Prologue
February 14, 1921
THE BULLET SLAMMED into his chest with the force of a locomotive. Ian staggered, trying desperately to regain his footing, only dimly aware of what had just happened to him.
The night was cloudy and cold, and had been peaceful until the gunshot shattered the silence. Ian Cameron and his twin sister, Mary Anna, had been walking, sharing a few moments of solitude in the winter-bare gardens while a noisy party raged inside the inn. They’d heard a sound from the old caretaker’s shack, had seen a light they couldn’t explain, and Ian had decided to investigate, despite Anna’s misgivings.
They had just spotted three men coming out of the shack, when one of them, his face hidden in shadows, had fired a weapon.
Ian’s only clear thought as he crumpled to the ground was deep regret that he hadn’t listened to Anna’s warnings. His stubbornness had finally gotten him into trouble, as others had been expecting for years. And he’d brought Anna down with him.
Anna, he thought as dark clouds seemed to descend from the skies to engulf him. I’m so sorry. I’ve always tried to take care of you… and now I’ve failed.
As though from very far away, he heard her scream. Heard the agony in her voice as she cried his name. “Ian! Oh, God, not’
He wanted to speak, to comfort her, to tell her he loved her. He wasn’t given the chance. The soft touch of her trembling fingers on his face was the last thing he knew.
October 31, 1960
ONE OF THE BOYS was covered head to toe in a ragged sheet with big, uneven holes cut for eyes. The other was a pint-size cowboy in an oversize felt hat, a fake-leather vest with the name Roy Rogers stamped across the back, neatly creased jeans, fancy-stitched boots and a cheap holster sporting two shiny toy guns.
The cowboy tugged down the red bandanna that had covered the lower half of his face and gave his sheeted friend a shove. “Go on,” he urged. “I dare you. Unless you’re chicken.”
“I ain’t chicken,” the other boy protested. “But I don’t want to get in trouble. My ma told me to stay away from this old inn. She says it’s dangerous.”
His companion squinted at the dark building looming ahead of them at the end of a tangled, overgrown pathway. “You’re scared of the ghosts,” he accused mockingly.
“Am not!” the spook in the sheet shouted. “My ma said there ain’t no such thing as ghosts.”
“Yeah? Well, how come you’re scared to go touch the front door, huh? What are you, a sissy?”
“I ain’t a sissy! You call me that again and I’ll punch your lights out, Calvin Burton.”
“Bobby’s a sissy, Bobby’s a sissy,” Calvin sang out in a taunting rhythm.
Jerking the sheet off his head, the other boy, his face as red as his hair, doubled his fists and planted his feet belligerently. “You’re so brave, you go touch the door,” he dared. “And don’t you ever call me a sissy again, or I’ll tell Patty O’Neal that you wet the bed.”
Calvin paled. “You better not tell her that, or I’ll— I’ll—” He couldn’t think of any retribution horrible enough to equal Bobby’s threat.
“So go touch the door.”
Calvin gulped and glanced again at the inn, which suddenly looked so much larger. Darker. “I will if you will.”
Bobby swallowed audibly. “O-okay. Well go together.”
The two brave heroes set their bulging bags of trickor-treat candy on a big rock at the end of the walkway and squared their shoulders. And then, so close together they were almost touching, they moved slowly toward the deserted, reportedly haunted inn.
They’d gotten only halfway when they saw something move on the porch.
Two figures stood there looking at them. A dark-haired, scowling man in a strange dark suit. And a smiling, dark-haired woman in a long, floaty white dress.
The boys could see right through them.
For a long moment, they were paralyzed with fear, their mouths open as they stared at the apparitions. Bobby let out a shriek, which was swiftly echoed by his companion.
They turned on their heels and bolted down the path as though the devil, himself, were after them.
ANNA CLUCKED RUEFULLY. “Poor dears. We frightened them half silly. I didn’t know they would see us.”
Ian’s scowl deepened. “Reduced to this,” he muttered. “Terrifying adolescents on Halloween. How much longer are we supposed to go on this way, Anna?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured sympathetically, aware of how his restless nature rebelled against the shadowy, meaningless existence they’d been forced to endure since that deadly night in the garden. “But at least we’re together. I can’t bear to think what it would be like to be alone like this. Here—or at that other place. The gray place.” She shuddered expressively.
Ian seemed to take some solace from her words. She had always been the only one who could truly soothe him.
“You’re right, of course,” he said, managing a faint smile for her. “I don’t know what I would do without you. It was bad enough when Mother died. I only regret that I could
n’t protect you from this. I still blame myself that your life ended with mine, when you had so much ahead of you.”
“How many more times must we go through this?” she asked with a sigh. “This was meant to be, Ian. We were born together, and we died together. And now it appears that we’ll spend eternity together.”
“Frightening children,” he grumbled.
She laughed softly. “At least we aren’t forced to rattle chains.”
He responded with a reluctant chuckle. “You find the best in everything, don’t you, Anna?”
“I try.”
His smile faded. “You don’t deserve this. You should have had more.”
She touched his face, and though neither of them could feel the contact, the gesture was comforting to both. “I have you, Ian. That’s enough for me.”
August 1, 1996
IT WAS A CLEAR, late-summer night in the garden. A billion stars glittered brightly overhead, and the scent of fresh-blooming flowers hung heavily in the air.