Restless Spirits Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Haunted House Mysteries

by Skylar Finn

  “Excuse me,” she called, cautiously approaching the pair. “Um, my name is Emily, and I was just wondering if I could ask you about your daughter.”

  “Andrea?” The woman sat up. There was a mingled note of hope and despair in her voice. “Do you know what happened to Andrea?”

  “Are you Andrea’s mother?” asked Emily, opening the locket. “Is this you?”

  She held the locket out to the woman. Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at the necklace. She held it out to the man seated next to her. He looked equally overwhelmed with grief.

  “They took her away,” he said suddenly. “They said we couldn’t care for her, and maybe that’s true. But we did love her, very much. And they didn’t tell us where she’d gone. And they didn’t tell us if we’d ever see her again, or if they’d ever bring her back—” His voice broke and he stopped, too overcome to go on. His wife placed a reassuring hand on his back.

  “We asked,” she said. “We asked and asked, but they wouldn’t tell us anything. And then when they did, they questioned us. They said Andrea had disappeared, and they thought she had run away or that we had taken her. They asked us if we’d gone up to that house and done something to the people that lived there.” Her voice shook with righteous indignation. “They took our daughter away and then accused us of hurting the people they gave her away to. I wouldn’t have done that. I wanted my child to have a better life. Who doesn’t?”

  “I believe you,” said Emily. “I want to find out what happened to Andrea. Is there anything you could tell us that might help?”

  The couple exchanged a glance. They seemed to hesitate.

  “We’re on your side,” said Jesse encouragingly.

  “She came to see us once,” Andrea’s mother said wistfully, fondly. “Told us how much she missed us and how she wished she could come back. She said she had to go back to those people, so she wouldn’t get us into trouble. But that she just wanted to say how much she loved us. She wanted to make sure that we were safe.”

  “Such an amazing, wonderful, loving child,” said her father, his voice stricken with grief. “She wanted to make sure we were safe. When she was the one in danger…”

  “We asked her if she was all right up there,” said Andrea’s mother. “In that big old house on the hill. You want to know something strange about that place? Everyone said how wonderful it was, it and the woman who owned it. But all the times we walked past, I never saw anybody come out of it. Anybody that went in, they never came out. Nobody but that old maintenance man.”

  “She said they were treating her fine,” said Andrea’s dad. “Said there were two sweet children she took care of sometimes. But who was taking care of Andrea?”

  “We asked about the older ones, the adults, and she wouldn’t tell us anything,” said Andrea’s mom. “She clammed right up and said she had to go. There was something wrong, I could tell. I just don’t know what.”

  “You will tell us if you find her, won’t you?” asked Andrea’s father. “Will you bring her back to us? If you find Andrea?”

  “Yes,” said Emily. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Even as she said the words, her heart was breaking. She knew she was making them a promise she couldn’t keep.

  They were silent on the ride back to the house until they pulled into the driveway, awash in the red and blue flashing lights of the sheriff’s cruiser.

  8

  Emily jumped from the cab of the truck and ran toward the front door. Richard was standing on the porch, twisting his hat in his hands.

  “I called them as soon as I saw,” he said.

  “Saw what?” asked Emily. She looked over and saw the front window’s shattered glass. Emily ran inside, calling Widget’s name. The little dog came running at the sound of her voice, and Emily stooped to hug her.

  Stepping carefully among the broken glass, Emily bent to pick up the large rock that had sailed through the large bay window, turning it to see the black lettering painted on the side:

  CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT.

  Emily stared at the rock in shock. Who could have done this? She already suspected Matilda’s disappearance had been the result of foul play and that the person responsible might still be around—with a similar agenda for Jesse and Emily. But now they had incontrovertible proof that the villain was dangerously close.

  She looked through the window. The sheriff had rounded the side of the house with a flashlight, stopping in the front yard to talk to Jesse and Richard. Emily went outside, bringing Widget with her so she wouldn’t cut her paws on the glass.

  “Richard here saw the glass and called us up,” the sheriff was saying. Emily read the name on the pocket of his shirt: OGLETHORPE.

  “Are you related to Roger Oglethorpe?” she said suddenly.

  The sheriff turned, surprised. “Unfortunately,” he said, before resuming his assessment of the damages to the house. “It looks like it’s just petty vandalism, but given the house’s history, I wanted to perform a more thorough investigation myself.”

  “Why would anyone want to vandalize this place?” asked Jesse.

  “Well, from where I stand, it could be a couple of different things. I got these damn kids running around in gorilla masks, spray-painting anarchy symbols on all the construction sites in town—some kind of rebellion against all the new property development happening. Or it could be one of the townspeople. One of the ones still angry about what happened here.”

  “Why would they be angry at the house and the people living in it now?” asked Emily. “I mean, shouldn’t they be angry at the people who took them?” Or killed them, she added silently.

  Sheriff Oglethorpe paused before answering, as if deciding how much to tell them. “Some folks didn’t think it was somebody from the outside,” he said finally. “There were some who thought the problem lay within the walls, so to speak.”

  Emily thought his caginess might have something to do with not wanting to speak ill of her aunt in front of her. “Sheriff Oglethorpe, I know there were people in town who didn’t like Matilda. Can you be a little more specific? At this point, I’m just concerned for my own safety.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s anything that serious,” said Sheriff Oglethorpe. “If anything, I think they’re just trying to scare you folks.”

  “Who?” asked Jesse.

  “When the news van came up here to report the story, some folks showed up with their little hand-drawn signs,” said Sheriff Oglethorpe. “Mind you, in this town, people will protest somebody opening a restaurant that uses straws or a store that sells soda pop. So that’s hardly surprising. For the most part, your aunt had a reputation as a kind and generous woman who cared about children, which is what I believe. And if we’d recovered any bodies, I don’t think anyone would be speculating on what might have happened. But, because we didn’t, there were some that thought maybe she took those kids.”

  “Took them where?” said Emily. “She was already caring for them here. Why take them someplace else?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Some say she was having money problems and that maybe faking her death was a way out of it. They might think you’re part of their little conspiracy theory—fixing up the house to sell it and give it to Matilda, wherever she’s at, in exchange for your cut of the profits.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Emily.

  The sheriff chuckled. “Well, of course it is. I’m not saying that it’s reasonable. Not everyone gave credence to those rumors.” He scratched his chin, looking pensive. “I find it very unlikely that Matilda—or anyone who was in the house that night—is still alive, unless they’re criminal masterminds, or spies. No one gets declared dead in absentia without a thorough investigation.”

  “So, what do we do here?” said Jesse. “We’re trying to fix the place and sell it, not put more money into it because of vandals.”

  “I’ll have somebody come through and check on the place a couple times a day, especially when the sun goes do
wn,” said the sheriff. “I think if whoever did this knows you’re under our surveillance, it will discourage them from causing you folks any further trouble.”

  “But how serious is this?” asked Emily. “Are we in any danger?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Folks get on their high horse and want to prove their little point. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” The sheriff smiled at her. He turned to the cruiser, obviously done with the situation.

  “Is that it?” Jesse called after him.

  “That’s it,” said the sheriff. He closed the door of the cruiser, started the ignition, and pulled away.

  “Don’t expect him to be of much assistance,” said Richard bitterly from the shadows of the house.

  Emily jumped. She had forgotten he was there. “Why not?” she asked.

  “Never did find out what happened to Matilda, Cynthia, and those kids,” he said. “You ask me, he’s just passing time till he can retire and collect his pension. Most of the conversations I’ve had with him have been about his place in Vail.” Richard abruptly turned and headed down the driveway for his truck.

  Emily turned to Jesse. “What do you think?”

  He shook his head. “I think we should fix this place up ten times faster than we planned and get the hell out of Dodge.”

  After they swept the glass from the floor and threw it away, Emily and Jesse got ready for bed that night in pensive silence. It seemed that they were truly between a rock and a hard place. This situation was becoming far worse than even the money problems they had back in Florida, where at least they were safe from vandals and possible murderers. But it didn’t change the fact that this was the only place they had to live.

  “Jesse,” Emily began as they got into bed. She knew her suggestion wouldn’t be well-received. “Maybe we should ask my parents for help.”

  Jesse looked at her, openly horrified. “Em! No way. We can’t! They already think that I’m a total failure and you never should have married me. This will be more fuel for the fire.”

  Emily sighed. “I know, I know. I don’t like it, either. Do you think they consider my job a real job? They wanted me to be an accountant and crunch numbers for the family firm. But look at the alternative. Should we really allow pride to dictate our decisions? After all this?”

  Jesse was silent for a moment, considering. Pride was a huge point of contention for Jesse. He wanted to be entirely self-sufficient and reliable. To admit to being anything less would kill him.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “Let’s just say that theoretically—very theoretically—maybe this place is haunted. Which means there are invisible entities bothering us, or, like you said, trying to contact us. They’re not physically here and they can’t really do anything to us.” Emily thought of the armoire falling over and shuddered. “I mean, like—it’s our house. Not theirs. Not anymore. I’d be really mad to give up a chance at our future because of something invisible, like angry spirits or whatever.”

  Emily allowed herself to imagine it: the house fully restored, the check in their bank account, a brand-new place. If they could just stand up to the people trying to intimidate them, they could have it all.

  As for the ghosts, if they found out what happened to them, it might give their spirits a chance to rest. Solving the mystery would also protect Emily and Jesse from the people who hurt Matilda and the children. But who were they? Where were they? And what were they up to now?

  “It’s not the ghosts I’m worried about,” said Emily. “I’m worried about the people throwing rocks through our window. I’m worried about the sharks trying to buy this place, who coincidentally happen to be related to the sheriff.”

  “I am, too,” said Jesse. “But if they wanted to do something bad to us—if they wanted to make us disappear—wouldn’t they have done something way worse than throw a rock through the window?”

  “That’s true,” said Emily. “I guess it was more like a warning. But it’s almost like they knew we talked to Andrea’s parents. How would they know that?”

  “They would have to be watching us very closely,” said Jesse.

  “So maybe we should just pretend everything is normal and we’re not trying to find out what happened here,” Emily said. “We’ll just go back to working on the house.”

  “And the sooner we finish,” started Jesse.

  “The sooner we can leave,” finished Emily.

  With this reassuring conclusion in place and Widget curled up between them, Emily leaned over to turn out the light.

  “Please don’t hurt the children,” Matilda’s voice, pleading and desperate, drifted up the stairs. “Take whatever you want—you can have anything in the house! If it’s not enough, I’ll pay you. Just please don’t hurt the kids!”

  Everything was dark. Emily could hear, but she couldn’t see. She heard loud crashes downstairs and the voice of Matilda. Momentarily, it was joined by Cynthia.

  “Matilda? What’s going on? Is everything—” Cynthia’s voice was cut off by her prolonged scream.

  Inside the darkness, Emily’s breath was rapid and shallow. She heard footsteps on the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest. From somewhere nearby, she could hear the sound of children crying. The sound was muffled, as if hidden somewhere close.

  The footsteps grew closer. Emily had never felt this kind of fear: it was all-consuming, a certain dread that the sound might be the last thing she would ever hear.

  The attic door creaked open. Emily closed her eyes, though it made no difference in the dark. She wished with every fiber of her being that she could see her parents again.

  Something creaked in front of her: a door opening in front of Emily’s face, letting in a narrow shaft of light. Emily screamed.

  Emily sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. It was several minutes before her breathing returned to normal. She patted Widget until she calmed down. Jesse, as usual, was sleeping the sleep of the dead.

  Was it just a nightmare, borne from the unconscious suggestion of what happened in the house? Or was it a memory?

  Emily swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid her feet into fleece-lined slippers. Grabbing her thick fuzzy robe from the bathroom door’s hook, she wrapped it tightly around her. She cautiously crept down the stairs toward the library. She was relieved when Widget willingly followed her without food-based incentives.

  Emily built a fire in the library’s fireplace, reassured by the cheery light it provided. She reached behind the couch and pulled out the cracked black case that held the typewriter. She set it on the desk and carefully lifted the typewriter out, rolling a fresh sheet of blank white paper into the roller.

  If her theory was correct, Andrea used the typewriter to contact Emily in order to tell her what happened. As unsettling as she found the idea, the prospect of continuing her life in the house with a fistful of suspicions and no certain idea of what transpired within these walls was intolerable. If Andrea used the typewriter to contact Emily the first time, maybe she would do it again.

  Except this time, Emily would be ready for it.

  She sat in front of the typewriter. Before placing her fingers on the keys, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a flat flask of whiskey. She took a small swig for courage. The whiskey was strong and burned reassuringly all the way down. Emily took a deep breath, steeling herself.

  She placed her fingers on the keys.

  9

  At first, nothing happened. The fire crackled merrily in the background. Widget yawned and settled herself on the sofa, leather creaking as she turned in circles before curling up into a ball. The only other sound was the wind outside as it blew fiercely down the mountain.

  Emily felt foolish. Maybe she had written the other pages on the typewriter. Maybe there were similar explanations for all the strange and frightening things that had happened in the house since she and Jesse moved in, and she’d just overreacted. The reflection in the parlor had been her own. The girl in the ya
rd had been a Girl Scout out of uniform, saddened by how few boxes of cookies she’d sold. The dream had been nothing but a dream, the product of the mythology regarding the house and what happened here. The incident in Matilda’s room had really just been the wind, the door to the attic had just become stuck, and she needed to stop inventing wild stories when there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this—

  Emily’s fingers fell upon the keys as if they belonged to someone else. She no longer had the trance-like feeling she’d felt before, and it was strange and somewhat horrifying to watch her hands fly along the keys like they belonged to someone else. It was as if Emily was merely a marionette having her strings pulled by an unknown entity.

  My name is Andrea and I lived here before you. Matilda and Cynthia took care of me. Sometimes I took care of Bobby and Tricia. They were the other kids who lived here. But I couldn’t protect them. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t keep them safe. Matilda and Cynthia had been acting funny for a while. I spied on them by listening in on their conversations when I could, but I couldn’t find out that much stuff except what they said about money, which they complained about. Two people were always coming by the house trying to get Matilda to sell it to them, but she wouldn’t. One day I came downstairs and heard her yelling at them. Cynthia made me go out to the yard to play. That night, something bad happened. I don’t know who did it, I couldn’t see their faces. I hid the kids and I tried to hide, but they found me. I don’t remember anything after that till I woke up in the house, but nobody could see me or hear me and I just want to leave but I can’t please help me help me help me

  Emily wrenched herself away from the desk, unhinged by the surge of emotions overwhelming her. They seemed to run all the way to her fingertips. Breathing hard, she stared at the page in front of her. Something bad happened…I couldn’t see their faces…I just want to leave…help me.

  Emily felt colder than she ever had in her life. She huddled on the hearth by the fire and stoked it with the poker, tossing in rolled-up newspapers and pieces of cardboard from the nearby recycling can until the fire blazed high, warming her against the chill of the library. She almost wished she had never come downstairs to use the typewriter. It was too much. But now that she had, she felt like there was no way she could ignore the pleas of the little girl. Emily felt certain she was the girl from her dreams; the one she’d seen in the front yard. The one whose parents wept for, wanting nothing more than to have her back.