Ghost Maven: The Haunting of Alice May

Just after lunch the following day, Dad checked me out of the hospital. I was silent as he drove me home, along Route 68, until we hit David Avenue leading straight to the Monterey Aquarium. Turning left took us to the coastal road.

I turned my head to look out at the bay, watching the sunlight dance with malevolence on the water. The events of the past day seemed like a hazy memory, and the bright light of Pacific Grove bathed everything in a deceptively warm hue. All seemed okay in the sterile light of day. I could see some kayakers out in the water, and a group of divers wading into the shallows.

A small headland called Lovers Point jutted out into the bay, a signal we had arrived at Pacific Grove. Dad steered onto Forest Avenue, drove a couple blocks and stopped in front of house number 136, the large, white and blue Victorian clapboard we were renting.

Okay? he said, turning off the engine.

I nodded, and we went inside.

Over the weekend, I thought of little else except what happened in the bay. The memory of the boy who saved me haunted my thoughts. Who was he? Where did he come from? What was he doing out at sea in all that horrible fog? What about the mysterious island? Did I imagine it, or was it really there? I couldn’t rest until I knew the answers. Slowly, I closed the shutters to my bedroom window and tried to get some sleep, hoping to block all of it—boy included—out of my mind.

On Monday, Dad went to work and dropped Sophie off at school leaving me alone in the empty house with only my homework to keep me company. I brought my book collection with me from Chicago and in the middle of stacking them on my bedroom shelf, I heard a knock at the front door.

When I swung the big oak door open, I wasn’t prepared for the sight before me. An old woman stood on the front porch just inches from the door. She must have been at least eighty-years-old with leathery skin and a skull-like head shrunken on a slender neck. Her dark eyes glistened in sunken sockets as she stared at me so intently, I froze for a second.

Hello, the elderly visitor said. I’m Mrs. Prescott from across the street. I just came to welcome you to Pacific Grove. Her singsong voice full of nostalgia.

Wow. A welcome wagon? People still do that here? In Chicago, folks barely knew anyone’s names.

Thanks. That’s real nice of you. I’m Alice, I said extending a hand. Alice May Parker.

The old woman shook my hand, wrapping her gnarled, knotted fingers around it. Her skin was like ice, and I was glad to withdraw from her clammy touch. Alice? A lovely name for a very lovely young woman.

Thank you, I said again. My mother had named me after her grandmother, named after that much more famous Alice, the one who’d traipsed around Wonderland. I found that a bit ironic since I often wanted to disappear down a rabbit hole.

Is your mom home?

No. She’s gone. She’s dead, I replied flatly. I could say it easier now, without flinching or embarrassment or the need to elicit sympathy. People told me it would get easier and easier, and I guess they were right.

Oh, I’m so sorry. You poor dear. The old woman offered an outstretched hand to comfort me, but instead grasped the empty air. I didn’t want to touch her again.

Mrs. Prescott’s steel-gray eyes flickered from me, over my shoulder, and back again. Her gaze narrowed, penetrating my very soul.

I didn’t come only to welcome you, she said. Her tone changed, becoming ominous as she spoke in a low, strangled voice, I must tell you something very important. She looked directly into my eyes, her skin tightening to expose her skull. When she opened her mouth, I saw the rottenness of her teeth. Stay away from the water.

Chapter Three: The Dance

Monterey High School sat in the center of town, about a ten-minute drive from my house. Going back to school after what happened was tough. I felt the other kids staring at me, and one of the senior jocks whistled, I wasn’t just the new girl, I was now the strange new girl who had fallen into the bay and almost drowned. I couldn’t have brought more attention to myself if I had walked around with neon KICK ME sign on my back.

Before homeroom, I stopped by my locker, and a figure came rushing up to me and before I knew it, Emily had me in a tight hug. Then holding my shoulders at arm’s length, she studied me for a moment, making me feel uneasy. She looked me straight in the eye and said in a hushed voice that for my ears only, It’s good to get away sometimes—to make a fresh start. It’s good to leave the pain behind.

I glanced at her sideways, leave the pain behind? What in the world does she mean by that? Emily knowing more about me than I revealed bothered me. As though she could somehow experience what I felt at that moment. As a very private person, I found it unnerving.

I shoved my books into the locker, slammed the door shut, and turned the key firmly. Leave what behind? I asked, feigning ignorance. I’m good.

Emily nodded knowingly, her gaze unwavering, Okay Alice, she said, unbelieving. Then she changed the subject.

Hey, guess what. Lance is having a party!

He is? When?

Next Friday, and we’re both invited.

I shook my head. I dunno. I’m not really in the partying mood. My head still hurts.

Oh, c’mon! It’ll be loads of fun. Besides, what better way to make new friends?

Okay. Well, we’ll see, I said, sensing Emily’s disappointment. But—I really didn’t want to go, and wasn’t about to make any commitments.

*

The rest of the week went by painfully slow, and it was a relief when Friday came. I saw high school parties as something of a chore. Dressing up, guys trying to impress girls, girls looking unimpressed. It was all such an amusing, phony ritual. I wondered why evolved human beings put themselves through it. I would much rather have sat with friends over coffee, talking about the latest book or movie. That might have made me sound a bit dull, but it was how I felt.

Nevertheless, I made an effort to go because I knew Emily wanted me to. I put on a nice white dress and my mom’s silver necklace, which was one of the few things of hers that I wore. Staring back at my reflection was always something of an internal battle. I wasn’t fat, but like most girls, I wished I could be taller and slimmer, so I could carry off a dress like my friend Elisabeth from Chicago. She was effortlessly chic, and I missed her wit and style.

I stood awkwardly at the door while Dad read The Monterey News in the front room.

Wow! You look fancy! he said when he finally took notice. What kind of party are you going to again?

A guy from my class is having a birthday. Emily invited me, and I don’t wanna disappoint her.

Dad nodded—much to my surprise. I assumed he would disapprove; but since it was the first party I’d shown any interest in since Mom’s illness, he seemed relieved instead. Have fun. Do you want me to pick you up?

I shook my head. No. Emily and I will catch a cab. I won’t be late.

*

The party was on a boat anchored off Pier 39 in the marina. Emily was waiting patiently by the plaza, near a dolphin-shaped fountain. She was wearing dark purple dress and funky-looking costume jewelry. She had an odd fashion sense that included a mishmash of styles, refusing to follow any particular trend.

Great dress! my friend squealed when she saw me. As usual, she immediately pulled me into a hug.

You think so? I noticed her large silver talisman with a yin yang symbol on it. I like that. What does it mean?

This? It’s my lucky talisman, said Emily. It makes me feel balanced, so I don’t get seasick!

I laughed. I think we should be more worried about the seniors than waves or sharks, I joked, smoothing my dress. I don’t know who I’m trying to impress.

Then why don’t you just impress yourself? said Emily, linking her arm in mine and steering us toward the pier.

When we climbed on board, I tried to steady myself on the deck, which wasn’t easy on a boat packed full of teenagers. Hip-hop music drifted from the stereo across the bay. We were only about a hundred feet from shore, but it seemed like we were several miles out to sea. I watched with envy as the beautiful girls danced with ‘jocks’ whose muscles were hardened by hours of kayaking in the bay.

Alice!

I turned around and saw Christian coming toward me, accompanied by another boy. Christian had a huge smile on his face, as he looked me up and down. I wondered if he was ever in a bad mood.

Wow. You look terrific.

Thanks. I smiled, sheepishly. I certainly didn’t feel terrific.

I turned to look at the other boy standing next to him with cropped, black hair and wire-framed glasses. The brown eyes behind those glasses stared at me without blinking. He looked sickly—pale. No warmth or friendliness radiated from him, and he made no effort to smile or even pretend to be curious like the others.

I held out my hand, waiting for the cold stranger to introduce himself, but he acted like a handshake was some alien gesture—embarrassed, I withdrew my hand.

And this is Ethan, Christian said, sounding apologetic.

Nice to meet you, Ethan, I said politely.

The boy nodded at me and uttered one word, Likewise.

Ethan’s a member of that book club I was telling you about, Christian continued.

Ah, okay. I nodded. I may take you up on your offer to join. I love books.

You do? asked Ethan, still not blinking.

Er…sure. I read a lot.

What’s your favorite?

"I would have to say Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen." It was true. I had read it at least ten times.

Good choice, said Christian.

And what’s yours? I asked Ethan.

"Atlas Shrugged," came the reply.

Christian asked me to dance, but I declined politely and opted for watching the other kids from the sidelines instead. I took a sip of punch, hoping it would relax me when I glimpsed one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. Tall with straight blonde hair, a flawless complexion, and perfect facial features. She held her head high upon a slender neck and wore a pink cardigan wrapped around slender shoulders. I couldn’t help but stare as she walked gracefully past as though gliding on casters.

Who’s that? I asked Emily, who was standing next to me.

Heather Palmer, she whispered in my ear.

She’s beautiful, I said.

Emily shot Heather a rather mean look and shrugged. She certainly seems to think so.

So, it seemed, did every boy on the boat because they were all looking at her like dogs gawking at a T-bone. Next to her stood a tall, handsome guy with a solid build. He started kissing the base of Heather’s neck and she didn’t resist. Instead, she laughed playfully as he slipped his hands around her waist.

I watched the couple together, my mouth agape. Who’s she with?

That’s Channing, her boyfriend, Emily whispered again. The high school jock, in case you couldn’t tell.

Channing rested his hands on Heather’s neck. I studied the hands for a moment; they were big and powerful from throwing so many footballs and scoring touchdowns.

They’re stunning together, I said with a sigh, wondering if I’d ever look that good with a guy. I also wondered if anyone would ever look at me the way Channing was looking at Heather. My boyfriend’s back in Chicago had been bookish or music types, quirky individuals. They were not drop-dead handsome, and they definitely were not high school jocks. In fact, I had met my last boyfriend at the local chess club. It lasted a few months, but then he seemed to run out of moves, and we reached a proverbial stalemate.

The girl turned her head to face me as if sensing my gaze. Our eyes met for a few seconds and something registered between us, a kind of female solidarity. Heather smiled at me while enjoying Channing’s kisses. I blushed, feeling myself going bright red for being caught staring.

All around me kids were dancing, flirting, and laughing with the ease of familiarity. Emily chatted with one kayaker, Christian and Ruth, the athletic girl kayaking with us the day I almost drowned, were engaged in deep conversation. I started to feel unsteady, wishing I wore Emily’s lucky talisman. Everything seemed to just swirl around me, and I knew I had to get off the boat. I made a move toward the ramp.

Where are you going? Emily called. Are you okay?

I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be back.

*

I walked along the docks, breathing in the cool night air. The place was dimly lit by the glistening moonlight. As I made my way along the squeaky boardwalk, the gentle lapping of the water ebbed and flowed around the stilt legs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something in the air. It flew toward me, its movements fluttery and jerky. The iridescent wings of what looked like a giant moth seemed to catch the moonlight. I watched in awe as it danced in the rays of light, circling around my head, then headed toward the end of the dock.

The pull was irresistible; it was urging me to follow. As I reached the edge of the dock, I saw protruding rocks, and behind them was a huge expanse of ocean. The moth finally settled on one of the rocks, its wings coming to rest. I longed to hold it in my hand, to feel its delicate vibrations on my skin, but it remained just out of reach.

Despite my fear of the water, I delicately stepped out onto the rocks, feeling the magnetic pull of the tides. The moth was mere inches from my hand, and for a moment I almost considered jumping.

Stop, said a sharp voice behind me.

I whirled around—atop the boardwalk stood the young man who saved my life. I hadn’t imagined him after all since I could see him, as handsome and stately as the pines growing in the forest that overlooked the bay. I noticed he was wearing the same dark brown trousers and shirt as when he’d rescued me.

Step away from the water, the boy said, his voice stern and commanding, like he was accustomed to giving orders. So firm was the demand, I wondered if he was in the military. The Monterey Naval Academy was nearby, and I often saw the cadets in town, hanging out in the bookstores or coffee shops. They always looked dapper in their beige uniforms and caps. One or two had even wolf-whistled at Emily and me, making us giggle.

I stared at the hottie on the dock, wondering who he was and what he was doing here. The sight of him again made me giddy, and it had nothing to do with the fact I had chased an overgrown moth out to some slippery seaside rocks. I gripped a tall, jagged peak, being careful not to scrape my palms.

He continued to glare at me. His whole body was rigid, like the mast of a yacht. Only his hair moved, ruffled by the sea breeze, sun-bleached tufts framing a tan face, as if he’d spent most of his life in the sun. Heather could have Channing; this boy was the most beautiful guy I had ever seen.

I was silent for a moment as I turned around to face the dock. The movement caused the moth to rise into the air and disappear into the blackness of the sky over the ocean. With a hint of disappointment, I watched it go.

Wh-who are you? I asked, finally finding my tongue.

A sailor of these waters, he vaguely replied.

I thought about his answer for a moment; then it all made sense. He was a sailor, but he didn’t look like the typical guy in the US Navy. Still, he couldn’t be an ordinary seaman either. There was something more otherworldly about him—something very refined.

Most of the young sailors and guys who worked on the boats around Monterey were cute, but they all had a cookie-cutter look to them: the same cropped haircuts, Ralph Lauren polo shirts, and flexing muscles. This guy who had rescued me was more like an antique Rolls-Royce among a fleet of Fords.

You’re the guy who rescued me from the bay, I said, more of a statement than a question.

He nodded. That is correct, and I prefer not to jump in the bay after you again. The water is cold tonight.

I thought I detected irony or perhaps some humor in his words, but I couldn’t be sure. I waited for some expression to register on his face, yet he remained emotionless.

Then his tone of voice seemed to soften a little. Please step away from the water. It is unsafe.

I noticed his speech pattern was slow and measured. He spoke like a hero in one of the novels I liked to read—a leading man Jane Austen or Charlotte Brontë would write about. None of the boys at school spoke with such precise diction. Most of them preferred to use indecipherable slang like Yo and Waz up?

I tentatively climbed over the rocks toward him. Eventually I got close enough to get a good look at him. He was even more handsome than I remembered with his blonde hair messy from the salt spray, and those piercing blue eyes as deep and unfathomable as the bay. His bronze skin appeared lightly freckled, but otherwise, he had a flawless complexion. His strong nose began in a crease within his brow.

He stretched out his right hand toward me, and I studied it for a brief second. It was large and masculine, browned by the sun, with clean fingernails. His hands looked weathered as though they sailed many a stormy water.

I reached out my own slender hand and tentatively took his. As his strong fingers gripped tightly around mine, I felt a charge of electrical energy pulsing through my body. He pulled me clear of the rocks. I was almost breathless when I found myself back on the dock, right beside him.

Thank you, he said, his body inches from mine.

Wait. He’s thanking me? I couldn’t believe it. What for? I asked in surprise. After all, he was the one who had saved me from certain death.

For stepping away from the water as I asked you to.

It was then I heard Mrs. Prescott’s warning in my mind saying, Stay away from the water. I took a glance back at the sea and foaming waves splashing around the dark rocks. What is it about this bay that makes it so dangerous, that makes everyone fear it?

Before I could ask, he spoke again. I would like for you to do something else for me, he said in his commanding voice.

What? I asked at once, willing to do anything to win his approval.

His eyes narrowed, his expression hardened, and his voice dropped to a low, hushed tone.

Keep away from here and from me, he replied emphatically.

I was so taken back by the anger and venom in his voice that I stepped back a couple inches. He sounded as if he hated me with every fiber of his being. When I looked into his eyes, I saw no compassion, only contempt. I wondered why he had said it and why he was looking at me with such a hateful expression; I had no choice but to feel sorry for myself.

Then, swiftly, he turned to walk back up the boardwalk. He stopped halfway and untied a small boat from its mooring, a boat I hadn’t even noticed before. I glimpsed the name on the bow, Evening Tide.

Wait! I called after his disappearing shadow. Just. . .please tell me your name.

He stopped abruptly but didn’t turn around. I watched his shoulders droop a little as if weighing the decision to answer me. He hesitated a moment longer before slowly turning his head to face me.

I caught a flash of his eyes in the moonlight.

Henry, he replied.

Henry? Henry. I repeated the name to myself. It was an old-fashioned name, of sorts, but the sound of it was as sweet as the smell of jasmine. I opened my mouth, willing him to stay longer. Why did you save me, Henry?

Henry hesitated again, then for the first time, he spoke with a soft tone, Because I did not wish for you to drown.

Chapter Four: Evening Tide

Evening Tide—that was all I had to go on, the name of his boat etched on the boards of the bow. It was such a simple name yet mysterious and alluring. If I could find the boat, it would lead me to Henry.

I had the rest of the weekend free to do my detective work. After helping my dad with the groceries on Saturday morning, I walked down the coastal path into town. Once in town, I headed toward the harbor knowing it would be occupied by yachts and sailing