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Just as she was about to toss it right back on the top shelf where she’d found it, she caught sight of something at the top of the cross where two winged angels were entwined. She brought it closer, studying the dark red substance staining the grooves of their wings. She used a fingernail to dig a speck of it out, looking at that too. Was that . . . it looked like dried blood. “Creep factor, officially heightened,” she mumbled.
Scarlett placed the crucifix back on the highest shelf, pushing it all the way into the corner. For a moment she just stood there, considering . . . wondering if the creep factor might translate into good marketing. She’d read there were vague spooky legends about the canyon nearby, and of course, the fire in what had been a small chapel that killed the young women and staff who’d once lived here was absolutely tragic. But she hadn’t thought about using any of those stories to her advantage. She hadn’t thought about whether it could be an advantage at all . . . but maybe. Or was it obscene of her to even consider using the story of the lives lost on this property and whatever spooky tales may exist about the area for financial benefit? Scarlett stepped down off the stepstool. Probably. She’d have to learn more about the area and think about all that later. Because at the moment, there was nothing at all to market anyway.
At the moment, the place was only barely livable.
And likely haunted.
By benevolent spirits, if any at all, please and thank you.
Scarlett picked up the bottle of glass cleaner which was on the floor with the other sprays, sponges, scrub brushes, and old rags and took it to the window, misting some on the thick windowpanes and beginning to wipe them clean.
Through the glass she spotted Haddie in the dress she’d picked out that morning. Scarlett smiled, always enchanted by her girl’s penchant for dresses, the frillier the better, clothing that seemed so at odds with her almost . . . somber personality. To see the way pink satin or white eyelet—or in today’s case, blue gingham—made her daughter’s green eyes widen with delight never ceased to bring forth a grin from Scarlett. She smiled now, watching as Haddie moved forward, stepping slowly into the trees. Her smile faded and she raised her hand to knock on the glass, to attempt to get her daughter’s attention, to call her home, when she saw Haddie bend down and pluck something from the ground. A yellow flower. Haddie was being a little girl, collecting wildflowers. She’d never had a yard before. To Haddie, this must feel like one giant park.
Scarlett bit at her lip for a moment, conflicted as she stared at her child through the glass, watching her from afar. In some ways, it felt like a metaphor for her relationship with Haddie. She knew most mothers had a hard time letting go, but Scarlett had always had this vague sense that she couldn't hold on to Haddie even if she tried. It would be a useless attempt. In some way she couldn't explain, not even to herself, she knew Haddie existed on a plane all her own. She could walk beside her daughter through a mist she had no name for, she could love her fiercely—and she did, oh she did—but there was too much inexplicable distance between them to ever truly grasp the whole of her.
It worried her. On some level it broke her heart because she suspected she wasn’t enough for Haddie. Her very deepest fear was that she wasn’t the mother her child needed.
Haddie turned her head slightly and Scarlett drank in the angelic perfection of her. Even from this distance, Haddie was beautiful. Otherworldly. Not like Scarlett, who was pretty enough in an ordinary sort of way, but not stunning like her child. A beloved little alien girl who had somehow come through her but was not of her.
She brought her knuckle to the window, hesitating again just as her skin touched the cool glass. And yet . . . Haddie had always been a cautious child—overly cautious if anything. It wasn’t her physical safety Scarlett obsessed over. So then . . . why not let her explore their new property a little? Haddie wasn’t perfect, no seven-year-old was, but she’d always understood boundaries. She wouldn’t venture far—it wasn’t in her nature—and she’d likely be back in ten minutes, her fist full of flowers, a rare look of carefree happiness on her lovely face. At that thought, Scarlett’s lips turned up. Slowly, she dropped her hand as her daughter slipped into the darkness of the trees.CHAPTER TWOA prickly bush caught on Haddie’s pretty dress and she stopped, using her hand not holding the yellow flowers to pull out the thorn. The branch fell away as she continued on through the trees of the forest that stretched out behind the house.
