Casting a heated glare over his shoulder, his lips tightened with rage. “This house is what’s wrong!” Boone flipped the lid back on its hinge and struck the flint wheel, bringing a flame to life that stood up to the wind. “Whatever you feel you need to do here is not important,” he yelled at the house, lifting the jittery flame over his head. “Your job is done and it is time for you to move on. This is not your world anymore, Roger; it’s ours and we claim it forever!” Bringing the lighter back, Boone turned to a statue in the silvery moonlight. A frozen snapshot in time. Everything got bone chillingly quiet. Even the breeze died down, as if straining to hear like the rest of them. “What is that?” he whispered, holding the lighter up like a torch.
Laney inhaled sharply, sending a chill rolling down Gavin’s back. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
A spike of fear hammered through Gavin, bolting him in place. His eyes searched the windows for a sign of the child crying from somewhere inside. The sobbing grew uncomfortably louder, upsetting the placid night and prickling the hairs on his arms.
Teddy stepped closer, staring into the house’s windows with gravity pulling on his bristly mug. “Okay, you all stay here,” he said, pushing past them. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t do it, Teddy!” Lowering the lighter, Boone stared into the broken kitchen window. “It’s trying to trick us. It wants us to go in there!”
Stopping in his tracks, indecision flickered in Teddy’s bloodshot eyes.
Laney shifted in her knee-high boots. “It’s a little boy, Boone,” she cried, turning her cat mask to the others. “Don’t you hear that?”
“I hear it,” Scotty trembled, backpedaling through the grass. “Let’s go call the cops. This is way above our paygrade.”
“Good idea,” Pincher said, dancing from foot to foot with his lab coat worriedly fluttering around him. “Plus, I have to poop super bad.” He grimaced with a spasm, gritting his teeth. “In fact, I can’t wait.”
Gavin watched him turn and dart for the trees. “Pincher!”
“I’ll be right back,” he yelled over his shoulder, disappearing into the withering foliage.
Gavin felt someone tugging on his arm, certain it was Roger Campbell. The feeling was unmistakable, like when you know who’s calling before reaching the phone. Turning, his heart broke.
Scotty looked up at him, seeming smaller than Gavin ever remembered seeing him look before. Even when Sledge beat him up last week after Scotty refused to relinquish his prized PK Ripper. “Hey, come on Gav,” he said, pulling on Gavin’s coat sleeve. “Let’s get out of here. This is too messed up.”
A sweeping gust of wind ruffled Gavin’s mustache as the child continued to cry from somewhere inside the house. If they left now, this madness would never end. They’d come too far to turn back now. And if not them, who would ever stop Roger Campbell from killing again?
Scotty shook his arm. “Gavin, please!”
The boy inside began wailing louder, as if someone was slowly torturing him. Pulling his cowboy hat down tight, Gavin jerked his arm away. “Sorry, Scotty.”
Teddy wrapped an arm around Scotty and watched the house as if it might lunge for them at any second. “Boone’s right.” He swapped a look with him. “It’s definitely a trap.”
Nodding back, Boone returned his attention to the house and raised the lighter high into the air. Its yellow-blue flame pushed back against the breeze. “We know you want us to go inside, but we will make sure no one ever steps foot inside you again!” He cocked the lighter back and Laney yelled something at Kelly before bolting across the backyard with a flashlight bobbing in her hand. “Laney!” Boone cried, snapping the lighter shut and racing after her inside the house.
Gavin turned to the others and held a hand out. “Stay here!” he said, sprinting through the open kitchen door and hurdling the gas can to find Boone and Laney standing like tombstones in the dining room. Their chests heaved up and down, the stench of gasoline burning their eyes and lungs. “What happened?” he panted, following their fixed gazes into the living room.
“It stopped.”
“He’s got to be upstairs,” Laney whispered, starting for the living room.
Boone grabbed her arm and spun her around, speaking through clenched teeth. “There is no one here. It’s this damn house.”
Her eyes constricted. “I heard a little boy crying and so did you.”
“Yeah, and that’s the trap. You just fell right in it.”
“Laney, we told you this house is haunted,” Gavin said, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen where the open backdoor called his name. “We have to get out of here and right now.” His pulse jumped when he noticed the dining room table free of peach colored roses, cementing his reservations.
“No!” Shaking free of Boone’s grip, she swung the yellow beam of light into the living room, illuminating the green carpeting and antiquated furniture. “I’m not going anywhere until I make sure someone isn’t in here. He sounded hurt.”
Something hit the floor above them, drawing their eyes. Something that sounded like a single footstep. Their flashlights lit up the water stained ceiling as an uneasy feeling cascaded over Gavin like a cold dark rain. “Let’s go,” he whispered.
Straightening the black cat ears on her head, Laney filled her lungs. “Let’s just check upstairs and then we can leave.” Her eyebrows went up, barely popping over her pointy mask. “Okay?”
Boone stared at her for a handful of agonizing seconds, breath shallow and quick, finally relenting with an irritable sigh. “Okay, but we stick together. Capiche?”
Unwillingly, Gavin followed them into the living room, heart pounding against the camera stuffed inside his coat. The recliner was empty and the carpeted steps creaked beneath their combined weight, sounding much louder in the quiet clinging to their clothing. At the top of the staircase, they rounded a corner and checked a full bathroom before investigating the master bedroom. After finding a guest room in perfect order across the hall, they found Jeffrey’s room at the far end, basking in the pale light sifting through the room’s two windows. Gavin’s eyes ran over the blue bedspread and padded toy box at the foot of the bed, snagging on the bible resting on the floor. “Is that what made that noise?”
“Maybe,” Laney whispered, splashing the bible with a circle of light.
“Hey,” Boone said, pulling a sheer curtain back and peering out the dormer window overlooking the backyard. “Where’d everybody go?”
Laney and Gavin rushed across the room to join him, searching the empty circle drive for Teddy, Pincher, Kelly and Scotty. But only their trails through the weeds remained. Headlights splashed across the overgrowth, unlocking Gavin’s adrenaline. The tree line got brighter as the green station wagon rounded the side of the house and came to a jerky halt near the backdoor. The driver’s side door creaked open and Roger Campbell spilled from the vehicle with a bottle of bourbon hanging in one hand.
“Oh crap!” Gavin hissed. “It’s him.”
“Who?” Laney asked, watching the man struggle to unlock the backdoor.
“Roger Campbell.” Boone turned from the window and studied their options with the clock ticking in his wide-open eyes. “Hide.”
The backdoor slammed shut downstairs and something heavy found a kitchen countertop. Then, after a river of nerve-wracking seconds, footsteps began crossing the cracked linoleum. They softened on the shag carpeting and then, in a repulsive realization that made his bloodstream quicken, Gavin heard someone climbing the staircase. He could almost feel the plaster dust raining down in the closet below.
“In here.” Gavin tiptoed inside Jeffrey’s closet, blending with the small shirts and coats still hanging from the rack after all these years. The closet downstairs had protected them before and this one would as well. He was certain of it.
A moment of hesitation wavered in Boone’s and Laney’s eyes as the footsteps grew louder. Closer. Darting into the closet, Boone and Gavin each slid a slatted d
oor shut until meeting in the middle. Stripes of moonlight exposed the terror in their eyes. Gavin pulled the silver crucifix from his back pocket and traded a worried look with his brother when the footsteps stopped at the top of the staircase. Boone pressed a finger to his lips and Gavin could almost feel Laney’s nails digging into his brother’s arm. Shoes started moving down the hallway and Gavin shut his eyes, praying Roger wouldn’t come in Jeffrey’s room. Praying he would turn around and go back downstairs so they could live to play video games and Little League another day. They had their whole lives ahead of them and they shouldn’t be here. Gavin silently apologized to the house, asking for its forgiveness. For understanding. For mercy. They made a grave mistake and life and death were literally hanging in the balance.
Then, as the footsteps drew nearer, his eyes snapped open. The day Roger hung himself in the backyard played across the dark closet doors. The same day Roger came home and set something heavy on the kitchen counter before going upstairs for a moment. Just like now.
“This isn’t real,” he barely whispered, drawing a heated glower from his brother.
Gavin was about to explain but held his breath instead when the footsteps stopped in the doorway to Jeffrey’s room. He couldn’t see Roger but he could feel him standing there, staring into the moonlit room with a blank look pulling on his face and something wet dripping to the floor. Gavin curled his hand around the crucifix, face turning red from lack of oxygen.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
His eyes watered, blurring the slats of moonlight into fuzzy belts. Purple began creeping into his cheeks and he had to take a breath or else he’d pass out and make a much bigger noise. But he couldn’t take that chance. Not yet. Even if this wasn’t real, he could take the pins and needles attacking his right foot a little longer. It was dead quiet and Roger would hear his lungs suck in a wheezing gulp of air that could, ultimately, get them all killed. Dead or alive, Roger wouldn’t take kindly to trespassers. He didn’t take kindly to his own family.
The footsteps swooshed into the room, muffled by the plush purple carpeting. Gavin drew in a tiny sip of air, just enough to take the edge off as Roger crossed the room on black wingtips that seemed to float. Plopping down on the toy box at the foot of Jeffrey’s bed, he buried his face in his hands. Slick bangs fell over his fingers, dripping water onto the knees of his dark slacks. His suit looked the same as the one from the pictures of the double funeral and Gavin could not believe his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, my beautiful boy,” Roger muttered into his hands. “You didn’t deserve this and I am so sorry.” Sniffling loudly, he straightened up and pulled a bible from a nearby bookcase. Flipping through it, he stopped towards the end and blinked water (or tears) onto the gold-trimmed pages. The room grew so disturbingly noiseless, Gavin had to stop breathing again. He could hear Laney’s rubber suit making slight squeaking noises with her nervous shifting and he grabbed her wrist and squeezed, turning her to stone.
Roger’s lips began to move but only a whisper came out. “But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”
The book magically flew from his hands to the floor and Roger pulled a snub-nosed revolver from the small of his back. Gavin stiffened when the man jammed the gun barrel into his mouth. Cold steel glanced off the teeth nestled inside as he curled a thumb around the trigger facing his direction. Gavin tightened his slippery grip on the crucifix, bracing for a gunshot. Like the one they heard up here the time before. A silver strand of saliva oozed from the trembling barrel into Roger’s lap as the man wrestled with his resolve.
Gavin’s eyebrows drew together. “This isn’t real,” he whispered again, drawing another fiery look from Boone that bordered somewhere between furious and scared to death. “It’s a glimpse into the past,” Gavin told him. “A continuous loop running inside this house.”
“If you don’t shut the hell up,” Boone whispered through his teeth, flashing Gavin the warning look of all warning looks. Gavin had never seen his older brother so frightened in his entire life but it wasn’t enough to stop him from explaining further.
“Boone, this is exactly what happened the last time.” Gavin watched Roger struggle with his will to live while deepthroating the barrel of the gun. “He chickens out and shoots a wall or something. Then he goes downstairs and drinks some more whiskey before hanging himself in the backyard.”
Boone flinched when the devastated father cried out in pain and fired a shot into the wall, raining pieces of plaster onto the carpet.
“Damn you,” Roger whispered in a guttural voice that didn’t sound human.
The smell of gunpowder crept in through the slats and Gavin could feel his pulse pounding in the hollow of his neck. Lowering the gun, Roger stopped crying and stared straight ahead, peering out a window painted with the black of night. His skin was so sickly pale against his wet, dark suit, Gavin wondered if he’d cut himself somewhere along the line and was slowly bleeding out. Shifting his weight, Gavin felt something crunch beneath his shoe. Laney and Boone yanked their heads around to him, eyes as big as saucers. Then, oh so slowly, in a horrifying beat of the heart, Roger turned to face the closet. Gavin’s stomach tightened and Laney grabbed his arm. The closet was suddenly way too hot, heated by their sprinting breaths and banging hearts. Roger stared at the closet doors like he could see through them. Like he could see Gavin hiding inside. His face contorted into a ball of untainted rage, lips peeling back at the teeth and hand tightening around the gun. Water dripped from his dark hair and pointy nose, breaking the smothering silence with the slightest of noise. Rising from the toy box, Roger stared at the closet for a moment before coming closer. His steps were heavy and left wet footprints in the carpeting. Stopping in front of the doors, the gun hanged heavy in his hand, seeming to stretch his arm. His breath floated in through the slats on cold, white plumes, reeking of whiskey and rot.
Gavin’s heart hammered so fast his vision began to wane like he was looking through a foggy View-Master. Blinking, he barely realized he was digging the cross into a palm hard enough to draw blood.
Roger found a doorknob, and the thought of him pulling that door back made Gavin shrink into the rack of clothing behind him. The door whisked back on its rails and Roger glared down at him. Setting his jaw, a tendon popped in his decomposing neck. Anger flared in his eyes like Gavin was responsible for taking his little boy from him. Like it was all his fault. Baring his teeth, Roger growled at them in a low voice that vibrated their bones. “Ruuun.”
Gavin screamed and fell through the rack of clothing, smacking his head against the back wall and leaving a cantaloupe-sized dent. Darkness closed in as the clothing fell into place around him and when the shooting stars faded, Boone and Laney were pulling him to his feet.
“Are you okay?”
He looked from Boone to Laney, unsure how to answer with anything but another question. “Where’d he go?”
Boone shushed him and turned to face the doorway, listening to Roger’s footsteps tiredly descend the hallway stairs. “What was that?” Boone asked in a shaky whisper, the butterfly knife trembling in his hand.
“I don’t know but I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.” Laney helped Gavin from the closet and steadied him on his feet. Blowing a loose lock from her face, her eyes fell to the wet footprints in the carpet, stirring her respiration. Looking up, she stared at them through wild eyes. “He saw us,” she whispered.
Gavin rubbed the back of his head, wincing when his fingertips found a small goose egg nesting in his hair. “I thought it was a loop.”
She frowned through her mask. “What do you mean?”
“Like a painful memory that happens over and over again. Something horrible that happened here a long time ago.” Gavin met her terrified eyes. “But I
think you’re right…he saw us.”
Boone lowered the knife, chest heaving. “Why’d he tell us to run?”
“And why’s he soaking wet? It’s not even raining out.”
Gavin shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
That’s when the sobbing started, faint at first, but determined. Laney’s flashlight gravitated to the open bedroom door and drifted out into the hallway. Trading careful glances, they crept toward the door as the crying grew louder. Wetter. They moved as one, easing out of Jeffrey’s bedroom and gasping at the sight of the woman crying on the hallway floor. Nightgown covered in blood, she cradled Jeffrey’s limp body in her arms with matted, blond hair hiding her face. When Betty Campbell looked up, Gavin nearly fell backwards again. “He did this,” she sobbed, peering at them through tangled locks. Sniffling, she wiped a tear away, smearing Jeffrey’s blood across her cheek. “You have to stop him.”
Gavin stepped closer, surprised by the boldness of his legs. “How?”
Her face hardened into something almost skeletal and Jeffrey began to twitch in her arms. “Burn it,” she hissed, scooping her bloodstained son up.
Gavin watched her stagger down the hallway and disappear into the master bedroom. He jumped when glass smashed downstairs and Gavin knew Roger just threw the picture frame against the wall. “Follow me,” he said, darting down the hallway. His sneakers slapped against the hardwoods, gaze hitching on the master bed where Betty was changing Jeffrey out of his bloodstained pajamas.
Her dark eyes snapped over to Gavin and thinned into accusatory slits. When her voice came out, it didn’t match the movement of her lips. “You have to free us from this house. From him.” She blinked a tear out, leaving a trail of black mascara behind. “Please.”
Jeffrey opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Slowly, he rotated his head to look at Gavin. His mouth moved but only white wisps came out. More glass broke downstairs and Gavin knew Roger just threw the whiskey bottle against the wall. Though he heard no footsteps stomp into the kitchen, cupboards and drawers began slamming shut and Gavin knew Roger was searching for an extension cord. He also knew he would find it.
Scary House Page 17
