Haunted Hideout

by Michelle Dorey

  He plopped down into the chair and looked over at them huddled on the sofa. No wonder Angela was traumatized. He’d almost shit himself when he saw the picture. It wasn’t the gore. Hell, he’d seen lots of worse things than that. No. It was that the picture had changed. His blood ran cold, and he couldn’t help the shiver that gripped his shoulders. Some of that blood had gotten on his fingertips but he’d wiped them clean before he went into the kitchen. Just the thought of it, made him want to wash his hands. But he couldn’t wash away the image that lingered in his head.

  Half the guy’s head had been blown off! The wife and kids were chopped up like minced meat. And in case he didn’t think that was bad enough there’d been blood. Real blood, dripping from the photo, onto the frame and onto his hands. It was that blood that freaked the girl out. Caused by… a ghost, dammit. Yeah. Point taken. He glanced at his watch. Only a little past eleven.

  This was going to be a long night.

  The girl was still quiet, staring into the flames. Not a word had passed her lips. She hadn’t even swallowed any of that coke. Oh God. She needed medical attention. Psychiatric help for sure, after going through this. He had to do something. “I’m going to put some soup on for her.”

  Lydia gaped at him like he had two heads. “We need to get out of here, and you’re making soup?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the best that I got right now.” He pointed a finger at Angela. “She needs liquid and warmth.”

  He wanted to wash his hands as well; God only knows what was in that blood! He got to his feet and walked across the room, to glance outside. It had been too much to hope that the snow would have let up.

  He peered up the staircase as he walked by. Nothing unusual. Just the dark space and the door to the bathroom hanging half open. In another few steps he was in the kitchen. He jerked back when a glance in the cabinet showed the dead rat. Yeah. He’d said he would take care of it. Shit. He inched forward, with his lips curled and picked it with two fingers by the tail. Oh man. Something had mauled it pretty good and he didn’t want to think what that something was.

  He turned to the back door but then shook his head. Screw it. He opened the cabinet under the sink and tossed it in the trash. He wasn’t stepping a foot outside if he didn’t have to.

  Freaking pencil pushers in Washington. They’d bought this stupid house never questioning why they’d been able to get it so cheap? The locals knew though. He gave his head a small shake. What if Washington had heard the story about this place? It wouldn’t have changed a damn thing; he hadn’t believed the delivery guy, right? And it was highly unlikely the bureau would ever believe him if he told them this story. He’d be lucky not to get kicked out as a psycho.

  He washed his hands pouring plenty of dish soap into his palm. No wonder that artist couple had just up and left even after sinking all that money into reno’s. Who could blame them?

  He found a can of chicken noodle soup and opened it. When it was in the microwave warming, he noticed the red stove light still on. He turned it off, shaking his head. There was no way anyone wanted to eat. But it was important to stay hydrated. He rummaged in the cabinets until he found a tray. He got a few cans of pop, glasses, and the bottle of wine. Lydia could probably use a stiff drink, ‘cause he knew he sure needed one.

  When the microwave beeped he grabbed the bowl of soup and set it on the tray. For good measure he grabbed a bag of chips and plopped it on top. The boy might appreciate some junk food. He paused for a moment remembering how he’d blamed Mark for the shower prank. The kid had been innocent. His lips twitched. He owed that kid an apology. He chewed his lip. Who was he kidding? He owed the boy a slew of apologies.

  He went down the hall and crossed by the stairs to the living room. He could see their heads above the back of the sofa and hear the crackling fireplace. Breathing a sigh of relief he went over and stood next to Lydia. “Try to get some of this into her. Has she said anything?”

  Lydia shook her head and took the bowl of soup and spoon. “Thanks.”

  Holding the tray in one hand, he tossed the bag of chips to Mark. “Here. Thought you might like something. I’ve got another soda for you too.”

  As he was about to set the tray on the floor by the chair, a thundering boom crashed above. And another. And another. His jaw tightened and he stood perfectly still. The banging continued. It was like the whole upstairs was caught in a maelstrom; with the crashing was so hard that he could feel it in his bones. The walls shook, and the can of soda on the tray danced across the surface. Jake stared at the ceiling, his hand automatically reaching behind him for his gun. The crashes kept going.

  “Make it stop!” Mark screamed and his arms went round his sister.

  Lydia dropped the soup bowl onto the tray and grasped her children. Mark was still screaming and Angela’s eyes were so wide the whites showed! She began to tremble and shake as her mouth yawned open wide in a silent scream.

  An icy shiver skittered up his spine, and he froze holding the gun in his clenched hand. He had to do something! He darted across the room and glared up the stairwell. “Stop it! For God’s sake, just stop!”

  The sound of breaking glass followed. But the thudding noises ceased. It was so quiet he could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears. A cold draft settled on his shoulders as he peered up the set of stairs. Whatever was up there had smashed a window, letting icy air into the house. Even if the electrical power stayed on to keep the furnace going, it would be a losing battle to stay warm.

  He took a deep breath and tucked his gun away. Fat lot of good a gun would do in this house. He turned around and called to Lydia, “I’ve got to lock the bedroom doors. It’s the only way to keep the heat in.” His gut tightened into a knot when he turned and looked up at the second floor railing. Like it or not, he had to go up there.

  The loud creak of his foot on the stair sent his hackles high. His hand gripped the railing in case something tried to push him again, like in the cellar. There was no doubt that there was some entity lingering in the horrible old house. Just a few more steps and he’d be up there. His gaze flitted down the hall and then to Mark’s bedroom on his right.

  Bending at the waist, he looked into the bedroom. His breath froze tight in his chest. The bed was upended, leaning against the far wall. The chest of drawers lay flat on the floor, clothes spilling from the drawers that littered the room. A cyclone couldn’t have done more damage. He flicked the lock on the knob and shut the door.

  Standing in the frigid hallway he sucked in a deep breath. He had to get this done before he lost his nerve. He held his hands out in front of him to ward off any attacks as he crept to Lydia’s room.

  His mouth fell open, his gaze riveted to the massive oak frame of the queen-sized bed. It was completely flipped over, the mattress and bedding splayed underneath. What the hell could do that? Again clothes were strewn everywhere and the dresser lay on its side. But the window was intact, just like Mark’s room had been. Shit. It had to be the girl’s room where the glass had shattered.

  He locked the door to Lydia’s room and again crept slowly down the hallway. He checked the spare bedroom only to find the bed also on its side. He secured the door and took a deep breath. He knew it had to Angela’s room where the window was smashed out. He could feel the cold draft.

  Opening the door, he saw flakes of snow drifting onto the glass shards below the window. The steady wind whipped the lace curtains high. Even with the smashed window, the devastation in this room was minimal compared to the other two rooms. The dresser and night tables were undisturbed, the girl’s belongings untouched. As he went back to the door, sudden movement on the bed caught his attention.

  He ducked just in time to dodge a book flying past him and through the open doorway. When he straightened he gasped! A girl sat on the edge of the bed watching him with dark eyes. Her hair was black, hanging in strings over her sallow cheeks. Her hand rose, reaching for him and her head tipped back, her mouth open in a silent sc
ream. In the dim light he could see a gaping gash in her neck. Arms outstretched, she rose from the bed.

  Oh shit! He had to get out of there! He lurched into the hallway, yanking the door shut with a resounding bang! Gulping air, he kept his hand on the door handle holding it shut. Oh God. That had been the daughter! And that gash in her throat...The old man had almost taken her head off with that ax!

  He spotted the book she’d thrown, laying against the wall. He bent to grab it and then raced down the hall to the stairs. Please God. Let the door keep her in there! If he ever saw that specter again he’d have a heart attack. His heart galloped, threatening to burst from his chest. He paused at the newel post, holding on and gasping for air.

  “Jake? What’s happening, Jake?” Lydia cried out from the living room.

  Oh God. He had to get a grip. He couldn’t tell them what he’d just seen, they’d totally freak out! Hell, he was freaked out. He looked at the book in his hand. There were flowers on the cover; the word “Diary” was embossed below that. He stared at it blankly. She wanted him to read it? Now?

  He took a breath and huffed it out fast. Later. He’d look at it after they got out of this mess. IF they got out of there. He couldn’t handle much more.

  TWENTY SIX

  Mark

  MARK HELD ANGELA’S HAND IN BOTH OF HIS—his big sister who always looked out for him despite their bickering. And now she was a zombie. He fought the tears threatening to spill out any second. It was up to him to take care of her now.

  He looked over his shoulder when the thuds of Jake coming down resounded through the house. He watched the man take the stairs two at a time, thundering down to the main floor.

  Mark gulped hard in a mouth that had gone bone dry. Whatever Jake had seen upstairs had scared the hell out of him. It looked like he was barely standing, hanging off the banister, panting for air.

  Oh shit. The agent was an adult, and he was scared to death? What chance did Angela have...or him, for that matter? He looked over at his mom when she called out to the agent in a shrill voice. She was just hanging on with her fingernails.

  Jake stumbled into the room. A sheen of sweat on his forehead showed in the light above. His face was pale and his mouth hung loose, kind of like Angela’s. Oh no. They’d counted on Jake and he was losing his shit. They were really screwed now!

  He turned and stared into the flames of the fire. “Please Dad, if you’re around and can help us, we need you,” he said to himself. If only Dad was there. He took a deep breath, picturing his dad’s face, the way he always encouraged him when other people had only sarcasm or taunts to throw at him. What would Dad do now? He reached for the bottle of soda and took a long haul, shutting out everything but his thoughts. There had to be a way to survive this nightmare.

  Mom had said that this wasn’t real, that this was scary but it hadn’t hurt them. He looked over at his sister who was staring bug eyes at the fire. She wasn’t physically hurt but fear...fear had zoned her out. When he looked at his mother, at the tears rolling down her cheeks, her forehead creased with dread, it was clear she could end up like Angela any minute.

  Jake hadn’t said two words since he’d come back from upstairs. It was getting to him too.

  He took a deep breath. A really deep one, like right from his belly like he’d seen the yoga woman on TV do. In the few times he’d watched it, to see the women’s boobs when they contorted into weird poses, the woman had always harped on about the breathing. Calming, cleansing breaths from your core. He sat still, closing his eyes and doing ten, deep, measured breaths.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to feel calmer, his heart beating slower. It might not change the scary shit that was going in the house, but at least it made him feel a bit better. He didn’t know how it worked, but he definitely felt calmer and more in control.

  Just like in Minecraft.

  Minecraft? There was something there. His face tightened as he tried to understand why that popped into his head. What about Minecraft? There was something he was missing.

  Jake flopped into the chair by the fire and then stared at Angela. “She’s still the same?”

  Mom held a spoonful in front of Angela’s lips. “C’mon Angela. You need this. Everything’s going to be all right.” Her head turned to Jake and whispered, “What happened upstairs? Did you get the window shut?”

  Jake nodded. “Every door is locked now.”

  Mark’s eyes went wider watching the agent. It wasn’t the scared look in the guy’s eyes that was alarming. It was his voice, flat and robotic. At least his mother was pissed. That was better than Jake or Angela with their zoning out. That was a surefire way to be beaten. Beaten by that old man and Angela’s girl ghost. The old man was scary but a girl ghost?

  He took another deep breath for good measure and then spoke, “We have to stay calm. What’s the opposite of being scared?” He peered at Jake and then his mother, ignoring the fact that they looked at him like he’d grown a set of wings or something. “Well? Come on. You should know this. I’m a kid, and I know the answer.”

  His mother gave up on spooning soup into Angela and set the bowl on the floor. She rolled her eyes and then sighed, looking at him. “The opposite of fear. I don’t know, laughter? How well did that work out in the kitchen, sport?”

  But Jake was watching him closely, even if his mother wasn’t getting it. He took a breath, “Keeping our wits about us. Control. When you’re in control you aren’t scared. Is that what you’re getting at Mark?”

  He leaned forward and stirred the fire with the poker. “Yeah. Kinda. I keep thinking of Minecraft. I mean here’s this scary house with ghosts and weird stuff. It’s a creation. We’re like the ghouls and monsters that have invaded it. The house was perfectly fine until we moved in to live here.”

  Mom continued to rub Angela’s back but flashed a look at Jake, “Which we’re not! I’ll take a tent pitched under a bridge before I spend another night in this hellhole. Look at my daughter—”

  “Mom! Stay with me here, will ya?” Mark shook his head and continued, “I’m not sure, but I think we need to fight back. Or if not fight back, at least defend ourselves.”

  Jake nodded and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Not be victims. That’s essentially what you’re getting at. We go about doing stuff, like checking the breaker panel and they attack. We get freaked out. And look at what’s happened to Angela.”

  Mark slumped back and turned to face his sister. They were talking about her like she was not even there. He tugged her hand, “Angela? We need you to talk to us. I know you saw something really bad, but it’s not real. Whatever is in this house isn’t alive. It’s not like you or me.” He grabbed her hand and pinched the flesh between her thumb and forefinger, twisting it until she jerked away.

  He nudged her with his shoulder, “See! You’re alive. You’re here next to the fire! If you don’t talk to me, I’ll tell Mom you skipped school last week to spend the day with Adam Wilson. I saw you two sneaking off to the beach, holding hands and kissing. You’d changed into that skanky dress you’re not allowed to wear and— “

  “Shut up!” Angela swatted his arm, almost knocking him off the sofa.

  “Angela!” Mom’s hand rose, twisting his sister’s head until she faced her. “Oh my God!” She hugged her as tears poured from her eyes. It was the first time he’d seen Mom smile in three days.

  That swat had stung but still he couldn’t stop the grin that spread on his face. He’d had to piss her off to get through, but it had worked!

  Angela’s eyes were narrow when she turned on him. “You little shit! Why’d you have to tell on me? You’re always sneaking around, aren’t you?”

  He grabbed the bag of chips from the floor and tore them open. Pouring the chips over her head, seeing her get even madder felt sooooo good. Even the punch to his shoulder was nice. His sister was back.

  “Stop it! You two, cut it out.” Mom swiped a tear from her eye, and co
uldn’t stop smiling.

  Jake’s head fell to the side and he shot Mark a thumbs-up. “That was pretty good, kid. Pretty smart.”

  But Mark didn’t need the praise. It was good to have Angela with the living again. Things were looking like they might just get through this.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Lydia

  LYDIA HAD NEVER HEARD SUCH BEAUTIFUL WORDS as the insults her kids hurled at each other. The spark was back in her daughter—Angela was herself again. The horror that she’d seen was still ingrained in her mind, but it no longer claimed her, making her the latest victim of this house. She gazed at her son. Mark had done it. He’d puzzled through this and been able to help his sister. Jake was right. He was a smart kid.

  She turned, and her hand closed over Angela’s wrist. “You should eat something or at least drink your Coke.” When she leaned over to get the soda, she winced. She shouldn’t have drank that wine. She had to pee but the thought of going upstairs to the bathroom was terrifying, even if they’d somehow got their second wind. She’d rather take her chances going out in the blizzard, squatting in a snow bank. No. This was not going to happen. Mind over matter.

  Angela echoed her thoughts, whispering, “I have to use the bathroom,” Lydia’s eyes closed and she sighed. Her daughter squirmed and then squeezed her legs tight together. It was a feeling she knew all too well.