Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) (7 page)

NO D-I-E-D Y-O-U-N-G

“But not kids?”

A-B-E-L W-A-S

“Sorry about your friend, but I’m Erik.”

YES

“My brother owns this cabin now.”

YES

“I’m only here until tomorrow.  He’s coming to get me in the morning.”

I-S H-E

“Yes, in the morning,” I insisted.  There could be no delay.  I would be leaving in the morning even if it meant hiking out of the woods on my own.  If I ventured out early, I would have the whole day to find my way back to the main road.

D-O-N-T G-O

“I have no choice.  So much work to be done.  I have to go tomorrow,” I stammered nervously, suddenly fearful that he would know if I lied.

D-O-N-T G-O E-R-I-K, the planchette was moving faster.

“Do you plan to hurt me?” the words fell out of my mouth like ice cubes.

NO

The planchette jabbed at the word ‘no’ several times then stopped.  I was not impressed by the emphasis on the word.  I swallowed hard and wondered what the thing might be capable of.  Could it touch me?  Could it do physical harm to a person… a living person?  The idea of an unseen being who could do physical damage was alarming.

“Why not John?” I asked curiously.  “Or even Jimmy Flaherty?”

W-A-I-T-E-D F-O-R Y-O-U

“Because you miss Abel,” I acknowledged, still unsure exactly what the words meant.

The only sound was the faint crackling of wood burning inside the stove.  The pointer didn’t move for several minutes.  Anxiously, I began tapping a finger against the edge of the table.  I was surprised to realize that I was seated in front of the board.  I had no recollection of having moved close to the table or sitting down.  Warily, I rocked forward in the chair and placed my palms on the worn surface.

“I must go home,” I announced, forcefully.  “When my work is done I can come back again.  Maybe in a few months.”

D-O-N-T G-O

D-O-N-T G-O

D-O-N-T G-O

“Were you a criminal shot by the Game Warden?” I queried. 

The planchette flew off the board, hit the stairs, and landed on the floor.  More minutes ticked by as I waited and wondered.  I stood slowly and walked toward the sitting area.  I found the pointer and the tiny brass nail.  I placed it on the table.  There was no point in putting it away.  If Harvey had more to say, he would bring it out again. 

Late in the evening, I banked the wood stove for the night.  With the door locked, I put out the lights and climbed the stairs.  The presence of Harvey had gone when the planchette hit the steps.  I smiled, glad that I had offended him just enough to make him go.  Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep.

*

Stars were twinkling against the silky dark sky when I opened my eyes.  The cabin was quiet, but I knew something had drawn me out of a deep sleep.  I sat up and listened carefully.  From the loft, I heard the thump of a boot and the scrape of a chair on the floor below.  I jumped up from the bed and looked over the railing.

In the faint light, I was able to see the shadowy image of a man sitting at the table.  I blinked and looked again to be sure.  There was a man seated there.  The chair slid again as he pushed it back and stood.  His heavy footsteps echoed as he approached the wood stove.

“John?” I called down to the man.  He didn’t appear to be as big as John, but I couldn’t imagine who else could be walking around in the cabin at night.

The man stopped and tilted his head back.  He looked up the stairs where I stood.  I wanted to demand his name, but my mouth went dry.  I stretched toward my right and grabbed the shotgun.  With the gun in my hands, I was far less vulnerable.

“Who are you?” I called out, working hard to keep my voice strong and steady.

Still he refused to answer.  He just stood there, looking up at me.  I wondered if he had a weapon, as well.  There was no rifle or shotgun, but he might have a handgun in his pocket.  Defying all logic, I took a step toward the stairs.  I pumped the shotgun and aimed it down at him.  Watching him closely, I fumbled for the flashlight.

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to shoot,” I warned.

He didn’t move and didn’t speak a word.  I pushed the button, banged the flashlight against my leg, and the light beam lit up a circle on the ceiling.  I tilted it down at the steps and there was nothing.  Nobody was standing near the woodstove.  I bent over the railing and saw no one at the table.

“I see you!” I shouted boldly, hoping to force him out if he was hiding.  “Come out now and I’ll let you leave on your own.  If not, I will shoot you,” I advised.

I pressed my back against the inner-wall and moved sideways down the stairs.  At the bottom, I inched around the wood stove and found nobody waiting there.  I sprinted across the room and flipped on the lights.  Blinded by the glare, I squinted as I looked quickly to the left and right.  The cabin was empty.  No people, no animals, just me.

Reluctantly, I shut out the light and climbed the stairs again.  I rested the shotgun against the wall, within reach from the bed.  With the pillows pushed into the corner, I sat up, determined to stay awake.  In only a few hours the sky would grow lighter and the temperature would rise.  I could make it through the night and escape the cabin by mid-morning.

Hours later I woke feeling groggy.  The night before was an unpleasant blur.  I was amazed by the communication with the spirit, ghost, or whatever it was and unnerved by the shadow I had seen.  I wanted nothing more than to leave the cabin and never return again.  When I was safely in my apartment in New York again, I would tell John what had happened.  I would warn him to sell the place and forget about it. 

Hurriedly, I ate the breakfast that was high in carbs and drank the strong coffee.  I built up the fire as if I meant to remain at the cabin.  With my backpack filled with the supplies I might need, I strode confidently outside.  Using a bungee cord, I strapped it to the back of the ATV.  Feeling like a child who just stole a big cookie from the cookie jar, I rode along the trail through the trees.

I looked up at the darkening sky but remained determined.  Snowflakes filled the air as I skirted around the end of the fallen tree.  I rode to the end of the dirt road that was little more than a fire lane and stopped there.  I looked to the right and then the left.  There was little difference in the landscape either way.  Dull green trees and rutted dirt roads dusted with snow flowed up and down like a roller coaster track then disappeared in the distance.  I considered the choice carefully and turned to the left.

As the temperature rose into the 30°s, freezing rain replaced the snowflakes.  I pulled my hood up and lowered my head.  Driving along the deserted road, my mind wandered with worries about John.  He had always been the most reliable person I knew and his failure to return concerned me greatly.  The fact that he didn’t send someone in his place was a bad sign as well.  If he could have, he would have.  I considered the degree of damage in southern Maine from Hurricane Rosemary.

I had chosen a bad day to attempt my escape from the cabin.  Ice had begun accumulating on the handlebars and gas tank of the ATV.  I touched the top of my hood and felt the thin layer there as well.  I rode on, willing the freezing rain to stop or change over to snow again.

The temperature continued to climb and the icing ended at last.  I felt a spark of hope and relief just before the heavens opened and it rained buckets.  Frustrated, I cursed a great chain of expletives and slowed the machine.  The wind had begun pushing the rain sideways in great curtains of water that stung my face.  Continuing my search for the correct road would be difficult on a good day, but with the sloppy trails created by the bad weather, it would be nearly impossible.  Still cursing, I made a wide arc with the ATV and retraced my path back to the cabin.

Angry and discouraged, I rolled the ATV back into the shed.  I pressed my boot against the back of the machine and shoved it into the wall.  I heard the cheap aluminum wall buckle under the weight of it and felt a twinge of guilt.  Standing outside, I slammed the doors shut and stomped toward the cabin.

With the fire blazing again, I draped my drenched clothing over chairs, the door knob and a rickety old coat rack.  Irritated and hungry, I stepped into the shower.  The hot water on my back slowly washed away my bad mood.  It was December in Maine and the rain would not last long.  The snow would come again but wouldn’t be such a hindrance.  I might need to wait another day, but I would be home again in another day or two.  I could wait just one more night.

Above the noise of the shower, I heard a man speaking.  It was the deep rumble of John’s voice!  I couldn’t make out the words, although it sounded like he was repeating the same phrase over and over.  I turned off the water and yanked the shower curtain aside.  Something heavy slammed into my chest, throwing me back against the shower wall.

“DON’T GO!” it shrieked.  I felt the words against my face.  The unseen thing was only inches from me as I stood naked, pinned back against the cold, metal wall of the shower.  Frozen in terror, I remained after I felt it release me.

As quickly as it had come it was gone.  I shivered, breathing heavily, and too frightened to step out of the stall.  My rational mind begged for reassurance that I had imagined it.  Desperately, I wanted to believe it was nothing more than my tired mind playing tricks.  At last I closed the shower curtain and turned the water on again.  I lingered there until the water ran cold.

Rubbing vigorously with the towel, I couldn’t erase the goose bumps.  My thoughts were a jumbled mix.  It had spoken!  It had spoken aloud!  The OUIJA board wasn’t required for the thing to communicate.  It had spoken to me!  I knew I needed to get out of the cabin, and away from the woods.  No matter what the weather might bring, I would go in the morning.

Warily, I strode out to the sitting area with a towel around my waist.  I dug through my bag for the last of my clean clothes.  With the fire blazing in the wood stove, I sat on the couch and opened a book.  I read and re-read the same page, trying to focus on it.  When I was too tired to keep my eyes open, I turned out the lights and moved slowly up the stairs to the loft.  I didn’t want to go up there but the thought of staying downstairs seemed worse

In the dark corner of the bed, I huddled beneath the quilt with my back against the corner.  I begged sleep to take me away for the night; even a few hours would be appreciated.  I heard the first whispers somewhere inside the cabin and I cringed.  The wind was still and the sound was not easily dismissed.  My heart beat faster as the murmur drew closer.  I considered dropping to my knees on the floor and pleading with it to leave me alone. 

The thing did nothing to relieve my sense of isolation.  I deeply regretted giving in to the rain and returning to the cabin.  A dull ache at the back of my head was spreading rapidly.  I needed to sleep.

“I won’t go!” I shouted in desperation.

The pressure in my head ceased.  The whispers ended.  A calm sensation replaced the tense feeling in the air.  It was what I wanted, but it still disturbed me when it happened so fast.  I burrowed deeper under the quilt and closed my eyes.  Sleep arrived to take me away for the night.  The nightmares I had expected were only dreams with happy memories of my childhood, my mother, and my brother.

*

I woke in the morning, thinking of John.  There was no good reason why he wouldn’t have returned days earlier.  There were too many bad reasons to contemplate, and it soured my mood.  If he couldn’t get back to me then I would have to go to him.  He might be in need of my help for the first time in our lives.  Better prepared, I would find my way back to civilization before the day ended.

I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt then bounded down the stairs.  I threw two logs into the wood stove, closed the cast iron door and pushed the handle to latch it.  My stomach growled and I hurried down to the root cellar beneath the kitchen.  I looked through the cans, jars, bags and boxes stacked on the shelves.  There was a good variety, but little of it contained protein.  I was grateful that I would be leaving in less than an hour.  A thick cut steak and baked potato would make a great supper after I made my way out to the main road.

Turning the handle of the can opener, I opened the can of tomato soup.  I poured it into a small pan and added water to it.  I missed having milk for my coffee, cereal, and for concentrated soup.  Watching the sun bloom behind the trees, I moved the coffee pot aside and warmed the soup.  It wasn’t a five star dish, but it was tasty enough. 

In less than an hour, I was ready to go.  I carried in more fire wood and built a raging fire in the stove.  I carried up more goods from the root cellar and set them on the kitchen counter as if I planned to use them to prepare my lunch or supper later in the day.  My laptop was open to my manuscript on the table by the couch.  If anyone had been watching that morning, he would have been reassured that I meant to return, and I felt sure that he was watching.

Inwardly, I was proud of myself for being so clever.  I would mislead him until I was safely away from the cabin.  I would find the road out of the woods and be far away before the spirit even suspected what I planned.  It was a great scheme.  There was a twinge of guilt at my betrayal of the lonely being, but I couldn’t allow that thought to impact my decisions.