The Darket Hour - Chapter 4

Ivy Mae Carter

“Healing yourself is connected with healing others.” – Yoko Ono

"Why would I talk to you? You're just a teenager!" The man standing in front of me is shouting at the top of his lungs but I'm the only one who can hear him. I thought about going home after I saw the boy in the graveyard, but lingered a bit longer at my father's grave. Now, I'm wishing that I had gone home. There is a spirit standing in front of me, yelling at me because I asked him his name. Angry spirits are no fun - I'm still wondering how Benjamin dealt with so many.

"Yes, but I'm also the only one that can see or hear you," I respond calmly. There's no use in getting upset with this man - he's just suffered the terrible shock of death after all.

"I don't understand?" He has sat on the bench beside me at this point. I guess he ran out of steam on the yelling.

"I don't fully understand it myself," I tell him honestly. Ever since the coma, I've been able to see things that I shouldn't. I guess it's because I was so alert in the in between where Benjamin lived. "I was near death myself a few months ago - a coma. I was lucky and pulled back into the land of the living, but ever since then, it seems that I can communicate with the dead as well - at least the ones that need help."

"The ones that need help?" He is looking at me with raised eyebrows. "Now you want me to believe that I'm dead and that I need help?"

"Help is probably the wrong word." Once again, I'm as calm as I can be. I wasn't expecting to deal with an irate ghost tonight. "What I mean by help is that you shouldn't be stuck in the in between unless you are holding onto something. The help you need is figuring out what you're holding onto and how to let it go."

"Oh." He seems to consider this for a moment. "Well, that's easy."

"Easy? What's easy?"

"Figuring out what's holding me here." He stands beside me and heads toward the town. I follow as quickly as I can. I debate whether or not I should say something and eventually decide that it's probably best just to follow this man. He seems to be on a mission.

We wind through the streets of downtown passing small shops and cafes and even the library before he comes to a complete stop at an intersection. I start to speak, but he veers left and keeps moving. I continue to follow him for the next three blocks hoping that I'm not making a mistake. The vibration of my phone tells me that my mom or grandma is probably worried about me, but I choose to ignore it for the time being. I have a ghost to deal with.

"This - this is what holds me here," he says with certainty. I have never seen or heard of a ghost being so certain. As I peer through the window, I realize why he is so certain. A woman is sitting in the living with a young girl curled in her lap.

"Your daughter?" I ask as I watch the little girls' eyes light up at the book in front of her.

"And my sick wife," he says into the night air. "She's dying of cancer. How am I supposed to leave them to fend for themselves?" I search my brain for an answer while trying to hold back tears.

"Is there another family member I can get in touch with for you? Someone who can make sure your little girl is cared for?" It's the only solution I can offer this man. I can't reverse death after all. My heart aches at the thought of the young girl growing up without a father. I know how hard that can be.

"My father - he disowned me ages ago, but he would make sure the girl is cared for. He always loved my wife more than me. Can you get in touch with my father?" He looks back into the window and sighs.

"If you tell me what to write in a letter from you and where to find him, I'll make sure he gets the letter." I want to promise to look after the little girl as well, but I know I should make empty promises. There is no way that I could promise each and every ghost that I'd watch over their loved ones. There's not enough time in the day for that.

After one long glance at his daughter, we head back to the graveyard. I pull out a notebook from my bag and pen the letter that the man says out loud. I print his name at the bottom and hope that it should suffice. I can type it up when I get home. The important part is that it sounds like this man. He reaches out his hand and I take pretend to take it. After a hollow handshake, he begins to fade before my eyes. I watch as Andrew joins the world that Benjamin now inhabits. It is only after he's gone that I realize I should have sent a message with him for Benjamin

* * * * *


The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

The Darkest Hour - Chapter 3

Ivy Mae Carter

“Opportunity does not knock, it presents itself when you beat down the door.” – Kyle Chandler

I'm sitting out front of the school reading the obituaries Maggie comes rushing over. She seems more excited than normal that the school day has ended. I'm guessing this means she finished the mission I gave her this morning.

"What did you find out?" I ask without looking up from my newspaper.

"Why are you so fascinated with the - " She stops as she looks over my shoulder. "Obituaries?"

"Just getting ideas for a project I'm working on," I say with a small smile. It's a lie - a well concealed lie if you ask me.

"You're back to your writing?" She seems interested in this small detail. "It's great to see you moving on."

"I guess," I reply quietly before deciding to steer the conversation away from me. "What did you find out about this new boy at our school?"

"Oh right! I found out his name - Nathaniel Grave. He's come here from another state and little is known about why. I'm going to have to find better sources to get more information."

"All I asked you to get was his name. I'm not really interested in any more details about him." I could care less about the details of a new boy at school. I don't foresee a boy being part of my future for quite some time. The pain of losing Benjamin is still too real.

"Maybe I'm interested in knowing more about him," Maggie says with a sideways smile. "Maybe it's my turn to have some fun."

"I agree - it's your turn for the adventure. I'm done with excitement for now." I'm able to say this with full honesty. Adventure definitely makes life more interesting, but sometimes simplicity and routine is more comforting. "Mags, can we make a stop on the way home?"

"Sure thing. Where'd you have in mind?" I'm sure she's debating the various fun places that we could stop when I've got something less fun in mind. Something that I know will be met with protests.

"The graveyard."

"Why the graveyard?" She asks carefully. She is one of the people who knows I've been avoiding the graveyard. It used to be a place of solace - a place to visit my father. Now, it's just a place of memories - a reminder of what (or who) I've lost.

"I want to stop by my father's grave. It's been a while since I've paid him a visit and I really feel that he's due one."

"I guess we'll be making a stop then."

*  *  *  *  *

When we arrive at the graveyard, I send Maggie on her way towards home. She protests and questions how I'll get home. I explain to her that I used to walk home from the graveyard all the time and no one questioned it. After a little convincing, she eventually agrees to go home.  Everyone has been watching me like a hawk since I ended up in the hospital with that coma. I get that my head is a precious commodity, but I doubt I'll end up in a coma a second time. The odds don't seem to favor that option.

I watch as her car pulls away and then I head into the familiar graveyard. I go all the way in towards the familiar tree and headstone where I know Benjamin's grave waits. It is among the oldest of the tombstones and definitely shows its age. As I look at how bare the earth looks, I wish for a moment that I had flowers to put on his grave. Maybe next time.

"Benjamin, how are you?" I ask into the open air. "Are you passing the time in a better place than here?" I have never felt stupid talking to my father's grave. Benjamin's grave is different though. I never knew him in life - only in afterlife. It seems much less normal to be speaking to his grave. I lightly touch his tombstone before moving back to my father's grave.

I take a seat on the bench beside his tombstone and allow my mind to wander. There are so many things that I need to fill him in on but I don't know where to start. I'm wondering where to start when I hear a noise behind me. I turn around and find myself looking at a young boy about my age. I wonder for a moment who he is and why he thinks it's okay to intrude on my private time with my father when I see his eyes. They have a familiarity about them that I can't seem to place. I'm about to introduce myself when he turns away from me and heads deeper into the graveyard. I watch his retreating figure and wonder who he is and what secrets he holds.

* * * * *


The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

What would you like to read?

Part of my goal when I gave Two to Write a makeover was to allow our readers the chance to get to know us - to get to know the authors behind the book. Up to this point, we've just continued with Friday postings of the sequel to Night's Final Hour. I thought I'd go ahead and get the "blog" portion started as well.

You will find two new headings under our "Table of Contents." These headings will be "Pam" and "Crystal." These will allow you to find the blogs that we each post if you are interested in learning more about a certain person.

Now that I've explained our purpose, I have a question for you - what would you like to see us blog about?

Some ideas:
- our lives
- the way we decide what to write
- crafts
- pictures
- other

We'd love to hear your input. After all, this blog is for your enjoyment!

Oh and on a secret note - I'm currently working on the final formatting for a Kindle version of Night's Final Hour! You'll soon be able to own it in ebook format! Isn't that exciting?

I think a giveaway should happen soon. What do you think?