The Visitor. Amanda Stevens

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ leave you if I wasn’t certain you’d be safe here.”

      “I know that.”

      “Get some rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

      A moment later, he was gone.

      I wanted to call out to him, to tell him to be careful out there in the dark where dangers from this world and the next lay in wait.

      Instead, I got up and padded over to the window to search the night sky. I still wasn’t convinced I’d seen an owl earlier. For most people a nocturnal bird would have been a perfectly acceptable explanation for that diving shadow, but I wasn’t most people. I knew things. Saw things. Heard things.

      The past twenty-four hours had been full of strange happenings. I felt very off center. It was as if banging my head on the stairs had awakened something inside me, making me more attuned than ever to the unnatural world around me. And yet I suffered no other repercussions from the blow. I didn’t feel dizzy or disoriented. I hadn’t experienced any blurred vision or memory loss and even my headache had faded. I wanted to believe the visions and voices would disappear, too, once I left the hospital.

      What was it the resident had told me earlier? It always gets crazy during a full moon. No kidding.

      The moon wasn’t just full but ringed. When I was a little girl, before I knew about the ghosts, Papa would tell me stories about swamp witches and boo hags that traveled through the Carolina marshes by moonlight. I later wondered if those eerie tales had been his way of preparing me for what was to come. He used to say that a lunar halo signified a time when spirits were especially restless. A dangerous time when mirrors should be covered and babies hidden so as not to be replaced by changelings.

      Maybe there had been something to that warning. If the phases of the moon could affect ocean tides and human behavior, what might they stir in creatures from the other side?

      Wresting my gaze from that silvery sphere, I started to turn back to my bed when I happened to glance down at the street. It was misting and the pavement shimmered with an oily patina beneath the streetlamps. My room looked out on a busy thoroughfare, but there was very little traffic at this hour. Which might explain why my attention was drawn to a lone pedestrian across the street.

      The person was small, but I didn’t get the sense that I was looking down at a child. Something dark and flowing was draped over the shoulders, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the silhouette among the other shadows. Indeed, for a moment I thought I might have attached human shape to a bush or tree trunk.

      I told myself there was nothing at all sinister about someone being out and about at this hour. Perhaps the person was waiting for a bus. But I couldn’t dismiss the feeling that a gaze had been cast upon my room. Upon me.

      The sensation was so intense that I took a step back; my heart beat a rapid tattoo. When I dared to glance out again, the figure had disappeared, leaving me to wonder if the shadow had been nothing more than my imagination.

      I went back to bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Sleep came with disturbing visions. I had no idea how long I’d been dreaming when my eyes popped open, senses fully alert. It would be dawn soon, a time I always anticipated, but I could still feel the pull of the dead world.

      I saw the ghost then, hovering deep in the shadows. As if sensing my awareness, she drifted out of the gloom with outstretched arms and paused at the end of my bed to turn those dark-stained sockets upon me. It was the eeriest sensation, the way she stared down at me. Could she see me or did she merely sense me? Could she feel my warmth? Had she been drawn there by my energy?

      She made no move toward me, to latch on to me, but instead levitated at the end of my bed for the longest moment as if making certain that I was awake. She had manifested in the same white lace dress from her previous visit, but now I saw that she clutched a key in one hand.

      Before I had time to process this turn of events, she drifted through the closed door. Her message couldn’t have been plainer. She wanted me to follow.

      There had been a time when trailing an entity would have been unthinkable, but the days of ignoring the other world were long behind me. The ghost knew that I could see her. She was already haunting me. Perhaps if I did as she wished, she would go away and leave me alone. Not likely, but it was the only thing I had at the moment to cling to.

      Climbing out of bed, I crossed to the door and glanced into the corridor. The overhead lights sputtered from an electrical surge caused—I was certain—by the ghost’s energy. There was an elevator by the nurse’s station and another at the opposite end of the hallway large enough to transport gurneys from floor to floor. That elevator went all the way down to the basement level. I wasn’t sure how I knew this unless I’d subconsciously taken note of the buttons when I’d been brought up to my room.

      The tiles were cold beneath my bare feet as I slipped down the hallway in the wake of the ghost. The moment I rounded a corner, out of sight of those behind me, the electrical fluctuations subsided. I entered the elevator, the doors closed and, as the car descended, the hushed voices from the morgue crept back into my head.

      When the elevator stopped, I stepped out into a wide hallway with branching corridors on either side. In front of me was a set of double doors with narrow glass panels through which I could see into the receiving area of the morgue. A red sign marked the outside bay where bodies were delivered and picked up, and beyond a long counter were several closed doors, which I assumed were the autopsy rooms and coolers.

      The ghost voices faded as an unnatural hush fell over the hallway. Time seemed to stop as I hovered between the dead world and the living world. The floating sensation was not at all unpleasant, but it lasted for only a heartbeat before the babbling in my head started up again, rising to a sharp, painful crescendo. The walls started to spin and I slid down the cool cinderblocks, curling myself in a ball as I clutched my ears.

      Even in the grip of that debilitating vertigo, I could feel invisible hands reaching through the walls for me, diaphanous bodies squeezing in on me as I huddled on the floor breathless and trembling.

      For a moment, I let myself entertain the possibility that all of this was nothing more than a terrible hallucination. A nightmare from which I would soon awaken.

      But I knew better. It was real. It was happening. And in a moment of enlightenment, I realized why the blind entity had led me down to the basement. The voices were stronger in the morgue because the newly departed had somehow opened a door, allowing those trapped souls to reach out to me. Individual spirit communication was one thing, but this mass beseeching was a new development. Another terrifying facet to my dark gift.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, СКАЧАТЬ