Page 1 of The Neighborhood Ghost

Stave One

THE GHOSTS OF YEARS PAST

October 1891

Ablue jay flew through the wild forest, and Madeline Sinclair followed. She dashed and trounced through the piles of discarded leaves, unwavering in her pursuit. Her eyes traced every movement of the cobalt-colored bird’s flight path.

She hiked up the skirt of her black Victorian mourning dress. The soles of her matching leather boots slipped on the loose leaves. Madeline stumbled. She braced herself with the tip of her closed parasol, stopping only momentarily to gather herself before continuing the pursuit. Her eyes never wavered, always focused on the bird.

“Ms. Sinclair,” an older man’s voice shouted from behind.

Madeline didn’t stop, refusing to recognize the voice. She followed as the bird ventured on with its journey.

“Ms. Sinclair, please stop,” the man’s voice bellowed once again.

Madeline never wavered in her pursuit, dodging branches, thickets, and other obstacles in her path.

“Madeline, I implore you to stop,” the man pleaded.

“Not now,” she shouted back. “Not when we are this close.”

The crisp fall air filled her lungs. They burned with every breath in her labored chase. The blue jay gained a noticeable distance between them, gaining an aerial advantage as it swooped and glided through the tree branches.

Madeline eased up as she rolled over a felled tree trunk. Her query banked to the left and disappeared deeper into the forest.

She gritted her teeth, thrusting her knees forward. They caught in the excess fabric of her skirt, impeding her progress.

“No,” she shouted as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so close. Not now.”

“Ms. Sinclair, please stop. It’s over. The bird is gone.”

Madeline stopped running. She hunched over, with her hands on her hips, to catch her breath. Each inhale deeper than the last. The leaves crunched as the man approached.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Sinclair, but we weren’t going to catch the bird. We were lucky to not trip and fall and harm ourselves.”

Madeline focused on the dead leaves below her. Adrenaline coursed through her body. An internal rage slowly built. Her breath satiated, she inhaled to calm her emotions. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the curved handle. She rose and jabbed the tip of the black parasol into the man’s chest.

“Farnsworth, that bird was our only hope of finding a tree.” She jabbed the older man’s chest to emphasize every word.

“We can always find another bird.”

Madeline drove the tip of the parasol into the ground. It stood free from her grasp, stuck in the soft earth. She stormed off to survey the landscape of the small clearing. “It has to be here. It must be here.”

“Have you considered it wasn’t meant to be? Or it was a myth? A legend?”

Madeline shot him a dirty glance. Her eyebrows furled with anger.

Farnsworth added, “How many times have we been searching in the woods only to come up empty-handed?”

Madeline scanned for the elusive blue jay amongst the autumn trees. “It has to be close by.”

Russell Farnsworth withdrew a handkerchief from his frock coat pocket. He unfurled the white cloth and rubbed down his forehead. He pulled out a gold pocket watch and glanced at it. “Your father would have agreed with me. Besides, it’s getting late. The sun will be down soon, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“My father was a fool for not doing what was necessary. He entrusted his hope for a cure to others. And when they failed, he accepted his fate in the Sinclair curse. He accepted the loss of my mother. I refuse to accept my fate.”

“It’s been almost a year since you banished your fiancé. It’s been far too long with no contact from him. You have to accept he’s dead. He’s gone. You have to let go.”

Madeline paused. She scowled at the older gentleman before her. Her chest rose and fell as if ready to explode with anger.

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