I didn’t have to convince Mom to take me to the library. She loved going as much as I did, and there was a new book she wanted. Lincoln Rhyme something.

She opened the door for us and I was hit with the smell of old books, plants, and machinery. People scanned through books and grabbed stacks off shelves. I smiled when I saw the microfilm readers stacked against the side of a few bookshelves. Since I’d never used one before, I needed to ask the librarian for help, but a couple of people were in line ahead of me.

Sitting behind the desk with a stack of books, she skimmed through a few with long black nails. The man in line didn’t even ask anything yet, and she said, “Cryptonomicon?” Her long, brown ponytail swished as she looked up.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. You must have gotten that a lot today.”

“Nah, I just have a way of reading people.”

That was weird. Must have been popular. Or a lucky guess? She guided him to the shelf.

The librarian came back, pointed at the older woman in front of me, and said, “The Notebook?”

The woman cleared her throat, “Yes, ma’am.”

The librarian nodded. “Right this way.”

Could that be another lucky guess?

I picked at my thumb. Would she guess what I needed, too? The librarian stopped near the microfilm reader, hesitated, then came closer. Her name tag said, Lila.

“You’re looking for something… paranormal?”

My shoulders dropped. “Okay, how do you do that?”

She giggled. “Just the connection I have with people.” She started toward the bookshelves.

“But you’ve never met me before.” I followed her.

“Don’t have to.” She said over her shoulder, “So, whatcha need?” We walked toward an alcove of books.

I checked to make sure Mom wasn’t around. She knew the place pretty well, so she was probably already reading her new book. I asked the librarian about the film and the local newspapers.

“You’re in luck.” She smiled, showing bright white teeth. “This is really cool. We actually have a whole collection of all the deaths that have happened since the town was founded.” Her eyes widened.

She helped me load the film and showed me how to use the machine, then I was on my own. I pressed through a few years, checking only Fridays of each year. Someone shuffled near me.

“Cool machine, huh?” Mom leaned over my shoulder to see. It felt like a bug and I lifted my shoulder.

“Sorry.” Mom said, “Did I scare you?”

“No.” I kept flipping. I couldn’t stop on Morrigan now, without her asking questions. When would she leave?

“So, who ya looking for?”

“I don’t know right now.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You okay?” Mom stepped back.

“Yes.”

“Sheesh, I guess I’ll leave you alone. You’re a bit snippy.”

I stared at the screen as Mom left and I took a deep breath. I should have been nicer since she brought me here, but I didn’t like her hovering.

I skimmed as fast as I could, until the pages started going crooked, then warped. People’s faces seemed to change into nightmares. My stomach twisted, and my hands sweated.

It got so bad I couldn’t read the screen anymore. I glanced toward the librarian at her desk, who finally looked up from a SageWoman magazine featuring a girl—or a fairy?—with long red hair.

“Oh, here.” She stood and raced over. “I think the tension’s loose.” She re-threaded it and turned a knob, and the picture became clear.

I thanked her and turned to the next Friday the 13th, 1985.

There was a photograph of a family with a little girl, standing in a vineyard. Her parents held glasses of wine while the girl held the most luscious-looking grapes I’d ever seen. It was her. Morrigan.

In Loving Memory: The Mystery of the Halloways.

We gather in somber reflection to remember the mysterious Morrigan Halloway and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Halloway. Their lives were shrouded in mystery, and their untimely departure on the chilling night of September, Friday the 13th, 1985, has left our community in a state of bewilderment and sorrow.

The Halloways, proprietors of the renowned yet curiously secretive vineyard, were known for their reclusive nature and their delightfully unique wine. Morrigan, a reserved yet deeply observant individual, exuded an air of mystery that matched her family’s aura.

The vineyard, well-regarded but accompanied by whispers of inexplicable occurrences, added to the mystique that surrounded the family. Morrigan’s passing, along with that of her parents, has cast an even greater shadow over their story, inviting questions that may forever remain unanswered.

Amidst our shared grief, may we honor their memory by embracing the complexity of their lives and the riddle they have left behind. Though their journey ended in mystery, may they find solace in the peace that eluded them in life.

Rest in peace, dear Halloways, and the mysterious legacy you leave behind. You live on in the echoes of our thoughts.

I pulled out my journal and wrote so many things. It was no wonder she didn’t remember. No one seemed to know them to begin with.

The librarian flipped open a hardcover book and skimmed with her finger. I walked over and hesitantly asked, “Do you know anything about this vineyard?” I showed her the copy I’d made of Morrigan’s obituary including the photo.

She smacked her gum and glanced around. “You mean like, the creepy stuff?”

I glanced off, then nodded.

“So, I don’t know much about it, but there was weird stuff going on over there. Like, they moved in and planted the grapevines—which literally all died by the way—then suddenly everything was thriving.” She raised her eyebrows and flipped her hands over like I should get what that meant. “And so, after they died, the investigators said there was a strong wind that blew a tree through the house and all kinds of stuff, but literally the rest of the town was fine. Most people were fine with that answer. It was straightforward, ya know? People don’t like things they don’t understand.” She stared at me, waiting for a reply, but I didn’t know what to say.

“You think I’m crazy, but it really happened.” She blew a bubble with her gum and it popped, leaving a sickly-sweet smell in the air.

I wished I could share this with someone. My stomach rolled again, thinking about how that girl ran off at the school library.

Was it a good idea to share this stuff with Morrigan? If I didn’t, she’d never help me make friends, and she’d never get to move on. How did I become responsible for helping a spirit move on? I’d called her here. What did I expect?

I’d tell her as soon as I got home. But what would she think about people not remembering her family?

***

“Yes, I remember a vineyard!” Morrigan stared at the copy I made. “And my parents! I can see them now! We have to go to the vineyard.”

“As much fun as that sounds, we can’t. Mom would never take me there without a good explanation. Not only that but there must be others living there by now.”

Her form flitted and turned a dark shade of red. I leaned back and her face dropped.

“Sorry. I understand.” She said, but I could tell she was forcing a smile. “But isn’t this fun?” She asked. “We can’t stop now.”

I shook my head. We really couldn’t. It was way too exciting. Now I had my own full-blown mystery to solve. My skin crawled with joy.

Morrigan scooted by my side, her form thickening. Her eyes gray and her pupils small, she rasped out a whisper, “Go where I was buried. See if you can find anything else.”