The Haunting of Willow House

by Anthony M. Strong

  “Tell me again why we have to move?” she asked, staring out of the passenger seat window, watching the New England scenery roll by. “It’s not fair.”

  “You know why.” Andrew glanced sideways. If he was hoping to connect with his daughter, he was disappointed. Her eyes never strayed from the passing fields. “We’ve been over this a million times.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to agree to it.” She played with the top of her black shirt. It matched the black skirt and black boots, not to mention her hair, which used to be brown. That was before. Now she shunned color like it was some mortal enemy. “I liked our house in Boston.”

  “So did I, Sarah, but we all need a new start.”

  “Mom would never have dragged us out into the country like this.”

  “We’re not in the country,” Andrew said, not bothering to mention that a move out of Boston was something he and Jennifer had discussed on numerous occasions. It would make no difference. “Salem is only a few miles to the south. There are all sorts of things to do. There’s even a mall.”

  “So?”

  “You like malls.”

  “I don’t like drafty old farmhouses.” She shifted in her seat, turning from the passing scenery, and glared at him. “I don’t like starting a new school in my senior year.”

  “I’m sorry. I know we decided to make the move after you graduated, but that was before—“

  “I know what I did. You don’t have to bring it up again,” Sarah said. “It was stupid. I get it. I didn’t really mean to go through with it. I didn’t intend to take that many pills.”

  “I know.”

  “So why are you punishing me?” Sarah asked. “It’s not like you’re any better.”

  “I never said I was. I’ve made my mistakes. But this move, it’s good for us.”

  “Good for you.”

  “All of us. And I’m not punishing you,” Andrew said. “This house came up out of the blue, and it was too good a deal to turn down. I don’t know why you won’t let this go.”

  “I was just saying, Mom would never—”

  “Dammit, Sarah.” He felt the anger rise like a black wave, an unfamiliar beast that had lurked inside of him ever since the accident. He did his best to contain it, but sometimes, especially when he was thinking about Jennifer, the monster reared its head. “Your mother’s not here. She’s gone, okay?”

  “I know that.” Sarah shrank back, alarmed by the sudden outburst.

  “I miss Mom.” Jake spoke up from the back seat. “I wish she was here.”

  “I know you do.” Andrew said, his voice softer now, the anger ebbing away as quickly as it had come. “We all wish she were here.”

  “Is Mom in heaven?” This was a question Jake had asked on numerous occasions over the past year, yet despite receiving the same answer each time, he still insisted on asking again.

  “Of course she is.” Andrew wondered if it was a coping mechanism. He had talked about it with a grief counselor a few months back when Jake was struggling to understand what had happened. The counselor didn’t think it was anything worth worrying about, so Andrew let it be and answered with the same calm reassurances each time. “There’s no doubt about it.”

  “For goodness sake, Dad.” Sarah shot him a withering look. “When are you going to stop with this?”

  “Drop it, Sarah.” Andrew was in no mood to deal with his daughter’s petulance. “Not now.”

  “Then when, Dad?” Sarah pressed. “When are you going to tell him the truth?”

  “What truth?” Jake scooted up and put his head between the front seats, his eyes wide.

  “There’s no such thing as heaven,” Sarah said, glaring at her father when she spoke. “There’s no heaven, and there’s no hell. It’s all made up so that stupid people feel better about death.”

  “It is?” Jake looked between his sister and father. “So what happens when we die?”

  “There’s nothing. It’s just blackness, for ever and ever.”

  “Jesus, Sarah, do you have to be so mean?” At that moment Andrew felt like slamming on the brakes and leaving his daughter on the side of the road. Instead, he took a deep breath. “This isn’t helping.”

  “I wasn’t trying to help.” Her gaze returned to the landscape beyond the car. “I’m allowed to have an opinion.”

  “Yes, you are,” Andrew said. “But sometimes it would be nice if you kept it to yourself.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged and sank back into the seat. “How much further is it anyway?”

  “Not far. A few miles.” Andrew glanced at Jake, who had retreated to the back seat once more, pulling his legs up and pressing himself into the door. “Hey, Sport, you want to help your dad out?”

  “Sure.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  “There’s a tree we need to find, a big old oak with twisted branches. When we see that, we are there. Can you look out for it?”

  “How will I know when I see it?”

  “Oh, you’ll know. It’s an ugly old thing. You can’t miss it.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s my boy. It’ll be on the right hand side. Yell when you see it.” Andrew’s eyes drifted to the rear view mirror. He was pleased to see Jake scoot across to the right side of the car and peer out of the window, craning his neck frontward.

  A few minutes later, as the car meandered down a narrow road barely wide enough to avoid the foliage on the banks scraping the sides of the vehicle, Jake pointed, an excited tremble in his voice. “I see it. I see it.”

  “Good job.” Andrew had seen it too, a misshapen contorted mass of dead limbs attached to a great swollen trunk that had been split in two, the cleft running almost halfway down.

  “Can we get that thing taken down?” Sarah asked. “It gives me the creeps.”

  “I think that chopping trees down will be pretty low on our list of priorities.” He slowed the car and turned off the road, past the oak, and onto a dirt trail that ran to a large white farmhouse with a gray slate tile roof. To the left and right were overgrown fields, beyond which stood a line of Hemlock and Maple, marking the edge of the woods. “Wouldn’t you rather get the house in shape so that we can be warm and cozy in our new home?”

  “I’d rather be in our old home, which was already warm and cozy,” Sarah replied, never missing an opportunity to show her displeasure. At least the hard edge was gone from her voice. She leaned forward, looking through the windshield as they approached the house.

  “We’re here now, so you might as well make the most of it.” Andrew swung the car around in the driveway and came to a stop near a barn that stood several feet from the farmhouse. He nodded toward the old wooden structure. “I was thinking we could turn this into a garage. What do you think?”

  “I think it will fall down on the car and then we’ll be stuck up here when winter comes.” Sarah pulled on her door handle and exited of the car.

  She looked up at the house, grimacing when she saw the fading, chipped paint peeling from the wood siding and the way the gutters hung, just a little askew. The windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years, and one, she noticed, had a crack running from top to bottom.

  Andrew climbed out and waited for Jake, who insisted upon collecting his game console and headphones, and then joined his daughter. “Well, what’s the verdict on our new digs?”

  She looked sideways toward him, narrowing her eyes, but didn’t answer.

  “Come on. You could try to be a little enthusiastic.” Andrew nudged her.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” She shrugged. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “I guess it’s the best I’m going to get.” Andrew pushed a hand into his pocket and produced a key on a silver heart-shaped fob. “Who’s ready to go inside?”

  Chapter 2

  The interior of the house was no better than the exterior. Sarah looked around in disappointment. They had closed on the property two months ago, and since then it had undergone some much-nee
ded repairs. The hole in the roof was patched, and the floorboards, those that were too rotten to save, had been replaced with carefully matched modern stand-ins. But the pervasive odor of musty abandonment still hung in the air, and the walls were still the same faded cream she remembered from her only previous visit, when they had driven up to view the place for the first time.

  “I thought you said things had been fixed?” Sarah said, not bothering to hide her distress.

  “I said the major stuff had been taken care of, and it has,” her dad replied. “I know there’s still a lot to do, but we couldn’t afford to have the workmen do everything.”

  “Great.”

  “Hey, at least the house is livable now, which is more than could be said about it the last time you were here.”

  “I was hoping for a little better than livable.” Sarah cast her eyes toward the staircase. The railings were the same dirty brown varnish that she remembered from before, worn in places to reveal the paler wood underneath. A floral runner dropped from stair to stair like a patterned waterfall, the fabric threadbare. Above that, the second floor landing was a dark mystery. She wondered what new disappointments waited for her up there.

  They walked through each room, stopping every so often to inspect some repair or other. Sarah tagged along behind, wrinkling her nose when they came upon a dead mouse lying in the middle of the empty dining room.

  “Yuck.” She took a step backwards. “You really expect me to live under these conditions?”

  “It’s just a mouse, Sarah.”

  “It’s completely gross.”

  “This is an old house,” her father said. “He probably won’t be the last one we see.”

  “Great. Now I have to deal with rodents on top of everything else?”

  “You’ll survive.” Andrew crossed the room and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a dustpan and broom. He swept the mouse up and went back to the kitchen. When he rejoined them, there was a smile on his face. “See, all better now.”

  “Not really.” Sarah could feel her throat tightening, and for a moment she thought she would be sick. “I hate mice.”

  “Hey, I have a surprise for you,” her father said, no doubt trying to take her mind off the deceased rodent.

  “What is it?” A germ of hope sparked within her. Maybe he was going to say she could stay with her friend, Becca, back in Boston. That way she wouldn’t have to start at a new school. It was a suggestion she had made several times over the past few months, not that it had done any good.

  “You have to see,” Andrew said, and nodded toward the entryway. “It’s upstairs.”

  “Oh.” Her heart fell.

  “Come on, I guarantee you will like it.”

  “Fine,” she said, less enthusiastic than when she thought there might be a reprieve from living in the moldy old farmhouse.

  “You want to join us, champ?” Her father turned his attention to Jake, who was wandering around the entranceway peering through doors.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “I want to explore down here. Maybe there will be another mouse.”

  “Ew.” Sarah let out a snort of disgust.

  “So, can I explore?” Jake asked, an expectant look upon his face.

  “Alright. But don’t go outside, and don’t touch anything, especially dead mice. You understand?” Andrew gave Jake his best I’m serious about this look.

  “I get it.” Jake nodded. “I won’t touch any dead mice.”

  “Or any other dead things you come across.”

  “Fine.” Jake drew the word out, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

  “It’s just the two of us then.” Andrew said. “Come on.”

  He led Sarah from the dining room back into the hallway and up the stairs. He flicked a light switch, the single bare bulb ineffective against the gloom.

  The second floor did nothing to dispel Sarah’s opinion of the old farmhouse. The musty, dank odor from below was worse here, and the weak light made everything look drab and depressing. Four doors led off the short corridor, two on the right, one to their left, and one at the end. The closest was a bathroom. Sarah could see the claw foot tub through the opening. The others must be bedrooms. She wondered which one was hers. She hoped it wouldn’t stink as bad as the rest of the house. She guessed that it would.

  “No one’s lived here for a very long time,” her father said, reading his daughter’s mind. “The smell will go away once we get some air through the place.”

  “I hope so.” Sarah lingered near the top of the stairs, unwilling to venture any further than necessary. “So what’s this big surprise?”

  “Come on.” Andrew took off, the barest hint of a smile upon his face. At the end of the hallway he turned left and disappeared from sight. His voice drifted back on the stale air. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Hang on.” She padded down the corridor toward the spot where her father had vanished and was surprised to discover that the corridor turned at right angles, leading to a second staircase. This one was narrower than the main stairs, with bare wood treads and smooth plaster walls. It rose steeply to a narrow door at the top, which stood open, spilling light downward. Andrew Whelan stood in the doorframe, waiting.

  “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”

  “Stop nagging me,” Sarah said, climbing the stairs as fast as she dared. At the top she stopped, surprised.

  In front of her was a huge room spanning the whole width of the house. It had sloping ceilings following the roofline and two tall dormer windows. Unlike the rooms downstairs, this one was bright and wore a coat of fresh paint.

  “Well?” Her father was grinning.

  “What is this?” She wondered how this space looked so new. Had her father paid the workmen to do all this?

  Andrew paused a moment, his eyes sparkling, and then he answered her. “It’s your new bedroom. What do you think?”

  Chapter 3

  Jake watched his sister and father leave the room and head to the stairs. When he heard them climbing toward the second floor, the treads groaning and creaking as they went, he wandered into the kitchen, stopping at the yellow refrigerator that looked like it should be in a museum. It even had chrome on the door handle, now worn and peeling. He pulled on the door, wondering if there would be any old, moldy food to go along with the ancient fridge, but there was nothing inside except a box of bicarbonate of soda, which sat on a shelf, lonely and abandoned. He wondered who had put it there, and why. It seemed a strange thing to put in such a place.

  Shrugging, he closed the fridge and carried on through the rest of the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, but found little of any interest.

  At the other end of the kitchen was a door with four glass panes. He approached it and looked out, pressing his face to the glass, but the panes were so caked in grime he could barely see outside. What he could see, though, was that this door led to the rear of the house, judging by the weak sunlight that filtered through the dirt. He reached down and gripped the doorknob despite his father’s explicit instructions not to venture outside. But a little peek couldn’t hurt, and he would make sure not to stray too far. Besides, if he was quick no one would know.

  He turned the knob and pushed, but the door did not budge. Perplexed, he tried again, but still it remained firmly closed.

  Then he noticed the bolt.

  It was set high upon the door, and it was drawn across.

  Jake reached up, pushing himself as tall as he could. The tips of his fingers brushed the bolt, but not enough to get a grip, and in the end he slumped back down, disappointed. Whatever was beyond the door’s grimy glass panels would have to wait for another day.

  That didn’t mean he was done.

  There must be plenty more to see in the old house.

  He retreated from the kitchen and walked across the dining room to the hallway.

  He heard voices above,
on the next upper floor.

  Ignoring them, Jake padded down the hallway toward the back of the house. Surely, there was more to discover here.

  And then the creak came.

  It was soft. Gentle.

  Jake stopped, looked around for the source.

  And then he found it.

  Under the stairs, set into a recess, was a narrow door.

  And it was open a crack.

  Jake narrowed his eyes, peered at the door. His grandparents' house had one just like this, set under the stairs in the same way.

  It was the basement.

  Jake approached the door and stood there, torn. It didn’t seem like the kind of place his father would approve of him going, but who knew what awesome treasures lay in wait, right beneath his feet?

  His breathing quickened in excitement.

  Who cared if he got caught? It was worth it.

  Jake pulled the door wide.

  The space beyond was dark, but he could see enough to confirm that it was indeed the basement. Wooden steps fell away into obscurity.

  There was a light switch on the wall.

  He flicked it on.

  Pale light illuminated the room below.

  But even so, most of the basement was out of view.

  He placed a foot on the top stair, testing it. When nothing happened, when he didn’t crash through into the unknown pit below, he tried the next, and the next, until he was halfway down.

  Now he could see old boxes, part of a bicycle.

  He wondered what was in the boxes. He hurried down a couple more steps, eager to find out.

  And then he heard the ringing.

  It sounded like the ringtone on his father's cell phone.

  Jake stopped and listened.

  It came again, a shrill clanging ring.

  Had his dad come back downstairs?

  Was he looking for Jake at that very moment?

  Boy, there would be trouble if he was caught snooping down here.

  Jake turned and hurried back up to the ground floor, turning off the light and pushing the door closed.