Page 18 of The Ghost of Ellwood
A journal I still couldn’t locate.
“After George threw a fit about this article and stopped any more from printing, other explanations came about,” Florence continued. “This was prior to World War I, mind you. Theo had signed up to fight and was supposed to ship out only two or so weeks before he disappeared. Many people speculated that he had a fight with his father and left without saying goodbye to anyone. That he died somewhere in France.”
“Do you believe that?”
Florence pursed her lips and raised her shoulders. “Hard to say. It’s possible, I suppose.”
She was a quirky woman. Her words said one thing but her expression said another.
“Spill it, Florence,” I said, arching a brow.
“Well.” She clasped her hands together. “I guess Theo going off to war and dying is a good explanation. Some bodies were never recovered, so it’s possible he fell in battle somewhere. However.” She stuck up a finger. “George Blackwell never contacted the authorities to search for Theo or to track him down, whether it be dead on a battlefield somewhere or not. The real kicker is… not even a month after this article went to press, Blackwell packed up his things and left Ivy Grove.”
“Sounds like a guilty man to me.”
“You said it.”
I glanced at Theo’s illustration one last time, storing his face to memory. Not that I could forget it. Even without seeing the picture, his face had been clear in my mind from the dream I’d had. It was definitely the same man.
“I should head home,” I said, tearing my gaze from the photo. “Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime, Mr. Cross. It’s been a real pleasure.”
Florence had given me a lot to think about. I should be spending all of this time and energy on writing my new book, but I felt like this was what I was meant to be doing right now. In the past, I had always followed my gut instinct in my career. And learning about the manor felt important.
I felt like I had finally found the path in the dark, one that would lead me to where I needed to go.
Arriving home, I sat in my car for several minutes and stared at the house. So many secrets were buried in the walls of the manor. People had lived and died here. As Carter said, tragedy left behind echoes of energy. Now, whether that meant ghosts or just mere stories to tell in the dark, I didn’t know for sure yet.
The not knowing killed me.
The missing journal, the greenhouse no one could get into, and the strange occurrences on the property—they all meant something.Hadto.
***
The next day, I woke early to work on the manor. I started outside by trimming the unruly hedges and mowing the grass. The cool weather had caused the grass to start dying, so I doubted I’d have to mow again for a while. Then, I swept the porch and washed off the front-facing windows.
Cleaning and organizing was something I did when brainstorming for a new book. I knew it would be a ghost story, but I didn’t know much else.
As possible plot ideas whirled in my head, I moved through the manor, making note of future renovations I’d like to do, as well as writing down needed repairs. A section of the floor in the second story had a few bad floorboards, and part of the tile in the bathroom was cracked. The stairs led up to a third story, and I stood at the bottom looking up.
I hadn’t ventured to the third floor yet, but I knew a small loft and an attic were up there. What else would I find?
“Stop being a chicken, Ben,” I said, stepping forward.
The stairs curved as I ascended them, and I passed two stained glass windows on my way up. Before I reached the top, the hairs on my nape stood on end. I halted on the third step from the landing, and my gut coiled when I heard a footstep even after mine had stopped.
I spun around and searched the winding staircase. I saw nothing, but Ifeltit. The area directly in front of me was cold. Everywhere else was warm. The window beside me let in the only light that high up, and as I stared, there was an almost imperceptible glimmer within the rays of sun.
A glimmer in the shape of a man.
“T-Theo?” I stammered.
In an instant, the glimmer broke apart and the cold fled with it. The apparition had left. While it was somewhat creepy, I realized I wasn’t afraid. Fascinated? Definitely.
I continued toward the loft. The small room had a sloped roof and a window seat. The tattered and filthy cushion would’ve made for a nice sitting area with some TLC. Nearing the window, I saw it gave a view of the top of the greenhouse.
One day I’ll get in there.
