“There’s more,” he said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. He leaned close. His arm that was draped across the back of the swing touched Vree. Dizziness and the sound of bees buzzing everywhere overwhelmed her. The world around her changed and—
She ran. She ran from the house where she had discovered her husband and his hunting dogs frozen inside the living room. She tried to block the image of how surprised his dead face looked, as though he had realized seconds before his death that he was dying.
She ran across the front lawn, toward Myers Road, stumbling where it connected to the blacktopped driveway, and falling when she entered the old country highway scarred with long grooves made by the metal wheels of Amish buggies. Blood from her nose dripped into one of the tracks and reflected the backlit clouds in a sky that had once been sunny and promising a pleasant night.
The witch’s curse was upon her.
She stood and ran for her life.
Rolling gray clouds blocked the sunlight when she entered the angry field of brambles and thorny weeds that slapped and poked and grabbed at her, scratched her face and forearms, tore away long, black strands of her hair, and slashed her brand new Rayon dress—the blue gray one with lace collar and ivory buttons. The tangled growth grabbed and stole her chunky non-strap pumps, causing her to fall. She hurried upright, glanced back only once at the house, and left behind her shoes as she continued to flee from the witch who lived next door.
She found the path that led to and past the rocky cliffs above Myers Creek. Once she made it beyond Lovers Leap and Widow’s Ravine, the hill would become less steep and lead her to Russell Road and the sheriff’s house. She prayed he would be home. There, she would call her daughter, Adrienne, at New Cambridge’s college campus to come get her and take her away from Ridgewood and Myers Ridge for good.
She was glad Reginald had taught Adrienne how to drive an automobile.
As she approached Lover’s Leap, she saw that it was still fenced in with bars of iron piping; there was little chance of falling. But someone had removed the pipes at the section overlooking Widow’s Ravine. The path came so dangerously close to the edge there. One little slip and she could tumble over the side and fall to the rocky creek below.
That’s when she felt the witch’s presence behind her, and felt the sudden push from right to left, as though a giant invisible hand had brushed her aside like an insect, veering her off course and sweeping her over the edge of Widow’s Ravine.
* * *
THE SCREAM IN Vree’s head diminished. The sickness in her stomach did not.
“I need to lie down,” she said, bolting from the swing and charging into the house.
The soles of her tennis shoes pounded against the steps as she hurried up the two flights of stairs to her room.
She would have screamed when she entered had she not been out of breath.
“Daddy?” she managed to say as she stared at her father standing inside her room.
Hot tears filled and rolled from her eyes.
“Is that really you I’m seeing?”
She staggered to the edge of her bed and sat. Charles Erickson’s spirit came and stood at her bedside, looking down at her. His head nearly grazed the slanted ceiling. Vree hadn’t inherited that part of his Nordic features, but she had developed a love for the arts from him.
He looked at the easel, as though he had heard her thoughts. “You haven’t painted anything new since your coma,” he said.
“I haven’t had time.” She swiped at the tears with the backs of her hands and asked, “Why are you here?”
“Do you remember when I told you I can only visit you once in spirit before I have to leave?”
“No.”
“Well, I have to cross to a higher existence now, baby doll. But before I do, I need to remind you how gifted you are. You’re psychic. You can see and hear things no one else can. That’s never going to change.”
“You’re talking about those Roualens I saw outside.”
“And so much more. You’ll see and hear spirits, like me, or sense them in other ways. You’ll have intuitions and dreams about future events that come to pass, and know what other people are going to say before they say it. Objects around you will sometimes move for no apparent reason, or electrical equipment may malfunction.”
“I don’t wanna be psychic. I wanna be normal. I want things the way they used to before lightning changed everything.”
“We all do. But nothing I know of can change that. Just promise to learn as much as you can about being psychic. There are many books on the subject. And there are many people like you, baby doll … you’re not alone. When you’re feeling down, find the light and be strong when things look darkest. And remember me when you paint your beautiful pictures.”
“Wait,” Vree cried out as Charles’s spirit dulled and vanished.
She closed her eyes and saw him in her mind, waving goodbye and growing smaller.
“Come back,” she said, wishing she could have hugged him one last time.
He spoke to her, but his words were unheard over the hum of bitter emotions coursing through her.
She lost sight of him and wept. Her large tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped to the hands clenched in her lap. She fell back onto her bed, her small self not wanting to face the world beyond her bedroom. She would stay here forever.
* * *
CHARLES ERICKSON’S SPIRIT stood atop the highest peak of the Lybrook house. This would be the last time he would see his wife and children within their lifespans.
The white light beyond this dimension called to him.
He listened to the call. But before he started toward it, he thought of Vree and the abilities the lightning had unlocked in her. She would need guidance to harness those abilities, but he knew of no one with her powers. She would have to find that guidance herself.
He regretted that he could not stay and help her. She had always clung to him and made it easy for him to guide her along. They had grown close; her life would be difficult without him. But it would be gentler during her times of need if she stopped living her hours alone.
“Go to your mother, your sister and brother,” he said, directing his words to Vree. He felt her watching him. “Find their love and let it grow inside you.”
He lifted his arms and began following the song of the white light.
He was above the property next door when his feet became weighted. Heat blanketed his front side and electricity hummed around him before he realized he was falling. He felt an explosion at his feet when he landed in a square cavern. Dusty skylight from a missing ceiling revealed sooty crisscrossed boards in front of blackened brick walls that contained a few familiar bottles of someone’s vintage rosé. The cavern was the burned remains of a wine cellar.
He tried to move but an invisible force pressed against him and pinned his back to a wall of wine racks. Crimson light glowed throughout the air, sometimes slithering like snakes in front of him, other times pulsating like hearts pumping alien life into the atmosphere.
“Who are you?” a female voice hissed at him from the charged air. The sound of buzzing bees overwhelmed him for a moment before the noise descended to a soft hum.
“Who are you?” Charles countered. “Why is there a magic spell cast over this house?”
The crimson light vanished. “You are with the girl, the one the mortals call Verawenda,” the voice said around him. It crackled as though coming through a radio with poor reception. “You are important to her … yes, you two are connected. She seeks you now. She is lost without you.”
Charles said nothing. He was at an impasse with the unknown life force. As he prepared his next round of questioning, the voice interrupted.
“You are a spirit of great importance to her, which means you are of greater importance to me.”
“I do not belong here. I cannot stay. The light calls for me to return to it. It pulls at me, growing stronger.”
“Then allow me
to alleviate your discomfort, spirit.”
The crimson light returned. It flowed around Charles, turned black, and cocooned him.
Chapter Seven
DAVE CALLED UP the stairs of the Lybrook home and told Vree to get ready to eat. She covered her ears and muffled the annoyance. She had lost her father twice. And both times, he had never embraced her before leaving her.
She pushed from the bed, rose to all her height, and shouted at the ceiling.
“YOU NEVER SAID YOU LOVE ME.”
Without warning, her stomach buckled. She needed to vomit.
She charged the stairs and into her brother who had climbed the stairs and stood at the top step.
She halted but Dave lost his balance and tumbled down the steps.
His descent seemed to go on forever.
When the terrible noise stopped, she heard him cry out in pain as he lay at the bottom landing and clutched his left arm.
She hadn’t meant to push him.
I didn’t push him. Not with my hands.
She knew she was in trouble. She hiccupped and turned, then doubled over and vomited on the floor.
Bile rose in her throat a second time but she held the sour liquid down.
She saw her hair mingling in the vomit, its ends painting wet streaks across the wood whenever she moved her head.
Someone touched her back—her mother—and asked if she was okay.
She nodded and hid her face. She wished to be whisked through time and space to when her childhood had been happiest, to when her father gave her piggyback rides, tucked her in bed at night and read Harry Potter and Lyra Belacqua books to her, and told her how much he loved her.
“We’re taking David to the hospital for x-rays,” her mother said. “Clean up your mess and take a shower. Make sure you wash your hair. Okay?”
Vree nodded again.
“I don’t know what happened to cause this,” Karrie said, “but you can’t let your anger control your actions.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“You can tell me about it when we get back … after you shower, and after we eat and have time to relax from our long day.” Karrie started down the stairs. She stopped and turned around. “I want you to be happy.”
Vree looked at her mother’s concerned face. “It isn’t happiness I want,” she said. “I wanna stop feeling afraid and alone. Sometimes I need a hug and you’re always so busy trying to make a better life for us.”
“You’re right. But trust me; things will get better.”
Vree listened to her mother descend the stairs. Somewhere downstairs, a door closed. Outside, three doors of a vehicle closed. The vehicle drove away and the house, inside and out, grew silent. Vree bawled until her sobs became dry heaves.
She sensed someone in the room, smelled Grandma Evelyn’s perfume before the woman sat on the bed, put an arm around her shoulder, and quieted her sobs.
“If you need to talk,” Evelyn said, “you can come to me anytime, day or night.”
Vree leaned into her grandmother’s embrace.
“You asked earlier if I’d had any visions,” she said between sniffles. “Why is that?”
“Because that’s what happened to me when lightning struck me. I was nine years old, down on the backside of Alice Lake, fishing with my dad. I never knew what happened until after I awoke in his arms. He was crying, and he nearly broke me in half when he hugged me.” Evelyn tightened her embrace around Vree’s shoulders. “I still remember my confusion and the pain. The lightning had burned my back where it hit. I was numb and couldn’t walk, so my dad carried me to his truck and drove me home. For several weeks, I had strange dreams and I thought I saw ghosts. I even saw blue creatures with orange faces.”
“Roualens. Lenny told me about them. I even saw some.”
“They’re not real. They’re visions caused by your brain healing from the lightning. You’ll stop seeing them after a while, just like I stopped seeing them.”
Vree sat up “But don’t you find it odd that we’ve both seen them?” she asked.
“It’s all part of the healing process.” Evelyn took Vree’s hands in hers. “We’re the lucky ones who survived. I count my blessings every day. And so should you.” She released Vree’s hands and stood. “I need to finish supper and you need to shower. We’ll eat as soon as everyone gets back.”
“They all went to the ER? Lenny, too?”
“No. He and Amy are in the kitchen. And I need to get back down there and make sure they haven’t burned anything.”
Evelyn left. Her shoes were soft against the stairs.
Vree sat alone and wondered if her grandmother was right that she too would stop seeing Roualens.
“The sooner, the better,” she said.
Still, it struck her odd that they both saw the same fictional creatures. Why couldn’t she have seen unicorns, or friendly leprechauns eager to give her their pots of gold, or a good fairy who could heal her fear and loneliness with a magic wand? A wand that could bring her father back. A wand that could change the past. A wand that, alas, didn’t exist.
No. Magic wands were the dreams of little girls. She was fifteen and old enough to realize only she could change her life. Grandma and Dr. Jarvis were right. She needed to stay positive—count her blessings—and heal. She needed to stop feeling lonely and frightened and as empty as she had on the day she awoke from her coma and was told her father was dead. That was the past. The future was hers. And although there would be days when her life would feel cold and cruel, and she would feel numb and listless inside, her goal would always be one of conquer.
She jumped from bed, went to her window that faced front, and basked in the sunlight there.
Outside, something moved in the dark shadows of bushes and trees across the road.
Whatever was there foraged in the flora and remained hidden.
She told herself she didn’t care if it was a squirrel, a deer, or a Roualen. But that wasn’t true. She still wondered why someone struck by lightning would see Roualens if they weren’t real.
You’re psychic, her father had told her. You can see and hear things no one else can.
She was certain the Roualens she had seen in the blueberry patch had been real, even though she wanted them to be fictional like Lenny and her grandmother had said.
“You can do this,” she told herself. But despite her mantra to be strong, her protector from all her frights was gone. She was on her own without him, never to have him hold her again and tell her everything would be okay.
Now, at the nearest window of her new bedroom, she stood alone and watched the scene across the road come to life with light, color, and shadows of roadside flora, and the fauna of bumblebees and white butterflies until a cloud blocked the sunlight. The foraging in the flora stopped. She watched the stillness until she saw inside the green shadows two red dots of light, similar to the Roualens’ beady red eyes. They were motionless.
She squinted to get a clearer look when the foliage moved enough to startle her. She stepped away from the window, but not before she saw the orange and blue skin of a Roualen. The creature stepped from behind a tree and looked at her with red dotted eyes before it crouched and dragged the source of the other red dots into the shadows.
A scream—not her own—filled her head.
LEAVE US ALONE.
She winced from the scream and clutched the sides of her head. The pain lasted a moment. She stepped closer to the window for another glimpse at the creature. Yellow light shot at her from the shadows, filled her eyes with pain, and sent her falling backward to the floor, placing her hard on her backside.
* * *
AT 4:25 P.M., Vree bolted from the house. She wasn’t sure if either Grandma, Amy or Lenny had heard her leave through the front door, but she was never going back to where she heard strange creatures’ voices in her head.
She knew the way back to Upper St. Clair was a hundred miles ahead of her. But if she could get to a truck stop n
ear the interstate before nightfall, she was sure a sympathetic trucker would drive her there. She had fifty dollars saved from the birthday she never celebrated properly. Surely, that would get her as far as downtown Pittsburgh. Then she could call—
Who?
There was Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, her old neighbors. But they would surely call her mom right away. She didn’t intend returning to Myers Ridge. Ever.
Where can I go?
Her nearest relatives—her dad’s family—lived in West Virginia. But she had never been close to any of them. She had no favorite uncle, aunt, or cousin. And she’d never had a best friend, unless she considered the shy girl she had sometimes talked to at school a friend, or Mr. and Mrs. Jensen’s granddaughter Cammie who visited from Vermont every summer.
No. Her best friends had always been herself and her father, in that order. She needed to trust that her instincts and wits would get her through this, and staying safe was top priority. The only safe place she knew of besides home was at church. But Pastor Richards would be quick to contact her mom. That left the college campuses in downtown Pittsburgh. She was certain she could find a safe place to stay with college girls, and then convince her mom to move away from weird and creepy Ridgewood.
Feeling hopeful that her plan would work, she headed south along Ridge Road beneath a hot four o’clock sun that made her wish she had changed into the white shirt and shorts she had put in her dresser. Sweat soaked the armpits, back, and stomach of her Pirates T-shirt. And her hair was still sticky from her vomit. But she refused to turn around. So, on she walked, and was well into the countryside of cornfields on both sides of the road when her stomach complained of being hungry. The cornstalks were barely above knee level, so she scanned across the cornfields for fruit trees. Miles of woods lay beyond the fields and probably housed more Roualens. As long as she didn’t look at them. Out of sight, out of mind.
But the thought that there were Roualens in Upper St. Clair nagged at her. She had never seen the creatures until moving here, but she sensed that they were as populace as white-tailed deer. As long as they stayed outdoors and she stayed indoors, she could live with that.
Alone.
She blinked at the tears that welled in her eyes and continued her trek across the double lane ribbon of tar and asphalt. The air smelled ripe with approaching rain. A storm bruised the sky ahead of her and crawled slowly toward her.