Tales From The Mist: An Anthology of Horror and Paranormal Stories

by Scott Nicholsonan

  I dipped my head in acknowledgement but intended to get to the bottom of the mysterious state that had befallen my uncle. Shame filled me for not having tried to locate him after I became an adult.

  “Well, let’s see what all needs to be done to the rest of the house.” I climbed the steps of the wraparound porch. When I realized I was alone, I looked back at the lawyer. “Aren’t you coming, Max?”

  The wind blew the man’s straw–colored hair, mussing it a little. He stood on the walk looking up at the second story of the house.

  I looked up trying to see what he saw, but the porch’s overhang blocked my view.

  “Max?”

  He lowered his gaze, squared his shoulders and made his way to my side. His hand shook slightly as he inserted the key and turned it. Opening the door, he stood aside so I could enter.

  A little light filtered through the dirty windows, offering my first glance at the dark interior. A carved wooden staircase rose up on my left. Trash and debris cluttered the large foyer. Cobwebs hung from corners and the chandelier, while dust covered surfaces and floor. With some scrubbing though, it would be beautiful.

  I walked into the large sitting area which held an enormous fireplace, ashes falling out of the hearth, the grate askew. From what I could see, the furniture seemed fairly new and in good condition. It just needed a good cleaning and the mess cleared from the surfaces.

  Max flipped a switch, flooding the room with light. At least the electricity worked.

  “Mr. Wilkins bought all new furniture when he moved in, so most of it should be in good condition. You can either sell it with the house or arrange an estate sale. I’ll be glad to set that up for you, if you’d like.” He stood with his hands in his pockets as if straining to keep them still. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings.

  “Hmm … an estate sale would be best, I think. Whoever moves in will probably want to refurnish the house.” My heart rate increased and it felt like every nerve was on edge. I attributed it to being in my uncle’s home.

  The kitchen was a disaster, but spectacular in size and equipment. It boasted a professional stove, double ovens, and a massive refrigerator. Two over–sized microwaves and other premier chef quality appliances would make any serious cook drool.

  “Wow. I had no idea Uncle Frederick was so into cooking.” I turned in a circle noticing the granite counter tops and the tiled flooring. A breakfast area nestled against large windows.

  If it weren’t for the piled–up dishes, garbage over–flowing the trash cans and counters, and grease and dirt covering every surface, it would be ideal. The stench nearly over–powered me.

  “I don’t think he was so much into cooking, but when he first moved in, he thought about opening the house as a bed and breakfast and hosting parties with catering.”

  “I can definitely see that. Oh my gosh. What a fantastic pantry.” I walked into an area as big as my kitchen at home. Canned goods filled the shelves. Yet, some of the cans and boxes had fallen; cereal, flour, and other foods intermingled on the floor.

  I picked up a can. Expired. I’d need to replace some of the provisions if I stayed.

  If I stayed? Where did that come from?

  “This house would be perfect for a bed and breakfast,” I said before I even knew I planned to speak.

  That edgy–nerve sensation dissipated with my words. Calmness enveloped me; both feelings equally strange. There seemed to be no reason for either.

  “Where’s the master bedroom?”

  “It’s on the far side of the house for extra privacy.” He pushed the swinging door open.

  Along the way, a formal dining room and another less formal living area—both as trashed as the others—caught my attention. Walking past another doorway, I saw that the downstairs also held a magnificent library. Bookshelves aligned every available wall space. Every shelf filled with books of different genres. I was in heaven. Or I would have been under normal circumstances. If possible, the clutter and chaos seemed to be even worse in this room. It was as if someone had torn it apart looking for something. There was so much work needed to restore the room to its former elegance—I cringed at the thought of it.

  Upon entering the spacious master bedroom I was immediately reminded of my Uncle Frederick. He had, of course, decorated the room to suit his masculine tastes. Deep brown and burgundy fabrics covered the bed and windows. Dark cherry furnishings completed the look, with the huge bed filling up part of the space.

  An image popped into my head. The room decorated in lighter, more feminine materials. Maybe some greens—my favorite color.

  “You’re not thinking about staying here are you?” Max looked like he was ready to run from the house.

  I must have spoken out loud.

  “Me? Oh no. I’m planning to sell it.” Instantly that jittery feeling was back. What the heck?

  I walked into the connecting bathroom and received another surprise. It was nearly as large as my living room in Florida. Marble tile covered the floor. A gigantic tub with jets would easily fit at least four people. Not that I’d ever have that many people in my bathtub. The thought made me giggle.

  Max looked at me as if I were as crazy as he said Uncle Frederick had become.

  “Sorry. Just had a funny thought.” I stood tall—well at least as tall as someone five feet, two inches could stand—and tried to strike the posture of a sane, responsible adult.

  I noted the massive walk–in shower complete with ceiling and four wall jets. Wow. My kind of shower. I’d love to feel those pulsing jets on my aching muscles. Feel the tightness and tension melt away. Or soak in a hot bath.

  “I’m surprised at all the updates in the home. When was it built?” My fingers ran across the dirty vanity. Jars and toiletries covered the surface—liquid spills ran onto the floor and dried in a sticky mess. A thick glob of dried toothpaste gathered dust.

  “Nineteen twenty–four, but it’s been modernized several times over the years. When your uncle bought it, he put in new plumbing, electricity and fixtures. The only room that was left basically untouched was the library.” Max scratched his chin. “I think it’s pretty much been that way since it was built. No major renovations, just a coat of paint here and there.”

  Max was closer to my age than my uncle’s. How did he know so much about Frederick and the house?

  “How well did you know Uncle Frederick?”

  He motioned for me to follow him. As I passed by the mirror I thought I saw something move. I turned back, found nothing. But a shiver crawled along my spine and I hurried from the room.

  We tromped back through the house to that grand, filthy staircase and started up.

  “I met Fred at the local pharmacy just after he moved here. It’s one of those old–fashioned kind, with the soda fountain inside. Several old–timers come in to have coffee and gab in the mornings. Play checkers or chess.

  “Fred appeared quiet and intelligent. We struck up a conversation one day and the next thing I knew we were meeting there regularly for morning coffee and an occasional game of chess.”

  At the top of the stairs, he turned to look down into the formal sitting area.

  A loud clamor erupted downstairs on the far side of the house. Max’s body jerked and he looked ready to bolt back down the stairs.

  The noise startled me at first, but I realized what must have caused it. “That sounded like an object hitting the marble tiles in the bathroom. Sorry. I must have accidentally moved something too close to the edge of the vanity and it fell.”

  Max continued to look over the edge of the carved wooden banister. Finally he turned to face me but didn’t seem to really see me.

  He nodded slowly and then his feet moved, picking up speed as if he were suddenly in a rush. “Well, let’s see the rest of the house and then we can get back to my office and go over the rest.”

  A quick whirlwind tour of the upstairs revealed four large bedrooms, each with its own bath. They weren’t as elegant as the ma
ster, but still very impressive with elaborately carved molding and exquisite antique furnishings. But, chaos ensued among these rooms as well.

  I voiced my confusion at the all–encompassing mess. “I wonder why all of these rooms are so trashed? Surely he didn’t use all of them.”

  “We’ll talk at the office.”

  I shrugged off the terse reply. Obviously something about the house bothered him and I hoped he’d be more forthcoming later.

  “Okay. This really would make a great B&B though. I could definitely see doing that. Maybe …” I trailed off. What was I thinking? I couldn’t do that. My life was in Florida.

  Walking down the stairs, Max stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into him.

  “As much as I’d love for you to stay in town so I could get to know you better, you really don’t want to stay in this house.”

  A chill swept across my skin making me distinctly uncomfortable. A cold draft? In the summer? Max felt it too. I could tell by the alarm on his face, and this time he did bolt for the door.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  “You are not going to believe it. This place is awesome. Needs a lot of work, but still … it could be spectacular.”

  I held the cellphone against my shoulder while I wiped my hands on my denim shorts. They held so much dust I imagined a cloud billowing in my wake as I made my way through the house.

  Silence reigned on the other end.

  Finally Beth said, “You’re staying aren’t you?”

  “For a while. I want to get the house ready to sell, take care of Uncle Frederick’s personal belongings, things like that. The firm let me take two months off to handle everything. They’re great, aren’t they?” I rattled on, not giving her a chance to speak. “The work is mostly cosmetic. I have a contractor coming by to check things out and give me an estimate. He should be here any minute.”

  “Serena—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “The dreams. But you can’t tell me more than something’s going to be wrong with me at some point in time. And who’s to say I won’t get sick in Miami if I’m going to get sick? It’s not permanent. I’ll be back home soon.” I sat on the leather chair nearest the entryway. “I just ... feel I need to do this stuff myself. You know? And, I really want to see what the place looks like when it’s fixed up. It’s a graceful old home with a lot of character.”

  “Look, Serena, you have to listen to me. I really think you’re in danger there. Please just leave it.” Static burst from the phone. “Sere—”

  She was gone. Cell coverage had been spotty at best, so I was used to calls being interrupted. I started to punch in her number but the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll call her back later,” I muttered, before opening the door.

  I stood with my hand on the door, my gaze slowly traveling the six feet of my visitor, from his cowboy boots to his wavy brown hair and all the muscles in between. When my eyes finally met his, he smiled, a brilliant white smile.

  Oh my.

  Crap. Had I said that out loud?

  “Mrs. Thorne?” His green eyes took a trip down and back up. If I weren’t so sure it was wishful thinking, I’d swear he liked what he saw as well.

  “Uh … Serena. Ms. Not married. Just Serena.” Why the hell was I babbling? I’d spent the last few years dealing with pain in the butt megalomaniacs who expected perfection. The architectural firm I worked for was one of the best and I was one of their top architects. So how was it I’d forgotten how to string together a complete sentence?

  If possible, his smile got even brighter. “Good to know, Serena. I’m Devon Marsh. Just Devon.” His southern drawl wrapped itself around me. He grinned, holding out his hand. I willingly surrendered mine to his warm grasp.

  “Devon, please come in.” I opened the door wider as he stepped through.

  He gave a soft whistle. “Man this place looks worse than when I first saw it with your uncle.” He turned to look at me, genuine sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. Mr. Wilkins was a nice man.”

  “Thank you.” The concern from this virtual stranger caused a flood of emotions to well up, catching in my throat. I tamped them down the best I could. “Maxwell Black, my uncle’s attorney, said you’d done some work here in the past.

  “Small town, so there are only a few of us with experience in these kinds of restorations.” He walked around, examining everything, touching here and there as he noted the peeling paint and wallpaper, the small holes where fixtures had been torn from the walls.

  I wondered what it would feel like to have Devon focus his laser–sharp attention solely on me. Apparently I’d been too long without a man, concentrating on my career instead.

  “It’s weird though. You’d think with it being such a small town, they’d jump at the chance for a job like this. But you’re the only one that agreed to come out today. I have some tentative for tomor—”

  “They won’t show.” He continued to study the room.

  I couldn’t believe how certain he sounded. “Why would you say that? They said they’d try to make it.”

  “Hmm ... oh.” He dragged his attention away from the peeling wallpaper, took a few long strides and was back in front of me. “I guess Max didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” I asked, tired of the innuendos from him and Max and the weird looks the people in town gave me. There was something I wasn’t being told.

  He swore under his breath. “The idiot. Well, darlin’, the truth of the matter is, you’ve inherited a haunted house. Or so they say.”

  Stunned, I was speechless for a moment. And then I laughed.

  “They? Who is they? And what makes you think it’s haunted?” I thought back over my conversations with Beth. Could this be what she was talking about? Couldn’t be. I didn’t believe in ghosts. And neither did she as far as I knew.

  “I don’t think it’s haunted. But others do. Rumor has it your uncle thought so after he’d been here awhile.”

  I followed him to the formal living room, where he promptly sat in the chair I’d been warming earlier. I made room for myself on the sofa where the huge, soft leather cushions practically swallowed me.

  “I guess Max was right. My uncle was crazy.”

  His hands formed into fists. “Max said that?”

  “Well, not exactly. He said Uncle Frederick had mental health issues. Same thing though, right?” I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to conjure an image of my late uncle as he’d been when I was a child.

  “Listen, I don’t know what happened with your uncle. I don’t know if he really developed some mental problems or if the wacky townspeople here convinced him there were ghosts in his home. But the man I knew was not insane.” His gaze wandered over the chaos and he lowered his voice. “But something obviously happened to him.”

  I sat, deep in thought about my uncle, Beth’s dreams, the unnatural cold spots in the house. Stupid.

  “I beg your pardon?” Devon’s eyes widened and his mouth twitched.

  What the …? Suddenly my thoughts found their way into the open. I needed a muzzle.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking out loud. It’s stupid to think the house is haunted. There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I declared—almost as a dare to the house.

  “Of course not. Now, how ‘bout I get started with the estimate?”

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  Devon was right. The others never showed. Nor could he find workers to come to the house to help. After a great deal of discussion, we decided to do it ourselves. He would tackle the big projects. I’d do the cleaning, sorting and some painting.

  I thought about leaving town and just selling the house as is, but I wanted to see it restored to its former glory. Basically, I wanted to prove the house wasn’t haunted and stop all the rumors. And I wanted to find out exactly what happened to my uncle.

  At times though, I found the whole town unnerving. I’d walk down the block and people would call their children to them, stop whatever they were doing and go ba
ck inside their homes, until I was gone. They whispered to each other whenever I entered a store and I often heard comments about Uncle Fred being crazy. Occasionally, the word ‘haunted’ filtered through, but I couldn’t discern how it related to my uncle.

  After returning from my recent trek into town for cleaning supplies, I shrugged off the town’s bad vibes and tackled the kitchen. I took out bags of garbage, dusted, swept, mopped, and washed dishes, throwing out those that were just too gross to even contemplate trying to clean.

  Once I’d made a clean path to the pantry, I looked over the shelves and picked a can at random. I opened it and though it had not quite reached its expiration date, it stank and appeared black, mottled. I decided to toss everything. I couldn’t stand the thought of eating anything that had been amongst the putrid smells—not even those items in cans and jars. I felt guilty at all the wasted food and made a note to donate cash to a local food pantry once I sold the home.

  A crash echoed. The broom had fallen from the corner where I’d stood it. But at the same time, a louder clatter came from the library.

  I hurried to the massive room only to stop as Devon stood facing the entrance, hands on his hips. I joined him at the closed door.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “The floor must not be level here. The door just slammed shut and wouldn’t open. I’ll have to take it off …”

  I’d reached out and turned the knob, the door opened with ease.

  “Maybe you just needed to jiggle it a little.”

  He rubbed his chin through two days’ worth of whiskers. It made him look even sexier.

  “Maybe.” Devon shook his head and then looked at me and grinned.

  He pulled out a handkerchief and swiped my nose. Startled, I stepped back and then laughed when he held up the blackened material.

  “Guess that kitchen was pretty dirty.” He stuffed the cloth back in his pocket.

  I eased the band from my ponytail and rubbed my head where the hair had pulled. “Yeah. It reeked. But I’m done for the day and going to head back to the hotel. I want to work on the bedroom tomorrow. The sooner I can stay here and stop paying hotel bills, the better.”