He wore the same suit as in the film, had the same haircut, even the little pencil line mustache was the same.
“Frederick who?” the man asked, twisting one eyebrow upward in an arch.
Looking him up and down, she realized she could see through him, it wasn’t a trick of the light at all, and he has a slight flickering quality to him.
On top of it all, he was completely black and white.
Just like in the movie.
“Y-You’re Fredrick Loren,” she repeated, “from House on Haunted Hill.”
“I am not,” he insisted, looking around. “And how did I get here?”
She thought of the movie from earlier, how it had seemed so odd that his character was missing from the film. Well, now he was standing here right in front of her.
“You came out of the movie,” she blurted out, a little loudly. “I don’t know how it happened, but you came right out the film and here you are.”
She glanced up at the tall blank screen above them, and then back at the man. It was beginning to make sense. The transparent nature of his body, the flickering—the film projection had literally come off the screen with him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insisted. “Now tell me where I am.”
“You’re at the Voodoo Drive-in and BBQ.”
“Where is that?”
“Sunken Grove,” she informed him.
“Sunken Grove? Well, how do I get back to New Orleans from here?”
Belle’s face twisted with confusion. “New Orleans? Why would you want to go there?”
“Because that’s where I live.”
“Frederick, you don’t live in New Orleans,” she corrected him.
“Stop calling me that,” he snapped, his frustrated eyes narrowing at the woman standing in front of him. “My name is Harlem. Harlem Saxon.”
“Saxon?” Belle shook her head. Now she was really confused. None of this made sense.
“Yes, I own a shop in New Orleans. The Black Mamba. I insist you take me back now.”
“The Black Mamba?” she asked. How was that even possible? This was Frederick Loren. Why was he insisting that he was someone else?
“Well?” he demanded, his face growing angry.
Belle had an idea. “Follow me.”
* * *
Anna rolled over in bed, waking up to the muffled sound of voices downstairs. Glancing over to her sister’s bedroom, she noticed the door was open. Was Belle out of bed? Who could she possibly be talking to at this time in the morning?
Slipping out from under the covers, she noticed both doorways in the projection booth were open as well.
Walking through the doors and down the skinny dark hallways, she stood at the top of the stairs and listened.
“Go ahead,” Belle was saying. “Look in the mirror behind the bar there.”
“Look, I don’t know who you are, I just want to get back to my shop okay? I’ve had a trying couple of days and I have no idea how I got here.”
A man’s voice. What man was down there with her sister? Did she have a boyfriend? Why would he make a call so late at night?
Anna tip-toed down a few more steps to get closer.
“Just look, okay.”
There was a frustrated sigh from the man, and then a seconds pause.
“See? Do you see what I’m looking at here?”
“So? You’ve set up a projector in your mirror.”
“No,” Belle insisted. “That’s you. You’re looking at you.”
Anna took a few steps further down until she could finally see the man. Without thinking, she let out a heavy gasp.
“Who’s that, who’s there?” the man shouted.
“Anna?” Belle asked nervously.
The older sister hesitated, unsure if she should come the rest of the way down the stairs. First of all, she wasn’t sure what she’d seen. If she didn’t trust her own senses, she would have been sure it was a ghost—transparent, white, and spooky. Secondly, she didn’t want her sister to know she was eavesdropping.
If Belle had her own personal life, and a new boyfriend, what right did she have to come in and crash the party? She was already sleeping on the couch and mooching off her as it was.
“Anna, come down here,” Belle insisted. “I-I need your help.”
Sighing, she took the steps slowly one and at a time. As the room came into clearer view, she couldn’t help but gasp again.
“I-I’m not seeing this,” she muttered. “I’m not seeing this.” Her heart was racing faster than ever, and her whole body broke out into nervous sweats. “I-I-It’s a ghost.”
“I am not a ghost,” the strange black-and-white figure with the pencil mustache argued.
“I’m not sure what he is, yet,” Belle confessed.
Anna stared wide-eyed at the . . . thing. . . standing in the middle of the restaurant. “What are you?”
“I’m a shop owner from New Orleans,” he insisted.
Looking him up and down, her jaw dropped open. “Wait, no. You’re that guy from House on Haunted Hill, the eccentric millionaire.”
“Frederick Loren,” Belle added.
“I will not stand here and listen to this,” he insisted, turning around viciously and marching toward the door. Without warning, he suddenly tripped.
“Look out,” Belle warned him.
Anna cringed, waiting for the impact. It never came.
Diving straight toward a table, instead of knocking it down, he went through it—almost as if a projector image had just passed over it.
Rolling onto his back, he stared upward, realizing he was now under the table. “W-what is happening to me?” he finally managed to cough out.
The older sister stepped down the steps and into the room, getting a better look at the man. “Yes, what the heck is going on, Belle?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t know,” she responded. “I don’t know.”
“W-Well, I feel absolutely nuts saying this, but he looks like a film projection.”
“I think that’s what he is.”
The man stood up from the floor. “What have you two done to me?”
“We aren’t sure, but,” Belle swallowed hard as she tried to get out the next words, “I think you’re a character escaped from a movie.”
“But I’m not,” he argued. “I’m a normal, living, breathing man. I have a life. I own a voodoo shop.”
“You own a voodoo shop?” Anna asked.
“Yes. I can’t just be some character from a movie.”
“Okay, okay,” Anna stepped forward, still unwilling to believe her eyes. “If you’re really who you say you are, then how did you get like this? How are you standing here with us?”
“I have no idea,” he snapped. “I thought it was your doing.”
Both women shook their heads. “What was the last thing you remember before you got here?” Belle offered.
He paused, trying to think. “I remember nightmares. Vivid nightmares. I was in a graveyard on the bayou. I was lost.”
Belle gasped, covering her mouth. “The body.”
“What body?” he insisted.
“Did you fall in the water? Did you drown?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like that. I was in the graveyard, but suddenly all of these arms began sprouting from the graves and the ground. They grabbed me, tore at me, and dragged me into the earth.”
Anna felt faint as she thought of the strange nightmare she had earlier.
Belle looked at her sister and back at the man again. “I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I think you died today on the bayou.”
“Died?!” the ghostly man exclaimed. “How can I be dead?”
Belle shrugged. “Somehow you ended up in one of the projected images on my drive-in screen. It’s like you became the character.”
“How? How is that possible?!” he exclaimed, finally grasping the dark nature of his plight.
“We do
n’t know,” Belle confessed. “But maybe we can find out.”
CHAPTER 12
The town of Sunken Grove was eerily quiet at night, something that had always bothered Anna. Tonight, was exceptionally chilling, however, for a number of reasons. First of all, it was her first night back in her hometown. She was used to the constant sounds and bright lights of the Denver Metro area coming through her window at night.
The streets were never empty or devoid of life, not like in this rural Louisiana community.
Secondly, she had never dealt with a ghost before—if that was what you could call this guy. Every single element of what had happened so far that night went against every natural law and logical explanation Anna had spent her life believing in.
Lastly, they were driving out onto Back Bayou Road, into rural Louisiana, to find the spot where a man’s dead body had been found. The fog hanging low between the trees didn’t help.
“Maybe if we find the place where you died, it will jog your memory,” Belle had offered.
Anna had almost suggested that they call the police, get Dan on the case. After all, he was trying to find the identity of the dead man on the bayou. Unfortunately, there was no logic behind that at all. What would they say when they called? We found the ghost of your dead man. He’s possessed a character from a nineteen-fifties movie and is ready to tell you all about himself.
No, that would never work.
“Is anything ringing a bell yet?” the younger sister asked from the driver’s seat.
“Nothing,” he confessed.
“This is ridiculous,” Anna chimed in. “I don’t know what we expect to learn by doing this.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” Belle argued. “We’re dealing with something that’s potentially never happened before.”
“Exactly,” the older sister said. “None of this can actually be happening. Both you and I are still asleep back at your apartment, and this guy doesn’t even exist.”
“We’re both having the same dream?” Belle asked. “I don’t think so.”
“It could happen. It makes more sense than your explanation. I refuse to believe this is happening.” Anna realized she was in denial at the moment, but she hardly cared.
“Having Frederick Loren, straight from the movie, sitting in our car is actually happening. It’s happening right before our eyes.”
“Girls, please,” the flickering image of a man in the back seat begged. “Stop the arguing. I’m quite sure this is much harder for me than either of you. I might be dead, and can’t remember it.”
“See,” Belle whispered. “Even the ghost has accepted what’s happening, so should you.”
Angrily, Anna slumped in her seat.
“Hold on, hold on,” Harlem cried.
“What, what is it? Did you remember something?” Belle asked.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “But I did see my travel bag laying by the side of the road.”
* * *
Standing near the roadside, all of them looked down at the crumpled bag laying in the mud. It was multicolored with red, greens, and whites, and woven out of wicker.
“That’s it,” he exclaimed. “That’s my bag all right.”
“Okay, what does that tell us?” Anna asked, hoping this living nightmare would end soon.
“It tells us that we were probably right,” Belle informed her, feeling vindicated in her original conclusion. “He probably really is the dead man.”
“You’re just speculating,” Anna said. “Let’s see what’s in the bag before we jump to any conclusions.”
“Good idea,” the younger sister finally agreed. “Maybe that will jog his memory about how he died.”
Squatting down, Harlem reached out for the bag, but his hands went though. “Why can I touch some things but not others?” he groaned, looking over his transparent black-and-white hands.
“Let me,” Anna offered, squatting down next to him. She wanted to get through with this as soon as possible and get back to bed. Maybe if she went back to sleep and woke up the next morning, this would all be a dream.
“Thanks,” Harlem whispered, clearly feeling dejected about his current situation.
Picking up the bag, she carried it back to the car, opened the back door, and dumped the contents onto the seat. Car keys, candles, matches, a little cloth doll, and a wallet all came tumbling out.
“Ah ha.” She picked up the wallet and looked at the picture of the man on the ID there.
“That’s me,” Harlem pointed excitedly. “That’s what I actually look like.”
He had a pasty complexion, wore circular eyeglasses, and had his blonde dread-locks over his head and pulled back into a ponytail. He also had a neatly kept blonde beard.
“Harlem Saxon,” she read.
“Yep, that’s me. That’s what I told you.”
“Well, I know one thing for sure,” Anna said, putting the wallet back with the other contents. “We can at least show these to Dan and see if the image matches the body.” She looked up at her sister and the ghost. “He can tell us whether you’re really dead or not.”
* * *
Waking up the next morning and sliding out of bed, it took Anna a few seconds to catch her bearings and remember where she was; the long drive to get to her sister’s house, to ask for help. It was all rushing back.
Then she remembered the strange investigative escapades from the night before. Now those had to be a dream, she decided. None of that could have possibly happened.
Sitting up on the pull-out bed, she saw her sister in the little kitchen getting out cast irons pans and eggs, most likely to cook breakfast.
The more and more she thought about it, the more she realized that she was probably right. It had all been a strange stress-induced dream, and the morning washed away all the oddities of the night. Stretching, she stood up and walked into the kitchen
“Morning,” she greeted, leaning on the counter.
“Morning, sis,” Belle smiled, showing true sincerity for having her sister back home.
Anna couldn’t help feel like it was the good ol’ days again. Getting out of bed together, eating breakfast, watching cartoons or weird old TV shows together. She liked a lot of those goofy old things more than she let on to her sister.
“I thought we could have bacon, eggs, and pancakes this morning,” she noted, motioning to the dishes.
“Sounds delicious. I haven’t had a real breakfast in ages.”
“Great,” she noted, turning to get to work.
Anna took a seat on one of the barstools at the counter. “You know, I had the weirdest dreams last night.”
“Me, too,” Belle confirmed. “You tell me yours first.”
“Well, I dreamed there was this guy,” she confessed, but before she could get the full sentence out, another voice interrupted her.
“Hey, I found out I can go inside the projector.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she turned in her chair.
Standing there with the mid-morning sun streaming partially through his body, was Frederick Loren.
“I feel weirdly rested after being in there all night,” he admitted, taking a seat next to the older sister. “And I think it increases my ability to touch things.” He gripped the seat beneath him, feeling the concreteness of it.
“Morning, Harlem,” Belle said. “I’m glad you feel rested. I slept surprisingly well too, having been up with a ghostly movie character most of the night.”
“Well, I want to thank you for helping me out so far,” he nodded. “And apologize for how I acted.”
“No worries,” she nodded. “I’d be freaked out if my whole world was turned upside down like that.” She cracked eggs into a bowl and began to whip them. “Thankfully, we’ll know more once Dan and Val are up and we can talk to them.” She set down the bowl. “Do you think you can eat?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe if I stay inside the projector long enough, I can.” Looking at Anna in the eyes
for the first time, he realized she was staring at him with her mouth hanging open. “Morning,” he nodded. “I hope you slept well.”
CHAPTER 13
“Should we bring him inside with us?” Belle asked as they sat outside the police station—a building no bigger than a two-car garage.
Harlem sat in the backseat, nervously twiddling his thumbs. Anna couldn’t blame him. After all, he was most likely dead. “How would we explain it?” she muttered. “Heck, I can hardly believe it myself, let alone explain it.”
“It might be easier if he comes,” the younger sister suggested.
Anna turned to look at the man behind her in all his black-and-white glory. “What do you think?” Even though she’d spent breakfast that morning talking to this strange specter, she still felt odd speaking to him.
“I’d prefer to be there when the police chief gives you his answer.”
“There you go,” Belle shrugged. “He comes in with us.”
“Well, okay,” Anna gave in. She had no idea how this exchange was going to go, but she wasn’t looking forward to it.
Getting out, the three of them walked toward the front glass door. The rest of the building was made of brick, with windows on all four sides. Stepping inside, they crowded into the small reception area which consisted of a wood paneled desk, a few plastic chairs, and a dusty artificial tree in the corner.
Roderick Pence, the only other officer besides Dan in the town, sat behind the desk.
“Morning, Rod,” Belle announced their presence.
Glancing up, the officer smiled. “Morning, ladies. What can I do for you?”
“Is Dan in?”
“Sure thing,” he nodded toward the hallways. “He’s back in his office.”
“Thanks,” she nodded heading that way, the other two following closely behind.
“He didn’t mention Harlem at all,” Anna whispered.
“I know. Do you think he even noticed him?”
“I don’t think he could see me,” Harlem chimed in. “He didn’t look in my direction once.”
The hallway was narrow and had a musty smell, only one indication of its age. Passing by multiple open doors, they saw an interrogation room with nothing but two plastic chairs, a records room with a bunch of old dusty filing cabinets, and finally the police chief’s office.
Sisterly Screams (The Dead-End Drive-In Series Book 1) Page 5
