Page 53 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
Lies.I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined the word whispered again in my ear. I looked at Jayne and she was staring back at me with wide eyes, and I knew she’d heard it, too. She reached for my hand and I took hers. “Stronger together, right?”
I nodded and we took a step toward the mausoleum. A breeze that scattered only the leaves on the ground but didn’t stir the Spanish moss on the trees swirled around our legs, pushing at our backs and propelling us forward.
We took another step.
“Stop.” We turned at the sound of Jack’s voice.
“I don’t feel right about sending you in alone. I’m coming with you.” He took a step toward us, but I held up my hand.
“It’s all right, Jack,” I said. “We know what we’re doing.”
“We do?” Jayne spoke under her breath so Jack couldn’t hear.
“Why don’t you and Anthony examine the rest of the cemetery, look for anything unusual on any of the headstones?” I suggested.
“Some of Eliza’s favorite peacocks are buried here,” Anthony said. “But we’ll stay close to the mausoleum so we can keep an eye out.”
Jack frowned, torn between studying headstones—one of his favorite pastimes—and staying close to me, one of my favorite pastimes.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, sounding more assured than I felt. “You’re close enough that if we need anything, you can be with us in seconds.”
Wanting to get it over with before nightfall, I tugged on Jayne’s hand, leading her toward the entrance to the mausoleum. As Anthonyhad said, the doorway gate, with a square wrought-iron design at the top, stood slightly ajar. We peered into the dark interior through the slats of the rusting bars, seeing nothing but the dim outline of a single crypt opposite the opening.
“The other two crypts must be on the sides,” I said, noting the plaque on the front of the triangular structure listing Eliza’s name along with the two men’s. I held up my phone and snapped pictures of the plaque and the gate to study later. I wasn’t interested in hanging out in this cemetery any longer than I needed to.
“Let’s go,” I said as we flipped on the flashlights on our phones. I shone my light inside the space, stopping short at a rustling noise like that of a mouse or a bird. Or a long dress sweeping across a stone floor.
“Did you hear that?” Jayne asked.
I nodded, peering inside and hoping I wouldn’t see anything. The circular spots from our lights illuminated dusty bricks and thick mortar on the walls, then square stone tiles on the floor. In three alcoves stone crypts nestled in the brick walls, lying in supposedly quiet repose. The light from my phone allowed us to see a broken corner of one of the lids, then trailed down to the bricks beneath each crypt.
“Looks like hieroglyphics,” Jayne said.
“Yeah, that’s what Anthony said. And Marc thinks it’s some kind of a code. Or it could just be fancy brick details because the bricklayer was feeling artistic.”
“Do you really think so?” Jayne asked.
“Not really. I’m just wishing this were all a lot easier so we could make it go away faster. We’ll take pictures to show Jack.” I reached up to push the gate open, just as it slammed shut in front of my fingers, the sound as final as that of a crypt lid being slid into place.
I knew better than to blame Jayne for closing it and began to tug on the bars, hoping that common sense would prevail and the unlocked gate that had been ajar seconds ago would actually cooperate and open. It wouldn’t. I began shaking it until Jayne placed her hand on my arm.
“Maybe what we need to see isn’t inside.” Jayne pointed at the complex design on the top half of the mausoleum gate, the swirls and linesas intricate and deliberate as those of a spiderweb. I lifted my phone and began snapping more photos.
The breeze had picked up, dead twigs and leaves now hurling themselves at us. I looked up at what had been a brilliant blue winter sky and saw instead an ominous black shelf cloud hovering over us like a grim smile.
Not completely convinced that we couldn’t gain access to the mausoleum, I stuck my hand through the bars, hoping to find some kind of latch I could release from the inside.
I heard the crunch of running footsteps coming toward us, then Jack’s voice behind me. “It’s about to storm—we should get inside....”
I didn’t hear what else he said. Something yanked on my hand from inside the mausoleum, pulling so hard that my head banged against the iron gate. As spots gyrated in front of my eyes and my ears rang with a metallic echo, I heard a man’s voice, deep and gravelly, shouting loudly inside my head.Traitors deserve to die and rot in hell.
“Mellie? Mellie!” Jack’s voice was frantic, his hand grappling with the gate, trying to force it open. “Jayne—help me!”
Jayne’s hand squeezed mine as my knees hit the concrete step in front of the gate, my arm now numb, my head bruised. The stench of rot filled my nostrils as the heavy stomp of boots thudded across the mausoleum toward me. I closed my eyes in terror, prepared for the worst. And then whatever had been pulling on my arm suddenly let go, sending me backward into Jack’s arms. I looked up upon hearing the unsettling sound of squealing hinges as the gate of the mausoleum opened slowly. The specter of a British soldier in a bright red coat slowly faded into the dark abyss, leaving behind the scent of gunpowder and the unmistakable feeling of despair.
CHAPTER 19
The four of us stared at the opened gate leading inside the mausoleum as if it were welcoming us, as if it hadn’t just moments before been slammed shut and locked in our faces, and as if something inside hadn’t just been trying to rip my arm out of its socket. I looked at Jack, Jayne, and Anthony, their uncertainty about going inside apparent.
