Gridlocked Guesthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1)

by Mixi J Applebottom

  She whispered to him, "I should just go home; this was a terrible idea." Big sniffles in his ear.

  He cringed. "We're all blocked in, so let's just relax. It was just a little bat. It's gonna be okay."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We'd made it to three thirty in the morning on that first night. The ladies were all in the safe room, working on the clear puzzle box with the key, I think maybe they just didn't want to wander around upstairs with an unknown number of bats loitering around the room. And John was mid-nightmare.

  Drunk, snoring, and terribly frightened, as he should be. His baby was dead, his girl left him, and he couldn't keep his shit together. Even drunk, at a really fun party weekend, he couldn't stop thinking about how she was showing off her stupid stomach. The one that should have been fat with baby. And his heart was broken, trampled, and busted up.

  And he was dreaming. About this pain, this big deep hurt. It was always a different version, and he hadn't slept without this nightmare since she told him. In this one, she was knifing her stomach over and over and screaming that she didn't want him, she didn't want it. And she was dying.

  He woke with stomach cramps, still drunk and sobbing. He wouldn't have come if he had known she was gonna be here. But once they arrived, he couldn't undo it. Stupidly, he thought he could kiss some other girl or something. Just man the pain away with a hot girl and a stiff drink. His plan wasn't working out. He was in the dark, alone and sobbing.

  "You okay?" The words were clear and bright.

  He gasped, holding his breath. Begging his emotions to give him a break so he could answer. Begging the pain to wait, just wait a moment. Wait a lifetime. But he couldn't maintain it, and his voice came out in a cracked, obvious sad noise. "I'm fine." But then he added, "I'm cold."

  And the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

  Nobody replied. He lifted his head, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness. The door was still shut. He fumbled, standing up, trying to navigate the unfamiliar bedroom in the dark. Fuck, it was cold. He thought he could almost see his breath for a second. "Rachel?" Finally, he started to find the doorknob. His stomach still hurt, as if he had been stabbed in his dream.

  He tried the handle in the dark and realized it was locked. But the second thing he realized was his fingertips were literally stuck to the doorknob. It startled him. The doorknob was cold. It was frozen. His fingers had frozen to the doorknob. Fear rattled inside him and he shouted, "Guys?"

  And his shout was ice. He could feel the sharp coldness burn inside his nose and lungs as he gathered more air and shouted louder. "Hey, guys?" His booming voice echoed against the walls and he fumbled with his other hand, his fingers firmly stuck to the doorknob still. He'd have to rip the skin to remove them at this point. It hurt. His left hand fumbled in the dark and he touched the light switch. When the light was on, he could see the ice everywhere: on the windows, in the air, dangling down. He shuddered. What the hell had happened?

  He started screaming. He screamed and pounded with his left hand, the door still locked, his hand still frozen. His screams were accented by tight gasps of freezing air, his exhales were frost, so cold, that they literally turned into drops of snow falling on the ground in front of him.

  But nobody heard him. Because Lucy was screaming. Lucy was screaming because Rafael was dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  She had walked into the kitchen, the other ladies still whispering and tossing around the clear box with the key in it. Rachel was sitting with the ladies grinning, and the men were up in the twins' room and the other bedroom. The one that was not safe.

  Lucy was alone in the dining room with Rafael, and his pants were wet. That was the second thing that she noticed. But his face was purple, and his skin looked... waxy. And dead. He looked dead. His hands were completely blue now.

  She screamed so hard that she fainted.

  The ladies panicked and rushed in at her screams, but the men, all upstairs, started to come down the stairs in a big wave, and Beezer, the front of the pack, stumbled, and the men couldn't stop their momentum. Mike was right behind him and tripped too, his body slamming into Beezer, and they were almost rolling down the stairs. Zane couldn't stop; he had been moving too fast and stepped on Mike's back, leaping over the two tumbling men, still running down the stairs, charging into the kitchen. Beezer let out a scream of agony, Ben falling on top of both of them. Ricky was at the top of the stairs, hand covering his mouth as he held back a laugh. It was frighteningly funny.

  When the men finally hit the ground, a whole flight down, Beezer's leg was snapped. Ricky's laughter stopped. Zane was already in the kitchen, trying to determine what was happening in there, and Ricky knew that Beezer needed a hospital now. He couldn't walk with his leg snapped at that angle.

  Now before I get into what they did--John freezing to death in the master bedroom, Beezer with his snapped leg, and everyone in a tizzy. And Rafael, who I am terribly sorry to say, was, indeed, very dead. It was a bummer, even to me. I'd never want someone to die like that--out of the blue while trying to pretend to be a corpse. You could say he got a little over-committed to the role. Okay, that was a terrible attempt at humor. But who doesn't like humor in times of stress?

  Anyways, before I get into all of that, I think I should introduce you to Ben. He was not real tall, not real confident. In fact, both he and Rafael, I'd say I knew the least. Obviously, Rafael didn't talk much with the unfortunately early death and being basically comatose the whole time. But Lucy talked about him some, so I did know some stuff. Like that, he was really good at baseball as a kid and loved toast with his coffee. But not with butter or jam, with butter and jam. I remember that bit particularly because I too like my toast with butter and jam!

  Where was I? Oh yes, Ben, now, he was a fellow I didn't know much about. He was quiet, so I imagine he thought through things carefully. He liked to curse, and I'm not sure exactly what his major was, or if he was even in college. I can tell you that he, more than anyone, believed in ghosts. In fact, before they all arrived here, I'm guessing he was the only true believer. Things change of course, as the night progressed and well... I guess we'll get there in a minute.

  But one of the reasons I know so little about Ben is because of what he did right now– Beezer with his broken leg, Rafael dead as a doornail, and John helplessly screaming and freezing.

  Ben tumbled down the stairs on top of both Beezer and Mike. Beezer snapped his left leg, not the femur, the other bone, whichever the bone next to the calf is. That was the bone that was snapped quite brutally in half. It wasn't poking through his meat, though. No blood, just all internally. I wanted to clarify in case you were wondering for the rest of this tale why there weren't bloody smeared footprints and bloody clothes or why everyone wasn't screaming and putting pressure on his limb.

  Anyways, Ben started hyperventilating, then he fainted.

  There was hubbub. I'll try to describe it, but it all happened at once--Lucy's nonstop freakish, howling wails picked up the pace as she woke up after her faint. Rachel desperately tried to find a working phone--but she had made a strict rule that nobody bring one. She hadn't considered the idea that they might need one just in case someone died. She was calm under the pressure of the wailing Lucy and the realization that someone died at her party.

  That is, until she recognized she couldn't find a phone. She too started wailing hysterically, having a complete panic attack with hyperventilation. She ended up sitting on the floor, head between her knees, gasping and sobbing.

  Mikaela, in her sparkly black dress, was examining Rafael with a horrified look on her face. Her examination revealed that he was dead. The man was dead. This was a dead man. The more she thought about it, the more she felt sick to her stomach and ran to the sink, vomiting profusely.

  Jenny, the only one of them who lived on a farm, found a jacket and draped it over his face so they wouldn't have to look. Tiffany simply shrieked in short bursts over and over agai
n, pointing and sobbing.

  Beth was mute and covering her face, but it seemed like her brain had stopped and she just withdrew.

  Zane burst in, while the men still tumbled down the stairs, and he recognized the jacket, the dead man. The man was dead. Brains were crashing with that single phrase, repeating it over and over as if it would make sense to them if they said it again. This man was dead.

  This was all happening at once. All of these things.

  Meanwhile, at the same time, John was trying desperately to exit the master bedroom, his hand still frozen to the door. Finally, he pulled, ripping the skin from his fingers. He could see it, bits of his flesh stuck to the shiny door handle. He too was screaming, but who could hear him?

  Ricky was the closest, still up at the top of the stairs, doubled over in hysterical laughter, suddenly running to the toilet and vomiting. Beezer, the only one in actual, physical pain (Besides John) was bellowing like a goat. (Now that I say this, I can't remember where the goats were during this frantic scream fest).

  Mike had the wind knocked out of him and he lay silent and still, slowly catching his breath and holding his aching head. The noise was incredible. It was a full five minutes of chaos. By the time everyone settled, men were sobbing into women's arms and vice versa. Mike had somehow cuddled with both Mikaela and Jenny. He would have been soaring on skies if he hadn't been sobbing because Rafael was dead. Zane was wrapped around Beth like a tortilla around beans. He was consoling her, and somehow, hadn't lost his head entirely, kissing at her earlobes. He decidedly wanted her now.

  Ricky was holding Rachel carefully, her body still shuddering with panic. Soon she relaxed enough to regain control. "Okay, guys, I know that at least one of you brought a phone. We need an ambulance." She didn't say "for Beezer" because Rafael should head straight to the morgue. At this point, nobody had noticed the missing John.

  In fact, Beezer was still moaning on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Ben was still out cold. Lucy was incoherent and inconsolable. But Tiffany sat next to Beezer, giving him water and carefully icing his leg, as if it was a mere bump to the knee.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  You might be thinking, but John, surely someone noticed John was missing! At least, didn't Tiffany notice?

  But Rachel stood up and said finally, "Who brought a phone? We have to get Beezer to a hospital."

  Everyone slowly shook their heads; they were under strict orders not to bring phones and ruin the whole party with texting and dirty pictures. Everyone except Mikaela. She had a son at home and hell if she was going to be unreachable. She raised her hand slowly, and with her left hand, she slid it slowly up her skirt and removed the phone from her garter.

  It would have been a really sexy gesture if everyone was a little more settled down. Rachel frowned and wrestled the phone from Mikaela, who seemed pretty startled. The screen was locked. Rachel gave Mikaela a furious scowl and handed it back. "Call 911."

  Mikaela unlocked the phone and dialed, but before she could talk to it, Rachel yanked it away. I thought that Rachel should learn to settle down a little or Mikaela might just slap her pretty little face. Mikaela didn't slap her, though, much to everyone's disappointment.

  The phone didn't connect. She lifted it into the air and tried to check the signal.

  No luck, if you ask me, ghosts tend to toy with the reception.

  So they decided to drive to the hospital, a reasonable choice, considering the circumstances. They all walked out to the cars, Mike's big van blocking in the three other vehicles--Rachel's, Ricky's, and Jenny's.

  And well, what they found was they couldn't get his van out. The van was blocking in all their other cars, and it couldn't be moved.

  "How the hell did you park this thing?" Ricky said, staring at the van. The concrete planters were touching both bumpers.

  "I..." Mike paused and stared at the planters. "They couldn't have been there--I had enough room to pull forward and back about a foot. I..." He stared at it. "Did someone move them?"

  They stared at the planters and, sure enough, there was an obvious circle in the dirt where they previously sat. No drag marks or anything; it was as if they had levitated and landed closer to the car.

  Perhaps the ghosts were just getting started.

  "How did this happen?" Rachel stared at the planter.

  "Let's lift them," Mike said calmly. And all the men gathered around the concrete planter. Now might be a great time to describe these things. They were cylinders, made out of concrete with a gravel outside. The rocks on the outside pressed into the concrete were sharp. They were maybe two and a half feet in width and about three feet tall. And, as the men were about to find out, super fucking heavy.

  It was hard to fit very many of them around it, but they lifted together. Mike, Ricky, Zane. Collectively, the men should have been able to lift, say, a thousand pounds or so. They couldn't even get this planter off the ground. It was an awkward shape, and the men were bumping into each other. Zane lost his grip a little and the sharp rocks dug into his arm, leaving a string of bloody red scratches.

  Rachel stood watching, fear crawling across her. How could they leave? Ben came out of the building, finally awake again.

  Jenny stood with her two goats, on leash. "How far is it to the next property? Or town? How far will we have to walk?"

  "I don't know. At least a few miles. Maybe longer. It's forty-five minutes to the next town. I don't know about other properties. I wasn't paying attention. Maybe five miles?"

  Jenny thought about this; five miles was a long way. If there was a house, if there was a working phone. If. Otherwise, another five, or ten, or twenty.

  The men had already given up on lifting the concrete planter. Mike stared at it and said, "What if we just tipped it over? Then we could roll it."

  They pushed it from one side in this manner, Ben pushing Mike, who had his hands at the top of the planter. Zane pushing Ricky, who had his hands on top of the planter. It didn't even rock.

  "Maybe you could knock it over with your van?" College students are idiots. And Mike hopped in his van. If he had ever driven a tractor or used his damn brain, he would have thought to himself, gee, I should slowly accelerate and push gently against the damn thing until it knocks over.

  Or even, try to knock over the planter at the back of the vehicle, not the one near the engine.

  But he didn't think this through and instead mashed his foot on the gas and the concrete planter remained standing, and Mike was punched in the face with an ancient airbag. His van was totaled. Utterly destroyed. The engine literally crushed around the planter. Everyone cringed.

  Smoke poured out the front of the van. Tiffany suddenly shouted, "Where is John?" Aren't you glad she still cared! And she and Jenny went back inside to check on Beezer and find John.

  Ricky helped Mike out of the van. The whole front hood was crumpled into a U shape.

  Ben turned to Mikaela. "Look, give me your phone. I'm gonna start walking. If I can get a signal, I'm gonna call."

  "I'll come," she said, not wanting to relinquish her phone.

  "You're in heels. I'm fast; I'll get help soon," he said.

  She hesitantly showed him how to unlock the screen and he grabbed it and started off on foot immediately, while the van was still smoking and while Mike was still stunned. They were fucking blocked in now. No way they could get out.

  Ben was long gone by the time Ricky started talking. "Fuck, I just I can't believe your van." Mike's van blocked the other cars and his van was going to be utterly unmovable now. "One of us should start walking, I think. We're bound to find someone home soon. Mikaela, do you mind if I take your phone with me? I'm gonna gather a backpack with some water and snacks and stuff. Who knows how long I will be walking."

  Mikaela turned pink recognizing what he was saying. Ben hadn't even taken water.

  "Ben just took it, he left, he's gonna get help." She cringed. What if he was already thirsty? How long was he going to be walking?
>
  The night air was frosty and cold. Mikaela shivered in her trench coat, which she had slipped on before stepping outside. Did Ben have a coat?

  College students are impulsive and stupid. And Ben was no exception, so I will answer her question for you. No, he had no coat. He was still pretty drunk, and he was walking with no water and Mikaela's phone, and he was walking down the road the wrong way. Not towards town or other houses, but the other way, where homes were even more spread out. If you ask me, he wasn't going to make it very far.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  So this brings us back inside to Tiffany and Jenny, who were looking for John, and you are probably hoping I'll finally tell you what Tiffany's deal is. Why is she such a baby-hating bastard?

  But also, isn't it interesting that she noticed he was missing? Did she still have feelings for him? Why, then, did she refuse to marry him? Anyways, I love making you wait to hear about Tiffany, so I'm gonna talk to you about Jenny.

  You probably remember that she had two goats. She lived on a farm and she was the only one with any real life experiences dealing with stuff. She wouldn't have a slammed on the gas and totaled that van. She could drive a tractor and had executed a cow and a duck, both for various injuries. Then she butchered them both and served them up for dinner. She was a tough cookie. A girl like that was something else. Her goats were Cletus and Carson, twin males. She had a crazy fondness for her fainting goats, and made a pretty penny selling the babies each year. Cletus and Carson were this year's crop. She was going to college, but it was pretty clear that she'd be taking over the family farm once she was done in college. Two hundred acres of freedom- that was what her daddy called it. It didn't bother her that she was here, and Beezer's broken leg wasn't something to freak out about, in her mind. One time while her dad was driving, he hit a pothole and a coffee mug fell off the dashboard and shattered.