The Passing Bell Tolls for Thee

18 Rowan Cross

April watched the door for several minutes but heard nothing. Smokey jumped up on the bed and curled up. She took a deep breath and put the cross on her nightstand. She hung up her robe and kicked off her shoes. She stretched and yawned and got in bed. She reached to turn off the light and saw Smokey staring at the wall between her room and the master bedroom. He growled, low and menacing. Footsteps sounded from Ben's room. She jerked upright, listening with all her attention, but heard nothing more. Her heart pounded.

The old house id settling, she told herself. Or maybe things living in the walls. I'll have to tell Mrs. Bigwood we may have mice. I hope.

Despite her fear, April got up and taking the cross, tiptoed across her room to the connecting door to the master bedroom, Smokey at her heels. She listened at the door but heard nothing. Smokey scratched at the door until she stopped him. She opened the door, reached in, and flicked the light on.

Nothing was disturbed in the room, as far as she could tell. Smokey stared at a chair, but she held his collar so he couldn't go in the room. The chair creaked and footsteps came at her, though the room was empty. She slammed the door and locked it. The footsteps stopped.

Smokey growled softly, hackles rising along his back. April's breathing got fast and faster. She started to hyperventilate. She tried to breath slower. She realized the cross was digging into her hand. Two twigs tied with red thread lay on her palm. She stared at it. Mrs. Bigwood had told her of these. "A rowan cross," Mrs. Bigwood said, "tied with red thread." The woman nodded, as though agreeing with herself. "Strong protection against harm. Evil cannot enter where such as a rowan cross hangs."

April realized Mrs. Bigwood had replaced the cross that fell from her door. The housekeeper placed them around and Ben would make some ridiculous complaint about bugs or litter but left them. If she weren't so frightened, April might have been amused. Those footsteps, though, had scared her.

She held the cross against the connecting door. "I... ahh, ahk." Her voice cracked. She swallowed and began again. "Leave. Leave." Silence. "Leave," she whispered.

Silence.

April pressed her ear against the door, trying to hear better. A scratching noise ran along the door, but she was too frightened to move. Silence, again. A few moments later the upper step creaked its familiar loud creak. A few seconds later the lower step creaked, faintly. She straightened up. Did I really hear footsteps? she wondered. Or am I having a nightmare? She stepped away from the door but didn't dare open it.

Smokey's hackles lowered and he sat down. He looked at her and nudged her leg with his nose. She watched him but the dog was calm. Nothing disturbed him now. The cross in her palm lay there, two bits of twig and some red thread. All she wanted was to get in bed, to sleep till the sun rose. Or leave the house, take Smokey and drive into Pelham and book a hotel room.

She placed the cross over the door jamb. On an impulse, she went to the window and looked out. Calm, nothing moving. What just happened? she wondered. She waited for the next thing to happen.

The cold made her shiver, and she rubbed her arms. She felt a little foolish, but still didn't want to open the door. She got into bed; Smokey hopping up and settling beside her. She turned off the light and settled under the cover. She rested her hand on Smokey, beginning to relax with the dog, when she had a disturbing thought. If Smokey and Chico had seen a "ghost" or something go in the Lodge, why didn't the cross keep it out? Would a cross keep something in if were already in? She'd have to ask Mrs. Bigwood; maybe she'd know. April pulled the covers up to her neck, repeating to herself, "I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in ghosts," until she fell asleep.