The Ghost of Molly Holt

by Amy Cross

  “She's hurt!” I shout. “The step collapsed from under her!”

  “For real?”

  I hear him bounding up to join us, and then he shines his flashlight directly at the wound just as Becky lets out another agonized cry.

  “Whoa!” Freddie gasps. “It went all the way through!”

  “Get back!” I hiss as the next step bends beneath us.

  He leans closer.

  “Freddie, move to another step!” I yell. “These can't handle too much weight!”

  “Are you saying I'm fat?”

  I push him back, forcing him down onto a different step.

  “It hurts!” Becky sobs, as tears stream down her face. “Fuck, it hurts so bad!”

  Shifting my weight, I feel the step beneath my knees starting to buckle slightly. There's an ominous creaking sound too, and I can't help thinking that this entire staircase could collapse at any moment.

  “Help me!” Becky screams. “Get me out of here!”

  She tries to wriggle her leg free, but this only causes her to scream even louder than before.

  “I don't think that's a good idea!” I tell her. “I've seen in movies that if you try to pull yourself free, you can cause more bleeding! I think the wood's keeping you from losing too much blood right now.”

  “Help!” she shouts, looking up toward the doorway at the top of the stairs. “Somebody help me!”

  “We need to call for help,” I stammer, turning to Freddie. “Go and check if your phone can get signal upstairs.”

  “It can't,” he replies.

  “Then try mine!”

  “Cellphones don't work out here,” he explains, even as I take mine from my pocket and force it into his hands. “I checked before we left. It's a dead-spot for all the carriers.”

  “Then someone has to run to town,” I tell him, “or at least to somewhere they can get signal. I'm faster than you, so I'll go and you have to wait here with Becky.”

  “No way!” He grabs my arm before I have a chance to get up. “Are you insane? I'm not letting you run into town and start telling people that you're the one who found the Molly Holt house. The first one to tell a story always has an advantage, even if he's lying. People will believe you over me! I won't let you steal my credit!”

  “I don't care about any of that!” I shout. “Are you insane? We have to get help for Becky!”

  “Then I'll go,” he replies, getting to his feet. The steps creak as he starts making his way to the top. “You can either come with me or wait until I get back with help.”

  “We can't leave her here alone!”

  “Then you'll have to stay, 'cause I'm sure as hell not gonna.”

  “Freddie...”

  “You're not stealing my glory!” he says firmly, as he takes another step back. “You'll get some credit, but only -”

  “Just go!” Becky screams, pulling again on her damaged leg before slumping back with a pained grunt. “I don't care who goes, but one of you has to get help! Stop arguing like little kids!”

  “And don't worry about the ghost,” Freddie adds, “because I kind of exaggerated that part slightly.”

  “No kidding!” I yell.

  “I'm sure there is one!” he shouts. “I just haven't seen her yet! I was pre-experiencing something, in order to make you understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “You swore on your parents' lives that you weren't lying!” I point out.

  “Exactly. Surely you know that I don't really like my parents that much.”

  “Go!” Becky screams again. “I swear, if you don't go and get help right now, I'll pull this thing out of my leg myself and shove it up your ass! Now move!”

  Freddie hesitates for a moment, before turning and running out of view. A moment later, I hear the front door swinging open and then slamming shut.

  “It's okay,” I say, turning back to Becky and then looking down at her leg. “It'll only take him half an hour to get into town, but he'll find cellphone coverage before that. Someone'll be out here in an hour, tops.”

  “It hurts so much,” she whimpers, reaching down to the wound as more tears roll down her face. “Take a closer look. Tell me how bad it really is.”

  “Becky -”

  “Tell me!”

  I take hold of the bottom of her pants leg, and then I slowly lift the fabric up until I see a sharp piece of wood poking out through her skin. She's definitely impaled, but there's not as much blood as I would have expected. I mean, there is blood, but I guess the wood itself is sealing the wound pretty well. Still, the shattered step looks to have partially disintegrated into thousands and thousands of tiny, dusty particles, and I can see a section of exposed bone.

  “It hurts!” she shouts suddenly, slamming her fists against the other steps before letting out an angry gasp. “Motherfucker, it hurts so much!”

  “Try not to move it too much,” I reply.

  “No kidding, Sherlock!” she yells. “Is that the best you can do? Offer me shitty advice?”

  “I was just saying that you –”

  “I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you two losers,” she continues, her voice filled with tension as she leans back against the wall. “What the hell was I thinking? Why did I follow a pair of goddamn little kids all the way out to a house in the middle of nowhere? How lame is my life that this was my best option for the night? I could have been having fun right now. I could have been at a party or at least at someone's house. Stacey Solomeyer probably has weed.”

  “I'm sorry,” I reply. “We didn't mean for you to get hurt.”

  “I can't sit here like this,” she mutters, leaning forward again. “Give me a hand. I'm getting up.”

  “I don't think -”

  Before I can finish, she lets out an agonized scream as she tries moving her leg. The wooden step creaks beneath her, and a moment later I hear a brief snapping sound.

  “Stop!” I shout.

  “Help me!” she hisses, with more and more tears running down her face. She twists her leg, as if she's trying to slide it off the wood, and then she lets out an even more agonized cry. Still, she tries for a few more seconds before slumping back against the wall. Tears are still running down her face, along with beads of sweat.

  “You need to stop moving!” I tell her, as the step creaks again. “You could make things worse! The whole thing might collapse!”

  “There's a piece of wood running straight through my fucking leg!” she screams. “How much worse could it get?”

  “You need to stay calm,” I reply, “and wait until Freddie gets back with help. He won't be long, there'll be someone here real soon and then they'll take care of you. You'll be fine, I promise.”

  “What the fuck do you know about anything?” she snaps. “You're just a kid!”

  “I knew these steps were bad,” I mutter, thinking back to how I felt them bend slightly on my first trip down to the basement. “I knew we shouldn't even have come out here in the first place.”

  “I don't want to lose my leg!” she sobs.

  “You won't. It's not that bad, it just needs patching up.”

  “It'll get infected!”

  “No, I -”

  “You don't know!” she yells, pushing me away as I try to rearrange the fabric of her pants around the wound. “Don't touch it! You're just a stupid kid and you don't know anything!”

  She shifts her position again, sitting up on the creaking step and taking another look down at the injury. I reach out to help, but she pushes my hand back before touching the end of the broken tip.

  “It's filthy,” she continues, her voice trembling with shock. “I'm gonna end up with gangrene.”

  “Maybe I can find some water,” I suggest, although she doesn't immediately reply. “Do you want me to try?”

  “Where are you gonna find water in this place?”

  “I don't know, but I can take a look. If you don't mind being left alone for a few minutes.”

  “Why would
I mind?” she snaps.

  I glance down into the dark basement, before slowly getting to my feet. Again, the step creaks and bends beneath my foot, and I quickly make my way up to the top before turning to look down at Becky again. She's still examining the piece of wood that's stuck in her leg, and she's muttering some angry words under her breath.

  “I'll be right back,” I tell her, before turning and making my way through to the kitchen. “Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay. We'll be out of here in no time.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The faucet creaks and for a moment there's a distant banging sound in the house as the old pipes come to life, but no water emerges. I try again, with the same result, but then I guess this was always a long-shot anyway.

  I don't think anything works in this house anymore.

  Turning and looking across the dark kitchen, I spot what looks like an old-fashioned refrigerator over by the door. I head over, but I'm already pretty sure there's not going to be some miraculous stash of food or water. Sure enough, when I open the door I see just a few dry old chunks of food on a few places, and I'm hit by a foul stench that lingers even after I shut the door again.

  “So much for that,” I mutter, before realizing that there might be a faucet on the outside of the house, and that it's worth checking.

  I head through to the hallway and stop for a moment, and I realize I can still hear Becky muttering to herself on the steps.

  “I'm going to check outside,” I tell her. “There might be some water.”

  I wait, but she doesn't reply.

  “Becky? I'm going to check outside.”

  “Then go!” she snaps. “I don't care what you do, just go!”

  I hesitate, trying to think of something I can say that might make her feel better.

  “Okay,” I mumble finally.

  Figuring that she's simply just angry, I turn and head toward the front door. Just as I pull it open, however, I hear a brief creaking sound coming from over my shoulder. I turn and look up the stairs, toward the dark landing at the top, but of course there's no sign of anyone. A moment later I hear more creaks, but these are definitely coming from the stairs that lead down to the basement. Becky's making plenty of noise, which I understand since she's in pain, but that other creak seemed to come from up at the top of the main staircase.

  I watch the top for a few more seconds, half-expecting to see somebody step into view, before telling myself that I'm just getting jumpy.

  In fact, the more I think about it, the more I'm certain that the rogue creak was caused by Becky.

  “Keep it together,” I whisper under my breath, as I head outside and down into the yard that runs all the way around the house. The leaves rustle under my footsteps, and it actually feels good to break the weighty silence and make a little noise.

  I head along to the house's far end, but so far there's no sign of a faucet anywhere. As I get to the other side of the house, however, I spot several old cans that have been left on the ground, and a little further along there's a device that looks like a car engine strapped inside a bare metal frame. I crouch down to take a closer look, and I wipe away some grime and dirt so I can try to read the label on the engine's side.

  “EC 2000i,” I read out loud, before spotting several leads that run from the side of the engine up to one of the windows and then into the house.

  Spotting some switches on the side of the device, I flick them in an attempt to see what'll happen. When that doesn't have any impact, I shuffle around to the back of the device, where I find that various tubes and pipes are held in place using tape and staples. Whatever this thing is, it seems like it was bodged together from different pieces, and a moment later I spot a faded handwritten note taped to one of the surfaces. I wipe some more dirt away and lean closer, aiming my flashlight at the note in an attempt to read the spidery writing.

  “Never let gen run dry,” I read. “Always min quart full.”

  Below that, there's some writing that's impossible to make out, followed by one final line that I can just about read.

  “If in doubt, don't guess. Ask AJ.”

  I sit back and look at the device for a moment.

  “Who's AJ?” I mutter, before reaching out and flicking some more switches. “And what does -”

  Suddenly one of the switches causes the device to shudder to life, and I'm startled to hear a loud rumbling sound coming from somewhere deep inside. The device seems to be ticking over, and a moment later I notice a foul smell that reminds me of the time my father's car blew its engine. Worried that I might have accidentally started some kind of bomb, I reach out to flick the switches back to how I found them, but then at the last moment a light comes to life in the window directly above me, and I look up to see that there's now an electric lamp burning bright in one of the rooms.

  It's a generator!

  “We've got electricity,” I whisper, and then I get to my feet as I realize that I'm right. “We've actually got power!”

  Excited by this miraculous achievement, I turn and hurry back around to the front of the house, and then I head into the hallway. I can still hear the generator chugging away, but sure enough there's a lamp shining bright in one of the house's rooms. I try a switch on the wall, although I'm not exactly surprised when the overhead light fails to respond, but when I head to the doorway and look into the front room, I see that one of the cables that runs in through the window is connected to a lamp next to an armchair, while several other cables snake across the floor and disappear into other parts of the house.

  “Hey, Becky!” I shout, hurrying to the door that leads down into the basement. “Do you hear that? I made electricity!”

  As soon as I see her, I realize she doesn't look well. She's still on the step, but she's leaning back against the wall and her eyes are closed. I make my way down to her, and fortunately she opens her eyes just as I crouch down to check if she's okay.

  “Do you hear that sound?” I ask. “There's an old generator outside and I made it work. It's like a miracle, I can't believe it actually runs, but there are cables and everything. I've got a lamp running, and I can probably do more too!”

  “Great,” she replies, sounding exhausted. There's a lot of sweat on her face too. “Did you find water.”

  “Water? Oh, no, not yet, but maybe if -”

  “I feel kind of warm,” she whispers.

  I place a hand against her forehead, and I'm immediately struck by how hot and clammy she seems.

  “Can you find me some water?” she asks.

  “Sure, I'll go look again.”

  “Is Freddie back yet?”

  “No, but I bet he will be soon. All he has to do is get to somewhere with coverage, and then he can call for help. I reckon someone'll be out here in thirty minutes, maybe an hour at most.”

  “I hope they get here soon.”

  “They will. I promise.”

  “You can't promise that.”

  “I can. It'll be real soon, I'm sure of it.”

  “Can you turn the light on?”

  Getting to my feet, I flick a switch on the wall, but the bulb above us remains dark. I give it a couple more tries, still without any success.

  “Sorry,” I tell her, “I don't think I can make it work. I can try to move the lamp through, though. If you don't like the dark.”

  She turns and looks down into the pitch-black basement for a moment, and then she turns back to me. For the first time, I think I see a hint of fear in her eyes.

  “Yeah, that'd be good,” she says. “Get some light in here. Light and water.”

  “Don't worry,” I reply, “I'll look after you. You'll be fine, I won't let anything happen to you.”

  She stares at me for a moment, before offering a faint smile.

  “Whatever, kid,” she says finally, before hesitating. For a few seconds, she stares at me as if she somehow sees me differently. In a new light, perhaps. “Wait, did you really get a generator running?”


  I nod.

  “Seriously?” she asks.

  I put my hands on my hips. “It's nothing, really. Anyone could've done it.”

  “Someone must've left it here,” she points out. “Amazing that it still works. Did you put gas in and everything?”

  “No. I guess it must've had some gas left over.”

  “Huh.” She stares at me for a moment. “Well, I'm no expert on gennies, but I think that counts as a miracle. Maybe God's smiling on us after all. Not that I necessarily believe in him, but you get the idea.”

  “I'll get the lamp,” I reply, turning and heading through to the front room. I can tell that Becky's feeling worse, but I figure I can at least give her a little light.

  It takes a few minutes for me to unplug the standard lamp and move it through to the top of the basement stairs, and then I have to thread the cable inside and drag it back out the front door. Finally I plug everything back together and the lamp comes to life in the hallway, and when I get back to the top of the basement stairs I see to my relief that Becky is now bathed in a warm glow. At the same time, the light is causing her sweat to glisten, and I can't deny that she looks sick. There's so much sweat, the front of her shirt is soaked.

  “Is that better?” I ask.

  She turns and looks up at me, but for a moment she seems unable to focus.

  “Becky?”

  I wait, but she's staring at me as if she barely even knows who I am.

  “Is it better with light?” I ask, hoping that she'll at least acknowledge my presence. “Can you hear me?”

  “That's great,” she whispers. “I need water.”

  “I'll go and find some,” I add, feeling as if I'm actually being quite impressive here. “You really don't have anything to worry about, not while I'm around to protect you. I found electricity. Now I'll find water.”

  “That's -”

  Suddenly she starts coughing, and her throat sounds very dry.

  “Water,” I stammer, turning and heading back across the hallway. “I'll find some water for you.”

  “What were you doing in the basement?” she asks.

  I stop and glance back at her. “Huh?”