The Spookshow - The Spookshow 1

by Tim McGregor

  5

  IT WAS ALMOST midnight before Kaitlin had her phone returned and allowed to walk out the doors of the Division One building. She thumbed her phone on. Thirteen emails and nine texts.

  She was miffed. Kaitlin understood being questioned and having to give a statement. They had, after all, broken into the place but to have her phone taken away during that whole process had completely unnerved her. Her hands didn’t know what to do without something to fiddle with and she found herself morose without the constant stream of distraction feeding her eyeballs.

  The officer who took her statement wouldn’t say anything about charges being laid, which drove her nuts. She wanted to find out what they said to Tammy but she was still inside the station. Who knows how long she was going to be held up? What she wanted most, she realized, was a shower. The dust and the grime from crawling around inside the old house was making her skin crawl.

  Kyle, her boyfriend, was sprawled in front of the TV when she got home. “Hey,” he said. “Where have you been? How come you didn’t return any of my texts?”

  “It’s a long story.” Too long to go into now. She needed a shower and she needed to crash.

  “I sent, like, twenty texts,” he pouted. “I was starting to get worried.”

  Kaitlin surveyed the mess of empty nacho bags and beer bottles on the coffee table. On the TV screen, a demented killer in a Halloween mask slashed at the scantily clad bodies of nubile teens. Fake blood and bad prosthetic make-up. “Yeah. I can see you were real concerned.”

  “What happened?” Her snark had either gone over his head or was trumped by her filthy state. Probably the former.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, drifting for the bathroom.

  After scrubbing off the grime, she stood under the jets and let the water scald her raw. The tension of the last few hours melted off but the ball of ice in her belly refused to recede. More so, the awful image of those dry bones would not wash out of her mind. It flared up hot and bright every time she closed her eyes. How much worse would it be when her head finally hit the pillow?

  The hot water faded and she stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was steamed opaque but a clammy sensation itched her flesh and she wrapped herself quickly in the towel. The creeping feeling of being watched was sharp and she checked the window for peeping toms, knowing full well no one could see into her third story bathroom window.

  You’re overtired, she told herself. And freaking yourself out. Still, she towelled off quickly and shrugged into the robe hanging off the back of the door. Something moved in the foggy mirror. She startled and spun around but there was nothing behind her. She wiped a flat palm against the mirror to clear it and there was nothing there. Then there was a face. The eyeless skull face of the body in the pit.

  She shook it off. Another symptom of exhaustion and a crazy night.

  That’s when the banging started. Out in the kitchen, the clang of pots and the boom of cupboards slamming shut.

  “Kyle!” she hollered. What the hell was he doing, cooking up a meal at this hour? The banging and clanging went on and she stepped out of the bathroom and barked again.

  The racket stopped. Silence returned.

  “Kyle?”

  No answer came. She padded down the hallway to the kitchen, passing the bedroom door. She glanced, out of habit, into the bedroom.

  Kyle was tucked under the sheets, snoring logs.

  Kaitlin froze. Someone was inside the apartment. She held her breath and mentally willed Kyle to wake up but he didn’t listen to her in his waking hours, so why would he heed her mental pleas for help now?

  No more sounds issued from the kitchen. Maybe she had imagined it? Or maybe a raccoon had gotten in? The city was infested with them. She tiptoed the last three paces and peeked around the corner. Isn’t this what those stupid girls in horror movies always do? Ignore the logical thing and venture barefoot into danger?

  The kitchen was empty and still. No intruder wielding a machete, no animal rooting through the garbage. Her muscles relaxed and she mulled over the racket she had heard. Her nerves must be shot, she concluded. Her imagination stoked to fever pitch by the earlier events.

  One detail stood out, one thing out of place in the otherwise normal kitchen. A dark object lay on the floor. She took it to be an article of clothing, a dark t-shirt Kyle had left on the floor but it was a bird. A crow or blackbird, dead on the tile. Its wings splayed out as if broken, the head lolling to one side and its glassy eye staring into nothing.

  She recoiled in disgust and screamed for Kyle to come help. This must have been what she heard, the bird flapping around the kitchen, knocking things over. How had it gotten in? The window over the sink was open but the screen was undisturbed.

  She hollered for Kyle again but he failed to appear and she decided then and there to break up with him. She couldn’t think of a clearer sign than this. He was of no use when she needed him. She’d have to deal with this herself. Not that she knew what to do with a dead bird. What was the protocol for finding a kamikaze crow? Toss it down the garbage chute or call the city? Fling it into the neighbour’s backyard and let them deal with it?

  Gathering a big plastic bag from under the sink, she draped it over the dead bird and scooped it inside, careful not to touch the thing with her bare hands. What kind of diseases did birds carry? Especially crows? She twisted the end of the bag and dropped the whole thing into the trash bin under the sink. Kyle could deal with the rest in the morning. Then she’d dump his useless ass.

  She had been careful not to touch any part of the bird but she scrubbed her hands at the sink anyway and dried them off and turned to leave the room. She had almost hit the light switch when the banging started up again. She spun around.

  Every cupboard door stood open. Every drawer was drawn out to its maximum extension. Even the refrigerator door creaked open all on its own.

  The trash bin under the sink rattled and tipped over. The plastic wrapped bundle rolled out and crinkled madly as the thing inside struggled to get out. The black bird flapped its wings and hopped across the floor and cawed angrily at her.

  Every muscle seized up. Kaitlin couldn’t scream or run or fight back. As helpless as those dumb girls in the slasher movies. The bird flapped around the room and the cupboards began banging open and closed and when she caught sight of the leering face in the window, her mind shut down and everything went black.

  One tiny thought bubbled up before she blacked out completely. This was all Billie’s fault.

  6

  “YIKES,” JEN STATED when she got a look at Billie. “You look like a zombie.”

  “Good morning to you too,” Billie replied. Shambling through the shop door with a tray of coffee in her hand, she moved like the walking dead too.

  The antique bell over the door was a quaint touch that Jen had installed herself, thinking it was cute. Peeling across Billie’s nerves at this moment, it felt more like punishment. Jen, of course, looked freshly scrubbed and perfectly turned out, as was her wont. The Doll House was Jen’s shop on James Street, her dream place to sell vintage clothes alongside her own dress designs. Up and running for a few short months, Jen was constantly stressing over her shop’s finances but Billie had confidence in it. The place had an oddball appeal that reflected its owner’s personality— bubbly and fun. Billie herself had helped with some of the renovations, as had Tammy and Kaitlin. Now it was their go-to hangout.

  “Tell me you didn’t go to that house,” Jen said, hooking another dress on the rack.

  Billie handed her friend a coffee. “We got busted.”

  Jen’s mouth dropped open and Billie sighed. It was going to be a long story and she honestly did not have the energy to go into it. But of course she had to.

  Jen’s jaw continued to drop as Billie recapped the events of the previous night. Interrupting here and there to clarify a point as Billie muddled the details, Jen was eager for nuance but Billie waved a white flag for her to le
t it go. She had been interrogated once already.

  “See?” Jen said with a minor note of righteousness. “I knew it would be trouble.”

  Billie lifted the cup to her lips but all that was left was foam. “What was I supposed to do, let them go in there alone?”

  Jen knew of Billie’s gift. Or rather, she was aware of what Billie claimed she could do but she refused to even contemplate the idea, a position that Billie respected. Despite the fact that they had known each other since high school, the two of them simply didn’t discuss it. An unstated accord of conversation.

  “It’s a wonder no one was hurt crawling around a place like that,” Jen said, shaking her head. “Whatever possessed you to break up the floor?”

  “Dunno,” Billie replied.

  “You must know. I mean, did you see something? Like a, you know….”

  Billie looked up in surprise. This was as close as Jen had ever come to discussing the ability Billie suffered from. “No. That’s what was so weird about it. I didn’t see anything. I just felt drawn to it. Like a magnet.”

  Maybe, Billie thought, Jen was coming around and they could actually discuss this bizarre turn her life had taken since that night in June. After initially driving her insane, this “gift” Billie had developed left her isolated from the world. The dead were everywhere and there was no escape from them and there were few she could talk to about it. Kaitlin was a believer but her interest in Billie’s faculty was prurient. She saw it as a cool parlour trick, something to pull out at parties to wow the unwary. Tammy remained healthily sceptical. Even last night’s shenanigans would do little to change that.

  Jen was her oldest friend. If she could discuss it with her, or at least vent about what it was like to be eternally haunted, she wouldn’t feel so cut off from the rest of the world. Keeping it to herself was poisonous.

  “Have you seen this?” Jen said, lifting out one of the dresses from the rack. “It’s new. The design looked good on paper but I’m not sure if it actually works. What do you think?”

  With that, Billie knew, the matter was closed. Jen didn’t want to discuss it anymore. Billie looked over the dress, a simple frock of blue with white piping and a nautical print. “The little anchors are cute.”

  Jen held the dress at arm’s length to evaluate it. “I like them too. I was thinking about a whole sailor theme, ya know?”

  “I like it.” Billie said, trying to keep her disappointment from leaking into her tone. “You could add a jaunty little sailor’s cap too.”

  “Could you see yourself wearing it?”

  Billie scrutinized the frock. Too revealing. “I can’t wear stuff like that.”

  “Sure you can. You just need to try wearing something that isn’t black.”

  Billie rolled her eyes but she knew that her friend was right. Her wardrobe had become somewhat bleak in the last few months. She was hounded by the spirits of the dead, for Christ’s sakes. Bright colours just seemed unbecoming. Still, she wondered if it was a tad unseemly to dress like a mopy indie kid.

  Jen draped the dress against Billie’s frame. “Try it on.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Oh come on,” Jen pleaded. “It won’t bite. Just try something different. Please.”

  “It’s not me.” She was trying to be polite. Jen would have to put a gun to her head to try that on.

  Fortunately, the bell chiming over the door saved either of them from pulling a weapon. Tammy staggered through the door and flopped onto the church pew against the wall. “Hello ladies,” Tammy huffed.

  “Jeepers,” Jen exclaimed. “You look worse than she does.”

  Tammy craned her neck, working a kink out. “I got, like, zero sleep last night.”

  Jen joined Tammy on the bench and patted her hand. “Billie told me about how the police questioned you last night.”

  “I wish that was the worst of it,” Tammy said. “Are you drinking that?”

  Jen handed over her coffee.

  Billie perked up, concerned. “What do you mean?”

  “The nightmares. All night. I just kept seeing that thing in the pit.”

  Billie nodded. “That was an awful thing to see.”

  “Every time I close my eyes, it’s there.” Tammy leaned back against the pew, her eyes slowly drawing to Billie. “Remind me never to doubt you about this shit again.”

  Jen rose and became busy straightening the clothes on the rack, clearly uncomfortable at the notion. “I wonder where Kaitlin is.”

  “She’s probably sleeping it off,” Tammy offered.

  Tuesday afternoons had become a ritual for them, stopping by the shop to catch up and make plans. The catch-up sessions often bled into the evening and, on more than one occasion, had led to an impromptu cocktail party before heading out for the evening. Kaitlin was often the instigator, urging Jen to lock the door so they could have the shop to themselves.

  Billie looked at Tammy. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “I texted her a couple times but got nothing back.”

  “That means she’s dead asleep,” Jen said. Kaitlin’s preferred method of communication was often flurries of texts throughout the day. A lack of response was rare.

  “Maybe we should check on her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” Jen said. “Nothing ever bothers that girl.”

  Tammy was a coiled knot on the pew, arms folded tight and her leg bouncing fitfully. Her eyes locked onto Billie. “Did that cop friend of yours say anything?”

  “About what?”

  “About how much shit we’re in.” Tammy crossed her legs to settle her twitching knee. “The cop I talked to said we were in deep.”

  Jen ceased fussing with the rack. “Who are you talking about?”

  “He was just trying to scare you,” Billie said to Tammy. “I don’t think we’re in any trouble.”

  “How do you know?”

  Jen interjected, repeating her question. “Who are you talking about?”

  Tammy wagged her chin in Billie’s direction. “That cop guy Billie’s all moony over. The one who knocked her into the harbour.”

  “Moony? Please.” Billie’s eyes rolled.

  “Mockler?” Jen turned sharply on her friend. “You didn’t tell me he was there last night.”

  Billie shrugged. “Whoops.”

  Jen planted a fist onto her hip. “I thought you were going to steer clear of that guy.”

  “I am,” Billie retorted.

  “But you called him last night?”

  “Weren’t you paying attention?” Billie asked. “We found a body.”

  Tammy’s brow furrowed. “What’s the problem?”

  Jen held her gaze on Billie. “He’s engaged.”

  “So what?” Tammy said.

  “You’re being unfair,” Billie said.

  “Am I?” Jen’s tone became flinty. “Is he still engaged?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “And you just had to call him? You couldn’t call nine-one-one?”

  Tammy sat up. “Easy, Jen. We were kinda freaked out last night.”

  Billie took a step back, feeling stung. This was a sore spot for Jen but Billie didn’t know why. It’s not like anything had ever happened. She loved Jen to bits but didn’t like her friend’s air of moral superiority on the subject. It came off as judgemental and it made Billie bristle.

  “Well you shouldn’t have gone there in the first place,” Jen said and went back to the front counter, ending the conversation.

  Tammy yawned. “What’s up with her?”

  “Who knows. Maybe she and Adam had a fight.”

  “So much for our Tuesday.” Tammy slumped forward, elbows on her knees and her head hung low.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest,” Billie suggested.

  “And see that face again? No thanks. I need an espresso or something.”

  Tammy got up and they waved goodbye to Jen and stepped out onto James Street. Leaves rattled along the sid
ewalk in the wind, blowing over their feet.

  Billie noted her friend’s lethargic gait and drawn face. “Were they really that bad? The nightmares?”

  “I’ve never had ones like this,” Tammy said. “I don’t even remember my dreams but these ones? I can’t stop seeing them.”

  They walked in silence for a moment and Billie mulled over the events of the night before. The Murder House was a bad place. Bad things had happened there and the place attracted more bad things to it. She had seen places like that before but she knew how to guard herself against its effect, the tragedy or negativity or whatever one called it. Tammy and Kaitlin hadn’t. They had walked in unprepared and the place had left a mark on Tammy.

  Tammy stopped walking. “Bee, did something weird happen to us last night?”

  “Define weird,” Billie shrugged.

  “I don’t know if I totally believe this stuff. Or what you can do. But did something bad happen to us in that place? Like spooky bad?”

  “No. Not the way you mean. I would have seen it, you know?” Billie snaked her hand through Tammy’s elbow and resumed their momentum. “But what we found? That was traumatic. Horrifying. It’s gonna have an effect. That’s normal.”

  “Okay. Good.” Tension seemed to drain out of Tammy. “I just needed to know.”

  “You’ll be okay.” Billie gave her a squeeze, relieved to see her friend relax. Tammy would be all right. She was level-headed and sceptical about all of this stuff. Kaitlin was a different story however. Her interest in the paranormal bordered on the perverse.

  “Let’s check on Kaitlin,” Billie said. Tammy agreed and they picked up the pace, marching into the wind.

  7

  THE TECH CREW sent over two dozen digital photographs of the crime scene. Detective Mockler printed seven of them and pinned them to the cubicle wall. Three were wide angles of the basement, lit strongly to reveal the strange symbols painted onto the brick. Another was of the pentagram on the floor and the last three photographs were of the skeletal remains nestled into the pit.