He heard a yell, and looked up. The ladder Jake stood on was tipping to the right. Jake was about fifteen feet off the ground, and as the ladder continued to slide along the side of the house, he clung to it, riding it as it scraped against the siding.
Ron ran to the ladder, hoping to right it before it could tilt any farther, but it was already half fallen by the time he reached its base. Jake kept yelling, and Ron watched in horror as it fell the rest of the way. Jake held tight, and when it was just feet from the ground, he leapt backward, pushing himself away from it. He landed on his legs but fell back onto the ground as the aluminum crashed against rocks that surrounded the foundation.
Ron ran to him. “Are you OK? What the fuck happened?”
“It just slid,” Jake replied, still on the ground. He rolled to one side and moaned.
“Did you break anything?” Ron asked, kneeling next to him. “Ribs?”
“I think it’s just the air knocked out of me,” Jake gasped, rolling over. “Help me up.”
Ron grabbed his friend by the shoulders and lifted.
Jake struggled to his feet. “I didn’t shift my weight or anything,” he said. “Goddamn thing just started to slide.”
“You OK?” Ron asked again, now that Jake was standing.
“I think so. Gonna have a bruise or two.” He walked back to the ladder, and Ron followed. “I thought I had it set pretty well, it…wait…”
Jake stood next to the feet of the ladder, looking down. One of the legs was bent near the bottom, the aluminum crunched in upon itself as though it had been twisted under a vice. “Oh, would you look at that. It buckled!”
Ron knelt next to the damaged ladder. “That’s crazy. This ladder is brand new…they don’t just…” He stopped, not sure he wanted to vocalize the rest of his thought.
Jake’s eyes went wide as he suddenly hit upon an idea. “Lethal! Like Terrell said!”
Ron was immediately dismissive. “There must have been a flaw in it that I didn’t see when I bought it.”
“What if I’d been up near the roof line?” Jake asked. “I might not have survived that fall!”
“I know, we’re lucky.”
“Or dumb as shit!” Jake knelt down next to the ladder, running his fingers over the twisted metal. “Christ, Ron, I’ve never seen a ladder do this! This ain’t normal. Not by a long shot!”
“Let’s not overreact,” Ron replied. “You’re not the first person to fall off a ladder. This one had a defect, that’s all. I’ll return it and get another one with…”
“It won’t matter, don’t you see that?” Jake said. “They’ll just crush that one, too.”
“They’ll?”
“Maybe you’ll be at the top of it when they do, and you’ll…”
“Who’s they?” Ron asked, cutting him off.
“You know.”
“No, who exactly are you talking about?”
“The…things in your house, Ron! The ghosts. Whatever the fuck you want to call them!”
Ron paused, considering his options. Continuing to argue with Jake didn’t seem like the best way to proceed; the man was clearly convinced that the accident had been caused by something supernatural, and the more he argued with him about rational things, the more Jake seemed to dig in.
Ignore it, he thought, wanting to move on and act as though none of it had happened, but remembering how he’d taken the same approach to the singed outlets. He stuffed both ideas deep, but knew they’d resurface. “Why don’t we take a break?” he offered. “Go inside, maybe relax for a while, make sure you’re OK. Did you hit your head at all?”
Jake reached to the back of his skull and felt there, searching for a bump. “No, I don’t think so. Just my back.”
“Might be a good idea to get some painkillers into you.”
Ron headed for the garage, and Jake followed. Once they were inside, Jake went for the refrigerator and a beer, and was lying down on the couch in the living room when Ron found him and passed him the bottle of pills.
“The ground was solid,” Jake said, after Ron sat down with another beer. “I had the ladder in the same spot yesterday when I nailed up trim. Nothing soft. Nice and hard.”
“Like I said, a flaw in the aluminum,” Ron replied. “That’s all.”
“Your problem is you don’t believe the obvious,” Jake said.
“Twisted metal, Jake. Plain to see.”
“You know what I mean. That ladder was perfectly fine. Legs don’t twist like that.”
“The one out in the yard proves you wrong.”
“Terrell said that whatever is here, it’s lethal. Then this happens. Not a coincidence, my friend.”
“You ever heard of a thing called confirmation bias?”
“No.”
“You’re interpreting every new thing that happens in support of your original theory. It’s flawed, but you don’t see that because you force everything to fit.”
“Just because you have a bunch of fancy words doesn’t mean my theory is flawed!”
“The ladder might have been nothing more than an accident, but it doesn’t matter what happens around here, you’re gonna say it’s because of ghosts or Terrell or the devil, all because you’ve got some kind of disposition to believe this nonsense.”
Jake closed his eyes. “You’re a good friend, Ron, but honestly, sometimes you’re so full of bullshit.”
“Am I?”
“There are good reasons why I think the way I do. You don’t know everything about me. We’ve known each other for a long time, but that doesn’t mean you’ve gone through what I’ve gone through.”
“Never claimed to.”
“Yes, you do. You think everyone should have your perspective. Well, a person’s perspective is based on what they’ve experienced in life.” Jake turned his head to look at him. “Have you ever seen anything like what’s happening here? In your house? All the weird shit we’ve seen? Be honest.”
“No.”
“Well, I have. I’ve seen really weird, scary shit in my life, when I was younger. I have some basis for my thinking, some history I can fall back on, whereas you don’t. So, it’s not just confirmation bias, my friend. I know what I’m talking about.”
Ron paused. When Jake didn’t continue, he said, “Are you going to tell me what?”
“You’ll just be dismissive; you’ll do your big scoffing thing you do and not take it seriously.”
“No, I won’t. I promise I’ll be respectful. We’re just sitting here, relaxing, anyway. Go ahead and tell me.”
Jake turned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. He took another swig of beer. “I haven’t told anyone about this since college, because it creeps me the hell out to even think about. But that thing I saw upstairs…it’s just too familiar.”
He took another breath and began.
Chapter Fourteen
Jake stared at the tiny balls of fur swinging slowly in the wind.
By the base of the wooden pole was a roll of string with several inches free, lying in an S shape like one of the garter snakes they frequently found in the yard.
No sign of what she cut the string with, he thought, looking around. Probably those safety scissors she used on her dolls.
He returned his attention to the small corpses dangling from the clothes line. A towel hanging behind him flapped in the wind, hitting him in the back of the head. He was grateful the towels were out drying; it hid the sight of the bodies from his mother, who would freak out if she saw them.
Marty had used a clothespin to attach each string to the line. He pinched it, freeing the ball of fur, and caught it as it fell. It felt cold and stiff.
Mom might come out to collect the laundry any second, he thought, and decided he should hurry. He removed the remaining six, letting them collect in a pocket he formed by lifting the bottom of his shirt. When he finished, he turned to look through the space between the towels, checking to see if his mother had left the kitchen door, not wanting
her to catch him when he transported the bodies to the side of the house.
If she sees them, he thought, she will lose her mind.
Determining that the coast was clear, he hurried across the yard to a narrow patch of ground between the bricks of the house and the wooden fence that separated their property from the neighbor’s. He fell to his knees and lowered the front of his shirt, allowing the bodies to gently fall to the ground.
No one will notice here, behind the chimney, he thought. I can get the spade from the garage, dig a hole, and bury them before anyone notices. And if Mom comes out, I can leave them here and come back, finish later.
He looked down at the pile of tiny kittens and felt pity and sadness. While he really wasn’t a cat person, he had played with the reddish one a little bit, and had become fond of it. He watched Marty play with all of them over the past few weeks, seeming to enjoy them; not a single hint that this horrible act was coming.
Now, he looked down at the red one and felt his anger rise. His first inclination had been to protect his younger sister by making sure their mother didn’t find the horrific display, but as he hid her terrible misdeed, he made a few resolutions.
She has to stop, he thought. She thinks she can keep doing things like this to get her way. I will have to convince her it won’t work.
Even as he thought it, he knew it was going to be a challenge he may not win.
Although he was tempted to run to the garage, he walked, not wanting to draw any attention to himself in case his mother appeared. The spade was sitting in a stack of clay pots just inside the door, and as he grabbed it, he considered how it would look if he was carrying it through the yard and she happened to come out. Only his parents performed yard work, and he knew she’d be suspicious if she saw him with it, unlikely to believe any story he might construct.
He also knew she used a timer that sat next to the refrigerator to remind her to take down the laundry.
He dropped the spade and walked to the kitchen door, hoping his mother was somewhere else in the house. I wonder if Marty is watching me do this from her upstairs window. He closed the door behind him and went to the fridge. The small black timer was on the counter; three minutes remained.
Not enough time, he thought.
He pressed the “+” button a few times until the display read 6:14. It continued its countdown: 6:13, 6:12.
That’s better, he thought, and went back outside, grabbed the spade, and headed for the side of the house.
The ground wasn’t soft. His mother planted flowers all over the yard, but not in this area, as it didn’t receive much sun, and there were no windows that looked out upon it. A couple of evergreen shrubs were there, recently trimmed back.
This might be a good place, he thought, since she never works over here, but with the hard soil, it’s going to take longer to dig a hole deep enough for all of them. And the dirt will be disturbed, too; it’ll be obvious something is buried here. I’m going to have to camouflage it somehow.
Again his anger bubbled up. He wouldn’t have to be doing any of this if he didn’t feel the damned need to protect his sister. It was instinctual; he’d felt protective ever since she was born, and he knew it wasn’t something he could shed now, now that she had become so…so…
Unpredictable.
Protecting her, yes, that’s something older brothers do; Dad had said as much, had reinforced it many times. He felt justified as he dug the hole deeper. But – she didn’t need to kill innocent creatures. That was unnecessary. She was becoming cruel. It had to stop.
Satisfied that the hole was deep enough, he gently placed the kittens into it, trying to arrange them with some dignity but knowing he didn’t have the luxury of time or space. In the end, they were huddled closely next to each other, and before he began to cover them with dirt, he noted that their positions reminded him of when they would sleep together, usually after feeding.
Slowly the animals were concealed, and with each spadeful he became more incensed at his sister’s boldness. I have to find her and sit her down, explain to her that this was unacceptable, that now she’s really gone too far, that…
He knew she wouldn’t listen. She had already gone too far, long before this.
He returned the spade to the garage as his mother emerged from the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket. “Come help me with these,” she said, walking to the clothesline. She commonly recruited anyone who happened to be in the backyard whenever she was hanging or taking down laundry, so he knew it would be useless to resist.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked, as the towels began to come down.
“Looking for something in the garage,” he replied, dropping towels into the basket.
“What?
He thought for a moment. His mother was very good at detecting lies; whatever he chose to tell her, it had to be plausible. “I was looking for my old…”
“Jake Mathias Andrews!” she said, angry. “Show me your hands!”
He turned his palms to her; they were dirty.
“Now look, you’ve soiled these clean towels! Why didn’t you tell me your hands were filthy?”
He gave her his best shrug, the one that told her he didn’t know exactly what to say, and somehow charmed her even when she was really irritated. It had worked many times in the past.
“Take these two back to the hamper, wash those hands, and come back out and help me finish!” She handed him the ruined ones.
He took them, giving her another apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t ‘sorry’ me, just get back out here before I’m done.”
He ran inside, doing as he was told.
- - -
Jake stepped into Marty’s room and shut the door behind him.
Marty was on the floor, playing with a row of Barbies that had been arranged against the wall, firing-squad style. The hair on most of them had been cut off, leaving short stubs growing out of the plastic holes in their skulls. Jake noticed that several of them were missing heads altogether. Marty had arranged the heads on a series of blocks stacked next to the wall. They looked like spectators in stands, attending an execution.
She looked up at him. “Did she find them?”
“I took them down.”
A slow frown crept over his sister’s face. It seemed to Jake that the temperature in the room changed as his sister’s countenance shifted, becoming colder.
Time to set her straight, he thought, sitting down on the floor across from her. “Listen to me. First, you’re going about this all wrong. I guarantee you that kind of thing won’t work with them, it will absolutely backfire. Second…what a horrible thing to do, Marty! What’s wrong with you?”
It was something he’d begun to wonder the past few months, as he watched his sister become more demanding and sinister when she didn’t get her way.
“I want a Sega Genesis,” she hissed at him. “I don’t care about cats.”
“You should be ashamed. They were living things, Marty. They’re not like your dolls. That was cruel.”
“Sonja plays Sonic,” Marty said slowly, emphasizing each word. “I want to play it, too.”
“If you think killing kittens will convince Mom and Dad to change their minds…” Jake said, feeling exasperation, not sure how to convince her, “…well, it won’t. It will make them dig in and you’ll never get a Genesis. You’ll just get grounded, or worse.”
She stared at him blankly; his appeal seemed to be falling on deaf ears.
“Why are you being this way?” he asked. “You’re acting so crazy lately. What’s wrong?”
Her eyes focused more intently on him. “You don’t realize that I deserve it,” she said. “I can make it very bad for you. For them.”
“They can make things bad for you, too. If you think a two-week grounding is bad, you can’t imagine what would have happened if Mom had found those kittens hanging out there. What they’d do to you would make a two-week grounding feel like a trip to Dis
neyland.”
“What did you do with them?”
“What?”
“The cats.”
“I buried them.”
“Where?”
“None of your business. You’re not listening to me.”
“I’ve heard every goddamn word.”
“Marty! You can’t talk like that! If you slip up and say something like that around Mom, she’ll wash your mouth out with soap!”
“I’d like to see her try.”
Jake looked at her, frustrated and annoyed, not knowing what to do or say next. In the back of his mind he could hear his brain reminding him that this conversation wasn’t going to work in the first place, that – told you so! – she wasn’t going to listen. Whatever strange track his sister was on, he didn’t possess the key to stopping it, or changing it.
Marty turned her attention back to the dolls. “His fish are next.”
Jake thought of the forty-gallon tank in his father’s study. “Marty, don’t. He’s raised some of those fish for years. He’ll be…”
“He’ll be devastated,” she finished.
“I was going to say ‘pissed’, but, yeah, he’ll be really upset.”
“Devastated,” she repeated, positioning the severed doll heads to better view the execution wall. “He’ll be heartbroken.” She launched a small plastic truck against the wall, hitting the dolls, sending them flying. “That’s what he gets for caring about them more than me.”
“He doesn’t care about the fish more than you,” Jake said. “You know that.”
Something moved under him, a faint rumble that made the carpet he was sitting on vibrate just a little, as though the floorboard underneath had been jostled. For a moment he thought it was an earthquake, and he reached to the floor, bracing, wondering if he should find a doorway and advise Marty to do the same.
“Get out of my room, Jake,” Marty said, not looking up from her scene of doll mayhem.
Some talk, he thought. You really convinced her…of nothing! He felt compelled to stay, to try and achieve his goal. Maybe with a few more sentences, some carefully chosen words, he could…
The Coldwater Haunting Page 16
