eve. Only overactive imaginations roamed along the shadowed paths. Tony swung his replica tin lantern around, whether to ward off the dark shadows or because he was scared as hell, April wasn’t sure. But tonight, her mystery guide was nowhere to be seen.
She’d come to the conclusion her Sunday afternoon fright at the old mill ruins was her own case of overactive imagination and intense sinus related conditions. An incident while she’d been volunteering at the Jamestown excavation site had given her the same kind of experience of two distinct eras in history appearing to overlap each other. She’d relayed her findings to her group of friends she’d been working with.
The same day she’d come down with bronchitis and a high fever.
No one had believed her bizarre stories, including Jason. He’d told her the fever had caused her to hallucinate. He’d taken it upon himself to announce her illogical findings as part of her illness. When she found out he’d discredited her among their peers, it had been the beginning of the end of their two-year relationship. It had only gone downhill from there.
And true to past history, by the time she returned to Aunt Vickie’s after the mill site visit, she’d suffered from a full-blown sinus infection. Not even her aunt’s herbal teas and home remedies fixed her. So Monday morning she’d postponed her meeting with Beth Freelane to go to the walk-in clinic where she waited three hours to see a doctor for antibiotics and decongestants.
She supposed it was for the best. Beth was dealing with electricians and painters at the new historical society site for the next few days and wouldn’t be available to meet with her until after Halloween. Beth couldn’t even offer her the crates of documents because they were being carted from various buildings in town to the new site. Until she could sort them out, she had no idea what they contained. April sighed. Another roadblock for her in this unsolvable mystery. She dreaded emailing Kenneth Miles about her lack of progress. So she’d put off her correspondence to him and decided to enjoy the festive cemetery ghost tour tonight instead.
The group’s path wove through the divided plots of new and old headstones. They stopped every few feet and looked around as Tony weaved stories about former citizens of Kings Mill who were now interred in the various graves.
Restlessly, she glanced around. Although she hadn’t fully recovered from the sniffles, her senses were as active as ever. The fact she was in a cemetery filled with natural historical energy didn’t stop her from enjoying the tour. She trailed the rest of the group, kind of the odd man out, taking in her surroundings at her own pace.
“This is the grave site of Henry Samuel, Kings Land’s first land commissioner. His grave is the tall pointy thing you see up on the hill.” Tony pointed to a historical nameplate attached to a pole squeaking with an eerie, metallic rasp. “Rumor has it Henry owned the mill site. I know most of you think James Addison owned the mill, but there isn’t any documentation to prove it, which would mean it could have still been in the land commissioner’s possession.”
April peered up the small hill to see the stark white obelisk standing very pronounced against the black, moonless sky. At the moment, it seemed to be the focal point in the cemetery. Even from here she could see the intricate designs etched into the old marble. She would love to get a rubbing of it perhaps before they left. Besides, Henry Samuel’s grave was the closest thing to her research she had to go on right now. His reference to a connection with James Addison was all she had—that and she was staying in his historical home.
“Tony,” she spoke up, making her voice sound weak and stuffy. “I think I’m going to head out. My allergies are really kicking my butt, and I’m all congested.”
“Are you sure? We’re just about done, only a few more graves to see.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for the tour and Happy Halloween everyone.” She began to walk backwards away from the group as they waved good-bye.
She stayed in the shadows and watched the rest of the group move on, until they rounded the bend of the path. Once she was out of their sight, she reached into her large bag, retrieved her small sketchbook, pencil, and mini flashlight. Double checking to make sure the coast was clear, she made her way up the small dirt path to Henry Samuels’s monument.
The roots of the firs were tangled and exposed in areas, moss and lichen grew around the bottom of the obelisk grave marker, a layer of dead branches and fan-like fir needles surrounded the base. She could read the month and year of his death but the date was a bit obscure.
She buried her nose into a fresh tissue as she held back a sneeze so she didn’t alert the rest of the group of her whereabouts.
Wiping her nose she knelt in front of the tombstone and placed the end of the flashlight between her teeth to give her direct light on what she was doing. The soggy ground soaked into the knees of her jeans. She could hear the faint voices of the group from just over the rise, yet she felt a prickling of unease. Glancing around, she didn’t see anything.
She wiped moisture from the front of the headstone with her scarf, revealing the blackened embossing on the aged marble. Angling the paper over part of the intricate design, she fumbled with the pencil in her gloved hand. The cumbersome gloves had to go. Removing the offending obstacles and tossing them to the side, April rubbed her pencil over the markings, steadying herself against the marble with her other hand.
A jolt of heat coursed from her palm to her shoulder and she jerked back. Falling onto her bottom, she dropped the pencil and paper. Nearly choking on the flashlight, she threw the light to the side and fought to catch her breath. Still tingling from the shock, she shook her arm to relieve the pain.
She picked up the flashlight again and slowly approached the gravestone. Her heart thudded in her ears. Reaching out for the paper and pencil she had dropped, she kept her eye on the stone as if waiting for it to move. Cautiously, she leaned forward and touched it. The marble was as cold and even-surfaced as an old tombstone in late October should be.
Confused, she inched away on her knees, backing away from the headstone, a frightening wariness settling over her as she slowly stood up and continued moving cautiously away from the monument.
“Henry Samuel is not worthy of your fascination, Dr. Branford.”
April gasped and whirled, shining the flashlight into the night. There, mere inches in front of her, stood her mysterious tour guide. A moment of relief caused her to catch her breath before the toe of her boot caught on a loose tree root, sending her falling through a chilly mist of air. She landed on her hands and knees.
Quickly, she turned over and stared up at her re-enactor, who stood between her and Henry Samuel’s grave. So close she should have fallen into him. And then the truth of the situation hit her. She crab crawled away from him and the tombstone, her eyes wide with horror.
She couldn’t think. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Her voice shook with the only words she could say.
He smiled down at her, tilting his tricorne back on his head, revealing those damn hypnotic eyes.
“I haven’t heard a lady say that to me for some time. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch,” he preened.
“You’re…not…real,” April gasped, holding her chest as she tried desperately to find her footing. “You’re…a…ghost. You really are a ghost!”
He shrugged. “I suppose so. No one has told me any differently. But then no one has been able to talk to me in two hundred and thirty-eight years. You’re the first.” With an elegant flourish, he bowed to her.
“Oh my God!” She was shaking so badly she couldn’t move. Her muscles had frozen. The seat of her jeans was wet but she wasn’t sure if she had peed herself or the damp ground had soaked into them.
He extended his hand in a gentlemanly fashion to help her up, but she only stared at the proffered limb. He sighed.
“Of course. It would do me no good to try and help you up since I’m…”
“…not real. You’re not real. This isn’t happening to me.” April closed her eyes and tried to repeat the mantra over and over again, hoping her mental state would finally sort out the situation and thrust her back into reality. She opened her eyes. He was still there, his infuriatingly charming smile, just short of a laugh, etched into one devilishly handsome face.
Scrambling for purchase she grabbed her articles, keeping a close eye on her specter and quickly walked backwards down the knoll until she was on the cobblestone path. She had to get out of here.
Where was the damn exit!
***
James turned frantic. April Branford was walking, no—running away from him. He’d feared this would happen, but he didn’t wish for her to leave. He needed her. Giving her a bit of room, he kept pace while he reasoned with her.
“I wanted to tell you when we met. But I figured my presence would be frightening if you knew you could see me.” She didn’t slow a bit, if anything her pace hastened. “I hoped you might fall for me. I didn’t expect you to fall into me,” he explained, waiting for her response to his intentional attempt at humor. She didn’t give him one.
He couldn’t blame her. How would he have reacted if he had been approached by a ghost in his day?
She cursed in a very unladylike fashion, then laughed hysterically, and cursed again. Both died to an almost gut-wrenching sob and a brief prayer asking God, ‘why now?’ She seemed to be ignoring everything he was saying to her. James wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do anything.
He tried a different tactic. “Why were you weeping over Henry Samuel’s grave? Did you find something about the fop deserving of your attention?” James asked.
“I wasn’t weeping over his grave,” April informed him. “I was taking a headstone rubbing when you approached and just about scared the piss out of me.”
“I am truly sorry.” He didn’t intend to cause her distress. “I thought you were in Kings Mill to find out the truth about James Addison?”
She stopped, looked around, nibbling her lip, before turning her wide-eyed attention back to him. “Who are you?”
The questioning look of fear in her eyes was plain and simple. She was afraid of him. She had every right to be scared of a specter, but he didn’t want her to fear him. He’d waited for years for someone to come along and see him, sense him—talk to him. He couldn’t let her run away from him now.
“You already know the answer, Dr. Branford. You saw me out at the mill the other day.”
Her eyes widened. He could see her chest rising rapidly within the confines of her woolen coat as she shook her head in denial. “You’re…James Addison.”
The quietly spoken words weren’t a question or a doubt, she knew, but whether or not she accepted the knowledge was yet to be seen.
“Really, I did want to tell you the truth about me, but I couldn’t. Not knowing how you would react, I couldn’t take the chance of having you run away from me. I don’t want you to fear me, or what I am. You’re the only person who has ever been able to see me in this form. But more importantly, you’re the only person who’s cared.”