White Smoke

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  CREEEEAK

  In the reflection, I watch the hallway closet door slowly swing open and the look on my face belongs on a movie poster.

  “Sam?” I whisper, peering over my shoulder, the tremor in my voice identical to the one in my hands.

  The house holds its breath.

  I shouldn’t check, I know I shouldn’t check, everything inside me screams I should just make a run for it. But . . . where’s Sammy?

  Lightning strikes, the gold doorknob catching its spark. Keeping my steps light, I creep closer. It’s nothing, it’s nothing, relax, I chant to myself, entire body now shaking. With two quick steps, I wrench the door open wide, jumping to face whatever’s behind it. But there’s nothing there. Just some hanging coats, random shoes, and a mop.

  “Sammy?” I cry out, now desperate. “Where are you!”

  Suddenly, a hand shoots out from between the coats and yanks me inside by the collar. I let out a shriek, forehead hitting the back wall of the closet, the door slamming behind me. Balance skewed in the pitch darkness, I whip around, thrashing at the air, clothes, hangers . . . ready to fight for my life, until a flashlight clicks on, illuminating his face.

  Sam.

  “Sammy!” I snap, shoving his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Sammy digs his trembling nails into my forearm, eyes wide and glassy, pure terror painted across his face.

  “That’s not me!” he whisper-shouts, lips quivering. “That’s not me!”

  “What? What are you talking about? Are you—”

  Then I hear it. His voice. Sammy’s voice. Calling me from outside the closet door. And everything inside me curls inward, hardens, and I stop breathing.

  “Mari! Mari! Come downstairs!”

  Nineteen

  “MARI! MARI!”

  In the narrow hallway closet, my mind struggles to untangle the thoughts trying to make sense of it all. My little brother is standing in front of me, his mouth closed. But his voice, the voice I’d know anywhere, is calling me from outside the closet door.

  “Mari, are you coming?”

  “No fucking way,” I gasp.

  Sammy trembles, the flashlight dancing in his hands. Acid fills my mouth. There’s someone out there, pretending to be Sammy. There’s someone in the house!

  “Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!”

  Something touches my arm and I flinch. A coat sleeve. The cramped closet seems to be shrinking around us. Tightening. Strangling. And if someone’s out there looking for us, they could easily find us in here. I focus on Sammy.

  “Turn that off,” I whisper quickly.

  Sammy does what he’s told, gripping my arm in the darkness, the only light shining through the door sill. Buddy sniffs our feet, confused by our little game as I press an ear to the door. No movement. The voice . . . Sammy’s voice . . . sounds muffled and far away, yet close. Too close.

  “What is that?” Sammy whispers.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” I mutter, and begin blindly feeling around for something to protect us with—a bat, golf club, shovel, anything. But no luck. My hand hits a narrow box on the top shelf. The sneakers Alec bought; he never returned them. I slip them onto my bare feet.

  Sammy’s grip tightens before he whimpers, “Mari . . .”

  Below us, the floor rumbles as if we’re sitting on the belly of the house and it’s hungry. Then, silence. Until there’s a loud thud of a foot hitting hollow wood, then another.

  Someone is coming up the basement steps!

  Sammy’s eyes bulge and I place a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming.

  With a loud clack, the basement lock clicks and the door creaks open. I push Sammy behind me, backing behind the coats, blood surging.

  “Mari! Mari!”

  Sammy’s voice is louder now. Closer. Almost as if it’s right next to us. Real Sam’s tears spill over my hand.

  “Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!”

  His voice sounds muffled and has a slight echo. Real Sam trembles against me. Suddenly, Buddy growls, and I quickly grip his mouth to keep him quiet. But it’s too late. The house stills. The house heard us.

  Heavy steps, the steps of a slow-moving dinosaur, shuffling, heading our way.

  A wave of panic hits me and I lurch forward, grabbing hold of the doorknob, placing a leg on either side of the frame, and lean back. A rotting stench, like dead rats baked in a heat wave mixed with . . . piss, engulfs the closet. I lean away farther, suppressing a gag.

  That’s when a shadow appears in the door sill and the footsteps stop. My breath hitches. Sammy wraps his arms around me, squeezing his face into my back, and I’m nearly convulsing in fear.

  Please . . . please God please . . .

  The shadow huffs like a horse and moves on, passing the door, and heads down the hallway. Now loud above us, we flinch with every step as it makes its way to the second floor.

  Which means downstairs is clear.

  I whip around to Sammy. “Okay, on the count of three, I’m going to open the door.”

  “No,” Sammy whimpers, eyes flaring. “No, Mari. Let’s just stay.”

  “It knows we’re in here,” I explain carefully. “We’re sitting ducks if we don’t move.”

  He sobs quietly. “I can’t. I’m scared.”

  “You have to.”

  “He’ll follow us!”

  “No it won’t. Ghosts only haunt inside of houses. It can’t hurt us once we’re outside.”

  “Ghosts?”

  I squeeze my eyes. Shit, the thought never even occurred to him. Even as I say the words, I’m praying I’m right and it’s not some rando maniac squatter making himself at home.

  “When I open the door, I want you to run as fast as you can outside. You run and you keep running no matter what.”

  “Please, Mari. No.”

  I lean into the door, hand on the knob, and bend slightly into a starting position.

  “Ready? One. Two . . .”

  On three, we burst into the hallway, the lights blinding after sitting in the dark for so long. I charge ahead, Buddy skittering next to me. I yank the front door open wide, glancing up the empty steps behind us as Sammy slams his shoulders into the screen door, and jumps down the porch steps with a scream. Feet hitting the pavement, I’m in sprint mode when it hits me.

  Piper.

  “Wait, Sam!”

  Sammy turns, rain pummeling us.

  “What!” he shouts.

  “I have to get Piper. I can’t leave her here!”

  “Screw her!”

  I shake my head. “Go! Run and call the police.”

  “Mari, no! Wait!”

  With no time to argue, I race back to the house, leaping up the porch, and fumble inside.

  “Piper!” I call up the dark staircase, heart hammering. “Piper, where are you?”

  A door creaks open upstairs. Light steps amble down the hall. Piper stops on the first landing. It’s hard to see in the shadows but she’s glaring down at me, like she’s never seen me a day in her life.

  “Come on! We have to get out of here,” I press, waving her on. No telling where they . . . or it is. “Run! Come on!”

  Piper’s expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t move, just stares. Face cold and hard like a marble.

  “What are you doing? We have to go!”

  Piper rolls her shoulders back then her head suddenly snaps to the right, as if someone had called her. But I didn’t hear anything. She takes one last look at me before slowly stepping out of sight.

  “Where are you going? Piper, get back here,” I yell, chasing after her, taking the steps two at a time.

  Halfway there, a raspy voice wails, and it’s so disorienting, I nearly freeze mid-stride.

  “THIS IS MY HOUSE!”

  Then, as if someone leans over the top banister, something swings out from the darkness and I catch a glimpse of a soaring broom.

  What the . . .

  The broom whacks me in the face, and
I fly backward down the stairs with a scream. My head bangs against the hardwood floor, tailbone hitting the bottom step.

  “MARI!” Sammy screams from outside.

  “Uhhh, shit,” I moan, rolling to my side, pain exploding, tiny white dots taking over my vision.

  Buddy barks hysterically, scratching at the screen door.

  The voice screams again, a shrilling sound. “GET OUT MY HOUSE!”

  Lungs shriveling to raisins, I almost piss on myself as I stare up the dark staircase at . . . nothing. No one is there.

  “Mari, get up! Please, get up,” Sammy begs from the porch, reaching for me, rain splattering around him.

  There’s soft movement in the shadows and I can’t pull my eyes away. Leaning forward, I try to make out the shape in the blackness, just as something sails down fast toward my head.

  “Ah!” I shriek, flipping onto my stomach, a quick dodge as it clatters beside me with a loud smack.

  “Mari!”

  I roll over, coming face-to-face with a broom head. The same broom Mom was looking for.

  “Shit,” I gasp, shoving it away with my foot, scooting back against the wall.

  A door slams upstairs, followed by hard footsteps. The house huffs.

  “Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!”

  Scrambling to my hands and knees, I crawl outside, then I’m up on my feet, limping off the porch.

  “Come on! Come on!” Sammy cries, and he’s like a blue streak in the wind he’s running so fast. My muscles manage a light jog down the street until my body feels too heavy to carry. The distant streetlights start to blur, the pulse in my ear the only sound I can hear.

  Shit, I’m going to pass out.

  “Sammy,” I gasp, swaying to the right, the ground tilting under me.

  Sammy doubles back. “What’s wrong?”

  With a stumble, I drop to my knees, breath ragged and slowing.

  “Mari,” he cries, catching my head before it hits the pavement. He whips around, frantic, and starts to scream. “Help! Heeeeelp us!”

  No one will hear him. Not in this rain.

  “Sammy, go get Yusef,” I mutter, my eyelids fluttering, the world is going dark.

  “Mari! Don’t go to sleep, Mari, please,” Sammy cries, shaking me. “Help! Help!!!”

  Buddy circles us, barking and whimpering.

  “Next block . . . over,” I slur. “The house with the roses.”

  Sammy sniffs, nodding. “Buddy, down. Down, Bud!”

  Buddy lies on the wet ground and Sammy softly places my head on him.

  “Stay, Bud! Stay! I’ll be right back!”

  Sammy takes off running, I can’t tell which direction, the street is so dark. The abandoned houses . . . they seem so large from this angle, as if they grew twenty feet higher, leaning inward, windows like angry eyes staring down at me. Buddy whimpers, his cold nose nudging my face. I close my eyes, the pouring rain kinda relaxing, like taking a cold shower after a hot day of track practice. Not quite, but close enough. Until I feel Buddy tense under me, a low growl deep from his belly.

  “Buddy?” I mutter, unable to open my eyes.

  He jumps to his feet, and the back of my head slaps the concrete. Crying out in pain, I manage to roll to my side. Buddy stands over me, furiously barking. The kind of ferocious barks he saves for strangers or intruders coming too close. Someone’s here.

  “Buddy,” I gasp, opening my eyes.

  A set of beaming headlights pop on, blinding me. Footsteps. Hard ones, like the ones from the house.

  Oh God, it wasn’t a ghost!

  Panicked, I beg my body to move, to cooperate, hand grabbing for anything around me.

  “Help,” I croak in between sobbing tears, then think of Sam. He got away and he won’t be here to witness his sister’s murder. A strange relief fills me as my arms give up and I roll over, readying myself.

  Then the rain stops. Or I think it stops, it’s no longer hitting my face, but the sound is still surrounding us. I force my eyes open and for a brief second, I see a shadow standing over me with an umbrella. Not a shadow, a man.

  Mr. Watson?

  Too weak to scream, I gasp before everything fades to black.

  “Aye, aye. Cali! Come on, Cali, wake up!”

  I’m underwater, Yusef’s voice calling from the surface. My eyes struggle to focus, the darkness still edging as my brain floats, coming up for air.

  Yusef is leaning over me, tapping my cheek. “There you go! Open your eyes, come on.”

  My head is lying on something soft. And kind of dry. The rough cotton scratches my neck.

  “Mari,” Sammy whimpers, and I realize he’s gripping my hand.

  I want to say “Don’t cry, Sam” but I can feel myself fading fast again and glance at Yusef.

  “The . . . the house,” I utter, my arms limp, trying to point. Piper is still inside.

  Yusef scoops me up off the ground, cradling me in his arms before it all fades to black again.

  The color yellow is the first thing I see. For a moment, I think I’m staring into the sun. Then I notice how cold I am, how soft the sun feels, and my eyes pop open. A pattern of little red flowers on faded fabric stares back at me. A sofa cushion. My face is on some random . . . sofa?

  FACT: Bedbugs have not been shown to cause or spread diseases. Some people will react to bedbugs bites, and excessive scratching can lead to secondary infections.

  I sit up quick and the room spins, causing me to lean sideways. Need to get up, need to get up. I could be getting an infection at this very moment. Is that something on my arm? A bite? An egg? Soap, alcohol, bleach . . .

  “Yo, hold up,” Yusef says next to me and gently eases me back down. “Not so fast.”

  His arm weighs a thousand pounds on my shoulder and I’m too weak to fight him. Doesn’t stop my skin from flaming up, making me want to scrape it off with a peeler. I want to scratch, I need to scratch. I want to smoke. I also want to just be a regular, normal person. Not such a basket case in front of strangers. Tears drench my eyes.

  “Hey, Cali, it’s okay,” Yusef says, leaning over me, stroking wet hair out of my face. He smells so good, even in his wet clothes. I cave, softening into him, and for the first time tonight, I feel safe.

  “You’re okay,” he whispers, holding me. “Look, Sammy’s right here.”

  Sammy, wrapped in a blue towel, sits in Pop-Pop’s recliner, staring at the floor. His face drained of blood, eyes wide and unblinking as if he’s seen something . . . crazy. The same look he had when I woke up in the hospital, puke in my hair, stomach pumped clean. The memory is a knife twist.

  “Here, drink some water,” Yusef says, offering me a glass. “How’s the head? Unc says we need to keep you awake. In case you have a concussion.”

  Across the living room, Mr. Brown is talking in hushed whispers on the phone, glancing at me every few seconds. By the kitchen, Pop-Pop stands in a blue fuzzy robe and leather house slippers with a suspicious glare. Suddenly, memories of the headlights flood in.

  “Hey, where’s . . . where’s Mr. Watson?” I ask, searching the room. “Did he leave already?”

  “Mr. Watson?”

  “Yeah. He was with me.”

  Yusef raises an eyebrow, glancing at Sammy. “Cali, when we found you, you were lying in the middle of the street, knocked out cold. And alone.”

  No way . . . the headlights . . . I couldn’t have imagined that.

  “But he . . . he covered me, with an umbrella,” I whimper, exhaustion creeping in again. “He gave me a blanket for my head. You didn’t see him? Seriously?”

  Yusef’s face goes slack, lips a straight line. He’s trying not to give away what he’s thinking. But it’s too late. I know that look. He thinks I’m baked, high off some drugs and seeing things. Which would explain everything that happened in the house. And if it wasn’t for Sammy being there with me . . . I would also question my own sanity. But I know what I saw. Or heard.

  “Yo, what were y’all runni
ng from?” Yusef asks. “Sammy said someone was in the house?”

  I have no idea where to even begin. My head is throbbing, a sharp aching pain. My clothes are starting to stiffen, the rain and muddy water drying onto my skin.

  Sammy’s knee is bouncing. He has that look, where he’s trying to solve a super-complex puzzle.

  “It sounded just like you, Sam,” I mumble, gripping the towel Yusef swaddles me with, a shiver ripping through me. “Your exact voice.”

  Sammy, still in a state of shock, takes a long blink.

  “Unless . . . someone was doing some kind of impression of me or something,” he says, voice flat.

  Yusef’s eyes toggle between us as Mr. Brown enters the living room, clearing his throat.

  “Your parents are back. Come on, let’s get you two home.”

  The rain has eased by the time Mr. Brown drives us back home. Inside, Alec wears a pained expression, clutching Piper tight to his chest in the kitchen, police lights flashing off their shared pale skin.

  As we approach, I catch the end of Piper’s story.

  “And then they just left me,” she sobs. “They yelled at me and ran out the door.”

  Alec’s lips form a hard line when he spots me. He places Piper on her feet as Mom rushes toward us.

  “Mom!” Sammy shouts, running full speed into her stomach, clutching her. “Mom, the house is haunted!”

  With that said, the police take their cue to leave. My steps are slow, still dizzy and in absolutely no rush to walk back into this place. Wonder how long it’ll take to pack a bag before we leave for a hotel. Because we definitely can’t stay here. Not one more night. The house is angry, you can feel it in the air.

  “Where the hell have you been!” Alec roars, his tone explosive.

  “They. Left. Me.” Piper chokes out the words again through hysterical sobs. “I was so scared, Daddy.”