The After House

by Michael Phillip Cash

  It was cold outside. She looked through the blinds at the watery afternoon sunlight. Remy walked over to the fireplace to throw a log onto the fire in the hearth. She had burned though half her stash due to the cold. She knew Hugh had replenished, but she was running low again. She went to her back door and slipped on well-worn Uggs and an oversized barn jacket to run through the slush to her woodpile. She slid, landing on her side and feeling the freezing snow penetrate her yoga pants. As she went down, she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Twisting in the wet snow, she saw a silhouette of man run from the clump of bushes underneath her window toward the front of the house. Remy squinted hard though the gloomy late afternoon, her heart racing in her chest.

  Getting on all fours, she sprinted to the house in time to hear his booted feet pounding the cobbles in front of her home. She raced up the stone steps two at a time, then jogged to the front of her house. The empty street yawned before her, the silence thick. She stepped into the middle of the street and looked at the deserted blacktop, a shiver racking her slender body. There was no one there—not even a bird. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively in the ill-fitting jacket as she ran for the door. She was afraid to call the police. What if the alleged intruder was as real as the apparition she conversed with earlier? Maybe she imagined him as well. Remy pulled open the door, then closed and locked it. She slid down to the floor to land in a wet puddle. Scout welcomed her with a wet snout and wagging tail. The dog hadn’t even barked. Not once. What could she say? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. At this point, if she called the police, she had nothing to show.

  She crawled to the living room and lay her face against the soft rug in total exhaustion. What if she were losing her mind? She slid out of her pants, throwing them into the corner, and wrapped herself in the warm afghan. She stayed cocooned in the warmth of the blanket for a few minutes, hearing the old schoolhouse clock ticking in the silence. Her own breathing sounded loud in her ears. She must have dozed for a minute, because when she opened her eyes, the sun had disappeared leaving the room in total darkness. Scout lay curled next to her on the green rug.

  Remy yawned and stretched like a cat. She forced herself to get up. She put on every light in the house, warily looking around. Padding to the laundry room, she pulled out another pair of pants, put them on, then smoothed out her hair in her reflection in the cabinet. Hollow eyes looked back, her freckles so prominent, they looked like someone had dabbed them on. Her cheekbones looked resculpted, as if all her youth were cut away. The large bruise shaded her face, leaving it only half visible.

  She stared hard, losing focus for a minute. The glass wavered like liquid. Remy gasped as two faces took shape. She saw close-cut white hair. Remy’s eyes opened wide. What was Sting doing in her living room, and who was the woman with him? They were expressionless, with eyes that looked iridescent. Remy spun, her scream interrupted by the strident call of her cell phone. The air shimmered, as did the room. Remy blinked stupidly and looked around. “Dancing Queen” trilled from her phone. That’s what her parents called her, their dancing queen. The ring tone was a family joke. She let the call pull her out of the cascading terror. She ran to grab her phone in the living room and yelled a greeting just a shade too loud.

  Harsh breathing came through the receiver. There was a laugh, some guttural cursing.

  Remy shouted, “Who is this? What do you want?”

  “You think you’re safe. Sooner or later I’m going to get you. I saw you last night. Tonight I’m going to finish what I started.” There was a cackle of laughter. “Take a deep breath, because this may be your last.”

  Remy threw the phone down, burying her head against the nubby material of the couch. She pressed a hand against her beating heart and forced herself to take great gulping breaths. There would be a record of the phone call, she realized with relief. She finally had something tangible to show somebody.

  Remy stretched to grab the phone. She stared at the display, looking at all incoming calls, but there was nothing there, just Olivia’s earlier call. Did she imagine her stalker too?

  “Captain?” she called out. “Was that you?” She scrolled her phone again but could find no unidentifiable number. “Was that you screwing with me outside? Was it?” she screamed. Her fingers worked fast, combing through the information. “I’m losing my mind,” she sang as a mantra, repeating it as if it alone could save her sanity. She threw the phone at the mural. Her hair was wild. She looked like a crazy woman.

  “Breathe, Remy,” she admonished herself. “Breathe.”

  She moved into the downward-facing-dog position, letting the blood rush to her head. She put herself into plank, emptying all her thoughts, then did five sun salutations. Her face hurt, her muscles quivered, and just when she thought she couldn’t do another, she forced herself to continue. She slid into a resting pose and allowed her heart to calm. She became one with herself.

  She didn’t know how long she lay in that position until a rapping intruded. It was insistent, finally breaking into her reverie to drag her away from the peaceful spot she had found. She rose, her hand at her throat, trying to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Scout’s hackles rose, she barked once. Well, at least she was finally performing her duty. Remy glanced at the portrait, looking for the captain.

  “Oh, so now you’re quiet. Go scare them!” she said in an urgent whisper.

  The knocking ceased, then started again. She heard her name being shouted. She knew that voice. A smile spread across her face. Hugh. It was Hugh. She ran to the kitchen to let him in. Remy pulled him in by the jacket, slamming the door quickly behind him. Now Scout barked in a wild frenzy. Hugh looked at the dog sternly, forcibly telling her to sit. Scout sat down obediently.

  “I didn’t notice you had a dog last night,” Hugh said.

  Hugh was loaded down with packages. She grabbed one. “I didn’t.”

  “Whoa. Slow down. I’ll do it.” He put the packages on the counter. “You OK?”

  “Is there chicken?” she asked, nervously looking in the bags.

  “How did you know? I’m going to make roasted—” He pulled a package of poultry from the bag.

  “No, no. Put it back. It’s a problem.”

  “You don’t like chicken. Everybody likes chicken.”

  “The captain hates chicken. Oh, Hugh, you are not going to believe the afternoon I’ve had.”

  Hugh bent to pat the dog’s head. “Is this the captain? Hello, little guy. He doesn’t eat chicken?”

  “No, that’s Scout. My father brought him, I mean her, today. She’s a watchdog.” She pulled him by the hand. “Come sit down. I have to talk to you.”

  “Is everything OK?”

  “I’m not sure.” She led him to the couch. “This afternoon I saw him.” She pointed to the illustration on the wall.

  “That’s the captain you were talking about. Remy, maybe we should call the doctor.”

  She held up her phone. “Someone called and threatened me, but first, wait a minute,” she said breathlessly. “I thought I saw something outside.”

  “You went out? Remy, it’s so cold.” He took her in his arms. “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know.” She ran her hand through her hair, looking miserable. “A few minutes. . .no, I fell asleep. It was a while ago.”

  “Well, I didn’t see anything. Maybe you dreamed it. You’re still shaken up. Let me see your phone. Where’s the number?” Hugh took her phone to scroll down. “I don’t see anything unidentified. Your last call was your daughter. Do you feel all right, Remy? Should I call someone?” He pulled her to the sofa and sat down next to her.

  “I’m fine, Hugh.” Remy stood impatiently to pace the room. “I was on the couch. He appeared right here.” She touched another spot in front of him. “It was real. I touched him. He was ice-cold. A ghost.”

  Hugh smiled. “Couldn’t be a ghost. They’re apparitions. You can’t really feel them.”

  “What are
you talking about? I know what I felt. Anyway, you’re supposed to tell me there are no such things as ghosts.”

  Hugh leaned forward, pulled her onto his lap, and kissed her gently on the lips. He brushed the hair back from her face. He paused, as if debating whether to say something.

  “I don’t tell just anybody. You may think I’m crazy. You see, I have a ghost of my own at the church.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Yes,” he answered simply. “I believe you. I’d believe you even if I didn’t.”

  “Wait, that makes no sense.”

  “I know,” Hugh said with a grin. “But somehow it’s OK.”

  “You believe in ghosts too? What do you mean, you have a ghost of your own?”

  Hugh shook his head. “Happens to be an ancestor of mine. The whaler I told you about. I call him Peg Leg Henry.”

  “Peg Leg Henry?”

  “Yes. He was one of the two survivors of a whaler rammed by a large whale. He was a cabin boy, lost his leg. His captain saved him.”

  Remy grabbed his shirt collar, her face urgent. “What was his captain’s name?”

  “It’s so odd, coincidental, almost. I looked it up this afternoon. It was—”

  “It was me,” the captain said from across the room. Hugh protectively put his arms around Remy. He sized the captain up. Remy stiffened and bit her lip.

  “Do you see him?” she whispered urgently.

  Remy slid off his lap as he stood. He put her behind him.

  “You don’t have to whisper. I can hear you plain as day,” the captain told her. He faced Hugh. “I’m not going to hurt her. You can’t be Henry Falcon’s descendant. He died when he was a boy.”

  Hugh reached out, but the captain evaded his touch. “No, he didn’t. He was my paternal grandmother’s ancestor.” Hugh circled him warily.

  “He didn’t die after I brought him home? How do you know that?” the captain demanded.

  Hugh faced him. “I have his journal. He became a successful shipowner. I have a collection of scrimshaw he worked on.”

  Eli laughed. “What do you know? Did he improve with the etchings?”

  “I carry the first one he made in my pocket for good luck.” Hugh pulled out the tooth with the childish illustration on its surface. He held it up to the captain. “After all, he had it on him when your ship got wrecked.”

  Eli looked at the scrimshaw in Hugh’s hand. “Aye, that’s his. I don’t think it’s especially lucky. I thought he died from his injuries. He was as good as gone when I brought him home.”

  “He lived to a ripe old age. He comes by every year on the anniversary of your wreck. You saved him.”

  “For what? Life as a cripple. When I delivered him, his parents threw me out. He was half-dead when I left, they told me hopeless.” His voice was so sad. “Another whaling bark found us two or three days after our sinking. We were almost done for. Henry was nearly drained of blood. I failed his parents. I returned only half of their son.”

  “Sure, there were challenges, but let me assure you, Henry died a wealthy and happy man. He had fourteen children who ended up being highly successful. Why are you here?” Hugh asked him.

  The captain’s dark eyes glistened with tears. “I’m not sure. . .” His voice trailed off. “I got him home, but where did I go? I had a family, a wife, a girl, and. . .I don’t remember much. I need that woman to help me.” He faded into the mural.

  “Wow. What woman?” Hugh asked.

  “Why aren’t you freaking out? Do you talk to ghosts every day?”

  Hugh pulled Remy up, smiling. “What’s up with the chicken? You never told me. Do you know what woman he is talking about?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. He said a name, but I don’t remember. Alabama, or something. Should we tell someone? Should we call the police?”

  “Alabama? Oh! Maybe Georgia?” Hugh laughed. “That’s going to go over really well. They’ll fire me. They’ll lock us both up. It’s been going on for years, weirdness in this house. As soon as Pat started talking about it, they put him away. Besides,” he said as he took her hand to move into the kitchen, “I’ve never heard of anyone getting hurt by one of them. Georgia is not afraid.”

  “Who is this Georgia?”

  “You haven’t seen her show? She’s amazing.”

  “How amazing?” Remy asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “Talks-to-the-dead amazing. But now, apparently, so do I. I’m hungry. OK, OK.” He held up his hands. “Forget about the chicken.”

  They ended up with pizza, then wine afterward. Hugh built up a fire. With Remy’s small feet in his lap, his fingers massaged her toes, while she groaned in ecstasy. Leaning forward, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Remy looked around the room.

  “Forget him.” Hugh kissed her deeply. “He left a while ago.”

  “I have a three-date rule,” Remy told him between kisses.

  “What? We’ve been on three dates.”

  Remy reared back, her eyes luminous in the firelight. He held up his hand, listing the information.

  “I took you to tea, I took you to the hospital, and I took you for a rental car. I will admit you’re a cheap date.”

  Remy hugged him. He smelled delicious. Her body hummed with desire. He leaned into her, letting her feel his arousal. “They hardly count.” She kissed him on his lips and felt her soul ignite. “Why do you make me feel this way?”

  “Because it feels right.” Hugh kissed her back.

  “Tell me about your marriage,” Remy asked softly, brushing the brown hair from his eyes.

  Hugh pulled her close to him and let her rest her head on his chest. “Her family belonged to all the same clubs as my parents. They adored her. I was twenty-eight, and they kept asking me to settle down. She was lovely. It wasn’t her fault. I don’t even know if it was mine. I just knew it wasn’t right.” He sighed. “We gave up after the second year. Believe me, it broke my heart to end it. I almost stayed, because I didn’t want to hurt her, but we both realized it wasn’t working. She’s married now to some broker in Boston and has three children. What’s your war story?”

  “I was young, sheltered, and he was everything I thought I wanted. I never dated much, so I jumped at the chance to be with him. I think I wasn’t enough for him. Maybe I didn’t try enough.”

  “Maybe he didn’t,” Hugh kissed her. “I doubt it was you. You just weren’t meant for each other.”

  “Was there anybody else along the way?”

  “A few relationships. I didn’t invest much, because I didn’t want to waste either their time or my own. Flirtations mostly.”

  “Is this a flirtation?” Remy asked huskily, her amber eyes searching his.

  Hugh lifted her against him, kissing her long and hard. “You have to ask? Remy, I’ve never felt about anyone like this before.”

  “Me too,” she whispered back. “Once you know. . .”

  Their conversation stopped needing words.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Remy fell asleep encased in Hugh’s arms. She was exhausted. What began on the living room sofa ended in her full-sized bed, without the baleful stare of the captain upon them. Hugh lifted an additional blanket to wrap around them. The wind whistled through the eaves, the house creaking under the weight of the new snow, which softened all sound.

  Hugh squirmed closer to her, wanting to wake her, but felt she needed the sleep more. He kissed the top of her tousled head. His eyes searched the darkened corners of the room, and he gave a startled yelp when he spied the captain observing him from the armoire. The watchdog wagged her tail happily at the apparition.

  “Lecher,” Hugh whispered hotly. “How long have you been watching us?”

  “Long enough. She’s a good girl. I hope you’ll do right by her.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Hugh said. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Captain. You’ve been around long enough to know things have changed.”


  “Aye,” the captain said sadly. “Still, ’tis my ship and my rules, so I say you’ll—”

  They heard something drop downstairs. Scout rose on all fours, her hackles up, her teeth bared. Hugh sat up alertly, letting Remy’s head roll onto the pillow.

  “Down Scout,” he ordered softly. Sliding out of bed, he stood in all his naked glory.

  He heard a throat clearing behind him. “I’m all for scaring the hooligans, but I think you’ll do better with your breeches on.”

  Hugh slipped on pants. He heard the captain’s voice again.

  “Ahem, weapons, man. We need a weapon and nary a harpoon in sight.” The captain looked around the frilly room with a frown. “Take the bat in the corner.” Hugh grabbed the bat, holding it beside him as they left the room, closing the door on both Remy and Scout behind him. The captain walked through the door next to him. “Safety in numbers, seaman.”

  “I’m not a sailor,” Hugh whispered.

  The captain ignored him. “Take the fore, I’ll take the aft,” Eli advised as he winked out of sight.

  Hugh hugged the wall as he descended the steps. Snow drifted in from outside through the open door. There were no signs of forced entry. A key chain with some sort of fuzzy toy dangling from it hung from the lock in the door. He tiptoed down the steps toward the kitchen. A wet track of puddles sparkled on the wooden floor.