~ONE~ The howling gales of winter echoed through the valley with a resemblance of a collective of mystical wolves paying homage to old man winter while they shook the still fragile one-hundred-fifty year old estate house; rattling its windows with such force that one might expect the antique dwelling to be swept into the tempest and the Land of Oz would appear at any moment. The nor’easter had arrived with a vengeance, showing no mercy for the impuissant inhabitants of the land. Caitlin McNevin peered through the flood of frantic white crystals toward the barely visible stable. She had focused so hard on preparing the grand old house for the oncoming winter that the equally old structure that housed her mare, Emma, had not received the attention it really should have, in order to insure its strength for a season of storms such as this. It had been her dream and heart felt desire to do most of the repairs on her own, believing that by putting her sweat into it she was declaring it to be her own; truly her own. But as the need for more and more unseen repairs came into the forefront, she realized that this was not going to be possible and she would have to hire a handyman if she wanted to get the house in the shape she desired any time soon. Experiencing a winter storm, such as this, made it easy for her to come to terms with this decision. She filled her lungs with the cool air that managed to find its way through her newly caulked windows and prayed the building was sturdy enough to see its way through to spring in one piece for Emma’s sake. After which, she would give it the attention it needed and deserved. There were other outbuildings on the property that could be made into a shelter for the mare, if necessary, but since this was intended for the purpose of housing horses, it was naturally the most ideal choice. Caitlin filled her lungs with as much air as she could one more time and then released the it slowly, focusing on the light mist that formed from the blending of the warmth of her breath and the cool air that leaked in past the fresh calking on the worn window pane; one more repair that needed the attention of an authentic handyman. She wondered if she had taken on more than she was up for when she purchased the run down country estate that had called to her as she drove up the drive with the realtor. She knew it would be a challenge, but not to this extent. It seemed that the more she repaired, or had repaired, the more she discovered needed repair. It was proving to be a never-ending and daunting task that she was not sure she would have the where-with-all to see through. Perhaps she was just disillusioned because of the winter confinement. Caitlin had always been active and outgoing. Finding herself snowed in with little, if any, connection to the outside world for over a week was taking its toll on her mood. The fact that she was still suffering from the shock, trauma, and mourning of the loss of her dear friend, Linnie, certainly did nothing to help matters. It was bad enough to have her friend die, but to watch the dear old woman being torn apart by demons pets, that were half-dog and half-pig, while Caitlin was helplessly trapped inside a house, was above and beyond anyone’s endurance expectation. It had stabbed at her core so deeply that she wondered if she was certain she would never be the same. She walked over to the large, overstuffed horse-hair sofa that she had found in the attic of the carriage house and had recently commissioned a local upholsterer to restore, and snuggled under the thick afghan that her sister, Nora, had presented at Christmas. The fire that roared in the newly renovated fireplace illuminated the rustic red bricks that spoke of days gone by. The warmth emanating from the dancing flames struggled to free itself from the draw of the chimney, which allowed it to only hover within feet of the open hearth and leave the rest of the room prey to the icy air that crept steadily through the badly insulated walls and windows. Caitlin stood up and pushed the sofa a few feet closer to the fire, being careful not to get so close that a stray spark might damage its rich, newly applied tapestry covering. Resuming her spot under the afghan, she passed the dismal afternoon hours in cozy slumber. The sun was setting over the distant mountain top before Caitlin had roused herself from her blissful snooze. The fire needed attention. She debated whether to add more firewood and stoke it back to its former level or let it die for the night. The once grand estate house possessed eighteen fireplaces and although she enjoyed the ambience of her downstairs study, surely she could find a room more protected from the outdoor elements than this one had proven to be and start a warming fire there. Deciding it was best to close the room off until its leaks had been tended to, she pushed the remnants of glowing coals under a pile of thick, lifeless ashes and felt the last hint of warmth the emanated from the hearth trickle away. Satisfied, she rubbed her upper arms against the impending cold of the night and rushed out of the room. Not only did she need to find warmer quarters, she needed warmer clothes as well. The antique grandfather clock that stood regally at the far end of the second floor hallway chimed six as she made her way to her bedroom. It was time for Emma’s nightly feed. Caitlin pulled on her heaviest Irish wool sweater and thick insulated socks before heading down to the coat room to don her goose down parka, insulated gloves, and fur lined rubber boots. Pushing the solid antique back door open against the elements was not an easy feat. Gusts of pelting ice, mixed with snow, still dominated the atmosphere; making it difficult for her to forge her way down the fifty yard path to the stable through snow that was now nearly mid-calf in height. She could hear the crunch beneath her heavily laden feet as she broke through the thick crusty layer that had formed over the top of the seemingly endless sea of snow. She was cold. Her breath was condensing. Its humidity leaving tiny frozen crystals along her lips. Focusing her flashlight in all directions, Caitlin checked for unwanted creatures that might be lingering in the night; a habit she had developed as a child but had intensified as a result of her traumatic encounter with Dominic’s dog-pigs. Her heart picked up its pace as she recalled that fateful night only a few months earlier when she and Emma had run for their lives along the wooded path that they had traveled so many times before on their journey to Linnie’s house. Time seemed to stand still as she plunged her way forward through the resistant blanket of crusty snow, toward the stable door. When she finally reached it, she stood in breathless dismay as she looked at the amount of crispy snow that needed to be removed before she would be able to slide the door open far enough to allow her to pass through it. “The first thing I’m doing when this storm ends is pulling out the tractor and plow. This is ridiculous,” she growled. The sudden realization that she had left the snow shovel on the opposite side of the door resulted in one of the loudest screams of frustration that Caitlin could recall releasing; ever. She was so frustrated. The urge to kick the door was so powerful. I was all she wanted to do; kick at the door, just kick it. But her legs were held hostage in the ever deepening white blanket of heavy and wet snow, so the best she could do was lean her body against the side of the building and heave a frustrated sigh. Emma’s whinny had a calming effect on Caitlin and she relaxed enough to allow her mind the opportunity to think of what to do. She needed to get past that door to take care of Emma! But how? The spindly bough of an ancient apple tree, burdened with a thick coat of snow, reached toward the ground, as if by doing so it might relieve itself of its burden. It lightly brushed her head as a gust of wind took a thin layer of its burden off into the night. Wiping the excess snow from her face, she studied the tree and its position to the building. It was an old tree that had probably been there long before the building was built; or at least as long. The trunk had grown thick with age. Branches brushed against the wooden door to the hay loft. She shone her flashlight on them. Even laden with snow, they appeared sturdy enough. If she was careful, she could climb up and enter through the loft. Under the best of circumstances, Caitlin would have been hesitant to climb a tree; something she had never really attempted to do. But, with her mare and devoted companion inside -along with her only snow shovel- she saw no other option. The mare needed care and the snow would eventually stop, at which time she would need that shovel! So, tucking her trusty flashlight in the inside pocket of her coat, she wiped the melting show from her goggles and gripped the lower branch of the ancient and gnarled apple tree. Here goes nothing! It took a moment for her eyes to adjust the lack of the flashlight’s helpful beam. But, soon she was maneuvering with confidence. Although physically fit, heaving her heavily clad body out of the deep cold wells, that resisted releasing her legs, onto the first branch seemed almost unattainable. Her body was wet and clammy with perspiration from the over compensation of the down coat she had donned to protect against the bitter cold. She felt laden with damp, smelly fabric. Had she had to struggle just a moment longer, she would have given Emma up to the fate of waiting for the storm to settle and daylight to return. Then, suddenly, to her amazement, surprise, and delight, she lifted effortlessly out of the snow and made her way from one branch to the next with little, if any, exertion. It was as if someone was giving her a helping hand. After the last few months of seemingly one unexplained phenomena after another, Caitlin had started to grow accustomed to them. She smiled her appreciation for the help that came from whomever, or whatever, and continued making her way toward the latched door. Now that she was up the tree, the door seemed further away from the branch than it did when she was standing on the ground, assessing the possibility of climbing the tree and then hopping through the open doorway. She had also not been aware of the fact that the branches had started to develop a thin film of ice on them, making it an even more precarious position to be in; something she should have thought about, since everything else around her was icing over. As if climbing a tree in the middle of a blizzard was not bad enough, she had to contend with ice! Caitlin contemplated her situation. She was higher than she thought she would be when she first started this venture and, from her present position, the branches no longer seemed sturdy, but, instead, looked precariously feeble. The gnarled and rickety limb that she had just removed her weight from looked as if it would soon rot away from the ancient, gnarled tree trunk. Looking closer, she realized that the old fruit tree was actually in need of some TLC. If she had been in the daylight, she probably would not have climbed the tree to begin with. Climbing back down the perilous candidate for the wood pile was something that looked even more difficult than making her way to the window from the branch. Telling herself ‘don’t look down’ was all it took to plant the seed in her mind about looking down. As she stretched her body as much as she could, she could not resist catching a quick glimpse through the pelting snow into the seemingly endless darkness below as she grabbed the frame of the loosely hinged door and, pushing from a crouched position, flung her body hard against it; praying all the while that whoever or whatever had helped her up the tree would help her now. As if a choreographed stunt in a movie, her body hit its mark and the door flung open, allowing her to land, unceremoniously, onto a pile of old, dusty hay. Bits of sharp, dust riddled straw assaulted her nostrils, tossing her into a fit of sneezing as her nose did its best to remove the offending debris. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own as it did its best to cleanse her nasal cavities; stopping only when it had succeeded in flushing the majority of it out and leaving her sadly in need dire of a handkerchief. Rummaging through her pockets, only to come up empty handed, she shrugged and used the sleeve of her down jacket; shuddering at her own actions in the process. This will be a nice cleaning bill!, She thought. The bruise on her rib cage reminded Caitlin of the location of her flashlight. Wincing, she reached in and pulled it out by its thick barrel and clicked the beam on. She had only been in this part of the stable’s loft once and had never really taken the time to inspect it closely. That was long ago, while viewing the property for purchase. Emma’s quarters were on the far end of the building; as was her feed and hay. Shining the flash light’s beam through swirling particles of dust and bits of hay that were sent into action by the gusts of winter that followed her in through the small doorway, she was surprised to come upon what looked like a group of portraits leaning against the wall. Looking closer, she could see that they were of people dressed in eighteenth century attire. Interestingly, one man appeared to be in a confederate solder’s uniform. She was no expert, but after a more in depth examination of the paintings, she was certain that they were not recently painted. They looked old. They looked very, very old. Whoever the artist was, he or she had done a very good job. Caitlin was certain that the artist had managed to portray a very strong likeness to the persons in the paintings. She was not sure how she knew this. It was just something that she felt. The sound of Emma’s stomping in the stall below brought Caitlin back to matters at hand. Making certain to latch the hinged door shut, she searched for the ladder that would take her below and carefully picked her way down it. Once her footing found the concrete base of the stable she relaxed. She was on familiar ground now and, although the flashlight came in handy, she could actually accomplish what she needed to do without light; if the situation called for it. Fortunately, the electricity had not been interrupted by the brutal storm and she was able to light up her surroundings with a flip of the switch. Emma’s excitement in seeing Caitlin was barely contained. There had been no telepathic communication between them since the night Linnie was brutally murdered. But, there was no need for such in order for Caitlin to understand her four legged friend’s greeting. The mare was happy to see that her owner and care taker had arrived safe and sound and equally happy to know that she would be fed and cared for. Although the mare’s part of the old building was fairly well protected from the storm, affording Caitlin the convenience of removing her thick mittens so that her hands could maneuver more comfortably, the heat of Emma’s breath as she nuzzled Caitlin affectionately was welcomed. Working as quickly as she could, Caitlin put a scoop of grain in the feed bucket and made certain that Emma’s blanket was secure before she reached for the pitch fork to remove the soiled hay. A flash in her peripheral vision got Caitlin’s attention enough to cause her to turn quickly, hoping to catch what it might be. But, it was not enough to occupy her thoughts for any length of time when she was unable to see its source. She had grown accustomed to such occurrences. After recognizing that these flashes were not related to the evil that had plagued her life not so long ago, she decided to let well enough alone and not investigate them when they happened. In truth, she was not sure she wanted to know what they were. She had experienced enough of the other side to last her a life time. What she wanted, more than anything, was to enjoy a peaceful life in the country in this beautiful estate house that she had so recently purchased; or it would be beautiful once she had completed the renovations. A cold breeze caressed her cheeks. With the weather being like it was, she thought nothing of it and continued with her chores; hoping to finished quickly and get back to the comfort of a hot bath and a snug blanket. When the breeze did not subside and grew bone chilling, she could not ignore it any longer and she looked around for its source. Her breath caught in her throat and her chest constricted as she found herself staring into the large, brown eyes of the old man with the flannel shirt and jeans. Caitlin realized she was seeing a ghost. A ghost who had not appeared since she had first moved into the house, months ago. Unlike the other times, when he would appear, and then disappear just as quickly, the old man just stood, zombie-like, and as three-dimensionally opaque as any human would be. The only thing differentiating him from Caitlin was the hazy glow around his body. Every nerve stood at attention while she debated what to do. Running away was her first inclination, but a ghost could pop in and out whenever and wherever it desired. Therefore, running seemed a ridiculous solution. Not only was it ridiculous, but how far could she possibly get in this blizzard? She wished Linnie was here. Linnie would know what to do. And, Linnie would not be so frightened. With trembling hands, Caitlin moved the pitch fork in front of her and continued to clean Emma’s stall. Perhaps, if she ignored him, he would go away. The air grew so cold that even Emma was hard pressed to keep warm. Stomping her hoofs in the ground, she snorted her disapproval. The burst of air from her nostrils crystallized almost immediately, creating tiny clouds that floated off to seemingly nowhere. Caitlin was at a loss at what to do. Obviously, this ghost was not going to go away. But, it was not saying anything either. In fact, he was staring at her in such a manner that it frightened her even more; as if the simple matter of seeing a ghost was not frightening enough. Just as she was about to confront him about who he was and what he wanted, he uttered “Caitlin”, in an almost inaudible voice that held a distinct and thick brogue, and then faded into nothingness. Caitlin was dumbfounded. It took a stinging slap across her face by Emma’s coarse tail to bring her back to reality. Her body trembled from the ghostly encounter. But, at least the air was warming up to the point where her breath was not as visible. She recalled a section in the Book of Secrets that she had studied, while under Linnie’s tutorship. It explained why the air would get so cold when a ghost appeared. But, try as she may, she could not remember the details. She shook her head. Did the reasons why really matter after all is said and done? She thought not. She had done her best to forget the traumatic drama of the past; of the months that led up to Linnie’s ferocious and untimely death. As a result of her efforts, she had lost a lot of the teachings that Linnie had worked so hard to instill within her along the way. It’s for the best, she mused, I don’t need to know all of that mumbo jumbo. Look at what it got me. Not to mention what it got Linnie! It’s just as well that I forget it all. Focusing back at the task at hand, she hurried to complete her chores. The encounter with the ghost was quickly pushed into the recesses of her mind, along with the other memories she wanted to diminish and, hopefully forget. ~TWO~ Morning came all too soon for Caitlin. The storm had ceased sometime during the early hours, just before the sun came up, leaving behind it mini mountains of icy snow that now must be removed before her home could run at its normal pace. Caitlin sighed. Winter had somehow snuck up on her. She was not properly prepared for such burdensome weather. She was grateful for the good sense she had exercised when she had followed Linnie’s suggestion over the summer and had purchased the small tractor with a snow plow attachment. A cold reminder of her friend, the valuable piece of equipment had been left dormant since the day it had been delivered. Today it would make its debut. She had programmed her coffee maker prior to going to bed and the wafts of the dark liquid’s rich aroma lured her out from beneath the warm security of her goose down comforter. She hated the cold and would have liked to have been able to move south instead. But, even though she had managed to get away from Manhattan, she still needed to be close enough to interact with her brother and business partner, William, on a regular basis. The area offered the beautiful countryside that she so craved while being less than a two hour train ride into the city; closer to an hour if one drove. She had stumbled upon her property by sheer accident while spending a day with a realtor that had come highly recommended. They spent several days looking at estate properties in Westchester and Orange County, but nothing felt quite right. Pulling into a quaint coffee shop to discuss their next strategy, the realtor set her compact lap top on the table between them and pulled up some more listings for Caitlin’s consideration and there it was, the home of her dreams; literally. There, nestled in a small valley within the New York Catskills was the home that she had seen in her dreams, night after night, since she was a little girl. Even from the small photo in the listing she knew... this was her home. Her search was over. The whirlwind that followed seemed surreal and Caitlin’s purchase and move into her new home was completed in record time. And now, months later, here she was, reflecting back upon her unexplainable rashness and wondering why a house like this would have such a hold on her; but hold it had. Her bed was an invitingly warm and cozy contrast to the air that awaited her outside her covers. She would have stayed in it all day if it had not been for the overwhelmingly rich aroma of the brewed coffee that her automatic coffee maker created faithfully each morning. It was probably the only thing that would have prompted her to brave the brisk air of the large, poorly insulated rooms of the great house. The ringing of the telephone alerted all of her senses and she rushed to answer it, hoping it would be her brother, William, calling to tell her he was on his way. She sure could use his help. William had gone south on vacation mini vacation combined with a brief visit to one of their clients. He had urged Caitlin to join him, but she neither felt the inclination to go, nor did she feel it was possible at the moment since she would need to hire someone to look after Emma and her house while she was away and, after her nightmare with Dominic, her trust level was low. She was not up to meeting anyone new and especially not up to entrusting them with her most precious possession, Emma. After the ordeal that they had all been through, he had hesitated going; thinking it might be better to postpone it for a later date and stay on to care for Caitlin and help her recover from their traumatic battle with Dominic and the loss of her dear friend, Linnie. But, Caitlin would hear nothing of it, insisting that he go. Now, after the horrendous storm last night, she wondered if that had been the wisest choice of action. She was not a farm girl and did not profess to have any skill with something so formidable as a tractor with a plow on the front of it. The thought of having to sit on the mini monster and maneuver it through the thick blanket of heavy, crystallized precipitation that went on for as far as the eye could see was more than a little intimidating. She fervently hoped that it was William who was calling and he would tell her that he had returned early from his trip. Mitch’s voice on the other end of the telephone connection only served to deepen the frown that Caitlin’s trip across the ancient, icy, wood planked floor had practically embedded on her forehead. “So, how goes it out there in no man’s land?” The sarcastic tone of voice that accompanied the equally sarcastic remark grated on her already frazzled nerves. “I understand you had a whopper of a storm last night. I just called to see how you survived it.” “I thought you were on your honeymoon,” Caitlin growled. “I see you are your usual sunny self in the morning. No coffee yet?” Mitch sighed. “And, thank you for your warm congratulations. Yes... I’m very happy.” Having had her rudeness so clearly pointed out startled Caitlin into realizing just how much she had changed since she had moved into her beautiful country estate. As if reading her mind, Mitch continued, “You know, the Caitlin McNevin that I knew and loved would have never been so curt and thoughtless, no matter how she felt inside. She was always the epitome of social etiquette. I’m not sure how I feel about the Caitlin you have become since you moved to the country for a peaceful and relaxing lifestyle. I have to say that I think the hustle and bustle of Manhattan produced a much more amiable woman.” “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling all that great today. Forgive me. And, congratulations on your marriage. I hope you two have a long and happy life together.” After a brief moment of silence, she added, “Really.” “I am happy... thanks. And, I want you to meet her. I think you two will get along great. She has a lot of qualities you’d like. It’s like you two could be sisters or something.” Mitch hesitated, “And, no, that’s not why I married her.” “I didn’t say...” “I thought we’d pop out there this weekend. Will should be back by then, right?” Caitlin groaned inwardly. The last thing she wanted to do was entertain Mitch and his new bride. But, she saw no way out of it. “That’s a great idea. Bring her out. You’re more than welcome.” Although the sun lit up the thick white blanket that gave the illusion of an endless crystal sea, the air was still brutal. Mitch’s voice faded into the background as she focused on the cold that seemed to be easing its way into her room. Although there were some portions of the house that she had not yet managed to protect against the elements, this particular room had been one of the very first to have been cared for. She had watched the first flakes of snow fall with the illusion that she would be warm and snug; in this room at least. The bitter cold that she was experiencing now was frustrating. What could she have missed? What did not get insulated, caulked or weather-stripped? The tickling of the back of her neck as her hair stood at attention alerted her that she was not alone in the room. These feelings only happened when something not human had entered; an explanation for the cold, at least. She was not sure if that should be happy or unhappy about it. Unsure if she was up to facing whatever it was, she closed her eyes and prayed it would go away while Mitch continued with his recapitulation of the events leading up to him meeting Alana; seemingly unaware that his audience was only half listening. Caitlin turned slowly as her eyes combed the room for the intruder. It was only a matter of seconds before she spotted him. The ghost was back. What do you want? Why won’t you just go away? she thought. Her fear had transformed to frustration. Caitlin was not sure if ghosts were telepathic, but she certainly hoped so. Although her body seemed to be frozen, or at least moving in slow motion, her mind was alert and she wanted nothing more than to get the message across to this almost opaque, yet still slightly transparent being that she wanted him to go away and leave her alone. Whether the old man heard her thoughts or simply felt it was time to go, she was not certain as she watched him slowly fade. Just as his shape had reached the point of being barely visible, she heard a faint “Caitlin” in the same thick brogue that had been spoken the night before. She had no idea why this ghost would be calling her name, and, for the present, she had no desire to find it out. “So, does that work for you?” Mitch’s question brought her back to reality. “Does what work for me. I’m sorry... what did you say?” “I said,” Mitch’s impatience was clearly noted in his tone, “we can be there about five o’clock on Saturday.” “Oh, yes... five works fine for me. I’ll make a pot roast or something, okay?” “Sounds good.” Without seeing if Mitch had more to add to the conversation, or even politely saying ‘good-bye’, Caitlin returned the receiver to its cradle and sat down in the antique accent chair next to her dresser. Who was this ghost and why did he keep coming around? She did not like it. She did not like it one bit! If only Linnie were here. Several months had passed and Caitlin was only just allowing herself to think of her good friend after blocking out the trauma of witnessing her untimely demise at the mercy of Dominic’s dog-pigs. She was only just allowing herself to feel the emotions necessary to grieve properly.