The weather has changed, with clouds ushering out the sunlight, replacing it with frigid gray. Goosebumps break out across my expanse of exposed flesh, and I know that no jacket will warm me right now.
Kayla and Erik give each other an ominous glance, and we share a collective shudder.
“I have never believed in any of this,” Erik says slowly, as though he is carefully considering each and every word that escapes his lips. “I have never experienced anything inexplicable in this house or otherwise, so you can probably see why this is hard for me to accept on any level.”
“But we have,” I tell him, looking into those deep eyes as earnestly as I can, hoping to inspire a willingness to explore the unfathomable. “Is there any possibility in your mind that these deaths may not have been accidental? That there may be at least a nugget of truth in this?”
“I will try to approach it with an open mind, and I certainly won’t tell you what to do—but using the Ouija Board again with Juniper scares me. I cannot pretend I’m not extremely concerned for her mental health.”
“We won’t make decisions lightly,” Kayla promises. “We need a little time and probably space to think about all this. I certainly have experienced nothing out of the ordinary while here. Have you, Kat?”
I go to speak, but my voice catches and they both notice and look at me expectantly as my words dangle limply in my mouth.
“Kat?” Kayla says impatiently. “Have you?”
“Yes,” I manage weakly. “A ‘normal’ ghost and then a strange humanoid spectre in the elevator reflection.” I explain it in as much detail as I can muster, which is hard because I am the master of burying frightening memories. They are in a mass grave compartmentalized in a part of my mind that I am not eager to exhume.
“If what Juniper says is true, then it will only get more overt from here on out,” Kayla reasons. “Let’s see what happens in the next day or two.”
We all agree before saying our strained goodbyes and Kayla and I drive back to the hotel in heavy silence, like a stifling blanket, with our thoughts adding to the oppressive awkwardness. I can’t discern exactly what she is thinking, but I know her well enough to grasp that she is likely questioning everything. Me, Juniper and this entire story.
We part in the lobby, promising to keep in touch while in town and tell each other about any extraordinary events, and as she clicks off towards the elevators I heave myself into one of the plush chairs with a sigh.
I need to think, but going to my room alone sounds absolutely dreadful. I keep hearing Juniper talking about sensing the dead all around, and it chisels away at my security. Juniper was so sure that I’m at the epicenter of this, and I am frightened. It was hard enough being in that house, even when I walked in thinking that Mary was imaginary. To grapple with the possibility of her being an actual dark spirit while thinking of invoking her again is nuts, right?
“Kat?”
I look up, surprised to see Ian, my brow still furrowed from my contemplations. I shake my head and sit up into a more dignified pose and cross my legs, creaking my lips into a smile and waving at him.
“Are you ok?” he asks, skipping pleasantries. “You look...disturbed.”
“If I had a penny for every time I heard that,” I joke.
“You’d have one penny?” he says with a small smile. “I don’t take you for a distubed individual.”
“Oooo, sweet talk,” I laugh, holding out my hand which he uses to hoist me up. I look up into those unfathomable dark eyes and feel a bit better.
“Want to get a coffee?” he offers, pointing to the small cafe installed by the courtyard and I nod quickly, happy to not be alone.
I shake my hair out with my hands as we walk, and am surprised to feel an unusual amount of strands give way into my hand, and I look down quickly and see a knot of black hair sitting in my palm. It’s like a lump of coal coming out of my Auburn tresses and I shake my head and quickly deposit it into the sleek trash can outside of the coffee shop.
“How’s Bridget the spork ghost?” I ask, as I settle into the oversized, crimson velvet chair. The coffee shop has a gothic vibe and decor as rich as the wafts of sumatran beans that hang in the air. It’s delightfully non-generic and I have the presence of mind to snap some shots with a smaller camera I keep in my purse for when inspiration strikes.
“Bridget is very active,” he laughs. “I woke up having my covers ripped off last night.”
“Think she’s trying to enact a wedding night?” I ask, waggling my brows at him. “She probably doesn’t get men as handsome as you in there.”
“I don’t think there will be any spectral sexing,” he chuckles, blushing fiercely, as the runner drops off his latte and gigantic piece of carrot cake. “How are you? How was the reunion?”
I push my own cake around with my fork as I give an uninspired account of my evening, feeling his eyes on me, observing me carefully even as I try to avoid them. “Can you tell me what’s actually going on?” he suddenly asks, his beautifully expressive brows inclined. “While we don’t know each other well, I feel I have a sense of you. Call me crazy, but I think you feel it too.”
“I do.” I breathe in deeply, appreciating him putting words to the kinship I feel with him. “You aren’t wrong.”
“Do you feel comfortable telling me? You look like you could use a friend,” he encourages, voice soft and inviting.
“I suppose it’s right up your alley professionally,” I say, weighing how much to tell him. “There was a tragedy when I was younger, and it’s
