Chapter Two

The lawn is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return gently at twilight, gently go at dawn, the sad intangible who grieve and yearn…-T.S. Eliot

Ghost Stories

Alana walked up to the small town's only grocery store, and was surprised to see a large crowd of people inside through the storefront window. She hurried to the door and walked inside, finding half the townspeople in the building. They were all surrounding the store owners, Jean-Paul and Marguerite Durand , and old Marchal, who was sitting on a wooden chair, smoking a pipe and arguing with a policeman.

"What's going on?" Alana made her way over to Madame Marguerite.

The older woman looked at her like she was crazy. "What's going on? Where have you been for the past few months?"

Then the realization dawned on her. "Oh! I'm sorry…I've been a bit busy lately and I forgot…the mysterious shop visitor." She struggled to concentrate on what was going on and remember what had had the whole town talking for months. "Were more items gone this morning when you opened the shop?"

"Yes! A whole pile of food and supplies. It's been quiet around here for a while, but this morning when Jean-Paul and I came downstairs, there were all kinds of things missing, but on the counter we found over a hundred francs! Far more than everything was worth!"

Alana shook her head. "What I don't understand is how this person gets into the shop without anyone seeing or hearing anything…"

"It's easy," old Marchal interrupted, "if you're not a person."

"Not this again, "Jean-Paul groaned.

"I know you don't believe me Jean-Paul," Marchal said, "but how else can you explain what's been going on here in this town? We have a mysterious visitor on our hands."

"You're crazy," Jean-Paul said. "Nobody believes this nonsense you've been saying…"

"Nonsense?" Marchal just laughed. "Just ask the others about the things they've seen." He gestured around the crowded room and pointed to a woman. "Madame DuBois…you're a respected woman in the community. The mayor's wife. Tell the doubting Thomas here what exactly you have seen."

The tall, elegantly dressed woman who stepped forward was, as old Marchal had said, the most respected woman in town. She was rich, fashionable, personable, intelligent, and very steady and level-headed. A pillar of the community. But as Jean-Paul looked in her eyes, he saw something there that was anything but sane.

"Madame DuBois." Jean-Paul took his cap off and gave a small bow.

"Go ahead. Tell Jean-Paul what you saw." Marchal put his pipe back in his mouth and sat back in his chair.

The entire room grew quiet. Alana's curiosity was roused. She'd heard rumors about people who had seen strange things around the town, late at night, but they had always been from people like old Marchal, who was known for his tall tales. If Madame DuBois told someone she had seen something, then she had.

"It was late last night. I couldn't sleep, so I went to the window and looked out. Then I saw something."

"And what was that, Madame?" Marchal asked.

"I don't know," the woman said. "It was late, so it was very dark. But the moonlight hit just right in some places, and I saw…something…up on the rooftop of Monsieur Martin's house. Even with the little bit of light it was hard to identify what exactly it was. All I can say about it is that it was a tall, dark figure…it could have been a man dressed in black, but I couldn't see enough to determine if it really was a man or not, and it was moving so fast, faster than any man I've ever seen. It was running and leaping, or maybe flying, from rooftop to rooftop, and it didn't take long before it was completely out of sight. Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know what I saw, but I do know it was no ordinary man."

Immediately, everyone in the room started murmuring. Alana remained silent, trying to take everything in. What a strange situation. When she'd first moved to the town of Détente, it had seemed so normal and peaceful. Safe. But she knew now that Détente was anything but safe. She heard the policeman talking about patrolling the streets at night, swearing that if the mysterious visitor was dangerous, he would find him and put him behind bars. He was a good policeman, Alana knew…he kept a lot of people safe. But not everyone.

"What do you think now, Jean-Paul? Still think there's a logical explanation for all this?" the old man was saying.

"I'll admit all this is very strange, but I'm not about to believe in your ghost stories, Marchal!"

Alana absently pushed her hair back from her face, listening to several conversations at once. Some people said they'd heard violin music late at night, but they didn't know where it came from. Others reported hearing an otherworldly voice singing strange songs full of pain and anguish. There were other shops with things missing, but money left on the counter, more than the items were worth. However, no one had seen anything that could identify who exactly had become a part of their town. Only the mayor's wife had come close, and even she wasn't exactly sure what she had seen. It seemed to be the consensus of the town that they had a ghost in their midst.

"You're very quiet today, Alana." Madame Marguerite came up beside her. "Not to mention very late for work. Is something wrong? Where have you been?"

A chill went down Alana's spine. She bit back her initial response and stammered, "I…I'm all right. I'm fine." She let her blonde hair fall back in her face.

"Wait a minute." Madame Marguerite put her hand on Alana's shoulder and tried to brush back the hair from her face. Alana flinched and tried to pull away, but the woman's grip was strong, and she pushed the hair back. Then she gasped.

There was a large, ugly black bruise on Alana's right temple. Madame Marguerite's grip loosened and Alana quickly pulled away, letting her hair fall back into place, hiding the hideous bruise.

"What happened?" the grocer's wife asked, her face shocked and concerned.

"I…I fell and hit my head yesterday. I'm fine now, though. I'm ready to work, what would you like me to do?

"You don't have to lie to protect him, Alana," Madame Marguerite said, taking her hand.

"I don't know what you mean by that."

It was clear to the grocer's wife that Alana had no intention of telling her anything. She had her suspicions though. "I think we can spare you for the day, my dear. You're not looking well at all. You should go home and get some rest."

"I can't rest. I have to go find him." Alana let go of Madame Marguerite's hand and walked quickly out of the shop.

She wandered back and forth around Détente all afternoon, but her father was nowhere to be found. She was very worried about him this time. The sun began to set and still she hadn't found him, but she decided to head home before night fell. If there was something or someone dangerous in Détente, or a ghost, as old Marchal believed, she didn't want it to find her. She had enough to deal with right now.

The sun had just sunk below the horizon when she got back to her family's farm, or what was left of it. There used to be horses and cows and chickens, a garden full of vegetables, and an orchard of fruit trees. Now the fields and barn were empty, and the gardens and lawn were overgrown with tall grass and weeds. They lived just outside of Détente, but no one came around the farm anymore. Alana had tried her best to keep things as they had been, but it was too much work for her to do alone, and she had to spend all her time working for Monsieur and Madame Durand to make the money her father needed.

She went through the rusty, falling-apart gate and into the darkened house. She lit some candles and ate a dinner of bread and cheese…that was the only thing left in the pantry. She would have to find a way to get some food from the Durand's grocery tomorrow. The only problem was, there wasn't any money-she hadn't made any today, and she'd had to give her previous month's salary to her father. She knew her employers…they were more than employers really; they were her friends, and if she needed something, she knew they would give it to her. But she didn't want them to worry. She could take care of herself; she would figure things out. She always did.

Alana took a candle and made her way through the dark, creaking hallways to her room. Once she got there, she knelt on the floor and pulled something out from under her bed. It was an old family portrait; of her when she was about three years old, with her father and her mother. Her mother looked so beautiful, and her father looked so happy. She hadn't seen him smile like that since before her mother died ten years ago, when she was only eight years old. Alana had kept the portrait hidden from her father, knowing he would destroy it if he found it, along with the golden locket she kept in a small box alongside the portrait. It had been a gift to her mother from her father on their first wedding anniversary, and her mother had given it to Alana right before she died of pneumonia. She took the locket out of its box and opened it, running over the tiny words written on the inside in a lovely, flowing cursive script:

To Una on our first wedding anniversary: You are my sun, my moon, my guiding star. My hope, my comfort, my only true love. My everything. I love you more than words can tell. From your adoring husband, Andre.

As Alana read, tears streamed down her face. When Una had died, Andre had completely fallen apart. He grieved ceaselessly for months, stopping all work and leaving little Alana to take care of herself. Finally, he stopped weeping and began drinking. He was angry when he was drunk, and Alana had to make sure to stay out of his way, and when she wasn't able to, she had to find out how to hide the ugly bruises she had on her face or arms.

She put the locket around her neck, trying to remember Andre as he once was, and how happy she used to be when she had a mother and father. She was an orphan now, really…her father was gone. She crawled into bed and tried to fall asleep. She wasn't feeling well at all, and shivered. Thank God Father isn't here yet. She had no idea where he was, but she knew what he was doing: drinking. And he was bound to be very, very angry whenever he came home.

As she lay awake in the darkness, she began to hear a faint noise. It grew louder, and she realized it was a voice. It was singing. It must be the ghost of Détente! she thought, jumping out of bed and running to her window. She looked out into the night.

There, on a hill just beyond their farm, was a horse and rider, with the moonlight shining down on them. The rider was cloaked all in black and looked terrifying in the night, but its voice was beautiful, and it drew Alana towards it. She turned and hurried out of her room.

When she came outside, she could hear the voice clearly. It seemed to fill up the whole valley somehow, echoing in an eerie but enchanting way. Alana kept walking slowly closer to the strange rider in a daze, hardly knowing why or how she kept moving towards it. The voice was beautiful, but full of sorrow and loneliness. It was the saddest thing she'd ever heard. Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to the rider sing:

Child of the wilderness

Born into emptiness

Learn to be lonely…

Learn to find your way in darkness

Who will be there for you?

Comfort and care for you?

Learn to be lonely…

Learn to be your one companion

Never dream out in the world

There are arms to hold you

You've always known

Your heart was on its own

So laugh in your loneliness

Child of the wilderness

Learn to be lonely

Learn how to love life that is lived alone

Learn to be lonely…

Life can be lived…

Life can be loved…

Alone…

Tears soaked Alana's face. She blinked through her tears and saw the rider bow his head in silence. Was he crying too? All she wanted was to run and comfort the lonely figure. She began to walk towards him…

Suddenly someone grabbed her. Big sweaty hands seized her by the shoulders and spun her around violently.

Her father. His breath smelled of countless drinks.

"I TOLD YOU…TO STAY IN THE HOUSE!" he roared, shaking her furiously. Alana, paralyzed with fear, went limp like a doll in his arms.

"I'll…teach you a lesson you won't forget!" Her father took hold of a large, spiny tree branch on the ground. He pushed Alana down face first. She screamed. That made him angry, and he struck her with the branch. It knocked the breath out of her and cut into her back. She screamed again and tried to get away, but he yanked her back to him by her hair and beat her again and again and again, snarling like some inhuman beast.

Alana's vision blurred. This was the worst it had ever been. The pain was too great for her to bear. This is the end, she thought dimly. At least I'll see Mother again…

Then she heard hoof beats. The blows stopped coming and her father turned around, crying out in fear as a faceless figure cloaked all in black leaped off its horse and attacked him.

The rider. The rider had come. He would save her. Alana saw nothing else, and fell into utter darkness.

The cloaked rider effortlessly seized the branch from the drunk's hand and struck him across the chest with it. The drunk fell on the ground, and the rider hit him over and over.

"Mercy! Please mercy!" the drunk shouted. The rider paused for a moment. Then he struck the man on the head, knocking him senseless.

Erik bent down and carefully turned the girl over. She was still breathing, thankfully. As gently as he could, he lifted her off the ground and set her on Raven's back. Then he climbed up and held her in his arms so she wouldn't fall as Raven took them home.

This was the first contact he'd had with any other human beings in many months. And of course, there had been violence. Violence followed him everywhere.

Surely I am a curse upon this earth.

His gaze turned to the girl. She was badly hurt, but would survive. He would make certain of that. He would take care of her, and make sure that man never hurt her again.