Page 75 of Fear Me Not

Blake jerks his chin. “Over there. Why?”

I shrug dismissively. “Might be nothing.”

I leave Aspen’s side and head over to the box. Then I pick it up and dump the contents all over the floor. A hundred balled pieces of old, yellowed newspaper that the ornaments had been wrapped in tumble everywhere. The ornaments are on the tree, of course, but we’d brought the empty box and the paper they’d been individually wrapped in back down here.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I don’t reply and instead pick up one torn, crumpled piece of newspaper.

May 21st 1927. New York Times. "LINDBERGH DOES IT! TO PARIS IN 33½ HOURS"

I check another one. This doesn’t have a headline, but is part of a longer article.

Another piece contains another headline and date. "STOCK MARKET CRISIS OVER" October 25th 1929.

Whoever kept these newspapers was definitely a fan of the news, and also didn’t like throwing anything out. I picture whoever wrapped the ornaments finding the stacks of newspapers down here, most likely bound with string, and figured they might as well put them to good use.

It’s probably a slim chance that I’d find anything relating to the hotel and the people who originally built the place, but if they kept all of these, then surely they’d also keep articles relating to Windridge Hall.

I keep going, and Blake, interested now, joins me. Together, we scour piece after piece of newspaper articles.

Eventually, I find something. “Look at this.”

Forgetting Aspen struggles to read, I hand her the crumpled, yellowing piece of newspaper, but she shakes her head.

“You’ll need to read it to me.”

“Shit, yes, sorry.” I clear my throat. “The headline says, prominent death of local logging couple. Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Buchanan killed in motor-car accident. Four children are left bereaved, and the community is in mourning. The family residence has been left to the only son, Mr. Clyde Buchanan.”

“So the sisters were left in his care, too?” she asks.

I scan the rest of the article. “It doesn’t say.”

“They stayed here, though,” she insists. “I know they did.”

“Just because they stayed doesn’t mean anything bad happened to them.”

She raises her eyebrows at me. “No, the fact I’ve seen one of them hanging from my ceiling means something bad happened to them. Her sister is still here, too, Evelyn. She stepped out onto the road so I swerved the truck. She didn’t want me to leave… though that’s exactly what her sister said. She told me to leave. So maybe Evelyn had wanted me to stop. She wanted me to take her with her, or…” She lets out a sigh and puts her face in her hands. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Blake moves in behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Sweet girl, it might mean nothing at all. They could just be memories, echoes, and not the actual sisters. Just because you’ve seen them doesn’t mean they’re trying to tell you anything. And even if they are, the events would have happened almost a hundred years ago. What are you supposed to do to help?”

She leans back against him, clearly needing his support. “You’re right. I’m probably looking into this too much. I just hate feeling so helpless. I want to do something.”

“You are doing something,” he insists. “You’ve got our lazy asses in action. Do you at least feel better now you’ve got some background?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure I want to sleep alone in my room again any time soon.”

“You can sleep with me,” I throw out, wanting to get in before my father can.

“Or me,” Blake offers.

She presses her lips together. “Not Dov, though.”

“No, he doesn’t trust himself alone with you,” Blake says. “Not for that long. It would be too much for him.”

She nods. “I understand.”

Together, we pack up all the old stuff back into boxes and leave it as we’d found it. I do hope what we’ve learned will be enough to put Aspen’s mind at rest, but if the ghosts keep taunting her, as I suspect they will, I fear we won’t have heard the end of it.