The House Next Door

by Joel A. Sutherland

  “That’s also ridiculous,” Chris said. “Horses don’t make glue. Do they?”

  Sophie nodded glumly. Chris looked shocked, then queasy. Then he shrugged it off and shoved a handful of marshmallows into his mouth.

  Nick continued, “The story most people believe is that a couple of kids, two brothers, waited for nightfall then led the horse out of the stable and took it for a joyride in the woods behind the school. Then, when they were done with it …” Nick paused and ran his thumb across his throat.

  “They killed the horse? Why?” Sophie said.

  Nick shrugged.

  “What happened to the brothers?” I asked, my throat dry. I took a sip of hot chocolate but it didn’t help.

  “I don’t know if I should tell you,” Nick said.

  “Come on, you can’t just leave us hanging,” I said.

  “Well, I’ll spare you the graphic details, but they were found dead in their beds one morning. Their bodies had been trampled as if by a horse.”

  “You didn’t tell them the best part!” Chris said excitedly.

  I didn’t know how there was a “best part” of this story, but Chris was only too happy to fill us in.

  “The kids lived in an old house that was torn down before this subdivision was built, and their house was next door to the farmhouse with the horse. Right where you live now!”

  As I had expected, I failed to see how that was the best part of the story. And judging by the look on my sister’s face, so did she. But the rational side of me remembered that it was just a story. It was probably a big exaggeration or even totally made up. And even if it was true, what did it matter?

  I loved fantasy and horror movies, but I didn’t actually believe in ghosts. Real life wasn’t like that. There was no such thing as poltergeists. Ouija boards were just a toy. And a ghost horse? Please.

  Whoever lived on Briar Patch Farm had probably replaced the horse, that’s all. As far as I was concerned, that was the most likely story and I was happy to leave it at that.

  ***

  After we had finished our hot chocolate, we played a few games of Kill Screen — a video game that was impossible to beat. Surprise, surprise — we didn’t beat it. Not even close. Nick and I exchanged phone numbers before Sophie and I left. It was nearly lunchtime, and although Mom and Dad had said we didn’t need to help, I felt like we should at least check in to see how things were going. Sophie wanted to stay a little longer, but I said Dad would probably make her favourite lunch: grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup.

  The moving truck had arrived and a couple of guys were carrying our furniture into the house through the garage. Sophie and I crossed the street together, she a few steps behind me.

  “That stuff they said about the kids being trampled to death by a horse was a little far-fetched,” I said. “But let’s stay away from that farmhouse — the horse too — until we know a little more. Okay?”

  Sophie didn’t answer. I turned around. Sophie was gone.

  “Sophie?” I called out.

  The wind shrieked in response.

  I looked back at the Russos’ house. Sophie wasn’t there. I looked up and down the street. I didn’t see Sophie on the road or sidewalk. I was starting to get a little worried. Then I finally spotted her.

  She was standing on the front porch of the farmhouse.

  “Sophie? What are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer. She put her hands up to a window and peered inside.

  I ran down the sidewalk.

  Sophie approached the front door.

  I sped up the porch steps.

  Sophie raised her hand.

  I grabbed her shoulder to stop her from doing what she was about to do, but I was too late.

  Sophie knocked.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Sophie,” I whispered urgently. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

  “There’s no doorbell.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  “I don’t like mysteries,” she said. “I want to know who lives here, I want to know what happened and I want to know if they have a horse. A living horse.”

  I looked frantically from the door to the window. I didn’t hear any sounds of approaching footsteps or see any movement through the window.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Sophie took a few steps back and looked up at the house. I joined her. She pointed at a window on the upper floor. The window’s wooden slats were slightly open.

  “I think that window was closed before,” Sophie said. “Did you see?”

  “No, now let’s go.” I tugged on Sophie’s elbow but suddenly froze.

  Something had moved in the window. Just a flash — there and gone.

  I blinked and rubbed my eyes. “I must be seeing things. I thought I saw something in the window.”

  Sophie’s face was pale and tense. “I saw it too,” she said quietly.

  We shared a nervous glance and then, without saying another word, we turned and ran down the steps, along the sidewalk and into the front hall of our house.

  “Matt? Sophie? What’s going on down there?” Mom shouted from the second floor. She peered over the railing. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Sophie and I looked at each other again. But this time we burst out laughing.

  “Just playing, Mom,” Sophie said. “We met a couple of kids from across the street, went tobogganing, drank hot chocolate, played video games and had a race back here.”

  I raised my eyebrow at Sophie to say, Not telling Mom about what just happened next door?

  She shrugged as if to say, No way.

  I couldn’t blame her — we hadn’t really seen anything, anyway — so I faced Mom and nodded with a reassuring smile.

  Mom seemed to have other things on her mind. “All right. Well, these boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves.” She turned and disappeared.

  “Wait!” Sophie shouted. “What about lunch?”

  Mom answered from one of the bedrooms. “Your father made grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. Leftovers are in the refrigerator.”

  “Told ya.” I smiled.

  We took off our winter gear and weaved around randomly stacked boxes on our way to the kitchen. I took the food out of the fridge and put it in the microwave.

  Sophie sat at the table. “Why were you such a chicken back there?”

  I stopped what I was doing and stared at her. “That’s private property. You were trespassing.”

  “It’s not against the law to knock on a neighbour’s door to introduce yourself.”

  “But that’s not all you had in mind, is it? If I hadn’t pulled you away, you would have tested the doorknob to see if it was unlocked.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “C’mon,” Sophie said, raising her hands in exasperation. “You’re not curious?”

  I was as curious as she was — maybe more so. “That’s not the point. The point is … is—”

  “WWBD?” Sophie interrupted, pointing at my T-shirt.

  What Would Batman Do?

  “Batman,” I said with an air of geek superiority that I hoped would win me the argument, “is a superhero, one of the good guys. He would never break into someone’s house.”

  “Batman wouldn’t break into the Joker’s lair to prevent him from doing something evil?”

  “Yeah, I guess he probably would, but A,” I held up fingers as I made my points, “we don’t live next to the Joker; B, our neighbours aren’t doing anything ‘evil’; and C, we don’t even know who lives there yet!”

  The microwave beeped. I turned back to it and tested the soup with my finger, then heated it up a little more.

  Sophie sighed and looked out the kitchen window. “Still snowing … but no horse tracks in the field.”

  “What’s your point?” I asked over my shoulder.<
br />
  “Horses need lots of exercise, Matt,” Sophie said in a huff.

  “Okay, okay.” I took the soup out of the microwave, then carried everything over to the table. “Something seems a little off, I’ll give you that. You know, the first night in the house, I saw the horse staring at us through the window.”

  “That was late,” Sophie said with a mouth full of grilled cheese. “Who would leave their horse out in the dark? That’s just reckless.”

  I slurped a spoonful of hot soup and shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe we do live next to the Joker.”

  ***

  Later that night, long after my family had all gone to bed and I’d read a few chapters of the latest Screamers book, I rifled through my box of Batman comics looking for one in particular. My conversation in the kitchen with Sophie had reminded me of a comic. I found it and flipped through its pages.

  In the comic, Batman fights a villain called Gentleman Ghost, a spectre who wears a cape, a top hat and a monocle. His main power is hurting living people with something he calls a “death touch.” As far as Batman villains go, I always thought Gentleman Ghost was a little lame, but his horse was pretty cool.

  Gentleman Ghost rode a phantom horse, a giant white beast with glowing red eyes. The comic horse and the horse next door were both tall, but Gentleman Ghost’s horse looked strong and healthy. The neighbours’ horse looked sick and neglected.

  I decided to show Sophie the Batman comic, assuming she hadn’t fallen asleep yet. I crept down the hall, careful not to wake Mom and Dad, and opened her door.

  “Sophie?” I whispered in the darkness. “You asleep?”

  I expected to hear something along the lines of, Not anymore, thanks to you. But instead I was met with dead silence. I couldn’t even hear her breathing.

  My fingers fumbled up and down the wall until they landed on the light switch. I flicked it on. I immediately wished I could turn the light back off, turn back time, unsee what I had seen.

  Sophie was lying in a bloody puddle in her bed. Her body had been trampled and mangled.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I ran to Sophie’s bedside. But as soon as I got there I stopped, confused.

  The gruesome image had disappeared. Not only was Sophie’s bed no longer covered in blood, but Sophie wasn’t lying in it at all. She was gone.

  I closed and rubbed my eyes and was relieved that her bed was still empty when I looked again. Luckily I hadn’t screamed, or else Mom and Dad would’ve rushed in and then I’d have to explain why I’d been so scared. I didn’t want to have that conversation.

  “What is going on?” I whispered to myself. I’d never hallucinated before, and I’d definitely never imagined anything so disturbing. I made a mental note to cut back on Screamers books at bedtime and scanned the room for any sign of Sophie.

  In addition to her bed, the movers had brought up her dresser, desk and chair. There were a few stacks of unpacked boxes pushed up against one of the boring white walls. I didn’t see anything that gave me any clues.

  If I’d been out of bed at this time of night I’d have been watching TV, playing video games or eating junk food. Sophie wasn’t into movies and gaming as much as I was, so it had to be food. I turned off the bedroom light and snuck down to the kitchen.

  Outside, the moon was blocked by clouds and the kitchen was nearly pitch-black. I turned on the light expecting to see my sister sitting at the table with a plate of food in front of her. She wasn’t there, but at least I wasn’t met with another gory hallucination.

  Where was she?

  There was a plate on the kitchen counter. I walked over for a closer look. On the plate was a small kitchen knife, sticky with juice, and an apple core. I assumed she’d eaten the apple, but it wasn’t like Sophie to leave her dishes out.

  My heart began to beat a little faster and my palms grew sweaty. I had a bad feeling that something awful had happened to her. It was time to get Mom and Dad. They’d know what to do.

  I turned off the kitchen light and started to head back upstairs, but then I noticed that the backyard light was on. That was odd. I looked out the window above the kitchen sink.

  Something was out there — between our house and the farmhouse — something I’d seen before. Two large reflections of light.

  Red eyes.

  My vision adapted to the darkness and soon I could make out the horse’s outline. It was approaching the fence.

  I forgot about Sophie for a moment as I wondered why the horse was out so late again. And then I thought of the two kids Nick and Chris had told us about, the two they claimed the horse had killed where our house had been built.

  That’s when it clicked and I realized why I had seen Sophie’s battered body in her bed. It wasn’t Screamers or anything else I’d read or watched lately. It was the story the brothers had told me earlier. It was messing with my mind, making me see things. That was all.

  The clouds parted in the sky and the moon peeked out, full and bright. I could clearly see the horse. And now, in the silver-blue light of the moon and the snow, I could see what the horse was approaching.

  Sophie. She was outside. What was she doing outside?

  She had hopped over the log fence that separated our property from the farmhouse and was walking toward the horse. She reached out her hand. Her lips formed words but I couldn’t hear her through the kitchen window.

  The horse stopped when they were face to face and watched my sister for a tense moment. It bowed its head and sniffed at something in Sophie’s hand.

  Apple slices.

  The horse snorted and pulled its head back.

  I ran to the sliding glass door, opened it, stuck my head out and was about to shout at Sophie to get back inside, but I froze, unable to make a sound. Someone had stepped out of the farmhouse. An old man. He looked furious. He pointed a pitchfork at Sophie and yelled, “Get away from my horse!”

  Startled, Sophie dropped the apple slices.

  The old man ran across the field with murder in his eyes.

  And then the clouds covered the moon again. I could barely see a thing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WWBD?

  He’d run straight outside, reach into his utility belt, knock out the old man with a well-thrown Batarang and jump onto the horse’s back. Then he’d ride it to the stable, where he’d lock it safely away.

  I didn’t have a utility belt loaded with gadgets, nor the ability to jump up onto a horse’s back, but I couldn’t just stand in the kitchen and watch Sophie get attacked. I ran outside without even stopping to put on boots. The snow was so cold it felt like it burned the soles of my feet with every step.

  “Sophie, move!” I yelled.

  She didn’t move. It was as if she didn’t even hear me.

  The old man was only about fifteen metres away from Sophie. He’d reach her in no time. He raised his pitchfork above his head.

  I shouted again, louder this time. “Sophie, run!”

  My words finally got through to Sophie. She broke out of her trance and started to run, but the man was still gaining on her. The sharp tips of his pitchfork were nearly within striking distance of my sister’s back.

  There was no time to lose. I picked up a large chunk of ice. It wasn’t the best weapon in the world, but it was the best I could do.

  “Sophie!” I shouted. “Get down!”

  She looked at me, then the ice, then dropped to the ground.

  I threw the ice at the old man like a shot putter. Unlike Sophie, he didn’t drop to the ground. He didn’t need to. The ice sailed well over him and shattered on the ground.

  But it slowed him down as he watched it pass.

  Sophie joined me and we ran back to the house. I looked back once, just before entering the kitchen.

  The old man had given up the chase and was standing beside the horse on the other side of the fence. His hands tightened around the pitchfork as if he was trying to strangle it.

  “Don’t you ever cross this fence agai
n, you hear me?” he warned us. He spoke calmly and quietly, and that scared me more than if he’d screamed and yelled. “Next time you come anywhere near Shade,” he pointed at the horse, “I’ll kill you both.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After closing the door and double-, triple-, quadruple-checking that it was locked, I took Sophie’s hand and led her to the basement. We needed to talk and I didn’t want our parents to overhear. She followed me in a daze.

  I was surprised to find the basement was already organized. IKEA bookshelves were filled with paperbacks, and storage stuff was neatly arranged on a row of metal shelves. Mom had been busier than I thought.

  We sat side by side on our old couch. Sophie pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. Her body shook. I gently rubbed her back, trying to calm her down.

  “It’s okay,” I said in my most reassuring, soothing tone. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  I hoped that was true.

  But after what had just happened — after the old man’s threat — I wasn’t so sure.

  “Who was that guy?” Sophie said with a tremor in her voice.

  “Our new neighbour, I guess.”

  “But why was he so angry? I didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted to give his horse an apple.”

  “I know,” I said. “I know.”

  “I’ve never seen a horse turn down an apple before, but Shade took one sniff and turned up his nose. Did you notice that?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s why I tried to feed him, to prove that the story Nick and Chris told us is wrong, but … Is it possible that Shade actually is a ghost?”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but yes, I do think it’s possible,” I said. “The weird thing is, the old man didn’t seem to know that. If the horse — Shade — is a ghost, why would he feel the need to protect something that’s already dead?”

  “And why was he ready to stab me with his pitchfork just for jumping the fence?”

  “If a couple of kids killed the horse, I guess the owner would be pretty distrustful of us.”