Page 4 of Widow’s Walk

Like the slow exhale of the mansion itself. Not menacing, not heavy, but protective. A reassurance that she wasn’t alone, no matter what other people thought of her, what she thought of herself. A reassurance that her path to make a place of healing and sanctuary was right. She could feel it physically, like a hand placed gently on her shoulder. The hand sought to heal itself through her, her work, her vision.

Amy’s eyes flew open, heart ticking faster. The room looked the same as it always had, the old beams, the flicker of her salt lamp, the pile of unopened mail on the counter.

No one else here. Just her imagination, surely.

Still, the sensation clung to her skin like a memory.

She shook her head, pressing her palms to her knees to dismiss the feeling. The house was history, bricks and beams, not a living thing to be healed.

But the calm left behind was real enough to steady her. And for now, that was more than enough.

Chapter 2

Sully stood in the grand foyer of the old mansion, the once-imposing chandelier above him now draped in dusty plastic sheeting. The renovation work had been underway for months, but the scale of the task still daunted him. Even when the evident progress of the work had begun showing itself weeks ago.

He surveyed the ornate staircase first. It was once a thing of beauty, with intricate balusters worn smooth by generations of hands. It needed a full replacement. Dry-rotted as it was, it was no longer safe.

At the top of the stairs, a dark hallway stretched into shadow. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and secrets. Sully’s gaze lingered on the far end of the hall, where a series of strange markings had been etched into the floorboards beneath the faded carpet.

“Hey, boss!” called out one of his crew members, startling Sully from his thoughts. “We found something weird under the flooring we’re replacing in the east wing. Looks like more of those old nails or something.”

Sully’s brow furrowed. The east wing was an area that had given them trouble, with inexplicable cold spots and a pervasive sense of unease that left even his most seasoned workers on edge. Most of the crew avoided the area unless they had to be in there. It was the reason he’d put it off until these last phases of the renovation.

“Clean it up and keep going,” Sully said, sounding more confident than he felt. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

“I don’t know, boss,” Diego said. “I’d feel better about it if you’d come look.”

The ball of worry tightened in his gut. They’d already found several of these patterns in the lower levels, so something about this one must be off—more off than usual—for it to need his personal attention. He nodded and followed Diego back to where they had been working. A pair of workers stood to the side, mumbling among themselves.

Sully gazed at the spot where water-damaged boards near the French balcony doors had been removed. He resisted taking a sharp intake of breath. Before him was an elaborate design of old iron nails embedded into the mansion’s subfloor, likely during the mansion’s original construction. It resembled the same circular daisy-wheel pattern they had seen on the main floor locations, but it was much bigger and the nails were arranged more densely and tightly. As if they wanted to leave no gaps or spaces.

“Well, that’s interesting, Diego,” Sully started, attempting to cover his worry in front of the crew. “Ms. York had asked me to let her know when we found another one of these. She wanted to see it. I guess we’ll have to wait for her…”

“That ain’t all, boss,” Diego said, pointing to the French glass doorframe.

The crew had been replacing the door and window casings as they renovated, particularly to repair any water damage or any insect infestation that may have occurred during the mansion’s years of disuse.

He was greeted with a sight that stopped him in his tracks. There, carved into the window casings and trim, were intricate symbols unlike anything he had seen before. The crew stood back, their faces a mix of fascination and nervousness.

“What the hell is all this?” Sully asked. He stepped closer, running his fingers over the elaborate markings. It looked like a pentagram, surrounded by a dizzying array of circular symbols. They were deep, deliberate cuts, far more complex than the simple etchings they had discovered previously.

Sully swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure in front of his crew. “Looks like somebody had a lot of time on their hands,” he said, forcing a chuckle. “Probably just some bored kid messing around. Why don’t you all go to lunch early so you can start on the room next door? Like I said, Ms. York is out this morning, but she’ll want to see this. Hopefully she won’t delay us.”

As his crew dispersed, mumbling among themselves, Sully’s thoughts turned to Amy’s ghost theory and the possibility that there was a darker history lurking beneath the mansion’s faded grandeur. Sully pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Amy: Found something you’ll want to see in the east wing.

Amy’s response came swiftly. I’ll be back mid-afternoon; can you send a pic?

After snapping a few photos and sending them on to Amy, Sully pocketed his phone. Alone in the room, he felt uneasy. He had never been one to put much stock in superstitions or believe in ghosts, but the longer he studied the old markings the more he questioned his own skepticism.

Amy stood at the front of the room, her hands clasped tightly behind her back to keep them from shaking as she faced the Widow’s Point Town Council. The room was filled with seven of the island’s most influential people, their faces patiently curious.

She could feel their eyes on her, assessing her every move, and she fought the urge to bolt out the door. Who was she to be asking them for money after all? She still felt like an outsider on the island and knew the people in front of her thought of her as one. If not now, they surely had at one time.

Mayor Hartwell sat at the center of the long table, gazing at her from behind the reading glasses perched on his nose. “Thank you for coming today, Ms. York,” he said, his voice filling the room. “We’re eager to hear about the progress of the old mansion restoration and how it will benefit our community.”

Amy nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She clicked on her laptop, bringing up the first slide of her presentation—a beautiful photo of the mansion with the gardens in full bloom. She’d taken the picture last year, before Truman Costigan’s death and bequest. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Its beauty grounded her. It was the cornerstone of her ideas.

Amy nodded, took a deep breath to steady herself, and summoned her strength. She clicked on the projector to bring up the first slide of her presentation.