The Shape of Night(73)

“Did Todd or Evan come into my bedroom to readjust the camera?”

“No one did, Ava. At this specific time, both Evan and Todd were upstairs with me in the turret. So was Dr. Gordon. Take another look at this footage. I’ll slow it down so you can see what this…thing does.”

She rolls back the video to 3:19 and hits play. Now the time stamp moves much more slowly, the seconds crawling forward. In the frame I sleep soundly, unaware that something else is in the room. Something that comes from the direction of the door and approaches me. It swirls toward the bed, a tentacled shadow that slithers closer and drapes itself over me like a shroud. Suddenly I can feel that shroud choking me right now, wrapped so tightly around my throat that I can’t breathe.

“Ava.” Maeve shakes me. “Ava!”

I gasp in a breath. On the laptop screen, the thing has vanished. Moonlight glows on the sheets and there is no shadow, no strangling blackness. There is just me, sleeping peacefully in bed.

“This can’t be real,” I murmur.

“We can both see it. It’s right there on video. It’s drawn to you, Ava. It went straight for you.”

“But what is it?” I hear the note of desperation in my own voice.

    “I know what it’s not. This is not a residual haunting. It’s not a poltergeist. No, it’s something intelligent, something that wants to interact with you.”

“It’s not a ghost?”

“No. This—this thing, whatever it is, moved straight to your bed. It’s clearly drawn to you, Ava, and to no one else.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know. Something about you attracts it. Maybe it wants to control you. Or possess you. Whatever this is, it’s not benign.” She leans forward and grasps my hand. “I don’t say this to many clients, but I need to tell you now, for your own safety. Get out of this house.”



* * *



—

“It could be just a video artifact,” says Ben as I scoop sweaters and T-shirts out of my dresser drawer and stuff them in my suitcase. “Maybe it’s just a cloud passing across the moon, casting a weird shadow.”

“As always, you have a logical explanation.”

“Because there always is a logical explanation.”

“What if you’re wrong this time?”

“And it’s a ghost on that video?” Ben can’t help himself; he laughs. “Even if they do exist, ghosts can’t hurt you, right?”

“Why are we even discussing this? You’ll never believe any of it.” I set another armload of clothes in the suitcase and cross back to the dresser for my bras and panties. I’m in too much of a rush to care that Ben’s getting an eyeful of my underwear; I just want to pack up and leave this house before nightfall. It’s already late afternoon and I haven’t started boxing up my kitchenware. I cross to the closet and as I yank clothes from hangers, I suddenly think of Charlotte Nielson, whose scarf I found in this closet. Like me, she must have packed in a hurry. Did she too flee in panic? Had she felt the tentacles of that same shadow closing in around her?

    I pull out a dress and the hanger falls to the floor with such a clatter that I flinch, my heart hammering.

“Hey.” Gently Ben takes my arm and steadies me. “Ava, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Says the man who doesn’t believe in the supernatural.”

“Says the man who won’t let anything happen to you.”

I turn to face him. “You don’t even know what I’m dealing with, Ben.”

“I know what Maeve and her friends claim it is. But all I saw on that video was a shadow. Nothing solid, nothing identifiable. It could have been—”

“Clouds passing across the moon. Yes, you’ve already said that.”

“All right then, let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that it is a ghost. Let’s say ghosts are real. But they’re not physical beings. How can they hurt you?”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“This is something different. Something evil.”

“Or so Maeve says. And you believe her?”

“After last night, after what he did to me…” I stop, my cheeks suddenly burning at the memory.

Ben frowns. “He?”

Too ashamed to look at him, I stare down at the floor. Gently he tilts up my face and I can’t avoid his gaze.

“Ava, tell me what’s been happening to you in this house.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I blink back tears and whisper: “Because I’m ashamed.”

“What on earth do you have to be ashamed of?”

His gaze is too searching, too invasive. I pull away and go to the window. Outside the mist hangs as heavy as a curtain, hiding my view of the sea. “Captain Brodie is real, Ben. I’ve seen him, heard him. I’ve touched him.”

“You touched a ghost?”

    “When he appears to me, he’s every bit as real as you are. He’s even left bruises on my arms…” I close my eyes and I picture Captain Brodie standing before me. The memory is so vivid I can see his windblown hair, his unshaven face. I draw in a breath and inhale the scent of brine. Is he here? Has he returned? My eyes snap open and I frantically glance around the room, but all I see is Ben. Where are you?