Chapter 7

"Now what?" I asked myself, sitting on the side of the road. What I had heard about the town became more baffling by the day. The village appeared every three years for over three centuries. The appearances added up to a lot of towns and villages scattered all over New England. If the people in all of those towns and villages knew something had happened, how could Danielsford possibly have remained a secret? Yet, it seemed all the thousands of people involved somehow kept the secret.

I looked back toward Sherburne Center. I had two ways to go. One took me back through the town and then into New York State. The other led me deep into New England. A sensible person would take the eastern direction. Danielsford was once a small New England village. If my hunch was right, it stayed in New England.

I pulled onto the highway and drove east. A couple of hours later, I arrived in Woodstock. The town sits a few miles from the Vermont and New Hampshire border. I stopped for a cup of coffee at the first restaurant I saw. Inside I asked the waitress, loud enough for those nearby to hear, if she had ever heard of Danielsford. The name meant nothing to her, and she asked me if it was a Vermont town. None of the customers nearby said anything.

"I'm not sure," I replied.

"We have state maps." She gestured toward the cash register. "Are you ready to order?"

I added a hamburger and fries to the cup of coffee. When she left, I glanced out the window. Mary stood beside my car, again looking like a statue. She was barely thirty feet from where I sat. It was as close as she had ever been to me.

Looking at her was unnerving, but I felt little fear and I’m not sure why. Being so close, I noticed other things about her. She didn't look as old as I first thought. I guessed her to be in her middle twenties. She was attractive in a ragged, rough way with an oval face, a narrow chin, and a thin, upturned nose.

Seeing her beside my car, I judged her five feet four to six inches tall. She looked taller, standing straight, with her shoulders thrust back and head held high.

She didn't look straight at me. Instead, she seemed to be looking at the building. Behind me, I heard a woman comment on her and her style of dress, which was unchanged from when I first saw her.

"She isn't unattractive," a man said. "Comb her hair and clean her up, she'd be pretty."

"God, Jerry," the woman answered. "Get serious."

"I am serious," he said.

"Mary Bradbury." I turned to them. I don't know what possessed me to give them her name.

"Pardon?" the man asked.

"The woman out there. Her name is Mary Bradbury."

The man turned to the window as if knowing the woman's name changed his opinion.

"Why is she dressed like that?" the woman asked.

I thought fast, but no answer came. I shook my head.

"She just stands there," the man said.

I looked out the window at the specter, wondering if she planned to kill me in plain view of a dozen people, and realized she could do it with no consequences. The authorities could do nothing to her, assuming they ever found her which was unlikely. She would vanish, either back to Danielsford or into some parallel dimension, which, maybe, is where Danielsford went for the three years in between appearances.

"Like a statue." I turned from the window.

"She's gone," the man blurted. He stood and rushed to the window. "She was there and, poof, gone."

I snapped my head back to the parking lot. She wasn't in the lot, nor was she on the street.

"I mean," the man said, "she was right there, and then she wasn't."

He looked at me, eyes wide.

All I could say was, "I don't know."

"I was looking right at her, too," the woman said. She was now standing at the window. "Who, what is she?"

I opened my mouth and closed it without answering. Despite her sudden disappearance, did I want to tell them about the mysterious town and just as mysterious spirits who hunted me?

The woman tore her eyes from the window and locked them on me. Her voice was demanding. "What is she? How did she disappear like that?"

I took a breath. "She's sort of a ghost."

Both the man and the woman stared at me, waiting for the rest of the story, or for the punch line.

"Have you ever heard of Danielsford?" I asked.

"I heard you ask the waitress," the man said.

"If you don't know about the town, you won't understand her,” I said. It wasn't an answer, and I knew it wouldn't satisfy them.

The man spoke to the woman for a moment, and they joined me in my booth. I decided to tell them my story, took a breath and launched into it, leaving out nothing. As I spoke, their faces changed from curiosity to disbelief on the part of the man. The woman looked uncertain.

"You're joking," the man said. "This is a promotion for a horror movie or something."

"No.” The woman shook her head. "I read about the man you mentioned in the paper. He was killed a few weeks ago. I remember it."

"Hollywood can do amazing things these days," the man continued. He glanced out the window as if looking for a film crew, or maybe expecting Mary to return.

"I'm sure they can," I told him. "Check the Rutland newspaper." I looked at the woman. "Then go down to Massachusetts and talk to Reverend Putnam's wife. If she's still there."

He didn't believe me, and I didn't care. The woman wasn't smiling, and her green eyes remained uncertain. She seemed to want to believe. If Mary hadn't vanished in front of them, I don't think I would have chanced telling the story.

"This woman is supposed to be after you," the man said.

"Yes. Her and the other one I told you about."

"They’re chasing you all over the country, trying to kill you."

"I guess. I don't know. That's what I'm dreaming. The other one is trying to kill me. I guess this one too."

"If it's true," the woman said, "why are they trying? There has to be a reason. You said you didn't open the casket."

I shrugged. "No, I didn't. Maybe that's the reason. But Mary got out anyway. All I know is I didn’t do it."

"Why?"

"Why didn’t I release her?"

“Why is she after you?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe she wants to kill me because I didn’t obey her.”

They stared at me, offering nothing. Had they not seen Mary, I have no doubt they would think I had lost my mind. The woman turned to the window and scanned the parking lot for a few seconds.

“Well, it sure looks like she's released,” the man said.

“So it seems,” I said. “She was out there a few minutes ago.”

"I almost believe you,” the woman said.

"It's the truth," I said.

"This doesn't happen in real life," the man said. "This is Stephen King stuff."

"Where did she go?" the woman asked. She looked at her partner.

"An illusion," the man answered. "Where did the Statue of Liberty go a few years back, when that magician made it disappear?"

"Just remember what I said. That's good enough." I turned my attention to my coffee.

There was nothing more to tell them. They had the entire story, from start to finish. I didn't expect them to believe it. If I were in their place, I'd be just as skeptical.

"We've got to get back to work," the man said. He looked at the woman. I thought they were married. Now I realized they worked together.

"Go ahead," the woman said. "I'll be along in a few minutes."

"Our break is over." The man glanced at his watch.

"I decide when it's over. Go on. Get the shop open. I'll be along in a bit."

The man stood by the booth for a moment looking troubled. A second or two passed, and he shrugged and left.

"Jerry sometimes forgets that it's my business," she explained. "It's slow today. As a rule we don't close for a lunch break."

"What kind?" I asked.

"Souvenirs, curios, for tourists. Junk.” She chuckled softly. "About a third of it made here in Vermont. The rest comes from China. Our customers don't seem to mind as long as Vermont is painted or glued on it.”

"You should do well for another month or so."

She shook her head. "When summer ends, we have stuff for fall, and then winter. We do okay." She held out her hand. "I'm Jackie Horner."

I introduced myself and we shook. Her hand was soft and dry. She was in her forties, a tall woman with light brown almost dark blonde hair. Her eyes were green. Jackie was attractive but not what I'd call beautiful.

"I'm having a hard time believing you, but something tells me that you believe what you're saying. And I saw the woman vanish, so something really strange happened.”

"I've got to believe it," I said. "It happened to me, and it's still happening."

"You'll forgive Jerry and me for being a bit skeptical."

"He's right," I said. "It's right out of a horror novel, or maybe from the Twilight Zone."

"But you say it's all real." She glanced out the window and frowned. “Her vanishing out there was sure real.”

"There's at least one dead man who could confirm it."

"So you said. Mary Bradbury. Where do you think she goes?"

"I wish I knew. She could be right there." I nodded at the parking lot.

"How do you propose to find the town?"

I picked up my cup of coffee and sipped. "Honestly, I haven't got a clue. All I can do is drive around and hope I stumble on it."

She sat back and shook her head. "If what you said is right, it won't come back for three years. You can't just drive around, can you? Don't you need to know where to drive? I mean shouldn’t you have an idea where it will show up?”

"What else can I do? I'm guessing it appears at random, and—”

"Nothing is random. If you find out why it shows up where it does, you can narrow your search."

I nodded. "Like the size of the town. I've already thought of that. There are small towns and villages all over New England."

"Size," she agreed. "Maybe the time of the year, location, who knows? You’ve got to look at all of it."

"And then choose between thousands of small towns, all the while being hunted by a pair of ghosts."

"Have you been to the police?" she asked.

"And tell them what? Officer, two ghosts from the 17th Century are after me?"

She smiled. "And one of them being a witch you think killed a man."

I sighed and looked away. "I'd end up in an asylum."

She scowled. "I'm completely at a loss."

"I know. That's where I am."

She looked out the window again. "It's just so unbelievable. But, she was there, standing right out there by the car."

"Like when she first appeared a few days ago. She didn't move then, either."

Jackie chewed on her lower lip. "Why?"

"Why what?" I asked.

"Why doesn't she move?"

I raised my shoulders an inch. "She doesn't have to. Being there is enough."

"I wonder."

"You lost me."

She shifted position and leaned over the table, resting her elbows on the top. "Why doesn’t she move? There’s got to be a reason.”

"I think she can. One of them moved well enough to kill a grown man."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so, unless something else did it."

"Something like what?"

"I don't have the slightest idea. I'm just tossing out thoughts."

I took a sip of coffee and eyed her, not sure whether she was trying to help me or just humor someone she considered crazy.

She checked her watch. "Look, I really need to get going. Are you staying in town tonight?"

I shot a quick glance at the parking lot. "With her out there, I don't think so."

"Where will you go?" She slid from the booth.

"I’ll go in whatever direction the car is pointing after I back out of the space."

She looked disappointed. "I wish you well. Look me up next time you come through." She handed me a business card. "I'm just up the street."

"I will." I glanced at the card.

With a last look, she left. I finished my hamburger and fries, paid, and walked out the door. Mary hadn't returned, but I wasn't sure she ever left. I stepped outside and stood in front of the door, looking up and down the small parking lot, and paying particular attention to the area of the lot around my car.

She wasn't in sight, which didn't mean a thing. For all I knew, she might be sitting in the back seat waiting for me. I climbed in and drove east, toward White River Junction and the New Hampshire border. When I got there, I could cross into New Hampshire or stay in Vermont. In the back of my mind, a tiny voice told me this was the way to play it, not deciding until the last minute.

Was the little voice my sixth sense, and if it was what did it mean? Could Mary Bradbury read my mind? By not making a plan, I seemed able to stay ahead of her.

It proved nothing. She always caught up. Maybe I was granting her more power than she had and, in the process, saddling myself with more worries and concerns than necessary.

When I got to White River Junction, I had a decision to make. I saw the sign and made my choice.