Gridlocked Guesthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1)

by Mixi J Applebottom

  Jenny was seven. And her dad, impaled by the handle of a coffee mug, just kept driving. He said they would deal with it after he fed the goats. He left it in his leg too, gushing blood. He said you couldn't pull it out or he might bleed to death. And about five hours later, when they finally moseyed down to the ER, the doc pulled it out and stitched him up. That man bitched about how much it cost, and how he wasn't gonna get the anesthesia next time.

  Too much money. That was what he thought. Seven-year-old Jenny certainly thought the world of that man. So no, Beezer's busted leg wasn't something to freak out about. And neither was Rafael's death. Well, I think on a human level, she was sad she'd just met a fellow and he died. But on like a normal farm level, what could you do about it? He was dead. They didn't need an ambulance for a dead guy. Just cover him up and they had plenty of time to come up with a plan. Jenny considered neither of these events an emergency. Emergencies were much bigger than a dead guy and a broken leg, or a totally destroyed van or being blocked into a haunted house with no easy escape.

  Those weren't even on her radar as far as what an emergency was.

  To her, an emergency was when you got your arm cut off by a fucking moron running the tractor. Now that's an emergency. Clock is a-ticking. If that limb has even a hair's chance of being sewn back on, then they gotta move. Here, there was no clock a-ticking--all of these things would be patient, easy problems.

  She was probably the only one in the house who hadn't gotten fully freaked out at this point. But don't worry, that would change soon. They found the master bedroom locked. They could hear John mumbling inside, but the doorknob was a painful, bitter cold to the touch. Cold enough that Tiffany let out a shout when she touched it. Jenny tried it next, and concern ran across her.

  She pounded on the door. "John?" His voice seemed muffled, not just from the door, but as if he was standing through a much thicker door. "John? Unlock the door. What are you doing in there?"

  She pressed her ear to the door, trying to make out his muffled words. Her ear firmly pressed to the very cool door and she heard his muffled voice slowly shout, "Help me." It was like he was shouting into a pillow.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. "Do you think Rachel has the key?" she said, turning to Tiffany. The other woman was trembling head to toe with fright, suddenly rapping at the door herself, shouting, "John! John!" Her voice squeaked in tight, nervous tears.

  Jenny ran down the stairs, past Beezer, who was dozing on the couch, leg carefully propped up, and out the front door. Ricky had just asked Mikaela to give him her phone. "Guys, John is stuck upstairs." Jenny waved her arms. "Come on!"

  Zane, Ricky, and Mike came hurrying up the stairs and they examined the suspiciously cold door. They couldn't hear John say anything else. The room had gone silent.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  You might be thinking, okay, sure, so the men try to move the car, and the women just stand around fretting the whole time?

  But you, my brilliant friend, may have also realized someone has been missing for a while. And not John. I mean Beth. While Rachel, Tiffany, Jenny, and Mikaela were outside, Beth stayed in to take care of Beezer. Lucy was still an incoherent mess. She was buried in a chair, her face covered, somewhere between sleeping and sobbing.

  Beezer, of course, promptly fell asleep. He was dozing and moaning on the couch, quietly. And Beth got it in her head that maybe she should start breakfast, or maybe she should be working on something else. It was getting awfully close to four in the morning, and everyone should really be sleeping soon, or perhaps eating. People go crazy when it's late and they are hungry.

  She stood in the kitchen and finally got brave enough to look around. There was a very obvious plan for food in the fridge, each shelf carefully coordinated with a meal. Beth hesitated. She could just imagine Rachel's pissed off face if she messed up her food plans. She chugged the last bit of punch sitting in the bowl and then washed the bowl and ladle carefully. Beth wished she could just make some food for everyone, but she didn't want to annoy Rachel.

  She peered outside in time to see Mike's van smoking and the airbag popped out. Then she had an idea.

  Maybe there was something useful in the basement. An old phone connected to a landline or, I dunno, something. Maybe she just got curious why the basement was off-limits. Maybe she just really wanted to be the next person to die. Who knows?

  Beth, if you remember, was awful nervous in the kitchen with the crockpot. It was no surprise that she found herself avoiding the other people and standing all alone. She struggled in social situations. I like to think that was why she came to this party; she really wanted to push herself to be better, to grow and change and become a better thing. But now that she was here, she was having her normal troubles--except that she'd sat on Zane's lap and couldn't stop thinking about him. He'd be her first official party make out.

  In fact, she was, if she ever whispered it aloud, a virgin. Not that she was a total prude; she just was young and really crappy at social stuff. So that was why she hadn't banged a man yet. But if one took notice of her, she was gonna be ripe for the picking, so to speak. She was twenty, and I think she felt too old to still have her precious lady flower all to herself. I certainly feel too old to have mine to myself.

  Anyways, I think that was why she walked down to the basement. To avoid people, find a bit of bravery, and try to contribute. She was pushing herself out of her limits because it seemed like the right choice. The basement stairs were in the hallway from the kitchen to the safe room. She stood there now, looking down. The basement seemed ominous, in part from the constant warnings. Rachel had written it in all caps on the invitation: WE CANNOT GO IN THE BASEMENT.

  Something about it wasn't part of the game or maybe they rented the house and not the basement or something.

  At the bottom of the wooden stairs, which Beth very slowly walked down, completely unable to find a light switch so it was dim, and darker with every step. She saw a door with thirteen locks on it.

  Despite the locks, she rattled the handle anyways. And then she heard an unearthly scream, and the sounds of someone dragging something heavy. And then, this interchange.

  Woman's voice, "Please don't, please. I won't tell anyone."

  "It's too late now." Scariest man voice she had ever heard. Imagine if you gargled with thumbtacks and then learned to talk through your shredded vocal cords.

  "No! Don't, please don't." The woman sobbed between loud and frightening slaps. She gasped with fright and her sobs grew louder.

  "Tell me you'll never do it again," he snarled.

  "I–" And she screamed. A frightening scream, and the sound of something started up. Something brutal and terrorizing. Was it a drill? A saw? Moments later, her scream was just a gurgling noise, and Beth, frightened Beth, was standing shuddering with terror her hand clasped tightly over her mouth.

  "Beth, go back upstairs," a new female voice said. The tool, whatever it was, revved softly.

  And she turned to run up the dim wooden steps and her shoe gushed underneath her. As she looked down, she saw she was standing in blood, copious amounts of gushing, dripping blood. She screamed, oh she screamed so good, and charged up the stairs one gushy sneaker after another. She was still screaming when she made it to the safe room.

  Beezer awoke with a start. "Fuck, Beth. What the fuck?" He was bewildered, mid-sleep. His eyes were bloodshot and he clearly had no idea what was going on. She collapsed in his arms and sobbed.

  She heard the sound of a drill or some tool again and she let out a frightened squeal, deep into Beezer's chest. Beezer was kind of a gruff asshat, but even he could melt at the tears of a frightened girl.

  He wrapped her up even tighter in his arms. She shuddered as the tool kept going and she wildly looked around in fright. But they were in the safe room, and they were indeed safe. Jenny stepped down the stairs and said, "Zane's almost got the door off. What happened to her?"

  Beezer shrugged and the little motoriz
ed drill whirred again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Safe to say, nobody believed Beth. Not even a little. Maybe they thought that she was delusional, hearing voices. Maybe not.

  But her sneakers were full of (I do hate to say this) her own urine. She got frightened enough to pee herself. It wasn't blood.

  And the voices? Well, who could say? She's Beth, socially awkward, and once they started ganging up on her, she stopped trying to defend what she saw and what she heard. Mike went down to the basement door, and found that, yes, there was a suspicious door with lots of locks, but no sounds. And nothing other than a bit of urine.

  But! She was right: when they revved the drill up there on the top floor, as they were working to remove the hinges from the door, it was loud down here at the basement door. Really loud. Must be a vent connecting those two spots. That was the only explanation, truly.

  They had not successfully removed the door yet. Zane was trying desperately, but two of the screws were so damn stripped that he couldn't quite get a grip on them. John still hadn't made a sound from inside yet.

  Everyone was worried, but it was Jenny who finally suggested a solution. She was, after all, the handiest of them all. She had built and torn down more old sheds than anyone else. "Did you try the rubber band method? Anyone got a rubber band?"

  They found one looped around a leaf of papers in the library where Amelia was killed. They put the rubber band over the screw and then jabbed the drill onto the screw. It worked okay, as long as they didn't rush it. Both screws came loose and the door finally came off its frame. Finally.

  Inside, ice was still coating the entire room. A confused Zane and shocked Ricky stepped into the room. John wasn't anywhere. They called his name but heard nothing. They started searching the room, Tiffany following after them, not saying anything at all, her nervous eyes flickering back and forth. Where was he?

  Mike touched the door handle to open to the master bathroom, and his fingertip stuck instantly from the cold. "Guys don't touch anything metal; we need some gloves." He gingerly tried to remove his fingers.

  "Can you open it?" Tiffany said. "I'll get some water and pour it over your hand." He nodded and twisted the handle. It opened the door and Tiffany stepped in. The bathroom was empty and she didn't see any way to carry water. She opened the cabinet under the sink and let out a scream.

  There John was, wrapped in towels, his eyes wide open, his skin frosty. There he was indeed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Now, now, is finally the time to talk about Tiffany. She did, abort the baby, and she was showing off her perfect smooth and slim stomach with that crop top and low cut jeans just to prove to John that she had done it. She zapped the baby and it wasn't in there.

  She could remember when she found out she was pregnant. A little urine on a stick can change your life. And it did. There she was, with a happy damn man. He proposed, he kissed her, and he was practically singing her praises. He loved the hell out of her, and she could hardly stand it. The whole thing made her want to vomit. It wasn't his. He would have known that if he paid any attention to how making babies worked. It wasn't his baby. And it was utterly heartbreaking to her. His love was like a hot fire burning across her shame. It made her hate him. And her. She hated herself.

  He wasn't even supposed to find out. She took the test, wept for several hours, scheduled the appointment to remove the damn thing, and he somehow found the test in the trash. If she had kept her head on straight, she would have thrown it away outside in the dumpster. She could have done a bunch of things differently. This was un-repairable, broke beyond repair. This was a terrible sin and a dirty burden to carry. She'd rather have him hate her for dumping him than let him know the truth. Her legs were not kept shut, she fucked a man. She didn't even really know why she had done it. John was busy. And he wasn't.

  Beezer wasn't. Yes, it was Beezer; she went from one man named John to fucking his friend. And yes, Beezer was an asshole to keep pushing and pushing. John was right there! He was in the other room, and Beezer kept gently touching her thigh, running his fingers up her. Anyways, it doesn't matter that Beezer was a lecherous asshat. She just suddenly got excited that someone wanted her, and she kind of got off on the sneaky "we're gonna get caught" nonsense. It was a foolish moment with a very determined man.

  That made a baby.

  That she turned into a corpse.

  That gave her a fucking marriage proposal.

  That broke up her relationship.

  Despite her damn stupid behavior, she loved this man. She hated the whole thing that happened and wished she could undo it, but damn it, she loved this gorgeous man. She was the first girl he was ever with. Sure, she'd been with many men. But not him. He wanted just her. Nothing else. It was sweet, and it was kind of creepy all at once. She was full of curious adventure, and he was settling in for one long, steady, happy thing. A thing that a girl like her shouldn't even be considering.

  And yes, she was mad as hell, mad at herself, mad at Beezer, and pissed off at John. How dare he propose! How dare he rifle through the trash and find her embarrassing little secret and then be so damn nice about it. How fucking dare he.

  What kind of monster was he? To love her so much when she was so messed up.

  And there he sat, unblinking in a cupboard, frost on his cheeks, wrapped in several towels.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ricky was still startled in the bedroom. He wasn't startled because it was cold; he was startled that it was ice cold right now. He kept staring at an icicle hanging off the chandelier. What the hell had gone so wrong?

  That was what he was thinking.

  Mike's hand was still frozen to the door, but since there was literally no door on the bedroom anymore, the warm air from the hallway was slowly bringing the room up from freezing. The icy feel was fading, and Mike's hand suddenly released. The room was almost dripping already.

  Mike stepped in and stared at a horrified Tiffany as she pointed at her beloved. Her whole body was trembling from head to toe and Mike pulled John from the cupboard, carrying him downstairs to the safe room. Always the safe room.

  They set him on the little love seat Lucy and Rafael had made out on earlier that evening. Doesn't that seem like days away already?

  Did I mention it was nearly five in the morning? These young people were strained, and exhausted and they would start dropping like flies soon. Very soon. Lucy now was very much asleep in the chair; she was plumb worn out from the stress, the crying, and the screaming. Poor thing.

  "How long has Ben been walking?" Mike asked Mikaela, staring up at her pretty eyes. He wasn't sure what to do with John or what to say about him. He'd really just love to stop looking at him.

  Mikaela stared at John, his frozen body sitting curled on the couch.

  "Mikaela?" Mike asked, stepping between her and John. She stepped into his arms smooth as butter. Mike wrapped himself tightly around the delicious-looking (and might I add very sweet smelling) girl.

  "I think he's been walking a couple of hours now. I keep hoping I'll hear an ambulance soon." She pressed her ear to his chest and was secretly listening to his heartbeat while he held her.

  Tiffany had not come back downstairs; instead, she was vomiting in the toilet. Ricky was still in the master bedroom, somehow stunned by its icy appearance. Rachel had gone up too and similarly seemed horrified at the ice. Tiffany, once done vomiting, flew down the stairs to see if John was... dead.

  Rachel stared at Ricky as he touched the icicle that was dripping now. "What went wrong? This wasn't supposed to happen yet."

  Ricky turned to her. "I'm not sure, I mean, I knew it was going to get cold, but the door got... tampered with or something. He couldn't get out."

  "Is John okay?" she asked as she stepped closer to Ricky.

  "I don't know. Can you believe how much ice is in here already?" He wrapped his arms around her. "This party would have been awesome if it wasn't for Rafael overdosing. Everyone would
be scared shitless."

  "I think they kind of are," she replied. And they kissed. "I guess we better face the music. We're still playing, right?"

  "Why the hell not?" Ricky said. And they went downstairs, ready for round three.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  You might be thinking, why the hell hasn't anyone been taking care of John? Is he dead?

  Well, I'm not totally sure of the answer. I think that perhaps they were just all in shock. They had a dead man, a girl piss herself, and a broken leg. A second dead body, and this one was so much freakier. Everyone knew Rafael overdosed from his own damn stupidity. This was more brutal; this seemed like a ghost had killed the man.

  A bedroom turning into a freezer unexpectedly fast! It was ridiculous and farfetched. Mike was the one who wrestled the vodka away from John and shut him in the bedroom. Mike felt altogether too responsible. His van blocked everyone in and was now totaled. He put John in that room, not knowing it could kill him. And he was the one saying repeatedly to Beth that it was all in her head. He felt fucking responsible for everything that happened. He was one of the men falling on Beezer and snapping his leg! I think that was why he didn't want to look at John.

  I think he saw the fright in Mikaela's eyes and remembered how intimate she looked, standing on that tiny rocking chair, and how her dress sparkled and how intimate! I know I keep using that word, but it wasn't so much that he felt aroused (he did) but he almost felt like he saw her orgasm, secretly peeking in a window- fear was intimate. It was dirty, raw and real- and sexy. She hadn't meant to show him her soul, but she screamed and he saw it. He was inside her thoughts and her lips and he wanted her very soul to feel safer. It might be all in his head, but wasn't her head pressed close to his heart right at this moment? Wasn't she an old soul like he?