A Spirited Gift

All of the camaraderie—people singing softly at the old piano in the lobby, playing cards on the stairs and drinking in the bar—should have made me feel better about facing the night. It didn’t.

That ghostly presence was still on my mind. It accompanied the thoughts about my mother and father. There were too many questions. My mind was exhausted but full to bursting, like some sandbag dam trying to hold back the flood. I knew I wouldn’t sleep.

I reminded myself again of how often I’d wished to see a ghost. Since I was a child and had heard the supernatural stories of the Outer Banks, I’d imagined what it would be like. I’d thought about it every way possible—except this one.

If the spirit following me was my mother, that would be different. But this presence sounded like some sleazy sailor who wanted to voice his opinion on everything. And that was assuming it was a human. Shayla’s comments on that had left me even more apprehensive. How could this be?

I’d managed to stick my nose into plenty of things where it didn’t belong. Maybe one of those was trying to contact my mother. Gramps always said I didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

At least I didn’t have to worry about being alone with the ghostly presence. There were people tucked into every corner of the inn. I stretched out in a king-size bed— accompanied by Nancy and Marissa. Both of them had stayed on at the inn to help out. There were several others on chairs and cushions around the room. I could hardly reach the bed without stepping on someone.

Marissa sighed as we lay there, unable to sleep. “I know I should go home tomorrow, but I’m dreading it. You didn’t hear or see anything around or about my place, did you, Dae?”

“No. I’m sorry. Kevin and I were at the Duck Shoppes before we went to help Cailey with that accident. But you’re facing the sound—Gramps said our place was in good shape. Maybe yours is too.”

Nancy sighed too. “I’m not facing the sound. I hope I have something left to go home to.”

I was sure many others felt the same. Staying here at the Blue Whale for one more night put those realizations on hold until morning. But we would all have to face reality tomorrow.

I think, despite not believing it was possible, that I fell asleep. I woke up and looked at my watch—it was almost two thirty A.M. I’d been asleep for at least four hours!

I felt a little better, a little more clearheaded. I knew what I had to do—at least in regard to my father.

The ghostly presence? I lay quietly for about twenty minutes, waiting to see or hear something. There was nothing. Maybe my “ghost” had been nothing more than exhaustion and stress. Maybe I could even attribute what I’d seen to the weather, like the warning ghosts that everyone talked about. It might not have anything to do with the séance.

Sandi? Her death was a tragedy, and I wished I could’ve helped her. But I had to let it go. There was nothing I could do. Unfortunately, terrible things happen. I knew that better than most people, having grown up in the home of the Dare County Sheriff. Gramps had always been careful not to involve me too much, but I’d still heard bad things about our neighbors. I knew even Duck had problems.

Renewed by my four hours of sleep and a confidence born of believing I knew what to do next about each of my problems, I was suddenly hungry. My stomach was growling loudly. Nancy groaned next to me and turned over. I was embarrassed to think I might wake her with my internal noises. Marissa was gone—maybe she was restless too.

Carefully, I inched out of bed and across the old hardwood floor. It squeaked and complained under my weight in places—but that was the only unusual noise I heard. The sleeping crowd around me sighed and muttered but didn’t wake up.

I crept down the hall to the kitchen, hoping there was something light to eat in the fridge. I didn’t want a full meal, just something to tide me over until morning. I knew Nancy and Marissa would thank me for quieting my stomach.

I found some leftover pancakes from breakfast and ate them at the table in the kitchen that Kevin and I usually shared when I visited.

The old inn that had seen many disasters like this storm—and worse—seemed to sleep around me too. It sheltered all of us who weren’t very eager to face the next day and what it might bring. I sipped the last of the fresh milk and sat back in the chair, replete, and felt ready to go home and do whatever else needed to be done.

I let myself glance carefully around the dark kitchen, keeping an eye open for any spirit balls that might be lingering, Nothing. No weird sensations of static electricity, no oppressive, frightening feelings of someone just behind me.

Those scary sightings of spirit balls and hearing someone speaking to me that wasn’t there had probably been triggered by the storm, I decided. A big storm has some odd precursors to it. A doctor once explained that to me when I told him about my storm knee that could predict the weather.