Page 33 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
A cloud of fog rises from the water as I wind through the path to the main road. I’m so distracted by it that I nearly miss the feeling of cold fingers tickling their way up my neck. It’s not forceful, but it’s enough to make me aware that a ghostly presence is nearby.
There’s a very old-looking brick house off in the distance, and the feeling grows stronger as I pass it. Then it disappears completely. I make a note to check it out later with Dennis.
I pull up to the library with a stomach full of pancakes and a honey latte in hand. I’m ready to do my research.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of old books around me, and start digging through old records and files of local newspapers. I want to know this place. I have to if I want to find out the truth.
Who was the woman in the woods?
From what I can tell, the park used to be a stretch of undeveloped land used mostly for fishing and hunting, so what was she doing out there? Even now that the park has been cleared with paths and trails, it’s huge. I can’t imagine the dense forest feeling safe at night.
If she was running away, she must have been desperate.
My stomach turns when I read through the violent details of her murder. And after all that, she’s still a nameless woman, stuck in the woods.
Rage rolls into tight coils in the pit of my stomach. I wanted a name, but I’ll have to make do with the information I've got. I only wish I could find something on the old dude haunting the place, but I can’t find a single mention of him anywhere.
I give myself a pep talk. I’ve done difficult before. I can manage this. But I touch the place above my collar, and I can still feel the ghost’s fingers there. It felt too real last night.
I’m about to pick up my things and leave when I see a passage on the page I was reading. It’s a blurb about a mill house. The small black and white photo shows a brick house with creeping weeds.
It’s the building that caught my eye on the way here, and it turns out it’s as old as the story of the woman in the woods. It’s been vacant for years. I wonder if it has anything to do with her story, even though her soul is deep in the woods.
When I return to the camp, my mind is running with more questions than answers. It’s afternoon now, and a nap feels like it’s in order before we go off for another night hike. I have a feeling we’ll be doing a lot of walking again.
“Come with me,” a voice whispers from behind me.
Cold threads its way into my ear and down my neck when I catch the rotten smell from last night. People were fishing at the pond, but there’s no one at the campground now. It’s only the tent and a pile of leaves swirling in the copse.
“Shh,” the voice says, a laugh bubbling beneath the shushing sound.
I feel a tug, an invitation to come and play.
“Bea,” Dennis calls from the tent, “are you alright?”
“I’ll only show you if you’re alone,” the bodiless voice barks, drops of cold drool spraying on my neck. It sounds so real, but Dennis doesn’t say anything. I don’t think he can hear this spirit.
“I’m alright. I just forgot I wanted to check something out,” I say and follow the pull.
If the ghost wants to play, then I’m ready. I stuff my hands in my pockets, feeling the packs of salt and the velvet pouch holding my crystals.
I nod at people on the trail as I pass. I look like I’m alone to them, but I can feel the presence of the spirit walking slightly ahead of me, guiding me invisibly. I keep my eyes forward and don’t offer anything more than a simplehelloso as to not anger that voice of warning in my ear calling from the veil.
They can’t know what you know. They can’t see what you see.
I keep going, beads of sweat forming on my brow although it’s chilly. This is why I don’t like talking to ghosts in the daytime; there are too many people around. My nerves can’t handle it.
Finally, the cold grip releases me in front of the old mill house.
“What is this? Is this where your story happened?”
But I speak to silence.
I step toward the brick structure. It’s still in decent shape considering it was around in the 1800s. The front door creaks open.
Time to play.
“Hello,” I call, dust floating in the air around me. “Where did you go? I thought you wanted to show me something.”
