The blight of harrow hal.., p.24
The Blight of Harrow Hall, page 24
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the clouds roll in from the horizon. The storm brewing seemed to reflect the turmoil in their lives. But together, they knew they had the strength to face whatever came next.
Inside, Doreen hummed a tune as she washed the dishes, seemingly oblivious to the storm gathering both outside and within the walls of Harrow Hall. But for Anita and Logan, there was no escaping the shadow of their legacy. They could only move forward, armed with the truth and their unyielding determination.
***
Thunder clapped again as it had been for the last hour, and rain pounded against the windows of the Hall as it had all afternoon. Anita and Logan lay on the couch in each other’s arms, both scouring stacks of letters and journals from the attic. Doreen sat sideways in an oversized chair, her legs slung over the arm, scrolling online forums.
“There aren’t really any direct mentions to a Covenant of the Shadows, but I’m finding hints of things that might be related. Nothing, though, that specifically explains a dice game.”
Anita slapped down the journal she had been reading and sat up. “There’s nothing here. We need to find Melusine’s grave.” Another crack of thunder rattled the Hall, and the electricity went out. “Great!” She threw her hands up.
Doreen turned on the flashlight on her phone. “You know, ’Nita, maybe what you need is a break from all of this. We should head out and see if town still has electricity—find somewhere with a drink.”
Despite Anita’s pushback, Doreen insisted. Anita thought to herself that Doreen’s arrival had come at the worst possible time, but she didn’t want to alienate her friend by throwing her into the middle of the chaos they were facing. She could find no easy way to justify how critical she felt the timing was to get to bottom of everything, so when Logan suggested a neighboring town’s trendy pub, Anita just went with it.
As they entered the dimly lit establishment, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and music enveloped them. The pub was buzzing with life, filled with patrons enjoying their evening.
The trio found a cozy booth near the back, away from the bar's hustle. They ordered drinks and began to unwind, recounting the events of their week. Anita was starting to relax when a man with thick pop-bottle glasses approached their table in the dim light.
"Wow, man! Nothing for 20 years and then twice in one year. What are the odds of that?" he exclaimed.
“Sorry. Do I know you?” Logan asked.
The man startled. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were—Jeez, you sure look like someone else. Sorry.”
Anita and Logan exchanged a look. As the stranger turned away, Anita lunged forward to the edge of the booth catching his sleeve. “Wait. Who did you think he was?”
“Oh, it’s not important. Just, uh, someone—”
“Was it Vance Miran or Victor Harrow?” Anita asked hurriedly.
The man turned back toward the table and nodded.
“I’m Anita Miran. Vance was my husband.”
“Was?” He questioned the tense.
“Yes. He died around eight months ago.”
“No! What happened? I just saw him last October in Vegas.”
Anita’s stomach dropped. Vanessa hadn’t been the only one from Vance’s earlier life to meet with him at the tech conference in Nevada.
“Please sit down,” Anita said, motioning to the spot next to Doreen.
“How did you know Vance?” Doreen asked as she scooted over a bit to give the lanky man some room.
“Well, it sounds like the cat’s out of the bag for the whole Victor/Vance thing, then?”
Anita nodded, and Doreen took a long slug of her drink.
“I guess it would be okay then to tell you. I’m Oliver Crane, the one who assisted Victor in becoming Vance, on the paperwork end at least, more than 20 years ago.”
“And then you saw him again in Las Vegas in October around Halloween?” Anita questioned.
“Yes. We were both attending a popular technology conference as vendors.”
Logan drummed his fingers on the table. “There was another person from this area of Connecticut there also. A tall, slender blond woman, around 35. Probably always in heels and a designer suit.”
The man adjusted his glasses. “You mean Vanessa Briggs?”
Anita’s mind began racing. "Did you see them together?"
Oliver hesitated, but the intensity in Anita's eyes compelled him to speak. "Yes," he said quietly. "I saw them together. There was a huge blowup between them. They were arguing loudly, and it drew quite a crowd."
"Do you have something to do with Vanessa’s work in banking?" Logan asked.
Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "I can’t tell you that," he said. "I’m under a non-disclosure agreement. Vanessa is the last person I would want to cross."
Anita’s frustration boiled over. She surged forward, leaning over the table toward Oliver. "Vance’s death looked like a suicide, but I know someone killed him. I need to know exactly what went on at that conference, and I’ll figure it out any way I can!"
Doreen spilled her drink at the outburst, and it poured over the edge of the table onto Oliver’s lap. She grabbed for a stack of napkins.
Logan placed a calming hand on Anita’s shoulder. "Anita, let’s take it easy," he said gently. "Getting angry won’t help."
She eased back to a seated position. Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her composure. "Please, Oliver. We need to know the truth."
Oliver sighed, realizing he had no way out. "My tech company is developing a program for Vanessa and her bank," he admitted. "It assists in hiding accounts and assets from the government."
Anita’s eyes widened. "Did Vance know about this?”
Oliver continued to wipe at the spilled drink. “He was aware of it, but with his own history, I don’t think he was planning on touching it with a ten-foot pole.”
“So, he wasn’t trying to stop you?" Doreen asked. “That doesn’t seem like the Vance I knew.”
Anita was surprised at Doreen’s comment. She glanced at her friend sipping a vodka cranberry but returned her focus quickly to Oliver.
“What was his argument about with Vanessa then if not that?” Logan asked. He handed his glass of water and some more napkins to Oliver.
“Thanks. From what I could tell it was the Vic to Vance thing.”
Anita looked at Logan. “That would have been enough certainly to make someone even like Vanessa blow up publicly. She thought he’d died long ago.”
“We all did,” Logan said.
“I knew that he’d had a girlfriend way back when. He’d intended for her to believe the same as everyone else.”
Doreen leaned back. “Well maybe you have it then. His secret was finally out. This Vanessa sounds like a piece of work, and I doubt she kept the news quiet for very long. He probably just couldn’t bear the truth getting out there. Especially to you, ’Nita.”
“Vance did not kill himself,” Anita said firmly, furrowing her brow at Doreen.
Doreen gave Anita a pitying look. “Hon, I thought you were past this. For heaven sakes, you’re the one who found him like that.”
Anita couldn’t believe the position her friend was taking. As if sensing her growing anger, Logan caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. Anita took a deep breath.
Oliver held up his hands. "I swear I had nothing to do with his death. I didn’t even know he was dead."
"We need to be careful," Logan said. "If Vanessa was somehow involved, we’re dealing with things a lot deeper and dangerous than we first realized."
Anita nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. "We’ll get to the bottom of this," she said firmly. "For Vance."
The weight of the conversation hung heavy in the air. Oliver stood up and sidled out of the booth. “Look, I’m really sorry to have interrupted your night. It’s just that you look so much like him, man.”
After Oliver slipped away quietly, clearly relieved to be leaving, Anita, Logan, and Doreen decided it was time to leave the pub, too. Its lively atmosphere seemed distant and surreal compared to the gravity of their conversation. They headed to Logan's pickup, and Anita decided it was time to fill Doreen in on the biggest parts of the hauntings and strange occurrences at the Harrow estate as they drove back. She was convinced that the reason Doreen wasn’t being supportive was because she didn’t understand everything that was going on.
The winding road seemed longer in the darkness, the headlights casting eerie shadows on the trees lining the path. Doreen listened intently, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
"I still can't believe you went through all of that alone," Doreen said, shaking her head. "The spirits, the voices...it’s like something out of a nightmare."
Anita nodded, her expression grim. "It was, and it still is. But we have to finish what we started. We need to find Melusine's grave and get Victor's urn and the dice. I believe they're the key to stopping all of this."
When they arrived at the Hall, the night was overcast, and a thick blanket of clouds obscured the moon, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The house loomed in the darkness, its silhouette imposing and foreboding. They parked near one of the outbuildings. Logan handed out some rain gear, and Anita found flashlights and shovels.
"Doreen, Logan, I need you two to go to the family cemetery and dig up the urn. I don't want to risk reawakening the spirits like I did before," Anita instructed. "I'll find the apple tree where Samuel Prendergast buried Melusine and start digging there."
Logan gave her a reassuring nod. "Be careful. We'll find you as soon as we have the urn."
Doreen held her shovel at arm’s length. “Spirits and digging up graves? Are you sure about all this, ’Nita? I mean—”
“—Stop calling me that!” Anita snapped and tried to calm herself. “Yes, I’m sure, and you’re my best friend, so it shouldn’t even be a question.”
Doreen shrugged. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
Anita tried to be understanding. All of the strange events of the past weeks were so very real to her and also to Logan. Of course, Doreen must be shocked, but she just wasn’t acting the way Anita had expected. Hadn’t she come early because she was worried about Anita? Well, this was the way to fix what was wrong. Couldn’t she see that?
Anita watched as Doreen and Logan made their way toward the cemetery, their flashlight beams bobbing across the darkness. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead, and headed towards the apple tree that Samuel Prendergast told her about.
She found it easily, even in the night, feeling as if she’d been led right to it, past the hundreds of other trees in the orchard. It stood tall and twisted, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Anita's flashlight beam illuminated the M carved into the tree just below the crook of the lowest branch more than half a century ago. She paced off about four feet from the trunk and began to dig. The soil was damp and heavy. As she dug deeper, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Three feet down or so, Anita's shovel struck something solid. Her heart raced as she cleared the dirt away, revealing flat planks of lumber. She dug more fiercely, exposing the perimeter of the apple cart that Samuel had buried. She used the spade to pry the partially rotted wood off the top of the cart’s frame.
Inside, tattered cloth from the burial quilt and clothing still clung to bones. Anita gently shifted some of the remains, and her flashlight illuminated a small leather journal nestled near her ribcage. The pages were yellowed with age but surprisingly intact.
She carefully retrieved the small book. Anita felt a chill run down her spine. This journal could hold the answers they desperately needed. As she clutched it to her chest and laid her shovel to the side of the grave, a sharp pain exploded at the back of her head. The world spun and went dark as she crumpled. Her last blurred view before losing consciousness was a fleeting image of Melusine's tortured spirit.
***
When Anita came to, she felt an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. She was in a confined space, her body curled awkwardly. She tried to move, but wooden walls pressed against her on all sides. Panic surged through her as she realized she had been buried alive. Melusine’s bones poked into her back and sides.
She screamed and thrashed, but the wooden planks of the apple cart that enclosed her were sturdy, bolstered by the packed earth around. The lid she had pried open had been replaced with new wood fastened down tightly. Her cries were muffled by the dirt above. Tears streamed down her face as she pounded on the walls, her mind racing with fear and despair.
Suddenly, a spectral figure appeared before her glowing faintly in the darkness. "Do not panic," a woman's voice whispered, eerily calm and soothing. "Help is coming. You must stay strong."
As Anita lay trapped in the cold, damp grave, her heart pounding, the shadows fled with fear, as a soft, ethereal glow spread. Slowly, a discernible figure emerged. Melusine’s ghost was a vision of haunting beauty, her translucent form shimmering with an otherworldly light. Her long, flowing hair cascaded around her like a silken veil, rippling gently as if stirred by an invisible breeze. Her eyes, deep and sorrowful, held a wisdom and sadness that transcended time, yet there was a serene calmness in them that eased Anita’s terror. Melusine's delicate features were ethereal, her lips parted in a gentle, understanding smile, as if she knew every fear and every sorrow that plagued Anita’s heart.
The spectral figure floated gracefully, her ghostly gown billowing around her like mist, its edges fading into the air. As she drew closer, the chill of the grave seemed to dissipate, replaced by a comforting warmth that radiated from her presence. Melusine’s hands, slender and pale, reached out towards Anita, offering solace and protection. Her touch, though ghostly, felt like a soft whisper against Anita's skin, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, beauty and light could be found. The ghost’s aura was calming, wrapping around Anita like a protective embrace, and in that moment, the oppressive weight of the grave felt lighter, the shadows less menacing. Melusine, with her haunting elegance and calming presence, became a beacon of hope in the suffocating darkness.
Anita's fear waned. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and, in the moments, reflected on everything that had happened. She thought about Vance and how his death had been falsely ruled a suicide. She had been so close to uncovering the truth and bringing justice to the Harrow family. And Logan—she realized with a pang of fear and affection how much she had come to care for him. What had happened to him and Doreen? Had they been attacked as well?
“Tell me Melusine. What was in your rule book that will help us stop the Harrow?”
“You must share the roll thrice, and it can only end in light.”
“The roll of the dice?”
The shimmering woman nodded.
“Share it how?”
“The Harrow was never meant to extend the lives of only the women, but when Victoria and Oswald came to this place, she stole the Harrow from him completely.”
Time passed slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. Anita's thoughts swirled as she lay trapped in the apple cart. The weight of the earth above pressed down on her, but she fought to keep her mind clear, focusing on Melusine and her advice.
Finally, she heard scraping sounds above her, followed by muffled voices. Hope surged within her as the noises grew louder. The wood above her splintered and cracked, and she shielded her face as dirt and debris fell in.
"Anita!" Logan's voice was filled with desperation and relief as he ripped the remaining planks away. He reached down and pulled her out, cradling her in his arms. His face was bruised and bloodied, his movements slow and pained.
Within him, the ghost of Vance flickered in and out of view. His spectral form seemed to be infusing Logan with strength, keeping him upright and moving. Logan's eyes were filled with a mixture of anguish and determination as he held Anita close.
"It was Doreen," Logan said, his voice ragged. "Doreen, Vanessa, and the bank security guard, Atkins. They attacked me in the cemetery the minute we found the urn."
Anita's heart ached with betrayal. "Doreen? But why?" She felt a warm wetness coming from Logan’s chest. She leaned back, making an inspection in the dark. “Logan is this a gun shot? Oh my God, what did they do to you?”
Logan shook his head, wincing from the pain. "They worked me over pretty good. Vance woke me up. I think he’s somehow helping me to stay alive."
Anita watched Vance flicker through Logan, who gave her a solemn nod. "You have to stop them," he said, his voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance. "They have more plans in motion, and they won't stop until they get the Harrow for themselves. It’s all that Vanessa has ever wanted."
Anita helped Logan to his feet, her mind racing with the implications of what had happened. "We need to get out of here," she said urgently. "We need to get you medical help and regroup to figure out our next move."
Logan shook his head, leaning heavily on her for support. "We don’t have time. We have to stop them."
"Anita," Vance's voice echoed softly, yet with an urgency that cut through the silence. "They’re in the covenant room. They are going to try to awaken the Harrow. If they get control of it, it will be all over."
Anita's eyes widened with alarm. "Can you lead me to the room, Vance?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Vance nodded. "Follow me."
They walked along the side of the Hall, catching sight of the malicious white SUV parked at the front. They entered a side door. In the dimly lit Hall, the air was thick with a sense of foreboding. Shadows flickered along the walls as if the house itself was alive, breathing a slow, menacing breath. Anita stood in the hallway, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. The spectral form of Vance appeared to shimmer through Logan’s body, casting an odd translucence in the faint light.
Anita followed, her footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floors. They moved through a series of twisting corridors, the Hall's labyrinthine layout becoming even more confusing in the dim light. Finally, they reached a hidden panel in the wall of Anita's room. Logan pressed against a small, inconspicuous spot, and a secret door swung open with a creak.
