Page 22 of The Shape of Night

It’s a two-hour drive from Tucker Cove to the town of Tranquility, where the ghost hunter lives. According to the map it’s only fifty-five miles as the crow flies, but that old Maine sayingYou can’t get there from herehas never seemed so apt as I navigate from back road to back road, slowly making my way inland from the coast. I drive past abandoned farmhouses with collapsing barns, past long-fallow fields invaded by saplings, into woodlands where trees crowd out all sunlight. My GPS directs me down roads that seem to lead nowhere, but I obey the annoying voice issuing from the speaker because I have no idea where I am. It has been miles since I’ve seen another car, and I begin to wonder if I’ve been going in circles; everywhere I look I see only trees and every bend in the road looks identical.

Then I spot the roadside mailbox with a pale blue butterfly painted on the side: #41. I’ve arrived at the right place.

I bounce up the dirt driveway, and the woods part to reveal Maeve Cerridwyn’s home. I had imagined a ghost hunter’s house to be dark and ominous, but this cottage in the woods looks like a home where you’d find seven charming dwarves. When I step out of my car, I hear tinkling wind chimes. Behind the house is a stand of birch trees, their white trunks like ghostly sentinels of the forest. In the sunny patch of front yard, an herb garden blooms with sage and catmint.

I follow the fieldstone path through the garden, where I recognize my usual culinary friends: thyme and rosemary, parsley and tarragon, sage and oregano. But there are other herbs here that I do not recognize, and in this magical woodland spot I can’t help wondering what mysterious uses they might have. For love potions, perhaps, or the warding off of demons? I bend down to examine a vine with blackberries and tiny purple flowers.

When I rise to my feet, I’m startled to see a woman watching me from her porch. How long has she been there?

“I’m glad you made it, Ava,” she says. “It’s easy to get lost along the way.”

Maeve Cerridwyn is not what I expected a ghost hunter to look like. Neither mysterious nor scary, she is a petite woman with a plain, sweet face. The sun has freckled her skin and etched deep laugh lines around her brown eyes, and her dark hair is half silver. I can’t imagine this woman facing down ghosts or battling demons; she looks like she’d bake them cookies instead.

“I’m sorry you had to come all this way to see me. Normally I drive out to the client’s house, but my car’s still in the shop.”

“That’s all right. I felt like I needed to get away for the day.” I look at her garden. “This is beautiful. I write about food, and I’m always on the hunt for new culinary herbs I haven’t tried yet.”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to cook with that one,” she says, pointing to the vine I was just admiring. “That’s belladonna. Deadly nightshade. A few berries could kill you.”

“Why on earth do you grow it?”

“Every plant has its uses, even the poisonous ones. A tincture of belladonna can be used as an anesthetic and to help wounds heal.” She smiles. “Come on in. I promise I won’t put anything in your tea except honey.”

I step into the house, where I pause for a moment, looking around in wonder at the mirrors that hang on almost every wall. Some are mere chips of glass, others extend from floor to ceiling. Some are mounted in lavishly decorated frames. Everywhere I look I glimpse movement—my own, as I turn from reflection to reflection.

“As you can see, I have an obsession with mirrors,” she admits. “Some people collect porcelain frogs. I collect mirrors from around the world.” She points to each one as we move down the hall. “That’s from Guatemala. That one is from India. Malaysia. Slovenia. No matter where you go in the world, most people want to look at themselves. Even guinea fowl will sit and stare at their own reflections.”

I stop before one particularly striking example. Encircling the mirrored glass is a tin frame decorated with grotesque and frightening faces.Demons.“Interesting hobby you have,” I murmur.

“It’s more than a hobby. It’s also for protection.”

I frown at her. “Protection from what?”

“Some cultures believe that mirrors are dangerous. That they serve as portals to another world, a way for spirits to move back and forth and cause mischief. But the Chinese believe mirrors are a defense, and they hang them outside their homes to scare away evil spirits. When a demon sees its own reflection, it’s frightened away and it won’t disturb you.” She points to the mirror hanging above the doorway to the kitchen, its frame painted bright green and gold. “That’s a Ba Gua mirror. Notice how it’s concave? That’s so it absorbs negative energies, preventing them from going into my kitchen.” She sees my dubious expression. “You think this is all hokum, don’t you?”

“I’ve always been skeptical about the supernatural.”

She smiles. “Yet here you are.”

We sit in her kitchen, where crystals dangle in the window, casting little rainbows on the walls. In this room there are no mirrors; perhaps she considers the kitchen safe from invasion, protected by that obstacle course of demon-repelling mirrors in the hallway. I’m relieved that I can’t catch glimpses of myself in this room. Like those demons, I’m afraid of my own reflection, afraid to look myself in the eye.

Maeve sets two steaming cups of chamomile tea on the table and sits across from me. “Now tell me about your ghost problem.”

I can’t help a sheepish laugh. “I’m sorry, but this feels ridiculous.”

“Of course it does. Since you don’t believe in spirits.”

“I really don’t. I never have. I’ve always thought that people who saw ghosts were either delusional or prone to fantasies, but I don’t know how else to explain what’s happening in my house.”

“You believe these events are paranormal?”

“I don’t know. All I know is, Ididn’timagine them.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. But old houses come with creaky floors. The wood expands and contracts. Faucets drip.”

“None of those things can explain what I saw. Or what I felt when he touched me.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “Something actuallytouchedyou?”

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