Haunted Nights

by Ellen Datlow

  “Hey, Amber!” Cecily called out from the other room.

  “Hey, babe!”

  “Come and join us!”

  As we wandered back to the dining room, I noticed our final guest wasn’t carrying the promised Ouija board. Two houses over, a soundtrack rose up with musical shrieks and creepy haunted house noises, and then went silent. I was comforted by the thought that at least our neighbors were having less fun than we were.

  Cecily embraced Amber and offered her a glass of wine. There was the briefest dip in energy. We all felt it. The “Amber Chill” is what I like to call it, but this never fails to make my wife look sad, so I kept the observation to myself. Meredith covered the awkwardness by tidying up and topping off her husband’s drink.

  “I understand you’re going to guide us through a séance, is that right?” Connor asked with a smirk.

  “What?” Amber asked. “No, I’ve never performed a séance, no.”

  “That’s right,” said Meredith. “You read palms. Yes?”

  “Change of plans,” I said. “Or a change of heart. Apparently.”

  Amber’s face lost its final trace of color. She sat there in her chair at the dining table like an adult who’s suddenly deflated to child-size, arranging the folds of her dress around her. When she was done, she looked as pasty as before but also on the verge of collapse. I had a fleeting image of her being sucked down inside the dress that pooled around her, swallowed up and digested by her garment. It made me smile imagining her screams.

  “I thought Cecily would explain,” she said. Leaving our guests to stare vacantly.

  “Yes,” Cecily jumped in. Ever the social one, the slender and gracious proof that Amber wasn’t a genetic aberration but a self-made monster, an experimental version of Cecily gone wrong.

  “Amber suffered a terrifying experience recently. After all she’s been through, she needs a break from—”

  Here my nimble Cecily fumbled for words. What the hell was it her sister actually did? From what dire circumstances did she need a break? Here was Amber, too weird to behave like a normal person and hold down a job. Yet too high-strung to make money telling fake fortunes. Her flaw was always her belief in things any sane person would call BS—spirits, auras, premonitions, tarot, you name it.

  “I see you didn’t bring a Ouija board,” I said. I knew point-blank observations made her nervous.

  “No worries,” said Meredith. “As long as the wine and cheese last, I’m good.”

  “Yeah,” said Jeff. “No pressure.”

  “Come on, Amber,” I said. Trying to sound sporty and not mean. “It’s Halloween. We’re all excited about hearing our fortune told, or trying to contact the dead, or something. Maybe you could just…”

  “If she doesn’t want to, it’s fine. Really.” Steven said this so good-naturedly I wanted to throw a slice of smoked chicken at him.

  From somewhere in the gloom outdoors came a high-pitched howl. We were silent for a second. Then we burst into laughter. All except Amber, who seemed so wrung out and pathetic, Meredith reached over and took her hand.

  “Hey, what was this experience you mentioned?” Meredith asked. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I think I made a snorting sound when I laughed. Cecily gave me a glance, and I shut up. For the moment I couldn’t stop the runaway train, which is how I thought of Amber’s need for attention. My coworkers and their spouses were falling for Amber’s routine and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “It’s happened a few times in my life, this kind of thing,” she said. Her voice was pitched low enough to draw the others in. They pulled up their chairs and huddled around the table like kids at camp. Cecily even dimmed the overhead lights and lit a couple of candles. In this natural spotlight, Amber went on. “There was a terrible night years ago when I was in college—”

  “Why didn’t you just bring the Ouija board?” I interrupted. “We could figure it out by ourselves, even if you didn’t want to play.”

  This time I got a look from all of them—Cecily, Meredith, even the guys. I took this as a sign I was edging toward Drewville, so I decided to pull back. I popped the cap on another Corona and took a seat.

  “It’s all right. Take your time,” Cecily said to Amber. “Do you want to repeat what you told me? I mean, about why you stopped doing readings?”

  “It’s such a long story,” Amber said. “Probably boring to most people.”

  “No,” said Steven. “Go on.”

  “All of my life,” she said, “since I was a little girl I wanted someone to love, someone to be my very own. You know what I mean, someone devoted to me and only me. And once I thought I almost had this glimmer of love…” I caught the glance she gave me and felt a shiver at the base of my spine. “But it never came true. Not for me. Not for me…”

  “Everybody wants to be loved,” said Meredith.

  “It’s universal,” said Jeff.

  “Jesus.” I really didn’t mean to say this. It just popped out.

  Cecily gave me a withering sigh.

  “Okay,” I said as gently as possible. “Tell you what. It’s a party. Let’s make our own Ouija board.”

  “Drew, please,” said Cecily. “She’s telling us what happened.”

  Amber stared at me like I’d kicked a puppy. “It’s a Ouija, not a Ouija board,” she told me. Those dark, messy eyebrows were all knotted up and crazy; her overdrawn mouth was as sloppy as I remembered it from those nights in her dorm room, long ago.

  Cecily sighed and turned her gaze toward the patio. From where we sat, we could see the stupid jack-o’-lanterns along the edge of the cement, angling past the barbecue pit and around the side of the house to the driveway. The candles had sputtered out but the effect was still there, snarling faces glowing orange in the intermittent shadows and moonlight. It crossed my mind that I should relight them.

  Not that I believed any of that spirit world Halloween stuff. I’ve always felt an interest in the occult is an excuse for being childish and strange. Years ago, the night I made up my mind to ditch Amber, we were at a frat party in full swing. The upstairs rooms were occupied, all pumps downstairs were spewing ale into plastic cups, music was throbbing, and the people who were still dancing started to shed pieces of clothing.

  Amber claimed she had a “vision” of a young woman sprawled across the floor, her skirt torn and stained with blood and beer. Amber ruined that night for me with her loony performance, stumbling through the crowd, pointing and shrieking while onlookers laughed at us. We left the party early. So much for schmoozing the best and brightest guys on campus, guys who would go on to start their own companies and could have offered me a job someday. Forget all of that. Amber had a “vision.” Jesus.

  I read the newspaper account a few days later. The party we left had turned ugly at some point. The photo of a dead girl in her ruined party outfit confirmed what I suspected. Not that Amber was psychic. How could she be? There was nothing special about her, and there was no such thing as a “vision.” It seemed as though she triggered bad events, just by being there. Like the time she warned a bus driver to quit his route early to avoid a catastrophe; two hours later the guy slammed his bus into a utility pole and injured six passengers. Some people would call it a premonition, but not me.

  Maybe she gave people ideas they didn’t have before. Maybe she just freaked people out or set them on edge, and this had a sort of ripple effect. She was tuned into something nasty, something I didn’t like and didn’t want living under my roof or sleeping in my bed. The news story about the dead girl proved me right. It was wise to break things off with Amber and give my full attention to Cecily.

  “Come on,” I said to our party guests. “This will be fun. We’ll use the salt-and-pepper shakers for ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and then we’ll only ask questions the ghosties don’t have to spell out. Look at me! I’m a psychic!”

  “Never make fun of the dead,” Amber said. Her voice was low and gravelly, and for a seco
nd I was afraid she might go into one of those trancelike states, where she sort of resembles a dog having a spasm.

  “Jesus, Amber,” I told her. “Lighten up.”

  I set up the shakers like goalposts on the table. The tiny skeletons stood guard, holding up their remaining toothpicks like weapons. The lights were still dim, and on the table the candle flames wavered.

  I sat before the shakers. I placed my hand over an empty paper plate. I smiled, really beamed for the first time all night.

  “This is no joke,” said Amber.

  “Sure it is,” I said amiably. Then I turned my attention to the paper plate. “Is anyone here with us?” I asked.

  Cecily sighed and shook her head. Meredith forced a polite grin. The others only stared at me as I continued.

  “O spirits!” I intoned. “Are you with us tonight?”

  At this point I slid the paper plate toward the saltshaker, indicating “yes.” At the same time I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise and prepared to ask another question, but I was interrupted.

  “No!” Amber screamed, standing and grasping the folds of her dress with one hand. A second later her chair hit the floor, tipped backward behind her. “No!”

  Steven and Jeff were staring wide-eyed at me from their end of the dining table, no doubt making plans to escape. Meredith was pale, and Connor held her hands.

  “No what?” I yelled. “Are you kidding me, Amber? Are you kidding?”

  Amber pointed at the patio beyond the glass. “You let the lights go out!”

  “What?” I said. “Are you nuts?”

  “Drew!” Cecily hissed. She stood and took a step toward the sliding glass door.

  “No,” I said, trying to calm my voice and my thoughts. “Forget it, honey, I’m not letting you make excuses this time. She’s ruined every party we ever invited her to, and I’m fed up. Hear me? I’m sick of it!”

  “Drew, for God’s sake!” Cecily had an edge of hysteria I’d never heard before. “Drew! Look!”

  I turned toward my wife. Her face was pale and her hands were clasped beneath her chin. At the table our guests rose to their feet simultaneously. I stood and followed Cecily’s gaze.

  On the other side of the sliding glass door a tall figure was shambling toward the house. Not swaying exactly but struggling to find purchase with each step, crushing dead jack-o’-lanterns along the way. It loomed, a shadow stretching beyond that of any ordinary person, well over seven feet tall.

  I put a hand on Cecily’s shoulder and nudged her to one side. The instinct welling inside me was natural enough, but I wasn’t protecting my wife. I had a quick, deep, overwhelming desire to see this thing stumbling into the light.

  “What the hell?” I asked. Once the words were out of my mouth I realized I needed to direct them at Amber. “What the hell have you done this time?” I shouted at her. “Tell me or I’m calling the cops!”

  My righteous anger was interrupted by a thump. Cecily let out a yelp and headed toward the other guests. They clustered like children behind me.

  We watched while the figure outside—broad shouldered and muscular—bumped against the patio door, causing the glass to shiver in its frame. It was hard to judge the figure’s true height because Jeff’s werewolf mask was stuck on its head at a jaunty angle, revealing a zigzag of scar tissue below its mouth and disappearing into the V of a torn shirt.

  “No!” Amber screamed again.

  This time we all jumped. But before we could answer, she went striding across the room. She stopped at the glass door, staring out while the figure seemed to stare in (although it was hard to tell through that mask).

  The figure grew agitated when Amber pressed her hands against the door. It bumped the glass again and again, catching one shoulder on the metal frame each time.

  “Hamish!” Amber screamed with her face close to the glass, her breath fogging its surface with every word. “Hamish, I’m sorry!”

  I could have slapped her. I could have killed her. I don’t know why she’s always called out the worst in me, the most despicable parts of my nature, but it was so even when I found her appealing all those years ago. Even when we made love, I found myself possessed by a desperate urge to crush her face with my hands. Taking in the spectacle of Amber and the figure wearing the werewolf mask made me nauseated—the overweight woman in her sloppy dress and runny makeup and the pitiful creature out there whose only desire was to reach her, the horrible object of its pathetic affection.

  “Hamish! Go back!” she shouted.

  At this the figure stopped bumping against the glass. It leaned there for a moment with its head tilted, looming a good two feet taller than Amber. It made a doglike sound, a whimper or a whisper, I couldn’t tell which. Then it turned and went lurching off across the patio, its clumsy steps knocking the remaining jack-o’-lanterns out of its path.

  “Jesus Christ!” Meredith said. “Who was that?” She collapsed into Connor’s arms. He held her and began to steer her out of the dining room, in the direction of the front door.

  The others stood watching me. I guess they wondered what I would do, but I didn’t do anything except almost wet my pants when I heard a howl from the side of the house. The sound broke us. Cecily ran to her sister, who was shouting nonsense about ghosts and dead pumpkins. Jeff and Steven started for the front door, and I followed them.

  “What the heck was that all about, Drew?” Jeff asked me. “Was that thing real? It wasn’t real, was it? It’s a joke, right?”

  Meredith was crying. Connor held her tight and steered her outside, toward their car.

  “Oh no,” I said. “Come on. Do you have to go?”

  Connor shouted at me over the hood of the car. “What the hell is wrong with you, Drew? You’re not funny, okay? Not funny!” Then he glanced around, and his gaze locked onto the figure now struggling to break free of the shrubbery along the side of our house. “You too,” he yelled at it. “Not funny!” Connor climbed into the driver’s seat and burned rubber out of there.

  Jeff and Steven stood in the foyer, whispering, arguing. Jeff shook his head.

  “Look,” he said. “Whatever that is under the mask, it’s very convincing. That sound it made…? Yeah. Good one.”

  “Jeff,” I said. “I didn’t set this up. I have no idea…”

  “Too much,” he said with a tight smile. “Okay, well, it’s late.”

  “Jeff,” I said again.

  He didn’t answer. They headed to their car and once they were inside I could hear the thump of the auto-lock, followed by a few expletives as they continued their argument. I heard my name shouted just before they drove off.

  “Amber!” I heard my wife shriek from the dining room. By the time I reached her, Cecily was alone. The sliding glass door stood open, and the chill night air wafted in.

  “Amber!” Cecily shouted again. “She’s gone, Drew. I couldn’t stop her. She ran after that guy, whoever he is.”

  “Hamish?”

  “I don’t know who it is, or what it is,” she said. “Go find her, Drew!”

  “She left on her own. She’s an adult.”

  My expression told her everything. All the disgust and contempt I usually took pains to conceal. Cecily read all of it and began to cry.

  “Great,” I said. “Perfect.”

  “You blame my sister for this, too?”

  “She’s the lunatic, isn’t she?” I asked. I tried to put my arms around her, but she pulled away. Aroused, I reached for her again, and she slapped my hand away.

  “Unbelievable. I can’t…Just unbelievable!”

  “And who insists on inviting Amber every time we have a get-together?” I asked.

  “Who can’t stop making fun of her in front of everybody? Who can’t leave well enough alone? Tell me,” she said, her voice climbing.

  “You chose me!” I screamed. “I didn’t ruin your sister’s stupid life. I chose you, and you chose me! Remember?”

  She stopped crying. She snapped off
the outdoor lights, closed and locked the patio door, and walked away. I heard her footsteps as she stomped upstairs to our bedroom.

  I thought about braving the chill night, playing the hero, searching for Amber. But I couldn’t do it. I went as far as opening the front door and stepping out onto the walk. The figure, Hamish, whatever it was, had disengaged from the shrubbery and escaped.

  I checked the spot where Jeff had tossed the werewolf mask earlier. It was gone. I thought I heard children singing on the next street over, but I couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, across the street, where the trees cast spindly shadows like trembling fingers, I spotted movement.

  If my life ever depends on it, for some reason, I’ll swear I saw nothing in the shadows. I’ll never admit I saw the figure in the werewolf mask shambling around the corner with a group of people, some walking and some floating with their feet off the ground. A few steps behind the group Amber followed, and I could hear her voice, fading. “Hamish! Hamish!”

  No matter what version of the story I’ll tell at the office, I won’t describe how I looked back over my shoulder just a moment before and saw my beautiful, unhappy wife upstairs, at the bedroom window, watching. I won’t say we both stared into the dark for a long time, neither of us daring to move or call out, not knowing what to do next.

  In conversation with people at work, I’ll blame my sister-in-law. I always do. I’ll say she ruined the party and left with a friend. I’ll explain how one of Amber’s creepy dates must have stalked her, and followed her to our house. I’ll say I have no idea why Amber did it, but we’re never inviting her to our house again.

  Sisters

  Brian Evenson

  WE HAD JUST moved in, hadn’t even done anything to our neighbors yet. We were all alone at the end of the block, and already Millie was complaining. Was this going to be another of those stays where we hardly ever left the house? Couldn’t we at least join in celebrating the holidays?