Casting Shadows

Stranger in the Night

The day before Halloween, I woke up to the whisper of leaves being dragged by the wind. It was a cold autumn day in Harpers Ferry. B&B's café was full of guests, and the tables outside were pushed together, like a pile of tree branches. Steam from the hot brewed coffee and morning talk fogged up the windows of the B&B's. Suddenly people were wrapped in colorful scarves. They had unpacked their boots from the storage boxes and strolled the streets with pumpkins under their arms. All I wanted was to sit by the fireplace in the living room with a fleece blanket covering my feet.

The dream that had haunted me the night before wasn't like any other I had seen. I had traveled in time. I had found myself standing on the porch of a Civil War-era plantation home, maybe in South Carolina. There were three carved ivory lounges outside, shaded by the trees. An African-American man in a ripped linen shirt was folded in one of the chairs. Five children were at his feet, all carefully wrapped into white sheets, motionless. With his hands deformed by the hard work, he sobbed. Another man was coming his way. He had a gun on his shoulder. I longed to be a wall between them, protect him from the harm heading his way. Before I could do anything, I had opened my eyes.

The dream was so real, yet it was locked inside my mind. The vivid images left me feeling so emotionally deprived. I cried in the shower while the scent of the lavender shampoo spread all over my bedroom. The pain the man felt was curled up inside of me, and I started to think that I might be slightly psychic if I could hear, see, and feel an echo of the past.

Nick stopped by in the morning to give me a kiss on the cheek that smelled like peppermint shaving oil, and after placing my grandfather's camera inside of his duffel bag, he headed to the Historical Society. I couldn't tell him about the dream—not unless I was sure what I had been experiencing was real. After all, he had lied to me before.

Before Grandma headed to the farmer's market to get her secret ingredients for her world-famous pumpkin pies, she poked her head through the slit in the door and invited me to come along. I couldn't refuse.

The market we went to was located between Harpers Ferry and Gettysburg in a little Civil War history town outside of Frederick, Maryland. It was crowded with visitors and vendors. Tents extended to the streets of the town. Gourds and ghost pumpkins sat on top of hay bales. Decorative Indian corn swung from the tent poles and scarecrows stuck out from the ground with brush-painted faces, scaring away the kids.

I lost sight of Grandma as soon as we came in. When that woman was on a shopping spree, you had better stay away or she would sweep you off of your feet in an instant and run you over with a cart full of groceries afterward. I walked in between the tents, picking up little heads of Brussel sprouts, and sorting through organic eggs. I had stumbled upon a line of people for the roasted corn when I heard a popping sound. Taken aback by the noise, I quickly dropped to the ground. Then I heard wild laughter, and two kids with locks of gold and fake pistols sprinted beside me like two maniacs. I wanted to chase them, but my attention was suddenly locked on the place by the jam and honey tents. Confederate soldiers were gathered there, and all I could see were rows and rows of heads and the sun glistening off of their muskets—a re-enactment display. I stepped closer to the commotion, and that was when I saw him, as clear as the bright blue sky: the man from my dream.

He appeared to be young and boyish, with freckles scattered on his nose like tiny stars. He stood with the soldiers in a gray jacket with brass buttons and a Virginia belt buckle. His dark buckeye hair fell in waves on his face. He caught my gaze and tilted his head, motioning for me to follow him. He held something in his hand, and when I realized what it was, I couldn't believe it. The golden edges, the dark cover... it was the diary! It seemed that nobody else saw him except for me. I wanted to follow him, but everything inside of me told me not to.