Spirited (10 page)

Almost, but not quite.

Letitia bit back a gag. If not for the destination, she might have skipped the party altogether.

At the front of the bus, Rebekka Eastwood shrugged out of her boyfriend’s embrace. “I see it.”

Letitia wondered how she could see anything but the whites of Chris Beattie’s eyes, considering they’d been lip-locked since the yellow Grad Express pulled out of the school parking lot. She couldn’t help but notice, Chris kissed with his eyes open. Loser.

The “it” in question was Franklin Castle, one of the most haunted houses in the entire country, according to Letitia’s research. She’d learned the mansion had recently been restored to its natural beauty—the big reveal coinciding with Cleveland High’s graduation celebration.

How… lucky.

Letitia peered over the sea of blonde curls as the bus rounded the corner. The stone mansion loomed on the corner of Franklin and 43rd, seemingly alone despite the modern homes surrounding it. Tendrils of ivy snaked their way up the walls to the tall tower window where human shadows sometimes lurked.

Night had settled over the city, and a full moon spotlighted the infamous turret.

Letitia sat taller and craned her neck to scan the window, but all remained still. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. If her fellow students thought she actually believed in haunted houses, she’d be the laughingstock of the school.

“I heard the last owner took a chainsaw to his whole family,” Carter Meade said. The sound of his voice—as if he hadn’t quite made it through puberty—always irritated Letitia.

Isabella Carter puckered her lips. “That’s gross.”

What’s gross is the shade of pink on your eyelids, Letitia considered whispering.

Recently crowned prom queen, Isabella had her auburn hair pinned and curled, primed for the coveted cubic zirconia tiara. Letitia had no such ambitions. The glitter would clash with her oversized goggles. Steampunk style had yet to become popular in Ohio.

As the bus pulled up alongside the six-foot wrought iron gate, Letitia’s pulse quickened. Students began filing out, crinoline swooshing, animated chatter betraying nerves, excitement, and impatience.

“Don’t worry, I brought pepper spray,” Ava Smith whispered. At first Letitia thought the popular cheerleader was talking to her, but realized before answering that her comment was meant for David Greene, the senior jock.

He nuzzled his face in Ava’s neck and murmured, “Is that to keep away the ghosts, or me?”

Letitia smirked.

Never mind surviving the spirits. She’d be lucky to survive a night with these tools.

Ava’s snubs always stung the worse. Letitia’d yet to form a bond with any of her classmates, but she’d been drawn to Ava. She’d seen the lines across her skin, the telltale scars of a cutter.

Ava had shrugged off the marks as cat scratches, and most believed her. Letitia knew better. She’d once caught Ava in the girl’s shower room watching fresh blood swirl down the drain. Ava hadn’t acknowledged her existence then, either.

As Letitia stepped off the bus, chills ran along her arms despite the stifling air. A light fog hovered above the fence, and mist swirled from the ground like spirits waking from slumber. A dark cloud slid across the moon’s surface. Two antique streetlamps lit the cobblestone path to double front doors, ominous carved blocks of wood with two brass handles. A heavy, ringed knocker featuring the face of a snarling gargoyle was attached to the middle of the left door.

How uninviting.

“Should we knock?” one of the students asked.

But the doors swung open almost magically, revealing a lobby alight with glittering candles and a soft—and familiar—classical melody. A giant chandelier welcomed the graduating class inside, and the students wasted no time entering, jostling and elbowing each other for the best vantage point.

“You’re wise to stay back from the herd.”

Letitia’s breath caught when she turned toward the young man standing before her. A crisp dress shirt was tucked into his white-and-black pinstriped pants. A tailored coat buttoned mid-chest left room for the goggles hanging around his neck. Another steampunk fan. How curious.

Letitia might have pegged him as older if not for the clash of purple dye in his shaggy brown hair. High cheekbones drew her attention to the sparkle in his chocolate eyes.

“Welcome to Franklin Castle,” he said, and bowed. “Your dress is perfect.”

Letitia looked around, certain his words were meant for someone else, but the giant gates had already closed. She was alone with him at the threshold of the mansion.

“I designed it. I’ve been, uh, making a lot of steampunk fashion…” She bit her lip against her stammer and lowered her eyelids, certain her cheeks blushed like tea roses. Her breath hitched. “I mean, thank you.”

She leaned back on her heels and looked up toward the turret, unable to maintain the boy’s gaze. How awkward.

“Such a fascinating home,” she said. She looked away from the mansion and into the boy’s grinning face, noting the dimples on either side of his cheeks. “Though the history is somewhat vague.”

“My name is Elijah Ashmore,” he said, offering his elbow. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. Few know more about the castle than I do.”

“Letitia Hawke…” She ignored the stutter of her heartbeat and looped her hand around Elijah’s muscled forearm, surprised by a jolt of familiarity. Her skin raised in tiny pinprick bumps. “Thank you for showing me inside.”

He led her into the lobby. “My pleasure, Ms. Hawke. I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

~*~*~

The tour guide paused at the landing of the first floor, panting slightly from the exertion of climbing the steps and his tireless fact-sharing, most of which Letitia had already read. She waited at the bottom of the stairs, trying to hear above the chatter. Elijah stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched. His heat gave her comfort in an environment she would normally choose to avoid.

Extracurricular activities with her classmates made her itch.

“Did twenty kids really die in a fire here?” Isabella asked, a quiver in her voice.

The guide’s plump face glistened with sweat. He cleared his throat. “There have been two fires,” he said. “The first in 1999. Several bodies and bones from the past were discovered throughout the house, but the only death that could truly be attributed to the fire was that of a local man who’d entered the blaze in search of his missing daughter.”

“How sad,” Letitia whispered, tugging on Elijah’s sleeve. “Did they ever find her?”

Elijah placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. His deep voice churned her stomach. “She wasn’t in the house. No one was.”

“So why enter in the first place?”

“Many believe he followed the sound of children screaming,” Elijah said. “Voices have been heard in the mansion for years. Some say they belong to the souls of the dead still waiting for peace.”

A shiver crept along the back of Letitia’s neck. “That’s horrible.” She shuddered. “And that poor man…”

“The real tragedy is that his daughter turned up the next day, lost. She’d run away from home. Franklin House was abandoned at the time, so runaways and homeless children often found shelter there. Her father assumed this is where she was.”

“You said only the man died in the fire. What about the others?” Rebekka asked the guide. She clutched Chris’s hand, her knuckles white.

Why had the committee chosen a haunted house for the after-grad party when half the girls squealed at the sight of a spider?

“Death by chainsaw,” Carter shouted, causing an eruption of laughter.

“People have many theories,” the guide said, offering a tight smile. “I’m afraid chainsaw massacre isn’t among them. Come then, let’s explore the first floor.”

Letitia followed the group up the stairs and into an enormous room yet to be restored. The charred remains of a bed lay broken and dirty in the corner, the mattress soiled. A small wooden carousel, seemingly untouched by the fire, rested atop a damaged dresser.

Isabella pinched her small button nose. “Gross, it smells like rotten eggs in here.”

David laughed. “Yeah, because I farted.”

“It’s cold,” Ava said, ignoring her boyfriend’s immaturity and wrapping her arms around herself.

She appeared thinner than Letitia remembered. Almost frail, as though she hadn’t eaten a solid meal in months.

“This was Emma Tiedemann’s room,” the guide said. “Her parents were the original owners of Franklin Castle. Some believe she was the first to die here, and that her spirit has not yet come to rest.”

“Was she murdered?” Letitia asked.

“Hung by her father,” Elijah confirmed, voice grim.

A low groan echoed from the corner of the room. The hair on the back of Letitia’s neck stood at alert. Even the guide fell silent when the eerie sound came again, this time in higher pitch.

Save me.

“Did you hear that?” Letitia whispered to Elijah.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

“I don’t think Emma likes us hanging out in her old room.” Isabella’s voice cracked. “Maybe we should move along.”

Ava edged toward the door. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” She tugged on her boyfriend’s arm, but he didn’t share her urgency to leave.

“You could just haul out your pepper spray,” David said. Smirking, he used his index finger like a trigger and made a spritzing sound.

Ava kicked at his shin. “You’re not funny. I’m serious. Let’s go.”

Elijah’s voice dropped to a whisper. He trailed a finger along Letitia’s arm, freckled with goose bumps. “Come on,” he said. “This guide doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I have something I want to show you.”

“I shouldn’t lea—” Letitia started, but Elijah had already opened the door and slipped into the hall. She glanced at her classmates, still joking with each other. Would anyone notice if she left?

She almost laughed. Why would they start now?

Letitia ducked out of the room and followed Elijah up three flights of stairs, amazed at the ease with which he climbed. He all but floated, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure she hadn’t lagged too far behind. Captivated by his twinkling eyes and flushed cheeks, she ignored the dull ache of trepidation thudding in her chest.

He stopped at the entrance to the turret, a large wooden door blocked by crisscrossed two-by-fours. KEEP OUT was crudely painted across the front in red. Blood tears dripped from the lettering where too much paint had been used. Letitia’s pulse spiked.

“Why is this room closed to the public?”

The sparkle in Elijah’s eyes dimmed. “It’s the site of a great tragedy,” he said. “An ancient mystery unresolved. I’m sure you know the story.”

“Only what I’ve read on the Internet.” She traced the door with her fingers. “Tell me what happened.”

“A young girl committed suicide in this room after her sister, Emma, was hanged. She slit her wrists.” His eyes bored into her, nearly piercing right through. “Some say she was a rare beauty, trapped in the turret by her evil father. Betrothed to another and forbidden to be with her true love.”

“Like a princess,” Letitia said, thinking of her own scars. Had this girl felt pain or relief when the suffering ended?

“And what about her true love? Did he marry someone else?”

Elijah’s eyes met hers. In his she found sadness, and longing. “No. He never stopped loving her.”

She wetted her lips. “Even in death?”

“Especially in death.”

Letitia pressed her cheek against the door and inhaled the scent of birchbark and the faint odor of smoke. “This room wasn’t destroyed in the fire?”

Elijah reached for her hand and held it. “It remains almost as it did in 1879.” He caressed her hand with his thumb. “Would you like to see inside?”

Letitia stared at the way his fingers moved across her skin, somehow comforted by his touch. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear to allow more time to find her voice. He seemed to have a knack for stealing it. “But the door is barricaded.”

“The house is a labyrinth of passageways.” He pulled her toward another small room adjacent to the turret. “You just have to know what you’re looking for.” He motioned to a wooden hatch, almost camouflaged in the corner amidst a broken table and miscellaneous pieces of plastic and glass.

Elijah pulled on the handle, and the door creaked open. He offered a boyish grin. “Through here.”

How could she resist when her own spirit craved this kind of adventure? For so long she’d felt trapped in boredom, lulled into depression by memories that came in coughs and spurts, but offered no true meaning or resolve.

Gathering her skirt in her hands, she followed Elijah, allowing herself to laugh. Such a foreign sound. She giggled like Isabella and Ava, absorbing this brief moment of joy before emerging on the other side of the passageway, where her smile faded.

Moonlight streamed through the window, casting an eerie blue-tinted glow. Her eyes traced the path of its wide beam to the center of the room, where an antique sewing machine rested on a wooden cabinet with wrought iron legs. The large handwheel appeared brushed in silver.

The most beautiful thing Letitia had ever seen.

Her skirt swished against the hardwood as she walked to it. Her fingers traced a line through the thin layer of dust across the top of the cabinet. Someone had recently used this machine.

Elijah pulled back a chair so she could sit. “It won’t bite.”

“I love it,” she whispered. “Was it hers?”

At Elijah’s nod, she grinned.

“I wonder what she sewed. Perhaps Victorian? Something about that era calls to me…” She laughed, catching sight of his formal wear. “I guess you’d know all about that.”

Letitia ran her hand along the top of the sewing machine and wrapped her fingers around the wheel. Her hand molded to its form.

Somewhere in the background, an organ played a familiar tune. Letitia hummed its melody while her hands explored, barely registering Elijah’s voice in tune with her own. Her fingers knew just where to touch, and her foot slid along the ornate pedal as though it belonged there.