My face burned red as I brought my attention back to the sword fighting. Allan was starting to get sloppier, and I could tell that his breathing was strained.

“You okay?” I asked.

He stumbled back a few steps to lean against the fence. He flashed me a quick, tired smile. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m just getting a bit winded, that’s all.”

“Oh,” I said, dropping my sword, “we can be done now, if you want.”

He took a few deep breaths, but then nodded. “That might be best. We’ve got some good practice in.”

I felt a sudden pang as Greg left me and I fell to my knees. I’d been so caught up in the fighting that I hadn’t noticed my own weariness. Now, without Greg’s icy presence, I felt uncomfortably hot in the padded vest.

“Yeah,” I said as I stood back up and moved beside Allan to lean against the fence as well, “I’m pretty wiped out.”

Greg floated before us, a triumphant grin on his face. “I feel like I could fight a whole English army!” he said. “You living folk have such weak constitutions.”

“That we do Greg,” Allan muttered as he slid down the fence to sit on the grass, “that we do.”

I took a seat beside him as he leaned his head against the fence. “It sure is nice out here,” I whispered.

Allan glanced up at the purple sky. “It is,” he agreed.

“I can recall this time of day,” Greg whispered, drifting closer to us. “It is a fond memory, I think.” When I glanced at him, I could see a heavy look of concentration settle over his face. “I recall gathering about the hearth, my family pressed close. I must not have been any more than a lad, for my father had not yet passed away.” A sad smile stretched across his face. “As it grew dark, my mother would tell stories.” His smile faded somewhat. “I can’t remember what she looked like.”

I wrapped my arms around my knees. “What sort of stories did she tell?” I asked.

Greg chuckled. “Terrible ones,” he said, “about wicked children who didn’t pray to God and so they were eaten up by the monsters of pagans.” He ran a hand over his beard. “Sometimes I wouldn’t pray on purpose, just so that I might see a faerie or a troll.”

I smiled at that. It seemed like something he would do. “You should tell us one of the stories,” I said, “If you remember.” I glanced at Allan, to see if he’d like to hear one. He nodded.

“Gracious me,” Greg said as he leaned back, “’twas so long ago.” He was silent for a moment as he pushed a strand of his curly hair out of his face. “There was one my mother was fond of telling us, though I have forgotten some of the finer details. It was about the beastly kelpie.” A devilish grin spread across his face.

“There once was a little boy,” he began, “who told his brother, ‘We should not go to church today. We should sneak away to have fun in the woods.’ The brother readily agreed and the two of them ran off. For many hours they sought all sorts of merriment, but as night began to set in, they discovered that they were lost.”

As Greg told the story, I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in his accent.

“They began to grow sore afraid,” Greg continued, “and as they wandered through the trees, they found and followed the light of the will o’ the wisp as it led them through the darkness. The younger brother began to pray, begging God to help them find their way home. The older boy, however, relied upon his own strength.” Greg’s voice grew ominous. “They soon came across a beautiful white mare standing beside a large pond. The older lad ran toward it, in hopes of riding it home, and he was pleased to find that the horse was quite tame. The brother was more hesitant. He felt the power of darkness in this horse.”

I shivered. I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.

“The older, foolish boy climbed atop the magnificent beast, but when he tried to reach out to help his brother climb up, he realized that his hands were stuck to the horse. He tried to pull them away, but it was useless. Then the horse changed shape. It was no longer fair and white, but terrible and ugly, with green algae growing along its flank and weeds in its hair. The horse reared back, and then leapt into the pond. The virtuous brother could only watch in horror as his brother’s screams were cut short by his watery grave.”

Greg’s voice grew hushed. “The boy ran away and when he finally found his way home, he told his family the awful thing that had happened. When the next morning came, they all travelled to the pond to see what they could find. All that was left of the foolish brother was a pile of entrails near the pond’s edge.”

I waited for more, but Greg was silent. “Is that the end?” I asked. He nodded. “Ugh,” I said with a grimace, “that’s disgusting!”

Greg gave a slight nod. “Aye. The story made my sister cry when she heard it, but I can assure you, none of us dreamed of avoiding church after that!”

“I bet,” Allan muttered. When I turned to him, I saw that his eyes were wide. “The more I learn about the Middle Ages, the more grateful I am that I can escape to the 21st century whenever I want.”

“’Twasn’t all bad,” Greg said with a shrug. “Our years upon the earth were short, so that was fortunate.”

I laughed aloud. “Yep, you know you’re in a good time period when an early death is the highlight.” Greg laughed as well, and then just shrugged again.

“Well,” I said, “if we’re on the subject of scary stories, I’ve got a real thriller.”

“Do tell,” Allan said, leaning closer to me.

“Once upon a time,” I started, “there was a girl who got haunted by a ghost who wouldn’t stop singing Scottish drinking songs and she wasn’t able to sleep for two weeks!”

Allan shivered. “You weren’t kidding,” he said, “that was terrifying.”

“Hardly,” Greg scoffed. “I’ve got one to make grown men weep! There was once an innocent soul, keeping to himself, when a foolish girl broke his sword in two.” He gave me a satisfied smile. “But there’s a happy ending, for the spirit got even with the girl.”

“Whatever,” I said with a laugh. I glanced back up at Allan. “I bet you’ve got some good scary stories. You should tell us one.”

Allan looked hesitant. “I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t have any that come to mind.”

“Oh that’s a lie,” I said. Then I started to chant, “Tell us one! Tell us one!”

Allan laughed. “Okay, okay!” He scooted forward. It was harder to see him now that the sun had completely set. “I know one that’s a little creepy I guess, but I might not remember all of it, so bear with me.”

He cleared his throat. “It took place in the 1600’s, I think,” he said. “There was a wealthy family in Massachusetts who owned a few slaves, one of which was named Josephine. She worked for the lady of the house and became a sort of favorite of hers. The lady’s husband, and master of the house, was a terrible man who often abused his wife and beat the servants and slaves. The lady hated him and wished for his death. She even told Josephine that she was becoming familiar with the art of witchcraft so that she might kill her husband.”

I leaned closer to Allan as I listened to him spin the tale. It was actually quite interesting to listen to him talk. He was really animated. I think it would have been impossible for him to say anything without moving his hands around.

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“She dabbled in witchcraft for many years,” he continued, “but confided all of this only to Josephine, and Josephine, in turn, learned all that she could from the lady of the house. One night, the lady found a way to kill her husband without arousing suspicion. Gathering up all the ingredients she needed, she had Josephine help her cast the spell. The very next day, her husband became dreadfully ill. No doctor could find a cure for him, and not long after, he died. The wife was ecstatic. She told Josephine that no matter what, no matter if someone was powerful or weak, wealthy or poor, bond or free, they were all equal in death. No one was free from the grave.”

Allan took a short breath. “For a year the household seemed almost happy, the lady, her two daughters, and the slave Josephine. But Josephine began to notice a change come over the lady. She was crueler, harsher. In fact, Josephine could notice the same changes in herself as well. The darkness of the magic they had wrought was beginning to change both of them. Josephine began to resent the lady and her two daughters for the easy and comfortable life they lived.” Allan looked up. “Then one night, tragedy struck. The lady of the house also fell ill, and died in the same manner her husband had. Josephine watched it happen and knew that the lady’s words had been true. Everyone must die, no matter their station. With the death of their mother, the daughters were to be sent away to live with a relative, and Josephine was to be sold. This terrified Josephine, for she didn’t want to come under the control of a cruel master and die in misery. In truth, Josephine didn’t want to die at all.”

A cool breeze tumbled through the grass and pulled at my loose hair. Testing my luck, I scooted even closer to Allan, so that we were touching. Greg glanced at me and when he saw what I was doing, he rolled his eyes.

“Josephine quickly came up with a plan,” Allan continued. “She took everything she’d learned about witchcraft and sought a way to cheat death.” His voice gradually grew quieter. “Could she not take her soul from her living body, and place it into the body of someone else? That way, when she began to grow old, she could move on and inhabit the body of another. The night before the two daughters were to travel to their aunt’s home, Josephine knew she had to act. She began to create a large clay bowl, and on the sides of it, she inscribed the symbols of her spell.”

A chill ran down my spine. Melissa had mentioned a ceramic bowl.

“After that, she called one of the lady’s daughters to her. She was envious of their station and their life. The darkness of the magic had twisted her enough to hate even the very girls she’d help raise. When the girl came, Josephine took her hand and cut it open over the clay bowl. With the blood that spilled from the wound, she inscribed the symbols all around her and began to chant the ancient spell. As she held onto the little girl, she could feel a terrible pain come alive inside of her. The chanting reached its crescendo and she felt her very soul leave her body and enter into the body of the child.”

As it grew darker around us, it became easier to picture the story that Allan was describing. Only now, I wasn’t so sure it was just a story.

“At that moment, several things happened,” Allan said. “Josephine realized that by inhabiting a body that had a soul in it already, she could not take control of it easily. Possession is at best, tricky, but since she was a soul taken from a living body, instead of the lingering soul of a dead body, she was far more powerful than a ghost. She tried to take control of the little girl, but the soul of the girl fought back. It was at that moment that the girl’s sister came into the room, drawn in by the strange chanting she had heard. In the confusion of the moment, and in the panic of being discovered, Josephine controlled the body of the girl and made her grab the knife that was lying beside the bowl. Then, before the girl’s soul could stop her, Josephine murdered the sister.”

Allan’s voice hung in the air for a moment and I was suddenly very glad it was dark. I was sure my face was white. This story—this is what had happened to Allan. I felt sure of that now. He was only telling me this because he had no idea that I already knew about his childhood.

“In that moment,” Allan continued after a pause, “Josephine was overjoyed. The child’s soul grew submissive and no longer tried to control her body when she saw that her sister had been killed by her own hands. No one would want to control their own body after doing something so horrific. And so, Josephine had accomplished her aim. She now had a new body, a younger one, and one that was not a slave. Josephine turned to her old body then, which was lying useless on the ground, and she drove a dagger through its heart. When someone came to fetch her in the morning, she would cry and say that the slave woman had gone mad and killed the sister before killing herself.”

Allan took a short breath as I tried to wrap my mind around all that he was telling me.

“For centuries she lived like this, cheating death. She went from the body of one person, to another, to another. When she grew old, she would simply lure away a younger child, perform the ritual, and make them kill a loved one. Only when they killed a loved one, could her power over them be complete.” His voice dropped to a low, creepy whisper. “Some say that Josephine was destroyed; that one of her rituals went wrong and she was undone, but some say that she is still out there, always searching for new bodies to possess.”

His voice hung in the air a moment before he laughed. “I wish I had a flashlight to shine under my chin,” he said. “Ghost stories seem so incomplete without one.”

I laughed too, but it sounded kind of forced. My head was still reeling. Was all of the story true? Or had Allan just taken some of his experiences and made up a story around them? I wished I could ask him, but if I did that, I would reveal what I already knew about his childhood.

“Where did you hear that story?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual.

I could feel Allan shrug. “I took a trip to Boston last year and I had the brilliant idea of going on a ghost tour. Surprisingly, I saw fewer ghosts on that tour than I do in my day-to-day life.”

I laughed again. I really hoped he couldn’t tell how strained the laugh was. “Well, it was quite the story. I’ve got goosebumps.”

“The tour guide told it so much better,” Allan assured. “I’m pretty sure I butchered some of the plotline, but that’s the gist of it.” It was so dark that I couldn’t see him at all anymore, but I felt him rise to his feet. “We should probably head inside now. It’s getting chilly out here.”

“Yeah,” I said as I pushed myself up. In the darkness I couldn’t see Greg anymore, but I was sure he was still around.

Carrying my sword, I followed Allan back to the armory where we deposited the weapons and the padded armor. Then he walked me to the employee housing.

“Hey,” I said as we neared my door, “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thanks for practicing with me.”

He grinned. “It was no problem. You and Greg make a very formidable team!”

“Yeah we do,” I said with a laugh of my own.

We were lingering at my door now and Greg wasn’t anywhere in sight. There was a tense moment of silence as we both seemed to realize this. Allan coughed and I could see him look around nervously, as if at a loss for words.

“Well, um,” he said, glancing back down at me.

I didn’t know why, but my heart started to beat a little bit faster as his blue eyes locked on mine. The anxiety I’d been feeling about his all-too-real ghost story slipped from my mind at that moment, and was replaced by an entirely different kind of anxiety. We’d had a really good time tonight. In fact, I thought we had a really good time every time we hung out and hey, maybe we should keep hanging out. Like, officially. And maybe he should kiss my face. Or whatever. I was just throwing ideas around.

I realized that as my thoughts had been running wild, the silence had stretched on even longer. I didn’t know if I should do something, or initiate something, or if I should just keep standing awkwardly. If Allan was trying to get up the courage to kiss me, then he should just do it already! But, to be fair, the timing could be better. He had just told me a freaky ghost story and then lied about the truthfulness of it. But he also looked really good in that vest. I bit my lip. Should I kiss him? What if I was reading this situation totally wrong? My brain felt like it was going to explode. Maybe I should just give him a quick hug and then see what he did.

I stepped forward and outstretched my arms to go in for the hug, just as Allan started to lean down toward me. There was split second where we both realized we were going in for different things and Allan tried to hurry and correct himself by opening up his arms for a hug, as I tried to pull mine back. I could feel my face go red as I hurried to alleviate the growing awkwardness of the situation. With a decisive movement, I stuck out my hand for a handshake.

Allan gave me a confused glance before reaching out and shaking my hand.

“I guess I’ll uh, be seeing you around then,” I said, sounding flustered.

As soon as he let go of my hand, I quickly pulled mine back. “Uh, yeah,” he said, glancing down at the floor, “good luck with work and everything.”

“You too,” I said, giving him a little nod. As soon as he turned away, I darted inside my room and closed the door behind me, my face burning redder than ever.

Greg was standing in the middle of the room, staring at me. “What was that?” he asked, sounding vaguely horrified.

I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t know Greg,” I muttered, “I was going to hug him, but then he started to lean toward me and I think he was going to kiss me, so I tried to take back the hug as he tried to go for the hug, so then I just shook his hand and holy crap—I am so awkward.” I slid down to sit on the floor. “That was terrible,” I said, my arms falling to my sides. “That was really, truly, so bad.”

“It looked that way,” Greg replied, “But no time for that now, Lady Jess. Allan’s story sounded familiar to you, did it not?”

I glanced up at Greg. “Can I have a moment?” I asked. “I just humiliated myself in front of the boy I like, and all you want to talk about is ghost stories?”

“You’re blinded by him Jessica!” he growled. My eyes widened at the vehemence in his voice. “You’re so infatuated that you won’t stop to think that maybe, just maybe, the boy you’re pining over could very well be possessed by a witch!”

A long moment of silence passed between us as I stared at Greg. “You can’t be serious,” I said at last.

He folded his arms across his chest, his expression stony.

“Allan isn’t possessed,” I said. “He’s a dorky jester. I don’t think an evil witch would bother pulling off a charade like that.” I rose to my feet. “Besides, her plan didn’t work. She tried to get Allan to kill his parents, but he didn’t. He beat her Greg.”

“I can’t bring myself to believe that,” he said, unyielding. “I told you that I have always felt that there was something wrong with him.”

I crossed my room, irritation bubbling up inside of me. “Sure there’s something wrong with him,” I said, “there’s something wrong with everybody! I’m a freak, you’re an emotionally constipated dead guy, and Allan was possessed by something evil when he was little. We’ve all got problems!”

Greg’s appearance flickered and distorted. “This is a grave matter Lady Jessica; I would beg you to think about it rationally!”

I looked up at him and shook my head. “Are you kidding me Greg? You just said that I was blinded by him, but I think you should take a long hard look at yourself. You don’t like Allan, you never have, and so you’re trying to find anything wrong with him that you can.”

“I think you are being too hasty—”

“You know what?” I interrupted, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We’re just going to keep disagreeing with each other so this is pointless.”

I could see Greg stand frozen in the middle of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists as he fought to stay silent. “I suppose you are right,” he said curtly. With a slight bow, he vanished.

I plopped down on my bed and buried my face in the pillow. It was incredible to me how many emotions could be stuffed inside a person, all clamoring for attention. But one dominated all others. I couldn’t wait to see Allan again.