The Curse Of the House On Cypress Lane Omnibus

by Hunt, James

  Owen lifted her out of the seat and placed her tiny furnace of a body over his shoulder as she remained asleep. He shut the van door and turned to the house. He stopped at the sight of the muddy tracks that led up to the front porch steps and open front door.

  Owen shifted Chloe in his arms and scanned the property as he walked toward the door. He didn’t see Roger in the trees or the field.

  “Roger?” Owen’s voice echoed in the massive living room, but only the old floors groaned in response to his footsteps. He followed the mud tracks through the living room and into the dining room, and that’s when he started to hear it.

  A low mumble, like chanting. There was a rhythm to it, and it echoed through the walls down the hallway. Owen followed it past his own bedroom on the first floor and back toward the closed door of the spare bedroom where the tracks ended.

  Owen glanced at Chloe still asleep on his shoulder and knocked, unsure what Roger was doing on the other side. “Roger? You all right?”

  More mumbles answered, and Owen jiggled the door knob. Locked. He returned to the dining room and pulled out one of the chairs. “I’m gonna set you down, okay sweetheart?” Owen gently placed her in the chair, and she grumbled something as she folded her hands on the table and laid her head down.

  Owen returned to the room and pressed his ear against the door and heard more mumbling. He pounded on the old wood with his palm. “Roger, you need to open up right now!” Nothing.

  Owen rammed his shoulder into the door, and the old wood buckled but didn’t break. He backed up, giving himself a running start, then rushed the door again. Wood splintered off from the frame and the door flung open. Owen stumbled three steps before stopping and saw Roger on his back, his eyes staring at the ceiling, soaking wet.

  Owen knelt by the old man’s side and gently took his hand. “Roger, can you hear me?” He cupped his father-in-law’s cheek, but the old timer didn’t react, only repeating his rhythmic nonsense. And his skin was ice to the touch.

  Owen leaned closer to Roger’s mouth, trying to understand what was being said, but it might as well have been a foreign language.

  Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May. Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May. Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May.

  “Daddy?” Chloe poked her head around the door frame, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

  Owen left Roger to his nonsense and scooped Chloe off the floor and jogged down the hallway with her in his arms, then dropped her on the couch in the living room. “Sweetheart, I need you to stay right here and don’t move, okay?”

  Chloe’s eyes widened, and she nodded as Owen ran out to the van and grabbed his phone. He dialed 911 and returned to the room where Roger was still on his back, mumbling the same words over and over.

  The operator picked up. “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Hi, I need an ambulance for my father-in-law. He’s an Alzheimer’s patient, and I think he might have hurt himself.”

  Owen nodded along and answered the operator’s questions as the woman assured Owen that help would get there soon. He pressed two fingers into the side of the old man’s neck and checked his pulse. It was racing. Owen pinched Roger’s wet sleeve and then touched the floors of the room and noticed that they were wet too. The whole damn room was wet.

  * * *

  Matt faded in and out of consciousness on the ride over to the hospital, but Claire never let go of his hand. The paramedics didn’t say much, only answering her repeated concerns of whether her son was okay, to which they always replied ‘yes.’

  The ambulance slowed to a stop outside the ER entrance of Southern General, which had been a thirty-minute drive. It was twice as long as a trip would have taken from their house in Baltimore to the nearest hospital. She didn’t know why that popped into her head, but it did.

  Claire thanked the medics for their help, repeatedly, and she and Matt were transferred into the care of a team of nurses and a doctor who looked one step from retiring and two from the grave.

  “We’ll draw some blood and keep him here for a few hours for observation,” Doctor Medley said, his upper back permanently curved forward from a hump formed by either old age or fatigue. “Then we’ll release him to go home. Food here isn’t great, so if you need to step out and grab yourself or your son something to eat, you won’t find anyone objecting. Security will give you an eyeful, along with Nurse Hatcher, but I assure you both are harmless as long as you’re not trying to steal anything.” He scribbled something down on his clipboard. “I’ll be on call, so if you have any questions, just ask one of my nurses and they’ll page me.”

  “I did have one question,” Claire said. “Since the bite, he’s been very cold, almost clammy to the touch. Is that normal?”

  Doctor Medley didn’t look up from his clipboard as he waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “He’s still in shock. I imagine you don’t run into many venomous snakes in Baltimore.” He looked up, smiling, but Claire didn’t return the gesture. “He’ll be fine, Mrs. Cooley. He just needs rest. Keeping him here is just a precautionary measure. Nothing more.” He patted her arm with his old, liver-spotted hand the way the elderly did to those younger than them when they felt it necessary to evoke their superiority, and then left to check on his other patients.

  Claire pulled up a chair and resumed her position at Matt’s bedside, holding his hand and gently running her fingers through his hair. She engulfed his small hand in his, trying to warm him, but despite her touch, his fingers remained icy.

  “Mom?”

  Claire smiled. “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?”

  Matt offered a fatigued groan, his lips barely moving. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Okay,” Claire answered, kissing his forehead. “I’ll get you some water. Do you need anything else? More blankets?” His forehead was colder than his hand.

  “No,” Matt answered. “Just water.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Claire stopped at the doorway and turned back to her son. She lingered, watching him sleep. She’d never been so happy to see him sleep.

  A nurse passed and Claire reached for the woman’s elbow, who looked up from her phone at Claire’s touch.

  “Is there a water fountain here somewhere?” Claire asked.

  “Down the hall and to the left around the corner. There’ll be cups in a dispenser right next to it.”

  “Thanks.” Claire looked back to Matt, his eyes still closed, then weaved down the hall around the traffic of nurses and doctors. She pulled a cup from the dispenser and tilted it to the side, tapping her foot as it filled. When it reached the top, she quickly turned back down to the hallway, careful not to spill the water on her hurried return.

  “Here you go, baby,” Claire said, lifting the cup to his lips and helping him sit up to drink. He sipped at first, then gulped the water vigorously. He drank until it was gone, and then coughed a little as Claire gently laid his head back down onto the pillow. “Do you want some more?”

  “No,” Matt said weakly. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome.” Claire crumpled the paper cup and tossed it in the waste bucket, then returned to her sentry chair, watching over her son, her hand over his while he slept.

  In the quiet of their room, Claire retraced everything that had happened since they arrived in town. She did her best not to obsess, but after what she’d just seen, it was hard not to. The rational side of her brain reassured her that this was simply a combination of unfortunate events. But the other side, the maternal side, whispered different thoughts.

  Claire had never been a religious woman. Neither was her family. The only time she’d set foot in a church was when Owen and her were married, and that was only because that’s what both of them thought that’s what the occasion called for.

  But everything that happened so far felt like… signs. Bad omens warning her to leave. And the more she thought about it, the more she worried.

  Claire rubbed her forehead in exasperated fatigue. She took a breath and convinced herself that she was
simply overwhelmed and lacked sleep, which was true. The move, the new house, new environment, all of it was catching up with her.

  She kissed Matt’s hand again and then placed it under the blankets in hopes of warming it up. But after two more sets of blankets and twenty minutes later, his skin was still ice cold. She flagged down one of the nurses to check his temperature.

  “Ninety-eight point five degrees,” the nurse said, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s fine, Mrs. Cooley.”

  Claire stared at the bright green numbers of the digital display. She shook her head. “How is that even possible?” She turned to the nurse. “Why does he feel so cold?”

  “It’s probably a side effect of the snake venom,” the nurse answered reassuringly, then gestured to the monitors keeping track of his vitals. “Heart rate, blood pressure, all of that is fine. He just needs rest.”

  The nurse left, but the repeated squawking of ‘he just needs rest’ didn’t offer much comfort. Claire sat in her chair, staring at her son under all of those blankets, trying to convince herself that Matt really was fine, that she just needed to trust the doctors and what they were telling her. But that second voice wouldn’t shut up.

  Claire stood and then walked back into the hallway to grab a drink of water for herself. When she reached for the paper cup dispenser, a commotion at the ER entrance stole her attention.

  Another team of medics wheeled a man in on a stretcher, their bodies blocking the patient from view. She turned back toward the water fountain and filled her cup.

  “Claire!”

  She jumped at the sound of her name, then turned and saw Owen carrying Chloe down the hallway. She dropped the cup in her hand and it splashed to the floor, forming a puddle around her feet. A million thoughts raced through her mind. Chloe was hurt, her dad was hurt, her dad was missing, her—

  “Where’s Matt?” Owen asked, handing Chloe off to Claire, who wrapped her tightly in a hug.

  “Down the hall,” Claire asked, then examined Chloe. “Are you all right, baby?”

  “Grandpa’s sick.” Chloe buried her face into Claire’s shoulder after the comment and Claire looked to Owen.

  “What happened?”

  “He locked himself in one of the rooms on the first floor. He was whispering to himself, talking nonsense. The paramedics checked his vitals and said they were fine, but he’s not responsive. I think he’s having an episode.”

  Claire shut her eyes and then stepped backward into the puddle of water she’d made after dropping the cup, then handed Chloe back to Owen. “I want to see him.”

  “The doctors are looking at him now, but Claire.” Owen took their daughter and then blocked her path. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do with him.”

  “What do you mean what do we do with him?” An unintended wickedness laced her tone, and she immediately regretted it when she saw the pain on Owen’s face. “I’m sorry. I just—” She drew in a breath and regained her composure.

  “It’s okay, but listen, I spoke to Chuck, and he told me there are some good places in New Orleans,” Owen said. “He’s willing to help us pay for it until we’re all set up.”

  “You don’t think that’s strange?” Claire asked.

  “What?”

  “How accommodating he’s been? It’s like he’ll do anything to get us to stay.”

  Owen laughed in exasperation. “And you think that’s a bad thing? Jesus, Claire, we were about to lose our house.”

  “Shh!” Claire glanced down to Chloe and shook her head. “Let’s not talk about it now.” She bent down to pick up the paper cup she’d dropped, then tossed it in the trash. “I need to see him.”

  Owen gestured down the hall. “They said they were taking him to examination room three. Where’s Matt?”

  “Room one seventeen. He’s sleeping, so don’t wake him up.” Claire started to walk away, but stopped, turned around, and kissed Owen on the lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah,” Owen said, letting out a sigh. “Me too.”

  They separated, their hands breaking apart at the last second, and Claire hurried toward her father’s room, which she found with the door open and the paramedics already gone. She clasped her hands together and held them tight to her chest as she watched a nurse remove one of the blood pressure wraps from his arm.

  She saw his lips moving, but couldn’t hear his words. She had never seen her father look so old as he did right there. The nurse began to undress him, then noticed Claire in the doorway.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Claire wiped her eyes. “He’s my father. Can you give us a minute?”

  The nurse offered a sympathetic nod. “Don’t be too long. Those clothes are damp, and I want to get him out of them before he catches something.” She left, and Claire slowly approached her father’s bedside.

  Roger’s words remained softer than a whisper and he lay as still as water, staring up at the ceiling with his arms and legs strapped down to the bed.

  “Dad?” Claire asked, slowly reaching for the bar that ran along the side of the cot. “Are you there?”

  Roger didn’t break his concentrated gaze on the ceiling tiles, nor did his lips stop moving. Claire gently took hold of his hand, but then recoiled her arm when his skin was icy cold. She stepped backward, her instincts screaming at her now, ordering her to get out of that house.

  But she stopped and forced herself back to her father’s side and picked up his hand, her mouth downturned in grief. She sniffled. “I thought we’d have more time, Daddy.” She kissed his fingers and then set them down.

  Why was it whenever things started to come together, they immediately fell apart? The job and the move were supposed to be a blessing, but now they felt more like a curse. Her son almost died, and her father’s disease had progressed faster than the doctors predicted. She felt the walls crumbling down, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take before the whole damn house came with it.

  5

  The van headlights illuminated the front of the house, and Owen slowed as they approached, then parked, killing the engine and the lights. He paused a moment, his eyes transfixed on the house in the moonlight, and Claire reached over and touched his arm.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Owen nodded quickly. “Fine.” He turned toward the back seat where both Chloe and Matt were asleep.

  The doctors found nothing wrong with Matt after their slew of tests, and they said they’d have the blood work back in a few days. But while Matt could come home, Roger was still mumbling in that catatonic stare of his, lying stiff as a board on his cot.

  Claire carried Chloe inside while Owen handled Matt. “We should probably just let them rest. We’ll get them upstairs and if they wake up, we’ll fix them something to eat.”

  “All right.”

  They put both kids to bed, tucked them in, and then lingered in the hallway, watching both doors and leaving them open. Owen followed Claire downstairs and they collapsed on the couch in the living room. Claire rested her head on Owen’s chest and sighed.

  “You know I’m thankful for you getting this job,” Claire said, her words hesitant but deliberate. “But I’m wondering if we made the wrong move.”

  “I know it’s been hard,” Owen said, taking her hand in his own. He rubbed her skin, which felt unusually soft against his own. He shifted on the couch so he could look her in the eye. “We just have to stay the course. If we’re smart, we’ll be out of debt in three years. And after that, the job market could be different and we could look into moving somewhere else, maybe back to Baltimore. Things will get better.”

  Claire nodded and then rested her head back onto his chest. He wasn’t sure if his words were more for her or himself, but either way, they seemed to help.

  “Oh,” Claire said, tapping him on the chest and lifting her head. “I forgot to tell you that there was something wrong with the plumbing this morning. It happened before Matt’s accident.”

 
“The plumbing?” Owen asked, recalling the sopping wet floor he found Roger lying on.

  “Yeah, in the kitchen,” Claire answered. “Black water was spitting from the faucet. You might want to tell Chuck about it so he can have someone come take a look.”

  Owen stroked Claire’s hair, nodding to himself, trying not to sound alarmed. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.” His stomach growled.

  “Hungry?”

  “Getting there,” Owen answered.

  Claire pushed herself off of him and crossed her legs Indian-style on the couch. “I didn’t even get to eat lunch today. There isn’t much in the fridge, and the last thing I want to do is cook.”

  “Pizza?” Owen asked.

  “Sounds good to me,” Claire answered.

  “All right, you order it and I’ll pick it up.”

  Claire kissed him on the cheek and rolled off the couch to grab her phone from her purse. Claire’s voice drifted from the kitchen, and while she ordered, he got up and went back to the room where he’d found Roger lying unconscious, wanting answers to the questions circling his mind.

  The door was still ajar from his violent entrance, and he stepped over some of the wooden shards from the broken door frame. He knelt, pressing his hand against the floorboards that were bone dry. He shook his head in disbelief, then squat-walked around the whole room, checking different spots, but everything was dry. Even after all day in this heat, it was impossible for it to dry out that quickly. Wasn’t it?

  “Hey,” Claire said, standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  Owen spun around, quickly standing and wiping his palm onto his jeans. “Just wanted to double check Roger didn’t bring anything in here with him during his episode.” Claire glanced around the room, hugging herself. He walked toward her. “He’s going to come back from this. Remember that the doctor told us that the beginning stages of the disease could be managed with the right mix of medications and therapy.”