THE VEIL BETWEEN WORLDS
K. M. MCFARLAND
An earlier edition of The Veil Between Worlds
was originally published as The Thinning Veil in Ghostly Writes Anthology 2018
published by Plaisted Publishing House.
Copyright © 2018 by K. M. McFarland
The Veil Between Worlds is a work of fiction. While locations are referred to in terms of existing New Orleans streets, the businesses, houses, and the characters that inhabit them are fictitious and exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher.
was originally published as The Thinning Veil in Ghostly Writes Anthology 2018
published by Plaisted Publishing House.
Copyright © 2018 by K. M. McFarland
The Veil Between Worlds is a work of fiction. While locations are referred to in terms of existing New Orleans streets, the businesses, houses, and the characters that inhabit them are fictitious and exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher.
THE VEIL BETWEEN WORLDS
Samhain
Samhain
Two thousand years ago, when the Celtics arrived in Ireland, they held an annual festival called Samhain to celebrate the dead and the supernatural from sunset on October 31st to the evening of November 1st. Samhain celebrated the end of the harvest season and marked the beginning of winter. Legend has it, on this night, the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest, allowing spirits to pass through.
The Celtics believed the dead would come back to visit on Samhain, so they wore costumes and masks to cast off the evil ones and left treats by their door as offerings to the good spirits and the spirits of their ancestors.
As the years passed and Christianity surfaced, in keeping with the ancient traditions, November 1st turned into All Saints Day, and November 2nd became All Souls Day. Samhain, celebrated on October 31st, became Halloween. In modern times, we celebrate All Hallows Eve by dressing in costumes, and the spirit offerings have turned into trick or treat.
Samhain is still celebrated by some cultures today, and many still believe the veil separating our world from the spirit world is the thinnest at this time.
The Celtics believed the dead would come back to visit on Samhain, so they wore costumes and masks to cast off the evil ones and left treats by their door as offerings to the good spirits and the spirits of their ancestors.
As the years passed and Christianity surfaced, in keeping with the ancient traditions, November 1st turned into All Saints Day, and November 2nd became All Souls Day. Samhain, celebrated on October 31st, became Halloween. In modern times, we celebrate All Hallows Eve by dressing in costumes, and the spirit offerings have turned into trick or treat.
Samhain is still celebrated by some cultures today, and many still believe the veil separating our world from the spirit world is the thinnest at this time.
Modern Day New Orleans
Rose Brighton made her way down Decatur Street, her long red hair gently blowing in the crisp October breeze. Automobiles, motorcycles, buses, bicycle taxis, and horse-drawn carriages carrying tourists stopped for the traffic light allowing pedestrians to cross the street. Some of the other pedestrians were dressed in Halloween costumes on their way to parties, haunted houses, haunted tours, or one of the many various events around New Orleans, celebrating the holiday.
At eighteen, Rose was no stranger to the French Quarter. Her grandfather owns four bars in the Vieux Carre along with an old hotel. Rose’s parents operate the hotel along with its restaurant and bar. Rose helps with serving and tending bar. If somebody calls out for work, Rose will fill in for them. She also fills in at the front desk when needed.
Several ghosts inhabit her parent’s hotel. Some have been there for almost two centuries, while others are more recent.
Rose’s mother has the ability to see and talk to the dead. At age three, her family discovered that Rose had inherited her mother’s gift. Rose and her mother will help the spirits in need if they desire it, but many of them don’t even realize they’re dead. Like her mother, in a haunted city like New Orleans, Rose sees the apparitions everywhere, but she has learned to tune them out.
She entered Jackson Square and walked across to Chartres Street. Her bright green eyes settled on St. Louis Cathedral. The old cathedral that dates back to the 1700s sits between the historic Cabildo and Presbytere. She checked her phone for the time. Her best friend, Brooke, had agreed to meet her there at six o’clock, and it was getting close.
She smiled as her eyes peered over at the artists lined up along the streets around Jackson Square and their paintings displayed along the iron fence. She had always appreciated their work and how their artwork made the area appear more like a museum than a city street.
She chuckled to herself at the sight of the fortune-tellers and tarot readers set up outside the cathedral. Is there anywhere else in the world where you can leave a church and have your fortune told on the way out?
She spotted Brooke sitting with a tarot reader. According to his sign, his name was Michael. His messy hair and appearance didn’t do much for his credibility, but you never know. His workstation was a card table and two folding lawn chairs. She noticed the tarot cards laid out in the spread of a Celtic cross. It appeared they were finishing up. She waited for Brooke to get up and walked over to her. As she got closer, Rose noticed her friend looked as pale as a ghost. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” said Brooke, running her hand through her long dark hair. She closed her brown eyes tightly. “I know this probably will sound silly to you, but I’m a little freaked out by that reading.” She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling. “I got the death card.”
Rose frowned with a sigh facing her friend. “If you wanted your cards read, you could have come to me. My grandmother taught me how to read them when I was a child.”
“I know,” said Brooke. “I got here early and was just trying to kill some time. I’ve never done that before, so I thought it might be fun to do on Halloween. It probably wasn’t a good idea. It’s just a little scary thinking me, or somebody close to me is going to die.”
Rose held up her palm. “Wait! Hold on. First of all, the death card doesn’t necessarily mean anyone is going to die. In fact, it can be one of the most positive cards in the deck. The death card means change. It simply indicates the end of one phase of your life and the beginning of another. I would say it’s accurate considering we started college this year. Our lives are going to change drastically in the not so distant future.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Brooke rubbing her arms. “That’s what the reader said. I feel a little better about it now, but I can’t help but wonder. Will a tarot reader tell you the truth if they see death in your future, or will they avoid it to keep from upsetting you?”
Rose shook her head. “First of all, tarot cards can’t predict death because they can’t tell your future. We all have a blueprint, but we also have free will, so nothing is certain. All the cards can do is help us understand certain situations we may find ourselves in and help us handle those situations better.”
“I suppose,” said Brooke.
Rose wondered what other cards came up with the death card to help her make an assessment, but she didn’t want to upset her friend any more than she already was by asking. Changing the subject seemed wise. “I guess it’s time we make our way to the party. Do you think we look like witches dressed in all black?”
Rose wore a black flowing lace skirt that reached mid-thigh in the front and mid-calf in the back under a fitted short jacket with lace cuffs and high heel fitted boots. Brooke rocked a black peplum bell-sleeved jacket and short pencil skirt with similar boots. They both wore dark eye makeup with deep purple lipstick.
“We look like hot witches,” said Brooke. “Imagine you, the ghost whisperer, going to a party at The Chevalier House, one of the oldest most historic paranormally active houses in New Orleans.”
Rose chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “I see ghosts all the time, so why should tonight be any different? Besides, they’re all haunted. If I were worried about seeing spirits, I would never go anywhere.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Brooke. “You ain’t scared ‘a no ghost.”
Rose laughed. “Nope. When you’ve seen as many as I have, it’s just a normal day.”
The party was a ticketed event open to anyone eighteen and over willing to pay $75.00 to spend Halloween in a haunted house. A ticket got you food, water, tea, beer, and wine.
“How exactly did you get the tickets for tonight,” asked Brooke.
Rose shook her head. “This sounds crazy, but it’s true. Two nights ago, I served a customer at the bar. He didn’t say much. When he was ready to leave, he asked for his tab. After he left, I picked up the tray and found the signed copy of his credit card slip and two tickets.” She shrugged.” He left me two tickets as a tip.”
Brooke twisted her mouth, shaking her head. “I would say that was a generous tip. That’s mysterious. Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
Rose laughed. “I hardly think so since he didn’t even try to talk to me. Maybe he’s involved with the event in some way and had extra tickets.”
“Maybe so,” said Brooke. “Maybe he’ll come back and leave you tickets for the Darrin Cross concert that will be in New Orleans in a few months. Tickets sold out twenty minutes after they went on sale.” She took a deep breath and sighed, placing her hand over her heart. “I would love to see him.”
“Yeah, me too. I may be able to get my grandfather to set us up with that one. He has some connections. He may even be able to get us some backstage passes.”
Brooke’s eyes lit up, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a big smile. “Really! That would be great!”
They reached the beautiful old home with its tall columns in the front as the sun was beginning to set. They looked around as they entered. Corporately owned, the house appeared more like a museum, preserved as it had been in the nineteenth century with exquisite antique furnishings. Window coverings of burgundy velvet topped with decorative valences over white lace panels fell from the ceiling to the floor. An old baby grand piano stood in the front parlor next to the dining room, the combined rooms separated by a white wood trimmed fireplace, the mantle topped with candlesticks. The shiny deep mahogany hardwood floors stood out against the white crown molding and tall white baseboards.
An entrance foyer separated the front parlor from the living room. Rose fell in love with the elegant antique red, green, and gold floral print sofa with decorative cherry wood carvings that stood under a gold gilded mirror facing a matching chair on the opposite side. A cherry wood coffee table with a white marble top stood across from the sofa. Her eyes scanned the old portraits of possible occupants of the home who were now long deceased that decorated its walls and hung over its many mantles.
Rose couldn’t help but think of “Phantom of the Opera” when she noticed the large chandelier hanging over the winding white and mahogany stairs surrounded by gold and white floral wallpaper leading to the bedrooms upstairs. Unfortunately, a red velvet rope blocked entry to the upstairs part of the home.
Rose folded her arms, scanning the rooms. She didn’t notice much activity in the populated downstairs rooms, but she saw several apparitions on the stairway. She had a strong feeling the upstairs part of the house had been closed off for a reason.
“Let’s go check out the courtyard,” said Brooke pointing to the door. They grabbed a glass of wine from a server dressed in black and white and stepped outside.
A hostess greeted them in the same uniform. She escorted them to an empty table near the side of the house by the fence. While sipping their wine, Brooke spotted an unusual plant growing between the house and the fence. Her eyes squinted when she noticed a mist coming up from the ground next to it. She pointed and said, “What is that? Is it a decoration, or is that mist actually coming up from the ground?”
Rose focused her eyes on the strange fog. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. I’ve never seen anything like it. It does look weird.”
“If it’s a decoration, why would it be on the side of the house where only a few people will see?” asked Brooke.
“Good point,” said Rose shrugging one shoulder. “I have no clue.”
Brooke pulled her phone from her purse. She walked over, snapped a picture, returned to the table, and sat down. Her finger touched the button to display the photo. Her eyes popped at the image of the shadow of a man standing in a sea of orange, red, and black fog at the entrance to an abyss. Other shadow people seemed to be moving about in the mist.
Rose noticed her reaction. “What’s wrong?”
Brooke handed her the phone. “See for yourself.”
Rose took the phone. Her eyebrows raised when she looked at the photograph. “Oh, my God! The picture I see here and what I’m looking at over there are two different things. This picture is bizarre. It’s like a gateway to Hell or something.”
Rose looked up from the phone and noticed the mist beginning to get heavier, slowly rising to the second story. She got up and walked toward it. She looked up and spotted a young man staring out of a long rectangular upstairs window. His expression was solemn. He stood like a statue appearing to be in deep thought. The window was half-open, but he didn’t seem to notice the thin white lace panel covering it gently blowing in the breeze. She turned to Brooke and said, “I wonder who that guy is. Nobody’s supposed to be upstairs. Don’t you think it’s strange the way he’s just staring out of that window?”
“What guy,” said Brooke looking up at the window. “I don’t see anyone.”
Rose wrinkled her brow, facing her friend. “You don’t see him? I don’t think he’s a ghost, but I may be wrong. I’m going up. I’m not sure what’s going on, but something doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure why, but I feel compelled to go up. I have to try to help.”
“What do you mean you have to try to help?” said Brooke shrugging her shoulders. “Help who?”
“Hopefully, it’s nothing. But I need to check it out.”
Brooke scoffed, rolling her eyes. She followed Rose into the house. They reached the stairs and checked to make sure nobody else was around before ducking under the rope, quickly making their way up the stairs.
They passed what appeared to be a child’s bedroom with a small bed covered with a white bedspread topped with toys.
A full four-poster bed with decorative wooden finials covered with a white bedspread and two pillows covered with shams indicated an adult bedroom. They spotted the young man still standing in the window.
Rose folded her arms, feeling a chill. At first, she thought it was a draft from the open window until she noticed an abundance of ghosts floating around her. There were several upstairs, but none of them seemed interested in communicating. It appeared they were not aware of her seeing them. They seemed to be going on about their business, whatever that was. She couldn’t remember ever seeing so many spirits in one place in her entire life.
Rose’s eyes landed on the young man in the window, and she came to the conclusion he wasn’t an apparition. He was alive wearing a button-down shirt over snug jeans. His chestnut brown hair covered his forehead and fell to his shoulders in loose waves. She wondered why Brooke couldn’t see him from outside, but now she could. He knew they were there, but he continued to stare out the window.
Rose decided to get his attention. “Hello,” she said.
The man did not respond.
“Is everything okay?” asked Rose.
“The young man turned around with a furrowed brow. He pointed to the door, shouting, “Run! Get out! Get out while you can! This house is evil, and you could be next.”
Rose stepped forward, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re telling us to run, but why are you staying if there’s danger? You’re alive. You can walk out with us.”
“I can’t!” The man raised his hand, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “I’ve made a pact, and I’m bound to keep it.”
“With whom?” asked Rose.
“The devil himself for all I know,” said the young man.
Even though Rose had experience with ghosts, she got the feeling she was in over her head this time. He also seemed familiar to her. She knew him from somewhere, but where? “I know you,” she said, pointing to him.
The young man snickered. “I’m sure you do. Everybody does. Unless you’ve been in a bubble for the past five years, you would know me.”
Brooke immediately recognized him and covered her mouth with widened eyes. “Oh, my God! You’re Darrin Cross.”
Rose’s jaw dropped. “You’re Darrin Cross as in Darrin Cross, the famous singer. Love on the Inside, A Man’s Paradise, Beyond My Tears, and countless other hits. Of course, we know who you are. We were just talking about going to your concert earlier.”
Darrin scoffed and said, “Good luck with that one.”
“That’s right. You’re from New Orleans,” said Brooke.
Darrin shrugged with a frown. “Born and raised here. Lived and died here.”
Rose snickered. “Obviously, you’re still alive.” She scratched her head, trying to make sense of the conversation. “So why is Darrin Cross, the heartthrob of our generation, staring out of that window looking like a lost soul on Halloween?”
Darrin sneered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Probably because I am one.”
Rose wrinkled her brow. “What kind of pact did you make? What’s your story?”
Darrin sighed, looking around as if he was expecting someone. "I don't have much time, so I'll make a long story short. Five years ago, my girlfriend talked me into going to a party at this house. I had reached rock bottom, and I had pretty much given up on the idea of ever having a career in music. Working as a bartender and taking whatever gigs I could get as a starving artist wasn't working for me anymore.
"Just like tonight, the upstairs part of the house was closed off. My girlfriend pulled me by my hand and led me up here. I thought she had something kinky in mind she wanted to do in a haunted house, so I went along. It turned out, all she was looking for was a place for us to be alone so we could talk. I can't say I was surprised by her words, but I wasn't expecting it to be then and there. She said she wanted more for herself than I could give her and our relationship wasn't right for her. She said she intended to spend the night with a friend and wanted me out when she got home the next day. She returned to the party, leaving me alone up here with my tears.
"I felt there was nothing left for me in this world, and I didn't want to go on. The woman I thought I loved had just dumped me, and the reality of never having a music career had sunk in. I had no money to find another place to live, and there was no place for me to go. My thoughts drifted to the pocket knife I carried. I pulled it from my pocket and opened it. My fingers traced the blade several times before I found the nerve to raise it to my throat. I closed my eyes tightly, and with one quick slash, I fell to the floor as the blood poured out of my body.
That's when the shadow man appeared to me, taking the form of a dark-skinned man with large deep red eyes, high cheekbones, and long dreadlocks wearing a suit with a top hat. He appeared somewhat handsome in a ghoulish sort of way, and he spoke with a French accent. He introduced himself as Papa, and he puffed on a cigar. I can still remember the fragrant smell of the cigar.
“He told me I was too young to die and that he could help me live out my dreams. He promised me a career, wealth, and fame in exchange for one thing. He would give me my life, and it would be a good life, but it would come with a price. In return, every five years on Halloween, I would have to give him a life.
“A career, wealth, fame, and fortune sounded good to me at that moment. Five years seemed a long way off. Lying on the floor dying with no time to think about his offer, I foolishly agreed.
“He kept his end of the bargain. The last five years couldn’t have been better, but now the time has come to pay the price. It’s true. The veil between our world and the underworld is the thinnest tonight. I’m at the crossroads between the two worlds. The mist you saw was not a decoration. This house is a portal, and tonight I have to either cross over or hand him a soul. I’ve never had any desire to take a life, so my only option is to cross over. That’s why I’m here. It wouldn’t do any good for me to run. He’ll find me anywhere.”
At that moment, the lights began to flicker on and off. Darrin looked around with a frown knowing Papa was close. He looked into Rose’s eyes and said, “Rose, I know you want to help me, but there’s nothing you can do for me now. I sealed my fate when I took my own life five years ago. But instead of facing death, I was given an extension. My time is up. It’s best you two beautiful ladies leave now. Run for the stairs and get out as fast as you can.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “How did you know my name is Rose? I never gave you my name.”
“It doesn’t matter. There isn’t much time. Just run! Do as I say. Run!”
Suddenly, all the lights went out. It didn’t seem like a power outage. It was more like something was sucking all of the energy out of the house, leaving the room pitch dark. Brooke let out a blood-curdling scream as she felt an unknown force snatching her out of the room. Rose trembled with fear at the sounds of the door slamming shut and Brooke’s scream fading to silence.
“Brooke,” Rose shouted with wide eyes, unable to see anything in the dark, terrorized at not knowing what happened to her friend. “Brooke, answer me,” she yelled, but she heard nothing. The death card popped into her head. Maybe it did mean something. Could something have happened to Brooke? She knew she had to find her. At that moment, she regretted not asking more questions about the reading. Her heart pounded as she found her way to the door, searching for the knob in the dark. She finally felt it and turned it. She looked back for Darrin, unable to see anything in the blackness of the room.
As she stepped through the door, she shuddered when she felt someone take her by the hand.
“It’s okay, it’s me,” said Brooke. “I don’t know what grabbed me, but something or someone didn’t want me in that room.”
Rose let out a sigh. “Thank God you’re all right, but we need to get outta here.”
Holding hands, they quickly made their way to the stairs and grasped on to the handrail, feeling their way down as quickly as they could in the dark. They found their way to the door leading to the courtyard and stepped outside. Leaning against the wall, they let out a sigh of relief.
***
"Such a shame," said the man in the top hat. He clucked his tongue several times, slowly waving his index finger at Darrin. "You disappoint Papa. You know I wanted the redhead. Everything was in place. I practically handed her to you on a platter. I made it so simple for you. All you had to do for another five years of fame and fortune was bash her skull with the pipe hidden under the pillow when the lights went out. Toss her out of the window along with the weapon leaving the details to me. No one would have seen what was going on in the dark and the mist, and her friend wouldn't have seen or heard a thing. It would have appeared she fell out of the window during the blackout and hit her head on the pipe, a piece of plumbing equipment carelessly left on the ground." He raised his hands and his brow. "Accidents happen." He puffed on his cigar. "No one would have ever suspected you."
"I know, but I'm not a killer," said Darrin wiping his brow. "I thought I could, but, in the end, I couldn't do it. Five years turns into another five years, turns into another five years, and so on. For how long? How long can this last? Eventually, my time will be up, so why not now? How many lives will I have to take? At this time, the only blood I have on my hands is mine." He looked into Papa's red eyes. "So now you have me."
***
As soon as Rose and Brooke were outside, the lights came back on. The event was coming to an end, and the courtyard was clearing. It appeared nobody had a clue as to what had been going on in the rest of the house. Rose and Brooke entered the foyer.
“What should we do?” asked Brooke. “We can’t just leave. What should we do about Darrin?”
“I don’t know,” said Rose. “I think we should try to contact someone, but who?”
Brooke sighed. “There are security people around. Maybe we should tell them we saw someone go upstairs and they should check. I hate that we just left him there.”
“There was nothing we could do,” said Rose shrugging her shoulders. “Supernatural forces were at work. But you’re right. We should alert security.”
Security listened to their report and rushed upstairs. Rose and Brooke waited for the news of a dead body on the second floor, but to their surprise, they found nothing.
***
The next morning, Rose woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. She picked it up and answered when she saw it was Brooke.
“Sorry to wake you,” said Brooke, “but turn on the television now. Channel six. The news report is about to come up.”
“Hang on,” said Rose reaching for her remote. She pushed the button as the story began.
Fans of Darrin Cross mourn today. His body was found early this morning on the side of The Chevalier House. It appears he fell from a second-story window during a power blackout. He died from a blow to the head from a metal pipe lying on the ground.
“A pipe on the ground?” said Rose lifting her eyebrows. “I don’t remember that being there last night. Do you?”
“No. It wasn’t,” said Brooke. “I still don’t understand why I couldn’t see him in the window, but I could see him in the room.”
Rose sighed deeply. “He said he was at the crossroads between worlds. He actually died five years ago. He was fading in and out between worlds. He was fading out when I saw him in the window and back with us when we got upstairs to the bedroom. The only thing that could have kept him here would have been to take a life. We were the only people in the room with him. Somehow, I think we may have been directed up there for a reason by supernatural forces.” She crossed her arms, shivering, feeling a chill running through her body. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
"Rose," said Brooke, her voice trembling. "He kept telling us to get out of the house. The way something pulled me from that room. Maybe one of us was supposed to be the target."
"I don't know, but I feel bad for him," said Rose as an eerie feeling crept over her even though she had no clue about the plot to send her to the underworld or that Darrin had saved her. "I wish I could have helped him, but there was nothing I could do with supernatural forces involved. He sold his soul for fame and fortune. I hope the past five years were worth it. I hope he somehow finds peace."
“Yeah, me too,” said Brooke, shivering. “I didn’t know Darrin long, but he seemed like a good guy. The death card. Somebody did die. I guess this time it meant what it said.”
At eighteen, Rose was no stranger to the French Quarter. Her grandfather owns four bars in the Vieux Carre along with an old hotel. Rose’s parents operate the hotel along with its restaurant and bar. Rose helps with serving and tending bar. If somebody calls out for work, Rose will fill in for them. She also fills in at the front desk when needed.
Several ghosts inhabit her parent’s hotel. Some have been there for almost two centuries, while others are more recent.
Rose’s mother has the ability to see and talk to the dead. At age three, her family discovered that Rose had inherited her mother’s gift. Rose and her mother will help the spirits in need if they desire it, but many of them don’t even realize they’re dead. Like her mother, in a haunted city like New Orleans, Rose sees the apparitions everywhere, but she has learned to tune them out.
She entered Jackson Square and walked across to Chartres Street. Her bright green eyes settled on St. Louis Cathedral. The old cathedral that dates back to the 1700s sits between the historic Cabildo and Presbytere. She checked her phone for the time. Her best friend, Brooke, had agreed to meet her there at six o’clock, and it was getting close.
She smiled as her eyes peered over at the artists lined up along the streets around Jackson Square and their paintings displayed along the iron fence. She had always appreciated their work and how their artwork made the area appear more like a museum than a city street.
She chuckled to herself at the sight of the fortune-tellers and tarot readers set up outside the cathedral. Is there anywhere else in the world where you can leave a church and have your fortune told on the way out?
She spotted Brooke sitting with a tarot reader. According to his sign, his name was Michael. His messy hair and appearance didn’t do much for his credibility, but you never know. His workstation was a card table and two folding lawn chairs. She noticed the tarot cards laid out in the spread of a Celtic cross. It appeared they were finishing up. She waited for Brooke to get up and walked over to her. As she got closer, Rose noticed her friend looked as pale as a ghost. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” said Brooke, running her hand through her long dark hair. She closed her brown eyes tightly. “I know this probably will sound silly to you, but I’m a little freaked out by that reading.” She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling. “I got the death card.”
Rose frowned with a sigh facing her friend. “If you wanted your cards read, you could have come to me. My grandmother taught me how to read them when I was a child.”
“I know,” said Brooke. “I got here early and was just trying to kill some time. I’ve never done that before, so I thought it might be fun to do on Halloween. It probably wasn’t a good idea. It’s just a little scary thinking me, or somebody close to me is going to die.”
Rose held up her palm. “Wait! Hold on. First of all, the death card doesn’t necessarily mean anyone is going to die. In fact, it can be one of the most positive cards in the deck. The death card means change. It simply indicates the end of one phase of your life and the beginning of another. I would say it’s accurate considering we started college this year. Our lives are going to change drastically in the not so distant future.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Brooke rubbing her arms. “That’s what the reader said. I feel a little better about it now, but I can’t help but wonder. Will a tarot reader tell you the truth if they see death in your future, or will they avoid it to keep from upsetting you?”
Rose shook her head. “First of all, tarot cards can’t predict death because they can’t tell your future. We all have a blueprint, but we also have free will, so nothing is certain. All the cards can do is help us understand certain situations we may find ourselves in and help us handle those situations better.”
“I suppose,” said Brooke.
Rose wondered what other cards came up with the death card to help her make an assessment, but she didn’t want to upset her friend any more than she already was by asking. Changing the subject seemed wise. “I guess it’s time we make our way to the party. Do you think we look like witches dressed in all black?”
Rose wore a black flowing lace skirt that reached mid-thigh in the front and mid-calf in the back under a fitted short jacket with lace cuffs and high heel fitted boots. Brooke rocked a black peplum bell-sleeved jacket and short pencil skirt with similar boots. They both wore dark eye makeup with deep purple lipstick.
“We look like hot witches,” said Brooke. “Imagine you, the ghost whisperer, going to a party at The Chevalier House, one of the oldest most historic paranormally active houses in New Orleans.”
Rose chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “I see ghosts all the time, so why should tonight be any different? Besides, they’re all haunted. If I were worried about seeing spirits, I would never go anywhere.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Brooke. “You ain’t scared ‘a no ghost.”
Rose laughed. “Nope. When you’ve seen as many as I have, it’s just a normal day.”
The party was a ticketed event open to anyone eighteen and over willing to pay $75.00 to spend Halloween in a haunted house. A ticket got you food, water, tea, beer, and wine.
“How exactly did you get the tickets for tonight,” asked Brooke.
Rose shook her head. “This sounds crazy, but it’s true. Two nights ago, I served a customer at the bar. He didn’t say much. When he was ready to leave, he asked for his tab. After he left, I picked up the tray and found the signed copy of his credit card slip and two tickets.” She shrugged.” He left me two tickets as a tip.”
Brooke twisted her mouth, shaking her head. “I would say that was a generous tip. That’s mysterious. Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
Rose laughed. “I hardly think so since he didn’t even try to talk to me. Maybe he’s involved with the event in some way and had extra tickets.”
“Maybe so,” said Brooke. “Maybe he’ll come back and leave you tickets for the Darrin Cross concert that will be in New Orleans in a few months. Tickets sold out twenty minutes after they went on sale.” She took a deep breath and sighed, placing her hand over her heart. “I would love to see him.”
“Yeah, me too. I may be able to get my grandfather to set us up with that one. He has some connections. He may even be able to get us some backstage passes.”
Brooke’s eyes lit up, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a big smile. “Really! That would be great!”
They reached the beautiful old home with its tall columns in the front as the sun was beginning to set. They looked around as they entered. Corporately owned, the house appeared more like a museum, preserved as it had been in the nineteenth century with exquisite antique furnishings. Window coverings of burgundy velvet topped with decorative valences over white lace panels fell from the ceiling to the floor. An old baby grand piano stood in the front parlor next to the dining room, the combined rooms separated by a white wood trimmed fireplace, the mantle topped with candlesticks. The shiny deep mahogany hardwood floors stood out against the white crown molding and tall white baseboards.
An entrance foyer separated the front parlor from the living room. Rose fell in love with the elegant antique red, green, and gold floral print sofa with decorative cherry wood carvings that stood under a gold gilded mirror facing a matching chair on the opposite side. A cherry wood coffee table with a white marble top stood across from the sofa. Her eyes scanned the old portraits of possible occupants of the home who were now long deceased that decorated its walls and hung over its many mantles.
Rose couldn’t help but think of “Phantom of the Opera” when she noticed the large chandelier hanging over the winding white and mahogany stairs surrounded by gold and white floral wallpaper leading to the bedrooms upstairs. Unfortunately, a red velvet rope blocked entry to the upstairs part of the home.
Rose folded her arms, scanning the rooms. She didn’t notice much activity in the populated downstairs rooms, but she saw several apparitions on the stairway. She had a strong feeling the upstairs part of the house had been closed off for a reason.
“Let’s go check out the courtyard,” said Brooke pointing to the door. They grabbed a glass of wine from a server dressed in black and white and stepped outside.
A hostess greeted them in the same uniform. She escorted them to an empty table near the side of the house by the fence. While sipping their wine, Brooke spotted an unusual plant growing between the house and the fence. Her eyes squinted when she noticed a mist coming up from the ground next to it. She pointed and said, “What is that? Is it a decoration, or is that mist actually coming up from the ground?”
Rose focused her eyes on the strange fog. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. I’ve never seen anything like it. It does look weird.”
“If it’s a decoration, why would it be on the side of the house where only a few people will see?” asked Brooke.
“Good point,” said Rose shrugging one shoulder. “I have no clue.”
Brooke pulled her phone from her purse. She walked over, snapped a picture, returned to the table, and sat down. Her finger touched the button to display the photo. Her eyes popped at the image of the shadow of a man standing in a sea of orange, red, and black fog at the entrance to an abyss. Other shadow people seemed to be moving about in the mist.
Rose noticed her reaction. “What’s wrong?”
Brooke handed her the phone. “See for yourself.”
Rose took the phone. Her eyebrows raised when she looked at the photograph. “Oh, my God! The picture I see here and what I’m looking at over there are two different things. This picture is bizarre. It’s like a gateway to Hell or something.”
Rose looked up from the phone and noticed the mist beginning to get heavier, slowly rising to the second story. She got up and walked toward it. She looked up and spotted a young man staring out of a long rectangular upstairs window. His expression was solemn. He stood like a statue appearing to be in deep thought. The window was half-open, but he didn’t seem to notice the thin white lace panel covering it gently blowing in the breeze. She turned to Brooke and said, “I wonder who that guy is. Nobody’s supposed to be upstairs. Don’t you think it’s strange the way he’s just staring out of that window?”
“What guy,” said Brooke looking up at the window. “I don’t see anyone.”
Rose wrinkled her brow, facing her friend. “You don’t see him? I don’t think he’s a ghost, but I may be wrong. I’m going up. I’m not sure what’s going on, but something doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure why, but I feel compelled to go up. I have to try to help.”
“What do you mean you have to try to help?” said Brooke shrugging her shoulders. “Help who?”
“Hopefully, it’s nothing. But I need to check it out.”
Brooke scoffed, rolling her eyes. She followed Rose into the house. They reached the stairs and checked to make sure nobody else was around before ducking under the rope, quickly making their way up the stairs.
They passed what appeared to be a child’s bedroom with a small bed covered with a white bedspread topped with toys.
A full four-poster bed with decorative wooden finials covered with a white bedspread and two pillows covered with shams indicated an adult bedroom. They spotted the young man still standing in the window.
Rose folded her arms, feeling a chill. At first, she thought it was a draft from the open window until she noticed an abundance of ghosts floating around her. There were several upstairs, but none of them seemed interested in communicating. It appeared they were not aware of her seeing them. They seemed to be going on about their business, whatever that was. She couldn’t remember ever seeing so many spirits in one place in her entire life.
Rose’s eyes landed on the young man in the window, and she came to the conclusion he wasn’t an apparition. He was alive wearing a button-down shirt over snug jeans. His chestnut brown hair covered his forehead and fell to his shoulders in loose waves. She wondered why Brooke couldn’t see him from outside, but now she could. He knew they were there, but he continued to stare out the window.
Rose decided to get his attention. “Hello,” she said.
The man did not respond.
“Is everything okay?” asked Rose.
“The young man turned around with a furrowed brow. He pointed to the door, shouting, “Run! Get out! Get out while you can! This house is evil, and you could be next.”
Rose stepped forward, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re telling us to run, but why are you staying if there’s danger? You’re alive. You can walk out with us.”
“I can’t!” The man raised his hand, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “I’ve made a pact, and I’m bound to keep it.”
“With whom?” asked Rose.
“The devil himself for all I know,” said the young man.
Even though Rose had experience with ghosts, she got the feeling she was in over her head this time. He also seemed familiar to her. She knew him from somewhere, but where? “I know you,” she said, pointing to him.
The young man snickered. “I’m sure you do. Everybody does. Unless you’ve been in a bubble for the past five years, you would know me.”
Brooke immediately recognized him and covered her mouth with widened eyes. “Oh, my God! You’re Darrin Cross.”
Rose’s jaw dropped. “You’re Darrin Cross as in Darrin Cross, the famous singer. Love on the Inside, A Man’s Paradise, Beyond My Tears, and countless other hits. Of course, we know who you are. We were just talking about going to your concert earlier.”
Darrin scoffed and said, “Good luck with that one.”
“That’s right. You’re from New Orleans,” said Brooke.
Darrin shrugged with a frown. “Born and raised here. Lived and died here.”
Rose snickered. “Obviously, you’re still alive.” She scratched her head, trying to make sense of the conversation. “So why is Darrin Cross, the heartthrob of our generation, staring out of that window looking like a lost soul on Halloween?”
Darrin sneered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Probably because I am one.”
Rose wrinkled her brow. “What kind of pact did you make? What’s your story?”
Darrin sighed, looking around as if he was expecting someone. "I don't have much time, so I'll make a long story short. Five years ago, my girlfriend talked me into going to a party at this house. I had reached rock bottom, and I had pretty much given up on the idea of ever having a career in music. Working as a bartender and taking whatever gigs I could get as a starving artist wasn't working for me anymore.
"Just like tonight, the upstairs part of the house was closed off. My girlfriend pulled me by my hand and led me up here. I thought she had something kinky in mind she wanted to do in a haunted house, so I went along. It turned out, all she was looking for was a place for us to be alone so we could talk. I can't say I was surprised by her words, but I wasn't expecting it to be then and there. She said she wanted more for herself than I could give her and our relationship wasn't right for her. She said she intended to spend the night with a friend and wanted me out when she got home the next day. She returned to the party, leaving me alone up here with my tears.
"I felt there was nothing left for me in this world, and I didn't want to go on. The woman I thought I loved had just dumped me, and the reality of never having a music career had sunk in. I had no money to find another place to live, and there was no place for me to go. My thoughts drifted to the pocket knife I carried. I pulled it from my pocket and opened it. My fingers traced the blade several times before I found the nerve to raise it to my throat. I closed my eyes tightly, and with one quick slash, I fell to the floor as the blood poured out of my body.
That's when the shadow man appeared to me, taking the form of a dark-skinned man with large deep red eyes, high cheekbones, and long dreadlocks wearing a suit with a top hat. He appeared somewhat handsome in a ghoulish sort of way, and he spoke with a French accent. He introduced himself as Papa, and he puffed on a cigar. I can still remember the fragrant smell of the cigar.
“He told me I was too young to die and that he could help me live out my dreams. He promised me a career, wealth, and fame in exchange for one thing. He would give me my life, and it would be a good life, but it would come with a price. In return, every five years on Halloween, I would have to give him a life.
“A career, wealth, fame, and fortune sounded good to me at that moment. Five years seemed a long way off. Lying on the floor dying with no time to think about his offer, I foolishly agreed.
“He kept his end of the bargain. The last five years couldn’t have been better, but now the time has come to pay the price. It’s true. The veil between our world and the underworld is the thinnest tonight. I’m at the crossroads between the two worlds. The mist you saw was not a decoration. This house is a portal, and tonight I have to either cross over or hand him a soul. I’ve never had any desire to take a life, so my only option is to cross over. That’s why I’m here. It wouldn’t do any good for me to run. He’ll find me anywhere.”
At that moment, the lights began to flicker on and off. Darrin looked around with a frown knowing Papa was close. He looked into Rose’s eyes and said, “Rose, I know you want to help me, but there’s nothing you can do for me now. I sealed my fate when I took my own life five years ago. But instead of facing death, I was given an extension. My time is up. It’s best you two beautiful ladies leave now. Run for the stairs and get out as fast as you can.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “How did you know my name is Rose? I never gave you my name.”
“It doesn’t matter. There isn’t much time. Just run! Do as I say. Run!”
Suddenly, all the lights went out. It didn’t seem like a power outage. It was more like something was sucking all of the energy out of the house, leaving the room pitch dark. Brooke let out a blood-curdling scream as she felt an unknown force snatching her out of the room. Rose trembled with fear at the sounds of the door slamming shut and Brooke’s scream fading to silence.
“Brooke,” Rose shouted with wide eyes, unable to see anything in the dark, terrorized at not knowing what happened to her friend. “Brooke, answer me,” she yelled, but she heard nothing. The death card popped into her head. Maybe it did mean something. Could something have happened to Brooke? She knew she had to find her. At that moment, she regretted not asking more questions about the reading. Her heart pounded as she found her way to the door, searching for the knob in the dark. She finally felt it and turned it. She looked back for Darrin, unable to see anything in the blackness of the room.
As she stepped through the door, she shuddered when she felt someone take her by the hand.
“It’s okay, it’s me,” said Brooke. “I don’t know what grabbed me, but something or someone didn’t want me in that room.”
Rose let out a sigh. “Thank God you’re all right, but we need to get outta here.”
Holding hands, they quickly made their way to the stairs and grasped on to the handrail, feeling their way down as quickly as they could in the dark. They found their way to the door leading to the courtyard and stepped outside. Leaning against the wall, they let out a sigh of relief.
***
"Such a shame," said the man in the top hat. He clucked his tongue several times, slowly waving his index finger at Darrin. "You disappoint Papa. You know I wanted the redhead. Everything was in place. I practically handed her to you on a platter. I made it so simple for you. All you had to do for another five years of fame and fortune was bash her skull with the pipe hidden under the pillow when the lights went out. Toss her out of the window along with the weapon leaving the details to me. No one would have seen what was going on in the dark and the mist, and her friend wouldn't have seen or heard a thing. It would have appeared she fell out of the window during the blackout and hit her head on the pipe, a piece of plumbing equipment carelessly left on the ground." He raised his hands and his brow. "Accidents happen." He puffed on his cigar. "No one would have ever suspected you."
"I know, but I'm not a killer," said Darrin wiping his brow. "I thought I could, but, in the end, I couldn't do it. Five years turns into another five years, turns into another five years, and so on. For how long? How long can this last? Eventually, my time will be up, so why not now? How many lives will I have to take? At this time, the only blood I have on my hands is mine." He looked into Papa's red eyes. "So now you have me."
***
As soon as Rose and Brooke were outside, the lights came back on. The event was coming to an end, and the courtyard was clearing. It appeared nobody had a clue as to what had been going on in the rest of the house. Rose and Brooke entered the foyer.
“What should we do?” asked Brooke. “We can’t just leave. What should we do about Darrin?”
“I don’t know,” said Rose. “I think we should try to contact someone, but who?”
Brooke sighed. “There are security people around. Maybe we should tell them we saw someone go upstairs and they should check. I hate that we just left him there.”
“There was nothing we could do,” said Rose shrugging her shoulders. “Supernatural forces were at work. But you’re right. We should alert security.”
Security listened to their report and rushed upstairs. Rose and Brooke waited for the news of a dead body on the second floor, but to their surprise, they found nothing.
***
The next morning, Rose woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. She picked it up and answered when she saw it was Brooke.
“Sorry to wake you,” said Brooke, “but turn on the television now. Channel six. The news report is about to come up.”
“Hang on,” said Rose reaching for her remote. She pushed the button as the story began.
Fans of Darrin Cross mourn today. His body was found early this morning on the side of The Chevalier House. It appears he fell from a second-story window during a power blackout. He died from a blow to the head from a metal pipe lying on the ground.
“A pipe on the ground?” said Rose lifting her eyebrows. “I don’t remember that being there last night. Do you?”
“No. It wasn’t,” said Brooke. “I still don’t understand why I couldn’t see him in the window, but I could see him in the room.”
Rose sighed deeply. “He said he was at the crossroads between worlds. He actually died five years ago. He was fading in and out between worlds. He was fading out when I saw him in the window and back with us when we got upstairs to the bedroom. The only thing that could have kept him here would have been to take a life. We were the only people in the room with him. Somehow, I think we may have been directed up there for a reason by supernatural forces.” She crossed her arms, shivering, feeling a chill running through her body. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
"Rose," said Brooke, her voice trembling. "He kept telling us to get out of the house. The way something pulled me from that room. Maybe one of us was supposed to be the target."
"I don't know, but I feel bad for him," said Rose as an eerie feeling crept over her even though she had no clue about the plot to send her to the underworld or that Darrin had saved her. "I wish I could have helped him, but there was nothing I could do with supernatural forces involved. He sold his soul for fame and fortune. I hope the past five years were worth it. I hope he somehow finds peace."
“Yeah, me too,” said Brooke, shivering. “I didn’t know Darrin long, but he seemed like a good guy. The death card. Somebody did die. I guess this time it meant what it said.”
RSS Feed
