The Legend of Diadamia
by
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“I’m all right,” he said. Lydia noticed that he was acting strangely nervous, and had barely said a word since they had gotten there. She had to climb up over the car’s high frame to get in, and just as Diadamia had once written, she found this action to be rather unladylike. She then slipped into the cockpit behind a steering wheel so big it could have belonged to a bus, and closed the door. She found the foot pedals below, and grasped the gearshift lever in her hand, looking through the small windshield crisscrossed by cobwebs, and down that long, long black hood to the ornament atop the grille way out in front. The brake pedal was dead, going all the way to the floor. She depressed the clutch and tried to find the gears with the shift lever, imagining herself out on the open road, cruising just as Diadamia once had, with the wind in her hair.
“What do you think, Lydia?” Henry asked. “Want to take her for a test drive?” he chuckled.
“I’d love to,” she said with a pensive grin on her face. “Do you think it could ever drive again? Be restored?”
“Anything’s possible. The body’s in good shape. The motor doesn’t seem to be seized up or anything, but even so, it could be replaced by something more modern—I’d hate to try and find parts for this relic. I have no idea what the drivetrain is.”
Sitting in the cockpit, Lydia continued to look dreamy, her eyes half closed, her mind half elsewhere. “Would you ever be interested in selling it?” she asked softly, but before Henry could answer, she gasped, her eyes widened and she drew back into the seat. Directly in front of her, on top of the dashboard, sat a very large spider that had appeared from a twisted mass of web in the corner of the windshield. “Oh God!” she exclaimed with a shudder.
“What is it, Lydia?” Henry asked.
“Nothing.” The spider was sitting still and staring right at her—she could even see its eight tiny black eyes. It was tapping one hairy leg in an oddly human gesture, and Lydia was just on the verge of freaking out. If there was one thing that gave her the creeps, it was spiders. But wait a minute. Something dawned on her, and somehow she knew deep inside that what she was thinking was true. There was somebody present who remained the true owner of the roadster, someone who was rather displeased with the notion of Lydia’s buying it. Lydia asked the spider in a whisper, “Diadamia? Is that you?” In reply the spider drew back, assuming a new position—with its front legs in the air. This stance seemed a bit more antagonistic. “Okay,” Lydia whispered, her own hands raised defensively. “Okay, just stay calm, will you? Don’t even think of jumping on me.” Very slowly, she reached her left hand out to find the door handle.
“Uh, Henry?” Jake asked hesitantly from the front of the car.
“Come on, Lydia, get out of there,” said Cory who had come up beside her. She did not quite like the rough tone in his voice. She felt the handle and turned it. Slowly, trying not to alarm the spider.
“Henry?” Jake asked again, staring at the front of the Paxxton with a tense expression similar to Lydia’s. “There ain’t no battery in this thing, is there?”
Something strange was happening in the garage. The temperature had dropped noticeably over the past few minutes. Henry joined Jake in front of the car and the two of them stared at the eerie, dim, yellow glow that was visible in the Paxxton’s headlights. Meanwhile, Cory had begun angrily shouting at Lydia.
“You can’t have this car,” he told her. “You can’t restore it, you shouldn’t even be touching it. I FORBID you to buy it. It’s NOT FOR YOU!”
“Cory!” Lydia answered firmly. “Remember what I told you! Don’t let her into your head! Imagine the shields!”
The open engine-panel slammed shut as the car’s body pitched to one side on its springs. Both older men jumped back from it, startled. Lydia shrieked, finally getting the door open and trying to get up from the seat, but she
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About the Book
Longtime residents of the Rhode Island mill village, Amethyst Hill, can tell you all about the haunting in the town’s old cemetery. The legend of the Amethyst Hill ghost has been around for as long as they can remember.
But the story becomes all too real for shopkeeper Lydia Gwyndorra and her friend Cory Spenceton, who is the sole heir to the mansion that overlooks the town where the Spenceton Textile Mills were once a prosperous industry. With the discovery of some old diaries and stories from the past, Lydia and Cory are curious to learn what happened that turned a beautiful, intelligent young woman from the 1920s into the terrifying Amethyst Hill ghost. While they uncover this compelling tale of murder and deception, the supernatural activity around them intensifies at an alarming rate, as though the ghost were watching their every move, and manipulating Lydia and Cory into playing out the parts in a twisted reenactment of her past.
Discovering the truth behind the legend may no longer be a mere curiosity. It now may be a matter of life and death…
A sequel to ‘Afterimages,’ The Legend of Diadamia is C.J. Fisher’s second novel, again combining his love of the old amusement parks from New England, with his fascinations in history, architecture, movies, ghost stories, and new-age philosophy.
About the Author
C. J. Fisher is also the author of “Afterimages.” An artist, writer, and sightseeing tour guide in the city of Boston, he lives with his wife, Tammy, in Massachusetts.