Ghosts are those memories that are too strong to be forgotten for good, echoing across the years and refusing to be obliterated by time. - Caitlín R. Kiernan
The final bell had rung at last, ending what had to be the longest school day in forever. As Jon and I packed up our things, relief washed over us like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. But just as we were about to head out, someone cleared their throat behind us.
"Hello, Mr. Haggerty," I greeted our English teacher with a smile.
"Hello Harley, Jon," he returned the greeting with a beaming smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Actually..." Jon started, but I cut him off before he could finish. "No," I said firmly, catching his eye.
"No," Jon echoed reluctantly after seeing Mr. Haggerty's raised eyebrows.
Mr. Haggerty chuckled at our synchronized response before getting down to business. "I just wanted to let you know that casting for the school play begins next week."
"Great!" I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement at the prospect of being involved in the upcoming production.
"That's fantastic news," Mr. Haggerty replied with a smile. "Just make sure it doesn't affect your schoolwork too much. I'd hate to see your grades suffer because of it."
"I can handle it," I assured him confidently.
"Good to hear." With that, Mr. Haggerty bid us farewell and left us alone once more.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Jon's expression darkened slightly, causing me to frown in concern. "What's wrong?" I asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm.
"It's nothing," Jon muttered evasively, staring down at his shoes as if they held all the answers.
I crossed my arms and fixed him with a determined gaze until he finally relented under my scrutiny. "It's just... First Damon and now Mr. Haggerty... I feel like I'm going to lose you too."
My heart squeezed painfully at his words, realizing how vulnerable Jon truly felt in that moment. Stepping closer to him, I took his hand in mine and met his troubled gaze with unwavering sincerity.
"You could never lose me," I whispered earnestly, willing him to believe me with every fibre of my being.
His eyes softened at my words, and he pulled me into a tight embrace that spoke volumes of his love for me.
In that moment, a realization dawned on me: Why not work on the play together? If we faced challenges as a team, we could overcome anything that threatened to pull us apart.
"Why don't we work on it together?" I suggested. "I'm sure Mr. Haggerty wouldn't mind."
Jon hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. "I don't think it's my kind of thing."
"Perhaps it's a chance to try something new, but if you don't want to, you don't have to. Having so many common interests, it is only healthy for us to enjoy different things as well."
"I will still be there to support you," he clarified.
"I know you will."
He always was.
As we continued walking down the now barren hallway, most of the students had already left for the day. The sound of our footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, creating a sense of solitude that was both eerie and comforting at the same time.
When we reached the front door, the parking lot outside was almost deserted, with only a few cars scattered around belonging to teachers and students engaged in after-school activities.
The sky above us was darkening by the minute, threatening to unleash its fury in a torrential downpour at any moment. Despite this looming threat, there was a strange sense of peace in the air as we made our way towards the town archives, located just a short walk away from our school.
I don't know what it is, but days where the sky is grey and it looks like it's getting ready to cry are my favorites. They always have been.
As a child, I wasn't a huge fan of thunder, but I loved the lightning that usually accompanied it.
The way it lit up the sky gave it a purple hue. It was simply beautiful. I could spend hours just watching it, which I did from time to time. Even to this day.
The familiar sights and sounds of our small town surrounded us as we walked past quaint stores and local businesses. The distant rumble of thunder added an element of excitement to our journey, making me quicken my pace in anticipation of reaching our destination before the storm hit.
The town archives, located in the heart of town next to the library, was our destination. It was a fifteen-minute walk from school, a trip that needed to be made quickly if we hoped to avoid a potential downpour.
Finally reaching our destination, we pushed open the creaking doors of the archives and stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, casting long shadows across rows of dusty bookshelves filled with tomes, photographs, and newspaper clippings.
"Hello?" I called out tentatively, receiving no response. Jon chuckled at my unease, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.
There was an eerie silence inside that sent shivers down my spine. I hesitated for a moment, considering turning back.
But Jon's hand on my arm stopped me in my tracks. "Let's wait a bit longer," he said softly. "They might be busy in the back."
Reluctantly, I agreed to stay a little while longer. As we waited in silence, another clap of thunder shook the building, causing me to jump slightly. Jon burst into laughter at my reaction, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
This place held the key to unlocking the dark secrets that had plagued our small town for more than a century.
As we stood in the dusty old town archives, surrounded by stacks of decaying books and forgotten papers, I couldn't ignore the feeling that something was off.
Jon and I had been discussing local history for our book when we heard it—a frail, feminine voice that sent chills down our spines.
"Hello," the voice whispered, causing us to spin on our heels. Behind the desk stood a young brunette woman, about twenty years old. Her presence seemed out of place in this dimly lit room filled with ancient manuscripts.
"Whoa. Where did she come from?" Jon muttered under his breath as we cautiously approached her.
"Hello," Jon began, trying to break the uneasy silence that hung heavy in the air.
"Be careful," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Excuse me," Jon asked politely, unsure of what to make of this strange encounter.
There was something not right about this scenario, and my instincts were screaming at me to leave. But curiosity got the better of us as we stood in front of her, noticing the stains on her green sundress that looked suspiciously like blood.
"Are you alright, miss? Are you hurt? We can bring you to the hospital," Jon offered kindly.
"You cannot help me. But you must help him," she said cryptically, her eyes darting between us with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
"Him? Who is he?" Jon pressed for more information, his curiosity piqued by this mysterious woman's words.
"My son. My boy. Damon," she whispered hoarsely, and at that name, everything fell into place for both Jon and me.
Damon had told us his mother was dead—died giving birth to him. Yet here she stood before us, a ghost from beyond the grave, with a plea for help.
"He told us you were dead," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
"I am," she confirmed chillingly as goosebumps rose on my arms at her ethereal presence.
"What is your name?" Jon asked cautiously, but I couldn't hold back any longer.
"Why are you asking her name like this is normal? Leave talking to ghosts to Zak Bagans and the Ghost Adventures Crew!" I interjected nervously, earning shushes from both of them in response.
"My name is Mary."
"Oh hell no!" I exclaimed, causing both of them to look at me. "She's a ghost—a bloody ghost—and now her name's Mary. That's it. I didn't sign up to meet Bloody Mary. I'm out here."
Before I could protest further or make my escape attempt towards the front door, which seemed oddly stuck shut, she floated towards us with an ethereal grace that sent shivers down my spine once more.
I never thought I would find myself face-to-face with a ghost. Yet, there I stood, in the dimly lit room of the town archives, staring at the apparition of a young woman named Mary.
Sure, I love researching death and mystery. But Harley Masterson does not mess with the spirit world.
"They don't want him to know the truth about me," she said.
"Who are they?" Jon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mary's ethereal form seemed to flicker in and out of existence as she spoke. "They were afraid of what I knew. They couldn't let me expose their secrets." Mary floated towards us once more, as if reading our thoughts, and said urgently, "Please watch over my baby. Don't let him end up like them."
I shuddered, feeling a sense of dread creeping over me. Who were these mysterious figures that had silenced Mary so brutally? And what danger did they pose to Damon?
"Who? His father? Did Damon's father do something to you?" I asked.
As Mary went on explaining, footsteps could be heard nearing closer.
"I can't stay much longer... Don't let him turn out like the rest of them."
"We'll protect him," Jon promised, his voice firm despite the fear evident in his eyes.
Mary smiled sadly before fading away completely, leaving us standing alone in the dimly lit room. The air was thick with tension as we processed what had just occurred.
"We have to find out who 'they' are," I said finally, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
Moments later, an elderly Caucasian man with grey, thinning hair walked out from behind a set of bookshelves.
"Oh!" He exclaimed. "I'm sorry. I mustn't have heard you come in."
However, Jon and I were still staring at the space the ghost, Mary, had occupied seconds ago.
"Are you two alright?" He asked, finally breaking us out of our trance. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"You have no idea," I mumbled, causing him to furrow his brows.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting any visitors, especially ones so young. Otherwise, I would have pulled out some things for you." He told us, leading us to an area that hosted two long tables. "I'm Mr. Belmont."
He gestured for us to sit down, and we did.
"Now, what can I do for you youngsters?"
"Um," Jon began.
"We're looking for anything you may have on the disappearances of the girls in Willow Creek."
He furrowed his brows. "Now, why would you two be looking for that? You hadn't been born."
"Maybe not. But something's happening in this town, and we're going to find out what and who." I told him, my tone leaving no room for argument.
He looked to Jon. "Your girlfriend is a determined little thing, isn't she?"
"She's not-" "We're not-" We both began at the same time.
"She's not my girlfriend," Jon said, looking at his shoes.
"Oh. My apologies. You two are so sweet. I just assumed. Please forgive me."
"You're not the first to make that assumption." I told him. "I doubt you'll be the last."
"Very well," he said, walking away, speaking over his shoulder.
He walked to a bookshelf not far away, running his hand over the spines of a few books before finding what he needed.
Grabbing a large brown book, he made his way over to us.
He dropped it onto the table, causing a loud thud and a cloud of dust.
I began coughing uncontrollably, hiding my face in my sleeve.
"Sorry about that, miss. Most of these books haven't been touched in years. People just don't care like they used to." He sighed.
"Well, they do now. Or at least they will when we uncover the truth," I told him, finally stopping my coughing fit and brushing the remaining dust that hadn't left the cover.
A Brief History of Willow Creek by Irene MacMillan.
"Why would we need this?" I asked, looking up at the man. "We're looking for information on missing girls."
"Yes. But it would be wise to start here first." He turned to Jon, looking at him from head to toe. "You look strong. Would you mind helping me? I think I have a few more boxes you may be interested in." He began waddling away. As he did, I heard him tell Jon, who began following suit, "These knees just don't work like they used to."
As I sat alone in the dimly lit town archives, surrounded by dusty boxes filled with the secrets of Willow Creek's past, a chill ran down my spine.
Deciding to get started while I waited for Jon and Mr. Belmont to come back, I flipped open the book to the table of contents.
Skimming through it all, I paused at chapter two, "The First Families of Willow Creek." Something about it caught my attention, urging me to explore further.
Flipping to page seven, I scanned through the list of surnames: Ingram, Harrington, Blackwood, Whittaker, Montcroix, but no Haggerty. At least not in this chapter.
A cold draft swept through the room, causing goosebumps to rise on my arms. I glanced up from the papers just in time to see a shadowy figure dart across the room and disappear behind a bookshelf.
"Hello?" My voice trembled as I called out into the empty room. "Is anyone there?"
A sense of unease crept over me as I stood up slowly. Was someone really watching me? Or was it just my imagination playing tricks on me?
Ignoring my instincts to leave well enough alone, I followed the fleeting shadow down rows of bookshelves until I reached a dead end.
Where could they have gone? And who were they?
It was then that I noticed a piece of paper on the floor. Did this belong to them?
Picking up the paper hastily and shoving it into my pocket, I hurried back to where Jon and Mr. Belmont were waiting for me with boxes filled with records.
"What do we have here?" My voice sounded forced, as if trying too hard not to show fear.
"These are the official records of all documented disappearances in Willow Creek over the last century," Mr. Belmont explained solemnly.
As we delved into each case file one by one—from missing children to young women—a sense of dread began to settle in my chest.
The first file belonged to Alexandra Huxley, a sixteen-year-old girl who vanished without a trace in 1842 after leaving school one day. Her disappearance remained unsolved despite numerous reported sightings that led nowhere.
Meanwhile, Jon rifled through another box containing newer files, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed each heartbreaking account.
And then there was Mr. Belmont, his gaze fixed on a photograph that seemed to hold him captive in its grasp. Margaret Williams is a name etched in history and in his heart.
"You knew her," I stated quietly.
Mr. Belmont nodded slowly, his eyes distant with reminiscence. "Margaret was... special. She had a light about her that drew everyone in."
"Yeah," Jon said, looking up from the pile of papers he was going through. "I know a girl like that too." He smiled as I looked at him.
"Yeah, minus the popular part." I mumbled.
Jon simply shrugged.
"In some ways, you remind me of her." Mr. Belmont told me. "Margaret was extremely nice, but she did have some sass. A certain sass I see in you."
His words lingered in the air like an unspoken truth, leaving me grappling with emotions I couldn't quite understand.
"She sounds wonderful." I told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Suddenly, Jon held up a stack of papers triumphantly. "Look what I found!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the walls of the musty room.
I moved closer to him, peering over his shoulder at the documents in his hand. They were the files of three girls who had gone missing when our parents were in school—a chilling reminder of a dark chapter in our town's past.
"Ah, yes. I remember that. It was a troubling time. Troubling time in deed. In fact, most parents were considering pulling their daughters from school, just to eliminate the risk of them going missing on the way to or from school." Mr. Belmont recounted.
"My mom never told us that," I murmured, my mind racing with thoughts of what could have happened to those poor girls all those years ago.
As we delved deeper into these cases and unearthed more details about each missing girl's story, a sense of foreboding crept over us like shadows creeping across a moonlit graveyard.
An unsettling realization dawned on me: these women and girls weren't just statistics or mere names on paper. They were once vibrant beings with hopes and dreams snuffed out by some unknown force lurking in the shadows of Willow Creek.
But what truly sent shivers down my spine was when Jon discovered that Elena Phillips' file was missing—vanished without a trace from its designated place among other records.
Questions swirled in my mind like vultures circling their prey—why only Elena's file? What secrets did it hold? And who would go through such lengths to erase her existence from history?
"It looks like someone doesn't want you looking into these cases," Mr. Belmont said, his voice filled with concern as he surveyed the scene before him.
"Yeah. But why only take Elena's file? What's so special about her file that it was the only one stolen?" Harley questioned, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I don't know. But, if you excuse me, I need to report this to my boss. He'll want to know we finally found out what was taken," Mr. Belmont replied before walking away to make the call.
As we pondered these unsettling mysteries, Mr. Belmont mentioned a recent break-in at the archives around the same time we began our research—someone out there knew we were onto something and didn't want us digging into this dark part of our town's history. And they were willing to go to great lengths to keep their secrets hidden.
As to who could be behind this sinister plot, a name floated to mind: Mrs. Lavell, who had issued a cryptic warning when we had stumbled upon her argument at my mom's bakery.
But how did she know we were investigating? And why would she steal Elena's file?
Jon suggested that perhaps Kirsty had tipped off her mother about our research topic after sneaking a peek at Mr. Haggerty's list. It seemed like a plausible explanation, but it still didn't fully make sense.
Why would she want to steal the file of her "friend"?
The pieces of this twisted puzzle were starting to come together, revealing a web of deceit and betrayal that stretched back decades. And as we delved deeper into this mystery, I knew that uncovering the truth would only lead us down darker paths filled with danger and deception.
The truth was out there waiting for us to find it, no matter what secrets it may hold or whose lives it may shatter along the way.
I took a deep breath and unfolded the crumpled piece of paper I had found earlier—a note addressed to me from an unknown sender who claimed to be my "future." The words sent shivers down my spine as I read them aloud to Jon.
My dearest Harley,
Every moment spent away from you feels like an eternity. The passion that burns within me, the longing to hold you close, is a fire that cannot be extinguished. My affection for you runs deeper than any ocean, and my heart beats solely for you.
But, my love, I must beg of you to tread lightly and not delve into the mysteries that surround us. They are treacherous paths, filled with secrets that are better left untouched. I assure you, my intentions are to protect you and shield you from the dangers that lie within.
Our love, my darling, is unconventional, and society would brand it as forbidden. But I know in the depths of my soul that they are wrong. We are destined to be together, to create a life so extraordinary that others could only dream of.
I dream of a day when I can whisk you away from this small town, where our love can bloom freely and without judgment. Your future is destined for greatness, my love, and this place cannot contain the brilliance that resides within you.
Until that day arrives, I will cherish the stolen glances we exchange and the moments we steal away from prying eyes. They serve as a reminder of the love that binds us, even in this world that seeks to keep us apart.
Oh, my darling, the future holds the promise of a love so incredible that it could move mountains. We will finally be able to show the world the depth of our affection and the beauty that lies within our hearts.
Until then, my love, hold on to the hope that one day we will be united as one. Our love will conquer all obstacles, and we will bask in the brilliance of a love that knows no bounds.
With all the love in my heart,
Your Future
As silence descended upon us once more, I felt a chill run down my spine. Whoever this mysterious admirer was, they seemed dangerously obsessed with me, their words dripping with possessiveness and delusion.
Jon's jaw clenched in anger as he processed the contents of the letter. "So you were being watched by some freak who thinks he's in love with you," he growled through gritted teeth.
I bristled at his words but knew deep down he was right—whoever this person was posed a real threat, not just to me but to everyone around me.
I furrowed my brows, trying to process everything that was happening. "Why do you say it like that?"
"Like what?" Jon snapped back, his frustration palpable.
"Like it's some kind of conundrum that anyone could be remotely attracted to me," I replied defensively.
"You know, that's not what I meant, Harley. Any guy would be lucky to call you theirs," Jon said softly, his anger melting away as he looked at me with sincerity in his eyes.
"First off, I wouldn't be 'theirs.' Suddenly getting a boyfriend does not make me someone's property," I retorted, feeling a surge of empowerment at standing up for myself.
"Of course not," Jon agreed quickly. "I just meant that anyone who could have you in their life in that way must be the luckiest guy to walk the earth."
I couldn't help but smile at his words. "You really think that?"
He nodded earnestly. "You're darn right, I do. And when you find him, I'll be standing right here."
His hand reached out for mine, and our fingers intertwined, offering comfort and support in this moment of uncertainty.
"We need to tell someone about this," Jon insisted, pointing towards the ominous letter lying on the table between us. "It's like something straight out of The Phantom Of The Opera."
"Not yet," I replied hesitantly. A nagging feeling told me that there was more to this situation than meets the eye—a connection to something bigger lurking beneath the surface.
Jon's eyes widened in disbelief. "Not yet? Harley, this guy is watching you! He could have kidnapped you right here and now if he wanted to!"
"I know, but not yet." My voice wavered slightly as doubt crept into my mind.
Jon shook his head in exasperation but squeezed my hand reassuringly. "I couldn't handle it if something happened to you."
"And nothing will," I promised with conviction, though deep down, a seed of fear had been planted by those haunting words on the note.
My heart sank as memories of my dad's warning echoed in my mind: never make promises you can't keep. But for now, all I could do was hope and pray that this sinister game wouldn't end in tragedy—for either one of us.
The chilling realization dawned on me: unravelling this mystery might just cost us more than we bargained for... But there was no turning back now; we were already entangled in a web of secrets and lies spun by forces beyond our control.