The Haunting of Willow House

by Anthony M. Strong

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight as long as I live,” Becca agreed, retrieving the baseball bat. She held it aloft. “I feel better with this though.”

  “I’m not sure that will do any good if we run into her again,” Sarah said.

  “It can’t hurt,” Becca replied.

  “We’re wasting time,” Andrew snapped, impatient. Jake was out there somewhere, no doubt bringing another gas can back. They had to stop him before it was too late. He hopped forward, favoring the twisted ankle.

  “Sorry.” Sarah put her arm around him, supported him as they made their way through the dining room.

  The smell of gas was stronger here. It burned the back of Andrew’s throat. The knot of fear in his stomach twisted itself tighter. He hoped against hope that it was all a big mistake. He hoped that his son was not responsible for the foul odor drifting from the kitchen, that there was some other explanation. When he reached the door though, he knew there wasn’t.

  Jake was there, a burning match in his hand.

  A pair of discarded gas cans lay a few feet away.

  “Jake?” Andrew stepped into the kitchen, ignoring the sudden pain from his damaged ankle. He made sure to keep his voice calm and level despite the roiling fear in his gut. “What are you doing there, son?”

  Jake stayed mute.

  The bright flame danced and weaved in the breeze from the open kitchen door to his rear.

  From somewhere behind him, Andrew heard a sob. It sounded like Sarah.

  “Why don’t you put that match out?” Andrew made a quick mental calculation, debating whether he could reach his son and extinguish the burning match before Jake had a chance to drop it. He came to the conclusion that he could not. “What do you say?”

  Jake stood motionless with the match held between two fingers, his eyes locked on it as if hypnotized.

  Andrew held his breath, watching the flame dwindle as it burned down. At first he thought it might actually go out, but then Jake brought his head up, looked at his father.

  “We’ll all be together again.” And with that he let go of the match.

  “No!” Andrew lunged forward, but it was too late.

  The match hit the floor.

  A carpet of bright orange heat shot out in all directions.

  The kitchen erupted into flames.

  Chapter 81

  Andrew turned his head sideways, shielding his face from the leaping flames, the scorching heat. At the same time, he scooped Jake up into his arms and retreated. Sarah and Becca were frozen in the doorway, transfixed by the sudden blaze.

  “Run!” Andrew struggled to keep ahold of his son, who was flailing and twisting.

  “Let go of me!” Jake screamed the words, his voice full of anger.

  “Not a chance.” Andrew dragged his son backwards, away from the growing fire.

  “You don’t understand.” Jake bucked against his father. Tears streamed down his face. “I want to be with Mom.”

  “Whatever you’ve been talking to, it’s not your mother.” They were in the dining room now. Black acrid smoke billowed through the kitchen doorway. Andrew coughed and kept going. Sarah and Becca were already at the front door.

  Sarah turned the handle, pulled. “I can’t get it open.” There was a flutter of panic in her voice.

  “Is it locked?” Andrew fought to keep Jake from tearing free and running back toward the flames.

  “No.” Sarah tried again. “It’s stuck, just like my bedroom door.”

  “The witch is trying to stop us from leaving,” Becca said.

  “I can try and open it from the other side,” said Sarah, eying the broken pane of glass Becca had smashed earlier.

  “Be careful,” her friend warned. “Don’t cut yourself.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Sarah reached through, fumbled with the outer knob for a while. “It’s no use.”

  “There must be another way out.” Becca sounded scared.

  “The only other door is back through the kitchen, and we’ll never make it past the fire.” Sarah slammed her fist against the door. “Damn it.”

  Andrew eyed the advancing blaze. Flames were already curling around the kitchen door. It was only a matter of minutes before the dining room went up. They would succumb to the smoke before that though.

  “The window,” Becca said. “We can break the dining room window.”

  “That won’t work.” There was frustration in Sarah’s voice. “I tried to smash the window in my room, and it wouldn’t break.”

  “Those windows are new. Double paned, really hard to damage,” Andrew said. “I had them put in when the attic was renovated. These windows are old.”

  “What do we have to lose.” Becca added.

  “Do it.” Andrew was not sure how much longer he could hold on to his thrashing son. “Quickly.”

  “Good thing I kept this.” Becca advanced with the bat. She positioned herself near the window and adjusted her stance, then swung with all her might.

  The bat hit the window dead center.

  There was a sharp crack and the windowpane exploded outward, sending shards of glass flying in all directions.

  Life saving air rushed in, pushing back the fume-laden smoke.

  “Go!” Andrew motioned for Sarah and Becca to climb out and then followed behind, letting Sarah help him drag Jake to safety.

  Once outside, he glanced back through the empty window frame, to the burning kitchen.

  There, surrounded by the hungry blaze, stood a solitary figure, a woman dressed in old-fashioned clothing, her hair in a bun. She looked at him, and even though there was nothing but two cold, skeletal pits where her eyes should have been, Andrew could feel the anger.

  And then a sudden gust of wind blew up and howled through the opening, fanning the flames and sending them high in the air. When next they settled, the woman was gone, as if she had never been there at all.

  Chapter 82

  They were safe.

  Their home was burning, and they had almost died, but somehow they had survived.

  Sarah stood on the driveway and watched the flames lick at the downstairs windows, consuming the house. Next to her was Becca, her arms folded around her chest, a dazed look upon her face.

  Andrew stood a few feet away, next to Jake, who had stopped struggling and seemed content to watch the house burn.

  “Dad?” She glanced toward her father.

  “Yes?” He looked tired. His face was stained with soot.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” He looked at her, and she saw the concern in his eyes.

  “Everything.” Sarah fought back a sob. “If I hadn’t done what I did, taken those pills, we would never have moved here. It’s all my fault.”

  “No. It wasn’t you.” Andrew’s voice was soft, gentle. “I’m the one who brought us here. I never should have bought this place.”

  “Do you think the witch is still in there?”

  “I don’t know, Sarah,” Andrew said. “I have no idea.”

  “So it wasn’t Mom?” Jake spoke for the first time.

  “No, son.” Andrew held Jake close. “Whatever that thing was, whatever was talking to you on that telephone, it was definitely not your mother.”

  “I just wanted us to be with her.” Jake was close to tears, his eyes moist. “I miss her so much.”

  “We all do,” Andrew said. “But I think it's time to move on with our lives.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Sarah said. “Where are we going to go?”

  “We go home.”

  “Back to Boston?” Sarah asked, a spark of hope igniting in her for the first time in weeks.

  “Boston.” Andrew nodded. “Where we should have stayed all along.”

  “But the house, it’s been sold,” Said Sarah with a feeling of dismay.

  “Not quite,” Andrew said. “The closing isn’t for a couple of days. Plenty of time to pull out, cancel the deal.”

  “I h
ope I never see this place again.”

  “Me too,” Andrew said. “Me too.”

  Sarah stepped close, put her arms around her dad, just as a faint wail of sirens drifted on the breeze.

  “Where did they come from?” Andrew asked, turning his head in time to see a flashing blue and red glow beyond the fields.

  “I called them,” Becca said. “When I first got here.”

  Sarah was about to ask why, but then she realized she didn’t care. They were alive, and that was all that mattered. Everything else could wait.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later.

  “This is a fantastic opportunity,” Sandra Lawton said, adjusting the bright red blazer she wore over a crisp white shirt. An oval badge, affixed to her left lapel, bore her name, a small company logo, and three gold stars signifying the trio of times she had been awarded realtor of the month. “I don’t think you will find anything better in this price range.”

  “I don’t know.” Jason Prince threw a glance toward his wife, Nora. “It’s a little far out. I was hoping for something closer to the city.”

  “Houses like this don’t come up very often,” Sandra said. They were standing outside, under the shadow of the old stone building. They had already spent an hour inside, touring every room, and now it was up to her to close the deal. “And just look at the land. It will afford you plenty of privacy, which is what you said you are looking for.”

  “I love it,” Nora proclaimed. “You’re not going to walk away from this place just because it’s a few miles further to the city are you, Jason?”

  “Well-“

  “Please?”

  “I’m still a little confused about the price. It’s almost too good to be true.” Jason dug his heels in. “You said there was a fire here?”

  “Yes, in the kitchen. It spread throughout much of the downstairs, but it has all been repaired to the highest standards as you can see, and everything is up to code, I assure you,” Sandra paused, waiting for her clients to say something. When they didn’t, she continued. “I’ll be honest with you, the seller is very motivated. I shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s the author, Andrew Whelan.”

  “Andrew Whelan?” Nora’s eyes grew wide. “For real? I read his book. It was awesome. That settles it, we have to buy this place.”

  “You want to buy a house just because some famous author owned it?” Jason laughed.

  “A bestselling author.” Nora starred up at the house in wonder. “Is this the house in the book?”

  “I believe it is.” Sandra wondered if she’d done the right thing mentioning her client’s name. For a moment she had forgotten what his book was about. “He didn’t live here very long.”

  “So, is it true?” Nora asked. “Is the house haunted?”

  “Funny you should ask that.” Sandra took a deep breath. She hated this part. It had already scared away three prospective buyers. “My client requests that I impress upon you that the house is indeed haunted. If you’ve read his book, I’m sure you are familiar with the details.”

  “But that was fiction, right?” Nora said. “It couldn’t really have been that bad. Shame, really. It might be fun to have a pet witch around. Still, to live in the house that inspired the book. How awesome is that?”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.” Jason stretched and glanced at his watch. “Or witches.”

  “I wonder if the priest is still in town,” Nora said. “The book said he survived. He’d know how much of it was true.”

  “Not much, I’m sure.” Jason looked up at the building. “It wouldn’t be the first time a writer exaggerated to sell a book. Any time you see based on a true story, you can pretty much guarantee it’s mostly hogwash.”

  “You’re probably right.” Sandra wanted to steer the conversation away from the book. “I really think this house could be the one, guys. It fits everything on your wish list, at a fantastic price.”

  “This house is better than anything else we’ve looked at,” Jason agreed, “and the price is unbeatable. It is a great deal.”

  “So what do you say?” Sandra felt a glimmer of hope. They hadn’t said no, and the wife seemed genuinely enamored with the place. “If you put in a bid today, I can have the keys in your hands within two weeks, three at most.”

  “It’s tempting,” Jason said. He turned to his wife. “What do you think?”

  “I think we buy it.” She replied with an excited squeal. “Let’s do it!”

  Jason looked up once more at the old farmhouse, a smile touching his lips. “I may live to regret this, but to hell with it, we’ll take the place.”

  The End

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  Some places should be left alone.

  It’s been fifteen years since Ben and his father buried the time capsule in the woods. Now Ben is returning to dig it up. But things have changed. The woods are not the happy place they once were. What starts out as a weekend camping trip to rekindle old memories and have some fun turns into a nightmare for Ben and his girlfriend, Sally. By the time they realize their mistake, it’s too late. There’s something evil at the old campground, and it doesn’t want them to leave.

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  Also by Anthony M. Strong

  What Vengeance Comes

  John Decker left Wolf Haven, Louisiana, to escape the memories of his troubled past, believing he would never return. But after twenty years working for a big city police department, he suddenly finds himself back in Wolf Haven, taking the reigns as the town’s sheriff. Expecting to spend his time dealing with the trivialities of small town life, the occasional drunk, cats stuck in trees, and domestic altercations, he instead finds a vicious killer picking off the residents one by one. Scrambling to find answers before anyone else dies, Decker stumbles across an age-old superstition, a terrifying creature conjured from the depths of hell to seek revenge.

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  The Apartment

  Jack Brannan thought the fifth floor apartment in New York City would be a great place to finish his latest novel. It seemed like the perfect arrangement, free room and board in exchange for looking after the rambling old apartment building while its owner was out of town. He soon comes to realize, however, that there is much more to the former Roosevelt Hotel than meets the eye, and that nothing is ever free.

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  About the Author

  Anthony M. Strong is a British born writer with a passion for writing horror, science fiction, and speculative fiction.

  Always up for a new adventure, Anthony’s travels have taken him through much of England, France, Spain, Yugoslavia, Canada, Puerto Rico, Italy, Germany, Austria and most of the United States.

  He has worked as an artist, designer, magazine editor, playwright, and actor. And of course, a writer.

  When he's not writing, traveling, or making a mess of home improvements, he spends his time reading, watching documentaries, photographing, and occasionally enjoying a beer while watching American Football.

  He currently resides most of the year outside New Orleans, Louisiana, and some of the year in beautiful New England, with his girlfriend Sonya, and three demanding but loveable pooches named Gidget, Tiki, and Hayden.

  Connect with Anthony, find out about new releases, and get free books at www.anthonymstrong.com.

 

 

 
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