I went down hard, gasping as pain darted up my arm. Cradling my tender wrist, I focused my attention on the shadows. I could see her there, watching me from the gloom. Her face reminded me of the embedded portrait, but she couldnt be the infants ghost. This girl looked to have been at least ten when she passed. Sisters, perhaps. Dead but still clinging to their mortal bond.
I wanted to know her name, her history, her connection to the infant in the tomb.
I wanted to scramble to my feet, hurry from the cemetery and never look back.
The ghosts childish trickery disturbed me in a way I didnt yet understand. I found myself once again reaching for my talisman, but the key was gone. Frantically, I clutched my neck while tracking the mischievous entity. She giggled again before fading back into the shadows.
Two
I was still crouched on the ground with my gaze pinned to the spot where the ghost had vanished when I realized someone had come upon me. Not a ghost this time, but a human presence. I didnt jump at the intrusion. Id learned long ago to keep my nerves steady, so I took only a moment to recover my poise as I turned slowly toward the cemetery.
A man dressed in a faded black jacket and tattered jeans stood no more than five feet from me, head slightly cocked as he observed me with surly indifference. I had never met him before, but I recognized him from the description Id been given by my contact in the group that had hired me. His name was Prosper Lamb and he was the cemetery caretaker, a term I used loosely in his case because not much care had been given to Woodbine over the past several decades. The grounds were overgrown and littered with trash, the graves in bad need of weeding. He hadnt even bothered to pick up the empty beer bottles at the entrance, making me wonder how he managed to keep his job. Id been told he lived across the road so perhaps proximity was the only requirement.
His gaze on me deepened and I suppressed another shudder as I took in his countenance. I guessed his age to be around forty, but a hard life had carved deep lines in his face. A scar at his neck and another across the back of his hand hinted at a violent past. He was tallish and lean with a hairline that had receded into a deep widows peak. He hadnt said a word to alert me of his presence or to put me at ease. I had a feeling he enjoyed my discomfort.
I got quickly to my feet as I brushed off my jeans. Mr. Lamb, isnt it?
You must be the restorer, he said in a countrified drawl. They said youd be stopping by today.
Amelia Gray. I offered my hand, but then let it fall back to my side when I saw that his attention was already diverted.
He nodded to the ground at the base of the tomb where I had risen. Looked like something knocked the wind out of you just now.
Nothing so dramatic. My shoelaces tangled in a vine and I tripped.
Theyre everywhere, he grumbled. Briars, ivy, swamp morning glory. Pull one up, half a dozen more grow back in its place. No offense, maam, but this seems like a mighty big job for such a small woman. His eyes narrowed as he gave me a cool appraisal.
I appreciate your concern, but I assure you Im up to the task. I returned his frank assessment. And what is it you do around here, Mr. Lamb?
He merely shrugged at my pointed question. They call me the caretaker, but I dont touch the graves. Not anymore. These days Im more of a watchman. I keep an eye on things. Chase away the riffraff that has a tendency to gravitate to places like this. He put his hand on his waist, pushing back the wool jacket so that I could glimpse the gun he wore at his hip.
The knowledge that he was armed and quite possibly dangerous did nothing to put me at ease in his presence. I couldnt help noting the isolation of our surroundings. Despite our nearness to the hustle and bustle of downtown Charleston, I doubted a car had strayed this way in a very long time.
His expression turned sardonic as he continued to watch me. His speech cadence and manner of dress put me in the mind of an old-time traveling preacher, also not reassuring.
Youre off the beaten path and not in the safest part of town, he warned. If you run into trouble, just holler. Ill be around.
Thank you, Mr. Lamb, but I dont anticipate any trouble.
No one ever sees it coming. And you can call me Prosper. Or Prop. Well likely be seeing a lot of each other if you dont get scared off.
Scared off by what?
He grinned, displaying a toothy overbite. Cemeteries can be frightening places, maam.
Not to a cemetery restorer.
He shrugged, letting his jacket fall back into place as his gaze moved to the stone crib behind me. That one there...shes a strange one.
For one crazy moment, I thought he meant the ghost and I glanced over my shoulder in dread. Then I realized he referred to the stone crib and the portrait of the dead child. Theres no name on the monument. Do you know who she was?
Never heard tell, he said. But thats not the only grave in here without a name. Woodbine is where the well-to-do used to bury their secrets.
What do you mean?
His gaze turned sage. Their bastards and mistresses, if youll pardon my language. People they kept on the fringes of their lives. They erected all these fine monuments to honor the dead, but they couldnt or wouldnt give them their names. So they laid them to rest here in Woodbine, close enough to visit but separate from the respectable family plots in Magnolia Cemetery.
I never knew that, I said, intrigued in spite of myself.
Now you do. Who do you think pays me to watch over them?
I assume the same trust that hired me.
He leaned in. Who do you think sits on the board? Who do you think made the donation to restore this place? Years and years go by and all of a sudden someone is mighty interested in getting this place cleaned up. That doesnt strike you as curious?
Not at all. The neighboring cemeteries have been undergoing revitalization for years.
Maybe thats all it is, he said. Then again, maybe someone has developed a guilty conscience.
I knew better than to encourage his gossip, but I couldnt help myself. Who?
Well, that is the question, isnt it? He lifted his head to sniff the air. Smell that?
I took a quick breath, drawing in the lingering scent that had been stirred by the ghost. You mean the woodbine?
Nah, that stuff wont bloom again until next spring. I smell something dead.
My gaze darted inadvertently to the spot where the ghost had vanished.
Prosper Lamb walked all around the tomb, testing the air like a bloodhound. Its fresh. Barely any rot. But Im never wrong about that smell. Ive had a nose for dead things since I was a kid.
My senses had evolved along with my gift, but evidently he was even more sensitive than I was. I didnt smell anything.
Are you the superstitious type? he asked suddenly.
Not really. Why?
Youre not bothered by corpse birds?
Corpse birds?
Thats what my mama used to call dead birds found on or near graves. She claimed they were signs. As he talked, he reached inside the crib bed and carefully parted the purple blossoms. A second later, he extracted a dead crow, holding it up by the claws so that he could assess the glistening carcass. Even in the shade, I could see the sheen of black feathers and the dull glint in its beady eyes. There was something odd about the way the head dangled...
Corpse birds?
Thats what my mama used to call dead birds found on or near graves. She claimed they were signs. As he talked, he reached inside the crib bed and carefully parted the purple blossoms. A second later, he extracted a dead crow, holding it up by the claws so that he could assess the glistening carcass. Even in the shade, I could see the sheen of black feathers and the dull glint in its beady eyes. There was something odd about the way the head dangled...
Still warm, he said. Must have just happened.
Foreboding tingled through me. How do you suppose it died?
Sometimes they fall out of the sky without rhyme or reason. This one, though. He glanced up. Something wrung its neck.
I suppressed another shiver as I quickly scanned the gloomy landscape. I dont see how it could have just died. Ive been here for several minutes and I didnt see anything.
He held the bird out to me. Feel it for yourself.
No, thats okay. I believe you. Im just wondering what could have happened to the poor thing. I found my gaze flashing back to the place where the dead girl had vanished. I fancied I could still hear the echo of her taunting laughter.
My hand went to my throat again before I remembered that Roses key had gone missing. Ive lost my necklace. If you find a ribbon with a key attached
This one? He shifted the dead bird to his left hand and reached out with his right to unsnag the ribbon from underneath the hood of the crib. How it had gotten there, I had no idea, unless the ribbon had been caught when I bent over the monument to study the photograph.
Looks old, he said, dangling the key in the air in much the same way hed displayed the dead crow. A good-luck charm?
Something like that. I held out my hand.
He eyed the key for a moment longer before dropping it in my palm. Better hang on to it then. A corpse bird isnt just any old sign. Its a death omen. Finding that dead crow likely means someone else is about to pass.
Three
That night I had the most disturbing dream, undoubtedly triggered by the ghost childs manifestation and by Prosper Lambs death prophesy. I found myself walking through Woodbine Cemetery, a thick mist swirling around my legs as I searched for all those nameless headstones. I felt an urgency to find them. It seemed imperative that I visit each grave to let the dead know they hadnt been forgotten.
As I entered one of the ornate fences surrounding a plot, I saw my mother and my aunt Lynrose in wicker rockers drinking sweet tea at the edge of an open grave. They were dressed in summer finery, florals and pastels, rather than in heavy mourning attire. I could hear the murmur of their soft drawls as they peered down into the abyss. As I came upon them, Aunt Lynrose looked up with a stern admonishment. Mind your manners, chile. Dont you go poking your nose in places it doesnt belong.
Leave her be, Lyn, my mother scolded. We should have tended to this business years ago. Now its up to Amelia to find out the truth.
My aunt worried the gold locket at her throat as she returned her attention to the open grave. You should know by now, dear sister, that some secrets are best left buried.
I left them muttering to each other as I traveled on through a sea of headstones. Just when I thought I must be hopelessly lost, the mist thinned and I could see the willow trees that lined the riverbank. As I neared the water, the scent of woodbine deepened and I heard the distant tinkle of a wind chime. The haunting melody drew me deeper into the copse, where Prosper Lamb reclined against the stone cradle. He eyed me curiously as I came through the trees.
That one there...shes a strange one, he warned. A bad seed, you might say.
I turned to find the ghost child glowering at me from the shadows. She didnt taunt or try to play as shed done before. Her anger was palpable. I could see blood on her hands and on the white drop-waist dress she wore. She stood upright, but her head dangled at an odd angle like that of the corpse bird she clutched to her chest.
As I started toward her, a powerful wind knocked me back. Struggling to remain upright, I called out to her. Please stop. Youll hurt me.
Her surly expression never changed, but suddenly she lifted a finger to point at something in the mist over my shoulder. I thought Prosper Lamb must have come up behind me. Still battling that terrible wind, I turned in alarm but my feet tangled in a vine and I hit the ground hard, tumbling over and over as if rolling down a long hill.
I awakened before I hit the bottom, my heart pounding. For a moment I could have sworn I saw the dead childs face hovering over me in the dark, but nothing was there, ghost or otherwise. The night was calm and my dog, Angus, slept peacefully in his bed beneath the window. If hed sensed an intruder, living or dead, he would have alerted me.
Clutching Roses key to my breast, I settled back against the pillow. It had only been a dream. I was safe and sound in my own bed, protected from ghosts by the hallowed ground on which the house had been built, and from living intruders by the alarm system Id recently installed. I was safe. Nothing could get to me here.
Yet my heart wouldnt be still. I checked the time on my phone, noting that it was straight-up midnight. I turned on my side and nestled under the covers, exhausted from the days work but too unnerved to doze back off. No point in trying to analyze or dissect the disturbing visions. Likely, they didnt mean anything. But I couldnt bring myself to believe that. Dreams were often portents, and I couldnt forget Mama and Aunt Lynrose gazing down into that open grave or Prosper Lambs warning that the ghost was a bad seed. I didnt believe that, either. A child wasnt inherently evil. Something must have happened in her short life to cause all that pent-up rage.
Outside I could hear the wind in the trees as I lay there sorting through my churning thoughts. I rolled restlessly onto my back and watched shadows flail across the ceiling as the chimes in the back garden jangled. I listened intently to that distant sound, dread seeping down into my bones. The discordant notes melded into a distinctive melody, one that I had heard in Woodbine Cemetery that very day.
I tried to ignore the haunting descant, drawing the quilt up over my ears. I wouldnt get up from my warm bed to go explore. I would not. It was the wind stirring the chimes and nothing more. But the melancholy strands floated through the house, luring me from under the covers and down the hallway to my office. I stood on bare feet at one of the long windows, arms hugging my waist as I peered out into the nocturnal landscape. Id had security lights installed along with the alarm system and now I could peer into almost every corner. I trailed my gaze along the snowy beds of sweet alyssum, through the camellias and up into the tea olives. The leaves fluttered in the breeze, but no one was about. Nothing was amiss.
Go back to bed, Amelia. Stop borrowing trouble.
But I couldnt turn away from the window. I couldnt turn my back on the night. Something was wrong. I could feel it with every fiber of my being.
As I stood watching the shadows, something crashed into the window directly in front of me. I stumbled back, hand to my heart. At first I thought it must be a night bird disoriented by the reflection of moonlight on glass, but I hadnt seen so much as a darting shadow.