Chapter Eleven

When the door closed, the color began to creep slowly back into Angel Rose’s face. The swirling sensation in her head started to subside as well.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked softly.

“I – I – I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “I just have to get out of here. Please. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Richie said. “C’mon.” He led her down two flights of stairs to the main level. With each step away from Kirstin’s room, Ang’s breathing slowed a little more. They crossed the great room quickly, and Richie spared a glance over his shoulder at the staircase. He had a ghost. Holy shit.

Once in the truck, Richie wasted no time in heading toward the street. “Sorry you didn’t get to see the Underground Railroad room – maybe next time?” he said.

Angel Rose let out a shaky breath. Right now, going back in that house was the last thing she wanted to do. “Maybe. Thank you for getting me out of there.”

As they drove away, neither looked back at the house, so they missed the curtain pulling back slightly from the window.

Kirstin watched them leave, seeing the lights fade in the distance. The man had kept the key and left his belongings in the great room so she believed he was coming back, and she was glad. This one would help her, she just knew it. The woman too. She felt it. They would definitely help her. Not like the last ones who were here.

The Recent Past
Winter, 1967

The Aragon family had been living in the house for only a few short months, but they were all unpacked and were decorating for the holidays. They had given up on the third-floor room, and in fact had made plans to wall in the staircase, and turn the whole of the third floor into storage space. They were going to open all the walls and sell off whatever they found up there, and were excited about it. Kirstin was less so. She had to try to change their minds. Later.

For now, Kirstin sat in her window seat, looking at the decorations. Pine boughs graced both window seats and mantle, and a large tree festooned with twinkling lights, glittering baubles, and shiny tinsel had a place of honor by the fireplace. The family, a young couple, a two-year-old baby girl, and a cat, all seemed to be excited about the Christmas season. Kirstin watched and laughed with pleasure as the baby tried to pull the sparkly ornaments from the lower boughs of the tree. Her mother gently redirected her, and she toddled to the window seat where Kirstin was sitting.

The child, with her beautiful moss-green eyes and soft brown hair, looked up at Kirstin with a smile on her face. “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma,” she babbled, talking to Kirstin. Babies and animals had the innate ability to see things that more cynical adults could not.

“Hello beautiful,” Kirstin said to the child, reaching out to try to touch her. The child grabbed at her, and laughed when her pudgy little hand went clear through Kirstin’s outstretched, slender one.

“What are you looking at, Caroline?” the baby’s mother asked. She came over and squatted in front of Kirstin. Shivering, she said, “Come away from there baby girl,” and scooped up the girl. “It’s too cold over here for you.”

Christmas morning, Kirstin watched as Caroline’s parents helped her open shiny packages. The little one was more interested in the wrappings than the trappings, and Kirstin remembered back to the days when her children were the same way. Later, when the little one slept in a basket by the hearth, Kirstin watched as the couple stood guard over her, and smiled at them. This was a family strong with love, she thought. Surely they would help her.

That night, she reached out to the couple. While they slept, she joined them in their dreams. As she has always done, she let them find her in the maze, then waited to see if they’d follow her to the lake. They did, and when she approached them on the path, they ran from her, terrified. The couple woke in a cold sweat. The woman looked to her husband. “Did you just…” she trailed off, not sure how to broach the subject.

“Yeah, I did,” he answered. “What do you suppose that means?”

At that moment, Caroline cried out. When her parents went to investigate, they saw the cat hissing, standing on the edge of the crib with his back arched. They couldn’t tell what it was looking at, but it was clearly frightened. When they approached the crib, the cat whirled on them, lashing out. Caroline’s cries got louder. Kirstin tried to calm the baby, and in the process, became visible to the parents. Caroline’s mother cried out, her father grabbed the frightened cat and flung it from the crib and he scooped up the baby, and they ran from the house. The next day, they had packed up their belongings, and moved away.

After that, the house remained empty for more than twenty years.

The Present

The pair drove on in silence until they arrived back at the Historical Society. Richie parked next to Ang’s car, but neither moved to get out of the truck. “So, what happened to you back there?” Richie asked, turning toward Angel Rose. He braced one elbow on his headrest and the other on the steering wheel, and waited.

Damn, what do I say? I don’t want to lie. “I’m not really sure what happened. I just felt like I had to get out of there. I couldn’t breathe, and I was starting to get dizzy.” That part was true, at least, she thought. She forced a chuckle through dry lips. “Maybe I should have listened to you and just stayed in the truck.”

“Maybe,” he said, frowning slightly. He’d let it go for now. He could tell she was hiding something, that there was more to the story than that, but he didn’t know her well enough to press for answers. “How in the hell do I deal with a ghost in my house?”

Angel Rose gave a genuine laugh this time. She put on an affected Southern accent. “One does not ‘deal with’ a haint. One strives to peacefully coexist with it. Mostly by ignoring it.”

Richie shook his head. “I know you really don’t know me, but that’s not my style. I can’t just ignore it. This ghost, if it’s Kirstin, she invaded my dreams and asked me for help.” He grinned sheepishly. “I have a bit of a white knight complex; I can’t just let it go. I have to try to help her.”

Angel Rose sighed. “Well then, I guess you need to learn as much as you can about Kirstin, the house, and the circumstances of her disappearance. Then maybe the answer will present itself.”

Richie nodded, giving the matter some thought.

After a few minutes of silence, Angel Rose cleared her throat. “Uh I really have to get going,” she said.

“Of course, right, right,” Richie said. “So, see you Monday then? I can work on the papers some more.”

Angel Rose noticed he said “I” and not “we”. She appreciated that. “Sure, sounds good. Well, g’bye”

“Bye, Ang.”

Angel Rose opened her door and slid out of the truck. Richie watched as she got into her own car, gave a little wave and drove away. Starting his own vehicle, Richie set out for a drive. Hopefully he could gain some perspective on this, this haunting. He shook his head. Never in a million years would he have believed anyone who had told him he’d have an encounter with a ghost, let alone buy a freaking haunted house.

There was no question in his mind that he would keep the house. One little ghost, so far non-malevolent, was not going to keep him from the place he fell in love with. He chuckled; he’d just have to start another list – this time of people to talk to in town who might be more knowledgeable in the ways of the spiritual. He’d been in enough Southern towns to know that each had at least one person who was in touch with the “Other Side”. He’d simply ask around, starting at the diner, until he had some answers.

He was startled to find himself in a section of town that wasn’t covered by Ang’s tour, and pleased when he spied a small park. He pulled in to the parking lot, grabbed his guitar from the back seat where he had left it that morning, and headed in. For the most part, the park was deserted. He found a quiet bench, sat down, and started to play. Music had always been a way for him to think things through. When he was playing, he could busy his sub-conscious so he could let his conscious mind go to work.

He knew that Kirstin disappeared on Halloween – could that be why she was haunting the house? Or wait, didn’t spirits stick around if their bodies were killed in some violent fashion? He shook his head. All he knew about ghosts he learned from watching horror flicks and reading thriller novels. Of their own accord, his fingers started playing something slow and melancholy, as he thought more about Kirstin.

She had reached out to him in his dreams, not once, but twice. Then again she tried to communicate to him in the house. And in his dreams, she looked like she had been badly beaten, perhaps beaten to death. And it had been what, more than a hundred years ago? Richie tried to imagine what Kirstin was thinking and feeling and he figured she had to be as scared as he was. Wait, do spirits have feelings? He didn’t even know.

But she asked for help, and he was never one to turn down a damsel in distress – apparently even the specter of a damsel. He had to help her; that much was clear. But how? Maybe there were answers in all that paperwork at the Historical Society. Wait, maybe there were some clues in the papers on Kirstin’s desk. Richie shook his head and his hands changed the music into something more upbeat; a melody he’d been toying with.

Then there was Angel Rose. When she was at the house with him, he remembered that she didn’t really enter the room – like she was afraid of what was in there. Did she know more about Kirstin than she was saying? And why didn’t Marty tell him about the supposed haunting? Richie chuckled as he answered that last question himself – Marty obviously didn’t want to risk the sale.

Richie sat and played and stewed a little while longer. When it grew dark, and the bugs came out to have him for dinner, Richie packed it in and went back to his house. He sat in the driveway for a long time, looking up at the window where he had seen the woman – Kirstin. This time there was no flutter of the curtains signaling someone watching.

If Kirstin wanted his help, he figured she certainly was not going to hurt him. Then there was the whole White-Knight syndrome thing. Plus, he really didn’t want to back out of the sale, though he’d be well within his rights to do so. No, he’d have to just suck up any residual fear or discomfort he might have and go back into the house.