A Whispered Darkness

by Vanessa Barger

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2014 Vanessa Barger

  A Whispered Darkness by Vanessa Barger

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Month9Books

  Cover by Victoria Faye

  Cover Copyright © 2014 Month9Books

  For Randy –

  Thank you for your patience, love, and support. Most of all, thank you for being my personal Haven, in all the ways that word implies.

  For Mom and Dad –

  Thank you for all the support and love you’ve given me in my life. When I was a little weird kid, you always encouraged me, and when I grew into a big weird kid, you never stopped. Love you.

  For Roommate –

  For late nights, phone calls, advice, venting, chocolate, and so much more. You’re awesome. Thank you for always being my “bestie.”

  When a soul breaks, it isn’t pretty. The pieces are sharp; they cut and bite and rend at flesh. They seek blood, want vengeance. They congeal, become something more than they were, something dark and beautiful and terrible.

  And they seek companionship in their darkness.

  Chapter One

  I didn’t want to be alone in the dark. Not here. Not yet.

  The dark had never agreed with me. After The Incident, and all the shrinks and therapy, that much hadn’t changed.

  Several boxes had been pushed into the large kitchen of the sprawling Victorian mansion we now called home. I rummaged through one with “dishes” scribbled across the side. Mom and my younger brother, Grant, were out getting the pizzas to christen our first night in a new house.

  While I hoped this would be a new start, I didn’t hold my breath. Nothing had gone the way we’d hoped so far. Dad left with a blond bombshell. Mom went into therapy. They got a divorce. And here we were. Living in an aged mansion that made me feel like I needed a tetanus shot just to breathe the air inside.

  There was optimistic and then there was delusional.

  Pushing hair out of my eyes, I pulled a stack of bowls out. Nothing else was in the box. “Note to self: never let Grant label anything ever again.” I muttered.

  Of course, it might have been part of his plan. My baby brother wasn’t stupid, despite being fifteen, and sometimes not completely possessed of a brain.

  Thank God the fridge was new. I grabbed a bottle of water from inside. Based on the layer of dust and dirt on everything else, I didn’t want to imagine what the previous stove and fridge looked like.

  Mom had been so eager to get into this new place she hadn’t allowed time for much cleaning beforehand. We had two days to move from the old house, two hours away, into the new one. I sipped the water. What weird hold did this place have over Mom? She’d barely been able to contain herself when she first viewed it. It was like she craved this place. Maybe it was the new start. Maybe it was a chance to get away. In either case, it was out of character for her.

  I wasn’t sure this was the fresh start I wanted, but Mom lit up when she talked about renovating the old Victorian home. It made her act more like the person she used to be, before the news about the affair and the inevitable divorce.

  A thud echoed through the house and I jumped. I took a deep breath and rounded the corner, glancing out the screen door to the driveway. No car.

  Another thump echoed, followed by a shuffling noise.

  My gaze moved to the ceiling as my heart skipped a beat. “Rats,” I whispered. “Has to be rats.”

  I stood in the wide foyer, the stairs ominous and dark in the center of the house. They drew my attention, and the urge to walk upstairs and investigate warred with the desire to run.

  I was seventeen years old. Time to act like it. It wasn’t even fully dark outside. I’d been home alone before. Sometimes for entire weekends.

  Snap out of it, Claire. You’re making something out of nothing.

  Goosebumps moved down my arms in another prickling wave, and I swore the temperature dropped. I took three steps toward the stairs.

  Outside, I heard a motor and then Mom’s voice calling my name. Relief flooded my body as I turned away from the upstairs and headed for the door.

  Mom was already heading for the trunk, and as soon as I got to the car, Grant thrust the pizza at me. I grabbed the box, my stomach rumbling at the smell. He reached into the passenger seat to pull out grocery bags with bottles of pop and extra things inside.

  “Get inside you two. We’ll leave the rest of this for later. I’m sure you’re both starved.” Mom sighed, shooing us with her hands toward the door.

  Grant didn’t acknowledge her. Tension stretched like a rubber band between them. The car ride hadn’t gone well.

  Great.

  Mom pushed things too hard with him. She wanted him to be okay, to realize out loud to her that Dad was a jerk. To tell her he was fine. But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t be for a long time. Mom might know it, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  It didn’t bode well for the future.

  I followed Mom up the steps. As we entered the foyer, I tapped her shoulder. “By the way, I think we’ve got rats. I heard something fall upstairs and scurrying.”

  Mom frowned, her gaze shifting to the ceiling. “Let’s hope it’s just an old house settling. I don’t want to have to deal with rodents.”

  “It didn’t sound like settling to me.”

  “I’ll have someone come out and look around.” She patted my shoulder.

  “You didn’t do that already?” Grant asked around a bite of pizza.

  “There hasn’t been time. But you’ll be okay for a few days. How about setting up the TV? The cable is on, all we have to do is plug it in.”

  Grant jumped on the chance, shoving a slice of pizza in his mouth at the same time. The television sat in the middle of the living room with a bunch of other furniture. Luckily, Mom had cleaned the living room when we arrived, before we moved things into it.

  While he fiddled with cords, I passed Mom a plate, taking one for myself and loading it with pizza. After pouring a drink, I trudged into the living room and flopped down with my dinner.

  Grant hopped up, having connected everything, and hunted through the box of electronics and cords next to the set. After a few moments of rummaging, he emerged, brandishing the remote over his head. “Ha ha! The scepter is mine!”

  While the cable box found a signal and the television flipped through the channels, he dashed back to the kitchen, returning with the entire pizza box and sat on the floor with it balanced on his knees.

  “You can use a plate, Grant,” Mom said.

  He shrugged, flipping through the channel guide. “Why dirty the plate? I’m starving.”

  Her mouth pulled into a frown, but she didn’t push the issue.

  I rolled my shoulders. They needed to end their battle of wills soon, because I wasn’t sure I could handle months of it. Too much more and I’d lose my cool.

  That’s what had started all this in the first place.

  Chapter Two

  Mom spread her sleeping bag on the couch while Grant and I took two air mattress
es on the floor in the living room. Mom went into the bathroom armed with sponges and cleaners to tackle the mess before we showered.

  While she was scrubbing, Grant turned on a movie and we sat back on the floor.

  “Does this place give you the creeps?” I asked during a commercial.

  “You mean like ‘ghosts’ or ‘death by decay?’”

  “Ghosts. I know it’s scary by any other definition. The prospect of cleaning this place sends me into cold sweats as it is.”

  He paused, his eyes never leaving the television. “I think it’s creepy. But it’s an old Victorian house. They’re made look creepy. Hopefully we’ll get used to it.”

  “I hope so.”

  Silence fell between us, until Grant scratched his neck and glanced over at me. “You don’t think what you heard was rats, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Let’s add freaky ghosts to the list of things we have to deal with.”

  “Maybe it was rats. Maybe it was me. It could have been a lot of things.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I guess. But I know you, and I don’t believe it.”

  “In all honesty, it was probably in my head. Old houses settle. Things fall.”

  “Especially here.” His gaze skimmed over the dusty corners of the room. “If you think it was nothing, I believe you.”

  I wished I could take the question back. The last thing I wanted to do was scare Grant. Or put ideas in his head. “I think it’ll be okay.”

  “If you tell me this will all turn out for the best, I’ll fart in your sleeping bag.” He groaned, the mood lightening. “Mom’s been repeating it to me for the last week.”

  I chuckled. “I know. It’s a little annoying.”

  “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot.”

  Mom’s footsteps vibrated through the floorboards beneath us as she came in. Her long, dark hair floated behind her in a tangled cloud that still looked gorgeous.

  “Done. The bathroom is good to go. Who wants to shower first?”

  I pointed to Grant. “He smells worse.”

  He rolled his eyes and stood. I giggled as Mom went into the other room to put down the cleaning stuff. I tugged on his pant leg as he walked past and whispered, “You can check to see if there’s actually hot water.”

  “You better hope there is.”

  I smiled as he grabbed some clothes from a duffel on the floor and rounded the corner to the bathroom. I was thrilled there was a full bath downstairs, because the thought of going upstairs made my skin crawl. Every time I turned my attention to the upper level, I could feel someone waiting for me, daring me to creep up the steps.

  I shook my head as Mom sat down on the couch behind me. Dreaming up ghosts wouldn’t help anything. Eventually I’d have to pick a room and sleep up there. Alone.

  In the dark.

  “Is your brother going to be able to handle this?” A tremor ran through Mom’s voice. The sound of water rushing through pipes in the walls indicated Grant couldn’t hear us.

  “I think he’s upset. But he’s a guy. They never handle things well. It’s in their DNA.”

  Mom chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “That’s an understatement.”

  I turned to look at her. One hand rubbed her forehead, and her eyes were bright with moisture.

  “You keep telling us things will work out. Don’t have second thoughts now.” I spread my arms, gesturing to the piles of boxes. “We’ve already moved all this crap. If you want it moved again, you’re going to have to hire someone.”

  “I’m afraid maybe this was too much. For both of you. But I really feel like this is the start we need. A foundation we can build on and make something that belongs to us alone.”

  Something without Dad in it. I got the message. The divorce had been civil, but it hadn’t been pretty. Where Grant and Dad were concerned, it got downright ugly. Grant had asked Dad when we’d see him next. He avoided answering until Grant couldn’t stand it and demanded a response. So as he’d slid the last packed suitcase into his car, Dad told him he didn’t know. He needed space to work out his life.

  Grant had flipped him off and suggested some anatomically impossible things he could do with himself while he was out soul-searching. Dad tried to speak to me before he left, but all he managed to do was flush an amazing shade of red and climb into the car, driving off without a second glance.

  It hurt more than I thought it would, but it wouldn’t kill me. Dad and Grant had been inseparable when he was younger. But once Grant grew out of T-Ball and Cub Scouts, Dad’s interests had turned to other pursuits. Ones with short skirts, implants, and blond hair.

  I focused back on the television. Mom’s voice grew even softer. “What about you, Claire? Are you all right?”

  And there was the opening. The place where I lied and pretended like it was nothing big. Like the world hadn’t fallen to pieces. I didn’t take it. I wrapped my arms around my knees. “No. Some things take time. I’m sure some day it will be all right.”

  Mom rubbed my shoulders. “I am sorry.”

  “It isn’t your fault. Dad made his choices. We’ve made ours. Now we’ve got to move on.”

  “You are always so much older than your age. Sometimes I forget you’re a teenager too. I have to stop talking so much when you’re listening.”

  A statement Mom made often. I bit back a remark. Everyone told me things they wouldn’t necessarily tell anyone else. They always had. Maybe it was my face, or the way I listened, or maybe just because I was there. I didn’t know.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I know you need someone to talk to. No biggie.”

  The fingers moving over my shoulders dug in a little harder. “Yes it is. You’re too young to listen to your mother complain about life. I’ve said too much about your father, your brother…everything.”

  “No, of course not. I don’t mind at all.” But I do. I’m your kid, not your shrink.

  Mom patted my back and sighed. “I mind. I’ll try to do better.” She paused, shifted, and sighed. “Tomorrow we’ll get the rest of the boxes, clean up things, and then on Monday we’ll go and get you two registered for school.”

  “I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t mind skipping that.”

  She tugged on my hair. “Maybe so, but we will. It’s your senior year. The best time you’ll have in high school.”

  I wanted this year to be better than the others. But I wouldn’t hold my breath. The sound of water stopped and my shoulders slumped in relief. Grant emerged a few minutes later in pajama pants.

  “That was the shortest shower ever.” I pretended to sniff the air around him.

  He shrugged. “I’m clean. Who cares how long it takes?”

  I rose. “My turn.”

  I slipped from the room, clutching clothes to my chest and taking deep breaths. This would be a new start for us. Whether it would be as good as Mom believed had yet to be seen. For all our sakes, I hoped so.

  ***

  With the lights off, the house was a different kind of dark, even with the small nightlight plugged into the wall near the doorway. Mom claimed it was to keep anyone from tripping in unfamiliar surroundings, but I knew better. It was for my benefit; a teenage girl who couldn’t stand being in the dark, alone or not.

  The fact made me feel small and ashamed. Not because my family said much about it. Grant never did, and Mom, after a few tries at a shrink, had been supportive. Dad was the one who tried to break me of it, but even he stopped after the first few night terrors.

  It was better for everyone if there was a little light.

  I slipped headphones on and turned my iPod on repeat. The sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata gently soared over the sound of waves against the shore. It was the water. The rhythm of it. No matter what season or time of day, it kept a steady beat. The surf might be rough and angry, punching the air with loud throbs, or it could be soft and gentle
, whispering its endless tune. Beneath it all, the steady intervals never changed. It was a way to focus.

  I rolled over, pressed back against the front of the couch, and pillowed my hands beneath my cheek. I could do it. Had been doing it. This was all an upset to my routine, but it would be okay. The waves helped, reducing my elevated heart rate to its normal, steady beat—perfectly in line with the ocean.

  Still, sleep wouldn’t come. My eyes were swollen with fatigue, and my body ached with it. But the feeling of something in the thick blackness outside the doorway nagged at me. I tugged off one earpiece and waited.

  A creak whistled through the air, then what seemed like a sigh. Could have been the wind. A small breeze curling from beneath a window frame. But I didn’t think so.

  “Enough,” I whispered. “Go away.”

  To my surprise the house stilled, silent as a tomb and tense as a funeral. Then another creak shot through the dark, and the feeling of being watched lessened, then left. I risked a glance at the doorway again. The darkness lost some of its texture.

  I rolled back over, replaced the earpiece, and tried to calm my beating heart back into the rhythm of the music.

  Peace didn’t come for a long time.

  Chapter Three

  “How did you sleep?” Mom’s cheerful chirp made me cringe. My head pounded and I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands as I sat up.

  “All right, I guess. But I’ve got a crushing headache.”

  Mom frowned from where she leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m sorry. Let’s get some breakfast in you and see if it helps.”

  Grant rolled over and groaned, flopping an arm across his face. “Dear God, let us sleep.”

  “Come on, butthead. It’s time to get up and get moving. Pun intended.”

  “Moving? Ha, ha.” He peered from beneath his elbow and sneered. “Being clever so early in the morning?”

  I shrugged. “Who can argue with brilliance?”