Haunt Water

by Leigh Selfman

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Fifteen minutes later, I head to the deserted side street where I parked, all ready to go meet Tony. I've mapped the address he gave me on my new phone and I know exactly - or at least approximately where it is. Luckily, it's nearby, which, I'm assuming is why he picked it.

  But when I get out to my car and put the key in the ignition, it won't start.

  I keep turning the key, again and again, trying to get the engine to turn over and finally, after about twenty tries, it almost sounds like it's going to...but it doesn't. So I get out, lift up the hood and look inside. Which is totally useless, as I have no idea what I'm looking at. Car guts and grease, mostly. I look around.

  Thankfully, I see a guy heading towards his house across the way and I must look suitably helpless, because to my utter relief, he walks over.

  "Problem?" he asks.

  "Yeah. My car won't start. I don't know what it is."

  He frowns and reaches in under the open hood and begins checking various things. "Did you check the fuses?"

  "Cars have fuses?"

  He shakes his head and opens a compartment and looks inside. Then he fiddles around a bit and mumbles something about a blown fuse. Then he walks away.

  "Is that serious?" I call out to him as he walks further and further away from me. I fear he's just going to go into his house and leave me stranded, but instead he comes back out of his garage, a few moments later, holding something in his hands.

  "Always keep some spare fuses around," he mumbles as he slots a fuse into it’s space. "Okay. Now give her a try.”

  I nod and get into the car and start it up...and low and behold...it starts!

  The guy gives me the thumbs up as I thank him profusely and offer to pay him for the part he gave me. But he just waves me off and heads back to his house.

  I look at the time on my phone again and realize that I'm already late for my meeting with Tony. But better late than never I mutter under my breath, then I head out.

  I arrive at the warehouse and park behind Tony's blue Jetta.

  Getting out of my car, I look around, thankful that it's still light out - otherwise I really wouldn't want to be in this area alone.

  The lot in front of the building is weedy, dirty and decrepit – and as I head inside, I see that the inside of the building isn't much better. It’s a huge warehouse that must once have been the scene of a fire, as there are black smoke marks all over the wall to my left.

  Old crates and empty shipping pallets are strewn all over the filthy floor, and there are some dismembered pieces of office furniture and shelves scattered around the big dark space as well. But there is no sign of Tony. Which is strange, because his car was out front.

  "Tony?” I call, looking into a small room off to the side. But there's no sign of him.

  I don't really want to venture any further inside the dark warehouse alone, so I decide I’ll wait for him out front. I’m about to go back outside and call him on the phone...when I hear a low, guttural sound coming from further inside the building.

  I stop and turn back around.

  The sound of soft moaning drifts towards me.

  “Tony?” I call out. There’s no answer so I step further into the darkness. I keep going and see what looks like a huge sack of flour, lying on the filthy ground. But when I get closer, I realize that it's Tony.

  "Tony? Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" I kneel down at his side as he groans and moves his head. I see that he has a large, bleeding wound on his scalp.

  "Shoot! Don't move! Don’t worry," I say as I frantically reach for my phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."

  I dial 911 as Tony keeps groaning and soon, an ambulance is on its way.

  "What happened, Tony?" I whisper in a shaky voice as we wait for it to arrive. I'm not expecting an answer but he actually moans something in response that sounds vaguely like "elfwell'.

  I think maybe he's babbling until I realize that I’ve been staring at big metal shelf that's lying on its side right next to him. "The shelf fell? Is that it? It fell on you?"

  He groans again but doesn't answer.

  Finally, the paramedics arrive, and after taking his vitals, they quickly whisk Tony onto a stretcher and out to the waiting ambulance. After informing me of which hospital they're taking him to, they zoom off to and I hurry to my car, planning to meet them there.

  Part of me is wondering why I'm going to all this trouble for Tabloid Tony – a guy who not only stole a script out of my apartment but who has also been blackmailing me as well. But what can I say? I guess human empathy just wins out in situations like this.

  As I get to my car, I realize I must’ve left my keys inside the building. So I hurry back in to retrieve my purse. As I pick it up, I notice a cell phone lying on the floor in the corner of the room along with a set of keys on a VW keychain nearby.

  My guess is that they’re Tony’s and that he dropped them when he fell, so I pick them up and put them in my purse, planning to give them back to him at the hospital. Then I head back outside.

  But as I pass Tony's car, I glance inside - and there, on the passenger seat, is the script he took from me. Using his key remote, I open the car door, grab the script and then relock his doors and get into my own car. Then I map the hospital on my phone and speed off, to go check on how he’s doing.

  I arrive at the hospital about 20 minutes later and there's really not much I can do except wait. I'm useless to the people that work there, who ask me various questions about Tony that I have no idea how to answer. In fact, when the ER nurse asks me Tony's last name, all I can do is shrug. "I just know him as 'Tabloid Tony,'” I tell her.

  "That's not much help at all," she answers.

  "I know. Sorry."

  I go to sit down in the waiting area. And I wait. And wait some more. And after a long while I get up and go back to talk to the lady at the desk who informs me that Tony has had some X-rays and is still waiting to see a doctor and that I won't be allowed in to see him in any case since I'm not a relative. I leave her my number and tell them to please call me when there's any word. Then I take off to go walk Trevor, who’s probably dying for a good pee.

  Once at home, Trevor sniffs me intently. More intently even than usual.

  Clearly the warehouse and hospital are both major smell-repositories and he’s eager to ferret out every scent I might have picked up there. Which makes me all the more eager to take a shower and get cleaned up.

  So I do. Then I feed Trevor and take him out for a long walk.

  We come back home by way of the back alley, where I see that same kid from earlier. Trevor and I walk over to him.

  "Hi. Did you ever find your dog?" I ask.

  He looks at me for a moment and shakes his head. "No. Have you seen Sparky?" he asks, looking around.

  I shake my head ‘no’ as the kid bends down to pet Trevor. Then, before I can ask him if he put up any fliers or anything, he runs off down the alley and disappears in through a nearby gate.

  I shrug and head home towards my own gate, and as Trevor and I walk into my yard, I can't help but look longingly over towards Gabriel's bungalow. He seems to be home – at least judging by the fact that his car is there and Buster is barking madly. But he doesn't come out to say hello.

  He doesn't even come to his window to acknowledge my existence. It’s like, somehow, by my bringing up this ghost stuff, that's exactly what I've become to him. A ghost. A nonexistent person. It's horrible.

  Knowing he's so close and yet so far, makes it hard for me to do anything but think about him. So even though I go inside and sit down to do some work on my newest script, I get pretty much nothing done and ultimately fall asleep. When I wake up several hours later, it's nighttime.

  My guess is that they'll probably be wrapping for the night soon, so I can head back to the boat to check things out. Which, of course, is the last thing I want to do.

  But I have no choice. I have to get back and snoop around and see if I can fin
d out what that ghost is trying to tell me, once and for all.

  I yawn and gather my things. "Okay. Heading out," I tell Trevor, who looks at me accusatorially - as if to say, "But you just got home!"

  I go over and pet him and he continues to stare at me in a guilt-inducing fashion.

  "Okay. You can come with me,” I say. “But you'll have to wait in the car. They might not like having a dog on a boat.”

  I open the front door and walk out, and as if understanding, Trevor runs out and over to the passenger side of the car and paws at it until I open it. Then he hops right in. I glance once more towards Gabriel's bungalow…and see him staring out at me.

  I freeze.

  Should I get out and go over and say hi? Should I be cool and drive away? Should I smile and wave?

  Before I have a chance to decide, his blinds close and his face disappears from my view.

  Oh. Wow.

  My eyes tearing, I wait an extra minute or three, just in case he’s on his way out to talk to me. But it soon becomes painfully clear that he’s clearly not, so I drive off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I get to the boat in record time and, just as I thought, filming must have ended a while ago as the place is completely deserted.

  So I grab Trevor and carry him in my arms, hoping that it'll be okay to bring him aboard -- though my guess is that the snide security guard will definitely stop me.

  My fears are all for naught, however. Jose is nowhere to be found. His chair is there, along with his bag of snacks and radio which are sitting on top of it but there’s no sign of the man himself. Which is unfortunate, since tonight of all nights I'm a little nervous about going on board. I could use the interaction - even if it's only made up of snarky comments and eye rolls.

  Oh well. At least this way I won’t have any problem getting Trevor aboard, I think. And as I board the Andrea Claire I tell Trevor how happy I am to have him with me. Happier than usual even - since though Trevor's not a guard dog, he is good company - especially on a creepy, dark boat with a history of bloody murders.

  We head down the steps and though the light is on in the corridor, it provides only dim illumination. I’m unable to ignore the sense of dread and anxiety that’s rising from my chest. I tell myself that I'm just being silly -- after all, the murders happened long ago. The danger is over. But somehow that doesn't help. The place seems really ominous tonight - even more so than usual. Maybe it’s just the stress over what happened to Tony earlier.

  But no matter, I force myself on. I'm determined to find out what the ghost is trying to tell me one way or the other. Tonight's the night.

  But when I get to the doorway of the parents' room - I hesitate.

  The door is slightly ajar but for some reason, I can't make myself push it open further.

  I tell myself not to be such a scaredy-cat and I reach out for the handle. But I can’t bring myself to open the door.

  Come on, I tell myself. There's not going to be anything inside that's dangerous. It's a film set now not a crime scene. The massacre happened over fifteen years ago.

  But still, I can’t quite force myself to push it open.

  Trevor, however, has no such compunction. He shoves his nose against the door and pushes his way inside. I laugh and follow him into the cabin.

  The light is off inside and it's so dark that I can't see a thing. I feel around the wall, find the light switch and flip it on. And as soon as I do, my eyes are assaulted by flashes of blood and gore. It's everywhere. On the walls, the floor. There's even blood spattered on the ceiling.

  I grow dizzy and nauseous as I try to take it all in.

  I tell myself that’s it’s just a vision. A hallucination. It can’t be real. But as I back my way out towards the door, my hand accidentally swipes across a bloody smudge and I look at my fingers... there’s real blood on my fingertips.

  Reaching back, I fumble for the door handle and finally get the it open again. I’m backing my way out as I look around for Trevor.

  "Trevor," I call out. To my horror, I spot him on the other side of the bed, happily licking the blood off the wall.

  "Trevor, get away from that!" I scream, letting go of the door which swings shut behind me.

  I stare horrified as he continues to lick away. I know I should go in and pull him away, but I can't bring myself to move.

  "Trevor, let's go," I say firmly. Then I turn to go. But just then, the door starts to open on its own.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  To my surprise, in walks a youngish guy with red hair. He's holding several rolls of paper towels in one arm and a bucket and cleaning supplies in his hands.

  I stare at him, confused.

  "Oh, hey," he says, completely unperturbed by the gory scene behind me. "I didn't realize anyone was in here. You're the ghost girl, right?"

  I stare at him, dazed. "What?"

  "The ghost hunter? That's you, right?"

  He goes over and puts the towels and cleaning products down, then he picks up a bottle and begins spraying the bloody wall with a cleaning solution, before wiping it down with a paper towel.

  At that point, I realize that he's probably not some kind of serial killer who's politely cleaning up after himself. And I'm so relieved by this that I'm finally able to form words.

  "Are you...on the crew?" I ask.

  "Yup. I'm the lucky PA who gets to clean up all this mess. Are you sure you're okay?" He glances over at me again.

  "Yeah. I'm okay," I say. I nod and take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. I’m relieved to learn that this bloody scene isn't any kind of hallucination or vision. It's real. At least by Hollywood standards.

  "So...um...did you guys just film the murder scene in here?” I ask.

  "Yeah," he says, bending down to unroll more paper towels. "They weren’t supposed to do the scene until next week but for some reason it got pushed up. But they may as well have waited since it looks like they're going to have to reshoot the whole thing anyway. Something happened with all the film. It all got ruined."

  "Ruined?"

  "Yup. They're not sure how. The camera and everything seemed to be working fine, but somehow, all the film came out blank."

  He tears off more towels and starts in on another section of wall.

  "Wow, that's strange," I say. Then I frown as I notice that Trevor is now licking a spot of the fake blood off the floor.

  "Trevor, get away from that," I command. Trevor, as usual, ignores me.

  "It's okay," the PA says. "There's nothing bad in it - it's mostly just corn syrup and food coloring. Actually he's sort of doing me a favor."

  Nevertheless, I go and pull Trevor away from the ‘blood’ which makes him growl in response. He obviously thinks he's found nirvana - a place where the walls flow with delicious, blood-red syrup -- and as usual, I'm trying to keep him from his fun.

  "So they don't know why the film got ruined?" I ask, dragging Trevor away to a syrup-free corner of the room.

  "Nope. No idea," the guy says. "The cameraman said maybe it was old. Though some of the other crew were saying that maybe the ghost did it. Y'know, like maybe he didn't like the way the scene had been written or something."

  "Huh. Everyone's a critic," I shrug.

  "Yeah. Exactly," he laughs. "Hey, maybe you can ask him what the problem was," he smiles. “The ghost, I mean.”

  "Yeah, maybe," I say, vaguely, thinking that's probably exactly what I should do.

  I frown as I look around the room again. "Um…did you move that nightstand over?" I ask.

  The guy opens another roll of paper towels and starts in on the far wall. "Nope. It was like that. Why?"

  "Did they move it when they were filming?"

  "Nope," he says again. "I know for sure because I would've been the one moving it."

  "Huh," I say, thinking that something definitely does seem different about it. I'm almost certain that that nightstand was moved again.

  I dig around inside my purse
and find the photo of the room that I asked Mary to take for me the other day. And as I study it, I can't help but conclude that, yet again, that nightstand seems to have been moved over.

  And yet again, that part of the wall where I originally found the old Polaroid – is exposed.

  But unfortunately, I don't have time to think about it, because at just that moment, Trevor starts dry heaving.

  "Oh shoot! Trevor hold on!" I scream as I quickly snatch him up and dash out and down the hall.

  We make it off the boat and onto dry land in time. I place Trevor down on the grass where he looks at me, puzzled.

  "Okay. Feel free to vomit now," I say as I wait for him to upchuck all of the corn syrup and food coloring he just lapped up. But alas -Trevor now seems perfectly fine. He sniffs around in the weed, pees in few spots, then looks at me as if wondering what more I expect of him.

  “Go on. Throw it all up now, Trevor. Because once were back on the boat you can’t do it.”

  He sits down and starts licking his leg.

  I wait around for a few more minutes just to be sure nothing's coming up, and as I do, I start to hear a weird dinging sound. It takes me a moment to realize that it's an alert from my new phone.

  Hoping against hope that it's a text from Gabriel, I eagerly pull my phone out of my bag. But when I check my text messages, I see that it's from ‘dentist’.

  In other words, Tabloid Tony.

  Relieved to be hearing from him and that he’s well enough to text, I open the message which says: “I’m fine. Thanks for your help. I need to talk to you.”

  I’m just about to call him, when I notice another message on my phone.

  This one is from Gabriel! I quickly open it and read the words, “We need to talk.”

  Oh no. That doesn’t sound good.

  My heart immediately starts thumping as I dial him back. The phone rings and rings but there’s no answer. So, with no choice, I leave a message telling him to call me back, then I lean against a metal railing as I wait for him to call back.