Out of the Mist Read Free Page A

his wife’s suicide. I put the letters down,
feeling a sense of dread and fear grow in my belly.
    Sweet innocent voices
beckon me to turn my computer on. It’s
time, Catherine. It’s time to write.
    I feel the usual tickle of
excitement when I start writing, but it is tainted with fear. I
open a new document and write The truth
of Dawnbrook Mansion as a title. I want to erase the first three words of the
title, but my fingers won’t cooperate. I wince in pain as I force
my hands to move away from the keyboard.
    Write, Catherine! You need
to know what happened! the voices
urge.
    I try in vain to take my hands away from the
keyboard. Strong, invisible forces keep them firmly in place. I am
overcome with emotion and begin to weep.
    Write, Catherine. The voices are more forceful this
time.
    “ No, please stop. Please,”
I say between sobs.
    The voices scream this
time. Write! Someone needs to know what
happened to us.
    Tears sting my eyes. I keep fighting. I want
to stop writing, but can’t. Pain shoots up my fingers and creeps to
my wrists. Tears trail down my face.
    “ What’s happening?” I cry.
“Please stop.”
    You need to write,
Catherine. You need to write the truth.
    Sweat beads on my forehead and neck. My
fingers fly across the keyboard.
    That’s it,
Catherine. The voice has calmed and now
encourages me.
    Crying, I continue writing. The words on the
page are not mine.
    Stop, Catherine, it says, at last.
    Alarmed, I looked at the words on the
screen. I feel a pounding rhythm in my head. I look aghast at the
words I wrote, the words I was made to write.
    Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it.
Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn
did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it.
Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn
did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it.
Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn
did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it.
Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn
did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it.
Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn did it. Evelyn
did it. Evelyn did it.
     
    ~~~***~~~
     

 
    Avast There! Belay
That!
    Maida
Follini
     
    Captain Archie Edwards was
a choleric man, a short, but muscular seaman with a red face and a
short red beard. Navigating his three-masted schooner along the
coast of Nova Scotia to ports in New England or sometimes as far as
the Caribbean, he made a good living in the early 1900s, the final
days of commercial sail. Enough to build an impressive Captain’s
Mansion at Edwards’ Neck, the spit of land north of Shag Harbour,
where his childhood had been spent in his parents’ falling-down
shack.
    Some want to get away from an impoverished
childhood. Arch wanted to conquer it. Starting in his teens as a
hand on fishing sloops, he became mate on a coastal trader, and
then earned his master’s papers, studying navigation at night.
Captaining other owner’s vessels, he finally saved enough to buy a
schooner of his own.
    As a coming man, he courted one of Shag
Harbour’s belles, Amelia Comstock, daughter of Judge Comstock, and
carried her off under the noses of several Halifax-educated lawyers
and businessmen. Archie had ambition. He had his mansion built
during his and Amelia’s long engagement, and handed her over the
threshold on his wedding day.
    At sea, he ran a tight ship, always Master,
driving his crew to his own demanding standards. Some say he never
slept. At least he made sure his men never slept on their watch.
Berating them, harassing them, blistering them with insults when a
mistake was made, he had the reputation of a hard man, with a
temper, not one to be crossed.
    He was not one to show
softness. Amelia and his mascots were the only ones he was close
to. He always had a mascot. At first it was an affectionate