Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and BMSH for the comments.

Ghost of November Past

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 25

It was some time before Frank regained consciousness. He lay still, struggling to recall recent events. Ouch. What the heck happened? Why am I lying on the floor, and why – OUCH! – does my head hurt so much? He blinked his eyes open hesitantly, and reached to rub at the back of his head, where he could feel a sizeable lump beginning to rise. In addition to the pounding headache, Frank sensed a definite ache in his lungs which made it difficult to breathe deeply. He stared up at the ceiling above him, reluctant to move, knowing it would only make him feel worse. This is getting old – too old!

Emily! The sudden thought made Frank jerk himself to a sitting position – and quickly regret the motion. His head started to spin, and he slumped back onto his elbows for a moment, then scooted backwards until he came to rest against the nearest wall. He remembered now. He remembered Emily's declaration that he had to die – to pay Elliott Pembroke's blood debt. And then there had come the wind rising, and the inability to breathe that accompanied it – however did Emily manage that, anyway? It had pushed him backwards; had practically hurled him back – and he had hit the wall, just about the time his constricted lungs were giving up their fight for oxygen. When he'd hit his head against the wall, that was when everything went black.

So why am I still alive? Why didn't she kill me? She could have killed me – but I'm still alive. I'm ALIVE! I'm not dead….She didn't kill me; I'm alive!

The words echoed repeatedly through his mind. Frank held his aching head, almost relishing the pain throbbing through it, for it meant that he was alive to feel it. He touched the wood of the floor beneath him gently, gratefully, and smiled. He could feel the texture of the wood – rough-hewn, but clean, and even a little warm. The wall behind him was cool against his back.

Again the elder Hardy blinked and looked up at the ceiling, then at the windows. How long was I out, anyway? Did Joe and Matt leave already? Gingerly, Frank turned onto his hands and knees, then reached up and grasped at the windowsill above him. He pulled himself to his feet, then stopped, leaning heavily against the windowpane. The simultaneous pains in his lungs and his head nearly made him whimper, but he managed to stay steady – and remain quiet. Come on Hardy, you've been hurt worse. Don't be such a baby!

"I wanted to kill you – but I couldn't." The soft words made him spin about abruptly. Too abruptly; he gasped and grabbed behind him for the wall. He kept one hand on the windowsill and the other against his throbbing head as he resolutely faced the shimmering ghostly figure.

"What is the date? How long has it been?" Emily asked calmly. She took no notice of Frank's pain – or perhaps didn't care.

"It's – it's November…November 13th," Frank faltered. November 13th, the day before my 20th birthday. Carefully, he told her the year, and the number of years he thought she'd been dead. Well over a hundred.

"I….What know you of Elliot Pembroke? You are much as he is and, yet, I cannot gain vengeance through you. Why?"

"I don't know much about him at all," Frank confessed, moving cautiously away from the window and toward Emily. One hand encountered the corner of a desk; he slid past it carefully. "He lived over a hundred years ago, or so. He was mayor of Bayport for awhile. That's it – that's all I know. And…Emily?"

"Yes?" The ethereal voice was cool, emotionless.

"I'm not related to him. I swear. It's just a coincidence that we look so much alike. I found the chain connected to an old coin when…when we…found…you. That's the only reason I had it."

"I was confused – very confused." Emily turned away, fluidly; almost as if she was floating. Frank realized that she very likely was floating. Why would she walk, after all? "I saw you – and I saw his symbol; the chain with the coin. He carried it always. I knew you…I thought. I was sure. He killed Erik, you know. My Erik. We were to marry. We were leaving when Elliott found us." The voice was no longer cool and passionless; there was heartbreak in it.

Frank could only watch her, his brown eyes sad. To die so tragically…."I'm…I'm sorry. I—"

"He killed Erik first," Emily whispered. "Elliott vowed that no man would stand between us. He killed Erik – he killed my Erik. He made me watch as he did it. He took out a knife as his men forced Erik to his knees…he stabbed him, over and over and over again…."

How could a ghost sound so horribly desolate? Frank shifted nervously. He still wasn't positive that Emily might not yet turn on him and try to kill him. She might change her mind. He moved slowly, not sure if he should try to approach her, go towards the door, or just get away from the window.

"I tried to scream, but I knew there was no one to hear me," she continued softly. "My parents were not home; they had gone into town. That was why Erik and I chose to leave that night. We were afraid they might try to stop us…they thought we were too young. After Erik…died – I told Elliott that I would never, never go with him. When he grabbed my arm, I slapped him. I slapped him as hard as I could, still screaming that he was a murderer, that he had killed my Erik…. And he stabbed me. I felt the pain – and he looked at me, he looked surprised, as if something had happened that he didn't expect. I clutched at him….He touched my face….then…I don't remember anything more. Until I woke up here – and saw you."

Emily turned towards Frank, facing him fully. He stared at her, his brown gaze unflinching. He still was unsure of her, but his fear was diluted by pity and sorrow for her death – and Erik's.

"Your eyes are different," she murmured, "Your clothes….your hair. I see that now."

Frank nodded. "I'm not related to him," he repeated. "I didn't know anything about Elliott Pembroke until just a few days ago."

She didn't reply, and Frank froze, no longer daring to move through the room. He waited – and watched, unsure of his next move.

"I cannot make him pay, wish it though I might," she whispered, finally. "I don't know why I was brought back. Why am I here, if not to get my revenge?"

Frank was helpless to answer that. What can I say to her? What sort of answer is there to a question like that? He waited, tensely. Maybe I'm going to live through this after all….

"I won't hurt you, you know," she said softly. "I wasn't able to make myself kill you, although I wanted to. If I could have, I would have already done it. You never would have awakened. Now, I do not wish it."

Frank exhaled a long breath of relief. He wasn't sure he could believe her – how can one be sure of the truthfulness of a distraught ghost, after all? – but he was willing to try. "Emily – what are you going to do now?" he ventured to ask.

"I do not know," came the reply. "I do not know – but I will wait. For however long it takes, I will wait – to find out."

Frank glanced away from her for just a moment, and when he looked back…she was gone.

#####

Frank wandered through the upstairs of the cottage towards the front, peering out the windows. He was surprised to see how much darker it was outside. More time had passed than he realized, while he was unconscious and then talking with Emily. TALKING WITH EMILY! I was talking with a ghost…. It still seemed totally unbelievable. The soft twilight which had been starting to fall right after they arrived had given way to stars in the sky and a rising moon shining on the lighthouse.

The lighthouse was dark now; no flashing white beacon traveling in its circuit. That wasn't surprising; it wasn't lit every night. Frank looked down and gave a start of surprise: Joe's Aztek was still parked in the lot! What in the world is that still doing here? Joe and Matt should have left already and gone back home – that was the plan! And if he and Matt were still around, Frank continued to fret, why hadn't they come back to the cottage and found Frank unconscious on the floor? Had Emily – oh no! – had Emily done something to Joe again? To Matt, too?

No, no, she said she couldn't kill me, and she wouldn't have harmed them; if she isn't mad at me any more, then she wouldn't have done anything to them…would she?

Plan or no plan, Frank was too disturbed to just let this go. He had to go and find out what had happened to his brother and his friend. He crept down the stairs, moving as quietly as he could, still keeping a hand pressed to his aching head. I must have really given myself a knock – or, rather, Emily did, darn her! There might be unwanted visitors in the cottage that he was unaware of; someone he didn't want to meet up with, after all. Silently, he slipped outside and dropped into a half-crouch.

Cautiously, Frank stayed near the cottage, keeping in the shadows, blending into the darkness as he scooted along the front wall. He pulled a small penlight from his pocket, but didn't turn it on, relying instead on the moonlight and the feel of the wall beneath his hand. Reaching the back of the cottage, he edged forward enough to peer around the corner. The moon was nearly full; it didn't cast as much light as the sun, of course, but it was enough to keep Frank from stumbling. Seeing nothing untoward, he edged around the corner, still staying in his crouch and keeping a guiding hand on the wall.

At last he rose to his feet and flicked on the penlight, searching over the grass for the hidden trapdoor which led to the secret underground room. He had expected it to be open, but it wasn't; it took him a few minutes to locate the spot where it lay, concealed by the dirt and weedy grass. Finding it at last, Frank knelt down, and squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Softly, he muttered imprecations at Emily and the results of her vendetta, and took a deep breath to steady himself. When his vision cleared, he pulled at the latch to open the trapdoor.

It didn't open.

Frank frowned, puzzled. He tugged at the latch again, rattling it.

"Hey! Frank! Frank?" The voice coming from below was muffled, but Frank recognized it as Joe's. "FRANK?"

"Joe? It's me – hang on, this thing seems to be stuck. I'll get you out in a minute."

Frank shone his penlight onto the latch and frowned again. There's a lock there! It didn't have a lock before – where the heck did that come from? He blinked and rubbed at his head, wishing he didn't feel quite so fuzzy; after a few seconds he remembered that he was carrying his lockpick kit, thank goodness! He pulled the compact leather case from his pocket and set to work.

The padlock wasn't much of a challenge; Frank had it open in short order. He pulled it free of the latch, then tugged the trapdoor up and flashed his light into the hole, revealing Joe and Matt at the bottom of the ladder, gazing up at him. Both of them, Frank noted with dismay, looked as though they'd been put through the wringer – especially Joe!

"What happened to you guys?" he gasped, as they climbed up and crawled out onto the grass. "Are you all right?"

"Got jumped by some creep in the lower room," Joe growled. "He's the one who locked us in."

"You're okay?" Frank tilted his brother's head slightly to study his bruised cheek.

"I'll be better when I catch the guy who did this," Joe responded sourly. "Ouch, watch it!"

"I'm not sure I want to see that guy again," Matt put in dubiously. "I'm just glad to be out of that room; that was waaaaaaaaaay spooky, dude!"

"You okay, Matt?" Frank flashed the penlight in his direction.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Matt rubbed himself in a few places, but nodded. "First I didn't know what hit me, ya know? Joe was yelling for help, and I thought he'd run into Emily, or something. And then I got tossed into Joe, and the guy was just, like, gone with the wind, man – and then we couldn't get out, and we thought you were totally never gonna find us, Frank!"

"What about you?" Joe asked him then. "Where've you been all this time – and why do you look like you're about to pass out?"

"I banged my head on a wall," his brother evaded. He'd tell them about Emily in a little while – but not just yet.

Frank shut off his light, and the three made their way back towards the front of the cottage, moving slowly through the moonlight-splashed darkness.

"The trunk's gone," Joe said to his brother. "Can you believe it? It wasn't in the room. I didn't have time to see more than that it was gone, before that goon jumped me. Who'd take a trunk full of old clothes? Especially with Emily guarding them!"

Frank was about to explain that Emily had been otherwise occupied, but a sudden burst of light – several lights – flared in their faces, effectively blinding them! A warm, feminine voice spoke:

"Well – so what do we have here, boys?"