Haunted

She persisted.

He begged her to leave him alone. He had too much work on his plate at the moment.

At last, Penny backed off and contented herself with her tours. Matt thought that life was pleasantly back to routine.

Until she came to him with the letter from Adam Harrison, Harrison Investigations.

It was a month later that Clara Issy, one of the five daytime housekeepers, stopped dead in her tracks.

It was a sunny morning. The beautiful old bedroom in Melody House was as it always was. The bed she had just made with its shiny four-poster and quilted cover sat against the right wall. The polished mahogany bureau held the modern touch of the entertainment center within it. The television was off. The French doors to the balcony and the wraparound porch were ajar because it was such a nice day and the breeze was fresh and clean, causing the white draperies to stir and dance. That was natural, and she was accustomed to the smell and feel of fresh air. She loved it, and she wasn’t at all fond of the air-conditioning that ran through the summer months. No, the room itself was just as it always was.

She stood near the open French doors, jaw agape, and stared.

Because she was alone in the room, yet something else was moving. Something that drifted from the bed. Something in a hazy form, something cold, something that felt threatening.

It approached Clara. She felt something touch her face, almost like the stroke of fingers against her cheek. Very cold fingers. Dead fingers. She thought she heard a whispering. Scratchy, against her ear. Something that pleaded…or threatened.

Her hands were frozen in a vise around her broom handle. Her body felt as if it had jelled into ice. Fear raced up and down her spine.

The cold…wrapped around her. Tightly. More and more tightly.

At last, her jaw snapped shut. She broke the sensation of terror. She screamed, not a bloodcurdling sound, but one that barely held a gasp of air.

Then she found life, and ran.

Out to the second floor landing; there was no one there. Down the flight of stairs to the grand foyer, where again, the house was empty. She headed toward the second doorway to the right of the sweeping stairway. Surely, for the love of God, someone would be in the house office—Penny, a tiny bastion against anyone evil, but someone, at the least.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Matt was there. Bursting out the doorway before she could reach it. He was in his work uniform, but he hadn’t headed out for the station yet; it was still very early. Thank God.

He hurried toward her, as if he had heard her cry—being Matt, of course, he had heard it!—and had been preparing to rush to her rescue. Except that she had fled the room upstairs with greater speed than a greyhound. And so she was here, spurting into his arms.

“Clara! What is it?”

She was fifty-five. Twenty years older than Matt, at least. But he was Matt; solid as a rock. A tall man in his prime with a way about him that commanded respect which in turn offered her a feeling of security that allowed her to speak when her mouth was still all but completely contorted.

“I—I—quit!” she gasped out.

“Clara, what on earth?” he asked kindly, holding her at something of a distance from himself and searching out her eyes.

“Let me tell you, that bride was not crazy. There’s a ghost in that room!”

“Oh, Clara, please. We both know the silly stories about this place! We’ve both heard them since we were little kids. But come on, we’ve also worked in this house, both of us, for years and years. Clara, I feel like a broken record here, but believe me—ghosts don’t really exist. People want them to exist sometimes. Penny is dying to have a few authentic ghosts to give the place a greater reputation. Seems like being an historical masterpiece doesn’t always cut it these days.” He smiled, smoothing back her graying hair.

“There’s a ghost in the Lee room, and it just touched me.” Clara planted her hands on her hips. “How long have you known me? Forever? Haven’t I always agreed with you, saying that it was just silly airheads who felt they had to make up ghost stories? But you have to believe me—there’s something in that room. It threatened me. Matt, it wasn’t my imagination. It wasn’t a memory of ghost tales told over and over. It was real. I could see it. Come up and see for yourself!”

Matt sighed deeply. Still, there was concern for her in the depths of his dark eyes. “All right, Clara, let’s go take a look.”

Clara edged behind him, then followed as he left the office and strode with long footsteps through the foyer, up the stairs, and to the Lee room.

Naturally, there was nothing there.

Clara walked over to her broom. “I was standing right here.”

“Clara, maybe you saw the draperies drifting in. The French doors are open.”

Clara indignantly straightened her five-foot-one frame. She could see that Matt felt as if he was living a repeat of a silly performance. He was trying to be patient; he felt like throwing his hands up as if the whole world had now gone insane. “I know the difference between drapes and a ghost!”

Matt ran his fingers through his ink dark hair, shaking his head. “Clara…I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing here at all.”

Clara sniffed. “Matt, it’s gone now. But there was something here! Why can’t you believe me? You should. It wasn’t all that long ago that we rented the room to the Thomases. She came running out of the room in the middle of the night, stark naked, and screaming! All right, I wasn’t here when it happened, but I sure heard all about it.” Clara paused, biting her lip. “Okay, I laughed like hell, I’ll admit, but…Matt, there’s something going on.”

“Clara, Jeannie Thomas herself said later that she’d had a lot to drink that night. Her husband didn’t see or hear a thing, and all it did was cause a big argument on the first night of their marriage. Clara, Jeannie drove me crazy and came here and specifically asked for this room, having heard that it was haunted. Don’t you see? The bride wanted there to be a ghost, and so there was. History can be tragic, Clara. And there was some tragic history associated with the place. But come on, now! You’re a sensible woman. In your heart, you know that you’re just letting your imagination run riot.”

“Matt, I quit.”

“Oh, Clara!”

She knew that he couldn’t afford to lose another maid.

“How about this, Clara. You don’t quit, but you don’t clean this room. How’s that?”

She reflected on his offer. “Who is going to clean it?”

“We’ll let Penny come in here and take care of this room. Penny thinks it’s the greatest thing in the world that the place has a reputation for being haunted.”

“You know, Matt, I can’t help it. I was definitely one of those to scoff at such absurdity, but I can tell you now—this house is haunted!”

“Clara, maybe it’s haunted, and maybe…hm.”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe Penny is playing tricks, she wants the house to be haunted so badly. Or maybe someone is…I don’t know. Breaking in here. Making things happen.”

“How?” Clara asked incredulously.

“Who knows,” he murmured.

Clara again planted her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. “Who the hell would break in here? Who would have the balls—since it’s your place—the town sheriff?”

“I don’t know. But since you think there was someone in here, I intend to find out.”

Clara shook her head. “We’re the ones who have been lying to ourselves, Matt. The whole darned house may be haunted, but this room…this room is menacing!”

“Ghosts don’t menace people, Clara.”

She sniffed. “You don’t believe in ghosts, so how do you know what they do?”

“Clara, I don’t believe in ghosts, but from everything I’ve seen and read, I’ve never heard of a ghost actually hurting anyone.”