The Haunting of Winchester Mansion Omnibus

by Clarke, Alexandria

  “Everyone in town must be getting a load of you two,” she said with a warm smile.

  “Why’s that?” Bodhi asked.

  She tightened the bright red bandana that held her shock of blonde hair away from her face. “Beautiful new couple? I’m surprised Pam hasn’t whisked you away for a photo shoot already.”

  “Sorry, but who’s Pam?”

  The woman set two menus next to our waters, each one emblazoned with the Sanctuary’s signature swirly font and a depiction of a fierce eagle eye. “Pam Lopez. She’s the editor of the Black Bay Banner. Not a lot of news to print in such a small town, you know? She loves newcomers. Newcomers are news.”

  Bodhi tugged his stool closer to the counter and sipped his water. “As much as I’d hate to disappoint Pam, we probably won’t be here long enough to warrant front page news.”

  “No? Just passing through?”

  “In a way,” I filled in. “We flip houses. We’ve just bought the house up the road.”

  The woman blinked. “The Winchester house?”

  “If that’s the one on the bluff.”

  “With the widow’s walk?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh.”

  She pursed her lips. Bodhi and I exchanged loaded looks. I shuffled closer, raising my voice to be heard over the buzz of the cafe. “Is there something wrong with that house?”

  “No, not at all! It’s just been empty for years.”

  “What happened to the owners?” asked Bodhi.

  A server dashed by, balancing a tray of salads and sandwiches on his shoulder. The woman made room for him before answering Bodhi. “He’s a strange fellow. Doesn’t come into town.”

  “Milo, you mean.”

  “Is that his name?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head. “Like I said, he’s a bit off-kilter. Never even seen him in person. But where are my manners?” She wiped her hands on her apron and shook one of mine. “My name is Ava.”

  “I’m Bailey,” I said. “This is Bodhi.”

  Ava beamed, patting Bodhi’s hand affectionately. “Welcome to Black Bay! And to the Sanctuary. Best coffee in town, roasted right here on the premises. Then again, I own the place, so I’m a little biased. Can I get you something else to drink?”

  Bodhi flipped over the menu, perusing. “I’ll have a cold brew.”

  “Sweetened?”

  “Sure. Bailey?”

  “The cappuccinos smell amazing,” I said.

  “A cappuccino and a cold brew coming up.”

  As Ava drifted away, busying herself with our drink order, Bodhi pivoted toward me. “Okay, is it me or was that a little weird?”

  “I thought she was nice.”

  “Nice, sure. Still weird.”

  I unfolded my menu. Though it was lunchtime, the column of breakfast food drew my attention. “It’s a small town, Bodhi. Don’t be so judgmental.”

  “I’m not. And who are the Winchesters?”

  A swell in conversation near the door of the Sanctuary turned my head. A stout man with a full beard had entered the coffee shop. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance, but he was greeted with enthusiasm by every person within shouting distance. He was of average stature but broad and muscled throughout his shoulders and chest. He wore faded jeans, workman’s boots, and a white T-shirt. His age only showed in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the salt-and-pepper of his beard. He swept off his baseball cap, revealing an impressive amount of voluminous, solid gray hair, and tipped it in acknowledgement of the Sanctuary’s effervescent patrons.

  “Mayor?” I guessed in an undertone to Bodhi.

  “Local drug dealer,” he joked. I elbowed him, suppressing a laugh.

  “One cappuccino,” said Ava, reappearing with a steaming cup. “And one cold brew. Anything to eat?”

  “Whatever they order, put it on my tab,” boomed a voice. A meaty hand clapped down on my shoulder as I glanced up. The mayor, for lack of a better word, had approached us from behind. He grinned at me and Bodhi, displaying a spirited smile. “I heard through the grapevine that Black Bay had visitors. Least I can do is treat you to a meal.”

  Bodhi shrugged out from under the man’s weighty grip. “That won’t be necessary—”

  “I insist.” He took a few dollars from his back pocket and offered them to the nearby high schooler. “Budge up, if you don’t mind, darlin’.”

  The younger girl bounced off the stool without argument, tucking Catcher in the Rye beneath one arm. “Thanks, Ethan. See you at the sailing competition tomorrow?”

  The man winked. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  As she bounded away, the man hoisted himself on her vacated stool. “I wasn’t kidding, you know. Order something to eat. It’s on me.”

  I took the bait, asking Ava for a platter of hotcakes and eggs. Bodhi followed suit and ordered a roast beef sandwich. As Ava placed our order, the man dumped several packets of artificial sweetener in a gargantuan glass of iced tea.

  “I’m Ethan, by the way,” he said, stirring his beverage with a plastic bendy straw. “Ethan Powell. I run the lumber mill south of here. And the nearby warehouse. And a few of the businesses in town. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I passed by the Banner and Pam Lopez said there’s a new couple in town. Bailey and Bodhi, is it? My grandfather had a dog named Bodhi.”

  “Word sure does travel fast here,” said Bodhi.

  “Small town, sir. People talk.”

  “We’re renovating the house on the bluff,” I explained again.

  “The Winchester house?”

  Déjà vu. As Ethan’s deep voice resonated across the cafe, a few customers looked up from their coffee cups. I nodded. “That’s the one.”

  Our food arrived. I slathered maple syrup across the hotcakes and took a bite. Like the rest of Black Bay, breakfast was heavenly too.

  Bodhi plucked out the toothpicks that held his sandwich together. “Who are the Winchesters?”

  “Who were the Winchesters,” Ethan corrected, shaking his head. “Tragic, really. You have to know the history first. Twenty-odd years ago, Black Bay was suffering. Our town always relied on timber and fishing, but with better technology and bigger companies moving in, a lot of our factories and mills were being shut down. It was bad. A lot of locals lost their jobs or went bankrupt. People moved out to the cities for more opportunities, and Black Bay felt like a ghost town for a while.”

  I swallowed another bite of my hotcakes. “Looks like it’s doing all right now though. What happened?”

  Ethan bowed his head politely. “The Winchesters happened. They built that house of yours. Beautiful family. Two great kids. Christopher Winchester was a businessman, but not a deplorable one. He consolidated what was left of the businesses in Black Bay. Saved the small-town economy, you know? And he worked real hard with the locals to restore Black Bay without sacrificing our own ideals. Top-notch fellow, really. His wife Elizabeth was lovely too. She kept morale up. Started a book club and volunteered for whatever cause needed her most.”

  Through a full mouth, Bodhi mumbled, “What was so tragic then?”

  Ethan’s eyes darkened, as though one of the clouds from earlier had suddenly appeared inside the cafe. “They died. All four of them. Boat accident.”

  The sandwich dropped from Bodhi’s hand. I choked on a sip of my cappuccino, my nose dipping into the foam. My heart ached. It was as though someone had reached into my chest, wrapped my organ in their fist, and squeezed. Bodhi’s calloused palm found my knee. I stared down at it, focusing on the heart-shaped birthmark on the back of his hand.

  “It’s their house,” I murmured to Bodhi.

  “We can bail,” he offered. He kept his head bowed, his back turned to Ethan in an illusion of privacy. “We haven’t signed the papers. We can just go.”

  I dropped my forehead into my hand, shielding my eyes. The coffeehouse was too loud, too busy. Voices called, plates clanked, machines whirred.
The hotcakes smelled too sweet. My stomach heaved. Everyone was looking. Was everyone looking?

  Ethan stood on the leg of his stool to peer over Bodhi at me. “Everything all right?”

  “I’ve got it,” said Bodhi firmly. Ethan sat down. Bodhi rubbed my back. “Bailey?”

  “We should stay,” I whispered. I cleared my throat and spoke up. “We should stay. It shouldn’t— it’s fine. We should stay. The house is too gorgeous.”

  “Are you sure?” Bodhi asked.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Ethan interrupted before I could answer. “The Winchesters passed a long time ago. No one in town is going to fault you for buying their house.”

  “That’s not it,” Bodhi said.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand—”

  “It’s fine,” I said again, this time louder. I wiped the cappuccino foam from my nose. Smiled at Bodhi. Smiled at Ethan. “It’s no big deal. Thank you for your concern, Ethan.”

  Ethan offered me a napkin, which I used to mop the sticky sweetness of maple syrup from my fingers. “Sure, darlin’.”

  I pushed my plate away. My appetite had abandoned me. I resented it. The hotcakes lay sad and half-eaten. I rotated the plate so that only the untouched part of the stack was visible to me.

  Bodhi had stopped eating too, instead rubbing my back in slow, comforting circles. I pointed to his sandwich. “Finish that. I know you’re still hungry.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked again.

  “Of course.” I cleared my throat once more. “So, Ethan?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I couldn’t help but notice you’re pretty popular around here.”

  As if in example, a small child trundled by with a sippy cup full of orange juice and called up to the bar stool. “Hiya, Mister Powell!”

  Ethan grinned and waved before returning his attention to me. “I grew up here,” he explained. “The lumber mill was a family business, see? It was my grandfather’s then my dad’s. I would’ve lost it all if it weren’t for Christopher Winchester. He did so much for Black Bay. Ever since he passed, I like to think it’s my duty to take care of the town. Someone’s got to, you know?”

  It made sense. Ethan Powell was the unnamed father of Black Bay. In my opinion, every small town needed someone like him to keep things running smoothly. Otherwise, the close quarters and local gossip was bound to come to a head at some point.

  Bodhi dusted his hands off on his napkin. “We’re going to need some guys to help us out with the construction up at the house. Do you know of anyone who needs work?”

  “You’ve asked the right man.” Ethan finished off his iced tea then tipped back the glass to chew on the ice cubes. As he crunched, he said, “I got a bunch of guys who’re always looking for a couple extra bucks. Just say when.”

  “It won’t be right away,” Bodhi answered. “I need to do some work on my own first. Draw up the plans. We haven’t even signed the closing documents yet.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, checking my watch. “It’s one-thirty. We should head back up to the house soon.”

  “I’ve kept you. My apologies.” Ethan waved Ava over, lumbering off his bar stool to extract his wallet from his back pocket. He handed a twenty to Ava and a business card to Bodhi. “Call me anytime. And not just for construction work. If you need anything at all, feel free to let me know. I was serious about looking out for the people of Black Bay. Even if you’re only around for a couple of months, I’m here for you.”

  I stood up and patted Ethan on his broad back. “Thank you for that, Ethan. And for lunch.”

  “Anytime, darlin’. Take care now.”

  Bailey and Bodhi: Flipping Out

  So this is the first time Bodhi and I have ever participated in a private sale, and I have to admit, there’s a certain finesse to it. Our new buddy, Milo, had prepared all of the necessary documents in advance, which we signed in mere minutes. What a relief! There was no hassle. No last-minute negotiations. No real estate sharks or loan officers. If only every transaction we made was as simple and stress-free as the one for the Winchester house.

  Yes, ladies and gentleman, our new house officially has a name, but unlike The Pit in Fort Lauderdale (jk!), our project had already been christened before we arrived in Black Bay. The Winchester House. Sounds regal, doesn’t it? It looks regal too. It’s not a palace by any means, but the Winchesters were definitely blue-blooded. This place has a ballroom. A ballroom! Okay, so it’s more of a big, empty hall, but you could absolutely hold a modest ball in there.

  And did I mention the view? Right now, Bodhi and I are sitting out on the deck of the master bedroom, drinking wine and watching the sunset. Talk about ridiculously romantic. It’s literally all ocean and mountains here. The sky is purple. PURPLE. Don’t worry, I’ll attach pictures.

  Eat your hearts out, flippers.

  Bailey

  I uploaded the pictures from my phone to the new blog post, including the one of me and Bodhi outside on the lower deck. I zoomed in on it, studying our expressions. As long as my followers didn’t look too closely, no one would notice how our bodies didn’t quite connect at the center. Or how, despite my best efforts, my smile faltered around my eyes. I zoomed out, uploaded the picture, and published the post before I could second-guess myself.

  After our meeting with Milo, we had spent the rest of the day tidying up what we could of the Winchester house. It was a good thing the family had left an entire cabinet full of cleaning supplies. Even better, the 90s-era vacuum cleaner still worked. My afternoon consisted of the simple yet daunting task of ridding the house of its thick layer of dust. I emptied the vacuum bag at least ten times, covering my nose and mouth as it coughed ashy clouds into the trash can. My dedication lasted long enough to clean the kitchen, one bathroom, and two of the upstairs bedrooms. The rest, I planned on tackling during the next few days.

  For now, I sat on the bare mattress of the king-sized bed in the master bedroom. The sky really was purple, a light lilac hue near the surface of the water that stretched up into a dark plum color before conceding to the twinkling stars. Beyond the open French doors, Bodhi propped himself up against the railing of the second story deck. He gazed out across the open ocean with a bottle of beer—some kind of local brew that we picked up at the market on our way back up to the bluff—perched nearby. The fabric of his shirt danced in the breeze. It rode up above his jeans, revealing a stretch of his tanned back and a strip of paler skin at his waistband. As though he could feel my eyes on him, he turned away from the water.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  “All done with the blog post?”

  Another nod.

  He yawned, stretching his arms overhead as he came inside. “I know it’s early, but I think I’ll head to bed. Flights always wear me out.”

  “Can you close and lock the doors please?”

  He eased the stiff French doors shut and pulled the curtains over the windows.

  “Night.”

  He paused as he passed me. There was a barely noticeable stumble in his step as though he thought about kneeling down to kiss the top of my head. He didn’t though. He walked away. I watched his reflection on the screen of my laptop. At the door of the bedroom, he looked over his shoulder at the space left beside me on the massive bed.

  I waited.

  Bodhi left. I rolled my shoulders out, realizing how tense the muscles in my back had been while he’d considered his sleeping arrangement. I closed my laptop, no longer able to look at the happy crap I’d posted on the blog. It was all a farce. The only time Bodhi and I shared a bed these days was if we had no other options, ergo the apartment in Florida. It was easier on all parties involved if we slept in separate rooms. That was why I had made sure to clean two of the upstairs bedrooms. I needed space.

  As soon as Bodhi was out of sight, I stripped off my jeans, too tired to root through my poorly packed suitcase for a pair of pajamas. The purple tinted light of the
beckoning evening filtered through the diaphanous white curtains, casting a lavender glow across the plush carpet. I fell onto the bare mattress of the king-sized bed and stretched diagonally from one end to the other.

  Flights didn’t make Bodhi tired. He loved them. Before we met, he traveled to whatever country struck his fancy, worked unpleasant jobs to pay for his room and board, and owned a grand total of five shirts. When he was on the ground, he talked incessantly about how he missed the “in between” feeling of being in the sky.

  I stared at the ceiling. The Winchesters did not believe in stucco ceilings. It was smooth, painted a creamy off-white that reminded me of French vanilla ice cream. I closed my eyes. Purple skies and empty airplane aisles and French vanilla ice cream floated through the darkness behind my eyelids.

  I woke with a scream lodged in my throat. It was stuck there, bubbling. I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning. Or I had been.

  A gust of wind brought me to my senses. The bedroom was dark. I unfurled my fists. My fingers were cold, but my palms were damp and warm. I had dug my fingernails into the flesh there, drawing blood. Another breeze swept through the room, chilling the layer of sweat on my body. I shivered and looked up.

  The French doors were open, the black night beyond luring me into its depths.

  4

  The House on the Bluff

  At dawn, the woods around the Winchester house came alive. Through the glass panes of the windows, I heard the happy whistling of waking birds, the rustle of the ocean breeze through the leaves on the trees, and the subtle, ever-present hush of waves kissing the rocks below. The French doors to the balcony were closed. I propped myself up on one lonely pillow. Last night’s disruption slipped away. It was like holding a memory in a sieve. Remnants lingered, but the details were flushed out. It could’ve all been a dream, but the crescent-shaped grooves and dried blood in the palms of my hands said otherwise.

  I was no stranger to nightmares. They were my closest acquaintances these days. As soon as I drifted off, they came for me. I fought it at first. I quit drinking coffee for a while, participated in sleep studies, and went to therapy. Bodhi tried to help too. He held me or supervised me, but he never woke me up. For some cosmically ironic reason, waking someone from a night terror was considered a no-no. I never understood it, but I had accepted it. Now I greeted my dreams as co-workers: Hello. I see you. I accept you. Let’s get this over with. And in the morning, I left the terror to linger in the space between the fitted sheet and the duvet cover.