Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
CHAPTER 18: LOOMING DEMONS
The wee morning light vainly attempted to dawn upon the fishing village of Collinsport. But the low winter sun was unfairly outmatched by the festering season known as winter.
Maine winter to be precise.
In typical New England fashion, Collinsport was besieged by a smothering cold front. No sunlight whatsoever for the rest of the week.
It didn't matter how much the inhabitants of the remote village protested these relentlessly dreary days. Their weather would remain gray, cold and dull. It was one of the pleasures of living in Maine. It also went hand-in-hand with living in Collinsport. A village that harbored much dark magic. So much so that through the centuries, the gray, dreary weather had come to perfectly fit the town like a glove.
In a snowy, rickety forgotten shed near the house by the sea, the ghost of Millicent Collins stood resolute. She'd helplessly witnessed Collinsport's many tragedies. In life and in death. But she was through with helplessness. Now she was determined to take a stand against these perverse horrors. She was hell bent to turn her family's unfortunate fate around. To fight against the shadows that had forever cursed her home and kin. Wrecked innocent lives.
The transparent, incorporeal specter focused all of her unearthly energy and focus on the wooden hammer lying on the table.
She'd spent all night laying her energy into it. Her transparent hand shakily hovered over the tool. Slowly, she lowered her hand to make another attempt to grasp the hammer, desperate to so much as feel it in her delicate grip.
"You are needed at the Old House, child."
The sudden intrusion caused Millicent's hand to slip through the inanimate object, thus spoiling her umpteenth attempt to actually touch and feel the cursed tool.
The presence didn't actually startle her. She was dead. She no longer had the capacity to be startled. She was however deeply annoyed because the voice broke her concentration. At least she wasn't being brow-beaten by cousin Joshua or brother Daniel. This voice had a throaty purr to it.
Countess Natalie du Pres primly materialized before Millicent. She was garbed in a brown Regency gown, and a flashy silk hat decked in colorful peacock feathers.
"There is great trouble with the family," the ghost of the French Countess said importantly.
"There is always great trouble with my family," Millicent snipped, still glaring daggers at the innocent hammer.
"Yes, but it has recently been brought to Josette's attention that there is a new force at work in Collinwood that means harm to all in your line, living and dead," the Countess stressed.
"There are never new threats to my family," Millicent hissed. "Only old evils clawing their way back to the surface. Now leave me be, so I can actually learn something useful."
"You're training yourself to move objects?" The Countess observed, completely unperturbed.
"I'm training myself to be strong," Millicent grudgingly explained. "I am tired of being perceived as weak."
"Is this in regards to that beset young man you are so drawn to?" Natalie questioned.
"This is for myself," Millicent declared. "And for all the people I love."
In the parlor of the house by the sea, Joe miserably blinked opened his bleary eyes. He'd slept on the dirty hard floor by the fireplace. The fire had long since died out while he fitfully slept the remainder of the night away. He was using his coat as a blanket, but the parlor was as frigid as a freezer.
There was no warmth in this weathered old house.
Joe groggily sat up, absently rubbing his tired face. He had not forgotten his mission. He absolutely had to help her – even beyond reason.
Wasting no time, Joe promptly flung on his coat and lurched up to his feet. He assumed his mistress and that Nicholas Blair were resting in their bedrooms. That gave him pause. Did people like them actually sleep? They seemed to live off the night.
Joe inwardly chided himself for pondering this. He was unworthy to question his betters. He was a servant and nothing more. Just as it should be.
Careful not to disturb his mistress, he quietly made his way out of the crumbling ruin. Instinctively, he gazed up into the freezing, gray morning sky, searching for a sign of translucent ringlets or glimmering blue eyes. He remembered that Millicent chased after him when his mistress summoned him out of Carolyn's room.
But his flighty ghost admirer was no where to be seen. For some reason, Joe felt a little more hollow and dejected.
But far more important matters demanded his attention.
Trudging through the thick snow, Joe trailed up Widows Hill. When he reached the spooky castle-like mansion, Joe mechanically sought out Carolyn's bedroom window. There was a two-story lattice just to the right of her window. Though any greenery was long since dead.
Despite his finger joints sharp protest, Joe scaled his way up the slick structure.
When he was in high school, he used to daydream of climbing up to Carolyn's window. Those were the days in which he would've done almost anything to impress her. He knew she would've liked it. But Joe never actually built up the courage to do it. He was so afraid of getting caught by Mrs. Stoddard. Or worse, Matthew Morgan. Back then his relationship with Carolyn was all that really mattered.
But he was climbing up to her window now. And all he felt was lost. The circumstances were hardly romantic.
Joe's relationship with Carolyn went through a lot of changes since then. They'd both grown into dramatically different individuals. However, none of these scattered thoughts actually gained purchase in his mind. Everything else was just background noise to the will of his mistress.
To his detached astonishment, Joe actually reached the plate-glass window. Relieved that it wasn't latched, he swung it open and hoisted himself into the room. He slipped on the soles of his own wet boots when he touched the floor, but quickly stumbled back to his wobbly feet.
He glanced over to Carolyn's bed – afraid that he'd startled her – but it was empty. He realized it was already neatly made.
"So, which of your ghoulish girlfriends were you out tom-catting with all night, Haskell!"
The gritty, feminine voice growled from behind him.
Carolyn emerged from the opened closet, leaning rigidly against the door frame. She was dressed in a long white skirt with a green cashmere sweater. Her arms were firmly folded.
"Was it my step-aunt the witch, or the ghost who's my long dead ancestor?"
"Carolyn, it's not like that," Joe spluttered. "I'm-I'm – well – you know."
"Yes, I know." Carolyn huffed out a sigh.
"Carolyn – I can remember another alluring, older stranger that everyone could tell was up to no good. And I can remember you sticking yourself to his side like a barnacle," Joe bluntly reminded. "You have no right to be so judgmental. So, remind me, Carolyn, before he fell in love with David's tutor, wasn't Mr. Devlin also an enemy of your family?"
Carolyn squeezed shut her tired eyes, threading her fingers through her silky hair.
"I haven't forgotten anything, Joe. I regret the way I acted then. Honestly, I think I liked Burke because he was dangerous." Her expression darkened. "I guess I should thank Jason McGuire. If he hadn't tried to rob my family blind, I might never have realized how much I love them all. And Burke did try to hurt my family. I was stupid. I was also short-sighted, callow and selfish. I didn't know better. It's not a defense, it's just a fact. Hurting you wasn't the worst that I did. But I regret it just as much as anything else."
For the first time since waking up that morning, Joe wished he could feel like a man. Those words should have touched him. He could even feel a small piece of himself grasping for them. But... no, there was only his mistress.
"Joe, I don't even know if I still have the right to think of you as a friend," Carolyn said seriously. "And I know how funny this sounds coming from me. But what's going on with Cassandra right now is bigger than me. Burke was a teenage crush. I behaved like a bestowed teenage girl. That – thing – my uncle married, may very well have killed David if she'd remained in this house. And now she has her talons in you. We're not kids, this isn't a crush. I don't care how she does it, she's a murderess, Joe, and you're helping her."
"Not because I want to, Carolyn," Joe argued pitifully. "Believe me, I don't want to hurt your family. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, you know that."
Carolyn's eyes clouded as Joe's demeanor crumbled.
"I'm going to help you, Joe," she spoke quietly. "The only thing that me and Mother have in common is we protect our own. After what happened to uncle Roger, David, and now you, I think it's time Cassandra learned why this village has feared my family for more than an hundred years."
Joe's heart sank. Carolyn may be a natural spitfire, but she was small fry compared to Cassandra. The witch would easily crush her.
At this, Joe's chest hollowed completely. He realized that he was nothing more than a weakness to be exploited. He would grow close to Carolyn again, only so he could influence her family to better undermined them in empty service to his mistress.
With that, Joe truly knew he had died inside. A week ago, he would never dream of hurting Carolyn or her family. They'd done so much for him over the years. From helping him to pursue his dreams of becoming a ship captain. To helping him study for mid-terms. But in the past year, Joe had been stripped of any substantial say in his own life. He had been deceived and manipulated. He had become a hapless puppet.
Joe knew he should feel utterly despicable for deceiving this family. But he had no say in the matter. He was merely doing his job.
Elizabeth slowly stirred awake from a peaceful slumber. She could tell she was not in her warm, soft canopy bed. She decided she must be lying on the couch in the drawing room. As she regained full consciousness, she felt a soggy, tingling finger gently stroking her warm cheek.
She caught the scent of sea breeze.
She fluttered open her eyes, finding that she was indeed lying on the couch in the drawing room. Someone had thoughtfully covered her in a black wool blanket.
Her head was somehow resting on the lap of the ghost of Bill Malloy. As always, seaweed clung to him like he was magnetized. His tingling fingers still affectionately stroke her cheek.
Elizabeth was a little surprised by this, but she wasn't frightened.
"Mornin', Liz," the ghost said gently.
"Mornin'," Elizabeth replied lowly, still a little groggy.
"Now, brace yourself," Bill warned. "Devlin and Vicki are about to bust in with questions."
Just as he finished warning her, Elizabeth heard the front doors in the foyer flung open. Though her angle was a little lopsided from the couch, Elizabeth saw Burke and Vicki return to the Collins manor through the opened drawing room doors.
As Burke shut the front doors, Vicki spotted her employer lying on the couch in the drawing room.
"I'm back, Mrs. Stoddard," the governess announced, slipping off her winter coat.
Feeling much more awake, Elizabeth sat up, the wool blanket sliding down to her lap.
Bill had vanished.
Once Burke and Vicki hung up their coats, they crossed over into the drawing room. Vicki came up short when she took in Mrs. Stoddard's appearance. The older woman was loosely covered in the black wool blanket. Her usual primed and pinned up hair fell down in messy dark waves. She had clearly slept on the couch.
Strangely, Vicki sensed she was somehow intruding on something "Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Stoddard," she apologized guiltily. "Did you fall asleep down here while waiting up for me?"
Elizabeth was a little flustered. She bashfully wondered just how long she'd used Bill's lap as a pillow. "I suppose I did."
"The roads were foggy last night," Burke filled in good-naturedly, but a little sheepish. "I thought it was best that Vicki stay at the Inn till morning."
"I called, but no one answered," Vicki added.
"Very well." Elizabeth rubbed her eyelids. "That's very responsible, Burke. But, let's not let this slip out."
"Don't worry about that," Burke said assuredly.
"Mrs. Stoddard." Vicki narrowed her eyes. "You have something in your hair."
"What?" Elizabeth reached to the back of her messy, increasingly loosening bun, and gently peeled off a strand of seaweed that was attached to her dark hair.
"Must be from that homemade seaweed wreath that Mr. Gardner gave me for Christmas," she quickly fibbed. "Some of it may have shed on me."
She daintily deposited the loose seaweed in a empty ashtray on the coffee table. As she did so, Vicki glanced at Burke skeptically.
"Liz, we have a serious matter at hand," said Burke. "Jason McGuire is back in town."
At this, Elizabeth's face went blank.
"It's a bit of a shock, I know," Vicki said with tactful finesse. "But we're ready for him now. We won't let him slime his way back into your life."
At this, Elizabeth felt her heart swell with pride. Vicki sounded like a real Collins. She focused her stoic gaze to the handsome couple. "I'm well aware that Jason McGuire has returned to Collinsport. These days, I keep up to date on the whereabouts of my family's enemies, even when my brother insist on marrying them."
"Do you use PI's?" Burke asked impressed.
Elizabeth didn't give a direct answer. "I'll handle him."
"Liz, we just can't let him raise any more hell around here," Burke said shortly.
"I won't allow that to happen," Elizabeth said firmly. "We all know I have connections."
Burke gently interjected. "Liz, no one knows better than me how connected the Collins family is. But last time..."
"Jason McGuire is nothing more than a gnat to me now," Elizabeth overrode. "He's no longer my great tormentor. He will never threaten me and this family again."
Before Vicki or Burke could fit a word in edgewise, the sound of footsteps coming down the staircase in the foyer grew audible.
Vicki moved out to the foyer to see who it was, thinking it might be David.
It was not.
Instead, it turned out to be two people; Carolyn and Joe. They were both fully dressed, but had dark rings under their eyes. Joe in particular looked a little worse for wear. His skin was sickly pale, and his hair was more tousled than she'd ever seen it.
"Morning," Carolyn yawned while greeting Vicki. She and Joe reached the bottom landing.
But the governess didn't reply. She stared at the couple honestly scandalized. It was more than a little brazen for them to act so casual after stepping out of Carolyn's bedroom first thing in the morning. Had they spent the night together?
Realizing the direction of Vicki's thoughts, the heiress merely snorted.
"Like you're one to judge, Vicki. I saw you getting out of Burke's car through my window just now. I hope he at least took you out to breakfast," she teased.
Vicki's mortified face turned bright red. Swallowing and chewing the inside of her cheek, she finally managed to string a few words together, quickly shifting the conversation in another direction. Unfortunately, it was a really bad one.
"Um, Carolyn, last night, I saw Jason McGuire at the diner."
"What?" A dark tint shadowed Carolyn's eyes.
"I'm afraid he's back," Vicki said wearily.
Meanwhile in the drawing room, Burke still conferred with Elizabeth about Jason.
"Are you sure he doesn't have a new angle..."
Burke was hastily cut off when Carolyn came storming into the room.
"Where's uncle Roger's rifle!?"
"Carolyn - "
"Jason McGuire is back," Carolyn heatedly cut her mother off. "I intend to take care of him."
"You won't do anything of the kind," Elizabeth told her sternly. "This is my affair."
"No offense, Mother, but you pretty much allowed him to walk all over you last time," Carolyn countered, tensing her shoulders.
"Last time I left him a penniless vagrant," Elizabeth said coolly. "This will be handled rationally. The last thing this family needs is a sensationalized public scandal. I'll handle it, Carolyn."
From behind, Joe hesitantly rubbed Carolyn's stiff shoulder. "You should listen to her, Carolyn. That slimeball isn't worth going to prison for. Take it from me; I know what it's like to have this irrational voice trying to force you to do things you really don't want to do."
Carolyn gave him a quick look over her shoulder. She then shot her gaze back to her mother. "I don't know if I can promise I won't hurt Jason McGuire," she said tensely. "But for you, Mother, I'll try. Either way, I swear if he crosses my path, he'll wish he hadn't! Come on, Joe."
The heiress and her companion passed Vicki in the drawing room's entrance, and made their way to the kitchen.
On the snowy village's historical Main Street, Willie and Maggie stepped out of their beloved bakery, each carrying a plain white box with a warm, freshly baked cinnamon roll inside.
It was the very bakery Willie would go to to find a special treat for Maggie back when she was being held captive at the Old House. The bakery was still special to them. It became their favorite local shop.
The two gazed at each other with affectionate smiles and sparkling eyes, as they stepped out into the cold street. A small brass bell rang as the quaint little bakery's door slid closed.
The couple glanced down the street and were surprised to find Barnabas and Julia strolling toward them. Barnabas had on his trademark black cloak, and was well equipped with his ever trusty silver wolf-head cane.
Julia was in her usual green winter coat, and carried her medical bag (likely stacked with sedatives) like a purse.
"Good morning, Willie, Maggie," Barnabas greeted pleasantly when he and his doctor reached them.
"Mornin', Barnabas," Willie replied in his characteristic mutter, uncomfortable that he was meeting with them in front of his and Maggie's favorite spot in town. A place Willie liked to think was separate from Barnabas and his cursed family.
"Might we accompany you?" the dark man invited himself.
Willie and Maggie shared an uncertain look.
Maggie shrugged. "Okay."
Together, the quartet strolled along the village's salted streets. The snow was freshly plowed. The lamp posts and local shops were decked out in glittery Christmas decorations. The December air was crisp and salty, with seagulls gliding noisily over the village.
"Well, Willie," Barnabas began, his cultured voice casual. "Have you by any chance located the sanctuary of Angelique and her new cohort?"
"Yeah, it's an old abandon house by the sea," Willie muttered.
The four passed by some window shoppers, then crossed the street leading to the Blue Whale. Barnabas directed them toward the docks, finally stopping at an icy, secluded railing, overlooking the harsh, gray sea.
"So, I was correct in assuming that she was hiding on the Collins grounds?" Barnabas spoke to Willie pointedly, as the little group turned and looked out onto the churning surf. The horizon was obscured by dense fog off shore.
"Yeah," Willie confirmed. "But that's not the only problem, Barnabas. Carolyn caught me on the grounds last night..."
"What was she doing out there at that time of night?" Barnabas interrupted sharply.
"She was lookin' for Joe," Willie explained.
"Angelique's servant?" Barnabas frowned.
"Yeah, Joe seems to have told Carolyn some details about our situation," Maggie cut in. "We don't know what she knows, but she's suspicious of something, Barnabas."
"Your hypnosis failed, doctor." Barnabas glared at Julia.
"I don't know what to say, Barnabas," Julia said, puzzled. "I've never had a mind stray from the pattern so soon after the procedure. Maybe the witch's power over him runs deeper than just his mind."
"So you did hypnotize Joe," Maggie said grimly, thinking back to her and Willie's wild encounter with him at Windcliff.
"Yes, I was trying to erase his memory to protect him from the witch." Julia hesitated and looked off to the side. "And to protect him from us, should he continue to get in our way."
"Ya sure are scary, doctor," Willie commented.
"It's for his own sake as well as Barnabas'," Julia defended.
"The witch seems to be more powerful than you or science," Maggie remarked. "But she is a witch. You're just a mortal woman."
"I'm not down for the count, Maggie," Julia said evenly, her eyes darkening. "Science has beaten her magic before. I broke her curse."
"Yes, but how can we stop her?" Maggie emphasized the "her" heavily. "Every time we think we've got rid of her, she shows up again like a proverbial bad penny."
"She does seem pretty invincible, Barnabas," Willie spoke. "Even more than you."
Barnabas cocked an arched eyebrow at him.
"She's also got a partner this time," Willie added. "And he's probably a witch, too. Or a warlock or a wizard or a leprechaun – somethin'. We don't know what he could do."
"Then we must be prepared for anything," Barnabas stressed. "Until we find a way to destroy Angelique."
"Well, I found a way to cure you," Julia said to him. "I'll find a way to destroy the witch."
"With your science?" Maggie asked the doctor, folding her arms with her box in hand.
"Yes, Maggie, with science," Julia condescendingly declared. "In the mean time, you two should keep Joe and Carolyn out of our business."
Willie and Maggie sighed.
As the four went on staring blindly into the icy fog, the towering, gothic structure of Collinwood mightily looked down on the fishing village from its throne on top of Widows Hill.
Within the wide, shadowy corridors of the infamous gothic, colonial manor, the ghostly ancestors of the Collins family glided freely.
It felt marvelous to finally liberate the family home from their greatest tormentor. That insidious witch. But the ghosts knew they couldn't afford to let their guard down. The witch always returned, equipped with her powerful black magic. They must keep on their best guard.
However, they also wanted to take a moment to relish in Josette's victory over the witch.
Two ghosts roaming the manor were feeling particularly celebratory.
Carl Collins and Pansy Faye casually waft along the second story corridors, their arms happily linked at the elbows. He was dressed in his finest tailored brown suit, a matching flowing brown overcoat, and top hat.
She was still in her flashy black and pink dress, but now a mink wrap draped importantly around her slender bare shoulders.
"Here we finally are, my darling." Carl grinned triumphantly. "Collinwood as promised."
"I'm so glad we're finally hauntin' this place," Pansy said gleefully. "It looks absolutely dreadful with all these strange Christmas decorations scattered about." She giggled.
"Yes, it does." Carl nodded sagely. But ruined the effect when he cheekily added, "Isn't it marvelous!"
"It is! But ain't it a bit shockin' that Beth, of all people, was the one to invite me in," Pansy commented. "Not Josette. I wonder how a poor, ol' chambermaid pulls that much weight."
"Beth's the only one who can get anywhere with Quentin," Carl pointed out. "She's looked after us for decades. She never asked for anything before. But she told Josette she needs your help, now."
"She knows about my psychic powers," Pansy noted thoughtfully.
"Yes," Carl agreed. "Perhaps her past association with the supernatural in life somehow enhanced her abilities now in death."
"Oh, I wish my bein' here was a happier occasion." Pansy moaned.
"I for one am thrilled you're here, my darling," Carl soothed, affectionately patting her hand. "But one thing you'll soon learn is that haunting this house will afford us few happy occasions."
The preoccupied couple floated by the shut door of David's bedroom.
Inside, the boy was wallowing in his own terrors. He curled up timidly on his bed, his knees tightly pulled up to his chest. He'd placed his pillow on top of his knees and rested his chin on top of it.
His room was veiled in gloomy darkness. He was still in his warm, flannel pajamas, but felt dreadfully cold.
David had not slept since Quentin called him on that telephone the night before. His hollow eyes were fixated on the phone. They had been all night. It still sat on his desk, quiet and unassuming.
He couldn't get that phantom's smooth, penetrating voice out of his tormented mind. The phantom's teasing statement that soon they would be playing "the game" had captivated David. He didn't know what that meant. It sounded wrong – but also a little intriguing.
David gulped. He realized the phantom was casting his spell on him. He had to fight it.
A eerie little melody floated into his room. A pure, simple tune coming from a flute. David jolted. That song! "London Bridge."
The boy's spirits were lifted.
Sarah!
Thankfully, the spirit of the little Regency girl materialized, sitting at the foot of his bed. She lit up the gloomy room in a pure, white glow. Once she finished playing her favorite song, she smiled warmly at the boy and placed the flute on her lap. "Hello, David."
"Sarah, I wish you didn't leave me last night," David bemoaned. "Quentin called me on that phone."
"Oh, no! He did!" Sarah cried.
"Yeah, he tried to cast a spell on me," David said despairingly. "He said we're going to be playing the game soon. I don't know what he wants. All I know is that I don't want to be put under a spell again."
"You must get rid of that phone, David," Sarah said direly. "Quentin wants to be master of Collinwood. He and Josette quarreled last night. Now I am forbidden to go to the West Wing at all. He must be trying to put you under his spell so you can help him."
"You have to help me, Sarah," David pleaded desperately.
"I am. I'm telling you to get rid of that phone!" Sarah said firmly.
Their conversation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. David started and yelp on his bed.
But it was only Vicki's warm, caring voice that came from behind the door. "David, it's time for breakfast."
David groggily rubbed at his tired eyes. "I'm coming, Vicki."
He hopped out of bed, stepping into his slippers, and throwing on his red house robe as he went for the door.
"You must get rid of that phone, David," Sarah whispered.
"I will," the boy promised.
He crossed to the door and creaked it open. He found his pretty dark-haired governess waiting for him. Of course, his haggard face and droopy bloodshot eyes didn't go unnoticed.
"David, you didn't get any sleep," Vicki chided knowingly, concerned for her charge.
"No, I had nightmares," David lied.
"Oh, we better get some food into your bottomless stomach," Vicki fussed paternally. "And get your mind off those bad dreams. We have lessons today."
"Okay, Vicki," David replied.
"You can take a nap after lunch, but we have a history review at two-thirty." The governess saw him off.
Once he'd turned the corner down the corridor, Vicki closed his bedroom door. Since she'd already ate breakfast at the Inn, she decided to take a quick shower and change her clothes. But once she turned to head for her bedroom to retrieve her robe, she stumbled upon the familiar ghost of little Sarah. She just appeared out of nowhere. Vicki was startled, throwing a trembling hand over her hammering heart.
"Sarah," she breathed.
The dead child grinned cheerfully. "Hello, Miss Winters."
"You came to see me?" Vicki questioned.
In her personal experience, ghosts didn't just show themselves to her unless they had something important to share. Or wanted to deliver a dire warning.
"Days ago you told me Josette wants me to find my parents."
"Yes." Sarah nodded.
"I'm afraid I haven't made much progress," Vicki said, but Sarah cut her off.
"Yes, you have, Miss Winters."
"I have?" Vicki was taken aback by this upbeat claim.
"Yes, Josette wants me to tell you that you are very close now," Sarah relayed happily.
"But I haven't started yet," Vicki said, baffled.
"You already met your parents," Sarah told her cheerily.
At this, the governess was thunderstruck. "I-I already met my parents!?"
"Yes, but I am not allowed to tell you who they are," Sarah said strictly. "You must discover that on your own."
With that, the little girl abruptly vanished, startling Vicki all over again.
Once she caught her breath, Vicki resumed pressing her hand to her heart. Emotional tears stung her eyes, as she actually registered what she'd just heard.
She'd met her biological parents. Sarah said parents. Plural. She'd met them both and never realized.
She had to find them again. She immediately started scouring her memory for any new faces. Anyone who didn't fit in. Her mind wanted to go in so many directions at once, she couldn't focus on a single thing. Huffing out a breath, Vicki steeled her resolve. She would find them and then finally learn where she came from.
It was nothing short of a miracle that, of all places, her parents were in Collinsport. Maybe, for once, all the supernatural spooks reigning over this sea-fearing town would do her some good for a change.
In the foyer, David tentatively climb down the the staircase, taking slow little steps. Little Sarah loyally hovered by his side. As he carefully went down the steps, David felt rushing chills running rampant through the air with numerous, tingling presences.
"Where the devil is Millicent now?" David heard some invisible ancestor bark.
"She is building her strengths," the presence of an invisible, cultured woman reported. "She told me she wants to protect her loved ones and prove herself."
"All she is doing is compounding our troubles," the male voice objected.
"She is in no immediate danger from the witch," the female voice reasoned. "You should really give her the benefit of the doubt. She only strives to be a stronger spirit."
"As long as she understands that she's no match for a evil witch," the male voice said. "I won't stand by idly and allow her to be vanquished."
"Oh, Joshua, you favor that girl too much."
"My heart will shatter if the witch hurts her," the ancestor, Joshua Collins, murmured. "Even though it no longer beats."
"There's a ton of ghosts here, Sarah," David uttered amazed, still taking careful steps down the staircase.
"They're your ancestors, David," Sarah exclaimed. "The thing that has been stirring in this house is getting stronger. We need to watch over our home."
"I hope I can see Josette soon." David reached the bottom landing.
"For now, you need to build up your strength," Sarah persisted. "To rid yourself of that cursed device in your chamber."
David darted for the side door leading in the direction of the kitchen. As he made his way to the door, he bumped into Carolyn and Joe, who'd just finished their own breakfast.
"Morning," David sleepily grunted to them as he passed.
"Morning, little monster," Carolyn replied, as she and Joe passed the boy.
They failed to noticed Sarah, who still followed close by David's side.
Carolyn closed the side door. She and Joe were now alone in the foyer. (Minus the invisible ancestors floating about.) The chilling unseen spirits didn't go unnoticed. Joe could feel them. Their strong, icy presences jolted through him like silent thunder. He had no idea how he could feel them. Maybe it was a side effect of being a witch's ghoul. Or maybe his questionable mingling with Millicent, or the abrasive encounters with Nathan Forbes, somehow made him sensitive to this.
He couldn't detect either Millicent or Nathan's presence. It was just fine not being haunted by the latter. But he remained confused about the former.
After what happened last night, Joe should have seen Millicent by now. She would have checked up on him to see if he was all right. Had she grown disgusted with him for his powerlessness? Had she given up on him?
Joe was uncertain how he felt about that prospect.
At first, Millicent frightened him, but he knew that she genuinely cared for him. She had after all helped to prevent Dr. Hoffman's hypno magic from stealing his memories. He felt like he'd somehow lost a valuable ally in all of this chaos.
Carolyn was at least trying to give him some semblance of renewed hope, though he wished he could think of a reasonable excuse to go looking for Roger. One of his mistress' main directives was the retrieval of Cassandra's portrait from the Old House. Flimsy as it was, Roger was still his best hope for a real ally on the Collins estate.
"You think this collage professor can help me?" Joe asked, playing along, as he helped Carolyn put on her winter coat by the front doors.
"If he could make some Cockney ancestor of mine speak through me in a impromptu séance, he's just got to know how to get you off that witch's enchantments," Carolyn reasoned.
"I can't believe a collage professor is teaching this kind of stuff," Joe commented.
"He's anything but traditional," Carolyn stated, straightening up her coat collar and fluffing out her hair.
With Joe still in his heavy coat, the two were ready to head out. When Joe flung open the doors, he found Willie and Maggie standing outside the threshold. Willie's hand was frozen mid-air, reaching for the knocker.
The two couples stared at each other awkwardly, tensely. Joe and Carolyn's eyes were especially icy.
"I see ya found Joe just fine, Carolyn." Willie broke the ice. "Me and Maggie were worried."
The heiress raised her snooty nose, while Joe's eyes darkened considerably, his broad shoulders stiffened.
"Come, Joe," Carolyn said haughtily. "The servants have important chores to do. We mustn't mingle."
Joe and Carolyn coolly passed Willie and Maggie in the doorway. Carolyn purposely bumped Maggie's shoulder as she went. As they crossed the threshold and shut the doors, Willie gave Maggie a look that plainly read I-Told-Ya-Carolyn-Knows-Somethin'!
Maggie wordlessly conceded that they may have to do something about them soon. It was better to handle it themselves than get Barnabas and Julia involved. She didn't even like thinking about that.
"You, um, shouldn't have antagonized them, Willie," Maggie quietly chided.
"Someone needed ta end the uncomfortable silence," Willie defended.
Maggie blankly nodded.
The couple took off their coats and hung them on the coat rack. Cold, tingling chills pricked the back of her neck. Willie's eyes darted to the ceiling. Hesitantly, she followed his stare.
They saw a parade of swooping ghosts clouding the air. They soared with purposeful force, causing the golden Christmas garland to billow slightly. Maggie hadn't felt this many ghosts at once since visiting the Old House. Where Josette ruled as house mistress.
Maggie gave Willie a look that read It's-Going-To-Be-Another-Bizarre-Day-In-This-Nut-House.
Roger stepped out of the study and came into the foyer. He seemed to have recovered from his quasi-mystic hangover. His blue eyes were sharp, his blond hair was coif, and he was back to sporting a tweed suit.
"Ah, Loomis," he began snidely. "I'm finally putting you to good use."
"I work for Burke and Vicki," Willie bluntly reminded.
"Not today," Roger chirped dismissively. "They decided to put off any further renovations of the West Wing for the time being."
"Oh?" Maggie said softly.
"Yes, some nonsense about a haunting," Roger drawled. "They want to bring in some peculiar crackpots to investigate." At that, Roger couldn't help but frown. But then quickly barreled on "So, I wonder if you'd like to apply your creative – er – skills for my benefit."
"What d'ya got?" Willie asked him.
"Help the caterers prepare the Great Hall for the Christmas party," Roger said dryly.
This sounded more like a hassle than real work. But Barnabas needed him at Collinwood.
"Okay, Mr. Collins," Willie relented.
"Splendid," Roger drawled, as though it had been a foregone conclusion. "But don't you think you can sneak off to grab a little sugar from Maggie when no one is looking. This is Collinwood, and you'll behave accordingly."
"But isn't that how people behave in Collinwood?" Willie gallessly inquired.
Roger flashed him a warning glare.
Maggie slid her hand across Willie's shoulder. "Come on, Willie. You have your marching orders."
As the couple went to the side door, Roger heard Willie mutter, "Yeah, but when can I break 'em?"
Once they were out of sight, Roger rolled his eyes and headed back to the study.
A few moments later, the double doors of the drawing room flung open. Elizabeth and Burke cordially stepped into the foyer side by side.
"So, you believe that this Victor Fenn-Gibbon has a history with the ghost terrifying the West Wing?" Elizabeth asked Burke.
He'd informed her about his and Vicki's run-in with the elusive Victor Fenn-Gibbon at the diner.
"So he says," Burke said with a tinge of skepticism. "He's even commissioned Sam Evans to paint this ghost's portrait."
Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. "Seems rather intimate," she remarked.
Burke sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "He's definitely an eccentric."
"He thinks he can help us with the West Wing?" Elizabeth queried.
"He seems enthusiastic, actually," Burke replied. "But I'll leave it to you, Liz. This man is a bit on the weird side. I don't know if you'd even want him in the house."
Inside the drawing room, the ghosts of Tim and Rachel listened to their conversation intently.
Before Elizabeth could properly respond to Burke's warning, a shocked voice called down to them from up the staircase.
"Burke – Mrs. Stoddard." Vicki looked down at them from up the golden banister.
The governess' face had that all familiar look. The look that plainly read that she'd just seen a ghost.
"Vicki?" Elizabeth called up to her concerned. "Has something happen in the West Wing?"
"I saw little Sarah," Vicki uttered.
She descended down the staircase in a trance.
"What did she say to you?" Burke asked, moving towards her protectively.
Vicki reached Burke at the bottom landing.
"She said my parents are here in Collinsport," she said shakily, emotionally.
"What?" Burke was stunned.
"She said that they're here in town and I've met them," Vicki murmured. "But I don't know who they are."
Burke gently wrapped her in his arms.
"I had no idea." Vicki snaked her own arms around Burke's neck. "I actually met them – and I didn't even know..."
Burke gently thread his finger through her long, soft tresses.
"I'll call my detective and get him on it," he promised into her ear. "We'll find them. We'll find them right away."
"That won't be necessary, Burke," Elizabeth spoke.
She released a soft sigh. She inwardly and ironically thought that Bill was not the only ghost that wanted her to reveal her biggest secret. It seemed that her long dead ancestors were meddling as well.
But this was not the way she wanted to do this.
But, maybe, there was no perfect scenario.
"Victoria, darling, I am – your Mother."
Next Chapter: Lecherous Schemes