The Ghosts of Mertland (An Angel Hill novel)
Page 19
She'd found an outlet on her side of the bed for the clock and now her lamp stood next to it on the table. Jack's side didn't have an outlet. She'd either have to get an extension cord to another outlet, or he'd have to forego his bedside lamp.
She realized then that no one had come downstairs yet. She stepped into the hall and called out, "Are you guys coming down or what?"
But no one answered and, in fact, when Liz listened, she didn't hear anything at all. No feet moved around upstairs, no boards creaked overhead. She walked closer to the stairs and listened again, then called, louder, "Are you guys coming down? I'm gonna be making dinner in a minute. What do you want?"
Again there was no answer. She stepped up to the landing, annoyed that they were ignoring her. "Joey," she said, "who wants candy?" When Joey didn't come running and screaming, she decided Jack had told him to keep quiet and they'd scare her. But she was smarter than that.
"It's not going to work, Jack," she said. "I'm going downstairs." With that, she clomped back down to the first floor and into the bedroom. She moved into Joey's room to start his unpacking.
Before she even got started on his clothes, she heard the front door again.
"Nice going," she yelled into the hall. "I can hear the door from down here, you know."
"Liz?" a voice called down. It sounded like Joey, kind of. But he sounded odd. Had he hurt himself, she wondered. I'd better go see if he's okay, she thought.
Liz dropped his clothes on the floor and went upstairs to the landing. They weren't here. Maybe Jack had taken him up to the second floor bathroom for whatever reason. The voice came again, "Liz," from upstairs. She went to the second floor bathroom, but it was dark, empty. The door stood open and as she leaned in to close it, the voice came again, "Liz," from behind her. She turned, expecting to see Joey in the open main room, but Joey wasn't there. No one was. But the voice had been right behind her. She let go of the bathroom door and stepped toward the main room when it came, "Liz," right behind her again. This time it had come from the bathroom and Liz could see clearly that the bathroom was dark and empty.
Panic welled in her; her heart skipped a half dozen beats and her stomach wanted to hide in her knees. Her breath caught and she turned to dart down the stairs. She almost rounded the landing and leapt to the bottom floor, but she bolted through the front door instead. Liz sailed down the porch steps to the walkway, down the path across the long front yard and finally down another small set of steps leading to the street. She stopped and turned back to look at the house, expecting any of a dozen horror movie scenes to be playing out in front of her eyes. Instead, she saw their new house. Nothing else.
The upper windows didn't glow with eerie light, nor did macabre figures stare out at her. She caught her breath, calmed herself down, and looked up at the house again. She stared at it then, waiting, daring something to show itself. When nothing did, she decided she had come all the way from Houston to live in Angel Hill with her husband and son and this was their house now. No matter what may lie in the shadows of this house, it was theirs now and if she heard a noise every now and then, well, what house didn't make noises?
How many houses call you by name?
Shut up, she told this inner voice. Lots of things sound like Liz. There's biz, quiz, wiz, fizz. And when she thought about it, she wasn't entirely sure what she'd heard had been a voice. In all the recorded history of ghost hunting, no one had yet to supply any kind of proof solid enough to convince all the world's skeptics. Why was that? Because everything was always explainable some other way.
Another Angel Hill bird. The Talking Liz bird maybe.
But you heard the door open.
No, she told the voice. I heard something. I've been in this house, what, fifteen hours, suddenly I know all its noises? No. I heard something, but that's all. It could have been a breeze blowing against the door.
Just then, their Jeep rolled up behind her. The horn honked and Liz turned, glad to see Jack and Joey home again.
"Wanna get some supper?" he asked. "We found a good restaurant."
Liz ordered a pot roast dinner while Jack and Joey both had hamburgers. Liz thought about telling Jack about the noises, but decided it wouldn't be a good idea in front of Joey, so she kept quiet. They laughed and talked about the new town and Jack's new job. He would take part of tomorrow and go visit the plant, an electronics company that built control panels for utility trucks. After paying the check, Jack let Joey leave the tip and the six-year-old bounded back to them at the door. They drove around for a while, sightseeing and familiarizing themselves with their neighborhood. While it darkened outside, Joey dozed in the back seat. Jack said, "I wonder if there's a music store in town."
“Didn’t you just change those strings a few weeks ago?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It was my last set, though. I like to have them on hand, just in case.”
"Oh." Liz turned her attention back to the window. Angel Hill was now a blur of light and dark patches whizzing by.
By the time Jack pulled up outside the house, Joey was asleep and Liz also felt exhaustion coming. Her head rested against the glass, enjoying the coolness of it after the summer heat of the city. All thoughts about the sound earlier that might have been her name being called--or might have been the Talking Liz, native to Angel Hill--were forgotten.
Jack got the door open and Liz carried Joey. They let him sleep with them since theirs was the only room close to done.
In the middle of the night, Jack roused just long enough to hear Joey coming back down the hall. While he was almost asleep again instantly, he was conscious enough to know he didn't remember feeling Joey actually climb onto the bed.
C. Dennis Moore is the author of over 60 published short stories and novellas in the speculative fiction genre. Most recent appearances were in the Dark Highlands 2, What Fears Become, Dead Bait 3 and Dark Highways anthologies. His novels are Revelations, and the Angel Hill stories,
The Man in the Window, The Third Floor, The Ghosts of Mertland and The Flip. He is in the middle of writing another Angel Hill novel with co-author David Bain.
You can connect with the author at his website, http://www.cdennismoore.com/
Or on Twitter: https://twitter.com/CDennisMoore
To subscribe to my free weekly newsletter, Direct Message me on Twitter or email me at angelhillnewsletter@gmail.com.
Copyright © 2013, Charles Moore
All rights reserved
Acknowledgments:
Cover photo taken by C. Dennis Moore
Manipulated by David G. Barnett
Return to Angel Hill is Copyright © 2013, Charles Moore and David Bain.
The Third Floor is Copyright © 2012, Charles Moore.
Also by C. Dennis Moore
Graphic Novels in Prose:
The American Way
Fluke
Collaborations:
Band of Gypsies (with David Bain)
Terror Is Our Trade (with David Bain)
Power & the Gravy (with Marcus Kilroy and Mike Evans)
Poetry:
The ‘I Hate You’ Book of Love Poems
Short Story Samplers
Coming Down the Mountain
Renovation
The Fish in the Fields
five fictions
Short Story Collections:
Terrible Thrills
Icons to Ashes
Dancing On a Razorblade
With Just a Hint of Mayhem: The C. Dennis Moore Short Fiction Omnibus, Vol. 1
The Dichotomy of Monsters
Novellas:
Camdigan
Safe at Home
Epoch Winter
Aftermath
Novels:
Revelations
The Man in the Window
The Third Floor
The Flip
Nonfiction:
The C. Dennis Moore Horror Movie Guide, Vol. 1
The C. Dennis Moore Horror Movie Guide, Vol. 2
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br /> The C. Dennis Moore Horror Movie Guide, Vol. 3
50 Horror Classics
50 Sci-Fi Classics
Holiday Horrors:
New Year’s Day
Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Groundhog Day