Ghosts on the Coast of Maine Read Online Free Page A

worn long-sleeved leotards to class all summer long. Later on she found out that it was to hide the razor-blade scars. Those horrible purplish marks did not belong on such slender, artistic arms, but they never went away, especially in Cathlin’s mind.
    Mrs. Warren did not perish from the self-inflicted wounds. She did become institutionalized, however, and finally died, leaving her daughter pretty much on her own. Cathlin’s path seemed to lean towards the arts, so she chose painting.
    In 1962 Cathlin was doing well as an artist one year out of college. The money situation was decent, she had a steady boyfriend whom she liked well enough, and she was pleased with her art work. For some inexplicable reason, she had started to dive into a deep depression. In an attempt to shake herself out of it, Cathlin had packed up her paints and headed for Monhegan Island. For years this out-to-sea island had provided the Warren family with wholesome, refreshing vacations. It was a natural choice.
    Cathy was not prepared for what would happen next. The second evening of her stay at one of the older inns on the island, she decided to take a walk. With nothing particular in mind, Cathy meandered towards town. She soon found herself on the trail to Burnt Head, one of the cliff heads located on the back of the island, facing the open ocean.
    It was a humid, muggy evening, but any walk on Monhegan at any time is such a visual uplift that Cathy continued over the rocky road lined with wild roses and trailing yew. No one else was around when she passed through the trees onto the bare ledges of Burnt Head. There was no wind.
    As Cathlin stood looking out over the sea, she felt herself being pushed towards the edge of the cliff by a pair of hands on her shoulders … step by step, slowly but perceptibly. Cathy turned to see who it was, but there was no one behind her. She started to run back toward town, but she was halted. Again the “hands” pushed her to within a three-foot distance from the edge of the cliff. “This is it,” Cathy thought. “I’m going to be pushed over the edge of the cliff by this invisible entity. No one will know what happened, and I’ll never get a chance to explain.”
    The “hands” stopped, but relief was not in sight. Cathy’s feet remained planted, but something overtook her feelings and sensations. All at once she was mentally falling through the air, out of control. Her body became numb, followed by a huge force of pain surging through her brain, traveling all the way down her spine, legs, arms. The broken body that had dashed itself on the rocks was now filling with fluid, filling and filling. There was a terrific tightening in the lungs which pushed up to the head and burst there.
    This took place in a matter of seconds. Then a distinctly female presence cried, “Help,” and departed.
    Cathy was too overwhelmed to be afraid. She walked back to town thinking, “I can’t tell anyone any part of this. No one will believe me. I will have to keep this one to myself. Besides,” she chuckled, “they’d start putting me away before I’d even get halfway through the explanation.”
    She did not sleep well that night. The next day Cathlin tried to sort it all out and came to the conclusion that she would have to find out the meaning of what had happened to her before she could be at peace. At least now she was out of her depression. That much had been accomplished.
    Between the libraries and local historians, Cathy discovered that one evening back in 1947 an eighty-year-old woman, living alone above the wharf gift shop, had jumped off Burnt Head and drowned. She had taken her cat to shore, had it put to sleep, settled her financial affairs, and come back to the island. Unbeknownst to anyone, she had walked the path to the cliff and ended her life. Her body was found the next day.
    Did Cathy relive the experience of the unfortunate