With time passing, Lilly just could not get rid of that growing power inside her. An ability to see ghosts, earlier manageable, was growing with each new encounter. What earlier had been barely visible shadows now appeared in startling clarity. She felt their emotions — anger, sadness, and confusion — twisting inside her like a knife. They loitered near her, drawn by her presence, waiting for her to help them cross over.
It was no longer only at the cemetery. Figures moved in corners, dimly lit, throughout her small apartment. At first, she dismissed them as more than stress from the workload of school and research into the mysteriously sorrow-tinged past of Silas, along with increasing mental exhaustion. Still, the figures grew distinct, as did the whispers in the darkness. What once was the ability to see the dead had grown far more intense, far more draining.
Lilly found herself worn out all the time, burdened with constant headaches and an increasing feeling of tiredness. Each time she spoke through the ghost, no matter how short, it drained her energy. Her powers were being used more than ever, and she wasn't sure if she could control them anymore.
It wasn't until one evening, while cleaning gravestones at West Wood Cemetery, that one presence came through much stronger than all the others. The air had grown unnervingly cold, and for the very first time in her life, she was beginning to feel a little vulnerable. There was something malevolent in the air, and it wasn't some restless spirit.
She moved in and around the gravestones as her flashlight flickered; she could feel the anger, thick and tangible, in the air. Cleaning a particularly weathered stone, her head jerked up as a sharp, spine-chilling feeling ran down her back. Fully erect, she saw that a figure was standing a few yards away from her. It wasn't Silas. The spirit that was now facing her was different, its distorted features and eyes aglow with hostility.
She rose slowly to her feet, her heart pounding, her breath catching in her throat. Confused spirits she had dealt with before, but this one was angry. She could feel its fury rolling off it in waves. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice even, though her fear was growing.
Its eyes were an inferno, boring into hers, and for the longest time, she thought it wouldn't answer. Then, in a voice that was gravel on stone, it hissed, "Stay away. You don't belong here."
Lilly's pulse galloped, but she did not retreat. "I'm not going anywhere," she replied steadfastly. "What happened to you? Why are you still here?"
The face of the spirit contorted with rage, its form flickering wildly in the faint light issuing from her flashlight. "You know nothing," it snarled. "He's lying to you. They all lie."
Lilly's stomach twisted. Was this spirit talking about Silas? Before she could ask, the figure lunged at her with terrifying speed. Her heart leaped into her throat as she tumbled backward, her flashlight falling to the ground with a clatter. She braced for impact, but just as fast as the spirit had lunged, it stopped mere inches from her face. It hovered there, its distorted features twisted in fury.
Time froze for a moment. Then, as if held by some invisible force, the spirit dissolved into the air, leaving behind only oppressive stillness in the graveyard.
Lilly panted, her body shaking with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She'd never experienced this. Spirits she'd seen were lost, confused — but never hostile. Never violent.
Completely rattled, though left with more questions: Who was lying to her? What was the spirit trying to convey? Why was it so angry? As she gathered her things and left the cemetery, the weight of her abilities pressed heavier on her than ever. This went beyond just cleaning grave sites or helping Silas with his unfinished business. The spirits in West Wood Cemetery were waking up, and they weren't happy.
The pale morning sun trickled through Lilly's thin curtains, but it did little to warm the chill in her apartment or the one in her mind. The confrontation with the hostile spirit in West Wood Cemetery the night before continued to replay in her mind. She was no stranger to ghosts, but the intensity of anger she had sensed from that ghost shook her.
It was one of those warnings that had been tangling her thoughts, something like: "Stay away; you don't belong here."
These words stuck with her, gnawing at her sense of security. Did she not belong in that cemetery? Who had lied to her? Silas or the spirits themselves? Too many questions remained, too little clarity, and it seemed to suffocate her. It was time to know more.
Restless, Lilly paced her apartment, her mind churning. She knew she wanted to go back to the cemetery, but something held her back. This time, she had to be more careful. She could feel it within herself — the risk of pushing too hard, too fast, was one she was just beginning to understand after the physical and emotional toll her powers were taking on her.
During her pacing, pushing a few things around on her cluttered shelves, Lilly happened upon an old box, almost forgotten. It had belonged to her grandmother and was filled with mementos of a past Lilly knew so little about.
It had been years since her grandmother passed, and Lilly had gone through most of her things, but there were many dangling remembrances she had never touched, locked away in old boxes in the back of her closet.
Curious, and in need of distraction, she knelt and pulled the box closer to her. The lid opened, releasing a musty smell of old paper. There were lots of letters, photos, and other small trinkets from her grandmother's life. She sifted through them with care, thinking that one of these might take her mind off the supernatural storm she seemed to have gotten herself embroiled in.
As she neared the bottom of the box, her hand brushed something hard and leather-bound. Lilly pulled it out; immediately, her heart went into a tailspin at the exact sight of what it was — a journal.