Chapter 28

The shock was like ice water. Samantha sat up and stared open-mouthed at him. When she regained her faculties enough to respond she said, “What is that supposed to mean, John?”

“Alanna is not. . . well, you can tell there is something wrong with her, Sam. Besides, she never said a word to you down there and hardly even looked at either of us. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her utter a word since we’ve been here.”

“I didn’t say she spoke to me but I can assure you, there is nothing wrong with her mind.”

“She’s always been a bit different. Most people don’t really notice her much because she is so quiet and unobtrusive.”

Samantha laughed at that. Unobtrusive was not a word she’d ever be able to associate with Alanna. What had happened in the garden had been decidedly obtrusive. A small shiver moved up her spine as she recalled the events. Nothing like it had ever happened to her before. She certainly wasn’t in the habit of hearing people speak to her in her head. And if she revealed it to anyone, she had no doubt they’d think she was crazy. She was beginning to consider it herself.

John had drifted to the balcony doors and stood looking into the garden. She knew that from his position he could see the gazebo. She got up and moved to stand beside him. Alanna was sitting where they had left her and appeared to be eating her lunch. They watched her for several moments, then suddenly, she looked up, directly at them with that blank stare that she always seemed to have on her face. The same dark smothering sensation surrounded her again and Sam stepped back. John didn’t appear to notice but continued to stare out the window.

Something was decidedly wrong here. Samantha had sat across the table from Alanna the night before and nothing had happened. The girl was profoundly quiet and as John said, unobtrusive. Yet, today, sitting across from her, Samantha had felt as if the girl were smothering her, deliberately. And furthermore, that she was able to communicate to her by thinking! She shook her head and thought, How crazy is that?

She sighed and returned to her chair and put her feet up. Later, she’d think about it later. Right now, she felt as if she had been running for a great distance. “John, I want to rest for a while. Could you ask Aunt Isabel if I could have my supper up here, please?”

He came away from the window and picked up her lunch tray. “I’ll do that. You let me know if there is anything you need. Why don’t you lie down and take a nap. You’ll rest better.”

“I’ll probably do that.”

The door closed softly behind him and the room became very quiet. Sam sat with her eyes closed and listened. Silence could be a lovely sound at times. As she quieted her spirit, she began to notice that there wasn’t really any silence after all. The wind was blowing in the trees and birds were chirping and singing. She could hear the clock over the mantel ticking, too. Faintly, she thought she heard bees buzzing. She frowned. That was odd because the flowers were down in the garden and too far to hear bees, surely. Slowly, a lethargy spread through her and she felt herself drifting away. The bizarre morning had drained her mentally and physically. But she would need only a short rest to restore her. After a few more minutes she was asleep.

Samantha knew where she was immediately. She was standing on White Beach, with it’s cliffs to her left and the ocean to her right. The moon was full and the sand glowed in the silver light. She could hear the waves rolling onto shore and when she looked down, she realized she was standing ankle deep in the surf. Her feet were cold and she wanted to step back onto the sand and let the radiant heat of the sand warm her feet but for some reason, she couldn’t move.

A sound drew her attention down the beach. A Whitehall row boat had been pulled ashore and was being rocked by the incoming tide. If someone had not secured it, it would soon drift out with the tide. Suddenly, from the wall of the cliffs two men ran down to the boat. One began to mess with the anchor line while the other steadied the boat. Then, half dozen more men ran out from the face of the cliff and the boat was pushed off the beach, into the surf. One by one they got in the boat and as she watched, they rowed away, toward the mist. They appeared not to notice her presence at all.

She watched in silence, wondering where they had come from and where they could possibly be going. When they were far out from shore, into the depth where the larger ships sailed, she expected them to turn either right or left, headed to one of the port towns around the island. But they continued to row straight out, past the shipping lane until finally, when they looked like little more than a toy boat, the rowed straight into the mist. Samantha gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. She waited for them to appear again, her eyes scanning all along the horizon. They would normally come out anywhere along this area. One rowed into the mist and then came back out in the same area. Always.

But they didn’t. It seemed she watched for an hour. They never came out of the mist. A rising panic threatened to overwhelm her. People could not leave through the mist. Never in her lifetime had anyone ever escaped! Somewhere a thought reminded her that people had escaped in the past. Historical records showed that some people had succeeded in leaving.

Something tugged her gaze back to the beach, a movement just out of the corner of her eye, to the cliff. There was a fluttering motion in a heavily shadowed area, as if something fluttered in the breeze. If I could just move, she thought. She again tried to step out of the surf and now, she found she could move. Her feet felt like blocks of ice and the sand seemed to pull and cling to her as she walked. Progress was slow but she found that as she moved forward, the cold sensation faded and she could feel warm sand around her feet and ankles rather than an icy surf but it was like walking through molasses.

The cliff face was rugged and from the water, it appeared that it was just another shadow caused by the play of the moonlight and the outcroppings of the cliff. She stopped immediately. The darkness was as thick as batting. It was a cave. And if the hair standing on the back of her neck were any indication, someone was inside watching her. She could feel eyes boring into her, probing her mind and heart.

Despite her fear, she took a step forward. Something, a sound like wind blowing in through a crack reached her and something white came rushing toward her. Quickly, she began to move backward but not before a figure dressed in white, with long hair rushed from the darkness, outstretched hands clawing at her face. A shriek tore through the darkness and she saw. . .

Samantha sat straight up in her chair, coming sharply awake. The sun had set and the room was in darkness, the windows only slightly less dark. Someone was in the room with her. She searched the dim recesses of the large room but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

“I know you’re here,” she said, struggling to keep the trembling from her voice. “Leave now or show yourself.”

There was no answer and no movement.

Why, she wondered, would anyone be standing here watching her while she slept? In fact, why would they be interested in her at all? As quietly as possible, she pushed the foot stool far enough away to allow her to stand without tripping over it, piling the coverlet on top of it.

“If you don’t leave now, I’m going to scream as loudly as possible. They will hear me and you won’t be able to get away.”

Still, there was no response. She was beginning to feel a little foolish. Except she was positive she was not alone. The sensation of eyes on her, of a presence nearby was so overpowering that her skin crawled. Finally, the tension became so unbearable she kicked the footstool, sending it flying across the floor and stood up. There was a gasp and a noise near the door, and then, the sound of the door opening and slamming shut. She moved quickly to follow but by the time she had fumbled with the knob and got the door open, there was no one in the hallway.

She blew noisily, slammed the door and her way to where the lamp stood on the dresser. As she tried to light it, she spilled the matches. This elicited another huff of annoyance. Finally, she had light and she turned to study the room. Nothing was disturbed, unless you counted the upside-down footstool and crumpled coverlet. She righted it and moved around the room, checking windows, doors, and under the bed. Setting the stool to rights was easier than shaking off the nervous fluttering in her stomach. There was a brief moment when she smiled while she contemplated looking under the bed. What would she do if someone was there?

There wasn’t one moment since she arrived that she had felt comfortable in the house. It wasn’t that she was afraid of these people but there was a . . . a feeling in the house she didn’t like. It felt as if a door had been left ajar and something was lurking on the other side. Her instinct was to shove the door closed and lock it. Only, she didn’t know how.

She supposed she could leave. Home was sounding more and more comforting. She looked into the mirror and studied her reflection. John wanted to leave. Did he sense something, too? No one in the family, aside from herself, had ever appeared sensitive to anything. But then, if she never talked about her experiences, perhaps they had never talked about theirs either. She paused in front of the mirror and studied her face. “Note to self,” she said, “ask John if he senses things.” She laughed. John would smack her on the head, she had no doubt.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

The door swung open and John wheeled in the squeaky cart bearing covered dishes.

“Ahhhh, food,” she said, smiling. “Right this way, my good man.” She made a flourish and pointed to the balcony table.

He turned his head to one side and asked, “Don’t you think it is a little dark out there?”

She glanced at the darkness outside and spoke softly, “I think it is darker in here.”

For a moment they just looked at one another before John nodded and moved the cart to the balcony. They enjoyed their supper in the twilight, talking in quiet voices. Locust sang to them from the darkness of the trees surrounding the property. A refreshing breeze tugged at Samantha’s hair and skirt and tossed a napkin off the table.

“It’s beautiful here, you know,” she commented quietly, “Everything about it is beautiful. I’m really surprised. Sometime, I’d like to take a trip into the mountains and see the ocean from up there. I wonder if you can see over the mist from the mountain tops?”

“I had the impression you didn’t like it here.” John pushed his plate away and sat back in his chair.

A deep frown furrowed her brow. She said, “Well. . . I don’t think the place is the problem. There are dark feelings here. Something is out of place.” She laughed. “Today it occurred to me that it felt as if a door was left ajar with something lurking on the other side. Now, doesn’t that sound mysterious.”

“No.”

She jerked her head up and stared at him. He was looking out, into the darkened garden.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t look so shocked. It isn’t all that unusual. Lots of people are sensitive to atmosphere. And a lot of places on the island have it. This house, the circles,” he paused and looked away, “the mist.”

“What do you feel about it? The house, I mean.”

John took a long time in answering. Silence fell around them and in the distance she could hear a dog barking. The cicadas had stopped but crickets now serenaded in the darkness. Finally, he said, “Your analogy is apt. There is something amiss here but I don’t know what it is or who is responsible. I didn’t much car for that Loren fellow. Bit rude in my estimation but I supposed if a couple of strange, uninvited guest showed up on my step I might be as well.”

“No you wouldn’t. You’d feed them and put them to bed in the boys room.”

They laughed quietly together and allowed the silence to fall around them again. Sam felt some of the tension leave her. John always had that effect on her. He had a calm spirit and could always defuse any situation peacefully. And he could usually see past the emotional chaos to get to the heart of a matter.

“I think I have to go home, John,” she said.

He didn’t reply.

“I don’t think the answers I need are here. Or if they are, I’ve already got them and just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“I’ll let Aunt Isabel know when I take the cart down.”

This time it was she who didn’t answer. She felt sad for some reason. She liked her Aunt and would have liked more time to get to know her, particularly since she was certain that Isabel had many of the answers to questions she had not even asked yet.

John got up and kissed her on the forehead. “Go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. We can leave whenever you like, although, I don’t relish the idea of that long, green ride after dark.”

Grinning, she said, “What? Afraid of little green men?”

“You’ve been in the library too much.”

“No more than you,” she laughed out right. “Good night.