Possession

“Who is that?” he whispered, leaning in to talk in soft tones.
“It’s not Mr. Dalton,” she answered. “It is…someone else. A previous owner, I suspect. But can you see him now?” He heard uncertainty in her voice.
“Yes. There’s a man who’s…” he stopped speaking. Fearing he was hurting her, he let go of her arm as he moved to merge with the blackness of the wall behind them, out of any moonlight that might betray them. The chill of the stones made his teeth chatter as he stared at where the man knelt but seconds before. “Where did he go?” Luke cried. Scarlett stayed where she was, partly in moonlight, partly in shadow but still staring across the overgrown garden.
“He’s still there. He’s carefully walling up a body. It’s why the portal is so thick right there; there’s a body hidden inside,” she explained. “She is small and thin and doesn’t take up much room. But if you look closely, you can see that the bricks next to the door are all man-made. They were added at a later date.”
“You speak of visions, impressions,” said Luke turning with a frown. The events of the night had taken an unexpected turn. He stared at Scarlett, wondering if this was a joke, wishing he could see her face better. No laughter floated towards him; the half of her face he could see was calm, not frightened as it had been back in that small village churchyard.
“That man you see—but don’t quite see—is a shadow of someone long-dead. It’s an impression only. He can’t harm us, and once he finishes his task, he will leave,” Scarlett explained.
“I can’t believe that,” said Luke. He squinted, staring at the arched stone opening. Her eyes must be sharper than his that she noticed the difference in the bricks. But after minutes of peering across the garden, he could distinguish the thickness of the wall as it narrowed, his eyes tracing its length to the end. But no figure reappeared.
“It’s true,” Scarlett insisted. “It must be a full moon tonight; that’s when they are most visible. All those years ago, I thought I saw spirits only because it was St. Mark’s Eve, but it was also a full moon.” She turned and put a hand on his arm, her second on his chest. “Surely you remember seeing my aunt’s footman that night as he tread to his final resting place?”
Luke looked fixedly at her. Her touch wasn’t welcome as he struggled with what she told him; he was ready to leave. Tomorrow, he could return and dig, alone, to uncover what Dalton was burying (or digging up) in this secret garden with its well-oiled doors. Pushing himself away from the wall, he intended to wrench himself from her grip and storm away when he spied the specter again—laying bricks as she claimed.
“How can I see him again?” he asked. Scarlett turned; her hands fell away, and the shadow disappeared. A long shiver ran from the top of his neck to his tailbone. “It seems I can only see ghosts if you lay hands on me and strengthen my sight,” he said. A second chill ran through him, one that had nothing to do with the cold of the stones or the hour of the day but the company. He felt seduced, in a way, by her proximity, their physical closeness, and their shared adventure.
“I never knew that I could share my sight with another,” she remarked.
“Can we pass by the…specter…or will we disturb him?” Luke asked. He reached a hand for her and hauled her towards him, planting her entire body against him as though she were a shield.
“I never disturb the dead,” Scarlett cautioned. “It’s always bitterly cold wherever they appear. He appears almost done with creating that tomb.”
“Yes, but is he burying something else?” he whispered. The ghostly figure placed sacks at the feet of his victim; their contents appeared heavy as the specter was just as burdened with them as he had been with the body.
The images didn’t occur in actual time. The dead didn’t have watches and weren’t subject to time the way that the living were. Luke thought that only the most critical elements of this man’s crime were witnessed or recorded, not every minute detail.
“He’s finished now,” she remarked. Her body was remarkably relaxed given the dreadful vision they witnessed. “He should go soon, and then we can leave. You can escort me home and say goodbye.” There was something about her pronouncement as if she expected him never to contact her again.