Never Dead (Welcome To Dead House Book 1)

by M. L. Bullock

  “I think someone is pranking you, Deputy. I’ve been here all morning. I didn’t hear anyone screaming, and Chloe has left for school. I saw her five minutes ago. She barely said goodbye when she left.” I frowned at him.

  He raised his hand and radioed into his dispatcher. “Resident says no. Are you sure it was coming from the Ridaught place?”

  “Caller says yes.”

  Suddenly both of us heard it. A loud scream filled the air.

  It was coming from upstairs.

  2

  Annie Hensley

  1987

  My white leather shoes made unsettling sticky noises as I traveled across the bare floor. There was a run in my tights and my arms were freezing. One of the disadvantages of wearing white to work every day was collecting stains. I would undoubtedly collect a few here if I continued on my search.

  I usually wore a cardigan when I went out, but I’d left my sweater at the nurses’ station. I was nowhere near the senior home, but instead, I’d broken into the deserted Ridaught Plantation in search of Marjorie Banks, my favorite but recently, most demanding resident. Going back without Marjorie wasn’t an option, and I had an inkling she might be here. Marjorie couldn’t drive, and she was barely mobile some days. Even walking had been a challenge lately, but this house cast a spell on sweet Marjorie.

  I heard other footsteps walking across the gritty floor. Maybe Marjorie had found her way over here. It had been her singular purpose for longer than I could remember. I’d always wanted to visit the deserted plantation, just for curiosity’s sake, but this wasn’t the way I imagined I’d take my maiden voyage.

  There was no way Marjorie could be hiding here. How could an elderly woman cross acres of forested land and break into a boarded-up house? Okay, it hadn’t been boarded up. The door had opened quite easily, but there was no way Marjorie could have traveled over hills and through woods by herself. She could barely find her way to the cafeteria on her good days.

  I should have done as Marjorie asked and brought her here so she could see the place again one last time. Maybe then she would have let it go. Marjorie had been obsessed with the Ridaught family, as many people were in this neck of the woods. She was a Crystal Springs native and knew the grease on everyone from back in the day. It was heartbreaking to witness her deterioration.

  I whispered into the husk of a home. “Marjorie? It’s me. Annie. You’re not in trouble, but I need you to come out, sweetie.” I glanced at my watch. Nearly five o’clock. It would be dark soon.

  I’d stumbled on this job after my failed relationship with Harry. Harry moved on in that big truck of his, the one I helped finance, but I didn’t have the luxury of pouting about it. I had bills to pay and a life to live, and it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with a few residents, including Marjorie. She used to tell me stories about the goings-on here. She was like family to me. The only family I had left.

  Like many people at the home, Marjorie was losing her grip on reality. The disease was wreaking havoc on her memory and her vocal cords. She couldn't express how she felt, but I knew about her fixation on the Ridaught Plantation from before her diagnosis. We’d sit in the solarium together, and once in a while, she would say things like, “Did you see that, Annie? Do you see the lady in the window?” I would always say no, but in the back of my mind, I sometimes wondered if maybe Marjorie saw something I couldn't. Fringe magazines like the ones Harry used to read mentioned this sort of thing. One article said quite plainly that people with her type of disease develop other abilities as a kind of compensation. It wasn’t a scientific diagnosis, but it brought me comfort.

  I wanted to believe she was in that dainty head of hers. Somewhere.

  "Marjorie? Marjorie, hon?" I whispered cautiously as I rubbed my arms, trying to warm them up. "Marjorie? It's time to go home. Please come out."

  As I walked through the rooms, I realized how incredible a feat it would be for someone as frail as Marjorie to have made this journey by herself. Most of the time, she got about in a wheelchair I had to push, but sometimes she used a walker. There were rare days when she was very mobile and spirited and nonverbal. Her fixation with this house never wavered.

  I never liked the look of this place. She'd sit in the solarium and stare, even though the view was obscured by dark green cedar trees and various and sundry other foliage. Marjorie would watch it as if it were the most interesting television program she’d ever seen. Now that she couldn't speak or verbalize what it was she saw, I worried about Marjorie and her continuing fascination with the Ridaught Plantation. I’d even made a call to her daughter, but she had not returned it. Nobody cared about Marjorie except me.

  I stood in the center of the largest room, the floor beneath me black and white tiles, like an old-fashioned checkerboard. I didn't much care for the feeling in this room with its empty alcoves and bookshelves. They made it feel even more foreboding. Every step I took felt as if someone watched every move I made.

  "Marjorie? Come out, please. We have to go home. It's getting late, and your daughter is going to be worried about you." I lied, but I was desperate. The only answer was the faint sound of footsteps. I couldn’t tell if they were made by a human or an animal.

  I paced across the room as I tried to locate the source. Then there was crying. Now, that was a cry I recognized. She was here!

  Marjorie was here at the Ridaught Plantation!

  Was she behind me? I retraced my steps back through the rooms I just passed through. There were a few scant pieces of furniture, and no curtains to hide behind. “Marjorie, where are you?” I listened as I prayed I would hear another clue. She had to be in trouble. She might be injured in some fashion.

  Suddenly I was cloaked in shadow and there was nowhere to run.

  3

  Tamara

  Another scream echoed off the side of the porch, not as powerful or as loud as the one from upstairs. I felt like a cat caught between two rocking chairs. My neighbor, who I had only met on two previous occasions, zipped up the stairs toward us. She was sporting bright pink capris, a sleeveless shirt, and a visor, the kind you’d wear golfing or fishing. According to her equally bright pink tennis shoes, she’d been out walking.

  “I heard the screams! Are you all right? Is it Chloe? Where’s the ambulance?”

  “We’re fine,” I said, wondering what the heck was going on. Who was screaming upstairs? Joey? He wouldn’t dare do that to me.

  “You ladies stay here!” The deputy raced into the house, practically shoving me to the floor as he ran to assess the situation. He cleared the foyer and bounded up the stairs in a matter of seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joey hanging out in the hallway. He’d tucked a few pink curlers in his short hair and still held a coffee cup in his hand.

  This ain’t the time, Joey. You better not have anything to do with this.

  If he could hear my mental message, he didn’t let on. I don’t know why he would. We didn’t talk telepathically, or whatever you’d call that. Joey peeked up the stairs and then shrugged to show me had no idea what was happening. I couldn’t help but shrug back to show him I had no idea either.

  Linda, the neighbor, didn’t seem to notice the exchange. “We better stay down here, Tammy. That scream sounds like someone is being tortured! Oh, God! It’s terrible. I swunny, it does sound like someone is dying!”

  “It’s not Tammy. It’s Tamara. Why don’t you stay here? This is my house, and I’m going upstairs with the deputy. I’m sure others are coming. Why don’t you keep an eye out for them?”

  Linda gasped in shock. “You can’t go up there! Didn’t you hear those screams? I’m surprised the whole town didn’t hear them. It sounds like someone is getting murdered.” She shook her head and added in a whisper, “I wouldn’t doubt it in this house, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “No one is getting murdered. I’m sure there’s some explanation for all this. Just stay here.”

  Joey sipped from his ghostly cup
of coffee and watched our exchange with some amusement. I tied my robe tightly around my waist and jogged up the first flight of stairs. As I cleared the first landing, Linda called from the porch. “Is it safe?”

  “No, it’s not. Stay there, Linda.”

  The last thing I needed was her footsteps stomping up behind me. My nerves were stretched like the strings of a guitar, an old guitar with even older strings. The hair on my neck was standing on end, and my stomach rumbled hungrily, but I didn’t hear a thing upstairs.

  “Officer? I mean, Deputy?” I whispered as I began climbing up the second flight of stairs. The treads were warped, and it probably wasn’t safe to be moving too quickly. “Hey, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you. In here.” Deputy Patrick’s voice echoed from one of the empty rooms down the hall on the left side. There were six rooms on the left and six on the right. As I started toward the sound of his voice, I felt a man’s hand touch my elbow.

  “Holy hell!” I screamed as I turned to see Deputy Patrick glaring down at me.

  “What are you doing up here?”

  “I thought you were down the hall. Weren’t you…”

  “I asked you to stay downstairs.” The dark-haired law enforcement officer shoved his gun in his holster. “I didn’t find anything on this floor. Do you have a key to the attic? It’s locked. That’s the only room I haven’t cleared.”

  I snatched my arm away from him. “I was never given a key to the attic. I was told it was lost. I’ve got to have it rekeyed. Feel free to break it down if you feel you need to. Or maybe you could just blow a hole in it.” I didn’t mean to sound so testy, but I was on edge. “I heard a voice coming from that room. A man’s voice, not a woman's. What the hell is going on up here?”

  We hadn’t gotten off on a good foot, and I can't say it was entirely my fault. Who gives someone a ticket for rolling through a stop sign? I guess in his mind, I would always be a law-breaking so and so. I don't know why we had this distrust between us, but I wasn't eager to explore the reasons.

  To my surprise, he took my hand, and together we went to the middle room. “You heard a voice in here?”

  “Yes, that’s right, I think. The voice sounded like yours. I’d swear it on a stack of bibles.” I chewed a fingernail as I watched him go in. It couldn’t be Joey. He’d never done anything like this. But if one ghost was here, others could be, theoretically speaking. Great, more dead people. Maybe a bunch. The thought sent another shiver through me.

  The door was standing wide open, but there was no one in the room. I could see that from the doorway. Even the closet door stood open, and there wasn’t a stick of furniture to hide behind.

  “Nothing in here.” Deputy Patrick stepped inside the closet and felt around with his hands. What was he looking for? Speaker wire? As if I’d resort to doing something shady like that. “Let’s head back down and reassess the situation.”

  “Reassess? I don’t understand any of this.”

  Linda and Joey were waiting for us, although Joey wasn’t looking happy. He was mouthing something to me, but I wasn’t great at lip-reading, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask him directly. He’d just have to wait. He left the room with an exasperated sigh. I kept my eyes focused on the living.

  “Aren’t you having a party here in a few weeks? Some big Halloween fiesta?” Deputy Patrick asked as his shoulder-mounted radio squawked to life. A female dispatcher asked him a bunch of questions, but I couldn’t interpret any of it. Clearly, a 10-3 or a 9-2 or whatever was cop code for, “This lady is full of crap.”

  I crossed my arms. “Fiesta? I’ve never hosted a fiesta in my life. For the record, I have no plans to broadcast screams to advertise my party, if that’s what you’re thinking. The only sounds coming from this place will be whatever the DJ plays.”

  He listened for a few seconds as he stared down at me. He tapped the radio. “Negative. All clear.”

  Linda watched the exchange in slack-jawed disbelief. “Well, I know what I heard. Could it have been a record player, Kevin?”

  “I don’t have a record player. Or a CD of a woman screaming.”

  The dark-haired deputy walked around the bottom floor for a few minutes while Linda eyed me suspiciously.

  Great. This is just great.

  “You didn’t hear the other sounds?” Linda asked in a whisper when we were alone.

  “What other sounds?”

  Linda peeked into the other room and put her hand to her mouth. “While you were gone, I heard growling sounds, like the devil was walking around. I am really concerned about you and Zoe. ”

  “It’s Chloe. There are no devils walking around here, except the one wearing a badge,” I answered her as Kevin made his way back to us.

  “I’m going to check the rest of the grounds. It would be great if you could find the key to the attic while I’m gone.” He gave me another stern look.

  “As I said, I don’t have a key to the attic. I never did. If you think I had something to do with this, you’ve got another think coming.” No, that’s not how that phrase went. Whatever. It was too damn early to be arguing with a cop and my intrusive neighbor.

  Deputy Patrick didn’t stick around to argue with me. He disappeared around the corner of the house while Linda hovered nearby. “You’re so brave, living in this house. If you ever need my help, you just let me know.”

  “Help? What kind of help?”

  “With psychic matters,” she whispered through heavily lined and pink painted lips. “It’s an open secret. My family says I have a gift. I see the dead all the time. In fact, I think I’m getting a message now.” She closed her eyes and put her fingers to her temples as she concentrated on connecting with her imaginary ghosts. There was at least one ghost at the Ridaught Plantation, but she’d been standing next to Joey the whole time and hadn’t known.

  “Uh, thanks, Linda. I better go look for that key. Thanks for stopping by.” I smiled as I walked to the front door and held it open. I heard Joey banging drawers in the kitchen and saw Linda’s eyes perk up, but she didn't ask me about who else was here.

  Come on, lady. Work with me here.

  “Well, if you change your mind, remember I’m just next door. Stop in anytime.”

  “Thanks, Linda.” Without too many more formalities, my nosy neighbor left me in peace, and the cop car soon followed. I watched him back out of the driveway slowly while hiding behind the flimsy lace curtains.

  A crashing sound like a metal bomb going off drew my attention back to the kitchen.

  “Now what?” I murmured as I huffed down the hallway. “Joey?”

  4

  Kevin

  “I’ll be honest, she’s got an attitude.” I hoped that bit of information would end this line of questioning. “Garvey is spelled G-A-R-V-E-Y, right? Not double E? I did check for aliases the last time I met her, but you can spell Garvey a few ways.”

  Willie Mae pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Not that I can see, and I looked her up on Google. Are you sure you aren’t spelling it Gravy?”

  I tapped my pen on the desk and sighed. “No. Not Gravy. There’s nothing under her name in the DMV database. No, Tamara Garvey.”

  “Did you ask her how to spell it or take a look at her license? Come to think of it, there should be a record of your ticket. Want me to call the DMV back? You know those gals and guys at the parish office aren’t that hip with the technology.”

  “Don’t do that. It must be a mistake. I’ll be glad when they bring our records division up to twenty-first-century standards. She’s not in there.” Why was I feeling so damn grouchy? I couldn’t shake the feeling that this Tamara Garvey, or whatever her name was, had a secret, one I needed to know.

  “That doesn’t explain who was doing all that screaming, Kevin. You said you heard it too, and it wasn’t the Garvey woman.” I rejected the older woman’s attempt to come to some paranormal conclusion. She’d already mentioned “haunted” and “ghost” in our brief conversation several
times. “They say Ridaught Plantation is a hundred percent haunted. Nobody has been brave enough to live there, much less go inside, and now she’s having a Halloween party?”

  “Come on, Willie. You’re too smart for that.”

  She shrugged and pushed her glasses back on her nose. “Invited the whole town to her party from what I heard. I’m going as Dolly Parton, of course. What about you? I could use a Kenny Rogers sidekick.”

  I shook my head noncommittally. “I would never pass for Kenny Rogers. The screams were a prank, probably a recording or some weird-ass technology. Like a motion detector.”

  Willie nibbled at the end of her pencil. “A motion detector, but instead of a triggered light, it screams?”

  “That’s not what I mean. I checked the second floor, but there was no one up there. I couldn’t get into the attic and poke around because she had it locked up—conveniently enough.”

  Willie said nervously, “Bad things happened in that attic, Kevin. I will tell you all about it sometime but not today. Heads up—the sheriff is in a foul mood. You be careful if you go back to the Ridaught place. Be really careful.”

  “I am always careful. If the scream wasn’t coming from Miss Garvey, then it had to be something the teenager rigged up. Either way, I’ve got better things to do than deal with pranks,” I announced as I scribbled on the report form. Filing a report for a prank was a ridiculous waste of time, but there was an election coming up, and I couldn’t get away with skipping a single step in the investigation process. The sheriff wouldn’t go for that.

  “Chloe Carol is a good student, and she’s at school. Remember? I called to confirm.” Willie Mae frowned at me over her horn-rimmed glasses as she slid them back on. She glanced around the empty office and lowered her voice to a whisper. “If you ask me…” Before the ancient secretary and sometimes dispatcher could offer me further opinions, Sheriff Jarvis poked his sweaty head out of his office.