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Jack slid to a stop, the dirt in the grass sliding underfoot. She nearly fell, but somehow caught her balance and whirled back to face the building.
“No!” Suddenly little Lucy was back, standing between Jack and the trees. The blank look that had covered her face was gone, but she still flickered like an old TV. “Jack, you can’t beat her, not alone!”
Jack hesitated, the malevolent spirit rushing closer to her with every passing moment. Its eyes burned red, its green dress so much like the other woman’s, only slashed into streamers hanging off the translucent body. The wailing grew louder, and Jack covered her ears, wincing.
“Jack!” little Lucy said again.
“My friend needs me!” Jack yelled, unable to hear herself.
But even as she said it, she knew there wasn’t much she could do. Not alone. Already she felt that voice slashing into her like a thousand knives, the cold taking over. It pierced her as much as Lucy’s scream.
She was completely helpless.
“You can’t help her! Not now!” Little Lucy was poised to run to the woods.
Jack relented, casting one more forlorn look back at the cottage and the spirit. Little Lucy was right. She needed help. And hopefully the ghost knew where she could get it.
She bolted toward the woods, little Lucy rushing along like the wind beside her, the cats on her heels. As soon as she broke into the trees, the wailing faded, as if she’d crossed some threshold. But she couldn’t stop there, not until she was sure she’d be safe.
Tree branches whipped across her body and snapped against her numb face, and the undergrowth grabbed at her like the thorns had in the field. The moonlight barely made it to the forest floor, and her flashlight was still somewhere back in the field. But somehow, she’d managed to hang onto her backpack, and she could only hope something she’d packed would help rescue Lucy.
The ground dropped out from under her, and she tumbled down a steep earthen slope, rolling through the dirt and mud. She hit several rocks, grabbed at roots, but she was falling too fast.
Until she hit the tree trunk. Stars exploded in front of her eyes as she came to a rest, clutching her side where she’d struck. She squeezed her eyes closed against the pain.
She stayed crouched there for several long moments, biting her lip to keep from crying out, though she couldn’t stop the tears tracking down her cheeks.
She’d lost her friend, and now she’d hurt herself.
It was too much. She couldn’t suppress a sob, and then everything poured forth: her fear, her pain, her grief. All the ways she’d disappointed her parents. Failed Lucy.
Because of her, the farm was full of ghosts, including far too many angry ghosts. Because of her, her family’s heirlooms might be lost forever. Because of her, the people she loved could lose everything.
Lucy could die, and it would all be her fault.
“What is she doing?” came a whisper from nearby.
She bit her lip and shot up, looking toward the source of the voice.
“I think she’s hurt,” little Lucy said, leaning toward another small ghost, this one a woman who looked strikingly like the child, except for standing only a couple feet taller.
The woman’s face softened into something like pity. Sympathy? “I think she’s more than just hurt.”
She knelt down next to Jack, resting a cold, ethereal hand on her quaking shoulder. Jack shuddered away, eyes wide, terrified even while feeling she deserved whatever evil awaited her.
Little Lucy joined them in the dirt. “Jack? It’s going to be okay.”
Jack couldn’t hold back a sob. “You don’t know that! Everything is ruined, and it’s all my fault! My best friend could die!”
The older woman pressed her lips together. “Just because you don’t know things will be okay doesn’t mean you can just give up.”
Jack could do nothing more than blink at her, another tear escaping down her cheek.
Little Lucy smiled. “Jack, this is my mother, Penelope.”
“Your... mother?” Jack glanced between them. “But you died. Of a broken heart. That’s what the story said.”
Penelope quirked an eyebrow. “Do I look like I have a broken heart? I mean... okay, I had a heart condition. And I’m happy to be back with Lucy. But don’t believe everything you hear.” Her playful demeanor shifted. “My husband never should have.”
Jack swiped at her eyes and sniffed, readjusting herself carefully. “What’s really going on here? Can you help me save my friend?”
“I don’t know about your friend. But I can tell you what you need to know. Truth. The truth is the only thing that can repair this. That can bring back the light. Darkness cannot persist in the presence of light.”
“What do you mean?”
Penelope sighed and settled onto the ground, rearranging her translucent skirt. “You need to know the whole story. If you know the story, you can tell my husband.”
“Why?”
“Because this is all his fault.” Penelope held up her hand, halting any more questions from Jack. “Let me start at the beginning.
“The farm wasn’t doing well. We’d had a blight on the crops, and the flu had hit the town particularly hard that fall. To make things worse, there was a rumor of witches hiding among the townspeople.
“My husband... He was desperate. He made a deal with the witches, to allow them to use our land for their meetings, to hide them from the church, if they would do what they could to save our farm. But once the town found out, they found him just as guilty as the witches. They would have killed him then, if it wasn’t for his sister. She took his place. Claimed she’d bewitched him, that she was one of them.
“She saved him at the cost of her own life.”
“So what happened to her?” Jack cut in. “Why did she come back as a banshee?”
Penelope shook her head. “She was never a banshee. But she was a witch. And she had made some powerful enemies, mainly the leader of the coven, by exposing herself and admitting what she was. The witch cursed her, tied her to the land. What the people perceived as a banshee was a ghost mourning her own fate. The deaths? They were simply the flu.”
Jack glanced at little Lucy.
Lucy nodded. “Me, too. I had the flu. After I died, mother fell ill, too. Her heart couldn’t take it. Father was convinced it was his witch sister who had cursed him for causing her death. She’s angry.”
“And your father... he still thinks it was her?”
Little Lucy nodded.
“And that thing in the cottage? I assume that’s the witch.”
“Yes,” Penelope said. “She’s tied to the land as much as my sister-in-law, Verity.”
“So how do we stop her? How do we put an end to this and save Lucy?”
Penelope glanced up at the moon through the branches. It was lowering in the sky. Dawn wasn’t far off. “It’s been one hundred years. The curse is weak, near breaking. She needs blood to keep it going.”
“Lucy.”
“Yes.”
“So to rescue her?”
“You must go back to the cottage and find the anchor of the curse.” Penelope chewed on her lip.
“How do I do that?” Jack could already feel the dread creeping over her.
“You’ll know it when you see it. Look for the dead patch of earth. The witch’s grave.”
Jack swallowed. This just got better and better. “And then what?”
Penelope pointed at Jack’s bag. “You have salt in there? Spread it over the earth. Then call the witch. Call Verity. Call my husband, Carter. Bring them together. Show them the truth. The salt will break her connection to the earth, and hopefully Verity and Carter will handle the rest. While they’re distracted, you get your friend and run.”
“Distracted?”
“Just don’t look back. Head straight for the pumpkin patch and wait until morning. If you don’t, you and your friend will be trapped here, too. Forever.”
