Scary House

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  By the time they reached the abandoned house, dark clouds had rolled in and milked the land of its color, turning everything a flat gray. Swapping cryptic glances, they stared at the penny lying on the back steps with the wind running its icy fingers through their hair. It looked like the same penny Boone nearly picked up last night but who really knew for sure. The wind tugged harder at their clothing as if trying to persuade them to leave while they still could. A group of angry crows squawked in the distance, watching from afar. The penny was tails up and Gavin wondered if it was from nineteen sixty-four like the one bagged up in his pocket. Like the newspaper stories they just finished scouring on microfilm. The ones peppered with ancient ads for Kool cigarettes, Coca-Cola, and Zenith color televisions. The same stories about a man named Roger Campbell who killed his wife and little boy in a fit of rage before hanging himself in the backyard of this ghastly house.

  “That is so weird,” Scotty whispered, studying the blemished coin. “Who keeps putting them there?”

  Boone nodded to the fresh tire tracks circling the weedy drive. “Maybe whoever drove through here.”

  Gavin stared at the tracks. There were the ones from the realty van the day before and then there were new ones. “Probably the cops looking for the realtor. This was one of his properties.”

  Scotty took a step back, nervously looking around. “What if he’s here? This is a bad idea, guys,” he moaned, rubbing his belly. “I shouldn’t have eaten those cupcakes. I have a stomach ache now.”

  Boone glanced behind them, like he heard something coming from the domed machine shed out back. Pulling the collar up on his jean jacket, he shivered and Gavin couldn’t tell if it was from the crisp October wind or the fact that this house was the scene of a murder/suicide in 1964.

  “Who would ever buy this place?” Boone whispered, surveying the rotting wood framing the back of the house.

  “I bet Stephen King would,” Scotty said. “I heard he bought Edgar Allan Poe’s toilet.”

  Gavin’s face folded. “What?”

  “Just put the stupid thing back already before somebody steals my car.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, Gavin pushed past Scotty and turned the Ziploc upside down. The penny bounced onto the grimy back steps and rolled in a full circle before landing next to the other coin. Standing up, he released the breath he’d been holding. “All right, for Pincher’s sake, let’s hope that works.”

  Boone turned for the tree line with Gavin in tow.

  “Wait!

  They looked back at Scotty, who was still standing on the steps. “Wasn’t it heads up?”

  Boone spit into the swaying weeds, long hair blowing out behind him like he was in a flame throwing tour video. “What about it?”

  “It landed tails up, but wasn’t it heads up when Pincher took it? Member his lucky day thing?”

  “Who cares?”

  “It might make a difference!”

  Gavin hung his head in despair and tromped back over to the steps, body heavy and tired like something was riding his back. Pulling the empty baggie from his pocket, he used it to turn the penny over, being extra careful not to touch it, like he was cleaning up after someone’s St. Bernard. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

  Scotty stuffed his hands into the hoodie’s front pocket. “I’ll be happy when I’ve got a box of SnackWell’s cookie in my hands and we’re far from here.”

  “I thought you had a stomach ache.”

  “Car!” Boone screeched, bolting for the backdoor.

  The tree line was too far away, in plain view of whoever was coming around the side of the house. Before Gavin and Scotty could even hear the gravel crunching beneath the car’s tires, Boone burst through the backdoor. Bolting in behind him, Gavin quietly shut the door and locked it before crossing the kitchen and rushing through the dining room. Skidding to a stop in the living room, he found Boone wrestling with the front door.

  Giving up, Boone turned to them with bulging eyes. “It’s a green station wagon,” he panted, the sound of the car fading around to the back of the house. “The one from the photo album.”

  Even though he was standing completely still, the room rushed past Gavin in a long blur. Adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream and it felt like the shag green carpeting was moving beneath his feet. “What?” he gasped, voice sounding muffled like he had a head cold.

  “That’s impossible,” Scotty faintly replied.

  Boone returned to fighting with the doorknob and deadbolt, jerking on the knob with everything he had. A car door slammed shut out back and, seconds later, the kitchen door unlocked and clicked open.

  “In here,” Gavin whispered, darting into the closet under the stairs while being careful not to bang his head again.

  Someone set something heavy down on the kitchen counter just as Scotty and Boone quietly shut the slatted doors. Stripes of gray daylight cut across their frightened faces. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they recoiled when a tall man with sweptback oily hair crossed the living room. His trim shadow passed over their twisted faces, making them shrink, and even though it wasn’t raining outside, water dripped from the dark suit and tie clinging to his body. Going upstairs, his heavy footsteps shook plaster dust onto their heads and shoulders.

  Scotty’s nose began to twitch and Gavin elbowed him in the side. Collectively holding their breath, the group exchanged wide-eyed glances as the man’s footsteps clomped down the upstairs hallway.

  “That was Roger Campbell,” Gavin said under his breath, fighting for air. “From the microfilm.”

  Boone pierced his younger brother with brown-eyed daggers. “Roger Campbell is dead.”

  Scotty shook his head. “No, that was him. That was the guy from the funeral pictures. I would recognize him anywhere!”

  “Shhhh!” Gavin’s heart jack hammered inside his chest. He wasn’t sure if more of his life flashed before his eyes when the man from the microfilm walked into the room or when Gavin suddenly felt someone breathing down the back of his neck. Forcing a scream down his throat, he fished the gold Zippo from his jeans and silently pried the lid back. He flicked the flint wheel, sparking the smell of lighter fluid and bringing a flame to life. Slowly turning, he lit up Teddy’s terrified face with a jittery flame.

  Before a bottled-up scream could escape Gavin, the vagabond they found sitting in Boone’s car last night covered Gavin’s mouth with a calloused hand that reeked of cigarettes and dirt. Teddy’s other hand shot a finger over his own lips, eyes silently pleading for their absolute quiet. The color in Scotty’s face ran down his neck, pooling in his hoodie while Boone stared up in horror at the older man. Teddy shushed them, fluttering his gray mustache. The stench of body odor and urine oozed from his pores and made their eyes water. There was a loud thump from upstairs, like Roger dropped something and Gavin shut the lighter. Silence swept back in on black wings, blanketing them in unpleasant anticipation. Cautiously, Boone slid a door back and peered through the crack before sticking a foot out into the living room. Roger screamed upstairs and a single gunshot rang out. Jumping back inside the closet, Boone hit his head on the underside of the stairs and shut the door. Lightning flickered, followed by a sharp clap of thunder that vibrated the windows.

  Footsteps tromped down the stairs, raining down more dust. Scotty pinched his nose to stifle a sneeze that could get them all killed as Roger Campbell came back into view and stormed into the kitchen, leaving wet footprints in the carpet behind. A few seconds later, he staggered back into the living room with a half empty bottle of Wild Turkey hanging in his hand. Collapsing into the cracked recliner across the room, he loosened a skinny, black necktie. Water dripped from the tip of his pointy nose as he stared vacantly at his bleary-eyed reflection in the darkened TV. Pulling a hand through his jet-black hair, he tipped the bottle back and guzzled, Adam’s apple bobbing on his neck. He paused for breath, exhaling through clenched teeth as the slow burn traveled into his stomach.

  “I am crapping my pants,�
�� Scotty whispered, swinging his round eyes from Roger to Teddy.

  “He hasn’t aged a day,” Gavin whispered, stunned and unnerved by Roger’s handsome features defying the law of physics.

  “This can’t be real,” Boone breathed.

  Roger’s eyes jerked to the closet and thinned, stirring Gavin’s already racing pulse into a frenzy.

  Teddy placed a finger over his lips again and reassured them with an everything’s going to be fine kind of nod, patting a hand on Gavin’s shoulder that was both comforting and alarming. Staring into Roger’s dark eyes, Gavin couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to and that was for the best. He was terrified of making the slightest sound. Anything that would make Roger push out of that cracked recliner and come investigate the closet. The murderous bastard sat frozen in the chair, staring intently at the closet doors. Gavin’s legs felt weak, head light as a feather, and if he passed out now he would probably never wake up again because Roger would hear him fall and then kill them. Like he did to Betty and Jeffrey.

  Releasing a forlorn sigh, Roger leaned back into the chair and took another long pull from the bottle of bourbon, leaving Gavin with trembling hands and shallow breaths. Trading the bottle out for a framed picture resting on the end table next to him, Roger brought it closer to his face and nearly smiled. Gavin couldn’t see the photograph from here but he remembered it from yesterday. Remembered it was a happy shot of the family on some sunlit lake with a log cabin in the background. Back when Betty Campbell used to smile.

  Wiping a tear from his cheek, Roger opened his mouth up wider than humanly possible and freed an agonizing scream that scratched Gavin’s eardrums with jagged claws. He shut his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears as the bloodcurdling shriek rattled his bones. Boone, Scotty and Teddy recoiled as well, using every ounce of energy to keep from giving up their position with a terrified scream of their own. The windows vibrated with another boom of thunder and the living room lights suddenly flickered. The piano across the room started playing sharp notes in a chaotic order, sending the room into a dizzying whirlwind of insanity. “Leave me alone!” Roger threw the picture against the wall and the piano curtailed its irregular piece, holding one last heavy note until the lights turned off again and daylight crept back in from outside.

  Leaning his head back and taking another swig, Roger stared at the ceiling. Water dripped from his hair and clothing and everything got eerily quiet. Then, in a fit of unadulterated rage, he threw the bottle against the wall, sending shards of glass exploding like amber-colored fireworks.

  Gavin glanced at Scotty, doing a double take when he noticed the blood trickling from his friend’s nose. Movement in the living room drew his attention back to Roger, who was now rushing across the room as if his wingtips were floating across the green shag carpeting. Gavin’s heart jumped because Roger knew they were here and when he found them, he would cut them into tiny little pieces like he did to his son after poisoning his wife. This house was his purgatory and they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Blazing past the closet, Roger disappeared into the dining room. Cupboards and drawers began opening and slamming shut out in the kitchen, banging loudly as Roger searched for something unseen. Gavin, Scotty, Boone and Teddy exchanged nervous glances in the thin shafts of daylight squeezing through the doors and when the backdoor slammed shut hard enough to shake the walls, the dead quiet stung Gavin’s ears.

  Boone put a hand to a folding door and Gavin grabbed his wrist. Shaking him off, Boone gently pushed in the middle and the door slid back a few inches, letting in more light and some much-needed fresh air. The silence hummed in their ears. Heartbeats banged in their necks.

  Scotty slid the other door open and stumbled out, dripping with sweat. “Sweet Christmas, I think I’m having a heart attack. Call EMS!”

  Teddy staggered into the daylight that was just as gray as the wiry mustache and beard framing his sun-cracked lips. His nervous eyes jumped around the room. “Lord a mighty, bless this house and all who enter. Deliver us from evil,” he whispered, resting his hands on the worn knees of his jeans and gasping for air. Lifting his heavy head, he looked them over. “You boys okay?” he panted.

  Scotty pulled the silver crucifix from his waistband and held it out. “Where’d he go?”

  Gavin’s face wrinkled when he noticed the framed picture of the Campbell family resting comfortably on the end table, fully intact. The broken liquor bottle was nowhere to be found as well but he could still smell the whiskey hanging in the air. “Come on,” he whispered, cautiously leading them through the dining room and then into the empty kitchen.

  Boone pulled the dingy curtain back above the sink. “His car’s still here but he’s gone.”

  “No, he’s not.” The pale light spilling through the backdoor turned Scotty’s face a waxy shade of horror.

  Joining him at the door, they stared at the man swinging by the neck from one of the T-shaped clothesline poles in the backyard. His dress shoes dragged across the ground and a fresh wet spot was growing in his slacks.

  “You boys stay here,” Teddy told them, rushing outside and tripping down the short flight of concrete steps. Tumbling into the weeds with an oomph bursting from his lips, he rolled to his boots and came to a stop. His clothes clung to his bones as he did circles in the overgrowth. “Where is he?”

  Reluctantly stepping outside, everyone searched the backyard but Roger was just as gone as the green station wagon in the circular drive. Outside of a heavy coat of rust and a few wires left to connect them, both clothesline poles were free of dead men hanging by the neck. Gavin swallowed hard, wondering if he’d lost his mind, but the twisted faces searching the backyard told him he wasn’t. They all saw the same thing and they all couldn’t be crazy at the same time. Could they?

  Teddy stopped spinning. His army coat fluttered with a breeze tickling the long weeds around him. “The car is gone too!”

  “What just happened?” Scotty screamed, pulling at his hair.

  Boone walked backwards, unable to tear his eyes from the house. “Holy Jesus, that was awesome!”

  Gavin and Scotty followed him toward the trees, clearing the house’s rotten air from their lungs with cavernous breaths. Stopping, Gavin turned back to Teddy who was still standing in the backyard, staring up at the house.

  “You’re not going back in there, are you?”

  Teddy slowly turned to face him, fear flaring in his eyes. “I left my pack in there,” he said weakly.

  “I’d suggest getting a new one,” Scotty replied, backpedaling for the tree line.

  Exhaling, Teddy popped off a Chicago Cubs ballcap and mopped sweat from his leathery brow with a sleeve. “Shoot!” he said, smacking the hat against a thigh and stirring up some dust. “I need my pack!”

  Boone interlocked his fingers behind his head and tipped his head back, bravely staring into the upstairs windows – the eyes of the house. “That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Tell me about it.” Teddy blew out a long breath. “I did two tours in Nam and never seen anything like it.”

  “That guy was dead!”

  Teddy turned to Scotty and itched at his beard. “Dead?”

  “He looked the exact same as he did in the microfilm!” Scotty watched the house like it might take a swipe at them at any second. “Like he hadn’t aged a day since 1964.”

  Shifting in the waist high weeds, Teddy rested his hands on his hips. “Microfilm?”

  Gavin told him about the realtor who killed his entire family before catching Teddy up on what they discovered at the library. Teddy’s face lengthened as the plot thickened.

  Boone ran a hand through his tangled locks. “The newspaper said that Roger hung himself in the backyard after killing his wife and kid.”

  “Right after their funerals,” Gavin added dully.

  “He was a ghost!” Scotty folded his arms over his chest, the wind toying with his hair. “A real life ghost!”

  “It doesn’
t make any sense.” Gavin watched a cardinal stop at the birdhouse and quickly move on as if detecting something off with the place. Suddenly, he remembered the camera and quickly checked his coat, relaxing when he found it hiding in an inside pocket. If he’d left it behind again, it would stay here forever because there was no way he was going back inside that house again.

  Ever.

  Gavin knew to quit while he was still alive.

  “Did you see the way he looked at us in the closet?” Scotty whispered, staring at the backdoor. “Like he knew we were in there.” He sighed and took another step toward the trees. “I thought we were dead for sure.”

  Boone unbuttoned his jacket. “And what was with the gunshot upstairs?”

  “No idea.” Gavin pulled the camera out and snapped a picture of Teddy’s haggard face, making the old man wince with the flash. “What were you doing in that closet?”

  “Same thing you were,” he nervously replied. “Hiding!”

  The camera began spitting the picture out, making a high-pitched whine. “Are you a ghost?”

  Teddy arched a steely eyebrow at Gavin, sending wrinkles shooting from the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know. Do ghosts like Glenlivet?”

  “Vampire’s do,” Scotty answered. “They’re always drinking the stuff out of crystal decanters.” Edging closer to the tall man like he was easing out onto a high-dive, Scotty held up the silver crucifix. “Let’s see that picture, Gav.”

  Teddy’s other eyebrow jumped for it, joining the first one in the middle of his brow. “Who are you kids anyway?”

  “We’ll ask the questions around here, hobo Joe,” Boone sneered, flipping the butterfly knife around in his hand.

  “Boone,” Gavin said, shaking the photo through the air.

  Dropping his gaze to his worn-out boots, Teddy’s face flushed with notes of embarrassment and shame. “It’s just Teddy.”

  “You’re the guy who was sitting in my car last night!”

  Looking up, his eyes narrowed. He wagged a bony finger at Boone, his ensuing smile missing a front tooth. “I thought I recognized you two.” His hand slapped back to his side. “Sorry about that, too much sauce I suppose.”