The Third Floor

by The Third Floor (epub)

  Liz stood back, uncertain, but not quite afraid.

  "You won't scare me away," she said.

  The boy stared, but Liz couldn't tell if he was staring at her, or at something past her. Finally his eyes focused on Liz and his lips cracked open in a bad impression of a grin.

  "It's not scaring you he wants," he said.

  "What does he want?" She didn't have to ask who was "he".

  "This place isn't good to families. It tears them up like trash."

  "What does he want?" Liz asked again.

  "Save yourself from this," the boy said. He took a step back and was swallowed in shadow.

  In the main room, the piano sounded discordant notes. While she couldn't place the spot specifically, it was definitely coming from the main room, somewhere by the front windows.

  She moved like a dream, drifting from one place to another, now by the stairs, her foot hovering above the bottom one, ready to step up. Her hand clutched the banister and from behind her the piano fell silent, the notes dead on the air. She moved upward as if gliding over the steps without touching them.

  She turned her head backward and up to see the body dangling from the rail over her head, its weight dead, the features blurred by rot.

  The body jerked, the mouth gaped and screamed, "You can't save yourself," and Liz found herself sitting up in bed, panting, sweating, naked.

  She got up, slipped into a pair of shorts and a tank top from the floor, and went upstairs. On the second floor, she turned on the kitchen and bathroom lights then went into the main room. There was no light in here, but the others gave off enough to compensate.

  In the middle of the room, she looked at the walls, quiet, listening, waiting. After a minute of nothing, she said, "Come on. Show me something. I thought you were all gone, but I guess I was wrong. I don't know what you want, or how to get rid of you, so why don't you just show me something. Quit fucking around."

  The night made its noises, but the house made none. Crickets chirped outside. Traffic down the street on Pacific blew by. But the house was settled out for the night, it seemed. And the ghosts, if they really were still there, had also turned in.

  She wanted to go back to bed, to tell herself there was nothing there. But she couldn't do it. Not yet. She knew if she had this chance and passed on it, if she assumed everything was fine, then found out later that it wasn’t, she’d regret it. So she waited. She listened. She expected. But still nothing happened. Nothing thumped. Nothing touched her. Nothing spoke to her.

  She must have stood there for an hour. By the time she moved, her legs had begun to cramp and her feet were sore from standing. She hadn't spoken again, and neither had the ghosts. Maybe they really were gone. She'd dreamed tonight. She must have dreamed last night, too.

  She sighed, relieved, and turned out the lights, then went back to bed. The clothes were drenched in sweat when she stripped them onto the floor. The bedroom was stifling. She draped the sheet over her legs, rolled over, and let herself sink back to oblivion.

  Chapter Eleven

  Every once in a while, she'd remember the book under Jack's side of the mattress and she'd think again of asking him what it was, why it was hidden. But she only remembered when Jack was gone, and by the time he came home, she'd forgotten it again.

  As summer progressed in Angel Hill, the temperature was incredible. No, not the temperature. The humidity. It had been hot and humid if Texas, too, but for some reason this summer was almost too much. She didn't know if it was specific to the region, or if it was a killer summer everywhere.

  Jack had called his brother a few days ago and Liz had him ask about the weather. Allen said it was hot, but nothing too bad. Standard Texas summer fare, he said.

  They got the air conditioner, finally, and shoved it into the window in the bedroom. Liz said in the middle of the day, she could handle a simple fan in the living room, but that nighttime heat was killing her. They kept the door connecting their bedroom to Joey's open at night, and cooled both rooms.

  Then one night in the middle of July, it rained. Blessed, beautiful, cooling rain. It came while everyone slept.

  From her dreams, Liz sensed the thunder and lightning, but she was dreaming about swimming. Jack rolled over in his sleep and moved his arm to rest against Liz's back. He pulled the sheet tighter and shivered.

  Joey dreamed of a midnight chase through the house, the man dogging his heels while outside everything was black and flashing with thunder cracking in his head.

  The rain came in sheets, blown by the wind. Everything was wet. The lightning came every few seconds, accompanied by vicious thunder. Liz moved in her sleep, but didn't wake.

  Joey found the first floor and darted down the hall into his parents' bedroom, but they weren't there. He thought he heard them in the living room, but going across the hall would show the man where he was. But he had to find his dad, or Liz. He dreamed he was wearing his fast shoes, and he zoomed across, into the living room. The sound was from the television playing a Scooby-Doo cartoon. The gang was in a haunted house. Velma said "Jinkies", and lightning flashed again. A shadow fell across Joey and he turned around to see the man outside the window, the world glaring behind him. The man raised his arms and screamed rage as his fists crashed into the glass, shattering it and sending shards flying across the room.

  Joey screamed himself awake.

  In the living room, glass shattered, spraying the floor with shards and rain.

  The combination of Joey and the glass woke Jack and Liz.

  Liz was up first, yelling, "Something broke." Jack leapt from the bed, not sure what was going on, but he knew Liz had screamed.

  He rubbed his eyes and asked, "What?"

  "I think a window just broke."

  "Where?"

  "I don't know, maybe in Joey's room. He's crying."

  Jack was in Joey's room but returned just seconds later. "It's not in there. I'll find it, you get Joey."

  Liz slid into a pair of shorts and Jack went into the living room.

  The window behind the couch was an empty pane and slivers of glass covered the couch and floor. Rain flew into the room. His foot sank into the carpet, cold and wet. He turned on the light and said, "Shit."

  Think about it, he told himself. It's a process.

  First he had to stop the rain from coming in. Cover the window with something. What? The room behind the bathroom upstairs, there was a roll of plastic up there. And a staple gun in the kitchen drawer. Jack took the stairs two at a time to the top and turned on the third floor bathroom light. Actually, that was the only room on the top floor with a light. He found the plastic leaning against the wall in the storage room and he slung it over his shoulder. He flipped off the light and went back to the stairs.

  But he stopped at the top, listening.

  Was someone up here?

  No. There was no one else in the house, and Liz was downstairs with Joey.

  But that sounded like whispering.

  He cocked his head toward the darkness and waited. After a second, he snapped himself out of his daze and said, "No, it's the rain on the roof." And he ran back downstairs thinking, Which is also getting into the house so I'd better hurry up before anything’s ruined.

  He laid out the plastic on the living room floor, then ran to get the staple gun and a pair of scissors from the kitchen. Cutting the plastic was harder than he had expected; it kept sliding over itself and he couldn’t get a good enough grip, let alone an even piece. He ended up with a piece that looked as if a blind man with one arm had cut it. But it was big enough to cover the window behind the couch.

  Jack hung it, centering it over the open pane, and shot a staple into the center. Then he finished both sides of the top and shot staples down along the sides and bottom. He stood back and looked at the job. Not pretty, but the rain would stay outside.

  He brought towels from the bathroom, all the dirty ones he could find, and as few clean as possible, and soaked up the rain from the carpet
. Then he brought in the kitchen trashcan and began tossing the bigger glass shards into it. When all he had left were the smaller pieces, he got on his knees and spent over thirty minutes plucking them from the couch and the carpet.

  He finally climbed back into bed to find Liz already there.

  "What was wrong with Joey?" he asked.

  "Bad dream," she mumbled.

  Jack was in the bathroom dressing for work the next morning when he heard Liz shout down the hall, "What the hell is this mess?"

  He tucked in his shirt, swept his hair to the side with his hand, and came out into the hall.

  "That's the glass you heard last night."

  "What are you talking about? I didn't hear any glass last night. I heard Joey crying."

  "No," Jack said. "You woke me up saying something had broken. You were half-asleep still, so you probably don't remember it, but you did."

  "I remember going to Joey's room because he'd had a bad dream."

  "And I came in a bit later because I'd been in here fixing this." He put his keys in his pocket and slid into his shoes. “I’m gonna call someone today to come and fix it right."

  “Did you get--?”

  "Yes. I got . . . well I got as much as I could. I'm pretty sure I got it all. If there's anything left, it's dust. If you want, I can vacuum it up before I go."

  "No," she said. "Never mind. I just didn't sleep that well. I was dreaming something about swimming, but it was so hot last night."

  He kissed Joey goodbye. Joey wiped his cheek and went back to his cartoons, slurping cereal from his spoon.

  "What are you talking about? It was the coolest night it's been in weeks."

  "I don't know. I don't. Forget it. I'm just still tired."

  "Well, when he takes a nap, go lay down."

  "I'm sure I will."

  Jack kissed his wife and went to work. Liz told Joey to watch cartoons while she took a bath, and then they'd find something to do.

  For the first time in forever, Joey wanted to go to the park. If Liz had known Joey's dreams, she'd have guessed it was because the terror in them had moved from the park to the house. So for Joey Upper Hill Park was no longer a threat, but his own house was.

  Liz watched him from the corner of her eye while focusing most of her attention on a book. After taking the haunted house and remodeling books back to the library, she'd grabbed a few paperbacks and was making her way through them. One sat finished on top of the television, one sat untouched next to it. One rested in her hands, spread open.

  Joey yelled at her from the top of the slide and she waved at him before he vanished behind the guard and began the swirl to the bottom.

  She turned her eyes back to her book and found her place just as a voice from beside her said, "Cute boy."

  Liz looked up and over to see the grinning idiot smiling at her. She smiled back and said, "Yeah, we're fond of him." She went back to her book. The grinner persisted.

  "Yeah, he's gonna have a hundred girlfriends when he gets older."

  "Yep."

  "How old is he?"

  "Six."

  "Oh, he's big for his age."

  "Uh-huh."

  Liz chided herself for being rude. You've been here how many months already? You don't know anyone here. You have no one to talk to except your husband and stepson, and this woman--who's perfectly nice--is trying to say hello, and you're brushing her off.

  That's because, nice or not, she's a grinning idiot. Do I want her hanging out with me all the time? No.

  "I kinda figured he was yours," the woman said. Her grin, so far, had yet to decrease in width. "I wasn't too sure with his hair, but it's almost darkened to your shade. It'll be there before too long."

  Liz had found her place and reread the same line three times.

  "I'm sorry?" she asked. "What?"

  "His hair," the woman pointed to him. "It'll be there 'fore too long.”

  Liz smiled and nodded, then looked at Joey. And she saw the woman was right. His hair was darker. It was no longer the bright blonde it was when they moved here. Now he sported dirty strawberry-blonde hair. She watched him play for a few minutes, laughing and running, and wondered when that had happened. She thought hair was supposed to lighten in the summertime.

  “You live just a few houses down, don’t you?"

  Liz looked at her for a second, trying to figure out if she recognized this woman.

  “You live in the big house? Next to the empty lot.”

  “Right,” Liz said. “Yeah, we just moved in. You live across the street?”

  “Across the street and up the hill a little way,” the woman said. “I think you’ll like it here. This is a good neighborhood, for the most part.”

  “Is it? You’ve been here a while?”

  “Of course. I grew up in Angel Hill. Used to live in the West End, but that’s no good over there, too many hoodlums. I’ve been in North End almost twenty years now--ten of it right there in the same house--and you couldn’t get me to move back even if it was rent-free.”

  Liz yelled for Joey and he came over.

  "We're gonna go home in a minute, okay? It's about time for lunch."

  He protested, whining a little.

  “But I’m not ready to go home yet. Can’t I have a few more minutes?”

  She agreed and they stayed a little longer, then finally gathered their things--Liz's book, her keys, Joey's shoes which he'd taken off soon after they got to the park--and walked the block and a half home.

  After lunch, Joey fell asleep quickly, despite his struggles to stay awake. And in his bed, with the air conditioner from his parents' room cooling him, he dreamed.

  The same dream; Joey ran through the black house, trying to find something, the best hiding place, or, if he were really lucky, Jack or Liz. He'd covered the bottom floor and found only locked rooms. On the second floor, it was the same. The bathroom was locked; the door between the main room and the dining room was closed and locked as well. Through the beveled glass in the door, he saw people sitting around the dining room table, eating a fancy dinner with candles and bottles of wine, laughing and talking and not realizing he was there. He didn't know these people, had never seen them before, and he found himself stuck between trusting that they were better than the man chasing him, and the fear that they might be the same as him. He watched, but only for a second, trying to decide. Finally he decided that in this place he wouldn't trust anyone, except his dad or Liz.

  He turned toward the stairs again and went to the third floor.

  Halfway up, he decided this had to be safer; there was light up here. All the rooms downstairs were dark, except for the candles in the dining room.

  At the top, he heard voices. And there were footsteps behind him--the man was coming.

  Joey ducked into the closest room, closed the door, and heard voices again. There were children in the next room. He went in and watched them. He'd already forgotten his decision not to trust anyone. He went to one and asked, "Is it safe here?"

  The boy looked up from his game of rolling a ball against the wall, then catching it when it bounced back. He smiled at Joey as if he knew him, then said, "Not safe anywhere."

  "Then we have to hide," Joey said.

  "No we don't," the boy said. He went back to his ball. Joey heard another voice across the room, this time crying.

  He went toward it. Then he stopped. The sobs were coming from the dead girl. Except she wasn't dead now. At least, she didn't look dead. But it was definitely the girl who chased him through the park. She looked up from her wet hands and saw him. Joey was glad to see she wasn't rotten and cracked in here. She looked just like any other girl with big wet eyes and a red face.

  "Why?" she asked him. "Why did my daddy kill me?"

  Just then the door behind them burst open, the man strode into the room, grabbed the girl by the neck and flung her against the wall.

  Joey woke up, then covered his head with his sheet, burrowing into himself, and cried.


  Liz was in the living room, cleaning. REM's Murmur CD played while she worked. She wiped dust from the top of the television, cleaned the screen, put Joey's DVDs back on their shelf. She was bringing in glass cleaner for the windows (minus the broken one) when the phone rang.

  She hit mute on the stereo and answered. “Hello?”

  "Why did my daddy kill me?" a small, terrified voice asked. Then the line went dead.

  Liz hung up, her heart pounding. She picked up the phone again, turned it on. The line wasn't dead; she had a dial tone. She put it back on its base. Then she stood in the middle of the living room, motionless, positive someone was watching her. It was a good fifteen minutes before she could shake it, but she tried to go back to cleaning to get her mind off it. She couldn't deal with all that stuff again, not right now.

  Charley Clark asked Jack if he'd finally finished The Outsider's Guide to Angel Hill.

  "Not yet," Jack answered. "Fact, I haven't looked at it much lately. Just been busy, I guess."

  The break room was half full, but there was space enough so everyone was spread out. That was something Jack had noticed. As close as everyone seemed out on the floor, when given the chance, they all claimed their own space.

  "Did you ever tell your wife about the house?"

  "No," Jack said. "The book's tucked under my side of the mattress and, God willing, she won't find it. We've only been here a couple of months and that's not nearly enough time for her to learn something like that. Especially when she's the one doing all the work upstairs. It'd probably freak her out too much. But I'll tell her eventually."

  "And you haven't changed your mind about any of it?"

  Jack finished a Coke and set the empty can on the table with a hollow clang.

  "What's to change my mind about?"

  "About the strange shit that happens here sometimes."

  "That," Jack said. As he stood to throw away his trash, he shook his head. "There's an explanation for all of it. I guarantee it. Maybe not always an obvious one like you and your brother and the balls with the magnets--can’t believe you thought I’d buy that--but nothing happens without a reason, you can believe that."