followed the comment, tension arcing in the air between us. Grant and I had identical expressions of confusion. Mom straightened, ran a hand over her hair and cleared her throat. “Sorry. Just a little stressed. No one wanted this stuff, and it’s such a shame. He said the former owners want nothing left here. All this history left to be forgotten.”
I raised my hands. “Okay. Got it. But Mom, what are we going to do with it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, rearranging a bunch of papers scattered over one box. Her fingers neatly aligned all the pages into a stack before caressing the top pages. “Maybe we can collect them, document everything, and give it to the local historical society.”
“Do we even have one of those?” Grant asked.
“Of course! Every town has one. We’ll have to find out who’s in charge here.”
“Can we eat now? I’m starved, and Claire and I have tons of things to do.” Grant blurted.
Mom jerked her thumb over one shoulder to the kitchen. “The last take-out meal of the week has arrived. We’re having subs.”
Grant turned and nearly sprinted down the hall to the kitchen. I took a few steps without turning, afraid to turn my back on the room. While Mom may have been comfortable, I couldn’t say the same. Tension coiled in the air, lessening the farther away I got.
Pausing at the door, I was torn between the need to distance myself, and the feeling that I shouldn’t leave Mom alone. I couldn’t forget the strange look on her face, and the way her face had seemed to shift a little. Like something else looked out through her eyes.
Goosebumps marched across my arms at the thought. Grant called my name and I took the easy way and headed for the kitchen. After only a few steps down the hall, I glanced back and my heart nearly stopped. Mom stood, a faded paper in one hand, engrossed in what she read. Behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder, hovered a tall black shadow of a man.
Chapter Eight
My heart pounded, and my voice shook as I called for Mom. She turned, and the dark shape dissolved. Another person would have chalked it up to hallucination. Too little sleep. Anything except what I knew was the truth. An entity had touched my mother.
Her eyes were glazed, and she seemed only half-aware of me. “What’s the matter, Claire?”
‘Mom, didn’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Her attention focused on me, though there was still a faraway look in her gaze.
“There was someone behind you. A ghost. Touching you. How did you not feel it?”
She came out and wrapped me in a hug, still holding a paper. “Honey, are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t make it up, Mom.”
She pulled back and stared down at me, but there was a strange mix of fear and sympathy in her eyes. “I didn’t feel a thing, Claire. It’s been a long day, and that room is full of all kinds of strange piles. Are you sure that it wasn’t just a shadow?” She paused, and a strange smile twisted her lips. “It has been a few months since you spoke to the doctor. Maybe I should make an appointment for you.”
The thought of having to spend more time on drugs and talking to psychiatrists who didn’t believe me made my blood run cold. Why she would bring that up and brush off my concerns, I didn’t understand.
“No, maybe it was just the boxes. I’m feeling fine. Really.”
“You sure?” Again, between one heartbeat and the next, I thought her eye color darkened. But I blinked and the impression was gone.
I pressed a hand to my forehead. “There’s just a lot going on. Old house, dusty corners. I’m just letting my imagination run away with me.” I pasted on a smile, then grabbed her hand and tugged. “Let’s get something to eat. If you get started in there, we’ll never get you out.”
“Oh. Yes.” She peered down at the paper in her hand and blinked as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes. Dinner. I should come.”
I took two more steps closer and stopped. A presence
I raised my hands. “Okay. Got it. But Mom, what are we going to do with it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, rearranging a bunch of papers scattered over one box. Her fingers neatly aligned all the pages into a stack before caressing the top pages. “Maybe we can collect them, document everything, and give it to the local historical society.”
“Do we even have one of those?” Grant asked.
“Of course! Every town has one. We’ll have to find out who’s in charge here.”
“Can we eat now? I’m starved, and Claire and I have tons of things to do.” Grant blurted.
Mom jerked her thumb over one shoulder to the kitchen. “The last take-out meal of the week has arrived. We’re having subs.”
Grant turned and nearly sprinted down the hall to the kitchen. I took a few steps without turning, afraid to turn my back on the room. While Mom may have been comfortable, I couldn’t say the same. Tension coiled in the air, lessening the farther away I got.
Pausing at the door, I was torn between the need to distance myself, and the feeling that I shouldn’t leave Mom alone. I couldn’t forget the strange look on her face, and the way her face had seemed to shift a little. Like something else looked out through her eyes.
Goosebumps marched across my arms at the thought. Grant called my name and I took the easy way and headed for the kitchen. After only a few steps down the hall, I glanced back and my heart nearly stopped. Mom stood, a faded paper in one hand, engrossed in what she read. Behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder, hovered a tall black shadow of a man.
Chapter Eight
My heart pounded, and my voice shook as I called for Mom. She turned, and the dark shape dissolved. Another person would have chalked it up to hallucination. Too little sleep. Anything except what I knew was the truth. An entity had touched my mother.
Her eyes were glazed, and she seemed only half-aware of me. “What’s the matter, Claire?”
‘Mom, didn’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Her attention focused on me, though there was still a faraway look in her gaze.
“There was someone behind you. A ghost. Touching you. How did you not feel it?”
She came out and wrapped me in a hug, still holding a paper. “Honey, are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t make it up, Mom.”
She pulled back and stared down at me, but there was a strange mix of fear and sympathy in her eyes. “I didn’t feel a thing, Claire. It’s been a long day, and that room is full of all kinds of strange piles. Are you sure that it wasn’t just a shadow?” She paused, and a strange smile twisted her lips. “It has been a few months since you spoke to the doctor. Maybe I should make an appointment for you.”
The thought of having to spend more time on drugs and talking to psychiatrists who didn’t believe me made my blood run cold. Why she would bring that up and brush off my concerns, I didn’t understand.
“No, maybe it was just the boxes. I’m feeling fine. Really.”
“You sure?” Again, between one heartbeat and the next, I thought her eye color darkened. But I blinked and the impression was gone.
I pressed a hand to my forehead. “There’s just a lot going on. Old house, dusty corners. I’m just letting my imagination run away with me.” I pasted on a smile, then grabbed her hand and tugged. “Let’s get something to eat. If you get started in there, we’ll never get you out.”
“Oh. Yes.” She peered down at the paper in her hand and blinked as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes. Dinner. I should come.”
I took two more steps closer and stopped. A presence
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