Even though he’d been exact in his directions, I still ended up making three passes before I finally spotted the cross. It was set back from the road and so tilted from decades of wind and rain that it was nearly invisible against a backdrop of weeds and brambles.
The road to the farm was private so I didn’t have to worry about traffic. I sat with the engine idling as I searched for the entrance. From my vantage, the road looked to be nothing more than two dirt tracks disappearing into the trees. As I scanned the access, I detected the remnants of an old wrought iron archway covered almost entirely by ivy. The vines were entwined around and through the scrollwork so that the dangling curlicues provided a natural curtain over the entrance.
I made the turn cautiously, easing through the lush tendrils as my apprehension mounted. I’d been looking forward to a tour of Kroll Cemetery with Dr. Shaw, but now as I headed straight back into the forest, I couldn’t forget something he had said to me the other night on the phone. He had the sense that I was approaching a crossroads in my life, a spiritual turning point from which there would be no return.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. The vines falling back over the entrance seemed symbolic—like the closing of a door.
Taking a resolved breath, I forced my attention to the overgrown trail in front of me. It was cool and dark in the woods. I rolled down my window, allowing the intoxicating scent of honeysuckle to seep in, along with the woodsy aroma of the evergreens.
But as I drove deeper into the trees, a heavy stillness settled over the trail, a claustrophobic oppression that didn’t come from the heat of the afternoon or the closeness of the woods but from something unnatural. Quickly, I raised the window as if a layer of glass could protect me from those dark things that slithered through the underbrush. Things I couldn’t yet see but knew were there just the same. I tried to ignore my newfound perception, but the feeling of being watched, of being sought, grew more and more pervasive.
A quick glance at the map assured me that I was still some distance from our rendezvous point, and yet I could sense Kroll Cemetery as though it were a living, breathing entity. Such a notion would have seemed strange even to me a few days ago, but now I wondered if I really had crossed a threshold.
The noise in my head began as a low rumble that ebbed and flowed as the vehicle bumped along the tracks. Not the droning of Micah Durant’s bees, but a humming of what I imagined to be the dark emotions of all those trapped souls. I could feel the vibration all the way through my being. My own heart started to pound in unison, as if I were becoming one with that pulsating throng.
The awareness intensified as a gust of wind blew through the trees, rippling the leaves in an isolated pattern that reminded me of a wave crashing to shore. As the undulation swept toward me, the windows fogged and the whole car began to tremble as though caught in a powerful vortex. The air grew thick and fetid and flies began to gather on my windshield.
It was hours until twilight and yet I could feel something bearing down on me from beyond. A collective presence straining against the shackles of death.
I wanted nothing so much as to lower the window and let a fresh breeze scrub away the foulness inside my car, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t know what was out there. I could feel the chill of the ghosts, but there was something else pushing me away from Kroll Cemetery. It was as if I’d been caught between two opposing forces.
I’d come to a complete stop without even realizing it, my hands still gripping the wheel. The sense of dread overpowered me as I sat there scanning the woods. Every now and then I glimpsed something white and wispy floating through the trees. If I stared long enough, I spotted diaphanous bodies crouched on low branches, pale faces with hollow eyes and gaping mouths staring down at me.
The forest was deeply haunted. A thin place. A dark place.
Find the key, I could hear Rose whisper. Save yourself.
Carefully, I removed the three keys from my backpack and placed them on the seat beside me—the key that had been tossed into my cellar, the key that had been left in Rosehill Cemetery and the strange key that matched the motes in my eyes. All three were different. Each served a special purpose.
I hadn’t wanted to touch any of them when they’d first been left on my nightstand. I’d been too afraid my curiosity would be misconstrued as acceptance of a gift or offering. Or worse, barter for my soul.
But the keys no longer frightened me. Instead, I felt compelled to keep them close. On impulse, I slipped the pink satin ribbon over my head, allowing the skeleton key to rest against my chest. The metal instantly illuminated as it had in Rosehill Cemetery. The voices grew louder, screaming for release as the pressure in my chest tightened. I could feel a rush inside me, almost like a strong wind being sucked through an open doorway.