The Neighbor: A terrifying tale of supernatural suspense

by London Clarke

  When I open my eyes again, Julie is looking at me. Then she quickly glances toward the window.

  “There are several entities in and around your house, Claire. They know these things about you, about the field and the time you spent there.” Her eyelashes flutter. “They know this and a lot more about you.”

  “What else do they know?”

  “They know that you sometimes exhibit what one might call reckless behavior.” She blinks. “That at night, you go places no one else knows about.”

  I cover my face with my hands, stifling a sob. “Sometimes I do.” Strangely relieved, unburdened, I release the air I’ve been holding.

  “They know you’re one person with your children and someone else when they’re not around.”

  As I lower my arms, Julie reaches over and traces a bruise on the top of my hand.

  “Did you get these bruises when the activity started?”

  “Yeah. I have them all over, with no traceable cause.”

  She flattens her mouth. “Bruises, scratches, bites—it all comes with the presence of entities. It’s their way of letting you know that they can physically hurt you.”

  I swallow. “What are they—these things in my house?”

  “There are at least two dark spirits here. One of them is a gatekeeper of sorts. He ushers souls to the other side.” Julie sits back, crosses her legs. “Somewhere nearby, there’s an open portal. It’s been opened recently, I suspect, and spirits are coming in and out like it’s a revolving door.”

  Hyo’s words return to me. Holes in the ground letting spirits come and go... I imagine a grim reaper guiding souls into the underworld. “There’s a portal inside my house?”

  “No. The portal is not in your house. But it’s close by, and it’s breathing out contagion into this neighborhood.” She sets down her coffee. “Some of the spirits have never been human, and this is one of those. It can deceive people into entering the portal when they’re not supposed to—almost like a prankster.”

  I shake my head.

  “I know this is hard to hear,” she continues, “but you need to understand. Although the portal isn’t inside your house, the spirits can come into your house or any other in this neighborhood.”

  I study her mouth, trying to decide whether I want to believe what she’s telling me. A few months ago, I would have thought Julie Havner was mentally unstable.

  “The gatekeeper has been here a long time, although it’s been dormant for many years,” she continues. “But even though the gatekeeper or usher is a dark spirit, it doesn’t hold a candle to the other one.”

  My mouth is dry. “What’s the other one?”

  “The other one is a very dangerous demonic presence.”

  Somehow, I knew this was coming. Especially after what Michael Dunn and Hyo told me. I draw in a breath and hold it.

  “Are you finding the activity happens somewhere around three in the morning—usually?” she asks.

  I nod slowly. “Yes.”

  Julie sits back. “That’s the time of day demons like to terrorize—it’s a mockery of the Holy Trinity.”

  In the recesses of my mind, I remember my father mentioning that he would often get calls in the early morning, asking him to come out for emergency cases.

  “The demon that’s here is powerful,” Julie explains, a line forming between her eyebrows. “It can split into two or even three separate entities—almost like an amoeba multiplies. It can get inside of people. It can mimic a person’s form, shape, and voice. It can take any form it likes. It’s the pied piper of all the other spirits. Something transported this entity from another location, but once it got here, it took over. The other spirits do its bidding, and that’s what makes it so dangerous. It commands the others, tells them what they can and can’t do. It bullies souls, those that are dead and trying to pass over. It prevents them from going and allows others to return.”

  “How did it get here?”

  Julie’s gaze slides toward the ceiling. “I think it’s attracted to this house, this neighborhood. It’s interested in tormenting adults, but it has a much stronger desire to attach to children.”

  My heart drops. “No, no.”

  “It appears to them as different things, different people. Evil will never look like evil. Otherwise, it won’t attract its target. This demonic figure could appear as a child, a trusted adult, or even an attractive man or woman.”

  I claw my fingers down my face. Paris on the internet, thinking she was talking to another child named Levi. Levi Athan. The demon deceived her into thinking he was another kid.

  “Can it . . . possess them?”

  Julie nods. “Ultimately, I think that’s what it wants. Either to possess them or destroy them or both.”

  I hardly know how to articulate my next thought. “I think I brought this thing into my house.” My vision blurs. “I was dating the man from next door—only briefly. He has a hobby of collecting items that are cursed or have been used in rituals, and a private investigator gave me evidence that he faked his own death.”

  Julie’s expression doesn’t change. “Sounds like Prince Charming.”

  “At least my relationship with him is over.”

  She grimaces. “That doesn’t mean the attachment goes away.” She lowers her voice. “I gotta tell you, Claire, this entity feels empowered, very much in control. It believes it owns this house . . . and everyone in it. Since it’s been here, the portal has been very busy.”

  “Can we close it? The portal?”

  “Yes. It’s possible, but not easy.”

  “Can we do it right now? Before my kids get here?”

  She gives me a half-smile. “No, I can’t do it today. That’s a much more complex process that requires more than one person. I’ll want to bring along a priest—an exorcist of sorts.”

  After all these years of ridiculing my father’s work and denying its validity, here I am, requiring the very thing I once made fun of. I grab handfuls of my hair, wrench my head back, and groan. “I just want these things out of my house yesterday.”

  She lowers her head, squeezes her brows together. “I know you’re tired and scared. Ridding a house of these entities and closing portals—these are not five-minute cleansing routines like washing your face, unfortunately. Cleansing a property of this many spirits takes a lot of energy. It can be painful. It might force you to face things you don’t want to.”

  “Like what?”

  “Demons. Literally and figuratively.”

  I work my jaw back and forth, processing a memory of my father standing over the possessed man as he writhed on the floor. The man was screaming at him. “Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

  When I questioned my father why he hadn’t stopped when the man asked him to, he answered, “He wasn’t asking me to stop. That was the demon.” But I always figured my father said that to excuse the pain he’d inflicted on a mentally ill man.

  Julie looks me in the eye. “Demons don’t go quietly. It can take several attempts, and even then, I can’t guarantee there won’t be some residue.”

  “Are you saying I may never be free from these things?”

  “Let’s hope that’s not the case. I’m willing to fight for you. And I know you’re willing to fight for your girls.” She straightens, reaches into her purse, and pulls out an electronic tablet. “I told you Mickey sent me footage. I think you should see what you’re dealing with.”

  I sit on the edge of the couch and scoot close to her to view the recording. On the screen, my upstairs hallway glows with a green nighttime filter, and I hear Jax’s voice followed by Mickey’s. A few seconds later, the door to Gretchen and Annalen’s room swings open a crack.

  “Look at that,” Mickey says, attempting to hold the camera steady. Then the opening widens, and a dark hand reaches around the frame as though something is peering out of the room.

  My heart thrashes. “What is that?”

  Out of the darkness, a shadowy apparition material
izes. It fills the doorway before stepping into the hallway and passing right by the camera. Jax and Mickey continue to focus on the moving door, oblivious to the dark entity on the screen.

  I look up at Julie. “They never saw it.”

  “No, Mickey only saw it later when he refined the camera footage.”

  “Which one is that? The usher or the demon?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Could be either, could be another one altogether.”

  I grapple around for my phone. “I’ve got to tell my ex-husband not to bring the girls back here tonight.”

  “Why?”

  I balloon my eyes at her. “Why? Because of that.” I point at the screen.

  Julie removes the gum from her mouth, places it in a foil wrapper, and wads it up. “Claire, this isn’t going to end because you and your girls try and stay away from this house. These entities know you now. They know your girls. They can follow your kids no matter where they are. You’re better off facing this head-on.”

  Nausea swells in me. “It can’t have my girls.”

  Julie squares her body with mine and grabs my hands. “Then you’re going to have to start digging deep to find some steely nerves to fight against this thing.”

  A clatter sounds across the room, and we both look up. Where my ancestor’s dagger hung, the wall is now empty. Julie stands and walks over to the artifact lying on the ground. Bending down, she extends a finger and pokes at it. “Where did you get this?”

  I tell her about my great, great grandfather and the story of the holy man and the seven demons. “It’s just a little legend my grandfather used to tell me. It made for a cool story. When he died, I asked if I could have it.”

  She picks it up, turns the dagger over in her hands. Holding her palms flat and extending them in front of her, she carries the antique toward me. “This is very, very old.”

  Several of the jewels on the cross-shaped hilt glimmer in the lamplight. “Yeah, I’ve been told maybe from the seventeenth or eighteenth century.”

  “I sense it’s even older.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “It’s probably worth something.”

  Julie runs her fingers over the leather sheath. “Monetarily, probably. But it may be worth more to you in other ways.” She places the dagger in my hands and tips her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “The dark entities here don’t like that you have this.” Her phone buzzes, and she looks down at the screen and wrenches her mouth like she doesn’t want to take the call. “I gotta go.” She throws her purse over her shoulder. “But I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  My mouth falls open. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, I have to go.” She strides toward the door. “I’m sorry. There’s another family that has an emergency too, and they live a good forty-five minutes away.”

  I trail her, panic welling in my chest. “But what do I do until tomorrow?”

  “Keep that dagger near you.” She arches an eyebrow. “And start digging deep.”

  I CALL GUNNAR’S CELLPHONE. No answer. I call their landline, Martina’s cellphone, Annalen’s cellphone—all with the same result.

  Standing in front of the living room window, I spot Gunnar’s SUV pulling into the driveway, sunlight glinting off the windshield.

  “No! Damn it!” I race to the door and down the front steps, waving my hands frantically. Gunnar is already reversing the SUV as the girls drag their backpacks and musical instruments toward the house.

  “Gunnar, stop!”

  Gunnar lowers the window, and I wrap my fingers around the door handle. Heat rolls out of the interior, along with the smell of heavy perfume. Martina sits beside him in perfect hair and makeup and what looks like an expensive red coat.

  Gunnar squints at me. “What’s going on?”

  “The girls can’t stay with me. They’ll have to come home with you.”

  His squint deepens, and he lifts his upper lip. “What?”

  “They can’t stay here, the-the black mold,” I babble. “It’s not cleared out yet.”

  Gunnar turns his head, looks out the windshield. “Claire, why wouldn’t you have called me before now?”

  “I tried to call you. Girls!” I throw my hand in the air, motioning to them as they stand by the door. “Come on, you’re going home with Daddy.”

  “No, Claire. The kids can’t stay with us tonight or anytime this week. We have a planned vacation with Mom and Dad. We’re leaving right now for the airport.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugs. “You’ve been begging to have them back with you.”

  I resist the impulse to pound my fist against the car door. “No, Gunnar, please take them with you.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but this is one time you’re going to have to deal with the situation on your own.”

  Right now, his insults don’t matter to me. I curl my fingers around the open window, my voice breathless with desperation. “Look, Gunnar, they can’t stay here. They, they just can’t. The house is...” I close my eyes and force the words from my lips. “Haunted, and these things are all over the house and the neighborhood, and they want the children—the same way they took Gen and her baby and”—I throw my arm back, gesturing behind me—“the Frankensons, and—”

  “Claire!” Gunnar’s eyes fill with alarm. “Did you sustain a head injury from your accident? Listen to yourself. Do you hear what you’re saying?”

  Martina’s eyes are wide, her red lips hanging slack.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Gunnar continues, “but you’re scaring me. You’re not making sense. I’m telling you, right now, we cannot take the girls until we come back from Florida.” He puts the car in gear. “But when we come back, Claire, I think we need to revisit our custody agreement. I don’t think you can handle this. You’re unraveling.”

  I back away as he swings the wheel and turns from the curb. Exhaust puffs from his SUV as it disappears down the road.

  When I pivot toward the house, the girls have already gone inside.

  52

  “Mommy, are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, Paris,” I assure her. But I don’t. My chest is so heavy it feels like it could cave in. This is too much to carry. “Mommy’s just really, really sad.”

  “About Miss Genevieve?”

  I nod.

  The girls all congregate with me in my bedroom after dinner, and I cuddle Paris in my lap. I agonize over whether to send the kids to Dawn’s house. Julie thinks the entities already know my children, but maybe she’s wrong. Maybe the spirits won’t bother them if they’re not in the house.

  Annalen sits in the overstuffed chair in the corner, her legs propped up on one arm. She grips an old Rubik’s cube and twists the rows this way and that.

  “Mommy, what happened to Miss Genevieve and her baby?”

  I glance up at the older girls. They all know, although at their age, death is difficult to understand. Their faces hold the tension of grief that children suffer. Paris hugs a new stuffed animal in her arms—a white unicorn—another gift from her father.

  “Well, the baby died, honey. It was a tragic, tragic thing that happened.”

  “How did the baby die?”

  “We don’t know.”

  But I think I know.

  “And what about Miss Genevieve?”

  I pull her closer as if holding her tighter can prevent anything from snatching her from me. “Well, unfortunately, she was so sad about the loss of her baby that she didn’t want to live anymore. So she died.”

  “How?”

  “She took a bunch of pills,” Annalen grumps.

  I flinch and shoot her a scolding gaze.

  “Really?” Bridget stares at me. “Is that how she died?”

  Releasing a long sigh, I nod. No use in lying to them. “Yes. It’s how she died.”

  “She suicided herself?” Paris asks.

  “Yes. It looks like she committed suicide.”

 
Paris grips my hand. “You’re not going to die, are you?”

  “She might,” Annalen mumbles.

  “Annalen!” Gretchen scolds. “Don’t say stuff like that about Mom.”

  “It’s okay, Gretch. Annalen is upset like the rest of us.” Forcing a smile, I whip my head around to look at my oldest daughter.

  Annalen’s attention remains on the cube in her hand.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Annalen shrugs. “I just found it.” She lifts her legs off the arm of the chair and starts to leave the room, but then she stops and leans against the door frame.

  “What happened to your head?” Paris points to my forehead, now a violet bruise.

  “I bumped it on the steering wheel during the accident.”

  Gretchen crawls onto the bed. “Why did you leave the house that night? Why did you think Annalen had been kidnapped?”

  I take a long breath and hold it. I’ve been expecting this question. Annalen glares at me from under bangs that nearly cover her eyes. I can’t tell them the truth.

  “I-I was confused and tired, and you know how Annalen sometimes sleepwalks? Well, sometimes I do that too.”

  “But you weren’t sleeping,” Gretchen counters.

  “Isn’t it dangerous to drive while sleeping?” Paris asks.

  “Yes, it is.” I slide Paris off my lap. “Anyway, Abby was there with you girls.” I motion to Annalen. “So was Annalen, as it turns out.”

  Annalen’s face tightens, her mouth becoming a sliver. She crosses her arms and simultaneously rolls her shoulder against the doorframe. Then she treks into the hall.

  “I THOUGHT IT MIGHT be fun for us to have a slumber party tonight. All of us—here in the living room. You know, the real deal—sleeping bags and popcorn with lots of butter. What do you think?”

  “Yeah!” Paris pogos up and down and pumps her arm like a bird. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Gretchen’s forehead lines. “But it’s a school day tomorrow.”

  “I know. This would be our little secret. I mean, we only need to stay up late enough to eat some junk food and watch another episode.” I think I sound like the coolest mother in the world. Gretchen doesn’t look convinced. Bridget’s face registers confusion.