The Kingdom. Amanda Stevens

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       “What’s the matter?” I asked Angus. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you? Nothing out there but squirrels and rabbits and maybe a possum or two.”

       And a ghost.

       I couldn’t see her face, but I had the impression she’d been young when she died. She had long, wavy hair that blew over her shoulders in a nonexistent breeze, and she wore a black dress that seemed much too austere for her willowy frame. But she was exactly how one might want to envision a ghost—ephemeral and lovely, with no outward sign of any physical distress she might have suffered in life.

       And then she turned her dead gaze on me. I wasn’t staring at her but I could feel it. Like an icy command. Look at me!

       Which was crazy because she couldn’t know that I saw her. I’d done nothing to give myself away. And yet I felt something inside my mind, a nebulous tentacle that gave me the blackest of chills. I’d never experienced anything like it, even with Devlin’s ghosts. Shani, the child entity, had made contact on at least two occasions, and Mariama’s specter had tried to manipulate me in Devlin’s house. But nothing like this had ever happened. What I felt now wasn’t a possession, but some strange telepathic link that allowed me to sense the ghost’s bewilderment. The connection terrified me, and I had to use all my willpower not to jump to my feet and dart inside the house. But I knew better. The most dangerous thing I could do was acknowledge the presence of the dead.

       Angus, meanwhile, had placed his quivering body firmly between the apparition and me. Strong and noble, indeed. I couldn’t have loved him more at that moment had we been lifelong friends, because I was pretty sure he would have liked nothing more than to turn tail and run for the woods.

       “Good boy,” I whispered.

       A light wind rippled through the leaves and the trees began to whisper. Who are you? Why are you here?

       Presently, I got up to go inside. The ghost was still there at the end of the pier, staring after me. Angus whimpered, and I opened the screen door so that he could come up on the porch. As I turned to secure the latch, another breeze sighed through the trees.

      Is it really you?

      * * *

       For almost as long as I could remember, ghosts had been a part of my world. Papa used to take me out to the cemetery on Sunday afternoons, and I would help him tidy graves as we waited for twilight, waited for the veil to thin so the ghosts could come through. At first, I’d tried to avoid the excursions, but then I realized it was Papa’s way of teaching me how to live with our gift. After a while, I grew so accustomed to those floating specters I never reacted to their presence even when I felt the chill of their breath down my back or their wintry fingers in my hair. I could even walk among them and not give myself away.

       But then Devlin had come along, and Papa’s rules could no longer protect me. My defenses had been breached by his ghosts. And now another phantom had entered my world, one with an ability that had allowed me to sense her confusion as I suspected she could sense mine. This intuitive connection was new and frightening because I not only had to guard my physical reaction but also now my thoughts. What would I have to protect next…my soul?

       I lay awake that night for the longest time, dwelling on all the old questions. I’d never understood my place in this world or the next. Why had I been given this gift if not for some larger purpose? Papa never had answers. He didn’t like to talk about the ghosts. It was our secret, he would say. Our cross to bear. And we must never, ever tell Mama. She wouldn’t understand.

       Looking back, I could see how easily he’d put me off…about the ghosts, about my birth, about everything. He and Mama had taken me in when I was only a few days old, but I still knew nothing of how I had come to them or of my biological parents. All my queries had been met with a wariness that had made me so uncomfortable I’d finally stopped asking. But I knew there were things they hadn’t told me. Especially Papa. He’d never even mentioned that realm of unseen ghosts—the Others—until it was too late, until I’d already fallen for Devlin. Now I had to wonder what else he’d kept from me. What other terrors lay in wait for me?

       My thoughts churned on and on. Eventually, I drifted off, only to be awakened by the distant toll of bells. In my hazy, half-asleep state, I wondered if the faint tinkle might be a wind chime somewhere in the woods—at Tilly Pattershaw’s perhaps. But each peal was separate and distinct, as if from a chorus of ringers. Far from melodic, however, the notes were random and discordant, almost angry.

       I got up and padded barefoot through the darkened house, glad that I’d taken the time to familiarize myself with the layout. I moved easily from room to room with only the moonlight to guide me.

       Pausing at the kitchen window, I glanced out on the back porch where I’d left Angus. He, too, had been roused by the bells. Or by something. He’d planted himself in front of the door, and I almost expected to see a ghost peering in through the screen. But his maimed head was lifted as he looked out over the yard and down the stepping-stones to the lake where a thick mist had fallen over the water. Or had it risen from the underworld?

       The bells were muffled by that mist. I could barely hear them now. Only a faint peal every so often until the sound faded entirely.

       I stood there shivering on my little piece of hallowed ground as I watched the lake. The night was very still, but some infinitesimal breeze stirred the mist. Through that swirling miasma, I thought I detected a humanlike form, the writhe of some restless spirit.

       And I realized then that the underwater graveyard lay just beyond my doorstep.

      Six

      The light was still gray when I arose the next morning, but a golden aura hovered just above the horizon. If dusk fed my fears, dawn brought a sense of anticipation, and I luxuriated in the knowledge that the whole day stretched before me without ghosts.

       After a quick shower, I carried a cup of tea out to the porch to watch the sun come up. Ribbons of mist hung from the treetops, but most of the haze had already burned off the lake. The air was crisp and clean, like the smell of line-dried laundry, and for the first time, fall seemed inevitable. Overnight a patchwork of crimson and gold had been woven into the dark green backdrop of the woods.

       I coaxed Angus off the porch with the rest of the casserole and left him to enjoy his breakfast while I packed up my gear and headed for the cemetery. It was so early I had the road to myself. Although, for all I knew, there was never any traffic. Like the town, the countryside appeared deserted, but I wasn’t completely alone. As I rolled down the window, I caught a whiff of wood smoke from someone’s chimney. It was such a beautiful day. I didn’t want to sully my mood with midnight doubts. A fresh project was a time for renewal. A time for restoration.

       As I came out of the first curve, I spotted the turnoff. The cemetery was nestled on the side of a steep, craggy hill and half-hidden by a thicket of cedar, an evergreen long associated with coffins and funeral pyres because of its spicy aroma and resistance to corrosion.

       The trees were so thick in places the sun was almost completely blocked, but every now and then a shaft of light would angle just right through the feathery boughs to blind me. I found myself creeping along so that I wouldn’t hit a bounding rabbit. The grove teemed with wildlife. I even saw the СКАЧАТЬ