In the Shadow of the Lilac: I: Whispers
Welcome to this limited spooky serial! Expect a new chapter on the 15th, 21st, 25th, and the 31st of October at 5:30 pm EST.
“Ghosts? Of course there are ghosts,” Zion’s voice echoed down, muffled by the old attic walls. He poked his head back down the rickety steps to smile at his sister, who stood below, watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Ghosts of memories and your imagination, that is.”
“I didn’t ask if there are ghosts,” Melody protested. “I asked if there’s anything old up there.”
“Ghosts are old.”
“But are there chests of, of, of dresses and pretty things?” Melody bounced hopefully, trying to get a glimpse past his shoulder.
“There’s a window and a closet-worth of dust-bunnies?”
“Aw.” Melody shook her head dejectedly. “I always wanted to find an attic full of treasures, I thought this house might have it.”
“You read too many fairytales, princess. Come on, hand me a duster and a broom, because I’m going to need to stabilize these old stairs before I let you come up here.”
“Stabilize them with a broom?”
“Very funny, Melody.”
It was a funny old house the Holcombs had moved into – that was what Zion thought, but Melody disagreed. She thought it was lovely, even if it was a bit dusty, having sat empty for twenty years. Zion didn’t like the pink paneling and the frilly, lace-like decoration that dripped like icing from the gables.
“Like living in a dollhouse,” he said, but he almost didn’t mind, because it all made Melody happy. Melody was only two years younger than Zion, yet her health made him choose to continue living with his family, rather than moving elsewhere for work, as he might otherwise have planned. He would have missed her anyway, he knew that much; and Melody could be wonderful at getting herself in trouble. Although, his idea of ‘trouble’ was clearly not hers. Melody was simply trusting and saw through everything like a child, getting to the heart of any matter before anyone else had begun to decipher the hints.
Melody was already planning on decorating, and they hadn’t even unpacked more than one box, that one being all the crucifixes and Melody’s statue of the Mystic Rose. Zion had already nearly had three accidents just trying to put nails into the old walls to hang them. But in the end, it was done, and he was none the worse the wear. He wasn’t sure he could say the same for the house, but it instantly took on a homier feel, a comfortable hum that felt like safety settling into the green hillsides.
Lavender Vale was their new home: a little pastel village in soft peach and blue, nestled in a lush valley between the wooded mountains and Silver-sands Beach. It was a quaint old town; old because there wasn’t a new building in it, quaint because it was Victorian and Edwardian, nearly frozen in time.
It was odd to see the women step out of the stores in modern dresses; but even they chose to match the soft regality of their surroundings. Cars were unobtrusive by choice, taking the side streets and parking out of the way; the only massive delivery trucks that interrupted the landscape were those headed for the resort on the beachfront. For everyone else, everything else was made in town, in the surrounding countryside, one or two towns over, or was antique and passed down.
There were only two churches; one was Episcopalian, the other was Catholic – in keeping with the floral theme, it was named Rosa Mystica. The Mass, naturally, was Latin; it could hardly be anything else in Lavender Vale, or the townspeople’s indignation at modernity might have sent Massgoers elsewhere.
It was a perfect place, as far as Melody was concerned: beautiful, serene, and old-fashioned. It was quiet enough for Zion’s liking, too, but there was something missing besides all of their furniture. Brother and sister had moved ahead of their parents and younger sister, Angeline, who had remained in Florida, tied up with their grandmother’s unexpected funeral, all the legalities of the will, and the tidying up of her affairs.
It had been decided for Melody’s sake that Zion ought to take her up to the new house and keep her busy with it, for Melody’s distress at her grandmother’s death was great enough to be a risk for the arrhythmia she’d had since childhood. Lavender Vale would be a peaceful change of scenery and a distraction.
But right now, the house was strewn with boxes – so much so that everyone tripped anytime they tried to move more than a few inches in any direction, and was glad to escape into the kitchen or the winding stairwell in the tower, the only rooms where chaos didn’t yet reign. Except, that is, when they became full of people, and they did, for Melody and Zion were not actually home alone. Their Boston relatives, Aunt Jessie, Aunt Lily-May, Uncle Zachariah and the ten cousins had happily volunteered to assist in putting things to rights that first day.
The house was certainly big enough to handle a few overnight stays, for while there were no bedrooms on the first floor, the living room was spacious enough for plenty of sleeping-bags; there were four bedrooms on the second floor; two in the attic, and not to mention, it was the most random attic any of them had ever heard of, for it had an entire ballroom in it, complete with a balcony looking out over the back gardens. The floor was in dire need of waxing, and the chandelier hung askew, adorned more by cobwebs than by crystal, but in between stocking the kitchen and decorating the dining room, Melody still begged impatiently to be allowed up the stairs to twirl around in an imaginary ballgown.
“Oh well,” she sighed, when Zion still defeated her arguments, simultaneously vanquishing the army of dust-bunnies. “Well, since this house needs to be baked in, now that I unloaded four boxes I’m going to go bake a cake.”
Zion only raised his eyebrows, not arguing, for he had seen the lemon curd and the strawberries Melody had bought at the little town market. As long as there was no grapefruit, he would be happy. Melody turned around before she had even crossed the first twelve inches of the hall.
“I could have my bedroom up here, and my sewing room, maybe. And I can redecorate the chandelier. Maybe I should make an Edwardian dress just for wearing around the house!”
She swished the sunny fabric of her vintage dress, pretending to be one of the Edwardian ladies who had surely mounted those steps to her first dance.
“Alright, alright, I said not on the stairs, young lady!” Zion gently shooed her back with the duster. “Why don’t you go dance your way down to the kitchen and bake your birthday cake, while I finish up here.”
A few hours later, the house was pleasantly scented like vanilla, Melody had emptied another six of the hundred-and-fifteen boxes scattered through the house, Zion had successfully gotten a third of the furniture into decent position, and it was beginning to look like a home instead of a rat’s nest.
Melody watched her aunts orchestrating the cleaning of the stained-glass windows in the sunroom. She was tired now, tired enough that she could feel her heart fluttering a bit as it often did. She slipped out into the cool of the veranda, where vibrant leaves scattered before her. The back of the house gazed into the woodland which draped over the hillsides; white pines rubbed branches with scarlet maples, and the froth of Queen Anne’s Lace billowed in the shadows, crowned by forget-me-nots and asters.
They were beautiful woods, Melody decided: the kind where there’s plenty of space between the trees at the woodland edge, but the deeper one went, ferns crowded amongst the roots and the trees dripped with soft mosses. That was exactly the kind of feeling her heart wanted. She wandered off, waist-deep in the flowers, and climbed a winding path she found up one of the hills, through the autumn fire, up to a lookout point at the top. There she sat among the trees in sight of the house.
It was not terribly high, but enough for the breeze to blow stronger as she took up a handful of leaves and let them blow down to the vale like confetti. The valley spread below to her right, the house now seeming small, truly doll-like, and directly below was a steep gully, through which bubbled streams from a spring farther up.
Melody plucked a few stalks of asters and goldenrod and began weaving them, humming sweetly to herself. She dropped the flowers in her lap when she heard a twig crack behind her, farther up among the trees and stones. She twisted her head to see who might be coming and froze.
A black figure appeared above her on the path.
The wind rippled the black hammered satin, the folds of which were tattered, as Melody’s eyes traveled up to the face of the ice-eyed wraith – which could hardly be called a face, for there was only shadow, and a hazy glint of white enamel, as the spectre stood still, watching.
Melody briefly weighed the usual and generally urged options of retreat or defense, but anyway, it was almost Halloween season, and it might only be a funny-looking scarecrow.
“Oh! Hello.” Melody scrambled to her feet and dusting the loose flower petals from her skirt, went up to him. She paused, inspecting the apparition as the eyes didn’t change. The head, however, slightly inclined towards her.
“What’s your name? Would you like to be my friend? I haven’t got any here yet.”
Caught off-guard, the figure was unable to keep from laughing as he removed the hood, shaking it back from his ash-brown hair. His laugh was not the creepy laugh of a maniac, but a lovely warm one that made Melody smile, and it matched the merry eyes of the man who now stood before her.
“I guess so! My name is Grant.” The man regarded her with amusement. “Heavens, child, why weren’t you frightened? One doesn’t just walk up to a spectre and ask it to be one’s friend!”
“Well I know, but I’m twenty-one, and I thought I would rather have you for a friend,” Melody replied, offering him her hand. “Maybe Melody’s aren’t included in ‘ones’.”
He took it, carefully. “It would seem that they are not.”
“Why did you try to scare me? It isn’t Halloween just yet, you know.”
“Didn’t you notice people were starting Halloween in July this year?” he asked evasively, studying the rosary bracelet wrapped around her wrist with interest, with its roses carved from coral and mother-of-pearl. The smile in his steel-gray eyes dimmed as he dropped her hand. “You shouldn’t wander through the woods alone, miss.”
“Melody.”
“Miss Melody.”
“Melody.”
“Melody.”
Melody cocked her head, noticing the slight frown on Grant’s face.
“I think someone may be looking for you, Melody.” He nodded towards the lawn below, where Zion was ducking around the veranda and criss-crossing the gardens.
“Yes, I suppose I ought to go and help with moving in again,” Melody agreed. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”
“But-”
“I could tell you liked my bracelet,” Melody smiled over her shoulder. “And you didn’t hide your crucifix very well!”
She slipped back down the path. She was sure Grant hadn’t hidden his thoughts too well, either, even as she returned to the house and finished decorating her cake, throwing occasional glances out the crystal windows, which were now sparkling-clean.
“Who was that strangely robed man you were talking to up on the hill, dear?” Aunt Lily-May inquired as she bustled past and prevented her youngest son from swiping the frosting and lemon curd bowls. “Was that the priest from your new parish? Or Orthodox, though I don’t know why he might be out here.”
“Oh no,” Melody answered innocently, giving the lemon curd spoon a lick and handing the frosting spatula to young Timmy, to his delight. “His name is Grant and he likes scaring people.”
Startled, Zion laughed as he balanced two boxes in his arms, brow wrinkling in concern. “That’s quite the unique descriptor, Melody.”
“Oh, I think he was just dressing up early for Halloween and tried to spook me. I just went up to him and talked to him.”
“Dear, that’s not what you do when you’re alone and you run into someone who’s being creepy! Why didn’t you run? Even I would have.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because,” he said, laughing slightly, “those types of people may be the kind who harm, not only frighten. Next time please run. You don’t know what a scare could do to your heart, Mel.”
“Well he seems like a nice person, when he’s not trying to scare people.” She pushed open the wide windows that lacked screens and leaned out.
“Graaant!” She half-shouted, then tilted her head downward to meet the bemused gaze of the now-skeletal figure that had crept up beneath the sill.
“Hello again!” Melody said cheerfully, after an initial little jump. “Would you like some cake?”
Reaching up, Grant resignedly pulled off the grotesque mask. “I don’t say no to cake!”
“Coming up!” Melody sang, and swirled back into the kitchen only to dart back and demand whether he liked lemon, and if he wanted lemonade, yellow or pink, or if he had any allergies.
“Citrus is my favorite, and yes please, half and half, and no, none to speak of,” and the girl was back to slice up the cake with its creamy layers and pastel fillings of yellow and pink custard.
“You’re already feeding him cake?” Zion asked in disbelieving amusement. “At this rate, why don’t you marry him?”
She stopped, and walked back to the window.
“Graaant!”
She perched on the window and paused as he raised the glass to his lips.
“My brother says we should get married.”
Grant spit out his lemonade in shock, and the girl laughed merrily.
“My turn to scare you,” she teased, “but don’t worry, I already adopted you.”
She bounced down on the inside of the window.
“You scared me better than I have you,” Grant admitted ruefully. “I don’t understand why you’re not afraid.”
“But I am, I just know that you’re just in a costume, ‘cause things like that aren’t real. But you do scare me, I just try to ignore it.”
“Not all things are as human as you would like to believe,” Grant said quietly. “One of these times, though, you’ll be frightened!”
He noticed that her eyes had turned to the edge of the woods, brow furrowed, and at once followed her gaze.
“What’s that?” Melody asked, for something oddly white and black, glinting like bones, was running across the field towards the porch.
“Oh that? That’s just Bones. Bones!” he called, snapping his fingers, and the thing came bounding up the steps with a clatter.
Bones? It was a skeleton, a dog skeleton, to be more precise.
“That’s not his real name,” Grant confided. “It’s Lys. Come here, boy! Let’s get that thing off you.”
A peeling off of velcro and the plastic and spandex came away, leaving the border collie shaking his fur free, tongue lolling as he tried to get at the cake the girl handed over his head.
“Grant! How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” he answered, still trying not to cough on the flecks of lemonade he had inhaled.
“Zioon, you’ve officially been replaced as my eldest brother!” Melody popped into the parlor where Zion had been trying to wrestle his way through falling boxes to reach the door.
“What!”
“Don’t worry though, you’re still my favorite.” She slipped her arms around his waist.
“Well thank you for that, I need to meet this new eldest brother of yours.”
Finally reaching the door, he headed out, letting the door close behind him. Grant turned around, carefree of the black tatters still hanging over him.
“Ironically,” Zion began, “my sister has already been telling me so much about you even though you’re just sitting outside the window! You’re Grant.”
“You must be Zion.” Grant stood to shake his hand, but barely had they begun to debate than they began to argue heatedly over Grant’s favorite pastime, and his vow to successfully frighten Melody.
“No, you won’t,” Zion said firmly. “Because if you do, I can’t promise that you won’t be responsible for landing her in a hospital with the atrial flutter she has, which has nearly happened thrice before. You wouldn’t want a death on your hands, so -”
“Boys!” Melody popped her head through the window and perched on the sill again with a sweet smile. “Can I tell you something? It’s my birthday.”
At once her aunts cried out and chided her for not reminding anyone about it, because she hadn’t even when she baked the cake.
“I like to be sneaky, too,” she answered serenely, wrinkling her nose at Grant, who clearly was fond of a similar pastime. “And my birthday says, you oughtn’t be arguing, and you’re not going to scare me anymore.” She patted Grant’s curly hair as though he were a favored nephew.
“No, I guess I won’t,” he muttered, a shadow passing over his face. “Melody?”
“Yes?”
“I want you to stay out of the woods and I want you both to sell this house as soon as you can.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said gravely, searching her wide eyes, “you remind me of the free flowers that blossom in those woods. There are things in this vale that crush those blossoms simply because they can, and because they’re fragile and beautiful.”
“Grant, you’re breaking your promise not to try to frighten her,” Zion warned, rising. Grant stood as well.
“It’s not a fright, it’s a fact,” he said soberly. “Keep an eye on her, Zion. Melody, promise me that you’ll run next time you see something. Stay indoors at night. Sell this house the moment you can and get away from here.”
“But what if it’s you again?” Melody pleaded. “And no stargazing?”
“Melody! Even if it is me, I’ll be glad to know you’re keeping your promise. And no stargazing on your own. Promise me!”
Melody began to protest.
“Promise. Me.” He repeated it so forcefully that Melody mumbled an anxious acquiescence at a nod from Zion.
“Then I’ll be going.” Grant half turned his head as he reached the steps. “Stay away from the trees.”
The dappled light swallowed him up, and for the first time, as she reached for Zion’s hand, Melody began to fear that the shadows had taken her friend.
As the number of boxes dwindled and Zion and Melody were left on their own in the big house, Grant became a fixture of the day, via his habit of popping up at random times. He would show up on odd hours, either in town or, more frequently, he would let himself into the house to chat with Zion. Grant kept his promise, and brother and sister soon came to know him as a steady, grave sort of fellow, typically all-business, but as protective and gentle with Melody as Zion was.
Grant’s warnings, however, still echoed; but they didn’t sell the house, as much as Zion had thought about it. Their parents were having a hard enough time with their grandmother’s house.
A week after the initial move-in, the house was beginning to feel home-like, what with Melody’s baking and singing, Zion’s genius repairs, and Grant’s unexpected present of three stray kittens. The latter had been promptly named Pipsqueak, Pebble, and Snowflake by Melody, and had a way of getting underfoot or happily monching on any of the flowers Melody brought inside. They’d just scrambled up onto the table, somehow, and become a purricane as far as the centerpiece of poor anemones and daisies were concerned.
Leaving the door open to stream the kitchen light out so she could see, Melody slipped out onto the porch and leaned over the balustrade to gather a few marigolds and dahlias as a replacement. The wind was biting, clearly autumn now, something she wasn’t used to in the south. In Florida, autumn always waited until the last minute to show up, but here in Massachusetts, sweaters were already out of the closet, and Melody didn’t have enough. She hugged herself.
“Melody. . . .”
“What did you say, Zion?”
Zion didn’t answer. When she glanced back through the windows, he was still watching the pot pie in the oven, chatting with Mother on speaker.
“Melooodyyy. . .”
The voice floated on the dying breeze. Melody jumped and scanned the edge of the trees, taking a step back from the flowers and into the warm light.
The only other person who knows my name is Grant, she realized.
“Grant?”
This time there was no answer, but her eyes shot to the edge of the garden, not ten yards away. A dark shadow had become detached from the raspberry bushes, and two eyes snapped open, neon violet, like laser points in a ghastly face.
It was Grant’s costume, wasn’t it? Melody tried to decide as she shivered, hesitating, but she had promised, and the shadows were slipping -
She slammed the door behind her and ran to Zion, nearly sending him sprawling.
“Mel, watch it! What’s wrong? No, sorry, Mom, one second.”
“It was Grant, I think, I wasn’t going to run except I promised. Zion, he was being creepy and I think he was coming up to the house.”
“Easy, princess, if it’s just Grant, it’s okay. What, Mom? No, it’s just Melody, hang on I gotta take the pie out of the oven. Can I call you back later, Mom? Give Dad and Angeline a hug from us. Bye.”
He hung up and picked both Melody and himself up from the floor.
“Did you lock the door?”
She nodded.
“Then don’t worry, just sit down to eat your pot pie, dear. All the other doors and windows are locked, so he can’t bother us. He probably just wanted to remind you not to go outside. Though heaven knows what for,” Zion muttered, drawing the pie out of the oven.
Melody still felt uneasy, as anyone else might upon seeing such an apparition. She felt guilty too, because she hadn’t been afraid the first time. But then, it had been daylight, and she had promised to run.
Grant’s warnings had been ominous. She trusted that he had a good reason.
Read Part II.
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Nicely done! I'd keep reading, but I gotta work. Can't wait to read the rest!