The Haunted

by Bentley Little

  But Miles was only a few feet down, lying flat against the collapsed section of muddy trail, arms raised instinctively as though grasping for purchase.

  “Daddy!”

  He would never forget the look on his son’s face at that last second, the pleading, the fear, underpinned by the hope and belief that Daddy would be able to stop this and save him. It was a look that would haunt him until the end of his life, an expression of complete and utter trust, the purest faith he had ever experienced or ever would experience. But he had hesitated. He could have reached down and grabbed his son’s hands, but he’d been afraid that the section of ground on which he knelt would give way, claiming him, too, and he’d thought that it would be safer if he moved a little to the right first.

  Then the mud had slipped, and Miles was swept away, tumbling down the slope, buried under an avalanche of sludge.

  Claire was screaming, her piercing cries echoing off the walls of the canyon. He had no idea what she was doing, could only hope she had the presence of mind to go for help or call 911 on her cell phone. But he had no time for any of that. He was rushing down the side of the mountain, in defiance of all safety precautions and common sense, stumbling, falling, getting up again, crying out himself, keeping his eye on the sliding section of trail, trying to determine where under all of that mud and rubble Miles was located. He was pretty sure he knew the right spot, and when the slide stopped at the bottom of the ravine, he dropped to his knees and began digging frantically, using both hands to scoop up as much mud as he could, flinging it aside and immediately scooping up some more. He kept expecting to see his son’s fingers or glimpse the blue of his shirt, but he didn’t, and he dug deeper, aware in the back of his mind that the boy had been down there for too long, and filled with the growing fear that he was searching in the wrong spot.

  He’d still been digging through the mud, sobbing, when the rescuers arrived, though he didn’t know when that was or how long he’d been there. Sometime later, someone had found Miles’s body, but it hadn’t been him, and all he remembered after that was kissing Miles’s cheek before the stretcher carrying him was lifted to a helicopter, the gritty, bitter taste of mud on his lips.

  And Miles had been gone.

  The next time Julian had seen him had been at the morgue, where he and Claire had been required to identify the body.

  Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes and taking a deep, shuddering breath, Julian willed himself not to cry. It took a while, but he managed to stem the tears, and, breathing slowly and evenly, he placed the photo album in the Hefty bag underneath the maternity clothes, putting everything back the way it was.

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the photo he had put in there, looking at it.

  “Miles,” he said aloud, and it felt good to say the name again. “Miles.”

  Julian dreamed that night of the garage, and in his dream he climbed up the ladder to the loft, where dozens of animal skeletons were arranged over the crimson-soaked floor. The stick-figure cardboard cutout of the Wimpy Kid, still splattered with blood, was smiling at him and winking, pointing toward the broken exercise bike, on which sat a small human skeleton, pedaling slowly.

  The skeleton was Miles.

  Awakening to the fading sound of his own scream, Julian sat up, disoriented for a moment by the fact that he was alone in bed. Then he remembered where he was, where Claire and the kids were, and he settled back onto the pillow, wondering why he had decided to stay here, why he hadn’t gone with them. He’d had a reason, he knew, something besides the fact that he didn’t get along with her dad, but at the moment that rationale eluded him, and he worried that, as Claire had suggested, it was the house that had kept him here.

  Or the garage.

  For he sensed now that the locus of power, the source of whatever was going on, had relocated there from the basement.

  Thinking about the nightmare he’d just had, he got out of bed, walked over to the window, pulled the curtains aside and looked across the backyard toward the garage.

  Where the man who had killed himself was standing behind the window of the loft, staring back at him.

  Julian let the curtain drop and ducked out of the way, moving to the side, heart hammering in his chest. He waited a moment, then pulled the curtain back and peeked around the edge of the window frame, hoping the figure would be gone. It wasn’t. The ghost of John Lynch, still wearing that backward yellow baseball cap, remained in place, staring at him across the yard, and in an attempt to prove his bravery, Julian opened the curtains all the way and stood directly before the window, staring back himself. He waited there for several minutes, expecting the figure to fade and disappear, but it did not, and the ghost staring back at him looked as solid as the man himself had been.

  More annoyed now than scared, Julian closed the curtains again and decided to go back to bed. He should have been too terrified to sleep, but staring at Lynch’s ghost had given him courage. The breach across which they’d regarded each other seemed uncrossable, and he was pretty sure that the ghost was stuck in the garage and could not come into the house. The idea gave him comfort, and while it might not signal an end to their problems, it was at least a step in the right direction.

  Climbing into bed, Julian put his head down on the pillow and pulled the top sheet over himself. He fell asleep almost instantly.

  He did not dream.

  He was awakened in the morning by the sound of a siren. It was loud, close, and then it abruptly shut off, and Julian went into the living room and peeked out the window to see a fire truck parked in the street, halfway in front of his house. In the Ribieros’ driveway, next door, was an ambulance with its back doors open, and red and blue roof lights still flashing.

  Julian hurried back to the bedroom, slipped on some jeans and a Hawaiian shirt, quickly put on his tennis shoes, then walked outside just as two paramedics wheeled a gurney out of the Ribieros’ house and into the back of the ambulance. He couldn’t tell from this angle whether Bob or Elise was on the gurney, but he got his answer moments later when Bob emerged from the house with another paramedic who was jotting something down on a clipboard.

  Julian didn’t want to intrude, so he stayed where he was, watching from the sidelines.

  The surprising thing was that he was the only person from the neighborhood out here. Glancing around, he didn’t even see anyone peeking through their windows or out from behind a parted curtain. His neighbors, apparently, had no interest in what happened on their street, and he remembered how no one had come out to see what was going on when the police arrived to arrest John Lynch.

  The ambulance left, siren off, which was hopefully a good sign, and the remaining firemen and paramedics put on their helmets and got onto the fire engine. Bob Ribiero locked up his house, saw Julian, glared at him, then got into his car and followed the ambulance down the street.

  What was that about?

  Frowning, Julian walked out to the sidewalk just as the fire engine pulled away. He’d wanted to ask one of the men what had happened, but he missed the chance by a few seconds and ended up watching the fire truck leave.

  Once again, he looked around at the neighborhood houses and, this time, across the street, he saw Spencer Allred standing on his front porch. Finally, someone. Julian waved, walking over. At the sight of him, the old man looked as though he wanted to go back inside his house and hide, but he didn’t; he waited, and Julian walked up to the porch, stopping at the bottom step. He gestured toward the Ribieros’ place. “That was Elise,” he said. “I wonder what happened. Heart attack?”

  “Your house,” Spencer replied.

  Julian looked at him, startled. “What?”

  “Your house happened to her.”

  Julian didn’t know how to respond to that.

  Spencer sighed. “It’s not your fault. It might not even be your house, exactly. This whole street is … off. But your house is at the center of it, and the Ribieros live right next door.”
He thought for a moment, as though not sure whether he should say what he wanted to say. “You know, the reason some of us, a lot of us came to your party, your housewarming party, was because we wanted to see the inside of it for ourselves. And when it … when it ended the way it did … Well, let’s just say that most of us weren’t that surprised.”

  Julian felt a thrill of excitement. “So you know something!”

  The old man shook his head, backed away. “I don’t know anything.”

  “You weren’t surprised? Why not? You do know something.” Julian moved up a step. “What’s going on here? What’s wrong with our house?”

  Spencer reached the door. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Forty years I lived here, minding my own business. That’s the only way to survive: don’t get involved.” He pulled open the screen door, stepping inside. “Now go home. Get away from here.”

  “Spencer?” his wife called from inside the house.

  “Coming!” he answered.

  He closed the door.

  Julian turned around. From this vantage point, there seemed nothing wrong with his house. Or the garage. But he knew better, and Spencer Allred did, too. Probably most of the homeowners on this street did, and as he walked back home, he wondered whether the ambulance siren had been off because Elise Ribiero was already dead.

  Twenty-eight

  Megan awoke in the morning refreshed. She was used to feeling tense and stressed when she emerged from sleep, and this was such a pleasant change that she lay there for a few extra moments, staring up at the bands of light formed on the ceiling by the sun shining through slats in the shades, enjoying the sensation of freedom.

  Freedom from the house.

  It felt over, all of it, despite what had happened the night before last, and she reached over to the nightstand and turned on her iPhone, not afraid of it anymore. She might even text her friends today, and just thinking that made her feel good. Putting on her robe, she walked across the hall to go to the bathroom and was embarrassed when she pulled down her pajama bottoms and saw the cuts on her legs.

  That ended today, too.

  She was not much of a breakfast eater, but once again her grandma had made a big breakfast—pancakes and bacon—and out of politeness, Megan forced herself to eat.

  For some reason she could not explain, she wanted to go back home. Not to stay, of course. And definitely not at night. But in the daytime, when it was safe.

  When her dad was there.

  Part of it was that, of course. It had been only one night, but she missed her dad, and it didn’t feel right without him here. James had worriedly asked before breakfast whether their parents were going to get a divorce, and she’d told him no, but she wasn’t sure that was true. It didn’t make any sense for the family to be separated like this, and she knew that Grandma and Grandpa thought there was something wrong, which they tried to make up for by being especially nice to her and her brother. She hoped that wasn’t the case, but she thought of how angry her mom had been—

  We need to get out of here! All of us! Right. Fucking. Now!

  —and it troubled her. Talking to her dad might help. He was always more honest with her and James than their mom was, and he might be willing to give some honest answers.

  But that was not the only reason she wanted to go back.

  No. She also wanted to return home to see whether things had changed.

  By all rights, their house should have been the last place she wanted to go. She was finally brave enough to use her phone again, finally felt free to text, and it made no sense to go back to where she’d been so threatened and terrified.

  I will kill you both.

  But, for some reason, she had the impression that whatever had been in the house was gone—and she wanted to check it out for herself. The feeling of freedom and liberation that had been hers this morning since awakening was not one she had felt when she’d left the house before. In fact, the black cloud that had hovered over her at home had previously accompanied her no matter where she went. Now, however, it was gone, and she didn’t think that would be possible unless whatever had been living in their house had left.

  It was important for Megan to find out for herself whether that was the case, and she was hopeful that if the house really was free of all … ghosts … demons … whatever they were, things might be able to go back to normal.

  At first, she planned to call her dad and tell him she was coming over, but after everything that had happened, he might not want her in the house, so it would probably be better if she just showed up. And while she’d considered asking her mom whether she could go, she knew the answer would be no, so instead she texted Zoe, asking her friend to call her back immediately and pretend to invite her somewhere. It was a ploy they had used before, on both of their mothers, and it worked every time.

  Zoe was either busy or her phone wasn’t on, because it was nearly a half hour later, as her mom was getting ready to say good-bye to them before going to her office, that Zoe finally called. Megan made sure she picked up in front of her mother and grandparents, spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, and in response to Zoe’s question, “So, what’s the plan?” she replied, “I’d love to! Let me ask my mom.”

  Megan turned to her mother. “Zoe wants to know if I can go with her to the Kachina festival at the park.”

  James was glaring at her, letting her know that he thought she was a traitor for leaving him alone. Grandma and Grandpa had strict rules against daytime television, and severe restrictions on when and where James could play with his DS. Without Megan, he was looking forward to a long, slow day of dominoes and gin rummy.

  She was taking a big chance here. The park was within sight of her mom’s office, and it would be very easy for her mother to find out she was not really there. But the brazenness of the lie was what might make it work. Besides, there really was a Kachina festival at the park, and if called on the carpet, she could always claim to be in a part of the crowd that her mom had not seen.

  She was suddenly struck by an even better idea: after going home and checking the place out, she would go to the park. And she and Zoe would stop by her mom’s office to say hello.

  All bases covered.

  “Sure,” her mom said. “You can go. It sounds like fun. Do you want me to drive you two?”

  “No,” Megan said quickly. “We’re riding bikes.”

  “But your bike’s still at the house.”

  “I mean, Zoe’s riding her bike over here. Then we’re going to walk.”

  Her mom frowned. “It’s kind of far. I’m not sure I want you to—”

  “I’m going to be in eighth grade, Mom. Jeez! You think I’m such a baby that I can’t walk down the street by myself?”

  “No. I’m just saying that it’s a little far away. And maybe the streets of Jardine aren’t as safe as we thought they were.”

  Megan knew her mom was thinking about what had happened at their house, and she had no ready answer for that. On impulse, she put the phone back to her ear. “My mom says I can go, but she’s worried about me walking there. Can your mom drive us?”

  “Where are we really going?” Zoe asked.

  “Zoe says sure, her mom’ll take us.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Megan gave Zoe her grandparents’ address, then hung up, smiling her thanks at her mom and ignoring James’s hostility. She felt guilty for the deception but was determined not to show it.

  It occurred to her that this was a trap, that she was being lured back to the house deliberately, but that worry was fleeting, displaced almost instantly by the need to ascertain whether or not the house was still haunted.

  I will kill you both.

  Zoe lived only a few blocks away from her grandparents’ place, and she showed up on the doorstep less than ten minutes later. Megan had taken the key to her house from her purse and put it in her pocket, which was hard to accomplish surreptitiously with James following her like a puppy everywhere
she went, begging her to take him with her. Ordinarily, she would be taking great delight in his suffering and would be milking it for all it was worth, making him dance through hoops before finally telling him that he could not accompany her, but she had more important things on her mind this morning and ignored him completely, pretending he wasn’t there.

  Her grandma offered Zoe some orange juice, but Megan said they had to get going, and after promising to be careful and to be back for lunch, she and Zoe finally made it out the door.

  It was a long way to their house and the old downtown, and though to do so was unsafe and wobbly, the two of them rode together on Zoe’s bike, which, luckily, had a retro banana seat that could accommodate both of them. Zoe pedaled slowly, staying on sidewalks as much as possible, and it was nearly a half hour before they turned onto Rainey and pulled to a stop in the driveway of Megan’s house.

  She hopped off the bike. The van was gone, which meant that her dad wasn’t home. She didn’t like that. She thought about waiting outside for him, or even coming back later, but it had taken a lot of subterfuge to get here, and this might be her only chance. She’d known that already, which was why she’d brought her key, but the prospect of going in alone still made her nervous, and she looked from window to window, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.

  “So, why are we here?” Zoe asked. They hadn’t been able to talk on the bike, and while that should have given Megan enough time to come up with a plausible explanation, she hadn’t done it. Although she didn’t want to lie to her friend, she didn’t want to spell everything out, either. She wanted Zoe to go in cold, wanted to get her honest, unbiased opinion of the house.

  “I need to … get something out of my room,” Megan said lamely.

  Zoe looked at her. “Really?” she said dryly. “You called me up, lied to your mom about where you were going, had me sneak you out here on my bike … so you could get something out of your room.” She was about to say something else sarcastic when a strange expression crossed her face. “Wait a minute. You’re not … I mean …” Zoe looked at once worried and suspicious, shocked and scared. “We’re not here to get drugs or something are we? Marijuana?”