The Locket

Elizabeth flopped into bed with a satisfied sigh. It had taken months, but the once disaster of a cabin was livable, even cozy. Looking up at the picture of the couple that built it, she smiled. She had left some of their things around, not wanting to erase them completely. A bull riding trophy and buckles, the Clan Cochrane crest, and their picture.

The wind outside flapped the shutters and whined through the barely open window, pulling her from her musings. As she listened, it seemed to wail.

“Craig!”

Crashing and banging from the front of the house.

“Just the wind, just the wind,” she whispered, peeking out from the covers she’d ducked under. “Really, Ellie, jumping at ghost stories?”

Throwing aside the covers, she went toward the front door with mock confidence. Turning on the light, she looked toward the banging door and faltered. The living area was in disarray. Tipped over furniture, holes in the wall, and trophies on the floor.

“Craig!”

Elizabeth dared to poke her head outside, gooseflesh rising on her arms. A green light shot across the fields, carrying the cry with it. It flickered, disappearing near the edge of the field, taking the wind too. She rubbed her skin and closed the door, locking it.

In the morning, Elizabeth inspected the edge of her field. Footprints led to the pond then toward the unused farm buildings. A late-night swimmer perhaps?

“Come-bye! Come-bye!” A male voice from the fields. “Steady.”

She didn’t see anyone but heard sheep bleating. A flash of blue and an eerie creaking came from the barn she planned to demolish. Calling out that the barn wasn’t safe, she stepped onto the first pile of broken, rotting wood, looking for her visitor.

A fluttering drew her gaze into the rafters. The dusty sunlight slipped through the holes in the roof falling on a large blue and green object swinging from a rope on the central ceiling joist. The wood creaked with its weight. As the beam gave way, Elizabeth scrambled out, falling into the grass, screaming, and sobbing. Her cries hitched in her raw throat, and she pulled herself onto her hands and knees. The image of the dark-haired woman hanging there would haunt her dreams.

Wait. Rafters? There were no rafters. There was no roof.

She got to her feet, slowly, still reeling and shivering. Forcing herself toward the leaning door, she looked up, only open sky. No roof, no ceiling joists, and most importantly, no body. Elizabeth sprinted for the safety of the cabin. From the porch, she glanced back at the barn before going in. No roof, no rafters.

Inside, the bull was in its place. She stared at it. She hadn’t bothered with the buckles or chairs, but had she picked that up? Yawning and rubbing her eyes, she righted a chair and dropped into it. She had time for a nap, before meeting Gus and James for brunch, but she needed to fix the wall.

As she mended the cracks, Elizabeth wondered if she could tell them about the voice on the wind and the woman in the barn. Gus would believe her; he didn’t like that she was out here alone, and he’d told her that ghost story in the first place. James, on the other hand, would laugh and tell her to get some sleep, which she sorely needed.

Repairs complete, she checked her watch.

“Ten-thirty? Damn. Better get moving, if you want to catch them, Ellie.” She groaned.

James and Gus were sitting at their usual table, empty coffee cups and plates pushed to the center, looking grim, but brightened a bit, when she dropped into her chair.

“Sorry I’m late.” She said softly. “Storm kept me up.”

Gus ordered another cup of coffee. “No storm last night.” He pulled out a newspaper, “but this happened yesterday.”

Elizabeth took it, reading the headline aloud. “Rider Killed by Bull.” She looked up, “I don’t understand.”

James shook his head. “Same way Craig Cochrane died. Gus thinks he haunts the place.”

She was only half listening to James, as Gus’ comment clicked. “Wait. There was no storm last night?”

“No storm. Small breeze, maybe.” Gus sat up. “You see something, Ellie?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” She was not mentioning the barn. “A statue moved. I mean, I didn’t see it move, but it wasn’t where I’d left it.”

“I’ll go back with you.” Gus said. “Stay the night, just in case.”

“Ghosts.” James groaned, opening the paper. “If you have any actual trouble, call me.”

The drive back and the afternoon of fence repairs were filled with Gus’ stories. Elizabeth enjoyed his history lessons and for seventy-two he was quite handy. When the sun began to set, she set up a place for him to sleep and warmed up some food.

During dinner, the phone rang. She looked at it, started to answer, then stopped. It hadn’t been activated yet. She looked at Gus.

“Gonna get that?”

Elizabeth shook her head, her voice quivering. “They’ll call back.”

The air grew heavy, and a green glow appeared in the bedroom, gaining substance, as it moved toward the phone. A beautiful, black haired woman wearing a blue dress and green apron, picked up the phone. Gus gripped the edge of the table, color draining from him, as the conversation began.

“Ms. Cochrane? Gus Stanton.”

“Oh hello, Gus, Craig isn’t back from the rodeo, but I can….”

The voice on the other end cut her off. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m not sure how to say this…I’m sorry, Ms. Cochrane, but Craig was trampled by his bull, he didn’t make it.”

The woman held the phone away from her ear for a moment, tears brimming in her eyes, but her voice was clear when she spoke again. “I understand. Thank you.” She started to put the phone down but stopped and spoke again. “Gus, I think I’m going to go home for a while, its too much. Will you send his things to his parents for me and make sure his wish is honored?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you…”

She cut him off, “No, I’ll call my mom.”

The woman hung up the phone, started a new call, then slammed it back down. She shook with sobs, spinning, not caring what she knocked over, and screaming his name. Throwing the bull riding trophy to the ground, kicking it into the fire, then slamming both fists into the wall, she ran out into the field, still screaming.

Elizabeth and Gus looked at each other solemnly before she went to the door, watching the phantom run through the field, to the pond, then to the barn.

“That just happened, right?”

Gus stood slowly and collected the bull from the empty fireplace. “Something did.”

“I-I saw her in the barn this morning.”

Gus rubbed his neck. “Ah shit.” He stood. “I gotta know, now, come on.”

When she caught up with him, he was throwing rotten wood out of the barn with the gusto of a man a third his age. A beam shifted, revealing tattered blue cloth. A moment of stunned silence between them, then they tore into the rubble. She reeled. Yellowing bones, a tattered dress and apron, a broken gold locket. She knelt by the skeleton, and gently took the locket. The initials E. C. were engraved on it. She fumbled it until it opened, revealing faces she knew.

Gus stepped back, looking at the ground, not the skeleton. “Elaine…oh god.” Gus ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair and dabbed his brow. “Too late, but that’s not the answer, honey.” He cleared his throat, choking on a sob. “She wasn’t here when we honored his will by putting him under their tree, but we didn’t look for her, we….”

Elizabeth returned the locket to the skeleton’s hand and was sobbing into Gus’ shirt before he could finish.

“We’ll put it right.” He hugged her, crying himself. Pulling out his phone, he dialed slowly. “James, we got real trouble, come out here.”

After several more phone calls, many explanations, and some legal paperwork, James, Gus, and Elizabeth sat on the porch staring at the roofless barn.

“Do you think it will stop?” Gus asked no one in particular.

“What?” Elizabeth asked.

“The rodeo deaths”

“You think a ghost did that?” James asked, exasperated. “Say she exists, why would she kill riders? Would she inflict the pain that made her jump from that beam?”

Gus turned away. “In ‘82 that Kafferty kid died, then in ‘85 my boy,” He wiped at his eyes, and continued “I forget the names, but the riders in ’88, ’93, and ‘05 too. I’ve been keeping track, every time someone sees something, here.”

Elizabeth shook her head violently. “She’s not killing them; she’s crying for them. Yesterday, that rider, he died in the morning. She came at night.” She paced. “They will let us bury her with him, right?”

“So long as the zoning is still okay.” James looked up. “You really want two bodies in your backyard?”

“They have to be together, so she can stop crying for him. They’re apart; that’s not right.” Elizabeth stilled, then stammered, “I-I don’t know why I said that.”

“I do.” Gus said, putting his hand on hers. “When did you pick it up again?”

“Pick what up?” she looked down, finding herself holding the locket, and dropped it in her surprise. “I d-don’t know.”

“Come-Bye, Steady, Way-go,” A call from the field.

“No one here does sheep any…” James trailed off, looking into the field. “Do you see it?”

A herd of sheep, two sheepdogs, and a tall man dressed in work clothes and a cowboy hat, had appeared. He and the dogs bounded toward the house.

“Craig…” James gasped and edged away from the steps. “How…?”

After leaping over the fence, the cowboy composed himself and walked toward them, disappearing as he reached the steps, but they could hear him calling for Elaine from inside the cabin. All three looked at the door, but none went inside.

For the next week, Elizabeth heard Craig tending his sheep during the day or looking for Elaine in the evening, and Elaine’s cries for him at night. Her heart ached for them.

Once permission was granted, the ceremony was held at the graveside: a pear tree where their initials scarred the bark. Praying that they would have the prosperity and happiness they had not gotten in life, Elizabeth dropped the locket into the grave. After the ceremony, she saw them reclining under the tree, Craig etching the trunk with the heart and initials.

That afternoon, the familiar calls and whistles came from the field. Heart sinking, she went out to watch. Craig leapt over the fence, composed himself, and walked through Elizabeth into the house.

“Baby, you got some sugar for me?”

Elaine stepped out of the kitchen and embraced him, standing on her tip toes to kiss him. “And tea to go with it.” She took his hand leading him to the kitchen, fading out of sight.

“Good luck” Elizabeth whispered, going to the porch to give them some privacy.

That evening, the front door opened of its own accord and the happy couple appeared on the porch swing. When they were gone, Elizabeth went outside, gasping, when she saw Elaine’s locket sitting on the swing. It was polished and whole, but it was her locket. Picking it up, reverently, she opened it. Inside a small piece of paper. Two words, “Thank You.”

Through the years, Elizabeth, and her growing family, saw the couple often, tending their sheep, skating on the frozen pond, under the pear tree, dancing, just living in their own private paradise. Hugging her own cowboy, she had to agree. If there was a heaven, it was here.