by Sean Platt
Dr. Bryant began counting down, “Ten ...”
“I can’t do it.”
“Nine ...”
Hazel stared at the book, imagining herself picking it up, opening it.
“Eight, seven …”
But still nothing.
“I can’t!”
“Can’t or won’t? Six ... time is running out. Five ...”
Hazel stared at the book harder, so hard that her eyes hurt. But it still wouldn’t open.
“Four, three … time is running out, Hazel. The message will be gone forever. Two ...”
“Stop!” Hazel said, staring at the book and wishing she could pick it up and throw it at the doctor.
The book jerked into the air and flew straight at Dr. Bryant’s chest.
The doctor surprised Hazel by catching the book with one hand.
Dr. Bryant smiled wide. “Excellent.”
Hazel stared, hardly able to believe what she’d done.
“I did that?”
“Yes, Hazel. You did that. Just like your mother.”
“Wow.” Hazel stared at the book.
Dr. Bryant cracked the cover and passed it to Hazel.
Hazel looked inside at the big handwritten in loopy letters below the Garfield sticker that read, This book belongs to: Holly. Her mother’s name.
Hazel touched the sticker, running her fingers over the name in faded blue ink. This was the first time she’d seen her mom’s handwriting from when she was a child. It was so neat, and so cursivey.
She imagined her mom sitting in the library, writing her name into the book. Hazel smiled.
“Can I have this?”
“Like I said, the books are all yours, sweetie.” Again Carter patted Hazel on her back.
“Thank you.” She thumbed through the pages with their intricate and beautiful colorful drawings.
Dr. Bryant said, “You can’t tell anyone what you can do.”
“Why not?”
“Because people are afraid of what they don’t understand. You know how your family gets upset when you’ve seen your mother or Savannah?”
Hazel closed the book, set it on the table, and met Dr. Bryant’s eyes. “Yes. But my Dad said I should never keep secrets from him. That it’s his job to take care of me, and he can’t do it if I keep secrets.”
“I’ll need time to get your father ready so he can understand without being afraid.”
“I don’t know.” It churned Hazel’s stomach to imagine lying to her dad about two things now — this and the cellar.
“If you tell anyone, you and your family won’t be safe. You have to keep this a secret, even from them. Just like your mother had to keep it secret from her family, including your father.”
“Why didn’t she tell anyone?”
“She couldn’t,” Carter answered. “There are dark things out there that want what she had, what you have. That want to get into our house. It will be you and Hudson’s job to keep that from happening.”
Hazel felt as if a missing puzzle piece had finally slid into place. She couldn’t quite make out the whole enigma yet, but felt like she was closer to truly seeing it.
“Wait. Is this why one of us always has to be on the property? Those dark things?”
“Yes,” Carter said. “And I must prepare you, then your brother and father. But I can’t do that if you tell them ahead of time. They’ll be scared. And if they’re frightened, then they may not let you do the job you’re meant to do.”
“My job? I’m just a kid. Hudson’s older than me, shouldn’t he be first?”
“He’s not ready yet. But you, like your mother, are. You are so much like her.”
Hazel smiled. Carter continued.
“I promise, the house will protect you if you let it. So will I and Sandra. But you must always tell us the truth, and let us help you. Can you do that, Hazel?”
Hazel wondered if they somehow knew about her mother asking Hazel to get the cellar key to the cellar. Were they testing her honesty?
She was tempted to say something, but then thought better of it. Maybe she would tell them, but not yet. First, she’d need to talk to her mother again.
“What do I need to do?”
Dr. Bryant said, “Nothing yet. Just meet with me and let me help your powers flourish. Nothing will harm you so long as you’re ready. Trust me. This isn’t dangerous, and there’s no need to be scared … as long as you’re prepared.”
“I have powers?” Hazel giggled. “Like a superhero?”
“If it helps you to think of it like that, then yes.”
“Cool. What else can I do?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll learn more about that later. Right now, I’d love to know anything else your mother said when you saw her. Can you tell me more?”
“I already told you everything I remember,” Hazel said, chewing her lip.
Dr. Bryant looked at her for a long moment, as if she could see through her lies. “You must be careful with what you believe, Hazel.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might be seeing your mom, but you can’t believe it simply because she says it’s true. Ghosts can play tricks on you. They can do things that we can’t, like change their shape, the sound of their voice, whatever they need to do in order to trick you.”
“So, you’re saying it might not be my mom?”
“I don’t know, but … just be careful. And tell us anything that it tells you or asks you to do.”
Now it really felt like Dr. Bryant was testing her, but Hazel had to be strong.
“How can I know if it’s really Mom? Can I ask her questions only me and my mom would know?”
“No, because ghosts can see into your mind. If you know the answer, so will they.”
“So, how do I know? What do I do?”
“If the ghost tells you to do anything, don’t do it until you talk to me or Carter. This entity might be trying to drive a wedge between you and your father by having you say these things. Stay smart, Hazel. And don’t be afraid to call me.” She pulled a card from her pocket, just like the last time, and handed it to Hazel. “For anything. Okay?”
“Okay.” In light of the new information, Hazel wondered if she should tell the doctor about the medallion, but wasn’t sure. She also remembered her mom saying to be careful who she trusted.
How could Hazel know who to believe?
The doctor said that the ghosts could trick her, but Hazel was pretty sure she could tell if she was being tricked. A girl knows her mother. And while Dr. Bryant had been nice so far, she was still new. When it came down to a new person and her mother, Hazel would always have to side with her mother.
So for now she’d stay silent.
“Do you have any questions before I go?”
“Is there anything I should do until next time we meet? Try and move other stuff?”
“No. Not yet. Maybe Carter will help you if you two have any alone time, but we’ll definitely work on this during our next session. In the meantime, please don’t do anything the ghosts tell you, okay?”
“Okay,” Hazel said, already planning to disobey.
* * * *
SCOTT
As the family sat down to dinner, Scott was trying not to hate himself for losing control.
Holly always said that anger was a normal emotion, a part of humans since they were living in caves: Necessary for survival. Not good or bad, or something to beat yourself up over, anger was merely another emotion. One problem, Holly said, was that he was using anger as a response rather than channeling it into something productive. The other was that he used it to cover up vulnerabilities, perceived weaknesses he never wanted exploited again.
“You don’t need to use anger as a shield with us,” Holly had said. “We’re your family. Not the one you grew up with, but a real, loving family. But in order for us to succeed as a family, you need to work at it, show our children the right way. You are not your father.”
Those last
five words had cut through the armor, and hit him where they needed to. Holly had always been good at saying exactly the right thing to change his mood or perceptions.
You are not your father.
Scott remembered a time when he was ten and some bullies had beaten him up. He went home crying to his mom. She’d told his dad, who came into Scott’s bedroom and sat him down.
He put a hand on Scott’s shoulder and asked, “Did you hit them back?”
“No,” Scott had said.
“Why not?” his father grilled him.
“Mom said that fighting is wrong.”
“Your mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The only way to survive in this world is to never be vulnerable. To be stronger than your enemy. The minute you show a vulnerability is the minute they’ll kick you. The next time you see those punks, you hit first. You make ‘em wish they never messed with a Dawson.”
Scott worked hard to get his emotions in check. It was always easier when he stopped getting drunk. He wasn’t ever an alcoholic like his dad, at least he didn’t think he was, but from time to time he would overindulge, and it was like fuel to his anger’s fire. But Scott managed to get his shit together, he found ways to funnel his anger into positive things — like improving himself, working harder to be a better father and husband.
But as Scott looked across the table at Hazel and Hudson’s faces, he didn’t see a loving family. He saw a family cowering in fear.
I am my father.
He closed his eyes, trying to gather strength lest he break down and cry in front of the kids.
No, I am not my father.
Dinner, so far, had felt like an eternity of dancing around the elephant. Small talk between the kids with silverware plinking too hard against porcelain, passing time until they could get away from him.
He was grateful to have the children alone for a meal, even if they weren’t happy to be alone with him; he was glad that, for once, Carter had found something to do or somewhere to be that didn’t require a quiet intrusion on his family. Scott needed time alone with his kids to repair what he’d damaged.
He opened his eyes, dropped his fork on the plate, and looked around the table. When no one looked up, he cleared his throat, then cleared it a second time, louder, waiting for his children’s attention.
Hudson and Hazel finally looked up.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. About whatever happened. You guys can tell me what I did, or keep it to yourselves. Whatever makes you most comfortable is fine with me. But you have to know — I’m sorry. I know my anger is back, and getting out of control. I know I’m blowing up for no reason. And I know that none of it’s your fault.”
He looked at his children, hating how their eyes said they didn’t believe him, and how they weren’t really looking back. He hated how he knew they both wanted to be anywhere but at the table with him. Scott thought of his own father, and how he could never really look his old man in the eyes, or stand to be near him.
He waited for someone to speak, not trusting another word to himself. Hudson went first. Hazel still seemed unwilling to meet his eyes.
“I think maybe we should leave, Dad. Get out of this place.”
“No, we can’t leave,” Hazel whined.
“Your sister is right. We can’t leave. Right now, this is the only home we have. Davenport says they’re making arrangements to buy our old house, but it’s still owned by the bank. Right now we have nothing.”
“That’s crap, Dad. If you wanted to leave, you could.”
“We’d still need money. And with the crap economy and everything else, I don’t know how we’d make it. Do you really want to leave right now, and give this all up?”
“How long are you going to keep using the economy as an excuse, Dad? Look around, there’s lots of people doing well now. There’s no reason you can’t.”
“Yes, some people are doing well. But it’s not as simple as you’re making it out, like I can just go out there and start a new business or get a job that’ll pay anything close to what we need to live on.”
“Do you really think there’s no way we can take some of the money? There’s a fortune, and we don’t need a lot. Just enough to get our house back, buy ourselves a head start. There has to be some work out there, something. Stuff will be settled with the bank soon, then we can move back home, and if we own the house, income matters a lot less, right? Hazel and I don’t need much.”
Scott wanted to laugh. Oh, yeah, you don’t need a Playstation, iPhone, or iPad? Gonna sell your shit and help us out, son? But that sort of sarcasm was the path of anger, not reconciliation.
“Theoretically, yes, we might be able to do that. But that’s a lot of assumptions. And it’s just as likely that we’d walk away with nothing, and find ourselves in an even worse hole than we started, since we’re already out of the house and can no longer squat while waiting for a miracle.”
“I think we should go, while we still can,” Hudson said, melodramatically enough to make Scott wonder what in the hell he’d done to so sharply change his son’s mind — and if Hudson was serious, or being a contrarian to further test his patience. He considered bringing up Iris and the fancy house he could use to impress the girl, just to gauge his son’s sincerity. Was he really ready to leave all of this behind? To leave Iris? But that felt like a low blow, and maybe something happened between Hudson and the girl, so bringing it up would only throw more fuel on the kindling already surrounding them.
“I know it’s hard being in a new place,” Scott said, again resisting the urge to point out how fucking lucky they were to have landed in this particular new place. “But these are growing pains. I don’t know if I shared with you all just how bad things were at the old house because I didn’t want you to worry, but we were a knock on the door from being homeless. I want you to think about that for a moment, homeless.”
He watched as they considered the reality of living on the streets.
Once he felt like he’d put things into proper perspective, Scott said, “Things will get better. I will get better. I promise.”
A long moment of silence stretched among them, a moment where he felt like maybe he’d won his children back over — convinced them to have faith in him, believe that he’d be better, that things would improve.
He looked at his kids and asked, “Are you with me?”
Hazel said, “Well, I don’t want to leave. I love it here. I want to stay as long as we can. Besides, Mom knows we’re here now. I think she’s coming back to us soon.”
Hudson slapped his palms on the table and shot to his feet. “Figures, crybaby liar would make up a bunch of bullshit so we’d have to stay in Creepy Hollow for the rest of our lives.”
He spun from the table and marched out of the dining room.
Scott said, “Hudson,” with barely any breath behind it.
The room was silent.
Hazel and Scott sat together, saying nothing.
She ate slowly, mostly staring at the plate.
He thought she’d forgiven him, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Scott wanted to say something — anything — but had no idea what. Things felt like they were going well, until Hudson threw a fit and fucked things up again.
Now it was like they were all sent back to Start.
Hazel could be hard to figure out when things were normal. He could accept her anger, but the way she’d been acting all day, like he didn’t, or maybe shouldn’t, exist was something worse than that, and like nothing he’d ever seen from her before.
He wondered how long Holly had been poisoning Hazel against him. It didn’t seem like her, and fit none of her patterns, but there was no other logical explanation. The truth hurt more than he could have imagined: betrayal that bit to the bone.
Hazel was exactly like Holly in so many ways. He couldn’t pry to get to the truth inside her. She was too stubborn. He could only sit and wait for her to reveal her thoughts, unveil whatever was reall
y happening here. And eventually Hazel would tell him because — Scott was certain — that was how Holly had designed it. She’d never ruin their daughter without a plan.
That was the only way to explain why Hazel had stayed silent about Karla until now, why she’d waited until they reached the manor.
Scott swallowed his lump and rubbed his arms.
How was she still getting information?
Was Holly here in the mansion?
Was their new life a setup? And if so, were Carter, the staff, and even the doctor in on the whole thing?
As he sat across from his daughter, shoveling cold dinner into his hot mouth, Scott chewed on his anger.
Then something happened.
Hazel looked up at him, her eyes wide, reminding Scott of when she was a toddler, looking up to him with those same big brown eyes. Eyes that revered him. He was her daddy! She was his princess.
Finally, shame doused his anger.
Hazel smiled and said, “Everything will be okay, Daddy.”
And in that moment Scott began to doubt his anger’s narrative. Began to wonder if Hazel was right all along.
What if Holly’s ghost is here in Galloway Manor?
* * * *
HUDSON
Hudson sulked in his room, stewing over his father’s idiocy.
What would it take for Dad to say enough of this place? Hazel was seeing ghosts, he was freaking out and attacking his daughter, and Hudson had seen something in Savannah’s closet. This felt like one of those horror movies where the ghosts do everything to scare people away, and yet the idiots never leave until the poltergeists leave most of them dead!
Yet, if Hudson was being honest with himself, he’d admit that he didn’t really want to go either. He just wanted his Dad to be willing to leave for his kids.
Did this unwillingness to leave the manor make Hudson one of those horror movie clichés? In his mind, no. Hazel was getting “visits” from Mom long before they came to Castle Creepy. Also, Hudson wasn’t sure what he saw in the closet. The mind can play tricks when you’re scared. He also couldn’t be sure about the diary’s message. Maybe he imagined that, too. It wasn’t there the last time he looked.
