The haunting between us, p.29
The Haunting Between Us, page 29
I drag the match head over the strike strip, sending sparks flying up. The flame dances and bobs at the end of the matchstick.
It goes out.
“Fuck!”
Suddenly it roars back to life, a cascading flicker of yellow and orange.
I drop the match into the hole. An explosion of the unnatural blue-green flame flies out with a force that pushes me off my feet, knocking me to the floor.
The house shakes more violently than ever, so powerfully I fear the whole structure might collapse.
In one last crescendo, the walls seem to expand around me as if the house is about to explode from some unseen internal force. Timbers groan and crack. Just as I’m sure the straining beams can take no more, the house snaps back.
The flames burst from the hole in a torrent, exploding outward in a wave of unbearable heat. They surround my body, then disappear in a cloud of wispy smoke. My hands and arms should be burnt to a crisp, but there’s not a single blister or a red mark.
A monstrous scream echoes through the house with such intensity that I plug my ears to keep them from bursting. Then it stops.
Utter silence.
Only the gentle patter of dust settling disturbs the quiet.
I breathe for the first time in about thirty seconds.
Laughter breaks the silence. I fear it’s coming from some unwanted spirit before I realize the laughter is mine.
I’m alive.
Cameron!
I race into the nanny’s room, twist down two flights of stairs, and burst through the iron door. Everyone lies on the floor, bruised and battered, surrounded by bricks and chunks of rubble.
“We did it!” Chloe yells, pumping a fist in the air.
I turn to the furnace. The orange glow and smoke are gone. I’m afraid to look, but I’m driven by an unstoppable need to learn Cameron’s fate. I turn the handle, which moves easily, swing open the door, and look into the total darkness.
“Cameron?” I call out, holding back dread.
Cameron runs out, covered in soot, and nearly tackles me to the floor as we embrace.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.” I smile as waves of relief and joy flood through me.
He pulls me in tighter, squeezing my ribs. And we hug, and hug, and hug.
31
Tale of The White Lady: Cameron
Hugo and I clear away chunks of rubble and help everybody to their feet. Mr. Peterson groans, rubbing his head where the brick struck him, but he’s okay. Besides a few scrapes and bruises and being shaken up, everyone is in good spirits, relieved the ordeal is over.
Dad comes over and wraps me in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you, Cameron.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Then Dad hugs Hugo. “Thank you for saving my son.”
“Of course,” Hugo says.
As everybody shakes the dust from their bodies and assesses their injuries, the gravity of what just happened unfolds in my mind. Being trapped in the furnace, the heat of the fire around me, choking on the smoke…I won’t soon forget those things. But throughout it all, I had faith that my friends would see me through it, that Hugo would see me through it. And he did. I love him so much.
“Let’s take some time to get cleaned up and recover from what just happened,” Margaret says. “But before anybody leaves or contacts anyone from the outside, we need to talk. Let’s reconvene in the living room.”
Once we’ve tended to our wounds, we sit on the couches. Everyone still has wide eyes, shell-shocked from the day’s events.
“Surprisingly, the condition of the house isn’t that bad,” Hugo says. “After the way it was shaking, I was sure it was ready to collapse. But there’s only some cracked plaster, a few broken windows, and the ruined basement stairway.”
“Spirits can alter your perceptions,” Margaret says, “exaggerate what you see. Speaking of which, let’s address the matter at hand. How do we want to talk about what happened?”
“We can’t hide it,” Abby says. “We discovered a crime scene down there.”
“This is true,” Margaret says. “There is no doubt we will have to get the authorities involved. The discovery of the missing children’s remains will provide closure to the families of the victims.”
Mr. Peterson nods with a deep frown, his expression grave.
“But I can tell you from experience that the world will not believe everything that happened here,” Margaret says.
“What did happen here?” I cut in. “Can you explain it?”
“I think I can explain most of it,” Margaret says. “Chloe and I expelled the spirit of Eunice Thornburn—with all your help, of course.” She gives a gracious nod to everyone in the room. “And during the ordeal, we learned quite a bit. Releasing a spirit is an intimate process. You have to empathize with them. You literally see things from their perspective. In a way, it’s like seeing your life flash before your eyes, but in this case, it was Eunice’s life.”
“You know what happened to her?” I ask.
“In a vague, dreamlike sense, yes. Combined with all the facts we’ve discovered, I think we can paint a decent picture. Because of complications at birth, Eunice had special needs. But she grew up in a world that was unkind to children who were different. So, her father hid her and told the world he had only one daughter. The nanny disliked Eunice. She’d make cookies for Emily and give none to Eunice. This more than anything became a symbol of Eunice’s anger.”
“I wondered why cookies were significant,” Abby says. “That’s one mystery solved.”
Aunt Margret nods. “That brings us to Luke Brannagh, the nanny’s lover. Luke felt sorry for Eunice and was the only person to treat her with kindness. Because of this, Eunice cared for him deeply. But then Mr. Thornburn—who had developed feelings for the nanny himself—discovered Agnes and Luke together. He flew into a rage, threatening to kill Luke with a gun. Eunice exploded with anger and wrestled the gun away from her father. In the struggle, Mr. Thornburn was shot.”
“It wasn’t suicide after all,” Hugo says, frowning.
“That’s right,” Margret says. “From the letter you discovered, we know Luke was wracked by guilt about Mr. Thornburn’s death and never returned. The nanny blamed Eunice for driving Luke away, so she locked Eunice in the basement. She treated her like a monster, and in doing so, she created a monster. She held Eunice captive for the next forty-nine years.”
Abby’s eyes light up. “That matches what we figured out based on the hash marks on the walls. And we found a jar of Emily’s remains dated 1939. Did Eunice escape after Emily died?”
“Correct,” Margaret says. “Emily was the one thing keeping Eunice stable and when she was gone, it didn’t take long for Eunice to turn the tables on Agnes and lock her up.”
Mr. Peterson cuts in. “The last known sighting of Agnes Finch was the winter of 1939. It wasn’t long after that children started going missing.”
“Locking up the nanny wasn’t enough,” Margaret says. “Eunice felt her childhood had been taken from her and took revenge by taking the town’s children. It made sense to her warped mind. She lured them in with the same cookies the nanny had made for Emily.” Margaret shivers. “It was hard to see those images. Something I’d rather not have seen.”
Mr. Peterson sighs and rubs his eyes.
Margaret puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
He puts his hand on Margaret’s. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Uncle Fredrick died before I was born, but his disappearance impacted my family long after that. It tore my father apart, and it’s been my life’s goal to find out what happened to him. Now we know.”
“I hope it will help to ease your family’s pain,” Margaret says.
Mr. Peterson nods.
“What about the nanny’s spirit?” Abby asks. “Or the children’s, for that matter? Did you free them too?”
“I didn’t detect any other spirits,” Margaret explains.
“Why do some stay and some go?”
“There aren’t any hard-and-fast rules about what traps a spirit,” Margaret says. “At least none that I understand. Often spirits have unfinished business. I suspect Eunice wanted revenge and Emily stayed to watch over Eunice.”
“But why didn’t you detect Eunice’s spirit after Emily was gone?” Abby asks.
“That’s an excellent question,” Margaret says. “What we detected was a violent separation. Eunice’s spirit was intertwined with Emily’s. My best guess is that the force of Emily’s spirit leaving weakened Eunice. But like a stretched spring being released, first it contracts before it springs back with immense force.”
Margaret stares into the distance for a moment, and everyone’s quiet. Then she turns and addresses the entire group, “Now, how do we explain to people what happened here? What’s our story?”
“A localized tremor,” Mr. Peterson says. “I’m sure that’s a thing. Caused by groundwater overuse. I think I’ve read about things like that in the news.”
“Not half bad,” Margaret says with a smile and a nod.
“The tremor collapsed the wall in the basement,” Hugo adds, “which led us to the iron door and all the jars.”
“But what about Agnes Finch?” Abby says. “Her remains are gone now.”
“I’m afraid hers is a story that will be lost to history,” Margaret says. “Only her family will know.” She looks at Hugo.
Hugo nods with tight lips. “I’m not proud of what she did to Eunice. But at least we’ve uncovered the truth.”
A buzz comes from my pocket, but I soon discover it’s not my phone. It’s Hugo’s, which I picked up earlier. The caller ID says Jefferson Hospital.
“Hugo.” I hand the phone over to him. “A call from the hospital!”
“My pop!” Hugo grabs the phone, answers it, and listens. He nods and says a few quiet words as a smile spreads across his face.
“Pa’s out of surgery, and he woke up. He’s okay!”
***
Hugo and I drive his dad’s SUV to the hospital while the rest of the group stays at the house. We run the entire way from the parking lot to the recovery room. Hugo’s dad is sitting up, looking alert, his arm in a cast. Hugo runs up to the bed and gives him a gentle hug.
“Pa, you’re awake!”
“’Course I am, mijo. I’d never leave you.”
“I love you, Pa.”
“I love you too,” he says. “Oh, and look who else came to see me! The boyfriend! Hey, Cameron.”
I smile. “Glad to see you looking so good after that nasty fall, Mr. Cruz.”
“Ah, this is nothing.” Mr. Cruz waves it off. “I’ve been through worse. I’ll be back at it in no time.”
Mr. Cruz looks from me to Hugo, and his face transforms into a frown. “Uh, Hugo…there’s something I need to tell you.” He hesitates. “It’s unusual.”
“Spill it, Pa. It’s okay.”
Mr. Cruz lowers his voice, but I’m blessed with good hearing, and I can still make it out.
“Our house is…” Mr. Cruz glances back and forth, seemingly worried that someone else might overhear him. “I think our house is haunted.” He cringes, waiting for our response.
Hugo and I both let out a big laugh.
“Ya think?” Hugo says, trying to catch his breath.
“I’m serious.” Mr. Cruz looks hurt. “You might think I hit my head too hard, but some crazy old ghost lady pushed me off that ladder.”
“I know, Pa. We both know. I was about to tell you about her right before she did it.”
“Oh god, you knew?” Mr. Cruz’s eyes widen.
Hugo nods. “Yeah, we knew.”
“I saw her once before, but I tried to ignore it. Thought I’d imagined it. Thought it was stress.” Mr. Cruz shakes his head and frowns. “That house was our last resort, but it’s too dangerous. We have no choice but to leave. I can’t risk either of us getting hurt any worse. We’ll have to move in with my cousin in Oakland until we can figure all of this out.”
“Pa, we’ve got something to tell you.”
Hugo tells his dad about everything that has happened in the house, including what Chloe and Margaret did today. Mr. Cruz listens intently, his expression softening from shock and concern to relief.
“I’m so sorry for putting you through that,” Mr. Cruz says, eyes glossy. “If I had known what you were going through, I would have done something right away. Or at least made sure you didn’t suffer alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” Hugo says, grabbing my hand, making my heart flutter. “And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I was afraid you’d make us move, and I didn’t want to lose the friends I’ve made here. But I know I should have told you.”
“Come here,” Mr. Cruz says, ushering Hugo in for a hug.
They embrace, both of them crying. A tear rolls down my cheek as I watch.
“New policy,” Mr. Cruz says. “No more secrets in our household.”
Hugo nods, wiping his nose.
“Speaking of which, you heard about the will, huh?”
“Yeah,” Hugo says.
“When your ma inherited that house, she didn’t want to move in. I respected her wishes for as long as I could, but the bills stacked up after our last house, and I didn’t have a choice.”
“How come you didn’t tell me?” Hugo asks.
“I felt guilty going against Ma’s wishes, and I didn’t want to dredge up old memories.” Mr. Cruz sighs. “But now I know it was a mistake not to tell you. Like I said, from now on, no secrets.”
“Agreed, Pa. No more secrets.”
Soon the doctors return. Mr. Cruz needs rest, so we say our goodbyes and return to the house. Flashing blue-and-red lights greet us when we arrive. Crime scene tape cordons off the house, and several police officers are standing around, snapping pictures and asking questions to the rest of our group. Mom and Jack have joined Dad, who’s talking with Mr. Peterson.
I whisper to Hugo, “I didn’t know my dad and Mr. Peterson knew each other.”
“Yeah, I overheard them talking about exploring the house when they were young.”
That’s a serious shock. Neither Dad nor Mr. Peterson has ever said anything to me about knowing each other. Did they have a falling-out?
But before that sinks in, Mom runs up and hugs me. “Cameron! I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Dad and Jack come in for hugs too. Dad whispers in my ear, “I love you, son. And I’m sorry I haven’t been supportive. That ends today.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Maybe he means it. Time will tell.
Dad gestures for Hugo to join us. “C’mon, Hugo.”
Hugo joins our group hug, smiling.
We end the hug, and Dad takes Hugo by the shoulders. “What you did in that house was brave. It shows me how much Cameron means to you. And I’m sorry if I didn’t make you feel welcome in our family. I was wrong. You’re a great boyfriend to Cameron.”
“Thanks, Mr. Walsh. That means a lot.”
Dad pats Hugo firmly on the back. I had no idea my dad could admit he was wrong and apologize. I didn’t think he had it in him.
“Guess even old dads can learn new tricks.” Jack laughs. I love how he has this gift of saying out loud what I’m thinking. We bump fists when Dad isn’t looking.
Mr. Peterson fields most of the cops’ questions. He’s friends with the mayor and knows the police chief, so things go smoothly, but they’ve got a lot to investigate.
After an hour of answering questions, we’re allowed to leave. The sun is setting, and I turn to Hugo. “Hey, you wanna get outta here?”
Hugo beams. “I know just the place.”
We run through the forest and don’t stop until we reach the school. Hugo wins the race to the ladder, and I scamper up behind him. We reach the top, and I tackle him, both of us rolling on the roof, hugging and kissing.
Hugo peers deep into my eyes. “Did you mean what you said?”
“That I love you?”
“Yeah.”
“I did. I love you, Hugo Cruz.”
“I love you, Cameron Walsh.”
We kiss some more and watch the sunset. The sky darkens, and we marvel at the spiraling arms of the Milky Way above us. The stars are amazing.
Everything is amazing.
Epilogue: Hugo
Twelve months later, many things have changed in my life. The cops closed ten missing children cases and finally solved a bunch of local mysteries. Eunice Thornburn and 16 Sycamore Lane got a lot of press. People love it when unsolved mysteries turn into solved mysteries, especially when those mysteries involve serial killers. All of us got a little famous—for about two weeks, anyway—and then the world moved on.
Mr. Peterson updated the history of the house with everything we’d learned. We never got to the bottom of what he and Cameron’s dad saw in Crimson House back when they were sixteen. They’re keeping their mouths shut, and I can relate to not wanting to relive bad memories.
Since Mr. Peterson is on the board of the local historical society, he convinced them to make the house a historical landmark. Even better, the board earmarked a million dollars to restore the house and turn it into a museum. Pa and I were thrilled and signed on to do most of the work, which meant we could afford to live in a house that didn’t need renovating while we fixed up 16 Sycamore Lane.
The downside, of course, is that I don’t live across the street from my boyfriend anymore. That’s right—Cameron and I are still going strong. Last week we celebrated our one-year anniversary on the old school’s roof with a tiny bottle of champagne.
On October 7th, exactly one year after we kicked the spirit of Eunice Thornburn out of 16 Sycamore Lane, the Thornburn Historical Museum opened to guests. Cameron and I both got jobs as tour guides, having fun leading people through the house and telling ghost stories. Of course, we can’t tell the real stories. Those are only for our little group.
Cameron and I are taking a break after a long day of tours, hanging out in the kitchen, which is now a museum display with an old-fashioned stove and icebox that are fully restored but haven’t worked in years. A little girl I recognize from our last tour walks up to us. She’s no more than seven years old, with a cute dress and little curls.
