The Ghost Files Volume 4 Part 2

Prelude

*** Please remember this is a rough draft and NOT edited ***

November 3, 1862

The soft glow of evening light bathes my face while the sweet smell of homemade apple pie draws me into the front door of an unfamiliar house. A farmhouse I think. I saw a barn in the distance with horses grazing in a paddock. Has to be a farm. The wood floors are smooth, a stark contrast to the peeling wallpaper and cracked ceilings. The stairwell on the right looks well worn, like a lifetime of feet have travelled it.

It's cold, the shadows flickering across the walls as I move deeper into the house. I glance behind me, the fading light of the sun echoing in the deepening darkness of the house. I shouldn't be in here, but I can't make myself turn around and leave.

The kitchen is at the very back of the house, it's entrance an archway. There's an older woman standing at the kitchen counter, her back to me as she kneads dough. Two apple pies rest on another counter. The smell is rich, the cinnamon calling out to my bottomless pit of a stomach.

"Don't just stand there, Abagail. Come help me clean up this mess."

Abagail? Who is Abagail?

"Girl, I got no time for your foolishness. Now get in here and start cleaning!"

The irritation in the older woman's voice lights a fire under me and I move to the sink. Steaming hot water waits in a bowl. I start to fill it with the various dishes, surreptitiously looking around. There is no refrigerator in here and the stove is not a modern one, but one that appears to use coal and wood. I glance down at the simple dress I'm wearing. The older woman has on a dress with an oversized apron adorning it.

This must be a dream memory. I'm just not sure what it is or why I'm seeing it. And all I can do is sit back and watch it play out.

"The Reverend came by today."

That pulls my head up and towards Abagail's gran. A sense of dread settles heavily in my heart. This is not good news for Abagail. She doesn't like the Reverend.

"What did he want?"

"He's looking for a wife."

Well, that explains the dread Abagail's feeling. Panic chokes her and I can't breathe. She's terrified, but she keeps washing dishes.

"He knows we don't have much to offer him but the farm, but he's willing to marry you despite that."

The dish I'm holding falls from Abagail's numb hands, splintering when it hits the hard wood planks. I can feel the terror rise inside her, flood every thought she has.

The crash makes her grandmother whirl around, shock bleeding to anger on her face. "You foolish girl. Look what you have done! We don't have many plates left after having to sell them off."

"I am sorry."

The grandmother shakes her head. "Pick this mess up and then go yourself cleaned up. The reverend will be here for supper."

Tonight? He is coming tonight? Those thoughts swirl around in Abagail's mind. She bends down and starts collecting the pieces of glass. She thought about trying to reason with her grandmother, but dismisses the idea. The old woman has worked hard to keep them safe, fed, and a roof over their heads. She's getting on in years, in her sixties. To her, this offer of marriage would be a gift from God.

But God has nothing to do with Reverend Aaron Whitmore.

The man is evil. Full of rage and hatred.