Eleven Signa #2
Signa had read every plaque several dozen times, pacing circles and memorizing the names etched in the walls.
Her hands had become numb, and she shifted on the bench, the cold biting at her.
Winter made the days short, and already the sunlight was waning.
The cemetery would close soon, and though Signa had resolved herself to coming back as many days as it took to find a visitor, the idea was already exhausting her.
She had finally stood to leave when she startled at the sight of a man standing at the threshold holding a beautiful bouquet of poinsettias in his hand.
“Good evening,” he whispered, brow furrowed toward his nose. “I didn’t expect to find anyone else here.”
The man was likely older than Elijah, with a wrinkled face and eyes that crinkled at the corners. He stepped inside to join Signa, setting the flowers beneath Odette’s name.
Wariness tightened her gut. Surely it couldn’t be this easy.
“I admit that I do not know these people,” she said softly.
She’d gotten better over the years at feigning normalcy around death, and at holding conversations with the living.
But still she had to be mindful of her words, especially when there was important information to be found.
“But I felt compelled to step inside all the same.”
The old man grunted. “Not unusual for the time of year. Many folk from around these parts come and visit during the holidays. Makes for a good ghost story, I suppose. I didn’t plan to come here myself, but it seemed a good idea to make sure everyone had some company.
” He stepped forward, fingers skimming along several of the inscriptions. “It’s terrible what they went through.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the story,” Signa admitted. “I came to see what I might learn, as I have family who live up the hill just outside of town, on the land where I believe these people might have died.”
“I didn’t realize someone had moved there,” he whispered, half distracted as he moved from name to name, dipping his head and taking a moment with each plaque. “It used to be a theater, back before it burned down. For sixty-one years that land has sat empty. People say it’s haunted.”
“And do you agree?” Signa asked.
His face darkened. “Each night I pray that it’s not. I hope that everyone inside the theater went quickly, passing out from the smoke before the flames consumed them.”
Something about the way he said it nagged at Signa, prickling the hairs along her neck.
She looked again at the man, at the deep wrinkles around his eyes and the sunspots on his hands.
He had a lithe body that moved more nimbly than many his age, and there was a sorrow in his eyes and a familiarity that made it clear he wasn’t mourning strangers.
“Were you close to any of them?”
The man’s gaze skimmed to Odette’s plaque, and his jaw tightened. “I was close to all of them. They were my friends, my colleagues… even my first love.”
“Jules,” Signa said instinctively, unable to filter herself. “Your name is Jules, isn’t it?”
He tensed for a moment, then softened again as a sigh passed his lips. “So you do know something about that night.”
What were the chances? Signa wondered. How strange it was to have found him so easily.
She had always believed in coincidence. It was Aris and Blythe who had made her less sure of it over time, and far more suspicious of theoretical chance happenings.
Still, Signa was here with the man every spirit back at Wisteria sought out.
She would not let the opportunity slip by, no matter how curious it was.
“I know they all died, and that a man named Jules was missing that night.” Though she put no accusation in her voice, his face hardened all the same.
“Blame me if you’d like. It’s nothing I haven’t spent a lifetime hearing already.”
“I don’t blame you.” Signa had, of course, been wrong before. But this man didn’t strike her as a killer. “I have no reason to blame anyone. I didn’t even know those who died.”
His shoulders slumped, chest caving in as though he’d been struck. “Well, you should blame me. It was my fault the theater caught fire.”
She tried to keep her grimace to herself, moving to a nearby bench and motioning for him to join her.
“I imagine it must be a difficult topic for you,” she said, “but would you mind sharing what happened that night?”
Though Jules moved to sit beside her, it was a long moment before he got the courage to speak. “I’ll tell you, but only if you share who told you my name. There aren’t many people in this town who were alive back then.”
At this, Signa hesitated. She did not mind sharing what she knew, it was just a matter of whether anyone believed her. “I can try. But whether you accept it or not is for you to decide.”
“I was a ballet dancer,” he told her, “and a good one at that.
We were preparing a new show to be performed on Christmas Eve, sixty-one years ago.
I had the lead role alongside the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Her name was Odette Van der Meer, and I fell in love with her the second I first heard her laugh.
I was going to ask her to marry me the morning after our performance, on Christmas Day.
“But the evening of the final dress rehearsal I was so nervous. I went outside before the performance to try and relax with my pipe, but the nerves had made my stomach foul, so I threw out the ashes and hurried home to rest before the show. I knew I would be late, but I never thought…” His eyes squinted shut, and the next words came as though he was forcing each one out.
“By the time I returned, I was following a path of smoke.
I had been too quick putting out my ashes.
Sparks had blown toward the theater, starting a fire by the entrance.
Not a single other person was able to escape that night.
The fire claimed everything, including Odette.
“I told everyone who would listen that it was my fault, but instead they called it a tragedy .” Jules kept his gaze on the ground, scuffing his boot across the stone.
“Every one of my friends died that night. If I’d not let myself get so nervous…
if I’d never left, or had I taken more time to ensure that the ashes were put out… no one had to die.”
There were always so many could haves with death. So many should haves , would haves… Signa hadn’t met a single mourning soul who wasn’t burdened with regret.
“I’m sorry that you lost them.” She took hold of the man’s hands, meaning each word. “Have you ever returned to where the fire began?”
“Never. If it’s true what people say about the land being haunted, the last thing any spirits will want is to see me. I couldn’t dare to show them my face.”
“I’m not sure I agree…” Signa shifted, the truth burning her tongue.
This man seemed kind enough and open to the possibility of spirits, but there was no knowing how he would respond to what she knew.
Still, his burden was too heavy, the weight of his guilt apparent in the hunch of his shoulders and the sorrow in his eyes, and Signa wanted desperately to help him.
When Jules’s eyes lifted to her own, Signa drew a breath.
“It’s true that the land is haunted, but not in the way you think.
” She told him of her powers. Of the spirits who wandered the halls, wearing glittering costumes.
Even as he stared at her, eyes hollow, she continued to speak of the older woman in charge.
Of the way she clapped as the dancers moved about the halls, always eager.
“There’s a young woman, too,” Signa whispered at last, unable to stop herself. “One who is searching everywhere for you. She’s got beautiful red hair, a pink gown of tulle, and—”
There was a sudden harshness to the man’s eyes that caused Signa’s words to falter. A darkness settled over him, and Signa recognized the look. She’d seen it a thousand times before, on the faces of too-nosy neighbors who thought her the devil’s spawn.
“You are a cruel girl.” Jules’s finger shook as he brandished it toward her like a weapon.
Signa shot to her feet, panic overwhelming her the very same way it always did whenever she saw such a look. No matter how much older she was or how many times she had experienced similar situations where she acted almost as a medium for the spirits, some fears would forever be ingrained in her.
“I know it sounds like nonsense, but I swear it’s all true—” she started, only for her voice to be cut short as the man jerked to his feet. There were tears in his bloodshot eyes.
“Leave this place,” he spat. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I will not have you making a mockery of everyone who died!”
Signa wished in that moment that she had more of her cousin’s bite, if only to make this man see reason. But experience had long since taught her that there was no use arguing. And so she turned to leave, but not before she offered Jules one last kindness.
“Odette died from the smoke, not the flames. Some of your friends have small burns, but most felt little pain when they passed.” She didn’t turn back even when she heard him slump against the bench with a sob. Instead, Signa left, ready to return to Wisteria and confront the spirits.
Knowing all that she did now, she had a new plan in mind. One that, hopefully, would free the spirits and cleanse Wisteria once and for all.