[Not Just Any Other] Ghost Story

Chapter 22

Trigger Warning: Some readers may find the mention of child loss and the depiction of assault in this chapter to be triggering. Please read at your own discretion.

April 1940

She'd been crying so much on the train back from Concord that no fewer than three people had asked her if she were all right.

That was nice of them. She was rarely asked nowadays.

And it was true; she hadn't been all right. But she couldn't tell them that. So she nodded politely and made up some silly excuse about losing her favorite scarf in the city, and the two men and one woman also all nodded politely because it was just like a young newlywed to worry her pretty little head about something inconsequential as a silk bauble.

If only they knew the real reason her heart was breaking.

She pedaled the bicycle faster to avoid thinking about it, but the closer she got to the house, the more she wanted to share the awful news. Too bad Art wouldn't be home for hours yet. The wait was just going to make the reveal that much worse in the end.

But of course, Art had to work. His job in the city didn't allow for dilly-dallying around the house on a Wednesday afternoon. No siree. Ever since he was hired by that up-and-coming investment firm in Boston, he was practically chained to his desk. Why, sometimes he wouldn't be home until eight at night and she'd have to reheat his dinner, which she'd had waiting at the head of the table for him.

Feeling as if every eye could see right through her, she lowered her gaze as she sped through the town square. There was no way to avoid the juncture, unless she went miles out of the way to go around the whole of New Bedford. But she didn't have the strength for that. Not today, anyway.

When the school bell in the large, redbrick K through 12 rang, she looked up. It was just in time to see the children with their bright smiles spill out through the double doors. They bounded down the stairs with their school bags, ecstatic to be out of their lessons.

She choked back a sob, pushing the hopes of seeing her own little kiddo do the same back by at least another year. Sure the doc said it could always happen right away, but it took almost two the first time and look how that ended.

Her belly ached, the exertion so soon after her ordeal obviously taking its toll. Gritting her teeth, she pushed onward and left the town behind. From here, it was a straight shot down a packed dirt road that led to little else, but her home. The trees lining the road gave enough shade in the perfectly spring-like weather to keep her cool, yet sweat dripped down her brow. Her breathing was also rapid and shallow, and an escalating unease bubbled within her.

She needed to get home and rest. To turn her mind away from her loss and focus on the future.

After what seemed like a lifetime, she finally saw the house in the distance. It loomed, dark and foreboding, reminding her of those same feelings she got when she first stepped foot into it. Art had assured her it was all in her mind and once they'd made it their own—made it their home—the bad juju would disappear.

But it hadn't. She still got a chill every time she walked through the front door, the presence of something cold and menacing haunting her every moment. Strange, how all she wanted to do now is get there, climb into her bed and not emerge from under the covers until at least tomorrow.

The sight of an automobile parked at the curb took her aback. And no matter how much she tried to justify it being someone—anyone—other than her husband, she couldn't. When she finally rolled up and read the number plate, her chance of being wrong was dashed.