Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “What’s wrong?” Mother’s slur is barely perceptible to anyone besides me.

  “Where’ve you been?” I temporarily forget my panic. I’m focused on my flaring anger. “Are you drunk?”

  Mother meets my disapproving glare with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you question me like that, young lady. If I want to go to happy hour with my coworkers, then that’s my business.”

  “Without even telling anyone?”

  “I would’ve texted your cell phone, dear,” Mother says sarcastically, “but I can’t do that now can I? Now, tell me what’s going on. What in the world happened in here?”

  “I don’t know! Beckan and I were on the balcony. This is what we found when we came in.”

  Mother’s eyes, narrowed with suspicion, dart between us. “On the balcony? Why? And why weren’t you watching your brother?”

  As if on cue, Liam’s curly head pops into the room. “Why’s everyone yellin’?” He’s rubbing his eyes as if waking up from a nap. “What’s happening?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know right now young lady,” Mother says without taking her beady eyes off me, hands on her hips.

  “Why wasn’t I watching Liam?” I throw my hands up. “Why weren’t you? You should’ve been home two hours ago!”

  “Don’t turn this around on me, Rose!” Mother huffs around the room and jabs a finger in the air. “Look at this mess! Tell me what happened right now!”

  “I. Don’t. Know.” I say like I’m talking to an idiot. “That’s what I’m telling you! I was up here looking over my homework when Beckan stopped by. We started talking, but he wanted to smoke, so I took him to the balcony. We weren’t out there more than ten minutes. I swear the room was fine when we left!”

  Mother’s eyes survey the maelstrom. They freeze on one of the articles lying under a shoe on the bed. She grabs it, recognizes it immediately. She begins rifling around on the bed, finding several of the articles and their folder in the tangle of bedclothes. “And what’s this? What are you doing with this? How dare you go through my things!”

  I clamp my hands on my hips. “Well someone had to! You certainly weren’t going to tell us anything!”

  “None of this matters, Rose!” Mother shakes the papers at me. “This is my business and mine alone. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about!”

  Behind Mother, Liam’s eyes tear up, but neither of us notices.

  “Nothing to be concerned about? Are you crazy? Look at my room! What do you think did this, huh?”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me!”

  “Mother! People died here! A lot of them!”

  “Died?” Liam says, his eyes growing wide.

  “Why don’t we try tah calm down, ladies.” Beckan says, but he may as well be invisible.

  “It’s nothing,” Mother says. “So a few people died? So what?”

  “So what? Mother, those people died in this house because something killed them!”

  “Stop yelling!” Liam says, putting his pudgy little hands over his ears.

  “Something killed them?” Mother rolls her eyes and laughs. “Really, Rose? Listen to yourself! I thought you were smarter than this. There’s no such thing as ghosts! Those poor people died, yes, but they were depressed. Depressed people do...” She falters, dropping her hands to her sides. “Depressed people do sad things.”

  “Mother, look around you!” I say, frustrated. “Look at my room! Do you think this is my way of unpacking?”

  “I’ve about had it with your attitude,” Mother says firmly. She gathers the rest of the articles and papers from my bed and shoves them into the folder. “These articles mean nothing. Nothing! Now, I know you don’t want to be here. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But to orchestrate something so ridiculous to scare me into going back to Texas? And to involve a nice boy like Beckan in this scam of yours? Now that’s a new low.”

  “What? You think I did this? Mom – ”

  “Really, Rose. Ghosts?” Mother sighs and shakes her head. “I’ve had enough out of you for tonight and I have a terrible headache.”

  “Gee. I wonder why,” I mutter under my breath.

  Mother shoots me her last warning glance. I know the old Mrs. Delaney would’ve flown off the handle, maybe even smacked me, but she wouldn’t dare do something like that in front of Beckan. Instead, the new Mrs. Delaney lets out a long, controlled sigh and puts a delicate hand on her forehead before she replies.

  “I’m going to bed. You’re to get your brother some dinner, as I’m sure he’s starving, and then you’re to clean up your room. Is that clear?” I stay silent, grinding my teeth to powder. To Beckan, she says, “I’m sorry you had to be a party to this, Beckan. I appreciate you coming up here, but you can go home now. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Beckan nods.

  Mother looks around. “Now where’d your brother get to?” Liam’s tiny form has vanished.

  “Liam?” I call.

  “I think he went tah his room,” Beckan says, still standing awkwardly behind me, worrying his hands together while waiting for his chance to escape.

  I feel foolish. Embarrassed. The heat of my anger fades in the wake of my concern for Liam, but my cheeks stay red. Liam hates yelling, and he especially hates it when Mother and I argue because it reminds him of Dad and the troubling months before our parents split up. Even worse, for weeks after Dad’s death, Liam was convinced all arguing people would die any moment. It took a lot of crying nights and multiple therapy sessions to calm this intense panic. And here I am, his big sister and protector, screaming at Mother about ghosts and murder right in front of him, acting like a jackass instead of Big Sis.

  “I’ll go get him since you aren’t well.” I start out of the room.

  Beckan follows, heading down the closest staircase. “I’ll get stahted on the door locks tomorrow. Goodnight, Rose.” He waits for me to turn around.

  “Goodnight.” Something flickers behind those green marble eyes. Is it sympathy? Or judgment? He turns away before I figure it out.

  “Mrs. Delaney.” He nods at Mother and then continues his descent.

  In the doorway to her own bedroom, Mother stands with her arms crossed, glaring at my back. She’s no doubt thinking about how she would have punished me for such disrespect if there weren’t any witnesses.

  I knock on Liam’s closed door. “Liam? It’s me.” I try turning the knob, but it doesn’t twist. Confused, I try again. “Liam? Did you lock the door? Let me in please.” I hear sniveling behind his door and then the sound of the jiggling knob.

  “Let me in, Liam,” I repeat sternly.

  “I’m trying,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “I didn’t lock it.”

  “Maybe you locked it by accident.” My body tenses and Mother’s form straightens in the corner of my eye.

  Beckan stops about halfway down the stairs. “Those doors don’t have locks.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, whirling around.

  “There aren’t any locks on the bedroom doors,” Beckan repeats as he heads back up the stairs. “Maybe the door’s jammed? The wood might be swollen.”

  “But the knob won’t turn,” I say, barely keeping my panic at bay. I try turning the knob again and push against the door, willing it to open, but it doesn’t budge.

  “Rosie, I want to come out,” Liam says. “I want out now!”

  “I know squiggle worm,” I say as calmly as I can. “The door’s just stuck. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out in a minute.”

  “Let me try,” Beckan says. I move out of his way, glancing at Mother. Her sweater is wrapped tightly around her body and her lips are sealed in a straight line. Her worry is carefully controlled on the outside, but I know panic rules on the inside.

  Beckan tries turning the knob, but it doesn’t give even the slightest bit. Not one to give up easily, he tries a few more times, even pushing his weight into the old wooden door, before taking a step back a
nd staring at it, perplexed.

  “I want out!” Liam cries.

  “Sit tight, buddy,” Beckan says reassuringly.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s like every time I try to turn the knob or push on the door… it pushes back.” I see the worry in his eyes. We both know the door isn’t swollen or stuck. Something is holding my brother hostage in his room.

  “Liam?” Beckan says.

  “Yeah?” I can hear the tears in Liam’s voice and my heart sinks further into the chasm of my soul. I’m a terrible sister.

  “Go sit on your bed okay?” Beckan says. “I’m goin’ tah push on the door real hard, but I don’t want you tah get hit when it opens.”

  “Okay.” Liam’s heavy footsteps retreat away from the door.

  Beckan steps back to the railing and then throws his weight into the door as hard as he can. I flinch at the thump of his shoulder beating the door, but it doesn’t give. He throws his weight into the door again and again, each time my body twitching from the sheer force he’s applying. Why isn’t the door opening?

  The sound of splitting wood fills the air. Beckan throws his body into the door with renewed energy. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. He’s throwing every pound of his body into the door as hard as he can but it doesn’t yield to his strength. He hits it ten or eleven times before the wood finally gives, but the door doesn’t open. Instead, Beckan punches a hole the size of his shoulder in it ala Jack Nicolson in The Shining.

  “Hey buddy,” Beckan says, looking at Liam though the hole. “Don’t worry. We’re going tah get you out.” He reaches an arm in through the opening and tries to turn the knob from the inside, but it still won’t turn. “You just sit tight, Liam. We’re right heeah.”

  “Okay,” Liam says, quietly wiping snot on his sleeve.

  Beckan turns to me. “I’m goin’ tah have tah get my tools. We’ll have tah take it off the hinges.”

  “What?” Mother finally remembers her voice. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Delaney,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t see what else we can do without destroyin’ the door completely. It just doesn’t want tah come loose.” He goes to get his tools, leaving Mother and I to glare silently at our feet. Beckan returns and begins working on the hinges, unscrewing each one as quickly as he can.

  Beckan removes the last screw. The door abruptly flies downward with a deafening SLAM against the wood floor, the sound reverberating through the foyer like a crack of thunder. Beckan barely gets out of the way before he’s swatted like a housefly.

  “Must’ve been a draft,” Mother offers quietly.

  Liam sits on his bed, dried tear tracks trailing down his face, as Becakn approaches him. “You okay buddy?”

  Liam nods silently.

  I’m close behind Beckan and wrap Liam in a tight hug, more to comfort myself than to comfort him. “I’m sorry about all the yelling. Mommy and I, we just lost our tempers for a minute, but everything’s okay. Mommy isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. I’m really sorry.” I kiss his forehead and squeeze him a little tighter.

  “What about Beckan?” Liam asks.

  “Beckan?” I release Liam and glance at Beckan. He’s retreated and stands awkwardly in the doorway.

  “Yeah. Is he going anywhere?”

  “Of course not,” Beckan answers. “I mean, I do have tah get home tah my own bed, but I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.” Our eyes meet but I look away as my cheeks burn.

  “Okay kiddo?” I say, squeezing Liam’s shoulders.

  “I’m hungry.”

  ***

  After all the excitement dies down and Beckan finally leaves, I make Liam a quick snack before putting him to bed. As it turns out, he’s not starving. He apparently ate dinner while Mother was downing shots and I was putzing around on the Internet. I’m both surprised and unnerved by how easily my brother, a mere five years old, is able to get on without me all of a sudden.

  For once, Liam doesn’t fight bedtime. Crying always saps the energy out of him and so far as he knows, the earlier incident is as simple as a swollen door and a drafty house, which will hopefully keep the nightmares away.

  I make a perfunctory attempt to clean my room, all the while mulling over my eventful evening. I can’t believe Beckan’s mother died in my house. It’s impossible to believe I told Beckan about Dad. I hadn’t even talked about it with my best friend back in Texas when it happened. I closed myself up like a fan, keeping the outside world on the other side of an imaginary wall. If it weren’t for Liam, I would’ve retreated into myself completely.

  I try explaining away both incidents – my ransacked room and Liam’s door – but nothing makes sense. A strong draft? Only if my bedroom has its own atmosphere. Did Liam ransack my room, maybe angry for not paying him more attention? Could a draft really be responsible for Liam’s door? I don’t think so; even the kind of draft that occasionally pushes a door closed wouldn’t have kept Liam’s door sealed so tightly that it couldn’t be opened. What did Beckan say? Every time he pushed against the door, he felt something pushing back. Liam couldn’t have done that, no matter how tubby he is. Besides, he’s more marshmallow than muscle anyway.

  When I see it’s after eleven thirty, I sigh with exasperation. I haven’t made so much as a dent in the mess around me, but I’m exhausted. I clear space on the bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

  I dream of the house in black and white; the way I’ve always felt I should see it since I first laid eyes on it. I see it from outside. I’m standing a little ways down the mountain.

  Rose...

  Great storm clouds fill the emptiness behind it with flashes of white lightning and cracks of thunder.

  Rose...

  The great turrets loom over me, giant knives on the hill.

  Rose, let me in.

  The stained glass windows, lit with a flickering glow, glower down at me like angry eyes.

  Let me in... Let. Me. In.

  The rotting front steps frown at me like a toothless black bear.

  LET ME IN.

  The red doors, the only part of my dream in color, glare down at me. They’re a bright, vibrant crimson that melts onto the porch, blood spilling toward me.

  LET. ME. IN.

  The porch lights on either side of the doors come to life. Slowly the doors begin to part. They grrrrooooaaann open, revealing the impenetrable darkness that rules within.

  LET. ME. IN. ROSE.

  I wake with a start. My breath is caught in my throat. My shirt clings to my sweaty skin. It’s after three a.m. and my room is bathed in the faint moonlight drifting through the windows.

  I’m cold and wrap my arms around myself, realizing I’m still fully dressed.

  From the foyer, comes a startling sound.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  A cold chill raises goose bumps along my arms and legs. I get up. I edge toward my closed bedroom door, carefully navigating around my belongings still strewn around.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  I open the door with a slow creeeeeaaaak and peer into the dark hall. No, it isn’t dark. Where I expect darkness is a soft yellow light. Where’s the light coming from?

  Thump, thump, thump.

  The further into the hall I venture, the louder the sound becomes. Peering around the corner and down the staircase, all of my questions are answered.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the two blood red doors stand wide open, bouncing back into the walls in a breeze with a thump, thump, thump. The porch lights emit the yellow light spilling through the doorway. Beyond them, all is impervious darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ghost Hunters

  “Would you like a ride?” Beckan meets Liam and me on the porch the next morning. His eyes lock on me as I zip Liam’s jacket and send him into the cool morning mist.

  “Sure.” I allow Beckan a small smile, still embarrassed about his window into the Disfunctional Delaney household last night.


  “How are you?” He picks up Liam’s bookbag and lets him run ahead to the truck, keeping his eyes trained on mine.

  “Okay, I guess.” I say, stifling a yawn. “Tired.” Lifting my backpack and closing the heavy door behind me takes more effort than usual.

  “You look it,” he says. When I raise an eyebrow, he backpedals. “No offense. I didn’t mean that th-the way it s-sounded.” He laughs. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m a little irritable anyway,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’m sorry about all that business last night between me and Mother. It’s been a while since we had a good screaming match. I guess we were due.” A blast of icy wind nearly knocks me off of my feet as I descend the front steps. “Thanks for the lift today. It got cold!”

  The chill arrived suddenly overnight. I’m wearing pants for the first time in months, and a jacket for the first time in recent memory.

  “Yeah, we’ll be gettin’ a storm in the next day or so I suppose. No worries ‘bout all the othah stuff. Everythin’ okay aftah I left?” Beckan pulls the creaky passenger door open for Liam and me.

  I look at Liam, all smiles after a tough night, and shake my head. I haven’t decided if I want to tell anyone about my dream or the strangeness of the open doors – which I know I locked behind Beckan last night – and I’m certainly not going to talk about it in front of Liam. Beckan seems to understand and doesn’t push it.

  Silence floods the cab of the truck until we reach the bottom of the hill, where Letta waits for me. Her dark hair is loose today, blowing around her like a black tornado. I look at the small bench seat in the truck. There isn’t much room left, but Letta’s petite.

  “Can we pick up Letta?” I ask. “She looks cold.”

  “It’ll be a tight squeeze.” Beckan slows to a stop next to her and rolls down his window. “Want tah hop in?”

  “There’s room!” I shout over the roar of the diesel engine.

  Letta smiles and runs around to the passenger side as Beckan rolls up his window. I scoot over, feeling Beckan’s warmth through the sleeve of my thin jacket. Though it’s cooler today, I notice he wears only a short-sleeved flannel shirt. Liam squeezes close to me on the other side as Letta hops in.