Comes the Blind Fury

“When I was a little girl, we used to go out there, and read the headstones.”

“And look for the ghost?”

Again, Corinne nodded.

“And did you ever see her?”

Corinne pondered her answer for a long time. Finally, reluctantly, she shook her head.

Carson noted her hesitation. “Are you sure, Corinne?” His voice was very soft.

“I don’t know,” Corinne replied. Suddenly she felt foolish, but a memory was hanging in her mind, just out of her reach. “There was something,” she said. “It happened just once. I was out there in the graveyard, with a friend — I can’t even remember who — and the fog came in. Well, you know how spooky a graveyard can be in the fog. I don’t know — maybe I let my imagination run away with me, but all of a sudden I felt something. Nothing I can put my finger on, really — just a feeling that something was there, close to me. I stood perfectly still, and the longer I stood, the closer whatever it was seemed to come.” Her voice trailed off, and she shivered slightly as the memory of that foggy afternoon chilled her.

“And you think it was Amanda?” Carson asked.

“Well, it was something,” Corinne replied.

“You’re right,” Carson agreed sourly. “It was something. It was your imagination. A little girl in a graveyard, on a foggy day, and having grown up hearing all those ghost stories. I’m amazed you didn’t have a long talk with Amanda! Or did you?”

“Of course not,” Corinne said, feeling foolish now. “I didn’t even see her.”

Carson watched her. “What about your friend? Did she feel the same thing you did?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, she did!” Corinne felt herself getting angry. Not believing her was one thing — mocking her was quite another. “And, if you want to know, we weren’t the only ones. A lot of us had the same feeling. And we were all girls, and we were all twelve years old. Just like Amanda. And, in case you didn’t know, just like Michelle Pendleton.”

Carson’s eyes hardened. “Corinne,” he said slowly, “do you know what you’re saying?”

And suddenly Corinne did. “Yes. I’m saying that maybe the ghost stories are true, and the reason everyone says they aren’t is because no one ever actually saw Amanda before. The only ones who even felt her were twelve-year-old girls. And who believes what they say? Everyone knows little girls have wild imaginations, right? Uncle Joe, what if it wasn’t my imagination? What if some of us really did feel her presence? And what if Michelle not only felt her, but actually saw her?”

The expression on Josiah Carson’s face as he watched her told her she had struck a nerve.

“You believe in the ghost, don’t you?” she asked.

“Do you?” he countered, and now Corinne was sure he was growing nervous.

“I don’t know,” Corinne lied. She did know! “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, in a strange kind of way? If you can accept that there really is a ghost, and that it’s Amanda, who would be more likely to see her than a twelve-year-old girl? A girl just like her?”

“Well, she’s had over a hundred years to find someone,” Carson said. “Why now? Why Michelle Pendleton?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Corinne,” he said quietly, “I know you’re worried about Michelle. I know it seems odd that she’d make up an imaginary friend named Amanda. It seems like quite a coincidence — hell, it is quite a coincidence. But that’s all it is!”

Corinne stood up, truly angry now. “Uncle Joe,” she said, her voice tight, “Michelle is one of my students, and I’m worried about her. For that matter, I’m worried about everybody else in my class, too. Susan Peterson is dead, and Michelle is crippled and acting very strangely. I don’t want anything else to happen.”

Carson stared up at Corinne. She was standing in front of his desk, her back stiff as a ramrod, her expression intense. He began to reach out to her, to comfort her, but before he was halfway out of his chair, she had turned and fled.

Slowly, Josiah sat down. He sat by himself for a long time. It wasn’t going right, none of it. He hadn’t meant for Susan Peterson to die. It should have been Michelle — it should have been Cal Pendleton’s daughter. A life for a life, a child for a child. But not one of his children.

All he could do now was wait. Sooner or later, as it always had, the tragedy would come back to the house, and whoever was living there. And when it did, and the house had avenged Alan Hanley for him, it would be over. Then he could go away and forget Paradise Point forever. He poured himself another shot of bourbon and stared out the window. In the distance he could see the churning waters of Devil’s Passage. It was, he thought, aptly named. How long had it been since the devil had come to live with the Carsons? And now, after all the years, the last Carson was going to use the devil. It was, Josiah Carson thought, somehow poetic.

He only hoped that not too many of his own children — the village children — would have to die in the process.

Late that afternoon, Michelle made her way to the old graveyard. She lowered herself clumsily to the ground near the odd memorial to Amanda and waited, sure that her friend would come to her. But before the now familiar grayness could close in around her, she felt someone watching her. She turned and recognized Lisa Hartwick standing a few yards away from her, staring at her.

“Are you all right?” Lisa asked.

Michelle nodded, and Lisa took a tentative step toward her.

“I–I was looking for you,” Lisa said. She looked almost frightened, and Michelle wondered what was wrong.

“For me? How come?” She started to get up.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Michelle regarded Lisa suspiciously. No one liked Lisa — everyone said she was a brat. What did she want? Was she going to tease her? But Lisa came closer and sat down next to her. Gratefully, Michelle let herself sink back to the soft earth.

“Is it true you’re adopted?” Lisa suddenly asked.

“So what?”

“I’m not sure,” Lisa replied. Then: “My mother died five years ago.”

Now Michelle was puzzled. Why had she said that? Was she trying to make friends with her? Why?

“I don’t know what happened to my parents,” she ventured. “Maybe they’re dead. Or maybe they just didn’t want me.”

“My father doesn’t want me,” Lisa said quietly.

“How do you know?” Michelle let herself relax: Lisa wasn’t going to tease her.

“He’s in love with your teacher. Ever since he met her, he’s liked her more than he likes me.”

Michelle thought this over. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe things had happened for her the same way they had happened for Michelle when Jenny had been born. “Sometimes I don’t think anybody likes me,” she said.

“I know. Nobody likes me, either.”

“Maybe we could be friends,” Michelle suggested. Now Lisa’s eyes seemed to cloud over.

“I don’t know. I–I’ve heard things about you.”

Michelle tensed. “What kind of things?”

“Well, that ever since you fell off the bluff, something’s been wrong with you.”

“I’m lame,” Michelle said. “Everybody knows that.”

“That’s not what I mean. I heard — well, they say you think you saw the ghost.”

Michelle relaxed again. “You mean Amanda? She’s not a ghost. She’s my friend.”

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked. “There isn’t anybody around here named Amanda.”

“There is, too,” Michelle insisted. “She’s my friend.” Suddenly Lisa stood up and began backing away from Michelle. “Where are you going?”

“I–I have to go home now,” Lisa said nervously.

Michelle struggled to her feet, her eyes fixed angrily on Lisa. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

Lisa shook her head uncertainly.

Suddenly the fog was starting to close in around Michelle. From far away, she could hear Amanda calling to her.

“I’m not crazy,” she said to Lisa, her voice desperate. “Amanda’s real, and she’s coming now. You can meet her!”