Chapter Seven: Lost and Found

"Now that Aunt Caroline is feeling so much better, perhaps we can all take a drive into Boston!" Dr. Ben Carlson's cheerful blue eyes were twinkling as he swabbed Julia's bare arm with alcohol.

"That sounds . . . ouch! That sounds like fun." Julia Tyler winced as she felt the sharp sting of the hypodermic needle in her arm. Dr. Carlson was concerned because she was slow in recovering from the strange virus she'd caught that day in the dismal swamp. The trip to Boston was something to look forward to. But the truth was that Julia didn't feel very enthusiastic about a long car trip. Lately she just didn't seem to have much energy.

"Still having those strange dreams?" Dr. Carlson was the only person at Dunwich Manor who knew the real reason Julia wasn't sleeping well. Those terror-filled dreams kept her so jumpy!

"Last night was the worst." Julia sighed as she sank back against the pillows, her long black hair fanning out all around her. "All I remember is being chased . . . and then being burned as a witch."

"You need a break from Dunwich Manor." Dapper Ben Carlson kissed her on the forehead just as Julia shut her tired blue eyes. The sweet smell of his cologne seemed to soothe her nerves. "Get some shut-eye, old girl. Those are doctor's orders. Tomorrow we'll see about Boston."

Julia felt as though Ben was taking very good care of her. But she really had to get back into the swing of things. As soon as the kind, smiling doctor was gone she pulled out her notes and tried to evaluate the testimony from the witch trials of long ago.

She drained the life from me . . . she fed upon my strength . . . she took the vital power from my limbs. Drained . . . bewitched . . .

Just then there was a loud knock on the bedroom door.

"Come in!" Julia didn't feel like seeing anyone. Reviewing her notes had worn her out. All she really wanted to do was sleep. Kind and considerate Dr. Ben said she needed rest, and Julia completely trusted him. Just now she had been dozing quietly. But the loud knock on the door jarred her awake.

"You look awful." Matthew the hulking handyman appeared in the doorway, a looming apparition in a black leather jacket. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the frilly, old-fashioned bedchamber.

"Yes, I'm still sick from the other day. I need to rest." Julia gave Matthew a sharp look. You pushed me into the water. She assumed he'd take the hint and leave her alone.

But of course he didn't.

"You dropped your bag the other day." Matthew came forward, and when she sat up in bed her heart began pounding.

"Thanks, but my purse is right here. Dr. Ben found it for me." Julia reached for her little black bag. Her heart thumped wildly as big, broad-shouldered Matthew sat beside her on the bed.

"I think something fell out of it." Matthew handed her an old newspaper clipping, the cheap paper dry and yellow with age.

"This dates from Boston, 1931. An Irish cleaning woman arrested in the death of two young Negro girls." Julia frowned. "I don't remember researching this. What is it?"

"Look at the picture."

Julia looked at the blurry black and white image. The Irish cleaning woman's name was Elsie Flanagan. But the brutal face with the greedy green eyes was strangely familiar.

It was the face of Caroline Dunwich.