The Haunted
ALSO BY JESSICA VERDAY
The Hollow
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition August 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Jessica Miller
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Designed by Paul Weil
T he text of this book was set in Caslon.
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Catalog Number 2010922986
ISBN 978-1-4169-7895-4
ISBN 978-1-4169-8542-6 (eBook)
For Lee—You man the lifeboat and row me to shore
when my arms get tired. Thanks.
PREFACE
I was so lost when Kristen left. When she died. Then Caspian found me. I got to know him. Fell in love with him. He helped me deal with the fact that my best friend was never coming back. And when I found out that she’d been keeping so much hidden from me, he helped me try to understand.
But he had a secret too. A secret he should have told me from the beginning. Now I don’t even know if he’s real, or if I dreamt him up to help me process the pain. I can’t stay away from Sleepy Hollow forever.
Will he be waiting for me?
Chapter One
NOT READY
Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages…
—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving”
I’m not ready to go back. “Can I just stay here forever?” I leaned my head against the seat of Aunt Marjorie’s car. “I don’t eat very much, and really, who needs to graduate from high school?”
Aunt Marjorie laughed. “You need to graduate, for one thing. And don’t you miss home? Your parents? Friends?”
I looked out the window. I did miss Sleepy Hollow. But not much else. I missed my best friend, but Kristen wasn’t there anymore. Only her grave was. “I think farm living is the life for me. Mom and Dad can come visit, and I’ll just stay here. There’s a lot I still need to learn about flying your plane.”
Her brown eyes sparkled. “We should take her out again tomorrow. We’ve only got a couple of weeks left until you do have to go home.”
“Aunt Marjorie, that’s what I’m trying not to think about,” I groaned. “Help me out here.”
“Okay, okay,” she said. “You don’t think about how not ready you are to go back home, and I won’t mention how many chances we have left to take the plane up together. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“So, how was the visit with Dr. Pendleton this morning?”
“It was good. Really good.” A big red barn came into view. We were almost back to Aunt Marjorie’s house. She turned onto a rutted road, and we bumped our way down the grassy lane. “He thinks I’ve made a lot of progress, and I agree.”
“Will you be seeing any doctors when you return home?”
“I don’t think so. I feel like I’ve finally gotten a handle on… things.” Well, as much of a handle as you can have on thinking you were in love with a dead boy, and that you’d had afternoon tea with Katrina Van Tassel and the Headless Horseman from “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” “I feel like I can deal with it all and put it in its place.”
We pulled up to the old farmhouse with its faded black shutters, and Aunt Marjorie parked the car under a metal carport right next to the front door. “And what place would that be?”
I unbuckled my seat belt and shrugged at her question before getting out. Aunt Marjorie still didn’t know the whole story—just the parts about how I needed time away from Sleepy Hollow and professional help because I couldn’t deal with Kristen’s death. Which was technically, sort of, true. Everything that had happened to me all started on the day of Kristen’s funeral.
“Just… in their place,” I said. “Head grasping facts, heart dealing with emotions. Death is a natural part of life, and I don’t have to feel guilty about living because Kristen isn’t here to share it anymore.” I was spouting psychobabble I’d lifted almost word for word from Dr. Pendleton, but it sounded good.
And sometimes I could almost convince myself that it was true.
Aunt Marjorie nodded and held the screen door open for me as I followed her into the house. “He sounds like a smart fella. I think I’d like him.”
“I think you would too, Aunt Marj. Call me down for dinner?” She agreed, and I headed up to my room. It was formerly part of the attic, a section that had been converted and walled off into a tiny reading nook. I’d begged Aunt Marjorie to let me have it the instant I’d seen it. She’d wanted to give me a larger, “more comfortable” guest room downstairs, but I told her this room was perfect. It had a window seat, like my room at home, and a round, leaded-glass window with a view that stretched across the entire farm.
It was absolute heaven to curl up and read there while warm sun slanted in on my shoulders, making me feel like a fat, lazy cat. Cats don’t have any worries.
I threw my messenger bag down onto the neatly made bed and crossed over to the lone bookcase that stood directly across from the window, propped up next to a dormer arch. Perusing the wooden shelves like I’d done at least a dozen times over the last three months, I pulled down Jane Eyre.
Turning to the ribbon that marked my place, I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the seat, tucking my feet up underneath me. Where could I find myself a Mr. Rochester? Preferably one who didn’t have a crazy wife hidden away in his attic… But a sexy and mysterious hero to call my own? Sign me up.
You found a sexy and mysterious hero to call your own, my subconscious whispered. But I ruthlessly pushed that thought away. One who isn’t dead and a figment of my hallucinations, please. Finding my last stopping point, I began to read… and was promptly jerked away from the page by the sound of my cell phone ringing.
I glanced over at it lying on the small nightstand next to the bed. Something told me not to pick it up. Not to go over and see who it was. But I did.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Abbey, it’s Dad. How are you, sweetie?”
Waves of homesickness washed over me at the sound of his voice. I really did miss my bed. And my room. And the rest of my perfume supplies. “I’m good, Dad. I’m doing good.” Yeah, and okay, maybe I missed Mom and Dad a little bit too. “What’s up?”
“Well…” He hesitated. “Your mother and I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I could hear Mom in the background telling him to hand her the receiver.
“What is it, Dad?” My stomach did nervous flip-flops. “Just tell me.” I hated drawn-out phone calls. Especially these types of phone calls.
“They finished the work on the Washington Irving Bridge,” he said. “It’s all done.”
I had a quick flashback to a memory of sitting with Kristen under that bridge before the construction work had ever started. Before she’d fallen into the Crane River. “That’s great, Dad.” But why is it significant enough to call and tell me about?
Mom picked up the other line. “Abbey, what your father is trying to say is that the town council will be holding a ceremony there soon, to celebrate the finished project. I told them that I’d make arrangements for you to be a part of it. To say something about Kristen and to dedicate the bridge to her memory.”
A loud ringing filled my ears, and for a second I thought it was coming from the phone. Holding the receiver away from my ear, I shook my head to stop the noise.
Dad spoke up now. “Your mother and I think that this would be really good for you, sweetie. To help you get over your… issues.”
The buzzing was growing fainter, but my stomach was still flip-flopping. “I can’t,” I blurted out. Thinking as quickly as I could, I added, “I’m not supposed to come home until the end of June.”
“We know it’s earlier than expected, but you’ve made remarkable progress,” said Mom. “The weekly reports from your therapist have shown such improvement.” Her tone was enthusiastic, but I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me, or herself. Mom never called Dr. Pendleton my psychologist. He was always my “therapist.”
She was obviously where I got my avoidance issues from.
“Dad, I… I… can’t. Tell Mom that I can’t do this. I’m not ready. I need more time.”
“I know, I know.” He sighed heavily. “It’s just that the town council wants you to be a part of this, and it would really please your mother.…”
“I’ve been working on it for weeks. We’ve already cleared it with your doctor,” Mom said. “The dedication ceremony will be on the twelfth.”
What? “You talked to Dr. Pendleton about this before you talked to me?”
“Well, we didn’t want to impede your progress. We wanted to make sure that something like this wouldn’t be harmful.”
“Don’t you think that I have a right to be talked to first? Since I’m the one being asked to do it?”
“Don’t you think that it’s appropriate for you to be there for Kristen? She was your best friend.”
Guilt-trip city. Mom was pulling out the big guns now. But two could play at that game.
“But isn’t my therapy more important, Mother?” I asked sweetly. “Are you telling me to come home and not finish all of my arranged sessions with Dr. Pendleton?”
If eyebrows made noises, I swear hers were making one right now as they shot up.
“I don’t think coming home a couple of weeks early is too much to ask,” Mom huffed. “Your doctor—”
“Dad?” I interrupted her. “Dad, please? Please don’t make me do this. Don’t make me go back to the spot where my best friend died. I need more time to make sure I’m all better.”
“I know this is difficult for you, but your mother…” Dad sighed again. “Just think about it, okay, sweetie? That’s all we’re asking for right now.”
Mom started to say something, but he stopped her. “Just take tonight to think it over, and we’ll discuss it again in the morning.”
I sniffled. I tried to hold it back, but the tears were breaking through anyway. Kristen… the river… The wound was still so fresh. The ache in my heart still so unbearable.
“Okay, Dad. I’ll thi—” My voice broke. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good, Abbey. Really good. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he murmured.
I forced out a quick good-bye and hung up the phone. Just before the backlight grew dark, I caught the date on the tiny screen below me. June ninth. The same day that Kristen went missing last year. The same day that my life changed forever. And here it was, changing again when I didn’t want it to.
June ninths were really starting to suck.
˜ ˜ ˜
I picked up the phone again and called Dr. Pendleton’s office before I lost my nerve. His secretary answered and put me through. A half second later his voice-mail greeting started to play.
I waited for the beep and then spoke in a rush. “Hi, Dr. Pendleton, this is Abbey… um, Abigail Browning. I was calling to speak to you about my parents. They want me to go home early, and they said you told them that I could. Why wasn’t this brought up in our session today? Please call me back.…” I left my name again and my phone number, then hung up.
How could they do this to me? Was I ready? What if I couldn’t go back? What if I couldn’t be a part of that ceremony? What if I wasn’t better?
Would they still be there?
Would he?
I dropped the phone on the bed and moved to the door. I needed to talk to Aunt Marjorie about this. She would know what to do.
I found her on the porch swing outside, moving slowly back and forth. She stopped for a moment at my unspoken request and I sat down. It didn’t take very long for her to start swinging again, and the chains supporting us squeaked as we moved in silence. In the fields large sunflower stalks with furled green leaves and heavy sagging heads dipped and swayed in the breeze as it danced around them. The sun gilded everything it touched, and a haze of gold settled down like a finely spun cloak draped across the land.
A sudden buzzing noise caught my attention, and the massive dome light over the big red barn started kicking on. It wasn’t dark yet. Not even dusk, but it would be. Soon. The light steadied and burned bright, and the buzzing slowed.
Everything felt safe here. Normal. I didn’t want to admit to myself that something was missing. There was a small hole inside of me. But unlike the black void that had been left behind when Kristen died, this empty space felt like it could be filled again.
“I got a call from Mom and Dad,” I told Aunt Marjorie, looking down at my bare feet.
“Weekly update?”
“No.”
I traced a crack in the porch floor with my eyes, following it as it disappeared under my heel. “They want me to go home early.”
She didn’t say anything, and I knew she was waiting for me to carry the conversation.
“They want to have this dedication ceremony at the bridge, where Kristen… died. And they sprung it on me at the last minute.” I shifted my body so that I could see her face. “Do you think I’m ready?”
She faced me too, and I could see years of wisdom in her eyes. “Do you think you’re ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“What would be some of the benefits?”
I thought about it for a minute. “Well, I’d be home, for one thing. Back in my own room. Able to work with all of my perfume supplies again.”
She nodded. “And?”
“I’d get to see Mom and Dad and Mr. and Mrs. M.”
“And you might get some closure,” she said. “You’d be surrounded by the love and support of family and friends as you honored Kristen’s memory.”
Now it was my turn to nod.
“Good. Now what would be some of the drawbacks?”
I had a whole list of answers for that one. “I could break down again. Have nightmares. Lose sleep.” She put her hand on mine and squeezed gently. I kept going. “I could go completely insane. Freak out my parents. Have everyone in town start talking about me. Lose it in front of the Maxwells. I just thought I’d have more time—”
She squeezed my hand harder, and I broke off.
“That’s quite the list of negatives.”
“Yes, but all things that could possibly happen,” I pointed out. “If it happened before, it can happen again.”
“That’s true,” she said. “But if it did, you would be better prepared to handle it now. You have your parents, Dr. Pendleton, me… So, what’s your gut telling you? Do you think you’re ready to go back?”
I sat quietly, contemplating her question. My gut told me that sooner or later I was going to have to go home. I couldn’t stay away forever.
It also told
me that I needed to be there for Kristen. First and foremost, she was more important than me. And Caspian…
I had to face that truth too.
“I need to go back,” I said softly.
She nodded. “I thought that would be your choice.”
The seat beneath us shifted in an easy rhythm, and there was a gentle pull on the back of my calf muscles every time my knees stretched to propel us forward. The motion was soothing, a relaxing kind of ache that made me think of riding a bike for the first time after the winter snow had melted.
“There are a lot of nee-deeps this year,” Aunt Marjorie commented, and I turned my head toward the dark line of trees that swallowed the back of the barn. A swampy forest lay within a dozen feet of the trees, and the toads that lived there swelled in a symphony, croaking out a cacophony of sound that started and ended in a blur of syllables that made up their nickname.
“Great,” I replied. “Guess I’ll be sleeping with headphones on again tonight.”
She chuckled. “I actually like them. They remind me of hot summer nights with your uncle. Cool breezes, the rasp of an overhead fan, rumpled bedsheets.” She grinned at me, and I felt my cheeks flame.
“And moving on to other subjects… Thanks for letting me stay with you, Aunt Marjorie. Being here… away from everything there… was exactly what I needed.” I planted my feet firmly on the ground, and the swing came to a halt. Then I reached over and wrapped my arms around her.
She hugged me back and rested her chin on top of my head. “You’re welcome to come and watch Murder, She Wrote with me anytime, Abbey. I’ll get the other episodes on DVD.”
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the simple comfort of her embrace. We sat there in silence for a few minutes before I started to pull away. “I guess I need to go call Dad. Let him know about my decision.”
She stood too. “I’m off to the kitchen. Dinner should be ready soon.”
I followed her into the house and inhaled deeply. The aroma of fried chicken hung in the air, and I spotted two striped cardboard buckets sitting on the table.