Oak Avenue (Dark Corners collection)

by Brandi Reeds

  A few seconds later, she’s clinging to me, and I’m out of breath, kicking up dust behind me as I carry her down this barren road someone dared to call an avenue. There’s a pickup truck up ahead. If only I can catch the driver’s attention. If only he’ll help.

  I brave a glance over my shoulder and slow my pace when the house, from the outside, looks just the same as it did the first time I saw it—deceptively idyllic, warm, and inviting. I’m not running anymore but walking backward—and very quickly—down the street in the opposite direction. But there’s nowhere for us to go, save my in-laws’ place, and to be honest, I’m not sure which is the lesser of the two evils.

  I tighten my grip on my daughter. “Shh. It’s okay now. It’s okay. It’s over now.”

  The sounds of a truck’s tires on pavement draw nearer.

  “Anastasia.”

  The wind whips up the hill and through my hair, but once I manage to rake the mass of now windblown hair from my face, I’m relieved to see him: Cody Granger. The guy I met last week. I award him only a split-second glance before I look back to the house for any sign of the malice that so recently erupted within.

  “It’s Anastasia, right? You’re Eddie’s wife?”

  “Yeah.” Although at the moment, I feel more like Ed’s kidney. An extension of him, really, transplanted into a foreign being—this town.

  “Nice to see you again.”

  I nod, still staring at the seemingly content Victorian a few hundred yards away.

  “Are you okay?”

  I’m really not.

  7

  THE CRESCENT MOON

  “And the door fell,” Cody says. “Right where your daughter was playing.”

  We’re sitting at a table inside the Crescent Moon Café, where Cody is treating us to lunch. He insisted, and I had to calm down, so I accepted the invitation. I don’t have my wallet or my phone, or even a diaper bag, because I refused to go back inside the house.

  “I don’t think it fell,” I say. “It’s heavy, and I would have heard it. But even if I somehow missed the sonic boom . . . it either would have tipped forward, right? Or it would’ve slipped. Like . . . here.” I position a napkin with the short end of it against the table edge. “If it fell, or even if it slipped, the short end would be against the wall, like this. But it’s almost like it was mindfully lowered to the floor, because it’s positioned like this now.” I turn my rectangular napkin so the long edge of it is parallel to the table.

  He frowns. “You didn’t hear anything? See anything?”

  “Mr. Granger—”

  “Call me Cody. Please.”

  “Sophie Malcolm obviously doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Oh, she believes all right. She hosts the annual ghost walk every Halloween.”

  “Well, either way, she insists the house isn’t haunted, and—”

  “You think it is?”

  “I don’t know how else to explain the door, and the crackers, and the wind howling through the place.”

  He gnaws on his lower lip, nodding.

  “Did you know the Churchills?”

  “I dated one of their daughters. Nicole.”

  “You did? So you must have spent time in the house.”

  “Some.”

  “Did you ever experience anything strange?”

  He replies with a slow shake of his head.

  “Of course not,” I say. “I’m the only one. And the other night . . .” I shut up. I shouldn’t tell him about the incident with Edison.

  “What happened?”

  “My husband said he wasn’t drunk, but it doesn’t make sense unless . . .”

  “Thursday? When he was up at the Depot?”

  “He said he only had one drink.”

  “One?” At this, Cody breaks into a grin. “I’ve never known Eddie Clementine to stop at one anything.”

  A funny sensation swirls in my gut. “He was drunk?”

  “I wouldn’t call him sober.”

  “He doesn’t drink much.”

  “Really.” He may as well be rolling his eyes. “I’ve known the guy my whole life. He gave new meaning to the word party in high school.”

  “Well.” I pretend not to be surprised and shrug off the comment. “People change.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  If last Thursday, my husband was intoxicated, I’m moderately relieved. While I can’t believe Edison lied to me—and I’m certainly concerned about the way alcohol changed him that night—it explains a few things.

  “I can’t imagine what he might have told you about me,” Cody says.

  Before I have a chance to reply, he admits, “We haven’t always seen eye to eye, Eddie and me.”

  And people talk. Word is going to get around that I had lunch with Cody, that we showed up at the café together—him, the baby, and me—that he picked up the tab and drove us home. I start to consolidate the plates on the table. “Thank you for lunch, but I really should be getting back.”

  “You sure you’re okay now?” He pulls a couple of twenties out of his wallet and drops them on the table.

  “Gotta go back sometime.” I unbuckle the strap on the high chair, where Sabrina, with heavy eyelids, is gnawing on a french fry. She curls up in my arms. I offer Cody a hand for a shake. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “It’s way out of the way, and—”

  “You’ve got your hands full, and it’s hot. It’s two miles, at least.”

  Last week, even with good walking shoes on and Sabrina in a stroller, the walk back from town was tough.

  “I don’t mind,” he says. “I’ll walk you in and make sure everything’s okay.”

  Despite the way it’s going to look to the rest of the town, I acquiesce. The closer we draw to the house, the tighter the ball in my gut becomes. I know my story about the crackers sounds crazy, but even more concerning is my fear that we’ll go back inside to find it was all my imagination. As much as I’d be relieved if it were, what might be wrong with me, if I’m conjuring such sinister events?

  Cody pulls up to the house and kills the engine. “I’ve got your back, girl.” He grins like the Cheshire cat, and we get out of the truck.

  By now Sabrina is sleeping soundly. Hesitantly, I climb the front walk. I take a deep breath and enter.

  The sounds of angry whispering and a strange whisking instantly meet my ears. I glance at my new friend, whose nod confirms he hears it too. My fingertips go numb, and my knees tremble as I walk through the front parlor, where the door remains flat on the floor, long end against the wall. I grab my phone from the side table, right where I left it, and walk toward the kitchen.

  The hiss of the whispers is undeniable now—angry and deliberate.

  I take a deep breath and round the corner, but once I enter the kitchen . . .

  “What on earth,” my mother-in-law grumbles as she sweeps the fine cracker dust from the countertops and into the trash can.

  I exhale at last.

  “Filthy mess.”

  “Terese?”

  She jumps a little.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her lips are pressed into a thin white line, and her gaze practically burns a laser right through me.

  Oh, what this must look like! I take a step away from my companion.

  “Eddie couldn’t get ahold of you. He was worried.”

  I glance at my phone in my hand. Seven missed calls.

  “I told him I’d come check on you, see how you were settling in. I didn’t know you were . . .” She looks me up and down. “Busy.”

  “No.” It’s all I can manage.

  “It seems you have this mess under control here.” Terese drops her sponge and turns for the back door.

  “No, wait,” I say. “Something happened—”

  She glares at me. “I’m sure it did.”

  She storms out the door, cell phone already at her ear. I assume she’s reporting the scene to her son.


  “I should, umm . . .” Cody backs away. “I should go.”

  The house is eerily quiet once the doors close.

  I dial my husband, but I’m dumped into voice mail after half a ring. I imagine his mother’s already tattling some half truths and assumptions about what she observed between Cody Granger and me.

  God, I have to get out of here.

  I can’t stay in this house.

  I pack a bag for Sabrina and me, but just as I’m about to head out the door, I stop. There’s nowhere for me to go.

  8

  TREADING WATER

  I could have gone to a hotel, I suppose.

  But Ed wouldn’t answer my calls all night.

  I didn’t think it would look good not to be home if he happened to call. I imagined how the conversation might have gone:

  Hi, hon. No, the baby and I are at a hotel.

  Yes, I know funds are tight at the moment.

  Terese did see Cody and me together, but I’m not at a hotel with him.

  We’re here because we’re afraid of the house.

  Yes, afraid of the things you can’t see. Afraid of things I can’t explain or prove.

  I know this house is haunted.

  And, no, I’m not crazy!

  Needless to say, I decided to brave the consequences of the house. The wind howled in the hallway all night long, and the door kept creeping its way open.

  I haven’t slept since I found the crackers pounded to dust in the kitchen.

  I don’t have a chance to explain things to Edison—the door, the crackers, the lunch with Cody Granger—until he arrives home the next day.

  There’s no response from him for the longest thirty seconds of my life. And then, all he says is, “Uh-huh.”

  “You have to believe me.” I fold my arms over my middle as I pace, fit to wear a trench in the bedroom floor.

  He coughs, then says, “The kitchen is filthy.”

  “I know. I left the crackers so you could see.”

  “We have a child to think about.”

  “Of course I’m thinking of Sabrina. That’s why we have to put this house back on the market. We have to sell it. We have to move. And I know we’ll lose money. No one will pay what we paid for this dump, but—”

  “Ana.” He closes his hands around my biceps and directs me to sit on our bed. “Please, Ana. Tell me the truth. He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think?” He tightens his grip. “Cody Granger!”

  Tears well in my eyes. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

  “We have to sell it. We have to move.”

  “I don’t know why else you’d insist on moving. He got to you, tempted you, and if you want to save our marriage, you have to distance yourself.”

  “No, Ed.”

  “I’ve wanted to live here since I was eight years old. And I’m not giving up this house because he’s managed to charm his way into your pants in just a couple weeks’ time.”

  “Edison, please. This isn’t about Cody Granger. He happened to be there, and I was terrified.”

  “And yet you stayed in the house last night. Terrified.”

  “Ask anyone at the Crescent Moon. They’ll tell you it was nothing but lunch between—”

  “Oh, they told me, all right. They told me my wife looked like she’d just been rolled in the hay. They told me his truck was parked down the street all night long.”

  This nearly stops my heart. “If it was, I don’t know why.”

  “I’m not stupid, Ana.”

  “I love you, Edison.”

  “I have to get out of here.” He tears his way out of his khakis and steps into a pair of board shorts. “It’s not enough that he slept with my high school girlfriend. He had to get his hooks in you too.”

  “I don’t know anything about your girlfriend from high school, but—”

  “How could you, Ana? How could you do this?”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong! You have to believe me. You have to listen to what I’m telling you. We can’t stay in this house.”

  “I can’t stay in it with you. I need a drink.”

  Within seconds, he’s barreling out the door, and the tires of his sedan are screeching down the road.

  I gather Sabrina’s things and pack a bag. He’ll come home with a clearer head. He’ll listen. He will.

  And if he won’t, the baby and I will leave.

  “Whore!”

  I’m not fully awake when I’m yanked from the sofa.

  I land on the threadbare woolen carpeting and hit my head against the leg of a side table.

  Sabrina shrieks from across the room.

  I blink hard, rub my head, and try to get to my feet.

  “Baby,” I say. “Mommy’s coming.”

  But a kick to my gut sends me back to the floor. I wrench in pain.

  Edison’s silhouette looms over me, but I can’t focus on him.

  The cold wind whips through the room, and a high-pitched whistling fills my ears.

  Sabrina screams, “Zozozozozo!”

  I crawl toward her, but he’s on me again, this time pulling me by the hair.

  I kick and scratch at him until I manage to get to my feet and fight back.

  The stench of Scotch on his breath dizzies me for a second, but his inebriation works in my favor. I shove him, and he stumbles back.

  It buys me enough time to gather Sabrina in my arms.

  We’re shaking. It’s freezing in here.

  “Zozozozozo,” she says on a breath broken with her sobs.

  By the time Edison’s on his feet again, I have my phone in my hand, and I’m out the door with my daughter.

  It’s just after three. Edison’s car is parked next to mine, and the house is dark, save for one dim light in the kitchen, which I left on so Ed could find his way in after the bar.

  I bounce the baby in my arms, calming her in the dark of the warm night, waiting in the driveway for the police to arrive.

  When they finally do, it’s without the fanfare of flashing lights or sirens. They simply pull up and stop and take a good four or five minutes to get out of the patrol car.

  “Mrs. Clementine?” The beam of a flashlight momentarily blinds me.

  “Yes.”

  The one without the flashlight speaks now. “You called about a domestic dispute?”

  “I must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa earlier,” I say, “and my husband came home, and he’s obviously been drinking, and—”

  “Eddie Jr.?”

  “Yes. He pulled me off the sofa. Kicked me and yanked me by the hair. There’s something wrong. This isn’t like him, Officer, but—”

  “No. Indeed it isn’t. We’ll check it out.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We have your permission to enter the premises?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are there any weapons in the home, Mrs. Clementine?”

  “No.”

  They enter.

  I don’t hear a sound.

  A few minutes later, one of the officers leans out the door. “Mrs. Clementine, would you mind coming in?”

  “What’s wrong?” I begin toward the door. “Is he all right?”

  The officer doesn’t reply.

  So I keep on.

  I enter the dim house to see Edison, bare chested in plaid pajama pants, hair rumpled, standing in the kitchen. He’s yawning.

  “We had to wake him,” one of Parker’s Landing’s finest says. “He was upstairs in bed. Asleep. Says he has been for hours.”

  “No . . . he just came in.”

  “I’m sorry, Jim.” Edison nods at first one officer, then the other. “Ron. She’s been having some intense dreams lately. She’s under a lot of pressure with the move.”

  “We understand.”

  My husband claps one on the back and leads them to the door.

  “You’re just going to leave?” I ask. “He kicked me. He pulled
me by the hair.”

  “Ana,” Edison says. “Really. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Look,” Jim says. “There’s no sign of a struggle. And we patrolled past your house over an hour ago, and Eddie’s car was in the driveway then. Are there any marks on your body?”

  I doubt there’s been time for a bruise to develop.

  “And you said he’s been drinking, but there’s no trace of alcohol on his breath.”

  I can smell the mouthwash from here. He probably just gargled some.

  “Now, you don’t have to stay, Mrs. Clementine,” Jim says, “but without evidence, I can’t very well arrest a guy I’ve known my whole life and never known to have violent tendencies.”

  “Okay. I’ll go,” I say. “I’ll take the baby, and I’ll go.”

  “Maybe it’s best if the baby stays here,” Ed says.

  “Might be a good idea,” Ron says on their way out the door. “Your husband says you probably need to get some sleep.”

  No amount of convincing will result in my leaving without Sabrina.

  “Thanks, fellas.” Edison shows them to the door.

  A moment later, we’re alone, standing in a kitchen still covered in cracker crumbs.

  Ed leans against the countertop. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  A tear rolls down my cheek. “I’m afraid, Ed.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re just going through something. I wish you’d tell me.”

  “I have told you. There’s something in this house, but you don’t want to hear it. All you want to hear is what the busybodies in this town have to say about Cody Granger.”

  “Cody.” He sighs. “I trust you, Ana. But that guy . . .”

  “Nothing happened. I was scared, and he was there. Why is that so hard to believe? I’m exhausted and scared, and I’m just so, so alone. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Let’s table this for now and get some sleep.” He reaches for the baby.

  She clings to me.

  “Come on, baby.” Ed claps and puts out his hands. “Let’s give Mommy a break.”

  But Sabrina only cuddles closer. “Zozo.”

  She’s afraid too.

  9

  ZOZO

  The consensus is I must have imagined it all.

  I must have smashed an entire box of crackers to smithereens.