by Brian Corley
Ghost Bully
Brian Corley
Copyright ©2018 Brian Corley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN (e-book edition): 978-0-692-04842-9
ISBN (Paperback edition): 978-0-692-04841-2
Library of Congress Control Number 2017918555
All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover images from istockphoto.com
Cover and Interior design by Jessica Reed
Printed and bound in the USA
First printing 2018
Independently published by Brian Corley
PO Box 42203
Austin, TX 78704
www.brian-corley.com
Chapter 1
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the spring flowers were blooming in the yard.
Hold on … those are weeds.
The weeds were blooming in the front yard of my first house, but the pink and purple blooms felt more like a warm greeting than an invasive species.
It was easy for me to see past the tangle of lawn and year of neglect. My new home, an older bungalow on the south side of Austin, had potential. Built on a budget and maintained through good intentions, it had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and all the air-conditioning I could handle. The red front door and mossy-green exterior seemed to smile to me from the street. “Welcome home, I’ve been waiting for you,” it would say if it could.
“Hello,” a voice rang out. I turned to locate its source (it wasn’t the house) and saw a solid woman, probably in her early sixties, walking toward me with a smile that was just as big as her hair. “I just wanted to say ‘hi’ and ‘welcome to the neighborhood.’ I’m Tess Keller, and I live right over here.” She pointed to the house next door.
“Jonah Preston,” I said, wiping my hand on my pant leg before offering it to shake. “Sorry, hand’s a little dirty from the move. Nice to meet you, Ms. Keller.”
“Nice to meet you too, Jonah. It does my heart good to see someone back in that house. Such a shame about the young man that lived there before.”
“What’s that now? What happened to the guy that lived here before?”
Her eyes bugged a little as she gasped, and her face struggled to choose an emotion between empathy and delight. “You mean no one told you? No, that can’t be possible. Not even your Realtor?”
“Told me what?”
It appeared as though empathy was losing the battle, but it did its best to hang on. “Now I’m not one to gossip …”
Doubtful.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “And you didn’t hear this from me—especially if Ms. Viola asks—but the previous owner died in that house.”
I looked at the house again. Suddenly, “Welcome home, I’ve been waiting for you” took on a more sinister tone, and I imagined the tops of the windows bowing like angry eyebrows. I shook it off; it was just a house.
“Well, I suppose there are better things I could hear on moving day, but there are certainly worse. At least he wasn’t some broken soul that decided to end it all by his own hand.”
Her face dropped, and she turned to gaze at an old pecan tree standing between our houses. It was probably easier to look at than I was at the moment.
“OK, like I said, I just wanted to come over to say ‘hi.’ Nice to meet you, Jonah.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Keller.”
“Jeez, kid, ever hear of Google?” she mumbled to herself as she walked away.
I pulled my phone out and walked up the crumbling flagstone walkway as I retreated inside. It was time to have a chat with my Realtor.
“This is Allison,” she said.
“Hi, Allison, it’s Jonah.”
“Hey, Jonah. How much are you loving the place?”
“I’d say a little less than I did an hour ago.”
“Oh no, what happened?”
“I just met one of my new neighbors, and she said the guy that lived here before me died … in the house.”
There was a palpable silence at the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, sorry Jonah, I’m here.”
“Did you know about this?”
“Uh … yes.”
“Don’t you think that’s something you should have told me before now?”
“Technically the seller doesn’t have to disclose suicides in the state of Texas.”
“Suicide? What? Allison, you’re not the seller—”
“You didn’t see the stories when you Googled the house?”
“No, I must have missed them,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t catch on to the fact that I didn’t do a simple Internet search on the most important decision I’d made in my entire life.
“Welp,” she said, “he hung himself in his bedroom, and no one noticed for days until, eventually, the smell alerted one of the neighbors. She found his suicide note on the front door—which he left unlocked—and she walked in on the grisly scene. His body was all gassy and exploded right around the time she found it.”
“That’s disgusting,” I said.
“Relax, Jonah. You got an amazing deal on a foreclosure property in an incredibly hot market. People forget about this stuff quickly. It probably won’t even come up in a couple years.”
“Hmm,” I said, “you think so?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Sorry, have another call coming in, gotta run. Enjoy the house! Bye, Jonah!”
“Bye,” I said to an already disconnected line.
I’d wandered into my room during the conversation and had a sudden flash. Which room was his? Did the house smell bad and I just missed it? I breathed in deeply through my nose but didn’t detect any malodor, just polish from the refinished floors—floor. My room was the only one with a refinished floor. I racked my brain for a way to convince myself that there was another reason for it. Wait . . . was Ms. Keller the neighbor that discovered him? That poor lady.
I heard the front door open and walked into the living room. My best friend and roommate, Maxim Alvarez, was back from returning the rented moving truck. He and I met in line while registering for classes on the first day of college and bonded over our love for almost all things ’80s, board games, and horror films. We’d been roommates ever since.
Max was built like a fireplug and was a visual offset to my skinny, six-foot frame. He had a doting mother and a hard-ass older sister named Nicole that was a cop here in town. Nic thought Max was underachieving and that I was a bad influence. I’m not sure why—Max was the one who always dragged me out on weeknights.
I filled Max in on the conversation I’d had with our new neighbor and the Realtor. He looked a little freaked out.
“I’m calling Nic,” he said.
“Ugh. Why?” I asked.
“Because she can tell us more stuff.”
“I already know enough.”
“Come on, don’t you want to know? I’ve never lived in a haunted house before.”
He was being sarcastic, but I didn’t even like the thought.
“Max, the house isn’t haunted.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Nic doesn’t either.”
“Eh. Still calling her.”
Max put his phone on speaker and
called his sister, who was on the scene at one of Austin’s finest haute hippie boutiques on South Lamar. It was apparent that Nic didn’t have much time to talk and didn’t appreciate her little brother calling while she was on the job. Max was relentless though, and after some back and forth, he relayed the news of the previous owner’s death. That was enough to pique Nic’s interest, and she said she’d get back to us with more information.
We were exhausted, and even though we’d planned to go out that night, the move had taken its toll, so we decided to stay in, order a pizza, and watch a movie. We went off to our respective bathrooms to shower up and wash off as much of the day as possible.
I returned to find Max on the couch with a movie cued up and ready to go. He had a strange look of pride on his face as he revealed his laptop screen. Tense chords of music erupted from the speakers as the title Ghost flashed across the screen.
“You think you’re funny,” I said.
“I know I’m funny,” he replied.
“How do you even know about this movie?”
“I watched it once with my family when I was a kid.”
“Same. How did the pottery wheel scene go over?”
“Awkward. You should have seen Nic. She was humiliated watching it in front of our parents. She always left the room for stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling. Hey, did you order the pizza?”
“Sure did. They said it takes longer to deliver this far south.”
We watched the movie for a while until the doorbell rang. I jogged to my room to grab my wallet, but couldn’t find it. Strange, I could have sworn I left it on my dresser.
“Hey man,” I said to Max. “I can’t find my wallet. Do you mind grabbing this one?”
“Sure. You know, I like to keep mine in my pocket—you should try it some time,” Max said and made a show of producing his wallet on his way to answer the door.
Instead of the pizza guy, it was Nic, holding a stylishly rustic, brown-handled paper bag. She was a little taller than Max and lean. Nic lucked out and inherited her mom’s genes.
“Hey, Maxim,” she said and gave Max a big hug.
“Hey, Nic,” I said.
“Hello Jonah,” she said like she was talking down to a plate of cold, day-old noodles. “How many friendship bracelets have you two made for each other today?”
“Not as many as we’d like obviously,” Max replied. “We need to make a run to the craft store, but they’re closed for the night.”
“OK,” she said with what passed as a smile for her, “I like the house.”
Oh my god, a compliment.
“Thanks,” I said, “still have a lot to unpack, but I kind of love it. It feels weird to own a house.”
“Speaking of weird,” Max said, “what did you find out about the dead guy?”
“Not much yet. The guy was a local accountant named Willard Hensch, no sign of foul play. I’ll look into it a little further on Monday when I get into work.”
“What’s in the bag?” Max asked.
“Oh, yeah, some girl in flowy robes and expensive boots overheard our conversation while I was investigating a shoplifter at that store and said I should get this for you as a housewarming present. Sage stick or something,” Nic said and handed me the package.
I pulled the gift from the bag—a bundle of dried sage sprigs bound with bright pink and orange twine at both ends. Turning it over in my hands, I knew I’d heard of something like this before, although I wasn’t sure why. Probably read about it somewhere on the Internet.
“It’s a smudge,” Max said.
“Yeah,” Nic said, “how do you know?”
“It’s supposed to help get rid of ghosts, like a spirit cleanse,” Max said.
“You’re weird,” Nic said.
“I don’t know if you knew this,” I said, “but Max is giving a lecture on spiritual healing this weekend at the New Age Community Center if you want to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, I learned things. Eff me, right? Also, Nic, I found this great spa. Check out my nail beds—they look amazing.”
“I hate this conversation,” Nic said. “I just wanted to come by and check on you. Have you talked to Mom lately?”
“What counts for lately?” Max asked.
“Max, call her. She’s worried about you.”
“Why?”
“You know she’s superstitious.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Same thing I told you.”
“God, Nic, stop stirring shit up. You just don’t want me living here.”
“Well, that’s true. You need to get serious about your career, Max. You’re settling at that job, and moving in here with Jonah isn’t helping. Come on, I had to tell her.”
“Hey—” I said.
“No, you didn’t,” Max shot back. “You didn’t have to tell her, Nic.”
The doorbell rang, and it was the pizza guy this time. He looked a little uncomfortable—probably heard the yelling from outside. Max paid for it while I searched around the house for my wallet. I looked underneath the couch, the table, and the TV stand. Couldn’t find it. Finally, I gave up and made my way to the kitchen before all the pizza was gone. I was sure it would turn up.
“Jamumafuhyawalla?” Max asked, more pizza than words.
“Did I find my wallet?” I guessed. “No.”
Max pointed to a spot on the kitchen floor where a breakfast table should be but wasn’t because … well, because new house, new job, no money, and no immediate need for a breakfast table for my roommate and me. Anyway, he pointed to my wallet on the floor.
“Of course,” I said, “I should have thought of that. I normally leave my wallet on the coffee table, my dresser, or on the floor in the kitchen.”
“Oh,” Nic said through a mouthful of pizza, “so your wallet mysteriously went missing right before it was time to pay for dinner. How convenient.”
“Fuck off, Nic. What if it was the ghost of the guy that died here?” Max asked.
She shook her head and punched her little brother in the arm a little harder than he anticipated. We stood and ate in the ’50s-inspired kitchen until we finished off the pizza, which didn’t take long because Max and I hadn’t anticipated sharing it with Nic.
“You want to light that thing up?” Max asked, chewing his last mouthful of crust and nodding his head toward the sage stick I’d left in the living room.
“Sure, why not,” I replied.
I rummaged through one of the unpacked boxes in the kitchen until I found a pack of matches. The smell wasn’t so bad once we got a good burn going—notes of strange, new, pleasant fragrances mixed with something familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I didn’t want to be like that one guy in college that thinks everything smells like weed, so I let it go.
We took turns waving the smoking bundle of yard clippings around the house, humming the theme to Ghostbusters like Gregorian monks. I say “we.” Max and I did; Nic just walked around like she was embarrassed to be there.
“Think that’s enough to ward off the evil spirits?” I asked.
“I think someone died in here, so let’s stop just short of setting off the smoke alarm,” Max replied then stopped in
his tracks, appearing to rethink his previous statement. “Actually, let’s go until we set off the smoke alarm—better safe
than sorry.”
He handed me the bundle once we arrived at the entrance to my room. It was cold—at least it was colder than the rest of the house. I wondered if there was something wrong with the A/C and cursed the home inspector under my breath for missing it. I was sure whatever the fix, it was going to be expensive.
The smoke billowed thick as I stood still. I felt weird … a little light-headed. It was getting dark, so I turned on the light to get a better look at
my room. I don’t know if it was the fog of the smudge or my eyes playing tricks on me as they adjusted to the light, but I could have sworn I saw the outline of someone in front of me.
Chapter 2
A floating humanlike form with just the slightest hint of a face and a look of surprise that probably matched my own expression stood before us in the smoky room. I jumped, and the shape darted away from me.
Boom, crack!
I looked over to my window and saw a spider web of split glass.
We all stood there in place, dumbfounded, as time seemed to move slower than usual. I blinked as though in slow motion while I processed what I just saw.
“Jumping Jesus Christ!” Max said.
Time sped back up.
“What the hell was that?!” Nic asked.
“What was what, that noise?” I asked, trying to play it off. I wasn’t convincing.
“Come on, Max,” Nic said, grabbing Max by the shoulder and pulling him away and toward the front door. “You’re sleeping at my house tonight. We’ll move the rest of your stuff tomorrow.”
This can’t be happening. Today is supposed to be one of the greatest days of my life.
“Get off me! What are you doing?” Max said.
“Max,” Nic said, “you’re not staying here. Did you see that thing?”
“Pull yourself together, Humpty. I spiked the smudge with a little something extra before we started. Jeez, aren’t you a cop?”
Nic released Max and gave him a shove. “Dumbass, I thought I smelled something off. Still, that doesn’t explain the broken window.”
“Maybe it was a bird … or kids,” Max said.
“I’ll check it out … either of you have a flashlight?”
We searched a couple of boxes without any luck before she went to grab her police-issued version out of her car. She did a thorough sweep of the back yard, but didn’t turn up anything incriminating. Max and I weren’t much help and spent most of the time making jokes and trading landscaping ideas.
She finally gave up, checked her phone, and jumped into action. “I gotta go. They need me downtown. You guys have any eye drops?”
Max shook his head. “No, but good luck.”
“Dammit, OK, I’ll stop and get some on the way. They better not smell this on me, Max. Idiot.”
