The Ghost of Molly Holt

by Amy Cross

  “That still doesn't -”

  “Go talk to your little buddy,” she adds, waving a hand at me as if she wants me to leave. “The last thing I want is to have to justify everything I do. You'll never understand, anyway. You're too much of a goody two-shoes.”

  “I am not a -”

  “Which is a shame,” she adds, “because I thought maybe we could have some fun.”

  “Fun?”

  I wait for her to explain.

  “What kind of fun?” I ask, starting to feel a little nervous as she takes a step toward me. “Becky -”

  “Help!” Freddie screams suddenly from downstairs. “Tim! Becky! Help me! She's here!”

  Chapter Seven

  “Freddie?”

  Stumbling to the far end of the concrete corridor, I finally reach the entrance to the basement area. Freddie's flashlight is on the floor, still burning bright, so I pick it up and shine it into the darkness ahead. I'm shocked to see that Freddie is in the far corner, curled up into a ball and shivering with fear.

  “Freddie?” I call out. “What's going on?”

  I wait, but he doesn't reply. He seems to be whimpering, so I take a step forward and then I turn and shine the flashlight around, terrified in case there's somebody else down here.

  All I see, however, is Becky stepping up behind me.

  “What's wrong?” she asks, looking toward Freddie. “Is he hurt?”

  I turn to Freddie and see that he's finally looking this way, although he's not looking directly at us. Instead he's looking past us, as if he expects to see somebody else.

  “Freddie, what were you shouting about?” I ask as I step closer to him. “Say something!”

  “I saw her!” he stammers, his voice trembling with fear. “I swear to God, I saw her right there!”

  He points past me, toward the entrance.

  I open my mouth to ask who he means, but I'm pretty sure I know already. Freddie can be pretty melodramatic at times, so I can only assume he's playing some kind of game.

  “I saw Molly Holt,” he continues, his wide-open eyes fixed on the far side of the concrete room. “I was taking a look around, and suddenly I realized someone was right behind me. I turned and...”

  His voice trails off.

  “I saw her face, dude,” he adds finally, looking up at me. “She was right over there and she looked exactly like she looked in the video. She was naked and covered in blood, she had all these terrible injuries, and she was just staring at me. I felt it, man. I felt all her pain and fear and anger.” He puts a hand on his chest, over his heart. “I felt it right here, like this really heavy thump. She was looking right at me with these cold, dead eyes and -”

  “Knock it off,” I tell him.

  “I'm telling the truth!”

  “Freddie...”

  “I saw her!” he hisses, reaching forward and grabbing my arms. “Would I lie to you?”

  “Yes,” I reply, “you would.”

  “I swear on my parents' lives,” he continues, holding me tight and pulling me closer, “that I saw the ghost of Molly Holt right over there, no more than ten feet away from me! I not only saw her, but I felt the air go cold, and I heard her voice.”

  I glance at Becky, but she's watching Freddie with a furrowed brow. I assumed she'd realize he's just full of crap, but so far she actually seems to be taking him seriously. Then again, I guess she doesn't really know him very well.

  “She asked me to help her rest in peace,” Freddie continues. “She told me I'm the only one who can help her.”

  I turn back to him. “Oh yeah?”

  He nods earnestly.

  “Okay, then,” I say with a sigh, “what happened next? You saw Molly, she spoke to you, and then you yelled for us. Then what? It was at least another half a minute before we got down here.”

  He shakes his head. “I didn't shout, not straightaway. I thought I was imagining the whole thing, so I waited and then suddenly she took a step toward me. I swear, I felt the air get real cold real fast.”

  I sigh again.

  “I mean it!” he hisses. “Maybe you've never encountered a ghost before, but I'm telling you, the temperature plunged! And she told me that I have to get justice for her!”

  Hearing a bumping sound nearby, I turn and see that Becky is heading over to the entrance, shining her flashlight at the spot where Freddie claims to have seen Molly Holt.

  “I heard her bones creaking,” Freddie continues as I turn back to him. “Each step she took, I hear her bones rustling and -”

  “Get your story straight,” I reply, interrupting him. “Were her bones creaking or rustling? It can't have been both.”

  “It was like a mix,” he stammers. “Listen, that's not the most important part right now. What's important is that she started walking straight toward me. I was shining the flashlight at her, and I could see her pale, white skin with blood everywhere, and there were all these cuts all over her.”

  “That sounds like something from a bad horror movie,” I point out.

  “I'm telling you straight up, man, that's what I saw. She was getting closer and closer, and then she opened her mouth and I heard this, like, deep growl coming out.”

  “You did, huh?”

  “I could feel this immense sense of responsibility,” he continues. “Or maybe it was a sense of trust. Yeah, that's more accurate. I could tell that she was entrusting me with this solemn duty to bring her a little dignity, like...”

  Again, his voice trails off, and he seems lost for words. A moment later, he lets go of my arm and raises his right hand, pointing with a trembling finger.

  “You!” he gasps.

  I look to where he's pointing, but there's no sign of anyone.

  “She was pointing at me,” he whispers, as I turn back to him, “and that's what she said. She said... You!”

  “You?”

  “By which she meant me.”

  “Huh.”

  “You,” he continues, putting on a rasping, crackling voice, “are the one who will bring peace to my soul.”

  I raise a skeptical eyebrow.

  “I swear that's what she said to me,” he adds, in his normal voice now. “It was like she was giving me this duty, dude. This kind of responsibility. She wants me to do something for her. She wants me to help her.”

  “The ghost of Molly Holt?”

  He nods.

  “And is that when you screamed?”

  “I didn't scream,” he replies testily. “I called out for you, because I wanted both of you to see her as well, so you'd know she was real. But then she seemed to get shy, like she didn't want either of you to come, and she stepped closer and screamed, and that's when I ducked down into the corner.”

  “And that's when we found you?”

  “Didn't you see her?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then she must have disappeared just before you got down here.”

  “That's convenient,” I point out.

  “I have proof!”

  He takes out his phone and, with trembling fingers, he brings up his camera app. He accesses the roll of pictures, and then he turns the camera so I can see the screen.

  “There!” he continues. “That's her! That's the ghost of Molly Holt!”

  Staring at the screen, all I see is a very dark, very blurry shot with barely any light showing at all. There's a faint hint of a figure, maybe, but the whole picture is a complete mess and I can't really make much out.

  “Freddie...”

  “It's her!” he hisses. “Molly Holt appeared to me and told me I have to help her!”

  “Why you?” I ask.

  “She must realize that if I got this far, I'm the only one who can do it. Or maybe she thinks I'm the only one who cares. Maybe it's 'cause I'm the most mature person here. Either way, it's proof that we're in the right house!”

  “Freddie...”

  “Every word I've told you is true!” he says firmly, and I can't help noticing that
he seems quite red in the face. “I swear on my mother's life, and on my father's life, that it happened. The ghost of Molly Holt is here, and she wants – no, she needs – our help!”

  Chapter Eight

  “He's insane,” I mutter a few minutes later, standing in the kitchen with Becky as Freddie continues to search for the ghost in the house's dining room. “He's lying his ass off.”

  “Probably,” she replies.

  “Probably? I guarantee you, he's lying. Couldn't you tell just from hearing the story?”

  “It didn't sound very realistic.”

  “It sounded like a load of baloney,” I continue. “You don't know Freddie, but I do. He always lies to get what he wants. He has no shame at all.”

  “He seemed pretty shaken up,” she points out.

  “That was all part of the act.”

  “And he had that photo.”

  “It was just a blur!”

  “It still looked like there was someone in it,” she replies. “I'm not saying I believe him, but you've got to admit the house is pretty spooky.” She starts rubbing her arm, as if she's still cold. “There's a kind of atmosphere here,” she continues. “I can't describe it, but I can feel it everywhere. Maybe your friend's right. Maybe something did happen.”

  “That doesn't mean there are ghosts here,” I point out, as I check my watch. “It's pretty much midnight and we've already been here way too long. Freddie's just trying to extend the pantomime for as long as he can. He really wants to be the first person who finds the house where the Molly Holt video was filmed. He thinks if he does that, he'll be famous and he'll get to go on talk-shows, but he's completely out of his mind. It's never going to happen.”

  I wait for her to reply, for her to admit that I'm right, but she seems lost in thought.

  “Molly Holt!” Freddie calls out from the next room. “My name is Frederick Aloysius Barnes and I'm here to help you. Show yourself from beyond the veil and tell me what you want me to do.”

  I can't help rolling my eyes.

  “He's a drama queen,” I explain, lowering my voice. “He thinks he's some kind of ghost-buster, and he's really not. The only way he'd find the Molly Holt house would be completely by accident. And anyway, if there is a ghost here, why did she reveal herself to the dumbest person around? Why didn't she show herself to us instead? Why haven't either of us seen or heard anything?”

  “I don't know how it works,” Becky replies. “Maybe there are rules.”

  “So ghosts can only reveal themselves to idiots?”

  “That's a little harsh. I thought he was your friend?”

  “I'm speaking to the spirit of Molly Holt!” Freddie announces, getting further and further away as he heads into another room. “Molly Holt, come to me! I wish to commune with your spirit!”

  “Okay,” Becky says with a faint smile, “he is a little full of himself.”

  “A little?”

  “Molly Holt!” Freddie shouts, from the other end of the house now. “Come to me, spirit! Let us commune!”

  “This house isn't haunted,” I point out as Becky's smile grows. “It's old and it's abandoned and we're lucky we didn't end up getting murdered by a bunch of hobos, but there's no ghost here. There's dust, lots of dust, but that's about it. Maybe ghosts exist and maybe they don't, but they sure don't exist here.”

  “Probably not.”

  “So maybe we should get out of here,” I tell her.

  “Maybe we should. And then what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If we get out of here,” she continues, “what are we gonna do with the rest of the night? Do your parents know you're out?”

  “My mother's out of town,” I reply, “and I already told you my father's dead. This is the first time Mom's ever left me alone in the house. She thinks I'm at home right now.”

  “Huh.” She bites her bottom lip.

  “I don't really know what else there is to do so late at night,” I add. “Pretty much everywhere's closed.”

  “That's a shame. I thought you had some kind of imagination, Tim.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that it'd be fun to hang out, but it's okay, I get it. You're not interested.”

  “I didn't say that.”

  She stares at me for a moment, before stepping closer and planting a kiss on my cheek. Before I can ask what the kiss was for, she makes her way past me and heads through to the darkened dining room, taking the flashlight with her. With each step she takes, the kitchen gets darker and darker, until I'm left standing in pitch darkness.

  “Hey!” I call out, hurrying after her. “Wait up!”

  “It's still fun hanging out at a crumby old house,” she replies, rubbing her arms again in an effort to keep warm. “Or at least, it would be if the place wasn't so cold. I guess your house has heating, though?”

  “Sure, but -”

  “Maybe we could head back there and hang out.”

  “I...”

  Stopping, I watch as she heads over to the window. Silhouetted against the dusty glass, with the flashlight in her right hand, she pauses for a moment and looks out at the yard in front of the house. I get the feeling that she's waiting for me to do or say something, and that she knows I'm watching her, but I don't quite understand why she'd do any of that. Then again, I've never really figured out how girls' minds work.

  “Molly Holt!” Freddie shouts from (I think) the hallway. “Appear to me again! I have so much to ask you!”

  “But let's leave him somewhere else,” Becky says, turning to me. “Dump him on the way to your place, yeah?”

  “But then...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that she's suggesting hanging out with me alone at my house. Maybe I'm over-analyzing this, but I'm starting to think that she might actually like me.

  “I'm going to check the basement again!” Freddie yells, and I hear him stomping down the rickety wooden steps. “Molly Holt, where are you?”

  “He's a little kid,” Becky says. “You realize that, don't you?”

  “He's enthusiastic,” I admit.

  “He's a child. Why do you want to hang around with a child, Tim?”

  “He's my friend.”

  “Are you a child?” she asks. “I really hope you're not, Tim. I hope you're a bit more grown-up.”

  “Tim!” Freddie yells suddenly from downstairs. “Where are you? Tim, get your butt down here!”

  “Run along,” Becky says with a faint smile. “Go play with your little pal.”

  “Can I at least have my flashlight,” I ask, “so I can see where I'm going?”

  “And leave me up here without one? Seriously? You can find your way. It's not that far. And it's not like you have to go. You have free will. You can either stay up here with me or go down there with him. It's totally up to you.”

  Figuring that there's no point arguing with her, I turn and head out of the room. Sure enough, I can barely see a thing as I fumble my way to the top of the rickety wooden stairs that leads down into the basement. Still, I make sure to tread carefully as I start making my way down.

  “Tim!” Freddie yells. “Get down here right now!”

  “I'm coming!” I shout, although it feels wrong to be so loud in such a dark, silent house. “Give me a minute!”

  “Tim! Hurry!”

  “Yeah, I'm sure it's really important,” I say with a sigh as I reach the bottom. “I don't have a flashlight!” I call out. “Becky took it! What's wrong? Are you gonna claim that you've seen the ghost again?”

  Reaching the end of the concrete corridor, I look through into the little room and finally see the beam from Freddie's flashlight. Standing in the middle of the room, Freddie is surrounded by broken pieces of plaster-board that he's evidently been tearing away from the wall, revealing a concrete facade with several thick cracks running up through the middle.

  After a moment Freddie turns to me and holds up the print-out.

  “See?” he says wi
th a hint of triumphalism in his voice. “I was right. This is the house where Molly Holt was murdered!”

  Chapter Nine

  “Yeah,” Becky mutters a few minutes later, staring at the print-out for a moment before aiming her flashlight back toward the cracked concrete wall. “Holy shit, kid, you were right.”

  “Told you so,” Freddie says with a grin, before nudging me in the arm. “We're standing in the Molly Holt murder house. Are you ready to apologize now?”

  “Are you sure?” I ask Becky. “I mean, are you really, really sure?”

  “It'd be a billion-to-one coincidence if it's not the same room,” she replies, before turning the print-out so I can see it again. “Look at the cracks. They're identical.”

  “But...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that she's right. The cracks in the wall aren't just similar to the cracks in the photo; they're exactly the same, even though the marks and stains on the concrete are a little different. Then again, the photo in the print-out is ten years old, and the wall has apparently been hidden behind plaster-board for at least some of those years, so it's not surprising that the condition of the concrete itself has changed a little.

  But the cracks are the same, and I guess that's more than enough proof.

  “Say it!” Freddie says suddenly.

  I turn to him. “Say what?”

  “Say you were completely wrong to doubt me! Say you're sorry!”

  “Freddie...”

  “Say it, loser!”

  “I'm sorry I doubted you,” I reply. “Now shouldn't we call someone and let them know?”

  “Get on your knees.”

  “Huh?”

  “I want you to get down on your knees,” he continues, “and ask me for forgiveness.”

  “You're crazy.”

  “It's the right thing to do. I want you to get down onto your knees, and then I want you to tell me you're sorry for doubting me, and then I want you to ask me to forgive you. And once you do that, I will consider your request and decide whether or not you're deserving of a second chance.”

  Sighing, I look over at Becky and see that she's taken the print-out closer to the cracked wall. She seems lost in thought, and after a moment I watch as she reaches out and runs a fingertip against one of the cracks.