The Haunting of Abram Mansion

by Alexandria Clarke

  At the entrance to the kitchen, I paused with my back to the wall. The singing and giggles had faded. Nothing moved or breathed. I was sure my head was playing tricks on me.

  “It’s nothing, Peyton,” I muttered to myself. “Get yourself together.”

  I squared my shoulders, stepped into the kitchen, and screamed.

  A little boy stood by the stove, gripping a butcher’s knife in his small hand.

  4

  I swung the fire poker up out of pure instinct, but fear and shock sprang up in the boy’s eyes in the form of copious tears. He dropped the knife and stepped backward, right into a pile of debris that Ben had swept up earlier. He tipped his head back and howled before sitting on the floor to cradle his bare foot in his lap. Blood dripped from the arch of his foot. I tossed the fire poker aside and went to the boy. He balked at first, but I stroked his thin blond hair, and he calmed down. He looked to be about five or six years old.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I said softly. “My name’s Peyton. What’s yours?”

  “S-Sammy,” he replied, choking back tears.

  “Hi, Sammy. Can I have a look at your foot?”

  Reluctantly, he extended his leg so his foot rested in my lap. A rusty nail was embedded deep in the skin. I hid a grimace. This kid definitely needed a tetanus shot.

  “Hold on a second,” I said, gently placing his foot on the floor. I wet a paper towel underneath the cold water from the faucet then sat with the boy again. “This might hurt a little bit, but you have to be brave, okay?”

  Sammy sniffled and nodded.

  “Ready? Three, two—”

  Before I got to one, I tugged the nail out of Sammy’s foot. Unlike Ben, who made a fuss over a splinter, Sammy flinched once before opening his eyes to get a look at the bloody nail. I pressed the wet paper towel against the bottom of his foot to stop the bleeding.

  “Can I keep it?” Sammy asked, reaching for the nail.

  “I’m afraid not, buddy.” I tossed the nail into the nearby garbage pail. “It’s dangerous. What are you doing in here—?”

  Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Ben entered the kitchen. “What the hell is going on in here?” he asked. “I heard screaming.”

  “And you just made it down here?” I asked as Sammy cowered behind me.

  “I had to put my shoes on,” Ben said. “Why is there a kid in here?”

  “That’s what I was trying to figure out before you thundered in here like an angry bear,” I told him. To Sammy, I said, “That’s just Ben. You don’t have to be afraid of him. Ben, this is Sammy.”

  Ben took in Sammy’s tearstained face and bloody foot. When he spoke again, it was with a more delicate tone. “Hi, Sammy. It’s nice to meet you. Are you okay?”

  Sammy nodded, his chin wobbling.

  “He stepped on a nail,” I said. “But he’s going to be fine.”

  Ben knelt to get on our level, his instincts on dealing with children finally kicking in. “Sammy, how did you get in here?”

  “The dog door.” Sammy sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “That’s how I always come in.”

  “You’ve been here before?” I asked.

  “My friend lives here, but my Mama doesn’t let me come play with her.”

  Ben wore the same confused expression I imagined I had on my face. “No one else lives here, buddy,” he said. “Peyton and I just got here yesterday. The house has been empty for years.”

  Sammy shook his head with so much intensity that I was afraid it might spin right off. “No, that’s not true. My friend lives here.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?” I asked him.

  He pressed his lips together and looked away, tapping his fingers rapidly against the tile floor as if trying to expel some of the energy he was storing from concealing too many details.

  “Never mind.” I checked the state of Sammy’s foot. Beneath the paper towel, his skin was all torn up from the nail, and it hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. “Your mom doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

  “No, she’s sleeping.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “In town,” Sammy says.

  “You walked all the way here?” Ben asked, astonished. “Barefoot in the snow?”

  “No, I took my shoes off before I came in,” Sammy said. “She doesn’t like it when you wear shoes in the house.”

  “Who doesn’t—you know what? Never mind.” I looked outside the kitchen door and found Sammy’s boots dusted with a layer of snow. “Here they are.” I helped Sammy wiggle his good foot into the first boot but hesitated at the second. “Wait here for a second, Sammy.”

  I left Sammy with Ben then returned to the kitchen a minute later with a pair of fluffy wool socks from Ben’s duffel bag. With Sammy’s permission, I wrapped his foot with a layer of clean paper towels, pulled the sock over top, then put his boot on.

  “I think we’re going to take you to the emergency clinic, Sammy,” I told him as I helped him to my feet. “That way, we can get you fixed up and call your mom to let her know where you are.”

  Sammy pulled his tiny hand out of mine. “It’s okay. I can walk home by myself.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy,” Ben said.

  “I’ve done it before.” Sammy got down on all fours and crawled toward the doggy door. He was halfway out before we realized what he was doing.

  “I don’t think so, kiddo.” Ben gently wiggled Sammy free of the doggy door and picked him up so he couldn’t try again. “We’ll take the front door.”

  “I’ll get in trouble if Mama finds out I left,” Sammy said as the three of us made our way to the entryway. “She worries too much.”

  I put on my boots and coat over my pajamas. Then Ben handed Sammy to me so he could do the same. For his age, Sammy was quite small and light, like he was made out of bird bones. As we stepped outside, his bright green eyes reflected the stars up above. I buckled him into the backseat of the SUV and sat next to him to make him feel more comfortable, and Ben drove us all into town.

  The emergency clinic was the closest thing Falconwood had to a hospital. When we carried Sammy inside, the night receptionist gave him a lollipop to distract him while a pediatric nursing student dressed his foot with antiseptic gel and real bandages instead of paper towels. While Sammy was being taken care of, the receptionist phoned the police for us.

  “An officer will be here shortly,” she said. “Are you two going to wait?”

  “No, I think we’re going to head out if your staff has everything under control,” Ben answered for the both of us. “It’s late.”

  Upon hearing Ben’s reply, Sammy’s bottom lip quivered. A single tear hovered on his bottom eyelash, waiting to drop. “You’re going to leave me here alone?”

  I ruffled Sammy’s hair while the nurse finished wrapping his foot with bright green gauze. “You won’t be alone, bud. The nurse is going to stay with you until the police come, and then they’re going to call your mom.”

  At the word “police,” Sammy released the dam of his tears, and they poured down his cheeks. “I don’t like the police,” he said. “I want my mom.”

  “They’ll find her,” Ben insisted. “And the police aren’t going to hurt you. They’re here to help you.”

  “But I don’t like them,” Sammy blubbered, curling his knees into his chest and sobbing into his dinosaur-printed pajama pants. “P-please don’t l-leave me.”

  “Okay, we won’t,” I said, squeezing Sammy’s big toe to distract him from his emotions. “We’ll say with you until your mom gets here. Is that okay?”

  Sammy peeked at me from the shelter of his knees. “You p-promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Behind me, Ben let out an annoyed huff. “Can I talk to you, Peyton? In private?”

  “I’ll be right back,” I assured Sammy before following Ben down the hallway and into the waiting room. “What’s your problem?”

  He paced from the snack machine
to the drink machine and back again. “My problem? My problem is that it’s three in the morning, I’m tired, and a little kid broke into our house and got hurt. You do realized his mom might show up and decide to sue us, right? We could be liable here.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” I asked. “Ben, it’s just a bandage and a tetanus shot. The kid’s not dying.”

  “You know how parents are,” Ben said. “They’re vicious when it comes to their kids, and I’m not waiting here all night for his mom to show up. I mean, what kind of mother doesn’t realize her son has snuck out of the house and walked over a mile in the snow?”

  “Probably the kind that doesn’t have any help,” I answered. “In which case, she might be comforted to know that someone bothered to wait with Sammy until she showed up.”

  Ben stuck a dollar in the vending machine and pounded the key option. A bag of chocolate chip cookies fell into the drop zone. “You can stay,” Ben said, reaching in for the bag. “But I’m not sticking around. If I don’t get any sleep tonight, I’ll be too tired to help Jim out tomorrow.”

  He stalked off with the bag of cookies before I could answer, forcing me to tail after him like a desperate stray puppy. “Are you serious? You’re going to go home and leave me here alone?”

  “Do you want to get this house in shape or not?” Ben asked. “Because the way I see it, we can either live in a dump for six months or actually do some work so the house is worth something when we’re ready to sell it.”

  I would’ve bombarded him with more questions, but we arrived back in Sammy’s room, where the nurse had just finished administering his tetanus shot. Ben forced a smile and tossed the bag of cookies to Sammy.

  “Those are for you, kiddo,” he said. “Figured you deserved a treat after being such a trooper all night long.”

  Sammy tore open the cookies and shoved one into his mouth. “Thanks, Ben,” he said, spitting crumbs everywhere. “Is my mom here yet?”

  “Not yet,” I answered.

  The receptionist popped her head into the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher? The police are here to speak with you.”

  Sammy paused with the next cookie halfway to his mouth, his eyes trained on Ben’s back as he left without saying goodbye. I patted Sammy’s knee.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the reception area, Ben was already shaking hands with a blonde police officer whose ponytail reached halfway down her back. She was nearly as tall as Ben with high cheekbones and shiny hazel eyes. Beneath her tight uniform pants, her thighs were thick enough to crush a watermelon between them.

  “You must be Peyton,” she said as I approached. She shook my hand too, nearly breaking it off in the process. “I’m Officer Spaughton, or Hillary if you’re feeling a bit less formal. I was just telling your husband that this isn’t the first time we’ve found Sammy Baker somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.”

  “Does he run away a lot?” I asked.

  “All the time,” Hillary replied. “I’ve personally picked him up twice in the last few months. It’s a pretty regular occurrence.”

  “Where’s his mom?” Ben asked, not bothering to hide his judgment. “Why does he keep running away from her? Shouldn’t you guys be investigating that?”

  Hillary bristled at his accusatory phrasing. “Sammy’s mom is one of the best people in town, but she raises Sammy on her own and when you have a kid that likes to sneak out, it can be difficult to keep track of him. Anything else you’d like to ask me?”

  Ben shut up, recognizing his mistake. I smirked. It wasn’t often that he didn’t have a comeback. The Amazon officer had scared him silent, and I respected her all the more for it.

  “He doesn’t want to stay alone with you,” I told Hillary, then hastily added, “No offense.”

  Hillary softened her strong, broad shoulders and shrugged. “None taken. Sammy loves his mom more than anyone else, but he hates to disappoint her. He knows if the police pick him up, she’s going to be notified he snuck out again. Who knows how many times he’s made it out of the house and back in again without her noticing? You can take off. You’ve done your civic duty. I can handle it from here.”

  “I promised Sammy I’d stay with him until his mom got here,” I told her. “But Ben was on his way out.”

  Ben stuttered as I pushed him toward the door. “Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to handle tomorrow. I would stay, but you know—” His eyes lingered a moment too long on the fine lines of Hillary’s jaw. “Stuff to do.”

  “Sure,” she said. “You should get on that.”

  “I’ll see you around, Officer,” he babbled. “I mean, Hillary.”

  Heat rose in my face to match Ben’s as the reason for his blush became obvious. I shoved him outside. He struggled to put his coat back on, all the while glancing through the glass door for another look at Hillary. I snapped my fingers in front of his glazed eyes.

  “Hello?” I said. “Can you wait to start checking out other women until after we’re divorced? I know it was my idea and everything, but you’re still wearing your damn wedding ring.”

  Ben blinked furiously as if to clear floaters from his eyes. “I wasn’t checking her out.”

  “Then why are you blushing?”

  “It’s cold out.”

  “Whatever,” I said, taking the car keys out of his pocket and putting them in his hand. “I know I don’t have a right to be mad. Do whatever you want with Officer Hot.”

  “Peyton, relax,” he said. “I’m not going to cheat on you.”

  “It’s not cheating if we’re separated,” I reminded him. “We agreed, remember?”

  “You agreed,” Ben replied. “We’ve been married for ten years. I’m not ready to date someone new.” He planted a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you at home.”

  He hopped into the SUV and drove up the road, carving muddy tire tracks through the continually falling snow. For the second time today, I’d have to find an alternate ride home.

  Inside, Sammy and Officer Spaughton—Hillary—were in the middle of a staring contest. The prize, from the looks of it, was the last cookie in the snack bag from the vending machine. Hillary leaned over Sammy and widened her eyes. Just as Sammy’s eyelids looked ready to crack, Hillary made a big show of blinking.

  “Gah!” She rubbed her eyes with a furious spasm. “Darn it, Sammy! You’re too good at this game.”

  Sammy giggled gleefully and popped the last cookie into his mouth, chewing it with vehement victory. “I always win, Officer Spaughton.”

  “You’re right,” Hillary said. “I don’t know why I even try.”

  Someone knocked into my shoulder in a rush to get into the treatment room, and a wave of silky brown hair flicked across my face like a whip.

  “Sammy!”

  The owner of the hair, a woman a few years younger than me with a heart-shaped face and wind-whipped cheeks, went straight to the little boy. She wasn’t wearing a coat or a hat. Snow had settled on her hair and shoulders, but she was unconcerned with her own comfort.

  “What happened?” she gasped, holding up his foot to examine it. “Did you get hurt?”

  “He stepped on a nail,” Hillary said. “But he’s all fixed up now.”

  “Where did you step on a nail?”

  “At my house,” I offered. Ben’s warning about parents wanting to sue at the drop of a hat circled through my mind, but I pushed it away. “I live at the Abram Mansion. There’s a lot of debris around right now. Sammy got in through the doggy door.”

  “Sam.” The woman took the little boy’s face between her hands. “How many times have I told you not to sneak out at night? It’s too dangerous for you to be out on your own. Look what happened to you. And you could have frozen to death!”

  Sammy’s lips were squished between his mother’s palms, but he squeaked, “I’m fine, Mama. I just wanted to see my friend.”

  The woman threaded Sammy’s arms through the bright red coat she had
brought for him. “I’ve told you a million times. No one lives at that house. You have to stop going there.”

  “But Mama—”

  “No.” She zipped his coat up to his chin with a sense of firm finality. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. You have to start listening to me, Sammy, or you’re going to end up getting hurt.” She pulled him into a tight hug, and his little arms encircled her neck. “Do you know what would happen to me if I were to lose you, little dude?”

  “You would be really sad?”

  “That’s right,” she said, nodding. “I would be really, really sad.” She helped Sammy jump off the examination table and put up his hood. “Go wait in the hallway with Officer Spaughton. I want to talk to this nice lady for a minute.”

  Sammy took Hillary’s hand, and she led him out of the room. Sammy’s mother turned to face me since the first time she entered. I braced myself, ready for the onslaught, but instead of confronting me about the safety issues inside the mansion, the woman let out a quick, contained sob.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” I offered her a tissue from the box on the exam counter. “Everything’s fine. Sammy wasn’t hurt too badly. They said his foot would heal up in a few days. He didn’t even need stitches.”

  The woman blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I know. I’m overreacting. It’s just—Sammy and I have been through a lot. He keeps getting out of the house no matter what I do. I’m so sorry he turned up at your place. You said he came in through the doggy door?”

  “Yeah, we found him in the kitchen,” I said. I almost mentioned that Sammy had been holding a butcher’s knife when I’d first seen him, but I didn’t want to give the stressed-out mother any more nightmares. “I’m Peyton, by the way. Peyton Fletcher. We just moved here two days ago.”

  “Theo Baker. I’d shake your hand, but—” She brandished the snotty tissues. I pushed the waste basket toward her so she could deposit them. “I didn’t know someone moved into the Abram place.”