Haunted

The following was found in the house of one Jasper Lawrence following his disappearance on December 5th, 2003. It is the contents of a sealed and unsent letter to a close friend, Damon Corrett. The letter has been delivered to Mr. Corrett, after being copied as evidence.

Dear Damon,

I've been meaning to tell you all of this for some time, but I haven't been able to work up the courage, and maybe I’ve been a little afraid that you’d question my sanity. Now, I guess it doesn't matter.

Honestly, I'd be surprised if you believe me. It happened to me, after all, and I barely believe it. If I didn't have hard evidence, I might just dismiss it as a dream, or some vision brought on by stress, or exhaustion. You know how hard I was working those days. But I digress. I'll just tell you my story, and you can make up your own mind on my sanity. Whatever you decide, I’ll be past caring.

It was hanging on a wall at Lymon’s, the art show that rents out the bottom floor of the building I lived in at that time. Alayna always called that building the ‘rat’s nest’, if you remember that far back. Anyway, Lymon’s is a second-rate affair, in keeping with the rest of the apartment building, but occasionally they’d get in interesting pieces, so I always made sure to swing through on my way out.

I distinctly remember the feeling I got the first time I saw the drawing. It was a shock, like I’d swallowed an icicle. I've never been much of an art critic, but something about it riveted me to the spot, and held me there.

It wasn’t much of a piece, at first. Just a sketch, really. Pencil on aged paper of a girl seated on a throne. But the more I looked at it, the more detail my eyes seemed to pick up. First, the throne seemed to fill in, as if by the sure hand of an invisible painter. Sharp edges carved in black runes glistened under pale light, and plain, ugly black granite slabs came together in angles not quite crisp enough to be wholesome. Then it stopped. The throne stood, stark and ugly in the middle of a ruined courtyard. And there sat the girl, looking pale and insubstantial, a wisp of pencil-drawn fog in the midst of the bold, painted strokes defining the throne.

I rubbed my eyes and looked around, disbelieving. Nobody else seemed to notice it. I drew in a breath to draw attention to the half-finished painting, but something held me back.

With swift strokes, an invisible brush began to add detail. Swirling black tattoos worked their way up the girl’s arms and legs and spilled across her collarbone and up the left side of her face. Rags of once-fine clothing draped her lithe frame like the sails of a derelict ship, and her shoulder-length white hair was in disarray.

And then, without warning, I was staring into her eyes. Twin pools of clouded darkness, bleak and hopeless as the sun on midwinter’s day. For a second, an eternity, those shadowed eyes held mine captive. I heard a voice calling my name. A female voice, distorted by time and space, echoing off the broken stones of an empty courtyard. Jasper! Help me! Then I blinked, and the spell was broken, and the eyes were once more the lifeless eyes of a painting.

With my heart in my throat, I went after the owner. If the painting was for sale, I would have it, at any price. It took me five minutes to track down the sales manager and bring him back.

The painting of the girl was gone. In its place hung a pastoral scene, with verdant meadows rolling off into a robin's egg sky. With an anxious feeling I asked the manager what had happened to the painting of the girl. He gave me an odd look, and when I repeated my question, He told me that the art show had never had such a painting. The anxiety in my chest flamed up into something like panic.

The manager suggested I get some rest. I don’t remember going to back to my apartment, but next thing I knew I was throwing a shirt made clammy from sweat on the floor and curling up in my sheets like a frightened infant. If I dreamed that night, I don’t remember it. But I woke with an impression of shadowed eyes pleading for aid.

I ate breakfast and dressed quickly, leaving my rumpled clothes from the night before where they lay and not bothering to lock the door on the way out.

I made one last stop at the art show, but the meadow scene had been replaced by a portrait of some European monarch, and there was no sign of the painting of the girl.

I felt like I was walking in a dream. I made my way out of the building and down the street to my office. The day passed in a blur of faces and documents, trials and trifling human concerns. Would I like blue ink or black, white paper or off-white? Did I know I had my tie on backwards? Someone asked if I wanted coffee, and brought me a steaming something or other. By the time I remembered it, it was cold.

Then, suddenly, the haze dissipated, and I was standing on the steps of the office. Night was falling, but the streetlights hadn’t kicked on yet. I noticed my tie was on backwards, and took it off. Then something occurred to me. There was nobody in sight. In all the years I’d lived in New York City, I could never remember being alone. It sent ice water through my veins.

But there was nothing to do but go home, so I started walking. Dark, empty windows stared down at me like the girl’s clouded eyes, and I was truly afraid. There was no telling what spectre could be stalking me in that shadow parody of the city that never sleeps.

I was just over halfway there when a dark form flashed across the street in front of me. Dark, pleading eyes met mine for a moment before she whirled in a tangle of white hair and disappeared into a suddenly lighted doorway.

The lethargy that had consumed me since morning dissolved, and I dashed after her, knocking the door open in my haste. I found myself in a brightly-lit pawn shop. Cheery candles danced in the corners, and waist-height shelves displayed an assortment of unusual items. An ancient, withered man sat on a barstool behind the counter. He was clad in green corduroys that had seen better days, and an orange sweatshirt that proclaimed: ‘Jesus Lives!’ In bold black letters.

He took in my disheveled appearance quite calmly. After looking me over, he said, in the solemn, quiet tones the truly ancient seem to have mastered, "Hello, Sir. Can I Help You?"

My words jumbled together in their haste to get out of my mouth, and he listened patiently as I described the girl and asked where she’d gone. "Of Course I Have," The old one said, and my heart skipped a beat. White teeth showed through his smile as spoke slowly, each word brimming with ancient wisdom. "She's Been Here For Years."

As he said this, a gnarled finger rose and pointed at the door behind me, which had bounced off the wall with the force of my entrance, and was slowly swinging closed, bringing the picture tacked to the back into view. There was the ruined courtyard, the sinister throne, and the girl’s shadowed, hollow eyes grabbed at my soul. For a moment it was like the art show all over again, and her voice echoed through my mind; surprised, vulnerable, and afraid.

Then it was just a painting. I reached out and ran my fingers across the aged paper, and the compulsion I’d felt at the art show returned. I had to have it. I rifled through my pockets for a moment, and came out with six cents in pennies and my tie, which had been hanging forgotten in my hand. With that familiar panicky feeling threatening to overwhelm me I presented them to the old man. He smiled his gleaming smile, relieved me of the tie, and told me to keep the change.

It wasn’t until I was home with the painting that my heart rate slowed to something like normal, and I allowed myself to breathe.

The drawing looked natural hanging on the wall in my apartment, as if it had always been there. I shifted the angle of my armchair so that I had a good view and sat down, contemplating the day's events. It seemed to me that I was going crazy. I stood and paced the length of the room, but I always found my eyes drawn back to the girl in the painting.

The girl's dark, empty eyes pleaded with me, begging for- something. The angles of her face seemed a little harsher. The barbed runes that lined the throne seemed a little more sinister. Help me, her features seemed to plead, Help me before it's too late.

I threw myself down into the armchair once more and the day’s events began to take their toll. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I thought I heard her voice calling to me. Then everything was dark.

I woke with a start, and it only took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t in my bedroom any more. Gray, clinging mist surrounded me on all sides for as far as the eye could see. For a long moment all was silent, and I stood up, awash in the endless sea of gray.

Then a thin, wavering cry pierced the mist. For a moment, curiosity and caution warred in my head. A moment was all it took for my cautiousness to be trampled and locked away, and I was off at the speed of thought in the direction the cry had issued from.

It was only a matter of minutes until a dark shape loomed out of the mists ahead, a shape that soon resolved itself into a huge, decrepit castle. Splintered gates hung half open from rusted hinges, and as I passed through the portal the gates tried to grind closed behind me for a long second before surrendering once more to rust and stillness. I was unalarmed by this, indeed, it was oddly sad. It brought to mind the picture of a horse with broken legs, trying in vain to carry its rider.

Inside, cracked and stained stones that might have once been white marble formed a tiered courtyard leading up to a black throne with a slender figure slumped cross it. Shock made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I recognized the scene from the painting.

As I approached, the figure on the throne stirred and looked up. Dark, hollow eyes met my own, and she raised a hand, only to have it jerk to a stop as it reached the end of a heavy chain. Help me, she whispered, almost too quietly to hear, free me.

I looked around the courtyard for a metal rod, or some other destructive implement, but nothing of the sort was to be had. I debated exploring the castle’s shadowed chambers, but this time, caution won out, and I decided on an alternate tool. Near the ruined gates was a place where the tainted marble flagstones were shattered, leaving a jagged-edged hole in the smooth courtyard floor.

After a quick search of the rubble, I located a fragment the size of both my fists together. The noise of stone on stone as I bashed away at the arm of the crumbling throne seemed irreverent, somehow, like yelling in a cathedral.

I didn't let that stop me, though. I pounded, and eventually the bolt was loose enough in the decayed stone that we were able to pull it out.

As I went to get another stone to replace the first, ground to gravel by my destructive efforts, a sense of foreboding filled me. So when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the darkened chambers of the castle, I wasn't overly surprised. I scrambled behind small pile of broken stones and waited.

There wasn't long to wait. I was barely behind cover when a huge man stalked out of a corridor into the gray half-light of the courtyard. He was probably closer to seven feet than six; with a cruel, angular face framed by greasy hair the color of a raven's wing. But the thing that caught my attention were his eyes. They were like twin pools of pitch, black and malevolent. I knew instinctively this was no man, but a creature of evil.

As it approached the throne the girl took a swing at him with the chain, but he caught it easily with one hand and pulled hard, stretching her slender form between that manacle and the chains that still bound her feet and her other hand. She didn't make a sound, but pain was written on her face.

He laughed cruelly, the kind of laughter one would expect from a viper, if such a thing could speak. His voice was the same, when he spoke, low and evil, hissing some words, biting others off short.

I've enjoyed having you as my... guest, he mocked, but time grows short, and all good things must come to an end. He bowed his head for a moment, and then a horrible thing happened. His flesh seemed to sag and melt before reforming into a mirror image of the girl, right down to the tattoos on her arms and face.

It's time to finish this, the thing hissed, raising a hand to her forehead. My searching hand closed on a heavy piece of broken stone.

She did scream then, as if her very soul were being consumed. The marble shard flew from my hand before I was even aware of it. You know how I pitched in high school, and my aim hasn't lessened over the years. My throw took the creature right in the temple, and it reeled, stunned. The girl recovered instantly, tearing the chain out of the creature's nerveless fingers and swinging it, whiplike, around its neck, pulling it in close.

The knife! She yelled, frantically gesturing with her chained hand at a short, wickedly hooked blade in the creature's belt, Finish it, quickly!

I dashed over and ripped the knife free, but as I raised my hand to strike, the creature’s thin hand shot up and grabbed my forearm with a grip like cold iron. Long, sharp talons stretched out of slender fingertips, drilling holes in my arm. Then, in one swift motion, the girl released her grip on the chain and grabbed at the creature's dark, malevolent eyes. The results were immediate and spectacular. The creature howled and hurled me away, as it ripped free of the girl's grip, clutching its ruined eyes.

Even blinded, it still seemed to know where I was, and came after me, taloned hands extended and sweeping the air in front of it with wicked, raking slashes. I waited until it was almost on top of me, then dodged aside. As I jumped past, the creature lashed out, its talons raking deep parallel furrows in my shoulder, but I was already committed to the attack. I threw an arm around the creature’s neck and rammed the knife into it's back where I judged it's heart to be.

It grabbed my arm and tossed me across the courtyard as if I weighed nothing, then turned to come after me. It managed to stagger three steps in my direction before screaming horribly and collapsing into a pile of greasy black ashes.

All was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of my ragged breathing breaking the silence. Then a mournful wind broke the stillness of the gray place, howling through the courtyard. The wind lifted the ashes and swirled them once around the throne before tearing through the half-ruined gate and out into the mists with a fading shriek. Revealed by the departure of the monster’s remains was a set of keys and the knife, now blackened and scorched. I took the keys and dragged myself back to the throne.

The girl didn't say anything, but she really didn't need to. Her eyes said it all. No longer were they black and hollow, but clear gray shot with gold, like the sky after a storm.

The second key on the ring unlocked the manacles, revealing wrists and ankles rubbed raw by constant wear, but that didn't stop her from leaping up off the ruined throne and catching me up in a fierce embrace.

Thank you, she whispered harshly, Thank you for giving me back my soul. And everything went black.

I woke up staring into gold-flecked gray eyes. The white-haired girl smiled slightly, and her eyes sparkled. You're awake. I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up. For a moment, I struggled to make sense of her words. Then sensation and memory hit me as one. Being slashed, stabbed, and slung across a marble courtyard left a surprising residue of pain, especially considering it was only a dream.

I groaned and reached for my damaged arm, then stopped, shocked. Bandages covered my forearm in a cocoon of gauze. The girl laughed and took my fluff-wrapped hand in both of her own. Your surprise is natural, she said. That was no dream. Few have the willpower to break through into the place-between-worlds. She released my hand, and gently brushed hair out of my eyes. Her eyes locked mine, and her gaze was hypnotic. I could not have held out much longer. I owe you my life. She leaned closer to me, and her hair slid forward, revealing delicately pointed ears.

My surprise must've shown on my face, because she laughed again, a truly indescribable sound. Then she kissed me. My brain barely had time to recover from the shock of her before she was gone, leaving a taste like cinnamon on my lips and her last words still lingering in the air.

When you tire of life in your world, Jasper, come live in mine. Hold my picture and call to me.

I’ll wait for you.

And that’s all there is to it. There’s not a day I don’t think of her, lately. There’s just nothing left for me here.

This happened while we were still in law school, years ago. You can believe me or not, it’s your choice, but you’ve been a good friend, Damon. If it weren't for you, I never would have made it through high school, let alone law school, and I never would have met Crystal. If you hadn't introduced us, I would have gone long since. Since she died, taking the baby with her, my life has been empty despite your best efforts, for which I am truly grateful.

In my will I leave you my entire estate after I've been gone for thirty days. I think it totals around four million, all told. I know you've been struggling, but God knows you're too proud to take charity. Please accept my last gift in the spirit I give it, there’s no one else I’d sooner leave it to. Give Alayna my love, and give her a good life. I’ll miss you both.

Your friend always,

Jasper Lawrence

CASE NOTE: It is interesting to note that the only item that friends noted as missing from Mr. Lawrence's considerable property was a painting of a slender girl with ragged clothing and clear, sea-gray eyes. After thirty days the estate was transferred to Mr. Corrett, as per Mr. Lawrence's will. This investigation is closed, and until further evidence comes to light, Mr. Jasper Lawrence has been listed as a Missing Person