Haunted Hideout: Paranormal Suspense (The Haunted Ones Book 1)

by Dorey, Michelle

“If the power goes out again, we’ll need the fireplace.” He started off down the hallway, “Just a few armfuls to make sure we can get through the night.”

  Mark looked up at his mother and she shot back a look, shaking her head. Good. He didn’t want to go out there again.

  Angela startled him when she called, “Wait up. I’ll help you.” She walked down the hallway ignoring Mom’s pleas for her to stay. She turned her head. “If two of us go, it’s just one trip.”

  Mom rolled her eyes and then helped him out of his coat. “We might as well turn the oven on again Mark. We haven’t eaten since lunch. How about a hot chocolate to start with?”

  Was she serious? They were spending the night in a haunted house and she was talking about eating? And hot chocolate? But he could see from the lines in her forehead, she was just doing this to be strong for him. “It’s okay, Mom. As long as we’re together, we’ll be all right.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

  Her eyes glistened while her face grew even tighter like she was going to break down crying any minute. “You’re right. This is frightening but that’s all it is; it’s just scary, right? We stick together like glue and we’ll be fine. It’s just one night. This snowstorm has to stop sometime soon.”

  She straightened, and her hand rested on his shoulder walking down the hall to the kitchen. She walked over to the stove and paused. “I turned that off before we left. Now it’s back on.” She shook her head and even laughed. “The ghost. Pretty thoughtful, wouldn’t you say?” She smiled down at him.

  He grinned, meeting her eyes, “Think the ghost will make some hot chocolate?” If Mom could make light of this, then he could be brave along with her. But still he looked around the room, waiting.

  Mom opened the fridge. When she turned she had the bottle of wine and the milk in her hand, giving the door a bump with her hip to shut it. “The hot chocolate packages are in that cupboard,” she said, pointing with her chin.

  He opened the door and then jerked back, gasping. There was a dead rat on the shelf. In stunned silence he watched as the cupboard door swayed; it almost closed by itself, then slowly opened fully before slamming shut with a sharp bang. “Mom!” He jumped and raced over to his mother.

  As they stood there, his arms around her waist, trying to bury his face in her stomach, the cupboard door opened and slammed shut at least a dozen more times. He jerked as the thud of each slam went straight through him and he snuggled closer into his mother. ‘Make it stop! Please make it stop!’ was a mantra in his head.

  When it finally did, the silence was deafening. Whatever was in that house, that mean old man didn’t like them poking fun at it. And it had killed that rat. There’d been a puddle of blood next to its mouth, and its body was all twisted.

  “Mom?” He looked up at her.

  She took a deep breath, and when she spoke her words were hesitant, “It’s...It’s just...noise, Mark. You’re okay. I’m okay.”

  “But it isn’t. It killed a rat and left it for us. It’s a warning. If it could kill a rat, it could hurt us, too!” In his mind’s eye he saw the evil leer on the old man’s face while he twisted the rat, snapping its neck. That old man wanted to hurt them too! If not worse!

  Mom set the milk and wine on the counter and squatted down, taking him in her arms. He wanted to believe she could protect him but deep down he knew they were helpless. Even that FBI guy wouldn’t be able to stop the bad things in that house.

  The back door opened and the stomping of his sister and Jake’s feet filled the air. He pulled away from his mother and rushed to the hallway. “It’s still here. It killed a rat and then banged the cabinet door open and shut again and again!”

  Angela dropped her logs and rushed over to him, grabbing his shoulders. “Are you all right?” Her eyes were wide, looking over his face and then trailing over his body. When Mom came out from the kitchen, Angela let out a long, slow breath.

  Jake stood looking down at him, snow falling from the pile of wood in his arms. “I’ll look after getting rid of the rat. It’s just a rat. Old farmhouses have them.” He headed into the living room to dump the logs.

  Mark’s eyes narrowed staring after him. Easy for him to say. He hadn’t seen the misshapen, tortured creature yet. Why did the guy have to act so tough? Not a word about what he and his mom had just gone through. Just matter of fact, “I’ll look after getting rid of the rat.” Well, if he was all that smart and tough why couldn’t he protect them from whatever the hell was in that house?

  One thing he’d learned though. No more joking around about the ghost. This was no laughing matter.

  Angela slipped her jacket off and herded them into the kitchen. “You guys sit down.” She looked at their mother, “You look like you could use a glass of wine.” She made a wan smile. “Actually so does Mark, but he’ll have to settle for milk.”

  As she set the stuff on the kitchen table she said, “We almost got lost going out to the barn. Shit, that’s crazy outside.” She turned to go back to the counter.

  “It’s crazy in here, too,” Mark replied.

  TWENTY THREE

  Angela

  ANGELA SHRUGGED OUT OF HER COAT and stood staring at her mother and Mark. Any question of walking away in this snowstorm vanished after the trek to the barn for firewood. If not for Jake breaking through the drifts, waist high in spots, she wouldn’t have made it. There was no way Mark or Mom could do it. The snow that looked so pretty that afternoon was now claustrophobic; it was holding them prisoners in this hellhole.

  She took a seat at the table. “What about tonight? I mean, we can’t possibly sleep upstairs.”

  Mark chimed in right away, “I’m not sleeping up there.”

  Mom nodded, gazing into the wine glass in her hand. “No. I agree. But we’ll be warmer and more apt to sleep if we have the comforters and pillows.”

  Angela’s heart kicked up a notch, and she blurted, “I’m not going up there! Jake can get our bedding! He’s the one who—”

  “The one who what?” Jake stepped into the kitchen. His eyes were hard glaring at them. “It’s one night, okay? There’s not much we can do about getting out of here.” He grabbed a glass and poured some wine into it. “Finish what you were saying, Angela.”

  Her face heated at being caught out. But this was his fault. Her jaw tightened watching him. “You’re the one who doesn’t believe this place is haunted, that’s what! We need you to go upstairs to get our bedding.”

  He walked over and stood staring at them silently for a minute or so. It looked like he was thinking hard about something. Finally he spoke, “I take it you’ve decided to camp out in the living room tonight.”

  Mark’s voice was low when he ventured a suggestion, “We need to take turns sleeping and standing guard.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Whatever this is, it’s getting worse!”

  He leaned closer to Mom before she weighed in and said, “We need to stay together.” She looked up at Jake, “You said it yourself. If the power goes out we’ll have the fireplace. We’re staying downstairs tonight. Can you get the bedding or do I have to go up there? It’s got to be one of us.”

  “No Mom.” Mark clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder.

  But Angela did one better. She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and handed it to Jake, “Here. In case the power goes out when you’re up there.”

  The resigned look on Jake’s face showed that he knew he was outnumbered. He let out a long breath and took the phone, “Okay. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  She couldn’t resist, “We’re not going anywhere. But don’t worry, Jake. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he left the room. For a skeptic, he looked pretty nervous. She kind of felt bad for him, just a little. But it was thanks to his stupid organization, they were stuck in a creepy house. Still, he did try to be decent about going upstairs. She followed him from the living room and called out, “Hey. I’m
not going up but I’ll stand next to the stairs to keep a lookout for ya.”

  At the staircase her hands gripped the top of the newel post as she watched him ascend. That picture he’d found was on the floor beside her leg. She picked it up and flipped it over to read the writing on the back. That girl she’d seen. Her name had been Nancy.

  She flipped the photo back over to look at Nancy and gasped. The picture had changed! She froze, staring at the figures in the photo. They were all covered in blood! Nancy smiled back, but with gaping, dripping wounds in her neck and arms. Blood oozed from her, across the glass and dripped down to the edge of the frame. Angela’s heart skipped a beat and her knees went weak. Dropping the photo, she grabbed at the post as she sunk down onto the stairs.

  Jake’s feet thudded down steps, “What was that? Are you all right?”

  She gaped up at him and turned her head to see her mother and Mark as they rushed to her. She couldn’t speak. It was like being in a nightmare, where you tried to scream but nothing came out. Her hand shook when she pointed to the picture laying face down on the floor.

  Jake pushed by her and reached for the picture brushing her mother’s hand away. “I’ve got this!”

  She couldn’t look! He held it beside her and she shrank away, sinking to the stair, gulping for a breath. Oh my God! Would that picture ever leave her head? She could still see it...all the blood and horror. Even the son and mother in the picture were covered with blood. She looked down and red showed on her fingertips! Oh my God! Their blood!

  “What is it?” Mom reached for her and pulled her in close. She stared at Jake holding the old frame.

  “Never mind!” Jake almost knocked her off the stair as he brushed by her. He stormed into the living room and then the metal curtain covering the fire scraped. A small thud followed. “There!” Jake closed the fireplace shield and then came out. “It’s gone! I burned it.”

  All the while, Angela cried staring at her hand smeared with blood.

  Mom almost screamed, “Oh my God! You’re hurt!” She pulled her to her feet and down the hall to the kitchen.

  Tears continued to roll down Angela’s cheeks. That picture...The family had been murdered. But the father hadn’t been butchered. Half of his head had been gone, like from a shotgun blast.

  Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. We’re doomed.

  TWENTY FOUR

  Lydia

  LYDIA HELD ANGELA’S HAND under the stream of water. She peered at her fingers and palm but there was no cut—nothing to explain the blood that swirled in the basin and washed down the drain. She looked at Angela, still crying silently, her eyes and mouth both wide. A tiny runnel of spittle ran from the side of her mouth. The girl was in shock! She’d seen enough TV shows to know the symptoms. But what do you do to treat shock?

  Warmth! You have to keep them warm. Keep the blood circulating. BLOOD! Like the blood on Angela’s hand? Oh God. She heard Jake in the doorway and turned to him. “What the hell is going on? How did this happen? Could she have cut her hand on that picture?” This was insane.

  He shook his head and his mouth opened like he was about to say something and then snapped shut. “Get her something to drink!”

  She ignored him and turned to Mark, “Get her coat! We’ve got to keep her warm.” She pulled Angela into her and her hands rubbed fast along her daughter’s back. “It’s okay, honey! You’re okay.” She kissed her daughter’s temple while tears built up behind her eyes. Why was this happening?

  Mark handed Angela’s coat to her while Jake had a bottle of coke in his hand, offering it. She pulled back from her daughter. “Here honey. Put this on.” Oh God. She had to lift Angela’s hands and direct them into the sleeves. Angela had become a zombie! The last time she’d had to dress her daughter; Angela had been a baby. What the hell had happened to make her like this?

  She tugged the jacket up over Angela’s shoulders and then grabbed the front opening, giving it a firm shake. “Angela! Come on, honey! What’s wrong?” Oh my God! She was white as a sheet and her mouth still gaped open. Lydia’s hand rose and she slapped her daughter’s cheek. “Angela! Snap out of it!”

  “No Mom!” Mark grabbed her hand before she could strike Angela again.

  “Lydia! Here. Let me.” Jake held Angela’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head and placing the bottle of coke against her lips. “The sugar will help.” But instead of swallowing, a brown drool rolled over Angela’s chin. “Come on Ange, just a sip.” He wiped the spit away with his finger and put the bottle against her lips once more.

  Still, she was vacant, the liquid rolling over her lips. Jake handed the drink to Mark and then tapped Angela’s cheeks quickly. “C’mon! Angela, it’s okay. I know what you saw. It’s not real though. You’re safe! We’re here with you.”

  Lydia stared at him. The picture. Angela had seen something horrible. It explained the catatonic reaction but not the blood. Whatever she’d seen had been bad enough that Jake had burned it immediately. Oh my God.

  Angela’s eyelids flickered and she blinked. They started to clear as she focused them. Oh, thank God! “Angela! It’s okay honey! You’re okay.” She smiled and swiped the tears from her eyes, before her hands cupped her daughter’s cheeks. She pulled her close and kissed her forehead, saying a silent prayer of thanks.

  Mark tugged at Angela’s arm. “What was it Angela? What did you see?”

  Jake silenced Mark with a quick wave of his hand. “Never mind. It’s gone now.” He turned back to Lydia, “Let’s get her into the living room. I’ll pull the sofa over next to the fire. We’ve got to keep her warm and quiet.” He put Angela’s arm over his shoulder and lifted her. “Bring that drink, Mark.”

  Lydia took Mark’s hand, following Jake and Angela from the room. When they were inside, the two of them shoved and pulled at the sofa, until it stretched directly in front of the hissing flames. Jake had barely set Angela down on it before Lydia was beside her daughter, cradling her in her arms. The kid was still quiet, although she’d looked at each of them. Whatever she’d seen had shocked her to the core.

  Mark sidled close on Angela’s other side. “Here Angela. Drink this. You’ll feel better if you do.” But the look in his eyes betrayed his words. His lip trembled showing that he was close to losing it as well.

  Jake poked at the fire, making sure that the last corner of the photo caught in the fire. “We’ve got our coats. That’ll have to do us tonight.”

  She looked up at him. Whatever he’d seen in that photo had traumatized Angela and made him a believer. That wasn’t reassuring.

  TWENTY FIVE

  Jake

  JAKE PULLED THE ARMCHAIR OVER and set it beside the fireplace, pushing it until the back was tucked tight to the wall. From that spot he’d be able to see across the room and into the other room, keeping an eye out for anything. And it was definitely anything when it came to that house. Whatever crazy shit was going on here, it had piled the car into the ditch and now the daughter was in shock.

  He plopped down into the chair and looked over at them huddled on the sofa. No wonder Angela was traumatized. He’d almost shit himself when he saw the picture. It wasn’t the gore. Hell, he’d seen lots of worse things than that. No. It was that the picture had changed. His blood ran cold, and he couldn’t help the shiver that gripped his shoulders. Some of that blood had gotten on his fingertips but he’d wiped them clean before he went into the kitchen. Just the thought of it, made him want to wash his hands. But he couldn’t wash away the image that lingered in his head.

  Half the guy’s head had been blown off! The wife and kids were chopped up like minced meat. And in case he didn’t think that was bad enough there’d been blood. Real blood, dripping from the photo, onto the frame and onto his hands. It was that blood that freaked the girl out. Caused by… a ghost, dammit. Yeah. Point taken. He glanced at his watch. Only a little past eleven.