The House of Wood

by Anthony Price

  Nathan gritted his teeth, took a deep breath and calmed his mind.

  “Becky, wait, I'm sorry.” He jogged to catch up with her.

  She spun on her heels. “Why should I? You don't even know me.”

  “Please, I've had a really rough day.”

  “Oh, and you think you can take it out on me. Well that's okay then. Screw you, I'm out of here.”

  “No, wait, please.” He grabbed hold of her arm. “That's not what I meant.”

  She shot him a glance of anger. He let go of her arm.

  “Please can we just start over? Let's go inside. I'd really like that.”

  Becky nodded and allowed Nathan to lead her back to the bar. He felt like such an idiot. It was another example of how easily things got destroyed when it was left up to him.

  Inside was like any other typical, honky-tonk bar. At the back end there were a couple of pool tables and a small dance floor, with a few customers dancing to some country music. At the front end, there were a dozen or so tables, most of these taken up by the regulars drinking pints of brown liquid. A bright neon jukebox sat in another corner, mesmerising with its flashing lights. The main feature was the bar itself, stretching across an entire length of wall. Above it sat a yellow sign, don't touch the women, but they can touch whatever they want to. Another one read, leave your troubles at the door unless you want some in here. Dotted all around the walls were pictures of singers and bands that had, at some time or other, played on a tiny stage just off the dance floor.

  Nathan could hardly see in the subdued orange lights of the place, but his instincts allowed him to navigate around the busy tables, avoiding any patrons that might take offence to him bumping into them.

  He and Becky sat down on the stalls at the bar.

  “Evening, Nate,” the brunette barmaid said, giving him a flirtatious smile. She was old enough to be his mother. Grey hairs were starting to surface through her dyed curls. “What can I do for you and the little lady there?”

  “Just a bud for me, Gloria.”

  “Takin’ it easy tonight huh, deputy?”

  “Something like that.”

  Gloria laughed and turned to Becky. “What’ll it be for you, hun?”

  “A white wine for me please.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  Nathan's eyes followed Gloria's backside, as she dashed off to get the drinks. He quickly covered up the staring, as he remembered he was on a date. The two of them sat there, waiting for her to come back with the drinks. It was only a few seconds before she returned and then dashed off again to serve some other customers.

  Becky took a sip. “This place is amazing. I didn't expect to find a bar like this in the middle of Maine. I feel like I’m in Deep South.”

  “Yeah, Gloria there’s from Texas. Moved up here years ago, opened this place and been here ever since. She's always telling people that she'll go back home one day. She never does though.”

  “Cool.”

  They sat sipping at their drinks for a few minutes. Nathan felt awkward. He could count on one hand how many times he had been on a date in his lifetime. And the last one of those had been years ago. Yet another thing he had failed at.

  “Do y -“

  “I -“

  They laughed as they realised they had both been about to say something. Becky motioned for Nathan to go first.

  “Look, I'm really sorry about earlier. Rachel’s a really good friend of mine and I hate to think of her with problems. And I've had a really rough day. Not that it's an excuse to take it out on you.”

  “It’s okay, I understand. Nothing about this last week has been easy, especially not for Rachel. She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

  “I don't know about that,” he replied, taking another swig of his beer. “I could say the same about you.”

  “I’m her roommate. It's part of the code.”

  They both laughed again. Nathan could feel the tension in him start to ease away. This might turn out to be a good evening after all, he thought, looking at the pretty girl sitting in front of him.

  The two of them sat chatting for a short time, exchanging stories of their childhoods and the past.

  “And so when my Ma died, Rachel was there for me. That's how we became close I guess.”

  “That’s a sweet story,” Becky said, drinking the last of her wine.

  Nathan noticed she had run out and nodded to the empty glass. “Fancy another?” he asked.

  Becky nodded.

  He ordered them more drinks. “So,” he said, as they waited for Gloria to return. “How much do you know about what went on here?”

  “Not much, only that Rachel went through something horrific. She never talks about it.”

  “Nobody does,” Nathan replied, handing over some money.

  “I know what you mean. There's something about this town that lurks beneath the surface. You can see it in people's eyes. I guess a big tragedy like that would leave a scar on a small community like this.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “What actually happened here, Nate?”

  He took a large gulp of the frothy brown beer. His eyes darkened over for a second before he looked back up at her. “Do you want to let me kick your ass at pool?”

  “Sure. But I'll be doing the ass kicking.”

  The unanswered question hung in the air like a dead carcass. Neither one of them mentioned it as they strolled off towards the pool tables.

  ***

  Rachel hadn't realised she'd been fiddling with the locket again. The silver chain felt heavy around her neck. It had left stinging red marks along the white skin where she had been pulling at it. She was beginning to wish she had never thought of going on a date with a psychiatrist. Somehow, he had managed to dredge up all these old emotions from deep within her. Now they hung off her like dead leaves, wilting and rotten. She didn’t want to remember. It was too painful.

  “David, I don’t think I can go on. The memories are just too hard to bear.”

  He took her by the hand. “That’s okay. Maybe we should take a break from talking about the past for a while.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them picking at their food. The restaurant was getting busy. The hum of conversation buzzed around them. Yellow light from the candle flames flickered in the gloom of their little booth. It gave the place a serene atmosphere. Like a church. Rachel noticed Mr and Mrs Krupp arrive, her looking as though she could commit murder with a single look, him forever the dutiful husband. Neither of them paid her any mind, as she tried to duck her head down behind the palm of her hand in order to hide her face. The last thing she wanted to do was make another scene, which inevitably would happen if Mrs Krupp opened her mouth. Now she understood why psychiatrists had offices.

  “How’s your food?” David asked.

  “It’s very nice, thank you? How is your steak?”

  “Delicious.” Blood oozed out of the fleshy meat as he cut.

  Rachel was beginning to feel awkward. If the best they could manage were a few lines about the food, then this was going to be a long night. She looked at her watch. It was only half past ten.

  “So, do you like living at the bed and breakfast?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sorry, didn’t I tell you, I picked up the keys to my new house yesterday. The renovation isn’t quite finished yet, but it’s fine for me to move in. I’m going back there tonight.”

  “At least you don’t have to suffer Mrs Ryan anymore.”

  “Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

  Rachel giggled. The old battle axe wouldn’t be giving her anymore problems that’s for sure.

  “Where is your new place?”

  “Oh, it’s just outside town. Why don’t you tell me what happened next?”

  Rachel put her knife and fork down. She sipped at her drink, ignoring the fact that he had switched the conversation back to her. “There isn’t much to tell. What
happened can’t be changed.” She had prayed for that a thousand times over.

  “What did happen?”

  “I wonder how Becky’s date with Nathan is going? He could do with a nice girl like that in his life.”

  “I think we should keep this about you.” He took another bite of his steak. “Tell me more about this Justin. He sounds important.”

  “I don't want to, if it's all the same to you.”

  “Why not?”

  Rachel was taken aback by the look in David’s eyes. There seemed to be a macabre glint in them. It was as if he was enjoying watching her squirm beneath the weight of his questions. It's just your imagination, she tried to tell herself. Whatever she thought she had seen was gone, replaced by his usual warm kindness.

  “I’m here to help you, Rachel. You'll only be able to get over your fears if you confront them.”

  “I know, it's just…” She stopped. The words just didn't seem to want to come out. They were locked inside her. Just like her memories. “I’m sorry, I can't. It's too hard. This was a mistake.”

  “It’s okay. This must be a painful experience for you. It's never easy to face the past especially when it contains something you feel is better off forgetting.”

  He took hold of her hand. She felt strange. Relax. It was as if, by touching her, he was taking away her fears and doubts. Their eyes locked together. She could melt away in the vastness of those blue pools, she thought, a rare tender smile lighting up her face. For the first time in years, she felt at peace.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won't let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you.”

  A choking lump caught in her throat. She pulled her hand away from his. “What did you say?”

  “I said I would protect you. What's wrong with that?”

  “I-I-I’m sorry.” The stuttering had returned.

  “Calm down and take deep breaths.”

  She did as she was told. David signalled the attention of the waitress and asked her to bring over a glass of water. When the waitress returned, she sipped at the ice cold liquid. She felt numb.

  “Now tell me what's wrong?”

  “You sounded like him.”

  “Like who? Justin?”

  “Yes.”

  David sat back in his chair. He looked worried.

  Deep down Rachel knew she couldn't go on like this. Every second of every minute she was back in town, it would only get worse. Something had opened up inside her. Like Pandora's box, more and more evil would pour from her, never giving her any peace. It had all started when she saw the house coming back into town. It was with her all the time. She knew it was out there, waiting for its next victim. She had to do something about it. Anything.

  She looked at the man opposite her. He was strong, dependable. She felt as though she could tell him anything and he would believe her. Maybe if she poured her heart out, she thought, at least someone would know. Maybe they could stop it from happening again?

  “Are you ready to tell me the rest of your story?”

  “I think so.”

  “You don't have to if it makes you too uncomfortable. You can stop any time you like.”

  “I know.”

  “In that case, why don't you start with the journey up to the house? Tell me about that.”

  Rachel took another sip of water and then a large gulp of her Archers and Lemonade. She shifted in her seat. Not once did she take her eyes off of the table.

  “The group of us drove down in a black Chevy Impala. Tim’s pride and joy. It sped along the old dirt track like a panther. The engine growled with exhilaration. None of us knew what was waiting at the top of the hill, or that this would be our last weekend together…”

  Chapter Twelve

  I peered lazily out of the rear window. The car, going at such a speed, made everything move past my eyes in a blur. The rhythm of the engine hummed along to the sound of AC/DC singing Highway to Hell. In the distance, I could see the old white house. As we got closer to the destination, my heart beat faster and faster to the point where it was matching the beat of the song, thundering out of the speakers. I still couldn't quite work out why I had agreed to tag along.

  You've got to come, Rachel. It can be our last hurrah.

  As true as that was, there were plenty more things that I would rather have been doing before travelling on to college. I really didn't want to be there. Or that’s what I kept telling myself.

  Despite trying to keep cool, my anxiety was beginning to bubble beneath the surface. It wasn't just because of where we were heading; they were only silly ghost stories. It was the fact that we were speeding down a remote road and Tim had been drinking with Justin before picking us up. The smell of alcohol in the small compartment of the car was intoxicating. My senses were beginning to overload.

  “You okay, Rach?” Chelsea asked.

  “Yeah I'm okay,” I replied, putting on a smile and then turning back to the window. The last thing I wanted to do was spoil the fun by being all prissy. Anyway, it wasn’t all bad. Justin was there to hold my hand. This would be the weekend that something would finally happen between the two of us.

  Just as the song reached its climax, the car ground to a halt on the driveway. Tim jumped out of the car whooping and shouting like a clown, as Chelsea followed behind him, laughing at his crazy antics. I just sat, gazing out of the window at the big wooden building. It was mesmerising. From a distance, it looked like nothing more than a clapped out old shack. But up close, it was a different story. The house was huge. Decrepit. Most of the old whitewashed paint had chipped away and the old beams holding up the porch roof were weathered with age. Even the eight steps leading up to the door were battered and worn away. In my mind it was the windows that stood out more than anything. In most houses, the windows created pictures of warmth and joy. Here, they were just black, lacking any homely comfort. No curtains, no light. Empty. They were like eyes. Lifeless. To me they seemed sad, devoid of any happy memories. The house just sat there looking out over the countryside, forlorn and hopeless, as if it was waiting for someone to end its misery.

  “You planning on joining us, or spending the night here?” asked Justin, giving me his usual playful grin.

  I stepped out of the car and on to the driveway. The only sounds were the other three messing around and the gravel of the drive crunching beneath their feet. Apart from that, it was silent. This was a place we shouldn’t have been.

  My eyes were fixed on the house. “Guys I'm not so sure this is a good idea.”

  “Stop being so stupid. There's nothing here to worry about. It'll be fun,” replied Tim. “Justin, get the beers from the car while I unlock the door.”

  Justin turned to me and gave me another smile. “Don't worry I'll protect you.”

  I returned the smile and made my way up the old wooden steps. My heart pounding with each second. Something wasn't right. I let the others enter the house first and turned around for one final look over the countryside. It was still. Not even the swing stirred in the breeze, as I entered.

  ***

  The musty smell filled my nostrils as soon as I stepped over the threshold. It wasn’t the typical smell associated with old homes, where people haven't lived for a while. It was the smell of decay. It was so disgusting, I almost gagged. No house should smell like this, I thought, as I moved further in to the heart of the building.

  Lord knows what the guys had been doing up there. No doubt drinking beer, discussing chicks and getting high. That, or not turning up at all. Whatever it was, they hadn’t been working.

  The entrance opened up in to a room that, at one time, may have been a living room, or parlour. Cobwebs hung low from the ceiling, and I had to bat a curious spider away from my face as I explored. The source of the smell was coming from the damp walls. It had caused the wallpaper to rot and peel away, revealing green mouldy patches. The floorboards creaked with every footstep, as if my weight was causing them distress. There was very little furniture an
d all of it was covered in a thick layer of dust. The main piece was an old fashioned writing bureau against one wall with a simple wooden chair. The rest consisted of a small coffee table by the front door and a battered old sofa, which had also started rotting some years ago. There was an archway to my left that lead to a similarly dreary kitchen and a doorway at the back, which opened on to a corridor. The final pieces of the room were a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been used in centuries and a single, dirt covered window that looked out over the porch and the front garden with its lonely swing. None of it had been touched for years. The decorating materials were all stacked in the corner of the room, waiting to be opened. I was about to say something when I stopped.

  Right in front of me was the most striking thing in the room; a portrait of two children with their parents. It had suffered over the years. The young boy’s half had been torn, so that his face could no longer be seen. But the girl could be. I assumed it must have been his sister. She was young, but very pretty with jet black curly hair and big brown eyes. There was something about her though. She looked sad.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Justin said, as he walked past me and put the bags of food and drink on the dining table in the kitchen. Was he talking about the smell, or the picture?

  I watched him begin to unpack the bags. Chelsea and Tim were nowhere to be seen, but I could just about make out Chelsea’s incessant chatter upstairs. By now, Justin had slotted in to our little group perfectly. We were all best buddies. Except I wanted to be more than just friends.

  I still hadn’t worked out what our relationship was. I didn’t even know if we were in one. As soon as I had seen him that first time, I knew I would fall for him, and the more I got to know him, the more I fell. Soon I would be going to college, so it really was the last chance I would get to let him know how I felt.

  “Umm, do you need a hand?” I enquired.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Justin replied, looking back at me.