Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

My closet was devoid of anything considered both “warm” and “stylish.” Booties, a mini, and a black top with sheer black sleeves had been my go-to going-out outfit while I was with Kyle. Flashy enough to call “fancy,” subtle enough to keep from drawing attention. Seasonality was beyond my fashion abilities, and that standard kept me from stressing out while getting ready.

This time, the standard wouldn’t do, unless I wanted to freeze my ass off doing whatever James had planned. Based on his fashion sense alone, it would likely be a party at a ski lodge—his wool coat and ball cap combo screamed “Let’s hit the slopes, but gently because I’ve got a conference call first thing in the morning.” Professional, with a love of letting loose, so long as it’s not too loose. He was probably a lawyer, or an insurance salesman. Something that allowed for squeezing in a funeral and a weekend lift pass.

I grasped for hangers and slid sections of clothes along the creaky wooden rod in my closet. Too short, too flashy, too floral, too showy.

At a loss, I invited Natalie to a video chat.

“I don’t know what to wear,” I said before she’d even gotten out a “hello.”

“Where are you going?”

“No clue; he said to dress warm. Are jeans and a sweatshirt too meh?”

“As someone who never wears anything but jeans and a sweatshirt, I can assure you, it’s too meh. Show me what you’ve got.”

I turned the camera to my closet and slid piece after piece into view, slowing each time Natalie let out a considering hmm .

“No, no, not that. Absolutely not. Why do you even have a sweater with cats in pumpkins? No, nope. That, there! That’s it.”

I tugged the hanger from the closet and eyed the outfit. “This is my Marty McFly costume from Halloween.”

“Yup. Wear the vest over your chunky white sweater, and those black pants you wore to my brother’s birthday party. Winter boots. Done and done.”

“I’ll look ridiculous.”

“You’ll look warm.”

I dropped my head and groaned as my clock flipped to 5:48 P.M. “Shit, I’m going to be late. Gotta go, thank you.”

I tugged the outfit on, jammed my feet into my clunkiest winter boots, grabbed my puffy, nineties-chic winter coat, and tore out the door. No mascara refresh, no lip gloss. I tugged on my coat and jumped in the car.

I got to my usual parking spot with thirty seconds to spare, but James was already sitting on the bench in front of the building. He stood and pet the wavy-eared black Spaniel sitting by his feet, wearing a dog jacket that bore an uncanny resemblance to the vest I was hiding beneath my coat.

James picked up two travel mugs from the bench and handed one to me. I inhaled the coffee aroma before taking a cautious sip. Still steaming hot, and exactly the right amount of cream. Good guess on his part.

“We can stop for a hot chocolate or decaf instead, if you’d prefer. I always forget that some people like to limit their caffeine intake—I’d take it in IV form if I could.”

“I can drink a triple-shot at midnight and still fall asleep immediately, so this is great. Thanks.” I dropped to one knee, turned away from the dog, and glanced toward the ground to let her approach me.

“I hope it’s okay that I brought my dog,” James said. “She’s been cooped up all day and her schedule’s been a mess the last few days.”

All the more reason to leave your dog home while you’re off mourning your dead. But I couldn’t keep a plant alive, so who was I to judge?

“That’s fine, I like dogs. I wasn’t ever allowed to have one, so I get the snuggles in where I can to make up for it.” She sniffed a shoe, then along my leg, before nuzzling at my jacket pocket.

“Nothing in there for you, pup,” I said, tugging the pocket open slightly to prove it. The nylon shell rustled as she nosed at the gap.

“This is Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” James smiled.

I smiled too. “That’s … a mouthful.”

“Sure is.”

“Do you ever call her just Lucy?”

He raised an eyebrow and pressed his mouth into an amused half-grin.

“Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.”

“No, actually. Sometimes I shorten it to Lulu, but usually it’s ‘Hey, knock it off, that’s my shoe.’ She answers to anything, though.”

I gave him a wide smile, challenging his statement.

He nodded toward the dog. “Go for it, call her anything.”

“Hey, Lucy!”

She looked at me and wagged her tail a few swipes before plunking into a perfect little sit.

“Good girl.” I turned back to James, stroking my chin and squinting to make a show of considering the next name. “Hey there, candlewick!”

Another wag—this time her full body was engaged.

“Oh, who’s a good lightbulb?”

More wags, and a bark. Lulu wiggled closer to me, straining against her leash to place both snowy paws on my thighs. I flailed my arms as I nearly tumbled backward, but James caught my shoulder before I fell. He steadied me and offered a hand. I clasped it, my bare palm against his gloved one.

“I thought I said to dress warm,” he said.

“This is warm. I’ll be taking my coat off when we get wherever. I overheat easily, anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” James said. He let out a short whistle and Lulu snapped to attention, the tail-wagging amped up to near-weapon status. “Let’s go, Lulu, we’ve got a fun night ahead of us.”

We took off on foot, and picked our way along the sidewalk, doing our best to avoid icy buildup and footprint ravines.

“How far are we walking?” I asked after stumbling for the third time.

“We’re almost there,” James said, waving a hand toward the cemetery gate.

“I don’t understand.” I knit my eyebrows. Cemeteries didn’t exactly scream “first date.” I eyed the street, calculating which direction I’d run if this turned into a serial killer scenario, or worse, a “let me show you my granny’s grave” thing.

“We’re a bit early, but Julian and the crew will be here soon.”

“The … crew? Julian?” Maybe I’d misread the situation entirely. James was looking for a group hang, not a date. Slightly embarrassing, but in my defense, he’d been flirting since we’d met.

“Film crew. Julian and I are documentary filmmakers.”

Okay, or he was looking for a local expert for their film. “What? Why didn’t you just say that?”

“And miss seeing this look on your face? No way.” He winked, clearly pleased with his surprise. “We’re taking a deep dive into Stowe’s haunted happenings.”

I swallowed—hard—at the way he’d dropped haunted happenings into the conversation. It was probably a coincidence, because alliteration is king—and even I could admit it wasn’t a very original title. But what were the chances? A group of ghost hunters, exploring the same cemetery where I’d set up a tripod more times than I could count to film my own ghost stories?

“We got into town just a few days before you and I met,” James continued. “We’ve covered a few locations already. Tonight, the plan is to get some graveyard footage while he narrates a ghost tour. Sorry, you’re not easily creeped out, are you?”

“No way,” I said.

I wasn’t. Not when it came to Stowe’s eerie phenomena—Natalie and I hadn’t spent all that time researching and recreating legends only for me to be freaked out as an adult with a fully developed amygdala. Most of the stories we’d made up, anyway. The ones we hadn’t had obvious explanations—one too many maple bourbon shots at the bar resulting in apparitions, like the guy who’d thought a cow was the devil’s messenger sent to set him on the right path. He’d been cheating on his wife with the bartender at Slopeside and after the cow incident he vowed to change his ways. He divorced his wife and tried to get the bartender to run away with him, but the joke was on him because the wife and bartender became best friends.

I had to give James—and Julian—credit, though. Monetizing the very same hobby Natalie and I had established simply to pass the time was a pretty solid move.

James jiggled Lulu’s leash, and she quit sniffing at the snowy hedge and trotted back to his side. “Good, because things get pret–ty wild around here when he’s got the cameras out. Tour groups are usually about a dozen people. Tourists, usually.” He nudged me with an elbow, throwing my assumptions back at me. “Whoever he can scrounge up in town that day. He wanders around the ski lodge and stops into stores to invite people out on whichever ghost hunt we’ve planned for the night. I’m off-duty tonight, so we just have to act surprised when he says he senses something. Cameras might pan the crowd, don’t look directly at the lens. Just be, that’s all.”

“Quick question.” I’d started to shiver a bit, so I took another sip of my coffee to warm me from the inside out. “If we’re acting, is it still a documentary?”

James tapped a finger to his nose, smirked, and strolled through the cemetery gates with Lulu padding behind him. He wandered casually along the plowed path and took occasional detours toward gravestones, avoiding the deeper snow in favor of already flattened footpaths. We didn’t speak. He walked, paused, looked, and sipped his coffee. No hurry, no reason to rush.

I wrapped my arms around my middle, chasing away the shivers that threatened to give me away. Another layer would have been the logical choice in twenty-degree weather, but it was too late now. I wasn’t going to admit that I was cold. Not a chance. I’d have been perfectly dressed for the ski lodge party or heated outdoor patio dinner I’d expected. The things that made my town a destination . Of all the surprises he’d sprung on me so far, this one was the most interesting—and the one that brought up the most questions.

“Know anyone here?” I asked.

“I’ve befriended a few ghosts in my visits, sure.” He waved toward a headstone. “That’s Nicolas—he died in a tragic wagon accident. You see, he was distracted by a gleaming orb in the sky. His dying words were about otherworldly beings coming to claim Earth for their own.”

I eyed the headstone he had indicated. “That’s Mr. Henning’s grave, he died in his sleep three years ago. The guy was a hundred and two, and the most exciting stories he ever told were about drinking from the garden hose and his days fishing in the creek before the state required you to pay for the privilege.”

James leaned closer. “I’m talking about the ghost in front of the headstone, obviously.” He raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee.

“Obviously.” I returned a half-smile, trying to decide if he was serious.

The LED glare of headlamps popped into view as a camera crew and small crowd of people shuffled into the cemetery.

James leaned in toward me to whisper. “They started the tour down at the inn, so they’re filming already. We’ll just sneak into the shot when he stops at the maple over there. Don’t draw attention; act like we’ve been here the whole time.”

We waited until the cameras panned the cemetery, then slipped into the gaggle of ghost hunters. Not a local in sight, which was probably for the best—they’d likely assume I was starting the vlog again and there would be mixed feelings on the matter. Besides, Julian would get a better response out of people who hadn’t grow up hearing this town’s slew of creepy stories packaged as cautionary tales. They parted easily to let us into the crowd, and we were settled—alert and ready to act—by the time the camera hit the group again. Lulu peeked from person to person, likely deciding which may bear treats. When nobody reached for a pocket, she snorted, shook, and fell into step beside us as if she’d done this dozens of times before.

We followed Julian, a man with thick hair, warm olive skin, and a close-cropped beard, whose casual saunter and friendly storytelling cadence took up all the space, making him seem taller than his five-foot-eight (give or take) frame. He chatted easily about the depth of history and meaning within the cemetery, and how grave tales accompanied each headstone (I narrowly avoided sighing at his pun). He pointed out the oldest stones in the cemetery, rattling off a mix of well-researched facts—which were confirmed by inscriptions carved in granite and worn away by the seasons—and completely fabricated stories.

James wasn’t here for a funeral after all. No wonder he’d looked baffled whenever I brought it up. He’d been scoping out the cemetery for filming.

Julian pointed to a gravestone and claimed the “spirit resident” here was not the person whose name was on the stone but rather a doctor who’d been brutally murdered, the body hidden so well it still hadn’t been found to this day. The ghost haunted empty graves like this one—where, Julian claimed, grave robbers had dug up the original resident in the 1880s—and was forced to remain a spirit until his body was found and properly buried. I admired his ability to spin half-truths into something spooky. If only I’d had half the ambition; though I’d tried to include facts as research allowed, my stories were usually the tallest of tales—beanstalk required.

I leaned in toward James, and he met my lean part-way. My cheek brushed the shoulder of his wool coat, his cool, clean scent wrapping me like a blanket. I spoke in a hushed tone, trying not to draw attention to myself.

“The grave is empty, but only because the man’s will demanded he be taken back to New York City for burial. They’d already dug the grave and etched the headstone so they just left it. As for the ghost squatting in the empty grave, I assume he’s talking about Dr. Thompson, who disappeared when I was a kid, and she was later found, alive, in Vegas. Married to a drag king Elvis impersonator. Not dead.” I rolled my eyes. “There aren’t many modern graves here—the town stopped selling plots in the nineties or something. Most of these graves are from Revolutionary War soldiers, actually. Soldiers who came home, lived long lives, and died quite untragically. Sorry.”

James chuckled but didn’t reply.

Grave after grave, Julian chatted about romance gone wrong and woeful accidents, stories too wild to be true and ghosts “too ghastly to speak of.” Grave after grave, I whispered footnotes and flat-out denials where necessary. James raised his eyebrows at each correction I made, but never contradicted me.

“And here we have poor old Frederick, dead of an accident in 1908. His carriage overturned right over there, exactly on the cemetery line, and his spirit still haunts this space today.” Heads turned as Julian gestured to the alleged site of the accident.

I inhaled, ready to correct the story in another whispered exchange, when James gasped.

“I see something!” he said loud enough for the folks around us to hear. “It’s like.… a fog. I see it, right there.” He pointed a shaky finger toward the headstone. Sharp inhalations sounded around us and the tour-goers chattered about the fog. Most confirmed that they, too, could see a mist rising from the grave, while deniers squinted and tried to spot something that wasn’t there.

My eyes were drawn to the spot as well, against my wishes. I wasn’t going to fall for a story like that. All of this was clearly staged, so searching for a ghost was embarrassing to say the least, but still, I scanned the cemetery, searching anyway. I pulled my arms around myself and shook away a shiver, freezing but still unwilling to admit it.

James grasped my wrist—a new shiver ran through my spine at the gentle contact—and tipped his head toward the exit. “Ready to go? My work here is done.”

We shuffled through the crunchy top layer of snow, boots kicking up chunks of melted-then-frozen-then-melted precipitation. As we trudged toward the exit, I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to avoid starting a Q I kind of fell into this business. It used to be that if he couldn’t find the bodies to fill scenes, I’d jump in when needed. Riding along and crashing with the crew was a cheap way to travel. I’ve always explored wherever he and the crew landed, but this time, I’ve got the ‘codirector’ title.”

“Sounds like a story a fugitive would tell. Admit it, you’re on the run.” I narrowed my eyes. “What is it, bank robber? Murderer? You can tell me. I won’t tell a soul.”

“It’s not really what I’m running from, I guess. More what I’m running to . I figure, if I tag along long enough, maybe I’ll find my calling. There are dozens of states and hundreds of countries to explore. One of ’em has to be right for me, right?”

And there it was. A man on a mission, searching the world for “just right.”

“Cold?” he asked.

I nodded.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into the warm nest of his body. I pressed into his side, letting him envelop me in his radiating heat. I exhaled, forcing the tension from my shoulders and neck, making myself chill and accept the closeness. He was just keeping me from freezing. Nothing more. The plan was still the same: hang out and move on.

But the more I leaned into him, the warmer he felt. I wanted to collapse into him and soak it all up.

“How the hell are you so hot?” I asked.

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Hot?”

“You know, your body temperature is above average.” My cheeks burned, despite the frigid outdoor temp.

“I have about twenty hand warmers tucked into my inner pockets. I thought a Vermont girl like you would have learned that trick by now.”

Lulu shook, the echo of her dog tags ringing through the frigid winter air. She pranced, weaving back and forth, tugging her leash against the back of my knee as she danced between us, her paws barely keeping contact with the ground for more than a second with each hop.

“You’re not the only one who’s chilly, I guess. I should probably get her home.”

“Oh,” I said, glancing at the dog. He’d fulfilled his required duties. I’d been occupied long enough to get out of dinner, so he was off the hook. But a mild flutter had begun in the pit of my stomach—hesitation to say goodbye, a wish for just a little more time before parting.

“I’m about a thirty second walk, that way.” James pointed across the road, toward the spookiest inn in town.

“You’re staying at the Green Mountain Inn?” I hiked an eyebrow sky-high and crossed my arms.

“No,” he said. “I cut through the tree line to get to the lodge we’ve rented for the season.”

The air wooshed out of me, starting low where my reluctance to part had been and barreling through my chest. The season. Until spring?

“And here I thought you were a vacationer.”

His arm tightened around my shoulders slightly as we stepped off the curb to cross the road. “What? Why’d you think that?”

“Yankees cap, New York plates, out of state area code, a strut like you’ve got somewhere better to be …” I ticked items off down the list of signs.

He tsked and shook his head. “Sounds like someone’s been paying some close attention.”

I reached a hand across my chest and flicked his arm lightly. When we reached the opposite side of the road, we stepped up onto the sidewalk in sync. “I just like to know everything I can about the people who come into my store to harass me.”

He released his hold and the chill snuck back in where his body had been pressed against mine. He took a step toward the inn’s parking area, then stopped so abruptly I bumped into his shoulder.

“Well, I’ll just head back to my car, then.” I pointed, limply, in the direction of Dog-Eared. A long, cold walk in the dark.

“Do you …” He shoved his hands into his pockets. Lulu barked and pulled slightly against the leash, in the direction of the lodge.

My breath hitched as I waited for him to continue his thought. Not an inn, not a brief stay. It wasn’t forever, but it was longer than only a few days. My determination to avoid getting close was waning.

“Look.” He brushed the back of a gloved hand across his forehead and shuffled his feet in the crunchy rock salt strewn across the sidewalk. “I know I’m just some kind of parent-deterrent, but I’d like to get to know you better, Lex. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Yes. Dinner, or drinks, or another forty-five minutes spent wandering a cemetery alone or with a dozen other people, just for the chance to watch his eyes light up when I reacted to his teasing.

“Sure, when are you available?” I fumbled for my phone to make a show of looking at my calendar to set a date. He didn’t have to know that my only solid plans were opening and closing the store daily until I died. I had to look like I had a life.

“How about now?” He offered his hand.

My mind went blank. I reached out and twined my fingers within his. He squeezed my hand gently and tipped his head toward the hedges at the back of the inn’s parking lot. “Let’s get Lulu inside, and I’ll warm up my car.”

I ducked between icy cedar branches and brushed away the twigs that tugged and snagged in my hair. Lulu bounced and barked, then rushed toward the door, tugging James along behind her. His body jolted away from mine as Lulu dragged him toward the front steps. He released his grip on my hand just in time to keep me from tumbling to the ground from the pull.

But my resolve was crumbling, and I was about two well-chosen words away from falling anyway.

Haunted Happenings transcript

Date: December 9, 2006

Location: Gazebo, Stowe Free Library

Luna: Hello and a haunted evening to you all. It’s a snowy night here in Stowe. We got a tip about some activity here at the gazebo in town and thought we’d come to investigate. The word around town is that people are hearing whispering while they sit inside the gazebo, usually right in the center. So, we’re going to spend a little time listening in to see what’s going on. I’ll just [Luna grunts] sit here [grunts again] and see what I hear.

[Silent timelapse video spanning 10 seconds.]

Luna: I have been here about twenty minutes and, so far, it’s been quiet. I’m wondering if it’s these string lights keeping any spirits from stopping by. They’re pretty bright so what if we—

[Lights all shut off suddenly. Luna and Natalie gasp.]

Natalie: Luna. Luna, I didn’t do that. Did you?

Luna: I didn’t move a muscle.

Natalie: Me either. I’ll … Hang on, adjust the settings on the camera, don’t let the spirits go anywhere.

Luna: [Sarcastic] Sure, okay …

[Slight rustling noises while camera view cycles to a night vision coloring.]

Luna: All good? Okay, I’m getting the thumbs up from Natalie that the camera is good to go. Seeing anything strange on your end, Nat?

Natalie: You’ve definitely got company. I’m seeing a halo on the viewfinder here. Can you get them to communicate?

Luna: I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t expect any visitors. Uh, hi, spirit? Are you there?

[A pause. The string lights flick on and off; Luna and Natalie inhale audibly.]

Luna: Oh, okay. Well. Hi, hi there. I’m Luna. This is Natalie. I’m not sure how to figure out your name. Too bad we can’t get a hint.

[A beat of silence before the lights begin to turn on and off.]

Natalie: That’s my cue, I think it’s time to get out of—

Luna: No, wait, Natalie. Is that Morse code? [Luna squints at the lights and whispers, inaudible.] Carol … Caroline?

[Lights flick off, then back to solid.]

Natalie: Okay that’s it. [Boots crunching on snow, filming continues shakily as Natalie walks around the back of the gazebo.] Who’s out here? Come on, stop messing around. [Camera pans the area but there’s nobody to be found.]