Page 43 of The Nook for Brooks
A low, mournful wail.
At first, I thought it might be an animal—a coyote perhaps, or some hideous Wisconsin wolf. But then the sound sharpened into words.
A human voice.
It was calling out for something.
No,someone!
“Heathcliff…”
My blood ran cold.
I froze, every inch of me stiff with dread. The hairs on my arms turned to prickles and I clutched at my chest, convinced my heart had stopped altogether.
“Heathcliff…”The voice came again, wailing, desperate, hollow with grief.
I knew that voice. I knew it from the pages ofWuthering Heights. It was Cathy, moaning for her lost love on the moors. Only now she was here, in these forsaken Wisconsin woods, her ghostly spirit stalking our campsite in the dead of night.
“Cody!” I squeaked.
Where was he?
Why had he left me?
Had he been taken by the ghostly apparition?
“Cody!” I hissed, louder. “Cody!”
I scrambled to my feet, tugged my shorts on in a frenzy, and cautiously opened the tent flap. “Cody!”
A short distance away, caught in the dying shimmer of the fire, I saw him—naked as the day he was born, a flashlight in one hand, his body gleaming faintly in the embers’ glow. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t panicking. He was standing perfectly still, his beam pointed up toward the ridge.
“Thank god!” I stumbled toward him, half sobbing. “You didn’t leave me! You didn’t—”
“Shhh.” His voice was calm, commanding. “Listen.”
I held my breath, clutching at his arm.
The voice came again, floating down through the trees. Mournful. Harrowed. A lonely cry, desperate with loss.
“Heathcliff…”
I gripped him harder. “It’s her! It’s Cathy’s ghost! She’s come for us! We’re doomed!”
Cody shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off the ridge. “That’s not a ghost. And it’s not a woman.”
The cry sounded one last time, then faded, drawn out into silence until the forest swallowed it whole.
I stood trembling beside him, my entire body shaking with terror, convinced Cathy—orsomething—was still out there, watching, waiting to drag us into the moors of hell.
Cody lowered the flashlight but didn’t move, his jaw tight, his eyes still fixed on the ridge. “It’s gone,” he said finally, his voice quiet, measured. “For now.”
“For now?” My voice cracked. “What do you mean,for now? People don’t just moan ‘Heathcliff’ in the middle of the Wisconsin wilderness unless they’re dead, deranged, or damned.”
He slipped an arm around me, tugging me close, but it did little to calm the racing of my heart. “We’ll find out inthe morning,” he murmured. “Whatever it was, it’s finished for tonight. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word sounded absurd out here. The embers crackled softly, the trees creaked like old bones, and the darkness pressed in all around.
