Ghosted

Chapter Nineteen

‘I don’t remember seeing a hanging tree in the Ten Things to Do in East Mill brochure,’ Callum says as we drive away from Martha Parish’s house.

‘If the town doesn’t publicise the witch trials in their history, they probably feel the same way about the place where those poor women were hung.’

‘You want to go see it? Go for a pretty walk ?’

‘Okay. Which way?’

He pulls out his phone, does a search and puts the location into Maps. ‘Get up to the old highway, then go left.’ He keeps studying his phone.

‘Is that the email from Ola you’re looking at?’ I ask.

He nods, frowning. ‘She sent the house photos. But, she says she’s also tracked down a semi-recent photo of Edward if we want it. She’s just got to collect it from a volunteer.’

‘Tell her yes!’

He nods, types something out then slips his phone into his front pocket. ‘How do you feel about what Martha said about Elizabeth Howell?’

‘Tiny bit freaked out, but it makes a lot of sense.’

‘It would explain why she’s drawn to you and knows about your powers.’ He’s somehow twisted himself around in his seat so he can face me. One long leg is pulled up and tucked beneath him as he rests against the door. ‘What if that’s why Garrett Western went after Elizabeth? Because she had a gift?’

‘You think the women targeted by the trials were actual witches?’

‘Or psychically gifted somehow.’

‘In my dreams, the men chanted something after both murders, but I couldn’t make out the words.’

‘A prayer maybe? Everyone was pretty religious back then. Maybe they thought they were getting rid of evil.’

‘Louise did say they were zealots, but it didn’t feel like that.’

‘Could you see any of the men?’

‘Only the one under the oak tree. He was stunning. Pale, with light golden eyes the colour of wheat.’ I glance over at Callum.

He twists back around in his seat and stretches out his long legs as far as my small car will allow.

After a few minutes of silence, I ask, ‘So, what do we think about the rest of Martha’s story? The pact business. Just family nonsense?’

‘There’s nearly always at least a grain of truth to local legends. Even with an old family yarn. Legends, and myths all have to start somewhere.’

‘What if the Westerns were serial killers?’ I say. ‘Just run-of-the-mill psychotic murderers. Then we could pass this whole thing off to the police and wipe our hands of it.’

‘They are serial killers if they killed all those people. What did Martha say about evil being in their blood?’ He scrubs a hand down his face as the GPS chirps out, ‘You have reached your destination.’

I turn the car into a small gravel parking area and pull up alongside a tourism map in a glass case. We study the map together.

‘There.’ Callum points.

It’s listed as ‘historic tree’.

He goes back to the car, pops the trunk and pulls a silver pistol from his duffle bag.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘We’re just going to go look at some old tree stump. And that gun’s not going to do much if we come across something creepy.’

‘Iron rounds.’ He grins. ‘They’ll disperse any spirit we come across.’

‘In case you’ve forgotten, I also disperse spirits.’

He shrugs and tucks the pistol into the back of his jeans, grabs a small EMF meter and straps it to his wrist. ‘I’ll be your back-up then.’

‘What if it’s your demon from the window? Or a vampire?’ I put my arm across my face in a Dracula pose, laughing as he rolls his eyes.

‘We both know Latin, and I’m sure you have holy water in your jacket pocket.’

I pull out a silver flask. ‘I do, and these too.’ I hold up a string of rosary beads.

‘Then we’re ready for anything.’

The air is cool and damp and leaves crunch noisily beneath our feet, our heavy boots clomping along the trail. It’s not much after midday, and though the sun is high, only the occasional glimpse of it peeks through the dense branches that shadow the path.

‘What about curses?’ Callum asks, as he steps over one of the small rocks that litter the trail. ‘Do you believe in them? Do you think people can be cursed? Say by, I don’t know, family?’

‘Mine would probably say I was the curse. Or were you talking about a werewolf curse or something?’ I joke.

‘For someone who sees dead people, you’re sure quick to write everything else off.

Werewolf lore goes back to Greek mythology; even Norse mythology has werewolf stories.

Many indigenous people have legends of shape shifters – humans that can transform at will into an animal.

There’s even a condition that covers the entire body in thick hair.

Imagine seeing something like that in the sixteenth century. That’s where these stories start.’

‘A grain of truth?’

‘Exactly,’ he says.

We walk on in silence after that, Callum out in front, me moving quickly to keep up. I can’t help but watch how his muscles move under the soft black of his long-sleeved tee. His back and shoulders are so broad they block most of my view.

‘Do you like hiking?’ he suddenly asks, glancing back at me.

I quickly shift my gaze to the ground. ‘I’ve never really thought about it. The only hiking I ever do is through Central Park.’

‘We could go hiking when this is all over,’ he says. ‘Or, I don’t know, we could spend a few days looking around East Mill. The non-spooky bits. Check out some restaurants by the water like you wanted to. Go boating. Is it whale-watching season? What do you think?’

‘I, um…’

It’s the first time we’ve seriously discussed actually seeing each other after all of this. I can tell Callum is trying his best to be casual about it, but he sounds as nervous as I suddenly feel.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘I mean, maybe, yeah, I guess.’ I’m babbling.

Then we’re silent again.

I look up towards the treetops. The forest is quiet, except for the crunch of our boots over old autumn leaves, and the occasional croak or flutter of birds in the branches above. It’s so peaceful, even my usually tumultuous thoughts are calm.

The sound of a twig cracking echoes behind me and Callum spins around. The movement is so sudden that I slam straight into his chest with a grunt, bouncing backwards and stumbling. He grabs my waist to steady me.

‘Sorry. Probably just a deer. I should have put my brake lights on.’

His hands remain around me, holding me tight.

I look up into his smiling face and, without thinking or overthinking or any kind of thinking at all, I push up on my toes and press my lips to his.

He lets out a small, surprised puff, then draws me into the kiss.

I lean against him, letting him take all my weight.

His hands move from my waist to my back as he squeezes me closer.

I know I’m the one who said no to this, but from the moment I woke up in bed beside him this morning, this is what I’ve wanted to do. So, I’m doing it.

I dig my hands into the back pockets of his jeans, my palms snug against his ass.

I memorise that perfect curve, then move my hands upwards, skimming his back, roaming over every taut muscle, committing them to memory too.

I glide my fingers across his shoulder blades, then the smooth skin of his neck, until they find his hair where they curl.

I’m on fire again, my thighs, my cheeks, my lips, every part of me burning with desire.

I’ve never experienced anything like this.

This kind of need, this kind of rightness.

His body is hot and solid against mine and his hands are strong and confident at my back.

When he pulls me closer still, I feel how much he wants me too, his hardness pressing enticingly into my hip.

That really gets me, and I squeeze my legs together because it’s too much.

It’s too much for a walk in the forest, where I can’t toss him to the ground, peel off his clothes and…

I pull back, my breathing ragged as I stare into his beautiful, and somewhat startled face. His tongue swipes over his well-kissed lips.

‘S-sorry,’ I finally stammer. ‘I know I said we shouldn’t. I…’

‘Please don’t apologise,’ he says. His arms are still around me, holding me upright.

‘Okay.’ I reach up and softly touch my lips to his. ‘Because I’m not sorry. Not a bit.’

‘Good. And if this is how nature affects you, I’m pencilling in that hike for the minute we finish this job.’

We laugh, the sound lifting into the soaring trees above us.

Callum clears his throat as his hands drop from my sides.

‘Excuse me one moment,’ he says, with a throaty chuckle.

I don’t even pretend to not watch as he less-than-artfully adjusts himself in his jeans.

‘Shall we get this tree thing done,’ he asks, laughter still in his voice, ‘in case you get another urge to do that other thing?’

‘Yep, but I still think we should keep our distance a little until we’re done with the job.’

‘Oh yeah, I can tell you’re fixed on that idea.’ He smiles wide.

I spin him around and push him along the track.

He chuckles, stumbling forward. Then, in a softer tone, he adds, ‘I meant what I said before, Holly. I’ll go whatever speed you need me to.’ He stops abruptly and I crash into his back.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just checking if you want to kiss me again.’

‘Callum!’ He walks on, laughing.

We continue along the trail, heading deeper into the forest. Every so often, Callum glances over his shoulder and gives me a smile.

I smile back, feeling guilt licking at my insides.

Because I do want to kiss him again, and I shouldn’t be doing that, not when I’ve asked him to wait.

We need to focus. I’ll remind myself of that next time I feel—

‘Is this it?’ Callum asks as we step into a clearing.

It’s a wide circle of grass covered with tiny purple flowers, with a tree stump sitting in the middle. The stump is dark grey, old and weathered and long dead, cracked right through the centre.

‘Looks like it.’

He places his hand on my shoulder. ‘Listen.’

I stop and turn my ear towards the sky. ‘I don’t hear anything,’ I say quietly.

‘Exactly. There were birds on the trail, and frogs and crickets. But here?’ Nothing , he mouths.

The EMF meter on his wrist suddenly comes to life with a screeching beep.

‘What the fuck?’ He lifts his hand. Red dots flash on the tiny screen.

‘There must be something here,’ he says. ‘Can you see anything?’

The air thickens, a stale taste settling at the back of my throat.

‘There.’ I grab his arm and nod towards the other side of the clearing. ‘A spirit of a girl. Can you see her, or feel her?’

‘No,’ he says, adding a quiet, ‘Thank fuck.’ He reaches around the back of his jeans, draws his pistol from his waistband, and points it towards the tree line. ‘What’s she look like? What’s she doing?’

I gently push his gun down. ‘Young. Pretty. A long cream dress with a buttoned bodice and a bell skirt. Oh my god, I think she’s the girl from my dream.

The one who was strangled under the tree at the Western house.

’ I look up into his shocked face and whisper, ‘What was the name of the missing girl in the book I got you?’

‘Annie?’ he whispers back.

I steady my breathing and say, ‘Annie?’

The spirit looks surprised, then she smiles and nods.

‘It’s her,’ I tell Callum in a hushed tone.

‘Fucking hell,’ he says, just as quiet. ‘What do we do?’

Annie points to the tree she’s standing beside.

‘She’s trying to show us something.’ I step forward until I’m standing so close to her I get goosebumps from the chill. I look to where she’s pointing and feel the moment she leaves.

‘She’s gone,’ I call over my shoulder to Callum, waving him forward.

As he comes up behind me, I brush his hand. He grabs hold, giving my fingers a squeeze.

‘I have no idea how you deal with this shit every day,’ he says, then he lets me go and slips his gun back into his waistband. ‘I guess this means Annie definitely didn’t make that trip to California.’

‘Probably because one of the Westerns killed her under the oak tree on their property.’ I look up at him. He’s pale. ‘Are you okay?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nope. What did she want to show us?’

‘She was pointing at…’ I lean in and look at a small symbol carved into the tree. ‘I’ve seen this before.’

Callum peers at it. ‘What is that? Is that a triangle?’

‘It was on the gate at the Western graveyard. I thought it was some kind of family crest.’

He traces his finger around the shape. ‘Then what’s it doing here?’

‘I don’t know.’

I stare at the symbol weathered into the wood, angry at myself.

We should know what this means by now. I first saw this symbol days ago.

We should have researched it, figured it out.

We should have been working, not lying around watching movies and slow dancing to classic rock.

This is not a spooky getaway! I hang my head with a huff.

‘What?’ he asks. ‘Are you getting a vibe?’

Yeah, a vibe I need to concentrate on the job . ‘No,’ I say. Then I press my hand to the tree.

Energy shoots through my palm, races up my arm, surging through my veins, burning a trail under my skin, until it bursts in my chest, almost lifting me off my feet.

The air rushes from my lungs. My mouth opens and closes, until I’m gulping like a goldfish.

Screams swirl in the air around me. Pain and fear, so overwhelmingly powerful that I bite down on my tongue.

I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that I can block it all out, but instead my mind floods with faces, images from another era flickering behind my eyes, filling my head with whispered pleas for mercy.

I sob for them, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stops.

Dizziness engulfs me. My body grows heavy as the light around me dims. I stagger backwards, away from the tree, and crumple to the ground as blackness swallows me whole. Then the words come again, but this time it’s a chorus.

‘Holly. Let us in.’