Raising the Dead Page 3

  I explained everything to my sister, particularly my hurt feelings at Mom and Dad’s brush-off.

  “I don’t know why this bothers me,” I said. “I’m not even remotely interested in any of this.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Um, no. I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

  “Ready for some big sister wisdom?”

  “I truly regret ever using that term.”

  “Live with it. Here’s what I think.”

  What Annalise thought was important to me. As my only sibling, she had been my constant companion on hundreds of our parents’ research trips, from crumbling castles in Europe to hollow prisons in North America. She was the only one who truly understood me, so her opinion carried more weight than anyone else’s.

  “You haven’t processed everything that happened in Charleston,” Annalise said. “These coffins are from about the same era as the family we were researching. You feel a connection to them and want to know more. That’s why this project is important to you.”

  She was right. She was right and I knew it and I hated to say it, but that was the reason I had called: I needed Annalise to clarify something I felt but could not put into words.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “I don’t like the term ‘process.’ Since when does everyone need to process everything?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m right.”

  “Fine.” I looked over to my nightstand, which was still covered in a silk scarf. If I tugged at the scarf, it would reveal the wood underneath, and I did not want to see it, did not want to be reminded of the jagged words that were etched there.

  “You’re right,” I told Annalise. “I feel like I need to know more. And somehow, this—this incident, has occurred, and I wonder if I’m supposed to help, supposed to follow where this leads.”

  Annalise was quiet for a few seconds. “You already know the answer to that.”

  “Yeah. I guess I do.” I’d needed my sister to say it, though. It was time to help my parents.

  It was time to open the lid and look inside.

  Chapter Four

  For months I’d seen a dead girl in my dreams. She wore a pink dress and shared my name, and she’d reached out to me, asking for my help. And I’d helped her, even though I hadn’t really had a choice. I reunited her with the spirits of her long-dead parents. My reward was a moment spent on the other side.

  I thought.

  With each day, the memory of that strange experience became foggier. At the time, it had felt so real, so authentic. I had seen a glimpse of life after death. But then doubt began to sink its teeth in me. It had been a long day. I was tired and hungry and maybe my mind had conjured it all up using pieces of what I had heard throughout my life about other people’s views of ghosts. Maybe none of it had been real. There was no proof. The video cameras had malfunctioned, failing to capture the lights we had all seen. And no one but me saw the girl. As the days went by, I wondered: was my experience real or a very detailed figment of my subconscious?

  Real or not, that moment had changed me, and something about the flooded graveyard awakened the investigative instinct inside me. As grotesque as it sounded, I wanted to look inside those caskets. More than that, I wanted to make sure that the people inside them were returned to their rightful places. It mattered. Maybe not to them, but to me. Dad always said we held funerals to comfort the living and not to appease the dead. Well, I was living and I wanted the assurance that everything was being done right for the remains of the dead.

  The next morning I approached Mom as she sipped her coffee in the kitchen.

  “Mom?”

  “Morning, Charlotte.”

  I sat across the table from her. “So what time do you leave?”

  She glanced at the clock. “We meet with the caretaker in an hour.”

  An hour. That was enough time for me to shower and dress and be ready to go. I wasn’t quite ready to ask, though.

  “Can you get there?” I asked. “I mean, are the roads okay? Because on the news last night everything was still flooded and they were telling people not to drive.”

  Mom set down her coffee mug. “Charlotte, is there something on your mind?”

  I was a terrible liar with no acting ability whatsoever. I couldn’t dance around the issue. If I wanted something, I had to ask. I took a deep breath.

  “I want to come with you.”

  “Can I ask why? This isn’t the type of investigation you’re normally interested in.”

  How could I explain? No one knew about my otherworldly encounter. I still struggled with it. But I agreed with Annalise: maybe immersing myself in a project involving people from the same era would help me to understand.

  “I just want to.” I looked at my hands. “And I don’t have school all week, so it wouldn’t interfere with that. Can I go?”

  Mom considered my request. “I suppose it would be okay.” Before I could thank her, she held up a hand. “But Charlotte, this is very sensitive. We’re dealing with actual human remains here, not an empty house. I expect absolute professionalism.”

  “Of course.”

  “In fact, that’s the reason why Dad and I didn’t ask you to join us yesterday. You haven’t participated in something like this before, and it’s a very different project than what we normally work on.”

  “I can handle it,” I assured her. I stood up, ready to prepare for the day, and began to walk towards the stairs.

  “Charlotte?”

  I turned around. Mom stared back at me. “When you’re ready to tell me the real reason why you want to go with us, I’m here to listen, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  Mom’s response was unsettling, but at least I could go with them. Maybe the experience would help me, maybe it wouldn’t. I had to try something, I thought, something to settle my confused mind.

  I was ready in less than an hour and waiting in the dining room while my parents packed their computers and cameras and files. Dad didn’t ask about my joining them, so I guessed Mom had briefed him while I was in the shower. He did have a request for me, though.

  “I want you to keep an eye out for people who might be hanging around,” he said.

  “Weirdos?”

  “Yes.” Dad gathered up his bags. “There’s been plenty of media coverage. I’m worried that it might attract onlookers with a morbid curiosity.”

  Like me, I thought. After all, I had no practical reason for tagging along with my parents. Was it merely a sick curiosity? Or did I really think I could find answers? I had no idea, but my gut instinct told me to go with them, to follow the path that had unexpectedly appeared in front of me.

  It was a short drive to the cemetery, if you could really call it that. It was basically a plot of land about the size of our backyard and situated in a rural area. We passed a small lake and a lot of woods. It seemed as if no one would live out in the remote area, but a white farmhouse appeared, and we pulled into the driveway. A white-haired man greeted us before Dad put the car in park.

  “Hello!” he called out from his wide front porch. The yard was filled with deep puddles, the same as all the other flooded yards. I’d worn red rain boots at the insistence of my parents, who’d both dressed in rubber overalls and hooded jackets.

  “Mr. Kitsman!” Mom acted like they were old friends. She waved from the passenger seat and when she got out of the car, she hugged the man, then introduced me and Dad. Mr. Kitsman shook Dad’s hand and nodded at me. “So glad you’re here.”

  Shane arrived moments later in the Doubt van. I waited an anxious second to see if Noah and Trisha were with him, but they weren’t. After the introductions, Mr. Kitsman got down to business.

  “The county surveyors were here yesterday,” he said, growing serious. “Let me show you.”

  He led us through his soggy backyard and up a short hill, where crumbling stone steps ended at the entrance to the graveyard. As we walked, he told us how he’d been raised here
and spent his whole life in the house. “Everything you see here has belonged to my family for over a hundred years,” he said, waving an arm. “Hundreds of acres. The woods and even the lake are in our name.” The woods formed a horseshoe shape around the cemetery, almost like the trees were protecting the parcel of land. From the top of the hill, no other houses were visible.

  Mr. Kitsman explained that living on the property came with the solemn responsibility of caring for the cemetery. He hung a wreath on the stone fence every Christmas, and mowed the property during the summer. He also kept an eye out for people who lingered too close for too long, especially around Halloween.

  “Two dozen souls rest here,” Mr. Kitsman told us. “After the storm, we were missing twenty-three. As you can see, most of the grave markers were damaged.”

  The thin tombstones were either lying flat on the muddy ground or tipped at unnatural angles. “I know this place,” Mr. Kitsman announced. “Know it well. My great-great-grandfather was buried here. A few other ancestors, too.” He looked around at the swamp of stones. “These people deserve to rest in peace. And for decades I’ve made sure that was the case.” He turned his attention to the four of us. “Now I need your help to make sure that continues.”

  Mom stepped forward. “You can count on us,” she said. “We’ll do what we can.”

  A large chunk of the hill had been washed away, taking the coffins and half the gravestones with it. Wooden stakes had been planted along the property by the geological survey crew. They’d spent several hours there the day before, working into the night. “A good thing, too,” Mr. Kitsman said. “Some strange fella dressed in a long black coat kept driving by. Said he was lost.” His gaze lingered over the tombstones. “He wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was.”

  Dad looked at me. “See? Too much media coverage.” He turned to Mr. Kitsman. “Let’s get down to business. Where would you like us to start?”

  I knew this was merely a formality. Dad already had a plan in mind, but asking the property owner always helped things move more smoothly.

  “I’ve put back the stones as best I could in their correct places. I need help making ‘em straight.”

  Shane stepped forward. “I can do that.”

  “And it’s all right with you if we film some footage?” Dad asked.

  Mr. Kitsman nodded. “Of course.”

  I acknowledged Dad with a slight dip of my head. I knew he wanted everything captured on film, and I had hoped he would ask me to help. I was good behind a camera. It was a familiar friend, and it offered me a comfortable distance from the project.

  Most of the stones were slanted to the side. I positioned the camera and panned across the area slowly, zooming in on individual stones. After a few minutes of this, I turned off the camera. I knelt before one of the stones, careful not to let my knee touch the muddy ground. The name and dates etched into the gray slab were worn and faded, making the words difficult to read. Cracks ran through like the lines on my hand. I touched the letters.

  “Who were you?” I asked softly.

  “That’s Jeremiah Pickett.” Mr. Kitsman was standing behind me. “He was a Confederate soldier. Killed in battle when he was nineteen.” He sighed. “So young. I doubt he understood what he was fighting for—or against, for that matter.”

  “How do you know?” I stood up. “I mean, I can’t really read it.”

  “I did a rubbing of each of these stones decades ago,” Mr. Kitsman said. “I researched the names, tried to determine who they were. I knew I had family buried here, but until I looked ‘em up, I had no idea how many cousins! Jeremiah is one of them. I’ll bet it sounds strange that I feel a kinship to a boy I never knew.”

  “That doesn’t sound strange to me.”

  He smiled. “Well, good. And thank you, young lady, for helping out here.”

  I held out my hand. “Charlotte.”

  He returned the gesture. “A pleasure. And please, call me William.”

  William and I righted Jeremiah’s gravestone, then moved on to help the others. We consulted a map William had made, and within a couple hours, each stone was in place. Some had suffered deep cracks and one had broken in half, but the cemetery was looking more like it should when we were done.

  Above us, heavy clouds darkened the skies. We gathered toward the front of the graveyard. “Ready for the next step?” Dad asked.

  The next step involved driving to the morgue. The next step meant viewing the remains of men, women and children. I was not ready for any of it, but I followed the others down the stone steps and back to William’s house. As we filed through the back door, I turned and looked at the cemetery perched at the top of the little hill. Dark clouds created an appropriately dreary backdrop to the scene.

  And then I saw movement. A flash of black moving swiftly through the cemetery, like a person hunched over. The figure glided past the stones and into the nearby woods so quickly that I wasn’t entirely sure I’d seen it. But I could see the flicker of something between the gaps in the trees.

  I tugged at Shane’s jacket. “I think someone’s up there,” I whispered, pointing toward the hill.

  The others were already in the house. Shane stopped and followed my gaze. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Something was moving around. It went into the woods.”

  We stood next to each other for another minute, waiting. “You sure you saw a person?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I don’t know what it was. Could have been a large animal, but I don’t think so.”

  Shane ushered me into the house. “I’ll check the woods tomorrow, see if there’s footprints. Let’s not say anything to William until we have something concrete to tell him though, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  It made sense to me. I didn’t want to worry an old man over nothing. But I knew I had seen someone, maybe even the same guy William saw hanging around the day before. The only direct path that led to the cemetery was up the hill behind William’s house. Beyond the property were several square miles full of woods, and past that was a river. So if someone was on William’s land, it meant they either lived in the area or had come from the woods. A curious neighbor was one thing. A strange man emerging from behind the trees? The thought made me shiver.

  No one had come up the hill while we were there. If someone had been hiding in the woods, it meant they had probably been there all day, watching us and waiting for us to leave. If that was the case, I didn’t want to go back. But I also wanted to know what the strange figure was looking for—and I wondered if we would find it first.

  Chapter Five

  Principal Carter’s email to the student body was short and succinct. “Classes WILL resume on Monday,” it read. “The school sustained MINIMAL damage. ALL students are expected to be present on Monday morning.”

  Avery thought it was funny. “Were the caps really necessary?”

  I balanced the phone on my shoulder as I scrolled through the rest of my messages. There weren’t many: a couple from Annalise and one from a prince somewhere offering to send me a huge sum of money in exchange for my bank account information.

  “The caps add needed emphasis,” I told Avery. “How else are we supposed to know that it’s important?”

  “Right.”

  I heard Avery’s dog growling in the background. “Is Dante okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Avery shushed him. “He doesn’t like the thunder.”

  The approaching storm had everyone worried. Our town was beginning to dry out, and added rain was not welcome.

  “So what are you doing all day?” I asked. “Have you left the house yet?”

  “Nope. I’ve been homebound.” She sighed. “Mom’s car is sitting in two feet of water in the garage, so she took mine to work. Unless I rent a boat, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I should come visit you.”

  “Do you have a canoe? Because I think that’s the only way down the hill.”

  “Seriously, Aver
y. Do you need anything? Are you going crazy being stuck inside?”

  “No and no.” She paused. “I’ve been spending a lot of time online with Jared, actually.”

  “Yeah?” Jared and Avery had been close friends for a long time. That had ended with the death of Adam, who had been Avery’s boyfriend and Jared’s best friend. Everyone had thought that Jared was responsible for the car accident that claimed Adam’s life. Now that Avery knew what had really happened, she was trying to restore her friendship with Jared.

  “It’s not romantic or anything,” she rushed to add. “It’s stupid, really. We’re competing in this online movie trivia challenge, and he asked me to be on his team.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said. “Are you winning?”

  Avery laughed. “We are creaming the competition.”

  “Well, congrats.”

  “You don’t think it’s weird?”

  “All online competitions are a little weird.”

  “No, I mean—what do you think about me and Jared? Being friends.”

  “You were already friends. If you want to spend more time with him, I think it’s great. I really do.”

  Avery sounded relieved. “Good. I’m still getting used to it.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Dante to growl. “So, how is the outside world? You’ve been out and I haven’t, so spill.”

  “The outside world is very wet.”

  “You’re kidding. Tell me about the whole cemetery restoration thing.”

  It wasn’t a restoration, exactly, but I knew what she meant. So far, we had accomplished little more than pushing tombstones upright. The real work—identifying the bodies—was scheduled to begin the next day at the morgue, but I wouldn’t be there. While Mom and Dad examined skeletal remains, I would be home, sleeping in.

  I told Avery about Mr. Kitsman and the job that lay in front of us. After I finished describing our first day, I mentioned seeing something near the woods.