Say the words. Make them real.
She made coffee, ate some cereal, checked her email, telling herself everything was fine. Everything was normal. An email from her friend Jenny greeted her:
Glad to hear you’re making progress with the house. Love the pic of Nate’s mountain man beard! And the story of your “ghost” visitor. Olive sounds like quite the kid. Still though…maybe I’m reading between the lines, or maybe it’s just my best friend super-psychic powers, but are you doing okay up there? Really?
Helen closed her laptop, looked over at the pile of library books onthe table. She kept renewing them. She picked upCommunicating with the Spirit Worldand opened to the first page:
Do you ever feel that you are not alone?
Do you sometimes look over your shoulder, sure there was just a figure standing there?
Helen slammed the book closed, hands trembling, and left the trailer and stood in the yard calling for Nate. Nothing. Only the morning chatter of birds.
She walked down the path to the bog, sure she’d find him there sketching early-morning birds. But there was nothing. No one.
She looked out into the center, where the deep part of the water was, and imagined George Decrow pulling his wife out, dragging her to the edge, her body cold and lifeless as he started CPR. She imagined it was her doing the CPR, Nate beneath her, lips blue.
Helen shook the image away, trudged back up the path to the trailer, poured herself another cup of coffee.
She grabbed the little notebook in her purse, found the number the realtor had given her for George Decrow down in Florida. She dialed it and waited.
“Hello?” A crackling old-man voice, a little out of breath.
“Yes, good morning. Mr. Decrow?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Helen Wetherell. My husband, Nate, and I bought your place in Vermont out by the bog.”
The line went dead. He’d hung up.
Helen pushed redial. He answered on the first ring. “What is it you want?”
“Mr. Decrow, I heard what happened to your wife and I’m so, so sorry. And I hate to bother you, but it’s just that weird things are happening here. My husband, he thinks I’m imagining things, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m going a little crazy.” She paused, worried that she’d said too much.
She heard his raspy breathing, was sure he was about to hang up. But he didn’t.
“Have you seen her?” he asked.
Helen held the phone tight against her ear, listening to George Decrow breathing. She thought of lying, of playing dumb, but this might be her one and only shot with this guy and she thought honesty was her best hope of keeping him talking.
“Yes. I saw her last night.”
“Edie saw her, too. I didn’t believe. I didn’t believe until it was too late.”
“Mr. Decrow, I know this might sound crazy, but I think maybe she wants something. She said a name last night—”
“She wants something, all right. She wantsyou.The best thing you can do, you and your husband, is leave right now. Leave and don’t ever go back. I’m sorry.”
And there it was again, that sound of dead air. He’d hung up. She tried calling again, but the line was busy. He’d taken his phone off the hook.
Shaken, she sat down at the table, opened her laptop, then closed it. Where the hell was Nate?
Work. That’s what she needed to do. Go to work like this was just a normal day. Like she hadn’t seen a ghost last night. Like Nate hadn’t disappeared into thin air.
He’s gone for a walk, that’s all,she told herself.He’s gone to look for birds.She said this last bit while trying to ignore the fact that his binoculars, bird book, camera, and nature journal were sitting on the table right beside the front door.
She went back over to the house, stood outside staring up at it, entirely framed now and sheathed in plywood. It was the first step of the process her father always called “closing in,” where they sheathed the house, put in the windows and doors.
