It's fate that they found each other. Indigos are naturally drawn to one another through the threads of destiny. And for Hemlock Godfree, that's exactly what he is... an Indigo. Even if he doesn't know it yet. As a part time ghost hunter and full ti...
Hemlock took small steps up the last flight of stairs that led the group into the attic of the Lodge. With each ascent, the wooden floorboards would creek loudly sending chills down his spine. He could feel his skin prickling with electricity. Something was definitely up there, and he wanted to see it. The downstairs had been colorful and bright, and smelled of fresh pine and leather. But once they had taken the attic route, everything turned dark and windowless, the air stale and cold. At the top of the stairs was a large wooden door, and it was locked. Brigid reached for her pocket and withdrew a single skeleton key. Slipping one in the lock, she turned the key in anticipation and the door slowly creaked open, revealing a small room with a low hanging ceiling, slanted with the roof's incline. The floor was polished wood, dust bunnies lined the cracks, and the walls had robin's egg blue wallpaper. A single wardrobe stood in the corner and a small but horizontally long window let a good amount of light into the room. A soft red and green Victorian rug stretched over the floor's dark woodwork and complimented the room, making it seem personal. A reading chair sat in one corner and next to it was a bookshelf that looked untouched for years. On the walls were paintings of tropical birds, plants, and flowers.
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"This is Loretta's room. Not her bedroom, but her room. The room where she was murdered." Brigid whispered and her silvery eyes scanned the room. She went to the wardrobe and put a hand on it. "Loretta Armond was engaged to one of the wealthiest men in Wyoming at the time, Warren Colter. He owned three mining towns, many oil rigs, and a refinery in Montana. His father could've been the first governor of Wyoming but died before he got the chance to see the territory become a state. He came to Howling, while passing through. I think he wanted to buy the town, but he lusted for Richard Armond's daughter. He invested in Richard's silver, and it made him realize the power the Armond family had. The couple seemed happy enough when they were engaged, but as time went by, Loretta saw who Warren was... on the inside. He was greedy, abusive, and treated her horribly. One night, Loretta caught him raping a lady's maid that worked at the Lodge for her mother." Brigid broke off and held her hand out, as if trying to steady herself. Ange couldn't resist and held his arm to her, she touched it lightly and then continued.
"She called off the wedding, saying she didn't love Warren anymore, or trust him, and she would not let someone like him run her father's town. Unfortunately, that was the night that Mr. and Mrs. Armond were snowed out in Jackson Hole, leaving the young couple alone in the Lodge. His greed must have overcome him; some say he was unstable and this made him break... he wanted nothing more than the money. They must have fought or something... there is still a bullet hole in the wall downstairs. Warren locked her up in the attic for days, possibly keeping her for ransom? No one really knows." Brigid's back was straight and she leaned against the windows, staring at the three of them. "The Armonds were still stuck in Jackson with no means of communication. But still, there was something Warren wanted from Loretta; I mean, at this point, was the money really worth it?
"One night, when he came back up to the attic, he found her hiding in this wardrobe as if she had read his mind about what he intended to do." Brigid's voice trembled, and her hand traced past the wardrobe as she went to an empty corner of the room. "She received eleven blows to her body, but he killed her after the first two. He just kept going. He then took her body and shoved it back into the wardrobe, and ran. No one caught him, and they say he died from exposure in the wilderness surrounding the town. It was early spring at the time. His death is unjust compared to the one he gave Loretta. Somewhere out there, his spirit is wandering the woods... I'm sure of it. It's almost ironic how egotistical he was to think he could escape nature.
"After that, the family was heartbroken... and so they left. It was 1888 at the time, so they knew that the silver mine was about to bust, and that it would be easy for them to relocate somewhere far away. They left the Lodge and made it so in their will, that the land would go to my great grandpa, Beau, a good friend of Richard's, and they had discovered the silver together. Soon enough, though, the town was deserted. The Armond family was haunted by her death and, one by one, her relatives killed themselves from grief. Some say it was a curse. It was only in the early 1940s that this place began to see restoration from my grandpa, and he decided to open it up for historical tours, and soon the Bed & Breakfast was born, too," Brigid looked at each of their faces, seeing their reactions.
Jacoby had slid his thumb and forefinger onto the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Hemlock just stared at the corner where Loretta had been murdered, his hands were bundled into fists; then he looked at the wardrobe and felt a flash of numbness go over him. How did Brigid know all of this intimate and almost personal story of Loretta's murder? It was like she had been there... when it had happened. He swallowed the lump in his throat, avoiding Brigid's face. Ange was looking out the window, at the sun that was going towards the horizon. All were in complete and utter shock; the air within the room seemed claustrophobic, making their breathing more shallow. The stillness between them all made Brigid cross her arms, and she also looked far off, overwhelmed by the story she must've told a hundred times to the tours that came through the town; each time sympathetically reliving the murder.
Hemlock could see images of the murder blur his vision; an ax coming down upon a body, blood spattering the walls, and the hate that burned inside Warren's heart as he raised to take aim again. Each blow was an agonizing bolt of pain that made him flinch. But he could never see Loretta's face. Hemlock fell backwards but he caught himself against the wall before he could collapse on the floor.
"Hemlock! Are you alright?" Brigid asked, alarmed.
"I'm fine-I'm just sensitive to this kind of stuff. It's... hard on me." He looked around at Ange and Jacoby's faces. They nodded at him, understanding. Brigid's mouth was set in a hard line, she seemed to understand too.
"Let's go set up," Jacoby suggested and started to exit the room. Ange followed with Brigid on his heels, eager to leave the toxicity of the room. With each descent, their steps caused loud squeaks that filled Hemlock's ears, making him realize he was alone in the attic.
He looked around again, taking the room in. He walked towards the corner where Loretta had died. He suddenly caught the most refreshing scent... it was like lilacs on a spring day mixed with an underlying smell of burnt parchment. He felt that he wasn't alone in the room. When he reached the corner, he touched the wall and took a deep breath in. Closing his eyes, Hemlock tried to relax his mind.
"I'll be back to talk with you later tonight, Miss Armond... Loretta," her name rolled off his tongue like honey and lavender. "If you're listening, I want you to know that you can open yourself, fully, to me. Don't be afraid. I'm here to help you," Hemlock remarked into the corner softly.
Then he felt a warm liquid pool on his palm and as he opened his eyes, he cried out in shock. His hand was full of blood and in the other was an ax. He fell backwards onto his hands and let go of the ax; it clattered to the floor. He turned and looked at the room again; the walls were splattered in thick crimson blood, and it was fresh, too. Hearing a whimper come from the wardrobe, he turned slowly and saw a limp hand sprawl out of its double doors; it was a woman's hand. A trail of blood pooled out of the wardrobe and trickled towards his feet. He lifted the back of his hand to cover his mouth, tears brimming from his eyes. Letting out a stifled cry, he ran from the attic... only to be welcomed by a hooded corpse at the bottom of the flight of stairs. It spread its arms wide, raced up the steps, engulfing him. He felt his breath being sucked from him, his mouth gaping in a silent gasp. The immense cold made him shiver violently, and all it took was one misplaced foot to send Hemlock falling. He fell down, towards the dark indefinite of the underworld.
