The Haunted - Jessica Verday [38]
Something told me to head in the direction of the Old Dutch Church next, so I went that way. There was an old shed behind it. Maybe he would be there.
It was chained, but one of the doors was loose and wobbled back and forth when I nudged it. I stuck my face up to the crack and peered into the semidarkness. There were a couple of tools inside, and some lumpy covered things in the back. If I could just see a little more. I wiggled the door on its hinge, and it gave up a new position. Sunlight streamed in toward the back revealing… a bunch of wheelbarrows and one rusty lawn mower that looked like it hadn’t been in service for a long time.
I didn’t know what to do next. Should I wander around some more? Go to the other side?
Or maybe I should head back to the main gate. He could be over there.…
Sudden movement caught my eye, and I lifted my head. It was a flash of white-blond hair.
A figure was standing next to a giant mausoleum built into the hill near Washington Irving’s grave.
Trying very hard not to get my hopes up, I watched him walk toward the far side of the cemetery. Once he was just a speck on the horizon, I started up the path to the mausoleum.
Excitement warred with nervousness when I reached the top of the hill and came face-to-face with the crypt. It was a familiar one. I’d passed it every time I’d come to see Washington Irving’s grave.
Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, I moved closer to the door and put my hand on the latch. It gave way, and the door swung inward with surprisingly little resistance. I found myself in a large, windowless stone chamber. Several stubby candles littered the walls and were burning steadily.
The change in temperature was palpable, and instantly the sweat puddles on the small of my back dried. I had a sudden flash of fear as I envisioned the crypt looming up and closing around me, swallowing me into the bowels of the earth while I screamed for help.… Don’t think that!
I shook off the mental image and put out a hand for balance. The walls were cobwebby and I yanked back fingers covered in strings of spider filament. I tried to brush them off on the rough denim of my shorts, but they seemed to stick to everything.
I looked closer at one of the candles. They were dusty and yellowed with age. Clearly from an earlier era. Tracing my finger along the trail of wax drippings, I noticed that they had a heavier, grittier feel than the smooth remnants that dripped off the candles I burned. What were they made of ? Lard? Tallow?
Not all of the candles were lit, but they lined the room from top to bottom, and I realized that they were place markers. One for each person that was buried here. This had been one large family.
A giant rectangular stone rested near me, and I pried loose one of the candles. Moving closer, I saw that it was a black marble slab. Even under the thick layers of dust, bright veins of gold shot through the heavy stone and sparkled at me. I swiped a hand over the dirt-encrusted name plaque and read MONTGOMERY ABBOTT 1759–1824. With such a large monument, he must have been the patriarch of the family.
Nodding my head in respect, I paused for a moment. Should I say a prayer or something?
Bits and pieces of a Catholic benediction rambled through my brain, but as I tested the words on my tongue, they felt foreign and out of place. I made the sign of the cross instead and whispered, “Rest in peace.” Hopefully Mr. Abbott wouldn’t mind me poking around his family’s final resting place too much.
Of course, if he did decide to visit me from the beyond, what was one more ghost?
A small iron bench was to the right of the stone and spread across one end was a… jacket? It had to be Caspian’s. The urge to put it on came over me, and I almost did.…
But then I saw the pictures.
They were drawings of me. Dozens of them. Almost covering the entire