Sunblocked Summerhouse

by Mixi J Applebottom

Wynne puked on the table.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As vomit left her mouth, Calleo suddenly ran into the room. His hair was on end, and he was hissing hysterically. Gregory wondered what the cat was thinking as it jumped up and tried to catch the crystal ball that was hanging from the thin string. It hit the table as soon as he jumped upon it, crashing into the silver mirror. Mirror fragments went flying across the room in multiple directions. Gregory was struck in the cheek by a small sliver of glass. Mike screamed. He reached out and carelessly swept the shard together with bare hands.

  "My mirror!" He seemingly did not care about the crystal ball. The mirror had special meaning to him, whatever that might be.

  Wynne stared at the shiny pile of mirror scraps. Her eyes, her unforgettable brown eyes, were brown no longer.

  Her left eye was yellow and the right eye was green.

  She was odd-eyed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mike carefully pulled the pieces of mirror from his hands. "Shit. I don't know why I grabbed it like that. I should have realized. Fuck," he said again, blood dripping all over the mirror shards. "I don't know how I'm going to replace that."

  He was muttering to himself as he pulled out each of the short, slender pieces of glass from his hand.

  Gregory stared at Wynne. "Mike, do you see her eyes?"

  Mike looked up at Wynne; he didn't say anything. He finally swallowed twice, then looked back at the shredded skin on his hands and looked back up at Wynne. "Ghosts like to play pranks on people, but they can't hurt anyone. Do not be afraid, even if they tinkered with your eyes…" There was an uncertainty in his voice this time.

  "Can't hurt anyone?" screamed Wynne. "You haven't seen what I've seen. They sure can hurt people. What kind of fucking psychic are you?" She slammed her fist into the table. The hit was so hard that all the tiny pieces of glass jumped into the air and tinkled back into place.

  Calleo seem to vanish again after accomplishing a task of destroying their séance.

  "Even I have seen ghosts hurt people,” said Gregory, his lips now drawn into a tight, thin line. "Mike, tell me you've done this before."

  "I… well… normally, they are not so active," Mike said with a shudder. He stood up and started shoving his things back in his backpack. "I'm in over my head on this one, guys. I'm gonna leave."

  "You cannot awaken this thing inside me and then leave me to deal with it on my own!" Wynne screamed, slamming the table. The glass shards jumped once again. Both men turned and looked at the girl and she said, with a sense of impending fury, "You cannot leave me." In a sea of nausea, both men hurled simultaneously. The front door slammed shut. All three of them could hear the lock turn.

  "We won't leave you," whispered Gregory, still wiping the vomit from his mouth. "I promise."

  Mike was silent.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wynne stood from the table. Her arms seem longer than normal, and her body was thinner. Her ribs were starting to show, her skin had been stretched so tight. Her face was drawn.

  "Holy fuck. You are at least six inches taller," whispered Gregory. "Wynne, can you still hear us?"

  She cracked her neck slowly, then stared at Gregory. "I feel fine,” she said in a deadpan tone. The lights flickered. She slowly turned her head to look behind her. Then she turned her head back. Her head seemed to be moving like it was extraordinarily heavy. It wobbled slightly as if her neck wasn't used to lifting it up so high.

  Mike stood up suddenly. "This can't be real. I've been doing this for years. This isn't real." He was nearly hysterical. His breaths were in short tiny bursts. "Greg, have you been pranking me? How could you… How could you do this to me!"

  Mike stomped out of the formal dining room, mistakenly leaving his backpack behind. He strode quickly to the front door. He yanked on the handle.

  But the door held steady. The lock was engaged. He reached up and tried to turn the bolt, but it was twisted and melted. The bolt itself couldn't move. "I'll leave through the back or a window if I must,” hissed Mike, and he started to run, his feet tapping at the floor as he rushed away.

  He disappeared into the long hallway, and both Gregory and Wynne heard a subtle click as he left, like the soft click of a door gently latching shut. Gregory ignored the Mike situation entirely.

  "Do you know what's inside you?" he said, staring at Wynne.

  "No,” she said with a quiet stubbornness. She walked over to the red backpack and dumped the contents on the table. A black notebook fell out among many other things. She picked it up and flipped to the first page and started to draw.

  Gregory sat still in his chair across from her. He was staring at her face, twisted in concentration. He wondered what would be next. He wasn't sure what to do. So for now, he just observed her, the idea of a plan starting to pull together in the back of his mind. "What are you drawing?" he asked quietly. His heart was still thumping in his chest. The idea that he needed to remove a ghost from this girl was rolling around in his thoughts, hoping for a spark. How could he do that?

  Just then, Calleo suddenly came back. He did a quick figure eight around Gregory's legs and then hopped up into his lap. The cat with no iris color stared up at Gregory with a very serious look on his face.

  "I can't help push this one," Calleo said, but not with actual words but with some sort of mind speak. Gregory could hear it running into his brain.

  "What?" Gregory said in surprise, staring down at the cat.

  "I can't help push,” said Calleo in a whispery wisp of words that immediately vanished. He turned a tight little circle in Gregory's lap and closed his eyes.

  Gregory stared down at the cat that was suddenly sleeping on his lap and then glanced back up at the girl. He almost asked her if she had heard Calleo. But he quickly changed his mind. Her eyes were glossed over, and she cracked her neck again, drawing silently.

  She turned the notebook around and slid it towards him. The picture she had drawn was similar to one that a five-year-old would draw. At the top the word “boy” was written.

  It was a stick figure with the eyes crossed out.

  Underneath, she had written the phrase "I am here."

  "Do you know what he wants?" said Gregory, gently looking up at Wynne.

  She shook her head. "I'm starving. Can we eat?"

  "Okay." The two of them walked to the kitchen. Gregory was awkwardly loitering while she started to make pancakes. Not fifteen minutes later, there was steamy stack of pancakes, and the two of them sat at the tiny table in the kitchen. Calleo had wandered off as soon as they started cooking. Gregory quietly and watched Wynne and wondered what he should do next. He didn't know that much about possessions. Gregory thought he heard a tiny click, when Mike walked into the room.

  She put the first hot steaming pancake on Gregory's plate.

  "I can't get out of the house," Mike said, his fists balled tightly together.

  "Have some pancakes,” said Wynne very calmly.

  "I can't get out of the house,” said Mike, this time even quicker with a bitter anger in his voice. "Did you hear me?"

  "I did,” said Wynne calmly. "I don't think supernatural events allow you to just wander around. When I was stuck in that house, I couldn't get out."

  The pancake was too thick and dry in Gregory's mouth. He hadn't recognized how incredibly dry his mouth had gotten. He didn't think he could swallow it. It stuck in his throat on the way down, and he hopped up and stuck his head under the faucet. Finally, he got it to move, a painful knot of dry pancake pushing down his esophagus. He tried to eat the rest of it so his belly would be full, and maybe he could come up with an idea. He was desperate for an idea.

  "Let me out,” said Mike, this time each word punctuated with a little bit of spittle. His anger was so palpable in the room. It was thick.

  "I can't,” said Wynne and she stood up suddenly. Mike was now below her nose, much smaller than her. She reached out her gangly arm and grabbed him by the collar. She yanked him forwar
d, throwing him toward a seat. "Sit and eat pancakes while we try to figure out what to do. Believe me, I'm having a worse day than you,” she hissed, and her green and yellow eyes flashed with anger.

  Mike seemed startled into complacent silence. By the time the meal was finished, Wynne started weeping. Gregory knew he had to figure out something soon.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mike barely ate anything. He pushed his pancake around with his fork and eventually gave up entirely.

  He had to get out of here.

  He honestly couldn't believe how calm Gregory was acting in the face of such extremism. They were watching the girl possessed by the devil. And all Gregory wanted to do was hang out with it? It infuriated him. Sitting couldn't get them anywhere. They needed to fight, maybe even kill. If they couldn't get it out of Wynne, then maybe they could get Wynne to disappear. His stomach turned as he contemplated what he just thought. It made just as much sense to kill her.

  He couldn't think like this; he wasn't a murderer. He was a good man. He tried to put that thought out of his head as he stared at her overgrown lanky body. Was she even human anymore? "How did you do it? How did you lock all the doors?" Mike said angrily at Wynne. "You didn't even just lock them; you made it so I couldn't even pry them open. Tell me how you did it!" The anger of his tone was venomous.

  Wynne glared up at him. "I don't know how anything is happening."" She swallowed slowly and stood. "If I knew how, I'd make it stop, believe me." She wiped off her bright red eyes from the tears. "I'm going to bed.”

  She stood and went down the nearly endless hallway. As soon as she left the kitchen, Gregory heard the tiniest click. "Did you hear that?" Gregory said.

  Mike turned to Gregory, completely ignoring his question. "How long have you known her? What if she kills us if we try to sleep?"

  "I met her this week," Gregory said, still thinking about that tiny click. Was it something on the floor they kept stepping on? "How is it that you don't know anything about ghosts? You are supposed to be an expert. I hired you because you're an expert,” said Gregory. "We have a real problem here. You're supposed to help us, not the other way around."

  "How was I supposed to know that she was going to grow so big? I've never seen anything like this. Most ghosts just… Make some noise. They don't do stuff like this," Mike said. Even now, he didn't want to admit that he wasn't sure he had ever seen any ghost. Mostly he just made for a great party, a few jump scares, and a nice wad of cash.

  "Have you ever seen a ghost before? I have. And they were way worse than this." Gregory stared at the other man hostilely.

  "Well… how did you get rid of that ghost? Let's do that,” said Mike, completely confused.

  "We played the devil games,” said Gregory, images of the children and clowns flashing through his head, and Lorelei. He wished he could call her for advice. "But that was a long time ago. I was a kid then; now I'm a grown up. I'm never gonna play those games again. But even so, we are going to have to help Wynne,” said Gregory. He stood up from the table and carried the dishes to the kitchen and slowly started washing up. Mike followed him.

  "Why are you acting so normal!" Mike stared at the younger man carefully washing the dishes.

  "What do you want me to do? I'm trying to think!"

  "I'm not going to stand around and think. I'm gonna get out here. I'm gonna go try to break out a window or something." Mike stomped down into the hallway. Gregory paused and heard the soft, tiny click, like teeth bumping together.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mike looked in each identical bedroom and found the same thing as before. The windows were locked tight shut. The hallway felt like a labyrinth. He quickly lost count of how many rooms he had gone through. He tried to hit a few of the windows, but none of them seemed to make any difference. He couldn't make them open and he couldn't break them.

  They finally made his way to an identical room, but this one had a white cat in it. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

  Calleo lifted his head and stared at the man. He could feel the cat judging him. The condescension in his gaze was unbearable. "What are you looking at?" Mike said with a sneer. He waved his hand at the cat, trying to shoo it from the bed. But to no avail.

  "I just want to go home. I don't want to help; I just want to leave,” said Mike, pointing at the cat. "I bet you get out. You do whatever you want. I bet you know how to get out of this house."

  Slowly, Calleo stood and arched his back, stretching. He cocked his head and then hopped down. He was walking slowly, definitely slowly enough for Mike to follow him. But Mike turned his attention to the window. It did not open. It did not break. Mike threw himself on the bed; he was sweaty, angry, and completely frustrated with everything going on. He closed his eyes and waited until morning. Maybe he could figure out a plan then.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gregory had fallen asleep in one of the identical bedrooms. He woke up when Calleo jumped on him. The cat was purring loudly. "Did you mean to wake me up?" he asked the cat, not sure if he would reply.

  Calleo seem to smirk for a second and closed his eyes as Gregory scratched under his chin.

  "What will today hold?" Gregory stared into the wide white eyes of the cat.

  Wynne came down the hallway slowly. Her body did not seem to have grown any longer overnight. Gregory was grateful for that, and imagined that Wynne was grateful for it too.

  "I think we should try to do another séance. I think our best bet is to find out what the boy wants. Talk to him and go from there." Wynne said this with a sad sigh. "But I'm going to call her first." Gregory followed Wynne into the formal dining room. The same table with the same mirror shards everywhere and the candle, completely forgotten, was burned to a nub. Its blood-red wax had poured into a pool on the table. The strange crystal ball still sat intact on top of the shards of mirror. Wynne seemed almost devoid of emotion, as if the life had been sucked out of her as she stretched longer.

  "I'm going to call her first,” she said again, a hint of robotic tone. She pulled out her phone and carefully dialed the number. "Can I speak with Pear?"

  Wynne's lips were pressed tightly together and a flash of anger appeared. "I'm not going to rile her up. I just wanted to talk to her,” said Wynne, her words mashing together quickly. "I promise. I just wanted to talk to her."

  Wynne grew silent, and she crossed her arms and slowly her right hand covered her face. Gregory was left wondering how badly this phone call was going. "Please. I know you don't want to let me, but please."

  Wynne was silent again. Then she made a small sigh of relief. "Hello, Pear." Her voice had taken on a soft and friendly nature, completely devoid of all the strain. Instead, she was friendly, she was energetic. "Do you remember the gurl?"

  Gregory tried not to stare at Wynne while he listened in. "Shush, I don't want your mom to hear this. She didn't want me to ask you. But I found a boy." Wynne's eyebrows grew wrinkled with concern. He was examining her micro-reactions. Her long fingers started massaging her forehead.

  "What do you think we should do?" Wynne said again, this time whispering. Gregory could almost not hear her.

  "That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Pear. Be careful, things are getting weird. Yes, Calleo is happy and safe. He's made a new friend named Gregory.” Gregory smiled awkwardly as Wynne looked up at him. “Gregory and Calleo get along quite well.… Yes, he is still mad at me. But I am hoping I can fix that soon. I love you, Pear." She hung up the phone and she looked up with a bright shiny grin.

  “How did it go?” Gregory said.

  "Pear gave me some advice." She quickly rushed into the kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wynne could not believe her great luck. She didn't think Aurora was going to give her even a chance, even a breath of a moment with Pear. The girl she knew better than anyone. Pear knew what to do. Wynne started mixing flour and yeast together with a bit of sugar, a splash of oil, and a pinch of salt. She added enough water to tur
n it into dough. Then once she had formed it all in a bowl, she let it sit. It would take at least another couple of hours.

  Wynne had been baking bread, among other delicacies, for quite a few years now. She and Pear, when they were younger, would make cupcakes, eclairs, and everything else that could she could think of. She loved to bake, and for Pear, it was always the perfect little lesson of measuring and science, learning to bake. It was a beautiful time.

  Wynne knew how to make bread from memory. It would take a while, but it would be worth it, Pear promised.

  Gregory slowly wandered into the kitchen and stared at her as she wiped down the counters and cleaned up her mess. He was always looking at her. "I'm making bread,” said Wynne with a big smile, relief seeming to ooze from her.

  "Okay,” said Gregory, completely uncertain. "Did boy tell you to do that?"

  "No, of course not. Pear told me,” said Wynne and she slowly washed the last spoon.

  "Who is Pear?" asked Gregory, completely confused.

  "It's Aurora and Barnett's little girl. The Glasscos? You know, the people who own this house. She's the one that… she…" Wynne turned and stared at the boy with her one yellow and one green eye. "She is odd-eyed. Ever since we… Ever since the penthouse. The girl is odd-eyed. And she has… abilities."

  "Okay,” said Gregory, thinking quietly about how strange things had gotten since the other day. "I brought a bunch of books. I thought we might use them in the séance, but… now since we are trapped here, maybe we can read them and find something else."

  "I don't think we should have another séance. We won't need it anyway. The bread will be done soon,” said Wynne.

  "But you wanted to have one just an hour ago. What did Pear tell you?" said Gregory.