Fixing To Die

An’gel chuckled at the thought and at once felt more at ease. She ran her right hand along the burnished mahogany of the banister rail. Her eyes followed it as it curved gently upward to the second floor. At the point where it mounted beyond the opening in the ceiling, she noticed an elongated, horizontal shadow in the rough shape of a body in the dim light that emanated from the floor above.

Who was standing there? she wondered. Why wasn’t he moving?

An’gel hesitated a moment, then called out. “Henry Howard, is that you? Come on down and say hello.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then the shadow disappeared.

It hadn’t moved away, An’gel thought, uneasy now. There had been no movement, she was sure of it.

The shadow just vanished as if it had never been there in the first place.

CHAPTER 3

The incident happened so quickly, An’gel began to wonder whether she had really seen a shadow or instead simply imagined it.

No, it was there. I saw it.

“You must have imagined it,” she whispered.

You came here looking for ghosts and strange happenings, and your subconscious obliged you.

No, she argued with herself, it was there. And then it was gone.

A voice startled her. She turned to face her sister.

“An’gel, what on earth is the matter with you?” Dickce frowned. “You’re pale, and your eyes look wild.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” An’gel replied as she tried to get her heart rate to slow down to its normal rate. Should she tell Dickce what she saw? Or thought she saw?

“You don’t have to glare at me,” Dickce said, her tone testy. “If you say you’re fine, then I guess you’re fine. Though you still look a little strange to me.”

“I saw something.” An’gel hadn’t meant to speak, but the words slipped out anyway.

“What did you see?” Dickce asked, her voice low.

“A shadow at the top of the stairs.” An’gel shot a quick look at the spot. Nothing there now. She returned her gaze to her sister’s face. “A shadow that made me think someone was standing there. A man, I thought.” She paused for a quick breath. “And then the shadow just disappeared.”

“You mean it moved away?” Now Dickce sounded skeptical.

An’gel shook her head. “No, it never moved. It was there one moment and then suddenly it wasn’t.”

“Probably some sort of optical illusion,” Dickce said. “Honestly, Sister, I think you’re just tired and hungry from the drive. Go and wash up, and we’ll find Mary Turner and Benjy and have our lunch.”

An’gel shot an angry glare at Dickce before she brushed past her to get to the powder room. She glanced in the mirror and was reassured to see that she did not look at all pale. “Maybe Sister was right,” she muttered. “I am only hungry and tired.”

Her ablutions finished and her equilibrium mostly restored, An’gel left the powder room some moments later to rejoin Dickce. She found her sister, eyes closed, clutching the banister rail of the staircase and shivering.

Alarmed, An’gel laid a hand on Dickce’s shoulder. “What is wrong with you? Now you’re the one who’s pale, and you look like you’re going to faint.”

Dickce’s eyes popped open to stare into An’gel’s. “Thank the Lord it’s gone now, but while you were in the powder room, I had the sensation of coldness all around me. It lasted only a moment or two, but I still feel chilled.”

An’gel regarded her sister with dismay. They had experienced a similar sensation a few times over the years in their grandmother’s bedroom at Riverhill and had never been able to explain it to their complete satisfaction. What would they do if Cliffwood really was haunted?

A baritone voice coming from above them startled both sisters. “Hello there, ladies. Sorry I couldn’t be here to greet you with Mary Turner.”

An’gel glanced up the stairs to see Henry Howard Catlin descending toward them.

“We’re delighted to see you, young man.” An’gel exchanged a glance with her sister. Should they tell Henry Howard what they had experienced? An’gel decided it could wait until later and shook her head slightly at Dickce.

Their host, his long, lean form clad in worn corduroy trousers and a flannel shirt, pushed his rimless glasses up his nose before he bent to offer first An’gel, then Dickce, a quick peck on the cheek. An’gel noted that his curly chestnut locks now sported a couple of streaks of white, and there were signs of strain in his face. He looked a good ten years older than his thirty-six years, An’gel decided.

“We did wonder where you were,” Dickce said, her smile strained. “But I imagine there are a thousand and one things you have to do to make sure the house is ready for Thanksgiving.”