Cradled by the Night (2 page)

A baby cried softly in the distance.

This isn't real, or it's Lottie. She's woken up early.

Amelia dragged herself from bed and walked slowly down the wall, her breath hitching with fear. Shadows leered at her on the wall, and the house felt...wrong. She shivered.

It's so cold in here. What the hell?

It was a balmy spring night, but it felt like winter.

As she reached the nursery, she stopped, her legs refusing to cooperate. A woman in black stood beside Lottie's crib, her back to Amelia. She was thin, and her hair gleamed red, even in the darkness. From behind, she looked young—perhaps only in her early twenties.

This can't be. How could anyone be in the house?

Bard had installed an alarm system a week after they had moved in. With his long hours, he didn't want the two of them to be alone and easy prey for some crazy person to break in or worse.

“Who are you?” Amelia whispered, willing herself forward. This was her baby, and no one was going to hurt Lottie.

The woman turned around, and Amelia screamed. Where the young woman's eyes should have been were only black pools of anguish, her mouth, an O of horror.

After a few seconds, she vanished.

* * * *

Bard held her as Amelia jabbered. She couldn't seem to get coherent words out. “Shh. It's okay. Just calm down, and start from the top. What happened?”

They sat in the hallway outside Lottie's room. The baby slept on peacefully.

“A woman. There was a woman in there. In the baby's room.” She took a gulp of air and tried to calm down.

“What? Are you sure you weren't dreaming?”

She heard the note of skepticism in her husband's voice. Bard was totally logical. This would be hard for him to believe—that a ghost, that something unexplainable was in their home or had been.

“No, but it didn't start there.”

“Okay. Well, tell me all of it.”

Amelia spilled the story out of hearing an infant—not Lottie--crying twice.

“
J
ust now, I saw...that. Whoever she is. I mean, whatever it is.” She shivered at the memory of the black, gaping holes where eyes should have been, the mouth a rictus of terror.

“Okay.” Bard grew quiet.

Amelia fidgeted.
He doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm nuts.

“I know. You think I'm nuts.”

“No, I don't. You had a baby seven weeks ago. It's a lot to process. I think you're exhausted.”

She laughed, dropping her head into her hands. “I'm not. I mean, I am, but this is something else. Don't you feel it, Bard? The house. I feel it now.” Amelia stopped, listening.

The house seemed to breathe around them, knowing their secrets.

Knowing mine.

“Honey, it's just an old house. It creaks. The wind blows under the eaves. I think you were sleepwalking when you heard this...baby. Both times. It makes sense.”

Ever logical. That's Bard.

“Maybe.” She decided it wasn't worth it to argue with him. He wouldn't believe her. He didn't believe her.

“I'm sure of it.” He touched her cheek. “Let's go back to bed, and no more bad dreams, okay?”

“Alright.” She smiled at him as Bard pulled her to her feet. “You're probably right.”

He's wrong.

“I know I am. I love you.”

Chapter Two: Stormcliffe

“Wake up, princess.” Bard's words broke into her deep sleep.

The baby had last fed three hours ago, sometime after the nightmarish vision that had shaken Amelia. She shivered, remembering.

“You okay? I have to run soon, and the sitter will be here in about an hour.”

She groaned and pulled herself up slowly. “Ugh. I forgot about that.”

“I know last night was rough—even more reason for you to get out today and get some fresh air, meet some people.” Bard pushed her hair back from her face.

“You're right. I've been pretty isolated.” Amelia smiled, but the shadow of the night before burned in her mind.

“So, go have some fun. Make some new friends.” Bard patted her knee.

She stretched and yawned, admiring him in his khakis and red polo. Even though he was
10
years older than her, and they had met in one of the classes he taught as a graduate student, his boyish good looks hadn't faded.

“I will. I promise, or at least I'll try.” She pulled a face. “I wouldn't say women here are the friendliest.”

Bard laughed. “It's the Northeast. They warm up over time. I have to run.” He kissed her forehead, just as Lottie wailed.

“Duty calls.” Amelia hugged him. “See you later. Don't be late.”

“I won't be.”

“I'm cooking a roast. I swear.” Amelia pe
e
led her clothing off as Lottie quieted. If she got lucky, she could take a three
-
minute shower before she had to tend to her.

“Great!” Bard wiggled his brows. “See you at 6 sharp
, a
nd babe...don't worry about last night. It was just sleepwalking, I really think.”

“Sure.” Amelia forced a smile.

He swatted her behind as she padded out of the bedroom. “I love you.”

* * * *

The moms group was sparse. Amelia counted five other women there, but the coffee and breakfast beforehand were divine. She poured herself a big cup of coffee with lots of cream.

“Hi! You're new here, aren't you?” A redhead with a huge smile tapped her on the shoulder.

“I am. I'm Amelia Bronson.” She smiled at the other woman, happy at the prospect of a friend, or at least an acquaintance.

“I'm Lark West.”

“I love your name. It's so unusual.” Amelia stirred her coffee.

“Not really. It was my grandmother's. Wanna have a seat?” She motioned toward a table in the fellowship hall of the church.

“Sure.” They made the
ir
way across the room and sat down.

“So, what brings you here? How many kids do you have?” Lark's eyebrows rose in her animated face.

Amelia laughed. “One baby. She's about
seven
weeks old. We came here for my husband's job. He's a researcher.”

“Ah, cool! Welcome, welcome.” Lark chirped, sipping at her coffee. “I'm a single mom now with three kids. My husband left me for a newer version last year.” She grimaced.

“I'm so sorry.” Amelia couldn't even imagine life without Bard. He was her rock.

“Don't be. He was a jerk anyway, but yeah. Some days, it really sucks, doing everything alone.” Lark frowned and stabbed at her coffee cake.

“I bet. So, where do you work?”

“Here at the church, actually. I'm the administrative assistant. The pay's okay, and I get lots of freebies from the clothes closet and food pantry.” Lark frowned.

“I see.”

“I know. Nothing to say to that, right? It's an awkward conversation killer.” Lark shrugged and stabbed at her coffee cake.

“No, I think it's amazing.”

“Being a single mom and going through hell? No, it's just hell.” Lark grinned.

Amelia laughed. “I guess my life has been easier for the past few years.” She wanted to open up to Lark. She wasn't sure why. The other woman just seemed so real, and Amelia could identify with hardship.

“Oh? Do tell.” Lark leaned in.

Everyone loves a hard luck story.

“Well, I was abandoned as a baby. I guess that's where it begins.” Amelia shrugged, feeling heat rise in her face.

Why am I telling her this? I've known her for five minutes!

“Wow. That sucks. Why?”

“My mom was
15
when she got pregnant with me, I was told. She gave me up. My birth father wanted nothing to do with me. He was a little older than her, I think. Nowadays, it would be statutory rape.” Amelia sighed.

“Geez. That's tough. Poor woman.” Lark shook her head.

“I agree. I feel for her. I'd like to meet her—someday. I just can't bring myself to search yet.”

“Right. That makes sense. It would be hard, I guess.”

“It is. So, I was bounced around from the orphanage to different foster families.” Amelia shivered.

She doesn't want to hear this.

“Oh no.”

“Yep. Then I finally was adopted at
13
, but that was the worst.” Amelia swallowed hard. “I ran away at 18 and never looked back.”

“Yikes. How did you survive?” Lark stared intently, but not without kindness.

“You don't want to know. I made it, and I met Bard during night classes at a university where he was getting his doctorate. That was seven years ago. I've never looked back.” She smiled, hoping to take the edge off the conversation.

“You're a survivor, Amelia. Thank you for sharing your story with me.” Lark lay a warm hand on hers. Other women had filtered in and were chatting in small groups, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Amelia was relieved. She had said too much.

Tears sprang to her eyes in spite of herself. “I haven't told anybody about my early life in a while.”

T
here's so much more I'll never tell.

“Well, I'm glad to get to know you better, and now I know you're a really strong person. I like that. We have a lot of ladies who lunch around here.” Lark sniffed in disdain.

Amelia laughed. “I bet.”

“So, where are you living? Some great place, I bet.” Lark winked.

“Actually...yes.” Amelia giggled. “Stormcliffe. Do you know it?”

“Do I?” Lark's eyes widened. “Everyone knows about it.”

“Really? It is beautiful, isn't it?”

“Well, sure, but...” she trailed off.

“But what?” Amelia gave her a puzzled look.

“Everyone knows it's haunted.”

Chapter 3: In the Graveyard

“What?” Amelia's voice died halfway through the word.

“Yeah, it's haunted. Right?” Lark grinned.

“I don't know. Who says that? What's the story?”

“You mean the realtor didn't disclose it? Tsk tsk. I think that's grounds for getting your money back if you want to. If the spooks and ghouls get to be too much for you, you know.” Lark waved a hand. “I'm just joking. Yeesh. You're as white as a ghost yourself!”

“It's just...wow. No, the realtor didn't say anything.”

Unless she said something to Bard, but he would have told me. Right?

“Well, the story is that the Winthrops who lived there had dark secrets
a
nd there is a woman who haunts the place to this day. There have been a few renters since the family moved out and tried to sell it in the 80s, but no buyers. Not until you and your husband.”

“A woman?” Amelia's heart pounded.

“Yeah. I don't know the details. Just that all the renters lasted up to six months and got out of there. They said they weren't alone. Wooooo.” Lark laughed.

“Wow.” Amelia looked at her plate.

“So, you've seen her, haven't you? The woman—the ghost?”

“I think so, just last night, in fact.” Amelia grimaced.

“Damn. What a story! What happened?” Lark leaned forward.

Amelia recounted the events of the night before.

“Crap. I would have been scared out of my mind. Your husband thinks you imagined it, huh?” Lark had a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“Yes, well, he thinks I had a nightmare, or I was sleepwalking, but I'm not so sure.” Amelia forked another bite of coffee cake into her mouth, but her appetite had vanished.

“I wouldn't be either, what with the history and all.
S
he was standing over the crib?” Lark mock shivered.

“I know. It freaks me out.”

“That's only normal. Any mother would have been frightened, but I guess a ghost can't hurt you.” Lark paused, and her gaze darkened.

“What? Say it.”

“Are you feeling okay? You are a new mother, you know.”

“Yes, I mean, I think so, beyond not getting enough sleep and insane worry over every little thing that could happen to Lottie.” Amelia closed her eyes for a moment.

“Hmm.”

“What? What is that look for?” She felt so comfortable with Lark.

“You might want to see a doctor. It could be postpartum depression. It happens—anxiety, intrusive thoughts, nightmares. Those are all symptoms, you know.” Lark pursed her lips.

“Oh, right.” She hadn't thought about the possibility, but she remembered the topic coming up in child birthing class—for all of three minutes.

“Seriously, I think you should. I have a great doctor. She's an
obgyn
. I'll write her name down for you.” Lark grabbed her purse.

“Um, okay.” Amelia fought rising anger.