The Wishing Well

THE WISHING WELL
BY
DOUG LeBLANC

CHAPTER 1


The ship slowed as it entered the harbour. Lucille, watching from the deck despite the inclement weather, noticed an overgrown area off to the north. Strange, that in an area of cultured gardens and beautiful mansions, such a wild bit of land seemed so out of character for the area. She found herself relating to the strange area, as she felt herself to be out of place here. She came from a poor family, yet here she was, engaged to a man she barely knew. He was wealthy, and with her marriage she was assured a life of luxury and comfort. Love would probably not be involved in the marriage, but then it so seldom was in these hard times.
She sighed, and wondered for the hundredth time if she would ever be happy in such a place, and with such a man. Char Giltran was a wealthy man, and a stern one. They belonged to the same church, and the parson had arranged the marriage for them. She had met him once, at Christmastime two years before. He was some years her senior, but he was single and childless. He was a decent, respectable man: an upstanding member of his church and community. And he was old, and they had practically nothing in common.
As she gazed toward the overgrown garden, she noticed a small girl staring at her. She looked so small and frail, and sad and alone. A kind of recognition passed between them, both strangers in this land, and both frightened by the prospect.
She became aware of someone beside her, and she glanced over to see Reverend Jondar standing there. He was a tall, aging man, severe-looking, as one would expect from a clergyman. Only she and a handful of others knew this to be false; he was a clever, intelligent man with a delightful sense of humour. He had been the cornerstone of her life for many years now, someone to be relied upon for almost anything. She shivered, as much from the chill air as from the feeling of impending doom with her coming marriage to a man she barely knew.
She nodded to him, and he smiled in return.
“Nervous?” he inquired.
“Of course. I don’t get married every day, you know.”
He laughed. “Well, I should hope not. But don’t worry, everything will work out fine. You’ll see.”
She took some comfort from his presence, even to the point of almost believing his assurances. She pointed to the overgrown area. “That girl over there. Who is she?”
“Where? I don’t see anyone.”
“She’s staring right at us. She all dressed in white. You must be able to see her.”
He peered into the distance, trying to make out anyone at all, but he couldn’t see anyone. “My dear, I see no one, but perhaps she’s hidden from where I am standing.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re standing right beside me! If I can see her, surely…” She trailed off into silence.
The reverend glanced at her, then glanced back in surprise. Lucille had gone as white as a sheet.
“My dear, what’s wrong? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“The girl’s gone,” she whispered.
“Well, she must have left to return to her home.”
“She didn’t leave. She vanished. She just faded away, right before my eyes.”
The reverend was silent. He didn’t know what to say.
“Please tell me I’m foolish.”
“Lucille, you’re not a foolish person. However, in this light, at this distance, you easily could’ve thought you’d seen this.”
She shivered, but not from the cold. “As you say. Still, it was strange.”
“Come, we’ll head below decks. Its is no weather for gentle folk like us.” He took her arm, and guided her toward the stairs, but not with out a backward glance. He had never seen the little girl himself, but he had heard of her many times over the years. He hoped he had heard the last.

“So, any questions?”
“Are you joking? I’ve got dozens of them. Starting with the obvious one: why is he called ‘Char’?”
He chuckled. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that. He’s called Char because in the days of his youth, he used to go hunting. During such trips he had to do his own cooking, and no one showed him how. He burnt almost everything he ate, and to this day he insists on most of his food being overcooked. He claims he likes it that way, but there are those who believe he’s too stubborn to admit he couldn’t (and still can’t) cook.”
She laughed nervously, but the reverend continued.
“I know it’s hard, child, but sometimes life means taking chances. Try to make as much happiness for yourself as you can. I won’t say it will be easy, especially at first, but I think you’ll find Char is a good man, and will do almost anything to make you happy. Give yourself time.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered as a tear coursed down her cheek. Just then the ship docked, and she wiped away the tear. The reverend gallantly escorted her off the ship and into her future.

The nuptials were conducted some days later with considerable pomp and ceremony. For their honeymoon they traveled to a distant castle of a close friend, where they rode about the countryside in style, if not in grandeur. Much to Lucille’s surprise, she actually found herself enjoying the experience.
After three weeks they returned home, and life settled into something akin to domestic bliss. Char, although seemingly a severe and hard man on the outside, turned out to be more gentle than he appeared. He was still somewhat rough around the edges, but there was nothing Lucille couldn’t live with.
Her life had, as the good reverend predicted, become quite comfortable. And would have remained so, had she not seen the girl in the garden.

CHAPTER 2

Saturday. There was little to do, and this warm spring day, Lucille decided to go out exploring. The winter had been long and difficult, making the spring the more welcome. Leaves budded on the trees, flowers burst into colourful life, and smiles made their way onto faces softened by the spring warmth.
Lucille, deciding this was a perfect time to learn her way about the neighborhood, set out armed with a map and a sizable lunch. She waved off several offers of accompaniment from servants and relatives, and made her way cheerfully into the bright May morning, determined to enjoy some time alone for a change.
She strolled about casually, greeting and meeting neighbors with whom she had not yet become acquainted, extending and accepting invitations to visit.
Finally, she came to her destination. A road led up a pathway overgrown and rank with weeds. Thick brush crowded in on both sides, making the entrance difficult to manage. She pushed her way in, and, after several minutes effort, found herself at a huge iron gate. A ‘NO TRESSPASSING’ sign hung from it, and a huge, rusted padlock discouraged further entry. She sighed, knowing she could go no further.
Just beyond the gates was an old sign. She leaned in to get a better view, and pushed hard on the gate. Much to her surprise, the gate actually opened! The lock, worn and rusted with age, , simply fell apart when she pushed against the gate. She stood there, wondering if she should go in. The way beckoned, and finally she pushed past the gate, which opened with a terrible creaking sound. She came to the sign, and it read ‘Vicheleau Gardens ’.
She looked about. Off in the distance she could see a large mansion, possibly a castle. Yet before her lay, faint but unmistakable, a pathway. Taking up her courage, she pushed her way into the thick growth, and followed it.
After struggling against the dense brush for what seemed an eternity, she stopped and took out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat from her brow. She had been wandering for a long time, and had been so engrossed with simply making her way forward that she lost track of her whereabouts. She looked around to get her bearings, and realized with a touch of fright that she had no idea where she was. There was only the trees and thick brush all around her, and the afternoon was wearing on. Still, she could make out a glimpse of water through the trees, and decided there wasn’t that much farther to go. Gathering her courage and strength, she pushed forward.
Making her way through a particularly difficult passage, she burst through the trees to find herself in the middle of a clearing. She gave a little sigh of relief, then sat down on one of the stone benches that circled the area. She looked about her, and noticed a large, ivy covered object nearby. She made her way to it, and, pushing apart some of the vines, discovered a wishing well!
She laughed with delight. It was almost exactly like one she knew as a child. She had many fond memories of the place, and smiled at them. She laughed aloud at one in particular, and the laugh echoed in the well.
“Hello!’ she called gaily.
“Hello, hello, hello,” answered the well.
“I like you!” she called out down.
“I like you, I like you, I like you!’ the well answered.
“I like you, too!” a small girl’s voice answered faintly, and her blood froze. She looked down, and a face looked back at her, and it began to laugh.
Lucille turned, and bolted. She ran, wild and careening through the bushes and trees, not watching where she was going, and not caring. The faint sound of laughter followed her, and she stumbled and fell. She pushed herself to her feet, and looked back. The little girl in the white dress was there, looking directly at her. A sound reached her ears; a voice that called to her.
“Wait, don’t go, I’m not dead!” the wind seemed to whisper.
Lucille screamed, and ran. She reached the gate, and burst through it, and ran until she reached the road. There she could run no more, but collapsed to the ground, he legs throbbing with cramps. She lay there, her blood pounding in her ears, listening for all she was worth for the sounds of pursuit. She lay like that for long minutes, but heard nothing.
Finally, she pulled herself to her feet and looked back. There was nothing following her. However, she could hear a sound behind her, and looked up. A carriage was approaching, and she waved to it. A face appeared out of the side, and her heart sank. It was her husband, with a look of anger. She boarded the carriage gingerly, and tried to pretend that nothing had occurred, but her disheveled appearance and physical exhaustion belied her statements. Despite her unwillingness, he managed to get the whole truth out of her.
And he didn’t believe her. She sat in the carriage, devastated by his words. The colour left her face, completely unable to deal with his disbelief. His demands to know what really happened left her stunned and frustrated. She had no idea what to say, except to reiterate the truth. Their arrival home forestalled any further questioning, but she had no doubt the issue would be resumed soon enough. At least she would have time to think of something.
Unfortunately, she was unable to think of anything whatsoever. Her husband pressed her, but she stayed with her story. However, the admission that she must have imagined it due to the heat and exhaustion, seemed to mollify him somewhat. He made her promise never to venture onto those lands again, and she did so willingly. Nothing could ever persuade her to ever return to that terrible place. She had no idea how wrong she was.

Standing alone on a hilltop. It was daytime, and she could see a ship coming in, with a lady in a beautiful dress standing on the deck. She looked directly at her, and the lady returned the look. Slowly, she could feel herself slipping away, letting go, fading out. She panicked, grabbing for the lady’s mind.
Lucille woke into darkness, the words echoing around in her head, “Help me, I’m not dead!” She was sure she had not said them out loud, but had only heard them in her mind. She was sweating profusely, blood pounding in her veins. Slowly she calmed herself down. It was only a dream. It was all a dream, just a dream. Only a dream. She lay down again beside her husband, and tried to go to sleep. A long, long time later, she succeeded.
She awoke again, this time to morning light pouring in through the open window. She felt tired, but rose and dressed quickly, knowing her husband’s attitude toward sloth. Soon she was bustling about, getting ready for Sunday services, grateful to be occupied with everyday, mundane tasks.
Services this morning were certainly enjoyable, as were the meetings with friends afterwards. Indeed, she met a new deacon that day; an old and dear friend of Reverend Jondar. He was Reverend Alder, a kind and gentle man, soft spoken and well learned. His wife had but recently died, and a sense of grief still lingered about him. He also claimed to be interested in the history of the area, and wanted to lean more about it. Lucille was immediately taken with the idea, and offered to assist in any way that she could. Reverend Alder was pleased with the offer, especially as his free time was severely limited with his many tasks. He was pleased for another reason, but he thought it best to keep silent about it. He felt sure the others would disapprove, and he was quite right.
Char did not seem in complete favour with the notion, but could think of no good objections, so allowed the matter to be. At least it would take her mind off that other matter, and put her to some worthwhile pastime. Or, at least, so he hoped.

Lucille threw herself into the area’s history with enthusiasm. Reverend Alder was delighted to have found so willing an assistant, one who shared his passion for the subject. Together they uncovered much of the district’s past, even to the revealing of a scandal or two. However, it was a cold, rainy spring day when Lucille found out something she rather she hadn’t. It involved a murder that happened more than fifty years previously. It happened in a place with an unusual name. The place was Vicheleau Gardens.
She looked up from reading the name. A shiver ran down her spine as she thought of the girl she had seen. It had never occurred to ask herself why the girl, especially such a young, pretty girl, should be haunting a wishing well. She decided she really didn’t want to know, and put the book down. She sat there for the longest time, just staring blankly, feeling a cold, ominous chill run through her, and she shivered. She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to know.
Just then the door banged open, startling her badly. The cleaner bustled in, mumbling about too much work and not enough time to do it in. She replaced the book in its place, and departed.

That night she dreamed again. She dreamed of the wishing well, of making a wish, then of being inside the well. She splashed about, trying to climb the rock walls, but she kept sliding back down. Slowly she realized that the water level was rising, and that if she didn’t get out soon, she would drown. In a panic, she began to scream and thrash about, struggling against the pull of the water, when a hand reached out and grabbed her…
She awoke to her husband calling her name, half in anger, half in fear. He disliked anything to do with emotional outbursts.
“It’s all right, I’m awake now.”
“What happened?” he demanded.
“A dream, it was just a dream.”
He looked at her strangely. “I don’t think so. Look at yourself.”
She did, and gasped. She was soaking wet, completely and utterly soaking wet. She could only stare in bewilderment. How did this happen? Why did it happen? How could she be soaking right through to her bedclothes, while her husband’s side of the bed was completely and utterly dry? So great was the difference that it seemed as if someone had drawn a line down the middle of the bed. Further more, how was it possible for one side of a bed to be soaking wet, without wetting the other side?
“Clean yourself up,” he muttered gruffly. “You can’t sleep in that wet.”
She was about to say something, then saw the look on Char’s face. She had ever seen him look so afraid before. Nodding, she rose to clean and dry herself off.
When she had done so, she returned to the bed, only to discover that it was completely dry. Char looked at her strangely. “It was dry as soon as you left.”
Lucille lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin. They both lay there in the darkness, staring blindly into the face of fear until dawn came to relieve them.

CHAPTER 3

Inclement weather forced Lucille indoors the next day, but she felt restless and irritable. What happened the night before bothered both her and her husband, but they did not speak of it, almost by decree. She spent the day wandering about the large house, not really paying much attention to where she was going. She found herself climbing a large tower in a part of the house she had never been before. Soon she was gazing out from a lofty bell tower. She turned her gaze to each direction in turn, but she stopped when she looked east. There lay Vicheleau Gardens like a smudge on the horizon. Suddenly, for all the distance, she could see it up close. And she knew the girl was looking back at her. She wanted to see better, so she leaned closer over the rail, then a little closer, then a little closer…
Suddenly a hand shot out and pulled her back. “Lucille, Lucille, don’t, you’ll fall!” It was Char, and his look was grim.
“You’ve got to stop this. I’ll lose you if you don’t stop it!” He sounded at once angry and afraid, but his words got through to her, and she blinked herself out of the stupor. With a gasp the full realization of what he said went through to her, as well as the danger she was in. With a rush she was in his arms, crying with relief and gratitude. Gently he led her down from the tower, then locked the door behind him when they made it out.
Lucille lay down for the rest of the day, trying to escape the feelings that coursed through her. Without effort she could remember drowning in the wishing well. Without effort she could see the lady on the ship from so far away, and could feel herself fading, fading…
It was only then that the obvious struck her full force. She could see through the dead girl’s eyes! The lady on the ship was her! How? Why? The blood ran cold through her veins. Fear was like a living thing in her chest, and she struggled with it; trying to conquer the terror that threatened to engulf her.
As she calmed herself down, she began to come to grips with this, phenomenon, as she called it. Obviously, whatever had happened was something terrible. Equally obviously, whatever was going on was not going to leave her alone. Therefore, there was only one thing to do. She had to confront not only her fears, but she had to find out what had happened. Maybe then she could find a cure for this trouble. She knew she could not tell her husband what her intentions were, though. He would undoubtedly shy away from such superstitious nonsense. Equally, there was little chance of enlisting aid from anyone else in the matter. She was as likely to end up in an asylum as anything else. No, whatever needed doing, she would have to do alone.
The place to start, then, was the book she left in the library. Taking courage in hand, she returned there the next day to begin the task of… whatever. She would take this one step at a time, or she would lose her nerve. Slow and easy, that was the answer. First, she had to find out what had happened.
She quickly found the book she needed, and retired to a table to read. The horror of what happened that day at Vicheleau Gardens soon became manifest. She could hardly keep her hands steady as she read the account of the killings. It seems it started with a spoiled little girl named Julie.
As the tale unfolded, she gasped aloud. It seems the young child was precocious, to say the least. Her father remarried, and the woman he married was horrid to the little girl. She returned the sentiment with fervor, and a deep, mutual hatred was born. The father was so taken with his new wife that he overlooked many of the abuses the step-mother heaped on the girl.
Finally, it seems the girl could take no more, and poisoned the lady. She drank lemonade laced with hemlock, and died screaming. Apparently, a second glass of lemonade was found as well, clean of the poison. The father, upon finding his beloved wife dead, went mad with rage. He went looking for the girl, and found her cowering on the grounds of their property. Taking the girl, he cast her into a wishing well on their land. He later claimed before the servants that he only intended to imprison the girl overnight, and had fully intended to get her out the next morning. However, when he returned the next day, the water in the well had risen unexpectedly, and she had drowned. The man, filled with grief and sorrow, then went home, took a rope, and hung himself from a tree in the garden.
The land passed to a distant cousin, who moved to the property. However, he just as quickly moved out again, when it became apparent that the land was, well, strange. No explanation could be found for the odd occurrences that went on there. Soon the house was boarded up, and the land was put up for sale. Several buyers were interested at first, but quickly lost interest upon investigation of the property.
So the lands called Vicheleau Gardens remained, desolate and worthless to the people that owned it. A people who moved out of the area to escape the terrible place, and were poverty-stricken as a result. The family’s name, it seemed, was D’varelle.
Lucille looked up to see Reverend Arden staring at her. A look of pity washed over his face.
“I’m sorry, my dear. Reverend Jondar wanted me to keep you from learning the truth, but I felt it wrong to hide it from you. I put the book here deliberately, so you could learn the truth for yourself.”
She sat staring for a long, long time. Feelings rushed through her, feelings she couldn’t even put a name to. Reverend Arden remained standing, watching her, to see what she would do.
“Julie?” she asked quietly.
“Your cousin, twice removed. She was killed in the wishing well.”
“The others?”
“Her step-mother’s name was Alicia, her father was Thomas. He was an uncle on your father’s side.”
She looked at him hard. “What can I do?”
He shrugged, then smiled. “I have no idea. That’s up to you.”
She stared at the wall again. What could she do? Then slowly, slowly, an idea began to creep in. Maybe something the girl said could be the key…
She thanked the reverend absently, then left the library. Reverend Alder watched her go, wondering what events he had set in motion. Normally, he would not have done anything of the kind, but this was as special case. Perhaps she could succeed where he had failed. Perhaps…

CHAPTER 4

Before she could accomplish what she felt she had to do, she needed information. She wanted to go into this as fully prepared as possible, and she wasn’t going to worry how any of it sounded. No matter how superstitious it seemed, she was going in armed to the teeth, spiritually speaking.
She found information, but it wasn’t what she thought it would be. It seems the authorities were looking for one of the ghosts with an long-outstanding warrant. The warrant was never served, of course, but it was still on record. She found it in the records of the police, and was fascinated by it.
Almost a week had passed before she was ready to begin her assault of the ghosts of Vicheleau Gardens. She fought against it, and tried to talk herself out of going. Alone in the night, she had to admit she was terrified. She didn’t want to face this, especially knowing she would have to face it alone. She struggled toward calm, and soon found it. She was getting good at this, she thought wryly. If she was successful, she could open up her own business: Spiritual Removals. She chuckled to herself, relieved that she still had a sense of humour.
The next night she crept from her house without waking her husband. The clock had struck midnight some time ago, and she rose, dressed, and slipped out the front door without anyone being the wiser. She made her way on foot down the road, and was there in minutes that seemed to take forever.
Soon she was at the iron gate, and pushed it open. The creak it made sounded, she told herself, like it would wake the dead. It was, to say the least, an unfortunate choice of words, but she could not resist the giggle that escaped from her lips. She simply could not be that serious all the time.
She stared at the darkened path before her. The moon was full, and lit the way under the leafy canopy, but she hesitated. The first step on the pathway would lead to the most frightening experience of her young life, and she would need every bit of courage she could muster to face it. She wanted to turn for home, to run back to the safety of other people. However, she knew that whatever haunted this place was haunting her, and would not leave her alone. Better to confront it now, than to have the nightmare continue further.
She needed no other encouragement, and plunged into the darkened pathway. Once more she struggled through the dense brush and scrub, finding her way only very carefully in the deep moon shadows. A few times she stopped to check her directions, keeping the old house on her left as she went.
Finally, she struggled into the clearing with the stone benches, and, further along, the wishing well. Once more she was struck by the beauty of the place, made even more enchanting in the bright moonlight. She hesitated, listening closely, but she could hear nothing but the normal noises of the night. Slowly she made her way to the well, and stopped.
And waited. Moments lengthened into minutes, and still nothing happened. All right, I’m here, she thought. Where were all the ghosts? What was this, Hide n’Seek? When she doesn’t want the girl around, she pops up all over the place, and now that she does want her, she’s nowhere to be found.
“Hello?” she called into the well.
“Hello, hello, hello,” it echoed back.
“Julie?”
No answer. Silence came out of the well like a blanket. It flooded around her, it smothered her, it engulfed her. Overwhelmed, she staggered back from the well.
When she looked up, the girl was there. Her ghostly presence flooded Lucille with fear, but she took hold of herself, and stood her ground. The girl gazed back at her with ghostly eyes.
“Julie?” she asked.
This time she answered. “How did you know my name?” the voice whispered.
“I am Lucille D’varelle; or at least, I was. I’m married now. We are cousins.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you haunt this place?”
“I’m not dead!” she sobbed. “I can’t leave here.”
“Of course you’re not dead. How could you be talking to me if you’re dead?”
Julie looked surprised. “I don’t know. I’m not sure why I’m the way I am.”
“Have you tried to leave?”
“Y-yes, but I came back here. I couldn’t go away, because there’s nowhere to go.”
“Wouldn’t you want to go to heaven?” Lucille inquired gently.
Her ghostly eyes widened. “But that would mean I’m dead, and I’m not!”
Lucille looked at her, and pitied her. She was so lost and forlorn, but Lucille was unsure how to help her. Then she thought of something.
“You remember what happened in the well, don’t you?”
Julie looked away. “No.”
“I think you do,” she said gently.
“I SAID NO!”
“What do you remember?”
She hesitated. “Father was angry. He took my hand, and dragged me here. He wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to tell him it was an accident, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“What did he…, what do you mean, it was an accident?” she demanded sharply, her attention diverted.
“The poison that woman drank. The lemonade wasn’t for her.”
“Then who was it for?”
She shook her head, and looked away.
“Julie, who was the lemonade for?” she asked gently.
“No one. That woman took the glass away from me. I made lemonade for me, but she took the glass from me, like she always did.”
She understood. “But you knew she would. You knew she would take the lemonade from you, so you put poison in it.”
“Yes. Nothing would have happened to her if she hadn’t taken the lemonade from me.”
“I see.” She could, indeed. What a monstrous way to get back at someone.
“And what happened when you father found out?”
“He brought me here.”
“And then what happened?”
“He dropped me in the well. I couldn’t get out, and he said he’d come and get me in the morning, then we’d see.”
“And then the water came.”
“Yes,’ she whispered.
“How much water?”
“Too much.”
“And you couldn’t get out.”
She didn’t answer.
“What happened next?”
“Nothing. Father didn’t come back. He stayed with that woman.”
“How could he? She died!”
She shrugged. “She’s still there.”
Lucille looked shocked. “Still where?”
“In the house, with Father. They hate each other.”
“I thought they loved each other!’ she said in surprise.
“They did once, I think. Now he hates her.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
Suddenly, Julie looked up in anger. “Go away! I don’t want you here anymore. Go away!”
“It’s because he killed you, isn’t it? Then he found out you were lost in the well, and weren’t responsible for his wife’s death, after all.”
“GO AWAY!”
“No, I can’t, not any more. You’re a part of me, and I have to get you out of here.”
“You can’t,” she whispered. “No one can. I’ll be here forever.”
“I think I know a way.”
She looked up, almost daring to hope. “How?”
“You have to let yourself go.”
She thought about it. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yes, it does. The one holding you here is you.”
“But I’m not dead!” she almost screamed.
“No, you’re very much alive. But you’ve changed. You no longer have to stay here. You can leave whenever you want to.”
She looked down. “I tried. I can’t.”
“You can.”
“You don’t understand. She’ll send me back.”
“Who, your mother?”
The little girl exploded. The whispered voice became a tornado. “SHE’S NOT MY MOTHER! DON’T YOU DARE CALL THAT BITCH MY MOTHER!”
Suddenly, Lucille became aware of another presence, and a lady appeared before them. “I am Lady D’varelle,” she said imperiously.
Lucille sighed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she had hoped.
“This little wicked monster will NOT be allowed to leave. She will stay here forever.”
“Like you?” Lucille inquired mildly.
The woman turned her cold, ghostly eyes on her. “How dare you?” she seethed.
Another shadowy figure formed, and a third ghost joined them. This was turning into a family affair with ghosts! Slowly the figure materialized into the figure of a middle-aged man.
“I am Lord D’varelle,” he said imperiously. “I give the commands here.”
Lucille drew a deep sigh, and prayed for patience. This was getting more difficult by the moment.
“So you believe,” exclaimed Lady D’varelle, “as you always have. However, I have no need to listen to such as you!”
“Worthless!” Lucille said into the darkness.
They turned to her. “What did you say?” the Lord inquired.
“I said worthless, and I meant it. I’ve never seen three more useless people in my life.”
They gaped at her.
“You’ve allowed your useless, stupid squabbles to go on for so long now that you don’t know how to live. You’re all lost and pathetic. You’ve allowed your worthless, bitter hatred to dominate your life to the point of not being able to live without it. Lord D’varelle can’t forgive himself for allowing his daughter to die, but can’t forgive his daughter for being responsible for his wife’s death. Lady D’varelle can’t forgive her husband for allowing her to die, although he had nothing to do with it; nor can she especially forgive Julie, because she took the poison glass from her, and she can’t forgive herself for falling for such a simple trick. Yet she is responsible for her own death, because of her wanton abuse of the child, without which none of this would have happened. And Lord D’varelle can’t forgive himself for loving such a vile creature.
“And Julie. Dear little Julie. Sad, little Julie. Such a pretty little girl, so sad, so alone, so wicked.”
“I am not wicked!” she replied angrily.
“You knew your step-mother would take the glass from you. What you did you did deliberately.”
“That’s true, you little monster!” the lady cried. “You poisoned me deliberately!”
“Which wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t been abusing her in the first place. Imagine, taking a glass of lemonade from a little girl. How shameless can you be?”
“I….”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Lucille demanded angrily. “I am tired of your pathetic excuses, and your pathetic, wasted deaths. Simpering fools! I know each of you would rather not face it, but the truth is none of you is blameless. Each of you is going to have to do something in order to live as you’re supposed to live. You’re going to have to forgive each other.”
The lady drew herself imperiously. “Never! That disgusting child will never be forgiven for killing me!”
“Then you’ll stay here for the rest of eternity,” Lucille told her coldly.
Father and daughter exchanged troubled looks, obviously not wanting to let go of their hatred, but feared being doomed to walk the earth forever. Julie shook her head, wanting and not wanting to free herself of the burning anger.
Yet her father looked afraid, and at last, turned to his daughter. “Julie, I didn’t mean for you to die. I didn’t know the water would rise so high that night. I was so angry, and I loved Alicia so much. Please, please forgive me.”
Julie hung her head, but didn’t say anything.
The Lord turned to Alicia. “My dear, I loved you so much. I wanted you and Julie to be close, and I couldn’t or wouldn’t see how much you were hurting each other. I ask you to forgive me as well.”
A look of grave indecision crossed her face, But Alicia’s pride overcame her. “I might consider it, but you forget something. You have no right asking forgiveness from that little brat! She got what she deserved for what she did to me!”
“Alicia, please!” he begged, but to no avail.
“You worthless bitch!” Lucille growled, truly angry now. “All of this is your fault. You lied to Thomas, didn’t you?”
“Lied?” she cried, aghast, fading slightly in the dim light. “I have never lied to anyone. How dare you suggest I lied!”
A slight smile played about Lucille’s lips. “Alicia, I know about your little secret.”
If it were possible for a ghost to blanch, she would have.
“I have no secrets from my husband.”
“Which one?” Lucille asked mildly.
Thomas turned to her. “What do you mean?”
Lucille smiled. “Well, Alicia? Do you want to tell him, or shall I?”
“Tell me what?” he demanded harshly.
At Alicia’s silence, Lucille went on. “It seems you were not dear Alicia’s first love of her life; nor even her first husband. Nor her second, for that matter. In fact, she’s had more than one at the same time!”
“You lie!” Alicia screamed.
Thomas turned to his love. “Is this true?” he demanded, incredulously.
“Of course not! She’s lying to get you to do what she says! None of this is true!”
“Oh, you haven’t heard the best part yet. It seems that not all of her husbands died of natural causes. In fact, there was a warrant out for her arrest from London, England. It also seems the police found out about her last husband’s unfortunate demise, and her assistance in the matter. It also seems he died of hemlock poisoning,” she said with a glance at Julie. “Tell me, Julie, where did you get the hemlock you used in the lemonade?”
“From her own room, actually. I found a lot of it there.”
They all turned and looked at her. She backed away from them. “No, no, she’s lying, making this up to make you hate me…”
“I’m not lying, dear Alicia. You were going to poison Thomas, and probably Julie as well, but you had to wait for his new will to be made out. She did ask you to make out a new will, didn’t she, Thomas?”
He nodded, but would not speak. His ghostly image began to fade slightly. The hours were growing long, and the dawn was not far off. She had to hurry.
“And when you had done so,” she continued, “ you would have been killed. Thomas, you do right to reproach yourself for Julie’s death, and for your own. However, these things were done out of sorrow and grief. I’m sure you already have God’s forgiveness. Now you need your own. You were a good man, and a God-fearing man. There is a place for you in Heaven.”
She turned to Julie. “And you,” she said gently. “You knew the woman was no good for your father, but he would not listen to you. Your crime was heinous, but not unforgivable; it was certainly understandable. Let go of your hatred, of herself and yourself, and you will be free.”
The young ghostly figure looked at her father. The moment hung in the balance, and it seemed the whole world waited to see what would they would decide. Finally, slowly, they moved together to embrace as they wept. Alicia looked on in disgust. Slowly father and daughter began to fade into light, a blindingly beautiful light as they both were called home.
Suddenly a voice screamed out, “NO! You can’t leave here! I won’t allow it! COME BACK HERE!”
Lucille turned to face her. “Now it’s your turn,” she said quietly.
“Oh, no,” she said vehemently, “you won’t get me to give up that easily. I want those two back here at once, do you hear! I demand that they return at once!”
“You know they won’t return. Nor should they. But you can still join them.”
Alicia looked at her slyly. “I know what you’re after! You want me gone because you want this property for yourself. It’s worthless with a ghost in it, so you want me gone! You’ve ruined my bitterness, so now I’ll ruin your happiness. The house is mine!”
As she said this, she started to fade into the darkness, her glow vanishing in the gloom.
Lucille drew herself up. “Alicia D’varelle, by family blood I command you to return!”
Alicia did so, much to her dismay.
“Alicia D’varelle, by blood I command you to quit this place. There is no longer any dwelling here for you here, and by blood I command you to quit this life, and to make your choice. I beg of you, I implore you, give up your hatred, and embrace the Light of God.”
She wavered, indecision wracking her mind. Finally, she decided. Pride and hatred were conquering her. “Why should I? You have no power over me! I’ll stay here, and there is nothing you can do about it!”
Lucille shook her head. “I beg you, I plead with you, reconsider. You do not know your peril!”
“Do you think I care? I will find a way to bring those other two back here, you’ll see. This land will never be free!”
Lucille fell to her knees in supplication. ‘For the last time, I beg, I plead! Acknowledge God as your Lord, and save yourself!”
But it was too late. Alicia’s figure was surrounded by the darkness she had given herself over to, and slowly her figure began to fade. The Darkness swelled, and grew into night, threatening to overwhelm Lucille. But she was not part of the Darkness, and had rejected it utterly. For a moment, brief but enlightening, she could actually feel the presence of God within her, marking her for the Light. It lasted only the briefest of moments, but it was a moment she would remember for the rest of her days.
But for Alicia, there was no such joy. At the end, Lucille swore she finally saw a look of fear on her face as she faded into the night.

CHAPTER 5


So, it was over. Slowly, and with great weariness, she climbed to her feet. The dawn was not far off now, but she could not think of moving from here without resting first. However, before she allowed herself to rest she had something left to do. She made her way to the wishing well, took something from her sleeve, and cast it into the well. After a moment, she turned away.
She made her way to the stone benches, and sat herself down. She was filled with remorse for poor Alicia, and silently berated herself for not doing more to convince the woman to give up her pointless evil.
Without warning a figure walked out from the shadows, and sat beside her. She stared in surprise. It was Reverend Alder! He smiled, leaned over, and gave her a big hug and a kiss in the cheek. “Thank you, my dear lady, thank you. We’ve been trying to help those poor, lost souls for years now.”
She looked stunned. “How, ah, long have you been here?”
“We’ve been here from the beginning, my dear, brave lady.”
“We?” she asked softly.
He gestured, and Reverend Jondar stepped out of the bushes, and behind him, to her complete and utter amazement, was her husband Char! From the smiles and pleased looks, they knew everything. She was abashed, and a little afraid of his reaction, until he walked over, lifted her in his strong arms, and kissed her soundly. She almost wept with the relief that flooded through her.
The Reverend Jondar was more reserved in his greeting, but no less pleased than the others were. “My dear, never have I seen such courage, such moral conviction in action! You deserve the highest medal for such valour!”
She flushed at such high praise, although she knew how undeserved it was. What she did she was compelled to do, even if it took all her courage and fortitude to accomplish it. Still, her failure with Alicia rankled, and it would for the rest of her life.
Reverend Jondar guessed what she was feeling.
“Still thinking about Alicia?”
She sighed. “I wish I could have done more to help her.”
“I know, my dear. You have nothing to reproach yourself for, although I don’t know that my telling you that will do much good.”
“I should have done more, I know I should have.”
“You managed to get two of the three people to forgive themselves for things they were guilty of. Perhaps you should try heeding your own advice, you know.”
She looked at him, and against her own will, she realized he was absolutely right, and smiled. Gradually, her smile broke out into open laughter. She threw her arms around the three of them, and they began the journey back through the thick brush. Lucille led the way silently, each too busy struggling through the foliage to bother talking. At last they emerged into the most splendid dawn they had ever seen. Lucille breathed in the cool morning air and the lovely vision, and thought she had never felt more happy to be alive.
When they arrived at home, Char ordered a large breakfast to be made for them all. He would permit no discussion of the matter until after they had eaten.
After breakfast, the three of them retired to the den to discuss what had happened.
After a time, Char looked at the two clerics. “Well? Does this end the matter, or is there more to come?”
Reverend Jondar shook his head. “We cannot know for certain. These are strange, unexplored matters, and we cannot know if this ends the haunting for sure. Only time will tell.”
Lucille shook her head. “No, the matter is finished. I made sure of that.”
“How can you be so sure, my dear?” he inquired.
“Why don’t we call it womanly intuition, and leave it at that?” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
Char laughed. “I, for one, am not going to argue with that. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever argue with someone who can talk a ghost into a grave.”
“You’ve got a point there, Char,” Jondar told him.
Lucille yawned. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted. Just one more question before I go to bed. How did you know where to find me?”
Reverend Alder and Jondar both smiled, then looked at Char. He looked at his wife with love in his eyes. “I knew you would go back there. Ever since that night you woke up screaming, soaking wet, but only your side of the bed was wet. Any other woman; in fact, most men I know, would have been pushed to the edge of panic and terror by such a thing. But not you. I knew then the courage you had shown was no mistake, and that you would face up to the horror that was haunting you. I spoke with these gentlemen; they both agreed to let you do this on your own, but we were going to watch your every step. When you left here during the night, we were right behind you every step of the way.
“To be honest, though, I almost bolted when the ghosts showed up. I don’t think I was really ready for that. Only for the presence of these two, and your calm in the face of such fear, gave me the courage to stay.”
She looked at him. “I didn’t think you believed me,” she told him softly.
“I wouldn’t have, I don’t think, even after these two informed me you were telling the truth, if not for the night the bed was wet. The old Holmes axiom, you know, ‘whenever you have eliminated the probable, the improbable, however unbelievable, must be the answer’. I was afraid, not only for myself, but for you, my dear. However, I knew I had to help, or risk losing you.”
Lucille yawned again. “I’m afraid I really have to rest now,” she told them, rising.
“I have just one last question, if you wouldn’t mind,” Reverend Alder inquired. “When the ghosts vanished, you went to the wishing well and threw something in. What was it?”
“A wedding ring.”
Char looked stunned. “How could you? You threw your wedding ring into the wishing well?”
“No, I said I threw A wedding ring into the wishing well, not MY wedding ring. It was an old family heirloom.”
“Alicia and Thomas’s?” Alder asked.
“I think so. I’m sure it is.”
“What did you wish for?”
She smiled. “Now, you know better than to ask that. Besides, what do you think I wished for?”
They all smiled, and she wished them good night, or morning, or whatever it was.”
They laughed, and bid her sweet dreams.
She laughed with them, and secretly wished herself the same thing.

She did dream later that day. She dreamt the sweetest dream she could ever think of. Alicia was finally accepted into Heaven, welcomed and completely forgiven by Thomas and Julie. They held each other, and wept the tears that water the gardens of heaven in joyful bliss. Before the dream faded, she dreamt the three of them turned to her, and gave her a beautiful rose.
When she woke, she thought she could see, and, oddly enough, smell the beauty of heaven. When she turned her head she found, much to her surprise, a lovely rose lying by her pillow.
She cherished the rose for all her life, and in all that time it did not fade or wilt. And Vicheleau Gardens were restored to their former beauty, and the land was given by Lucille to be used as an orphanage, in memory of the child ghost, who dwelt now in heavenly bliss.

THE END