AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Before I can answer, Craig says, “It’s four thirty, Luce. Perhaps it’s best you head back to your room and try to get some more sleep?”
I almost laugh at Demi’s side-eye at her husband, but he’s right. I can’t depend on strangers. I’d been too petrified earlier to think clearly and my flight reaction had overpowered my fight. Maybe if I confronted whatever is haunting me, it’ll stop. That’s one of the things the guide on the ghost tour had said: a ghost wants to be acknowledged and once you do that firmly, it’ll stop bothering you. I can live in hope.
But the visions I’m seeing aren’t ghostly. They’re totally random: robed people, the compass, Mom. The latter is most disconcerting of all. It’s not Mom as I knew her, but my mother as a teen.
In looking for answers, is Mom trying to tell me something? If so, she appears terrified every time I’ve seen her, so perhaps she’s telling me to get the hell out of here. I won’t need much encouragement to do that. After tonight, I think I’m done.
“Lucy?” Demi’s voice is filled with concern and I refocus on these kind people who I’ve woken with my freak out.
“I’m okay. Sorry to wake you. I’ll confront the ghosts next time rather than fleeing.”
They’re staring at me like I’m out of my mind, and I turn away and stride quickly down the corridor back to my room. I may not understand what’s going on, but I know one thing.
I won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.
Chapter32
Cora
THEN
For twenty-five years,I try to immerse myself in Arcania. I renovate, keeping the integrity of the original mansion but adding modern rooms onto the back. A new kitchen, a dazzling dining room, a gym, a yoga studio and later, when I transform it into a wellness retreat, a day spa.
My B&B idea never really took off because of those pesky rumors—turns out, most people looking to vacation research their proposed house choice and discover how Harlan and Ava died, the implication some workers disappear, and assume Arcania is cursed. The police interrogated me in the early days, when a family reported their son missing, and Arcania had been his last place of employment.
But what could I tell them? I didn’t have any proof Harlan had got rid of those employees who suddenly vanished and with the house bracketed by the swamp and the sea, what could they do? A search would be futile.
Besides, Harlan had picked his marks carefully. Most of those missing workers had been runaways like me, so nobody would miss them. And with the runaways not in contact with family, they could’ve vanished anywhere. The only reason that family had reported their son missing was he’d had a change of heart and sent them a postcard from Nag’s Head and the police had followed his trail to here.
With my bed-and-breakfast idea stalled before it began, I pondered what else I could do with my newly renovated mansion so that I wouldn’t be so alone. I wanted to fill it with people; I desperately needed the distraction. That same night, I watched a documentary on wellness retreats in Australia and I knew Arcania could provide something similar here.
But I needed a hook, something to distinguish Arcania from other similar places, and came up with the digital detox angle. The rest is history. It’s amazing how many people want to go off grid. I have repeat customers who come annually for a week of good food—Daphne’s skills in the kitchen have improved exponentially over the years—beach walks, and general relaxation.
In all this transformation, Spencer is my right-hand man. Surprisingly, he didn’t leave when I ended our relationship. Seems his love for Arcania matches mine. We’re good friends, but I’m watchful for any signs he’s sticking around because he still has feelings for me. But I’ve seen nothing in the last two decades, so I believe him when he says Arcania is the only home he’s ever known and that’s why he’ll never leave.
It’s strange though. If he loves this place as much as I do, why isn’t he more invested in the legend?
Shocking, I know, that I too have succumbed to the lure of the gold compass. Not that I believe all that stuff about it appeasing angry Viking gods, but finding it will put Arcania on the map. We’ll be the most famous wellness retreat in the world and guests will flock.
I now employ divers regularly to scour the shipwreck, but so far, nothing. Spencer continues to dive also, but it’s nowhere near the wreckage. I know, because I accompany him. Not into the water—my fear of the ocean hasn’t subsided over the years—but in the boat. I like the wind on my face. It clears my head. And when I’m alone in the boat while he dives, I can focus on Arcania, a speck in the distance, and be thankful something so magnificent is mine.
Being out on the ocean also banishes the doubts that creep in. Because strange things still happen at night within Arcania’s walls. I wake in a cold sweat with a heaviness on my chest, like someone’s sitting there. Even on a still night, I can hear creaks and groans. I see visions of Harlan, enraged and coming for me with arms outstretched, like he wants to strangle me.
I dismiss these oddities as figments of my imagination, a residual guilt for how I killed my husband. So being out on the water, with the wind at my back and the vision of Arcania at my front, ground me.
Spencer and I had an early start this morning because we’re fully booked, with twelve new guests arriving today and fourteen tomorrow. We’re at capacity for the next two weeks and ensuring every guest has a good time might mean repeat business, which we thrive on.
Once they’re all checked in by late afternoon, I need to go over tonight’s menu with Daphne. But as I’m making my way to the kitchen, I’m waylaid by Raylene, a sixty-something Wall Street banker whose husband insisted she take a week off from being glued to her cell.
“Excuse me, Cora,” she calls out, and when I turn, she stops and stares at me so intently I wonder if I have a smudge on my nose.
“What can I help you with, Raylene?”
“Uh…” She blinks and gives me a rueful smile. “For a minute there, you look exactly like someone I know.”
“We all have a doppelgänger somewhere in the world, apparently.”
“So I’ve heard.” Her scrutiny is slightly unnerving. “Well, if you ever want to see yours, go to the Lower Manhattan Library. One of the librarians there could be your double.”
