Part Two

by May Sutherland

Her shadow fell before her as she descended the long stairway; a small shape gliding darkly on the paneled wall. The pseudo-darkness of nighttime had settled over the great house, as swiftly-scudding clouds brought with them another of the innumerable storms that plagued the coast. Lightning rent the blackened sky, sending the tang of sulfur through the cracks around the edges of the stained-glass window in the upper hall. The gliding shadow abruptly vanished in the eerie light, to return again a moment later, darker than before.

A sudden roar of sound seemed to rock the solid walls around her; she froze, casting an apprehensive glance at the shuddering window as she clung to the slightly-swaying banisters. The sound of movement from the open drawing-room below sent her scurrying down the stairs and into the comparative safety of young David Collins' company... although it seemed but a slight improvement at best.

He knelt by the tall French window at the far end of the room, huddled excitedly over his new camera. Hallie's blue eyes took on a faint tinge of superiority as she watched him fiddling with the levers, and she lifted a finger to twirl at a long strand of shining blonde hair.

"You'll need a different type of camera, David," she murmured at last.

David jumped, turning abruptly. "Oh, it's you?" he scolded, with a swift frown. "Don't ever come sneaking up on somebody like that in this house. It' s spooky enough as it is. You could give somebody a heart attack."

Hallie's delicate nose tilted, as thunder crackled outside. "Phooh. You're just saying that to frighten me. There's nothing spooky here. It's just an old house. There isn't even a ghost."

"There used to be, and not long ago, either. But he went away, when Barnabas went back into the past. And, yeah, there were some ghosts after that-"

Hallie tossed her head, refusing to be teased. "People don't go back into the past to get rid of ghosts - I don't believe you. You're making it up."

"I ought to know," David pointed out. "I was here and you weren't."

"I still don't believe you. I know about these things. My uncle Elliot says I have psychic potential. I get - feelings - about things. There aren't any ghosts here. I would know it."

"Yeah?" David grinned, obviously highly amused. "Sure, there's ghosts here. I've seen lots of them myself. If you really did get 'feelings,' you'd have turned around when your uncle brought you here, and run for home."

A spasm of pain crossed the girl's sensitive face at the last word - it brought back, much too vividly, the cozy white house in Bangor where she had spent her entire young life. A sudden vision of her mother's tender face rose before her eyes, and she squeezed them tightly shut to wipe it away. But the picture remained; and with it the memory of the car crash that had forever changed the expression on that face to one of blankness... and death.

"You okay, Hallie?"

The unexpected concern in the boy's voice surprised her, and drove away her miserable thoughts for a moment. She opened her eyes cautiously, meeting his serious brown ones.

"Gee ... I didn't mean anything," David squirmed uncomfortably, a lock of hair falling over his eyes. "I was just sort of... sort of kidding."

"I'm okay," Hallie murmured, turning away so that he wouldn't see her cry.

But he failed to notice; an especially brilliant flash of lightning captured his complete attention. Satisfied with her answer, he turned back to his photographic efforts.

Winking hard, Hallie wandered over to the cavernous fireplace, where a crackling fire seemed to always be blazing in an effort to add some warmth to the huge, drafty room. The heat of summer seemed not to touch the airy rooms of the house... Hallie always felt cold. Sinking down onto the tufted bench that straddled the hearth, She stared unseeingly at the glowing coals, seeing instead another hearth... another f ire... a rack of roasting marshmallows in a compact row. Cozy evenings... laughter, singing, storytelling. Such a different atmosphere from this stately old house... with so many empty rooms.

Hallie turned her head to glance at David, busily occupied over at the windows. He was so hopelessly immature. Without realizing it, her delicate chin lifted slightly in superiority. He was younger than herself, after all, and girls matured faster than boys. Why cousin Quentin always teased her about a budding romance between them was beyond her...

...Quentin himself was another story.

Hallie's eyes softened as she thought of him. His face always lighted with welcome when she approached his chair; he was never too tired or too busy to talk to her. He always had a warm smile or an infectious laugh ready, even though she knew that he carried some sort of deep sadness. She longed to try to comfort him, as he'd tried to comfort her. Maybe that's why they got along so well; they both had known what it was to suffer loss. She was sure that was what it was. He had lost someone he loved. Why wouldn't he tell her all about it, and let her comfort him? It was an endless form of fascination to her, trying to discover Quentin's secret...

... maybe it was a woman.

Her eyes pricked at the thought of a tender, tragic romance in Quentin's past. Some beautiful woman, dying in the prime of life... yes... perhaps in Quentin's arms. His lips pressed against hers, murmuring deathless words of love as the light faded from her eyes and her slender form grew still... she realized suddenly that she had put herself in the role of this unknown woman, and she blushed with embarrassment. Of course it wasn't she herself in this story; she must try to think of what the woman's name was. It was old-fashioned... it was...

"Daphne," she murmured, half -aloud.

"What did you say, dear?"

Hallie started, glancing up to meet the troubled eyes of Mrs. Stoddard. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the tender scene she had envisioned for herself, and she searched vainly for something to say, even as the vision fled swiftly from her mind.

"I-I didn't say anything, Mrs. Stoddard."

"You said, 'Daphne,'" Mrs. Stoddard replied gently, sitting down beside her. "Who was Daphne, dear? A friend of yours? A pet, perhaps?"

Hallie looked away, unsure of how to extricate herself from this situation. "I didn't know anybody named Daphne... did I say Daphne?"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in concern. She placed a cool hand against the girl's soft, reddening cheek. "I don't feel any fever. Are you quite certain you're all right?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Stoddard," Hallie replied truthfully. "I was just... just thinking."

Elizabeth smiled slightly. How familiar that particular line sounded to one who had raised a girl of her own, and watched a nephew grow. But her smile was tinged with sadness as she felt, even at this quiet moment, the pain of having to watch that daughter's health deteriorate, torn as Carolyn was by the grief of the double loss of both her husband and her father. Elizabeth often watched Hallie closely when the girl was unaware of it, since the young visitor, too, had suffered a double loss of her own. So far, though, Elizabeth had seen none of the signs of the type of stress that was tearing Carolyn apart.

Hallie looked away from the kindly, motherly eyes that hovered over her, flinching from her gentle touch. It brought back too clearly the memory of a woman whom she would never see again.

Understanding, Elizabeth drew back, and turned to watch David. "David, do you really think that camera will capture the storm?"

David sat back and shook his light-brown hair out of his eyes. Undaunted by his aunt's amused tone, he replied cheerfully, "My old camera might not have, but this is my new camera, Aunt Elizabeth. My pictures always turn out. See, I have it set here for getting really dim light... "

A crackle of thunder drowned out his voice, and Hallie snickered, turning back to the now-dying flames. Despite David's high opinion of his photographic skills, Hallie doubted the chances of success in this particular instance. It would have been much better if he had made a sketch...

A sketch... the feel of a long, slender drawing- pencil in her hand... her small fingers curling around it. Swift, careful strokes... a beautiful drawing emerging under her guidance... a drawing that spoke of everything that was hidden inside her mind...

Impulsively, she turned. "May I have a drawing-pencil, please, Mrs. Stoddard?"

"Why, of course," Elizabeth replied in pleased surprise. Rising from the settee, she crossed the room to the desk, opening the large drawer and extricating a long, dark pencil. "Maggie must have left this here; I was certain I'd seen one. Here you are, Hallie."

As if in a trance, Hallie rose moving slowly and deliberately as she crossed the room to take the proferred object. "Thank you, " she murmured, turning to the doorway.

"Hey, Hallie! I didn't know you could draw!" David called, with obvious interest.

Hallie stopped abruptly, glancing down in surprise at the object in her hand. Her head gave an imperceptible shake as she suddenly realized that she hadn't got the faintest idea of how to use it properly. But David's eyes were upon her, and to save face she covered her sudden uncertainty with a smile.

"Oh, yes, " she replied, hoping she looked confidant. "I've always drawn."

"You must show it to us," Elizabeth suggested, obviously pleased at this new talent, apparently feeling it would be good for Hallie to occupy herself with a hobby.

Hallie forced herself to nod casually. "If it turns out."

She left the room hurriedly; aware that, behind her, David's eyes were filled with suspicion. And he was right. After all, she'd never expressed an interest in drawing before this.

Why had she now? She couldn't remember.

The hallway inside the connecting door upstairs was dark and treacherous. She moved with caution, careful to avoid the little tables that stood at regular intervals along the door-studded walls. An occasional open door helped; when lightning shone from a window inside a room. Thunder continued to growl overhead, but she could still hear the sound of someone crying... softly... heartbrokenly. But Hallie knew better than to go and offer comfort. Carolyn preferred solitude when in mourning for Jeb.

She reached her own door without mishap, and confidently turned the knob. Then suddenly her fingers froze, curling motionlessly over the knob as a new and very different sound came to her ears behind the constant rumble of thunder and Carolyn's muffled sobs... a sound that she had heard several times ever since coming to this house.

But never so clearly as right now.

A music-box... delicate, tinkling music... sweet, clear, bell-like notes that seemed to fade in and out with the rushing of the wind outside. Something stirred deep within her, swimming tantalizingly out of reach just below the surface of her mind. Feathery notes falling in and out amongst each other... now fading... now swelling. A distant, elusive memory faded in along with the music... companion to it... part of it...

Little horses, colors brightly gleaming, marching in a never-ending procession along their predestined route, turned before her eyes. Smiling faces, little Tad's foremost among them, lit with joy as he embraces his tall, handsome father... and candles burning low in giant silver candlesticks, softly glowing along the tiny canopy as it t turns in time to the music. Snowflakes fluttering against the French windows. forming a backdrop for the beauteous toy... and the sharp. poignant pang of jealousy as her little fingers reach out longingly to touch--

Somewhere a door slammed.

Startled, Hallie turned her head as both vision and music fled, shattered forever into forgotten fragments. A cheerful, noisy tramp of feet down the carpeted hallway told her that David was marching towards her. Quickly, she slipped inside her room and closed the door.

A fresh lightning-bolt ripped through the blackness outside her window, and suddenly an overpowering feeling of loneliness swept over her. Storms did seem so much bigger at Collinwood than they had at home, and the comparison made home seem all that much farther away. How often she'd gone up to her little attic room alone during a storm, at home... the secret place she'd called her own. She'd loved to listen to the steady drumming of the rain above her head as the storm raged, feeling safe and secure even in solitude. Not so here at Collinwood... solitude seemed like an invitation... an invitation to something that lurked, unseen, just outside the window.

Or perhaps, even nearer than that...

Hallie gave herself an abrupt shake, chasing the feeling away. She laughed ruefully at herself. It was only a storm. She had never been one of those girls who hid under the bed whenever there was a little lightning.

Hallie sat down on the bed at a safe distance from the window; she wasn't afraid, but she had no desire to be too close if lightning should strike the tree outside. Staring anxiously at the smooth pad of blank writing-paper she had taken from her desk upon entering, she waited for a flash of the same inspiration to hit her as the one she'd had before. The drawing-pencil felt heavy and strange in her fingers, and yet vaguely familiar as well. She had the odd feeling that she could do something spectacular if she could only begin... problem was, she hadn't the faintest idea of how to begin.

Thoughts of David spurred her on. Setting her young mouth grimly, she bent over the paper to try. She drew a squiggly line... made it fork this way and that. Hmmmm. Gazing speculatively at it, she raised her eyes to the window to observe the real lightning and to got an idea of how it hovered in the air just above the roof of the neighboring Old House.

The Old House was barely visible above the treetops from this height. In her mind she could picture the rest of it... when she had gone to see it yesterday, it had, oddly enough, looked just as she had imagined it. Now, she could visualize the way it must look tonight during this storm. Empty... deserted... lightning glancing off blank windows that revealed no hint of light from within. It made her feel sad to think of it that way...

Once again, she thought curiously of what David had told her about the strange, moody man who owned the Old House, a family cousin named Barnabas Collins. David had explained that he was a descendent of the man whose portrait still hung in the foyer entrance downstairs near the front door. It was odd, what David had told her about his cousin Barnabas' disappearance. Something about a room that changed into another world when you went into it-- an empty room, yet. She wasn't sure she believed this far-fetched-sounding story. Privately, Hallie had her own, much more likely explanation. David had told her that a woman had also disappeared-- a close family friend named Julia Hoffman . It did seem obvious to her what had really happened; she guessed that the adults in the family thought herself and David too young to know about illicit love affairs. What more logical explanation than that Mr. Collins and Miss (or was it Mrs.?) Hoffman had gone off together for a romantic journey someplace (probably a sea cruise of some sort). David had mentioned that Julia was desperately in love with his handsome cousin. What more proof did Hallie need? On the other hand, it might not be illicit after all-- maybe the two of them had eloped together and gone on a honeymoon. How romantic!

Smiling, Hallie once again turned her attention back to the window, trying to see more of the neighboring structure. The way the rest of it looked was surprisingly, unusually clear in her mind... it was such a beautiful, gracious old building ... with its sweeping balcony in front... and the tall, classic neo-Greek pillars. It must look so lonely now... just as it had before... long ago.

The tufted settee sent up a cloud of dust as she cautiously lowered herself down onto it. Long curtains whipped against her hair, obscuring her vision as Tad's voice laughingly urged her onward. Her hands frantically traveled the width and breadth of her wide pink skirts, searching for rips or tears. A match spluttered, and a cobweb-festooned candelabra loomed just ahead of them. Once the pale-blue, crumbling candles were lit the faded glory of the once-beautiful old room impressed itself upon them... the graceful lines of the antique furniture, the massive chandelier that hung, cobweb-crusted, just above... the sad, dark eyes of the woman in the portrait that hung over the mantelpiece. But a thick layer of dust had obscured much of the elegant details, and mice had eaten large holes in every piece of upholstery that could be seen. Chunks of ancient mortar littered the worn carpet, and the remains of a fire still moldered in the fireplace grate... ashes long-since turned to dust. Grey paint peeled from two huge columns that formed the hall entrance... she walked over to them; then glanced downward as Tad's excited exclamation drew her attention to the floor. Near the tip of her dainty black slippers lay a dark stain of what looked very much like blood... blood that must have been spilled a long, long time ago...

Hallie blinked, and stared at what she had drawn without realizing it. A young blonde girl in an old-fashioned, hoop-skirted dress, standing in a crumbling, dusty room near some kind of pillar. It wasn't the fact that there seemed to be a dark pool of blood on the floor nearby, that disturbed her. No, it was the fact that the girl looked so much like herself -- that, and the fact that it was so well-done.

How had she done this? Hallie examined the tiny strokes... marks made by one who had had a great deal of experience in drawing. She had had no such experience, except for the crude cards she had done in school, and some half-hearted attempts with paints.

And where had the idea for this come from? She frowned, trying to remember. No... it was gone. It was as if the picture had been drawn by someone else. She felt no memory of ever even wanting to do it.

Hallie gave her head a severe shake. It was no use... she could not get her tired brain to cooperate any more; it had been like that ever since coming here to this house. These images came and went. They meant nothing, really... if they did, she would remember them, wouldn't she? Flopping back against the pillows with an exhausted sigh, she gave herself up to the sudden wave of tiredness that consumed her. She'd always been imaginative, after all... "wild flights of fancy, " as her mother used to say...

. ..no, she wouldn't think about her mother now. Lightning played across her field of vision, in the blackness outside the window. She still hadn't drawn the storm. She made a feeble attempt to raise herself from the soft mattress and try again. . . maybe she'd get lucky, and do another really neat picture... no... too tired right now. Maybe, if she just closed her eyes for a minute, she'd remember what had been possessing her when she'd done it, and then could do it again. Make a whole series of good pictures, and show them to David... that'd show him, wouldn't it... that'd show...

Such pretty music. She heard it so often. Maybe Carolyn had a music-box in her room... that might be it... a musical jewelry-box, perhaps. Someone must have a music-box... it was so pretty...

The storm outside seemed very far away... so very far... all of a sudden.

There was no storm in the woods... only the moon light, filtering through the fragrant trees like molten paths of silver. Moonbeams, isolated droplets, frisked playfully over every twig upon the leaf-strewn ground. She smiled, turning to David beside her. He returned her smile -- they were safe now. The worst thing that could ever happen to them had already happened... nothing -- and no one -- could ever harm either of them, ever again. And the music... even here in the forest, the music followed their every step. Joining hands, they swayed to and fro to its delicate notes... floating, almost transparent, among the silvery rays... so happy. Tinkling, frothy tune... promising... promising safety and joy... forever... forever...

His eyes were watching them... they knew he was here. Turning, glancing over her shoulder, she saw his burning eyes following their every movement. Yet, she felt no fear. Because of him, she and David would both exist forever, and dance in the moonlight to the music-box.

...not David.

Tad.

A rushing of the wind... moaning... wailing... far above their heads. Voices crying... sobbing... bemoaning their fate. But the music still played: tinkling, fairylike. Promising safety. The voices in the wind would not harm them.

And his eyes still followed them... burning... twin lights in the soft, moonlit darkness. And she could sense his power... and she could feel his evil.

And that evil was now a part of her.

She was hardly aware that she had been asleep or conscious of how much time had passed since she had closed her eyes, when she was wide-awake again, sitting bolt upright, heart flailing against her chest, eyes wide and staring into the darkness of the room. Jagged, flickering images of her dream returned in a rapid review, even as the music continued, throbbing loudly inside her head... and the voices in the wind mixing with the delicate strains. Wordlessly, the wailing grew louder, then gradually subsided, until there was only silence.

Hallie shivered, each nerve tense and listening within her. It had only been a dream. And yet, it was as if she could still see him... the tall, white-faced man with the glaring, burning eyes. She could still feel him... still sense his evilness.

But it was not a part of her... not part of her at all.

The wind outside was rising, whipping the trees under her window with furious lashings, spinning stray leaves off to meet unknown fates. Somewhere a shutter had come loose, and it was hitting against the side of the house. It was easy to imagine it tearing loose from its hinges; easy to picture it being wrenched, spinning, into the arms of the wind, driven frantically through the air toward the tossing black depths of the sea.

But it wasn't torn loose. It was banging against the house... banging... banging...

"Carrie..."

Hallie froze, drawing a sharp breath. That voice; it wasn't part of the storm. Rather, it seemed to come from inside... inside her head...

"Carrie..."

It didn't come from inside her head... not from inside her head at all... it came from somewhere else... somewhere else...

A man's voice.

His voice.

"NO!" Unable to bear it a moment longer, Hallie leaped from the bad and dashed out into the corridor. Safety -- refuge -- somewhere -- perhaps with Mrs. Stoddard. A light shone from under a nearby door... thinking it was Mrs. Stoddard's, Hallie ran to it.

But it was not Mrs. Stoddard's room -- it was David's -- He glanced up from an open book, shaking untidy blond hair from his eyes as he frowned at her sudden entrance. "Say, didn't I tell you not to sneak up on people unexpectedly around here? I've had enough unpleasant surprises lately as it is. I don't want to get in the habit of hearing somebody come in unexpectedly and think it's you, and then someday it turns out not to be you at all--''

Hallie paid no attention. "David, do you hear it?"

He frowned more deeply. "Hear what?"

"I -- I heard voices... calling me."

"Voices?"

"Yes ... well, one voice. And music -- I always hear this music."

It sounded ineffective, even to Hallie's own ears. She was beginning to wonder if maybe she had dreamed it, after all. This sounded like nothing much to get excited about... so she was surprised when his face underwent a rapid change at the mention of music. He turned pale, and he swallowed very hard before speaking.

"Music? W-what kind of music?"

"A music-box."

"Music-box?" David seemed tense. "Are you sure it wasn't... well, a violin, maybe?"

"No," Hallie frowned, wondering what had made him so nervous. "I ought to know a music-box when I hear one. I hear it all the time since I came. I thought it was Carolyn's."

"Carolyn?" David gave a laugh. "She doesn't have one. Maybe it was Vicki's -- I mean Maggie's. Oh, you know; the old one that used to belong to Josette."

"No, I heard that one the other day. This one is quite different."

"Maybe you just dreamed it. Were you asleep?"

"Yes, but I--" Hallie stopped, confused. How to explain the strange sense of reality she had felt even on awakening, or the sound of the Voice... how it had seemed to come, not from inside her own head, but from somewhere in the empty void of the far-flung spaces around Collinwood? How to explain it... even to herself? If she herself had difficulty believing it had really happened, what hope was there for him?

David stood up. "I'll come with you, Hallie, " he said kindly, to her further surprise. "I guess this house can seem kind of spooky during a storm."

"I'm not afraid," she retorted defiantly, tilting up her delicate chin at him. "I'm not afraid to go back by myself."

"Well, I want to hear it anyway. Maybe there's a new ghost or something."

But once they were there, with the noisy clatter of the banging shutter filling the room, David soon reverted to his own, superior self. She suspected he acted that way with her because he was either going through a phase where he felt he had to, or it was because she was still a stranger, but it was annoying nonetheless.

"You just heard the shutter banging," he informed her. "I didn't think you acted like the kind of girl who 'heard things.'"

"I -" she began indignantly, but David was half-way out the door. "Don't be late for dinner, Hallie," he called, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

She glared furiously after him, but knew it would only worsen the situation to go after him. Flopping onto the bed with an angry thump, she stared moodily at the picture she'd drawn. It wasn't what she'd set out to draw, but it was a good picture anyway. Maybe she'd show it to Quentin later, and ask him what it meant... he might know.

Getting up to change into a fresh dress for dinner, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to the dream... at least, it had seemed a dream at the time, but the voice had definitely continued after she was awake... calling her... trying to contact her. Contact her... that was it.. not from just across the empty void of the far-flung spaces around Collinwood, but across the empty void of some far-off place in time...

To Be Continued

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