The Grey Girl, The Van Tassel Murders

Amelia stepped off the train into the crisp New England air. A smile brightened her face as she waited for the next train to arrive. Laughing to herself, she forced her body to stop bouncing. “You look excited,” murmured a soft voice behind her. Amelia turned, the smile wide upon her face. “I am, truly. My husband arranged this trip for me. I have so long wanted to visit Salem or travel to the western territories.”

“It just so happens that I am also traveling to Salem. My name is Constance Goodkind. It is a please to meet you, Mrs. …?”

“Van Tassel. But please, call me Amelia.” She held out her hand.

“Constance, then.” They shook. “Have you been to Salem before?”

“No, never farther north than New York. Have you been there?” Amelia could not contain the excitement in her voice.

Constance smiled. “I grew up there, but I have been away a long, long while.”

“It could not have been that long, as you are so young.”

At this statement, Constance smiled indulgently. “I have my ways of looking young.” She smiled, taking Amelia’s arm in hers. “Where are you staying while in Salem?”

“I have a room at the local inn. I don’t recall the name, but if you were to say it, I would remember.”

Constance thought for a moment. She took in her companion’s appearance. “The Bridges Guest House, I would think. Amelia smiled, confirming the name. “Oh, that is a fine establishment. You will be comfortable there.” Amelia was bouncing again. “Relax dear, we’ll be on our way soon.”

As if on cue the approaching train whistle sounded. A porter appeared, ready with Amelia’s luggage.

“Oh, where are your bags?” Amelia asked Constance, her eyes searching the platform.

“They have been sent ahead. I have recently inherited the family home. It isn’t too far from where you’ll be staying. You simply must come by for dinner while you’re in town. Our family has quite the history in town, dating all the way back to sixteen twenty-six.” She looked across at Amelia. “We were one of the first.”

If possible, Amelia brightened even further. “Was your family involved in the witch trials?” she asked before quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry. That is not an appropriate thing to ask.”

“Oh, it is quite alright,” her companion replied. Relieved, Amelia did not notice the darkness that flashed across the other woman’s face. “It was a long time ago, but yes, my family was accused.” Constance smiled. “It is sad what the simple-minded folk of the past believed.”

“Oh yes, very,” Amelia replied quickly. At the sound of the approaching train, she looked down the length of the platform.

The train rumbled to a stop, steam belching out across the station. The huge, black, metal engine hissed like a breathing dragon; at least that was where Amelia’s imagination took her. Her smile slipped slightly. Despite the steam swirling about her, a sudden chill running the length of her spine sent a stab of discomfort gnawing at her stomach. For an instant she did not want to board this beast, this long, thin dragon, hissing steam. Its tail was so far down she could barely see it. A door to a coach opened. The bleeding red interior forced her to step back. The fires of hell burned through that door.

The engine hissed and, in a flash, the image was gone. The coach door stood open, a friendly porter staring inquisitively at her.

“Everything all right, dear?” Constance asked, placing a cold hand on Amelia’s shoulder.

Shaking the vision from her mind, Amelia smiled. “Yes … just … it was nothing.” she replied, yet the fear continued to gnaw at her.

“Oh, what good fortune.” Constance smiled, looking over Amelia’s shoulder. “We are sharing a compartment.”

Amelia looked down at her ticket and the one being held out from behind her. The held the same number on them. Smiling, Amelia turned to face her new friend. “You can tell me all about Salem during our journey.”

***

The late fall sun flickered through the trees as the train rattled along. The conversation was bright and intriguing. Before she could believe it, Amelia felt the train slowing. The thundering of footfalls up and down the carriage, the hissing of steam, and the calls of porters filled her with a sense of adventure. If only Henry could have come, it would make this complete. Her thoughts were interrupted as Constance took her hand.

The evening found her bags in her rooms as she dined in the restaurant with Constance. They agreed to meet early the next day for a tour of the town’s more interesting sights.

Amelia found it hard to sleep that night, and her excitement for the day had her up with the sun. Sipping a coffee at a small table on the inn’s large front porch, Amelia became aware of a young woman watching her. She was not easy to miss, as she wore her hair long, almost to the waist. That, however, was not what caused Amelia to give her a second glance. It was the deep red of her hair, along with a calm, flawless, pale face that held a beauty to match a master’s sculpture. The girl was clearly there, yet if Amelia did more than glance in her direction, she was gone, leaving no more than an empty shadow. When she glanced again, the girl would be there once more. Her puzzlement was short lived, as Constance turned up for their tour.

As the days passed, Amelia and Constance became inseparable. Everything about the town was new, exciting, and strange. Amelia sat and listened to ghost stories. She spent hours in the library, reading through old tomes. It was the happiest she had been in a long while. Only two things ever bothered her. One was the red-haired young woman in dirty, poor clothes. It was odd that she seemed to be everywhere Amelia was, yet when Amelia went looking for the girl, she was never to be found.

The second thing was how Constance reacted when Amelia broached the subject of the girl. “She is nothing. Filth from the street. An urchin. If you see her again, let me know so I can inform the constabulary.”

The look of loathing on her new friend’s face caused the ravenous creature in her stomach to chew just a little bit harder. She liked Constance, but still, there was something off about her. While she was warned away from the street urchin, she couldn’t help but look for her. Whenever Amelia saw her, she always felt somehow protected.

After a couple of weeks, Amelia began to notice the topics of conversation had changed. Constance, who had answered Amelia’s endless questions about ghosts and witches and such, was now the one asking the questions. They seemed innocent in the beginning. Where had Amelia grown up? What was her family like? But as time went on, they became increasingly personal. What was courting like with Henry? What was their romance like? Deeper and deeper the interrogation went. Amelia did not want to answer, but she felt compelled to do so, and she reluctantly shared intimate details of her life. Amelia began to regard their meetings with trepidation. Her discomfort as to how much information Constance had learned kept her up late in the evenings, fighting to calm the beast that continued to cause her discomfort.

Late one evening her unease led her to leave her rooms. The oppression of guilt she had in her bed seemed to fade as the cool, night air filled her lungs. It seemed like months since she had been alone. Constance was with her from the time she woke till the time she slept. She tried not to think of how much knowledge Constance had of her and her husband. What use could she have for that information?

A sudden scuffle on the top of the wall she was passing set her heart pounding. A crow flew off in a flutter of wings and angry calls as, from the wall, a shadow dropped silently at Amelia’s feet. Green eyes caught the light of a nearby lamp. Amelia stumbled back, clutching at her chest. Slowly entering the pool of light from the gas lamp where she stood, a small cat appeared. It watched her with glowing eyes. Amelia was painfully aware of where she was as she watched the intensely black cat who, in turn, watched her back.

“Thank you, Fearcharia.” A soft voice drifted on the light breeze. The cat licked its paw, blinked twice, and was gone into the night. “Ye was being followed. Fear took care of it.”

“I wasn’t afraid.”

“Nay, Fear is the wee cat. Fearcharia. Have you not been paying attention, lass?” The red-haired girl stepped into the light. “We dunna want to be seen. Come quickly now.”

Apprehension tried to root her to the spot, but trust overwhelmed it. Amelia followed the girl farther into the night. She felt her hand taken as deeper into the shadows they went.

“I be Ealasaid Underwood, or I was when I left the Highlands. Now I be Elizabeth. Dunna want the red bellies ta know. You may call me Liza.”

“You know America is no longer a colony, right?”

“Aye, ya think I’m daft? But it were when I arrived.” Even though her English was rough, Liza’s voice was melodic. By now the two had traveled out of any lit area. The houses had become farther apart and the darkness felt impenetrable. “Now, my bonny lass, we are safe.”

The opening of a door and the change of air told Amelia they had entered a room. A candle burst into light. Amelia shielded her eyes after the pitch black. When she blinked her vision clear, her breath caught in her chest. Surrounding them were symbols and markings that Amelia knew to be the devil’s. The black cat, Fear, lay purring next to a skull, watching their every move. Backing away, Amelia’s back hit the door. Her hand searched for the handle to release her. “I am sorry. This is a mistake. I must be going. Constance will wonder where I am.”

“Aye, the old crone will wonder, and let ’er.” Liza busied herself collecting small items and lighting a few more candles. Fear began to attend to its tail. “Didja eva wonder why she wants ta know so much about yer life?” The look she gave was a mixture of disgust and sympathy. “She’s gonna try ta steal it, she is.” Liza’s back was to Amelia. When she turned to face her again, she revealed a cauldron already at a boil in a roaring fire where a moment before there had only been a cold, empty hearth.

“This is evil. This is witchcraft,” Amelia accused in a terrified whisper.

“Och, ya be a numpty,” Liza exclaimed and began to laugh. The smile on her face and the innocence of her laugh had a calming effect. “’Tis witchcraft, aye, no doubt. I be a witch, ’tis true, yet ol hobs got nuffin to do with it,” she continued. “Me mam was a witch, as was Gram, and before ’er and before ‘er.” She stood proudly. “I come from a long line o’ witches. We was there ’fore the Romans.” She walked over to Fear and began to pet him. Soon, she had a handful of hair. Smiling at the cat, she made her way over to the cauldron. “Now I need sumtin wee and personal.” Liza held out her hand.

Amelia, without thinking, pulled a stick pin from her jacket and handed it over. On the top of the pin was a small flower with a red gem in the center. She shouted as Liza broke off the flower and tossed it into the boiling potion, then began waving her hands over the pot.

“Dèan e slàn, dèan e slàn, dèan e slàn,” Liza chanted. The air was thick with steam, it filled the room to the point where Amelia could only see the shimmering form of Liza as if looking at her through a cloud. “Dèan e slàn, dèan e slàn.”

Amelia threw up her arms as a blinding flash filled the room. Even before the after-image faded, she found herself in total darkness. Her breath came in short gasps. Then a candle sputtered to life. The room was clear of steam. The hearth that had seconds before been roaring was once again cold. Fear slowly closed its eyes and began sleeping.

Liza held out the stick pin, whole once more. “Ye shud try an’ stay away from Constance. If ye not heed my warning, and it happens,”—Liza sighed as if her words held no meaning—“‘member this charm an’ give it to the young lass. She will need it to get back to her beau and stop the seed of evil.”

“What? I don’t …” Amelia looked down at the pin. When she looked up she was back under the street lamp. Constance was walking toward her, a worried look on her face.