Chapter 4: The Whisper of the Town

Eldridge Falls was a town that thrived on gossiping. It was a thick fog that rolled down the streets, carrying at each end whispers and rumours. These townsfolk watched each other, their eyes perpetually searching for something new and juicy to talk about. Now it seemed I was that topic. The morning after Nathaniel Blackwood and I woke up feeling stagestruck. My mind began racing, piecing together the threads of what had happened. I knew I would have to tread very, very carefully from now on; there were secrets in this town, and I felt like a trespasser. I started by calling up all those who knew my family. Maybe I should start with Liv's grandmother first. Old Mrs. Thornton was a walking encyclopedia of town history, who had a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. I dropped by her house, and she came out of her front door to meet me, smiling. There was a curiosity written in her eyes—she could see by my expression that something was up. "You look as if you've seen a ghost," came that soft, forceful voice. I grimaced. "Been, umm, looking a bit into my family's history," I said. "Just trying to learn more about my grandparents." She narrowed her eyes. "The Harpers, hmm?" She said thoughtfully, "Family with secrets, that one." My heart nearly skipped a beat. Secrets? Not secrets like the ones I was discovering, I hoped. I echoed, in almost a whisper, my voice was so small. "What do you mean?" She hesitated as if she now had to be very careful about what she said. "The Harpers, you know— some people ain't your run-of-the-mill folks. Some people are just different kinds of folks." I kept pushing for her to have details but was very reluctant to say much of anything to me, much like hitting a stone wall. Not deterred, I began to go door to door and ask after my family. But again, everybody was polite and mechanical, as if taught some soothing words to repeat to any inquirer. Some of the by-passers looked interested, indeed even willing to help. There is Eleanor Whitman, who was a dressmaker—very intelligent and tender of heart, but living in the tiniest cottage at the far end of the village. So I mentioned to her my mission. "The Harpers, you say? I knew your grandmother. Beautiful woman, with a spirit as wild as the wind." She began to tell me stories about my grandmother that I never knew. The story of a young woman, far ahead of her times—a woman who had the guts to dream—yet, in her voice, there seemed a tinge of sadness, the ghost from the past. It was with time that I grew to get attached to her. In my sea of uncertainties, she meant everything to me: she was my lifeline, my only hope, and the only one who could help me bring out the real truth. And I realized that I needed her help if I was going to bring out the real truth. Yet the more I read up on that history, something began to stir uncomfortably in me; people looked and whispered around me, and I could feel eyes fall on me, eyes trailing me. There was, finally, Henry Caldwell: suave, good-looking, rich, with what everybody seemed to think was a magnetic personality—everybody loved him or at least pretended to. Yet, it was in the very market, so that was even more unusual. Waddled up, this insufferable grin, and introduced himself. " 'Emma Harper,' isn't it? I have heard a lot about you." To be honest, though, I was taken aback that he seemed so outrageously interested—only "Oh, really?" could I stammer out. He smiled again, his eyes twinkly. "You're quite the mystery, you know. Everyone's talking about you." Everyone had to, didn't they? I must have shivered. What did they say? There was something strange about him when I left him, almost as if he knew more than he put on. Something was not right with him, something just did not add up. The more it spans from days to weeks, the deeper I seem to get into a world of lies. It felt like the closer I came to the truth, the more dangerous it was. "You're digging too deep, Emma," Liv warned. I was buried in my kitchen with her, amidst piles of papers and open books. The place looked like a war zone. "I know," I sighed, massaging my temples. "But I can't stop. Something is pulling me in, something I have to uncover." Liv sighed, which brought even more concern to her eyes. "What if you're putting yourself in danger?" I could manage the littlest hint of a smile. "I'll be careful, I promise." Inside, I was terrified. The closer I seemed to get to the truth, the more positive I felt I was being watched. Every shadow hid something; every whisper was a threat. The next morning, courage against nervousness, I went to him at his home, a mansion on the outskirts. He was playing tennis with his bunch of friends, totally cool and self-possessed. I waited until he was alone, and then I went out to him. "Henry, we need to speak," I said, finding my voice steady. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "To whom do I owe this pleasure, Emma Harper?" Ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, I said bluntly, "I know you are very well-informed about things in this town." The smile on his face had already vanished and turned into astonishment. "What are you talking about, Emma?" "Don't play dumb with me, Henry," I said, my voice rising. "You know about all the secrets, all about the Blackwoods. You know everything." He raised an eyebrow, slightly, in my direction. "And exactly where did you get that idea from?" I confessed everything about how we were communicating with Eleanor, everything that I had learned from the diary. He went ashen for a moment and, to my eyes, I felt his fear. "You are playing a dangerous game, Emma," he warned me. "This town has a dark side, and you are starting to see it." I wasn't scared; I was furious. "Well, I'm not going to back off then," I said coldly. "I want to know what's going on, and I'm going to find out." He glared at me another long moment before turning and walking away without another word. I felt it as I watched him march away—adrenaline. I was in for something big, equally life-span-changing. I must have been in way over my head. It is this woman with whom I wanted more than anybody before and after that event. I spent the rest of the day at Eleanor's. The moment I went, I found Eleanor sitting in her well-cared-for garden among the bold flowers. As I sat down near her, I added in a serious tone, "Eleanor, there is something I must tell you." She looked back at me with concern. "What is it, dear?" I told her of the visit Henry had paid me, the words that had come from his mouth. Her face was drained of blood. "You are in danger, Emma," she said, shaking. "Be careful." Slowly I nodded; a lump came to form in my throat. "I know. I tried to sound so brave, but I'm anything but. I know," I tried to say. "But I can't give up now." She took my hand in hers. "I shall help you, Emma, but we have to be very careful." Suddenly, hope began to dawn on me. I wasn't going to be all alone; Eleanor was taking my side. With her, we were in it together, and with determination, we were going to get through and get the facts out. Eleanor's eyes reassured her feeling of fear with a hawkish determination. "We have to tread very carefully, Emma," almost in a whisper, said Eleanor. "Forces are working here in this town which we can't even begin to fathom." That was pretty unnerving. I realized she was right; the deeper I dug, the more I saw what I was getting myself into, and I couldn't turn my back now—the truth was too close. For hours after, I read through old newspapers, searching for whatever small clue might bring me to the very heart of this mystery. Freaky stuff, unexplained disappearances, and hints of a dark force ruling the town—I have found those. It was very much unlike the contemporary map we find now, with some peculiar symbols and markings. One fine day in the library, I accidentally stumbled upon an old map of Eldridge Falls. It caught my interest, and so I plunged into scrutiny. It showed up in the weirdest of places on the map, this odd, old symbol. It looked like something straight out of some book on mythology. I went and showed it to the librarian, that old man with an amiable face. He gazed at the symbol, rising shock increasing in his eyes. "It is the old sign," he whispered brokenly, "the sign of the Watchers." The Watchers? And then what, what did he mean? I nudged him for more again, but once more, he seemed to bite his tongue. "It's a legend, dear," he said, his voice forever vigilant. "A story whispered amidst the deep, throbbing darkness of the night. The Watchers are said to be ancient beings whom the earth holds. Yet others say something more." My heart began to pound. There it was, the missing piece of the puzzle: the Watchers, the Blackwoods, the secrets in this town—all intertwined. There was nothing else to do but go outside and visit all those marked places on the map. First of all, I made my way to an old and derelict mill on the edge of the settlement: a shadowy, echoing place where the machines that had once ground away ceaselessly now hung, idle. The deeper I went into the mill, the more the atmosphere started to feel eerie. It was as if I was being watched by something, looked at. I could feel my neck hair rise with a tingle. A noise sounded: the rustling quietly in the shadows. My blood turned to ice as I rotated in sluggish motion with only my eyes, which scoured the deep blackness. And then, I saw them—two shining eyes from the darkness fixed on mine. As my heart thrashed loose in my chest like a runaway jackrabbit, every other sound—even a downtown drum circle—was merely a whisper. The eyes were huge, glowing, and of some strange shade of green. It seemed as if some beast from the very pith of hell had its eyes on me through the darkness that swallowed both him and me. A paralyzing fear chilled me through. I wanted to scream out and run, but my body wouldn't allow me. That creature—or whatever it was—waited, slow and inexorable. It towered, huge, bigger than any living thing. What it was formed from was like a liquid shadow, which seemed to flow and change. My mind raced wildly for some course of action; nothing came. I was helpless prey in the jaws of darkness. With another step, the thing advanced, the pads on its feet almost making no sound on the dust-stained floor. I screwed my eyes tight shut as I could, teeth clenched against each other hard. Then, something weird happened. A voice boomed through the mill, deep and resonant, as though the sound were coming from the very crust of the layers. "Leave her alone," the voice intoned. It stopped; its glowing eyes narrowed. Then a low growl, it was gone into the shadows. I opened my eyes, and my heart was still racing. The mill stood quiet except for the echo of my ragged breathing. Around me, I was alone—but far from alone.