The Grey Girl, The Van Tassel Murders
A Tale to Tell

Henry and Alex exchanged looks of shock and confusion. Breaking eye contact, Henry inspected his arms before looking over the rest of his body. “I’m not entirely sure how I got here,” he began, now glancing at the mantel and fireplace he was standing next to. He tried to convey an air of nonchalance as he rested his elbow on the mantel while placing one foot on the raised hearth. The effect was ruined as he slipped sideways into the brick chimney. Stumbling back into view, he stood straight with his hands behind his back. “But, um, let’s discuss how we can help each other,” he finished with as much dignity as he could muster.

Alex had stifled a laugh at Henry’s actions, but upon hearing his rather pompous offer of assistance, he regained his anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded. “How dare you come here after you stole her away?”

“My dear man, I was trying to help …”

“You killed your family. Why should I trust you?”

“You are not wrong.” Henry bowed his head. “Yet you are not completely correct either,” he sighed.

“Seriously, dude, I’m in no mood for riddles.” Alex warned. “You have something to say, you better come out and say it.”

“My family had long been dead. What I killed were abominations. They were possessed by demons. I destroyed them to save others.” Henry’s eyes pleaded for belief. His brow furrowed as he continued, “I know you may not believe in demons, but you have no trouble with ghosts.”

“I’ve met my fair share of demons, evil spirits, and ghosts. I know magic exists. There’s nothing you can say to surprise or frighten me,” Alex shouted.

“So why can’t you believe I want to help?” Henry waited expectantly.

Alex stood open-mouthed before finally slumping back in his chair. “Ok, I got nothing.” He motioned for Henry to sit then swore.

Henry smirked at Alex’s obvious embarrassment. “I can sit, thank you.” He glanced from the detritus of the shattered book to Alex’s tired eyes. “Chloe was in good …” He laughed lightly. “Well, let’s not say spirits when I left.” Alex grimaced at the bad pun and Henry continued, “She was unhappy, yes. However, she was confident she would soon return to her bodily state.”

“I know she won’t stop until she gets what she wants.” Alex smiled to himself at the image of a very stubborn Chloe.

“I have no doubt,” Henry agreed. “I have met her type before. Strong-willed, smart, and highly capable. I have also met men like you before. You love all of that about her, yet you try to restrain her and keep her from the world.” Wearily, he wearily ran his hand over the scruff on his face. “I made that mistake with my wife. I think that is how I lost her.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that. The way I see it, you lost her when you stabbed her to death with a letter opener,” Alex scoffed, yet some of what Henry had said struck a bit too close to home. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, I have been trying to protect her!” Unsure why he was defending himself, he half rose from his seat. “But I would never kill her,” he finished lamely. Not looking at Henry, he resumed his seat. “I just want her to be safe,” he murmured quietly.

“I do not doubt you have the greatest of intentions,” Henry answered. Neither spoke for a while. The two men sat across from each other, both seeming to contemplate their failings. Finally, Henry broke the stalemate. “You have read my diary, so you know I have seen war.” It was obvious that although Henry was looking at Alex, he was actually focused on a time far back in the past. “I thought I had seen the worst of what men could do to each other.” His eyes slowly closed as he let out a sigh. “I was very wrong. What we did out west ...” He pressed his palms against his eyes. Nothing could block the visions or the echoing screams that still haunted him. He feared to open his eyes. Would the floor be stained red? Would it be littered with the shattered bodies of children and old women? Speaking from behind his hands, he murmured, “When I returned, I found myself becoming anxious. I was so used to being near death.” The humorless laugh accompanied a frown. “I guess I missed the action. So when I returned to Amelia, I was immediately taken by her spirit.” A kind smile crept over the troubled countenance. “She had always been adventurous, brilliant, and ever so full of life. She was a new challenge for me. Yet the more she sought out new mountains to climb and rivers to forge, the more fearful I became. I saw the day where my fear of how I had seen men act would interfere with her desire to experience life.” Henry watched the memories dance and change in his mind.

“She wanted to go out west. She wanted to see the places I had seen. She wanted to meet the natives and learn their superstitions.” Sadness clouded the gray eyes. “She found folklore and ghost stories to be fascinating. I held no stock in such things. She studied books from the old country. She found histories of witches and vampires.” His hands tightly gripped the chair arms. “If I had known, I never would have encouraged it. I thought it was nonsense.” Again, his eyes pleaded. “I thought, after refusing to take her west to the wilds, I would take her north. To remain in the tamed lands. The tales from New England had always pleased her.” The clouds descended over his face. “If I had only known.”

Alex realized he was perched on the edge of his chair. The tension in his stomach pressed his shoulders tightly to his ears; his fingers trembled. Shaking his hands and rolling his shoulders, he relaxed and waited, reminding himself he did not trust this ghost. Finally, the silence began to drag. “Ok, so you went to New England? And?” His voice betrayed his nerves.

“Oh, no, we did not go. I was too busy.” Henry punched his own hand. “What am I saying? She had begged me to let her go out west. I refused. We fought about her being stuck in that house. She was bored. She wanted to learn. I bought books, but books can only take someone like her so far. She wanted to see Europe, not read about it. She wanted to explore a haunted castle, not be told what others had found. She wanted to meet the magicians of the Far East or the shamans of our West, but I would not allow it. I told her it was dangerous. I told her she might get hurt. I would not let her go.” A pearl slid down his cheek. “I realized that if I kept her locked away, I would lose her, so I sent her to Salem, Massachusetts. I thought she would enjoy the witch and goblin stories.” Slowly, his hand slid into his jacket. A shudder rocked him, causing him to blur around the edges. The ghostly hand reappeared, holding a thin packet of letters.

A moment passed. Alex felt as if something was stabbing his heart. He felt he knew what the letters were. He held the same fear, needling in the back of his mind. He worried he would come home one day to replace a letter. A letter explaining how Chloe couldn’t be suffocated by him anymore. “I’m so sorry,” Alex whispered.

Henry looked up from his letters. “Your apology is not for me.” It was not a question.

“No.”

“I understand, yet this is not a letter of goodbye. No.” Henry’s smile betrayed the pain. “She tells me of the wonderful time she is having. She explored a haunted house with another woman she met. She claimed to have met a ghost.” To Henry, Alex wasn’t even there. He could see dear Amelia, lamp in hand, searching the dingy remains of an old house. He could envision the two women jumping at sounds. “Once, during the war, we were at this bridge. It was supposed to be haunted. I remember the sergeant and I spooked ourselves, listening for noises in the dark.” Henry shook himself and it was plain he was once again seeing Alex; Amelia was gone. Disappointment crashed over him. “Sorry, where was I?”

“Your wife was in Salem.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Her letters were happy. She asked me to join her. She thought the ocean and the air would do me good.” He smiled but there was little humor in it. “Then she told me her friend was a witch. She was so excited. She spoke of herbs and potions, spell books, and incantations. She explained that nothing had worked, but she was having such fun.” His eyes fell to the letters. Several of them vanished until he was holding only one. “Then I received this one. It simply told me she was coming home. It contained none of her jokes, none of her pleasure. It was abrupt, short, and to the point. I was worried when she arrived at the station. She told me she and the witch had had a falling out. She didn’t explain, but I felt it then. I should have known then, but I ignored it.”

“Should have known what then?” Alex, unable to resist, asked.

“That the person, the thing, I picked up at the station was not my Amelia.”