The Fetch
Tamara Hatchard opened her eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on her night table. It was only 4:30. Normally, she would have turned over and slept for another two hours. However, now that the school year had come to an end, she planned to head north to spend the summer with her family in Boston. Of the many things she enjoyed about being a teacher, having two months off ranked near the top.
Shortly after five, Anita Wessels, her roommate, got out of bed and walked into the kitchen.
"Did I wake you up? I'm sorry," Tamara apologized. "I tried to be quiet."
"It wasn't you. I had to go to the bathroom. You know me. I have a bladder the size of a walnut! When am I ever going to learn not to drink anything before going to bed?"
"You want coffee?"
"I'd love some. I'll just hop in the shower while you make it."
When Anita returned, with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Tamara placed two cups of Maxwell House on the table along with a plate of Walker's shortbread.
"Cookies for breakfast? This is a treat!"
"Why not?" the teacher laughed. "You only live once!"
"Says the woman who will have the entire summer off."
"It's not as though I'll be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I've got a part-time job four evenings a week."
"Conducting ghost tours!" Anita laughed. "Why take that job when you don't even believe in ghosts?"
"Because it'll be fun. I get to dress up in eighteenth-century gowns, wear a powdered wig and have my face done by a makeup artist. It'll be just like Halloween minus the candy."
"A powdered wig? That I've got to see! Be sure to send me pictures."
"Besides," Tamara continued, "along with stories of the supernatural, we throw in a lot of the history of Boston. At the end of the evening, those tourists will walk away not only knowing about the ghosts of Harvey Parker and Mary Dyer, but they'll also have a better understanding of the Boston Tea Party, the Great Molasses Flood, Paul Revere's ride, the Boston Massacre and, of course, the Kennedy family."
"Maybe next month, I'll take a Friday off and drive up there for a long weekend."
"I'd like that. We can go out for lunch, and then I'll treat you to one of my fascinating and informative tours."
Two hours later, the two women left their New Jersey apartment and said their goodbyes in the parking lot. Then Anita put her briefcase into her Honda and drove to the station where she would take the train into Manhattan while Tamara got into her Subaru and headed for I-287. As was usual on Friday mornings, there was a good deal of congestion on the interstate, but once the rush hour was over, there would be fewer cars on the road, and she would be able to make better time.
It was while she was approaching the Tappan Zee Bridge, sitting in heavy, stop-and-go traffic, that the driver of the SUV behind her decided to make a phone call. He took his eyes off the road for only a few moments, but it was long enough to miss seeing the Subaru's brake lights come on.
"Oh, great!" the teacher cried in frustration after feeling the jarring impact. "What a way to start my vacation!"
Both drivers put their cars in park and got out to assess the damage.
"I'm sorry. I was temporarily distracted," the driver of the SUV apologized. "Are you okay?"
"I think so," Tamara replied, thankful that her vehicle had sustained only minor damage.
After exchanging insurance information, the drivers got back into their cars and continued on their journeys.
* * *
Tamara arrived at her childhood home without further incident. Since both her parents were at work, she unlocked the door, let herself inside and carried her suitcases upstairs to her old bedroom. After unpacking, she went down to the kitchen.
I think I'll surprise my parents and make them dinner, she thought.
She removed a pound of ground beef from the freezer and placed it in the microwave. While waiting for the meat to defrost, she took out canned tomatoes, tomato sauce and a box of rotelle from the pantry. While searching for basil on the spice rack, she felt the first dull pangs of a headache. Hoping to prevent the discomfort from blossoming into a full-fledged migraine, she took two Tylenol with a glass of water. The pain reliever did the trick. By the time her mother came home from work, her head felt fine.
"It's so good to have you home again," Eileen Hatchard cried, hugging her daughter tightly.
Although Tamara had spent Christmas vacation with her family and spoke with them several times a week throughout the intervening six months, her mother made the homecoming seem like the return of the prodigal son.
"Look," she said, holding up a white box tied in red string, "I stopped at the bakery on the way home and got cake—your favorite, peanut butter with chocolate ganache."
"It's a good thing I'll be conducting walking tours! Otherwise, I'd return to New Jersey in September being twenty pounds heavier."
Twenty minutes after her mother came home, her father walked through the door, and another round of embraces and kisses commenced.
"I see you made dinner," Gil Hatchard observed. "I was going to take you two lovely ladies out tonight, but that can wait until tomorrow."
While Tamara opened the bottle of wine she had put in the refrigerator to chill, her mother put a loaf of garlic bread under the boiler.
"This is better than most restaurants," her father declared as he sat down at the dining room table. "Salad, pasta with homemade sauce, garlic bread, wine and cake. With both your mother and I working, we eat a lot of frozen meals and takeout food. And we hardly ever eat dessert."
"Don't get too used to it," Eileen laughed.
"When do you start your summer job?" Gil asked.
"Thursday night. I'll work most Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. I say 'most' because I can get another guide to cover my tour if I want to go somewhere on any of my scheduled nights."
"Good. While you're here, we'll have to catch a Red Sox game at Fenway just like we did when you were younger."
With no son, Gil shared his love of baseball with his daughter.
"I don't know, Dad," Tamara teased. "I live in New Jersey now. That's Yankees territory. But don't worry; I'm still a Sox fan at heart."
It was a wonderful evening, and the merriment continued well past midnight. Finally, though, since both parents had to work the following day, Eileen rose from the living room sofa and headed upstairs to bed.
Tamara woke up the following morning with another headache. She shook the last two Tylenol out of the bottle and swallowed them down with her cup of morning coffee. Then, fighting a losing battle with her willpower, she ate a piece of cake for breakfast, savoring the taste of peanut butter and chocolate.
Once the Tylenol dulled her aching head, she quickly cleaned the house and went out to run a few errands. Her first stop was Witch Way, the New Age shop owned by Bridie McClenahan, the woman who ran the ghost tours. The owner handed her a shopping bag that contained two Colonial-era dresses and a powdered wig.
"And this is your script," Bridie said, handing her two dozen typed pages bound in plastic.
"Do I have to memorize all these lines?"
"No. We want our guides to be as spontaneous and as amusing as possible. But all the supposed hauntings along your route are described there. Use it to familiarize yourself with the details. Your tours start at seven, but you ought to be here thirty minutes earlier because Blaise—that's the kid from the cosmetology school—will need time to apply your makeup."
"I'll see you Thursday at 6:30, then."
After mentally crossing off several other items on her to-do list, she made her final stop: Walgreens pharmacy, where she picked up another bottle of Tylenol.
* * *
Gil Hatchard stopped at the Peking Palace on his way home from work on Thursday and brought home General Tso's chicken, hot and sour soup and egg rolls.
"Tonight's your big debut," he said as his daughter got out forks and spoons from the kitchen drawer.
"You make it sound like I'm opening on Broadway," joked Tamara, who despite having yet another headache, was excited about starting her new job. "I'm just conducting a ghost tour."
"But you are playing a role, aren't you?" Eileen chimed in. "What's the name of the character you're portraying?"
"Martha Adams whose father is one of the Sons of Liberty and whose fiancé is off fighting with the Continental Army."
After the meal was finished, Eileen passed out the fortune cookies. Tamara cracked hers open and read the message printed on the slip of paper inside.
"'Seeing is believing.' Not much of a fortune, is it?"
Tossing the uneaten cookie onto her plate, she got up from the table and went to her room to change. She looked at the two costumes hanging in her closet. It did not matter which one she wore since they were similar in both style and color. After donning the dress and wig, she stood in front of her full-length mirror. To give a more ghostly appearance, the outfit was made exclusively of shades of pale gray.
I look like I stepped out of an old black-and-white movie.
Once she put the white mob cap on top of the wig, she went downstairs.
"How do I look?" she asked her parents.
"With the right makeup, you'll look just like a phantom spirit," her mother answered.
Both her parents wished her good luck, but she did not need it. Despite having to take two more Tylenol to ease the pain in her head, she had a successful first night on the job. She not only remembered all the facts included in the script Bridie gave her, but she was also able to answer questions not covered by the material.
At the end of the night, after removing all the heavy makeup and showering, she counted her tips. She made more in gratuities as a tour guide than she did as a waitress during her college days. Of course, she might not get as much every night. There were bound to be times when bad weather caused a low turnout or even a canceled tour. Much to her delight, on both Friday and Saturday nights, her tips exceeded the amount she received on Thursday; and on Sunday night, the total came to only a dollar less. All in all, her four days of work netted a nice sum.
Monday morning, Tamara began the first of three days off. Once her parents left for work, she walked downtown to run some errands. As she was coming out of Walgreens—because of her frequent headaches, she was running low on Tylenol again—she saw Leo Kelsey, a former high school classmate of hers. She waved to him, yet although he looked right at her, he showed no sign of recognition.
"Leo?" she called across Massachusetts Avenue. "It's me, Tamara Hatchard."
He turned and walked away without replying and soon disappeared into a crowd of people.
That's odd! she thought. He acted as though he didn't even know me.
A moment later, a blinding pain shot through her head. It was much stronger than the dull ache that had been bothering her since she left New Jersey. Thankfully, it soon passed, but it left behind a worry as to what the cause might be.
I never had these headaches until that fender-bender near the Tappan Zee. Perhaps I ought to see a doctor about them.
* * *
On Wednesday, Tamara made plans to have lunch with another old friend from school. The two women had always been close and kept in touch via social media after graduation. They also made it a point to meet up whenever Tamara came home. Annie, who still lived in Boston, suggested Pauli's on Salem Street, an eatery known for its tasty wraps and sandwiches.
"I think I'll have the Super Mario meatball sandwich," Tamara announced. "With all the walking I've been doing, I don't have to worry about the calories."
After deciding on a California wrap, her friend put down the menu and asked, "Did you hear about Leo Kelsey?"
"No. What about him?"
"He died."
"You're kidding! I just saw him two days ago."
"You visited him in the hospital?"
"No. I was coming out of Walgreens, and I saw him across Massachusetts Avenue."
"That's impossible," Annie said. "He's been in a coma for the past two weeks."
"Maybe it wasn't Leo after all. I waved and called to him, but he didn't seem to know me."
Tamara reached into her handbag and took out her bottle of Tylenol.
"You got a headache?" her friend inquired.
"Yeah. It's probably just allergies," she said, not wanting to mention the minor collision.
Once again, acetaminophen did the trick and took away the discomfort in her head.
"We'll have to do this again," Annie said as the two women left the restaurant an hour later.
"Anytime. I'll be in Boston until the first of September."
Although she enjoyed seeing her friend, Tamara was saddened by Leo's death. Despite having been certain it was him on Monday, she soon managed to convince herself it was only a case of mistaken identity. However, by the time Harborfest, Boston's week-long Fourth of July celebration, began, she had a second such experience. While conducting one of her ghost tours, she thought she saw her former babysitter, only to learn several days later that the woman had died in a hospice in Quincy.
"It can't be another case of mistaken identity," she told herself. "But what else can it be?"
When she had a third similarly eerie sighting three weeks later, she began to worry that there might be something wrong with her, if not physically, then mentally.
* * *
"You've been doing a great job," Bridie said after giving Tamara an increase in pay to show her appreciation. "In fact, you've received more positive reviews than any of my other tour guides."
"Thank you. I ...."
Tamara suddenly put her hand to her forehead.
"Are you okay?" her employer asked.
"I'm fine. It's just a headache," she replied reaching for a bottle of Excedrin Extra Strength that she hoped would work better on her worsening pain.
"Why don't we sit down and have a cup of tea?"
The two women went into the back room where Bridie put a kettle on the burner. While they waited for the water to boil, she asked how her employee liked living in the Garden State.
"It's nice. I like the school where I work, and I share an apartment with a really nice woman who has a good job in New York. I only wish New Jersey wasn't so far from home. It's a four-hour drive, so I don't get back to Boston as often as I'd like."
"Do you have a significant other there?"
"No. Not yet. I've dated a few men, but nothing serious. What about you? Are you married?"
"I don't have the time for a husband. This shop and the tours keep me pretty busy."
"Whatever made you open a New Age shop? Do you believe in all this metaphysical stuff?"
"Yes. I could do an astrological chart for you. What's your sign?"
"I'm a Scorpio, but I don't believe in astrology or any other form of fortunetelling. When I was a teenager, my friend tried to predict my future with Tarot cards, but, frankly, it was all nonsense. None of what she told me came true."
"Maybe your friend didn't know what she was doing."
"It's possible."
"I'll bet you've had psychic experiences and are not even aware of them."
A frown came to Tamara's face, and she lowered her eyes. The highly perceptive Bridie did not miss her reaction.
"You have! What was it? Did you have some kind of past-life recollection? A premonition of an event that later happened?"
"Several times since coming here in June, I thought I saw someone I know, only to discover days later that he or she was dead."
"You've seen ghosts?"
"No, because they were still alive when I thought I saw them. They died shortly thereafter."
"You're seeing fetches!"
"What are fetches?"
"A fetch is an apparition of a person who is about to die. According to Irish folklore, if you stand outside a church on St. Mark's Eve, April 24, you can see a procession of the fetches of people who will die in the upcoming year."
"That doesn't apply in my case. It's not April, and the first time I had this experience, I was standing outside a Walgreens, not a church."
"You saw a fetch nonetheless."
"Sorry, but I'm a skeptic. It was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity."
"Every time?"
"My eyesight is probably going," Tamara said with no real conviction. "Maybe that's why I'm getting headaches. I ought to see an eye doctor."
The following day, after waking up with yet another aching head, the teacher went to Pearle Vision and had her eyes checked. After his examination, the optometrist said there was nothing wrong with her eyes and suggested she see a medical doctor to determine the cause of her headaches.
After leaving the vision center, she walked down Tremont Street toward Boston Common. As she neared the Granary Burying Ground—a popular stop on her ghost tour since it was where Paul Revere, John Hancock, Samuel Adams and five victims of the Boston Massacre were buried—her eyes went to the twenty-five-foot-tall obelisk that marked the final resting place of Benjamin Franklin's parents. However, it was not the Franklins' grave marker that caught her attention. Rather, it was the woman standing in front of it.
"Anita!" she called out in surprise.
Why didn't she tell me she was coming today? I wasn't expecting her until Friday.
This was no case of mistaken identity. She saw her roommate clearly. Although they were facing one another, Anita seemed not to recognize the young woman she lived with. Her expression was blank, and the lack of animation on her friend's face frightened Tamara. That fear turned to terror minutes later when Anita seemed to vanish before her eyes.
The horrified teacher would have run from the spot had not an agonizing pain in her head paralyzed her body. Moments later, she fell to the ground. Before passing out, she recalled Bridie McClenahan's words: "You're seeing fetches!"
* * *
The following week was without a doubt the worst in Tamara's young life. Taken to the hospital emergency room after fainting on Tremont Street, she was subjected to a battery of tests and then diagnosed with a brain tumor.
"That explains the headaches. Can it make me see things that aren't there as well?"
"Tumors can cause hallucinations, yes," the doctor confirmed. "I feel, given the location of the growth, we ought to try radiation and chemotherapy first rather than invasive surgery."
"Whatever you say. You're the doctor."
"I wish all my patients were so agreeable."
Not long after the oncologist left, Tamara's parents paid her a visit. Although Eileen put on a good show of optimism, her daughter could see that beneath the façade she was worried. Her red eyes indicated that she had been crying.
"Your doctor told us he's going to hold off on operating," Gil said.
"Yes. He feels surgery is too dangerous. He wants to try chemotherapy and radiation instead. Hey, if my hair falls out, I can wear that gray wig I use when I pretend to be the ghost of Martha Adams."
Eileen, who had barely been able to keep her emotions in check, suddenly burst into tears.
"How could you joke about such things?" she cried, reaching into her pocket for a tissue.
"I'm trying to remain positive."
"Yes, Yes, you're right, sweetheart. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Mom. I can understand what you two must be going through."
"Don't worry about us," Gil said. "You concentrate on getting better."
"I will. I've got a great support system. I'm sure you and Mom are praying for me, and Bridie McClenahan must be casting spells, reciting incantations or whatever those New Age people do to bring health and good luck to a person. And Anita—oh, no! I forgot. She is supposed to come up from New Jersey to see my tour. I'd better let her know what's happened."
"Do you want me to take care of that for you?" Eileen asked.
"No. I'm just lying in this bed with nothing to do. I'll give her a call."
Once her parents left, promising to return the next day, Tamara reached for the receiver of the phone beside her bed and dialed her roommate's cell phone number. There was no answer, so she left a brief message on her voicemail. Later that night, just before the nurse made her rounds, handing out medications like they were candy, the bedside phone rang. Since there was no caller ID on the old-fashioned table-model telephone, Tamara assumed it was her roommate returning her call.
"Hey, Anita. How have you been? You miss me yet?"
"Miss Hatchard?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is June Wessels, Anita's mother."
"I'm sorry. I assumed it was your daughter on the line. Is she there? Can I speak to her?"
At the sound of June's soft sobbing, Tamara felt an all-encompassing dread. She wanted to hang up, but could not make her arm obey the simple command from her brain.
Please don't say it! she thought.
"I'm afraid Anita ... she's ...."
The distraught woman could not bring herself to say the words.
"There was an ... accident. A tractor-trailer ...."
"Is she all right?"
"No. She isn't. She's ...."
The soft sobbing was replaced with wails of grief. Then, suddenly, the line went dead. Tamara's arm finally reached across the table and returned the receiver to the cradle.
I wasn't hallucinating. I actually saw Anita's fetch in the Granary Burial Ground.
With Tamara still in the hospital, Eileen and Gil drove to New Jersey to attend Anita's funeral in their daughter's stead. While they were there, they arranged to have her belongings packed up and put into a self-storage facility until such time as she returned to New Jersey.
* * *
Despite her best intentions to maintain a positive outlook, Tamara went into a state of depression. Not only did the headaches become more frequent and intense, but she did not react well to her cancer treatments. She lost weight and took to wearing a bandanna to cover her thinning hair. Due to her illness, she remained in Boston, taking a medical leave of absence from her teaching position.
I'm getting cabin fever, she thought despondently, tossing aside the paperback she was reading.
Remaining inside the house, however, was her own choice, not her doctor's advice. Since Anita's death, she rarely went outdoors, except to go to the oncologist. In truth, she was afraid to go out, and when she did, she kept her eyes lowered, fearful she might see another fetch.
One warm September morning when she woke late and saw her mother standing downstairs in the kitchen, she feared the worst.
"Is that you, Mom?" she cried.
"Of course, it's me. Who else would it be?"
Thank God! For a moment, I thought ....
"Shouldn't you be at work?" she asked, relief flooding over her.
"I thought I'd take the day off so we could spend some time together. Maybe we can go shopping. I noticed your clothes are getting big on you. Why don't we go out and buy you some new ones?"
"I'd like that."
"And we can go to lunch, too—if you're feeling up to it."
"Sounds good."
"Would you like me to make you some breakfast?" Eileen offered.
"I'll just have coffee. If we're going out for lunch, I don't want to spoil my appetite."
After the two women finished their morning chores, they drove to the CambridgeSide mall. Although she only bought one pair of jeans, Tamara enjoyed spending time with her mother.
"This reminds me of when I was a kid," she said nostalgically. "Every August, you and I would go school shopping for clothes and shoes. Then we'd always go to Kmart or some other discount department store and fill up on pads, pencils, pens and all the other things I'd stuff into my new backpack."
Several minutes of silence followed as both women fought back their tears.
"I'm getting hungry," Eileen announced cheerfully, trying to make the best of the mother-daughter day out. "Feel like going to the Cheesecake Factory?"
Although she doubted her ability to eat an entire cobb salad, Tamara could not resist getting a slice of Godiva chocolate cheesecake.
"Order both the salad and the cheesecake," her mother suggested. "What you don't finish, you can take home with you."
That's always been Mom's philosophy, Tamara thought with a smile. I've never known her to leave a restaurant without a doggie bag.
"Better yet," Eileen said. "Just order the salad. I'll buy a whole cheesecake to take back with us. That way, your father can have some, too."
That's another one of Mom's traits. She always ....
People often use the term brain freeze to describe that temporary, painful sensation they feel when they eat or drink something cold. But it can also mean "a temporary mental confusion or failure to perform." The second definition applied in this case. Tamara's brain seemed to literally stop working as though someone had thrown a switch to cut off the power.
"Are you okay?" Eileen asked when she saw the sudden pallor of her daughter's complexion. "Is it your head? Are you in pain?"
"No. I'm ... f-fine."
"Good heavens! You look like you've seen a ghost."
No, not a ghost—a fetch.
It was there for only a few moments, but Tamara clearly saw it before it vanished. There was no mistake. She knew that face; she saw it staring back at her in the mirror every day. Furthermore, she knew what it meant. Oddly enough, she felt no fear at the certainty of impending death, only a deep sadness for her mother and father who would soon lose their only child.
Ever since Salem tried to eat the Sacred Cod at the Massachusetts State House he's been prohibited from taking any tours in Boston.
