Haunted House Dread

by Carrie Bates

  Kristine gulped, suddenly uncomfortable. The sight of Brenda’s blood red finger tips reminded her of the bloodied fingernails she’d seen in her dream. As she watched Brenda’s slender fingers rummage through the papers in her briefcase, Kristine grew more and more uneasy. The sensations she’d experienced in her dream had been so terrifyingly realistic. Kristine almost felt as though she’d been reliving a horrific event from the past. The grief stricken voices she’d heard were audible, but distant, as though they were traveling a distance of time. The repulsive old woman, too, felt real, somehow. Kristine had seen her twice now. The first time, she’d appeared as a figment, watching her with that awful look of gluttony in her eye. The second time she’d shown up was in Kristine’s dream. Who was this woman?

  “Okay, Kristen,” Brenda huffed, crossing her arms in front of her, “I can see that something is clearly bothering you. I’ve gone over the details of the quote and you haven’t said a word. In fact, you haven’t even made eye contact! Why don’t you quit wasting my time and tell me about the boy who just dumped you?”

  “Uh…” Kristine blinked, bewildered. She’d been so preoccupied puzzling over her monstrous dream, she hadn’t even realized Brenda was talking. “It’s―it’s got nothing to do with a man,” Kristine assured her. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to share her feeling with someone like Brenda. “It has to do with the house,” Kristine continued.

  “Say no more,” Brenda declared, silencing Kristine with her hand. “The house is haunted,” she stated, simply.

  Kristine looked at Brenda, incredulous. She scoffed. “Are…are you joking?” she asked, uncertain.

  “Oh, absolutely not!” Brenda replied. “Haunted houses don’t bother me. That’s why I agreed to assist you with the renovations. I assumed you knew. Most agents do. That’s why no one’s been going after it. People are superstitious, I guess.” Brenda shrugged. “Anyway, do we have a deal?”

  “Hold on just a minute!” Kristine exclaimed. “What do you mean that house is haunted?! How could it… why would it… how is that even possible?!” Kristine stammered in shock.

  Brenda nonchalantly studied her manicure. “Trust me, it’s possible.” She sighed upon gazing up at a slack-jawed Kristine. “Alright,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her latte, “I’ll tell you the story.” Kristine gulped. She had a funny feeling Brenda’s story was going to entail human nails and hair.

  “So, basically, there was this old woman who used to live in the house. I think her name was Harriet… no, that’s not right―anyway, she was your typical alienated old coot. Nobody knew much about her, except for the fact that she was filthy rich. One day, she died in her sleep and was found several days later all rank and rotten. The house is said to be haunted by her ghost,” Brenda explained. “The house has been updated and owned many times since that old Harriet woman’s death. No owner has lasted more than several months in that place,” she added. “People say the ghost chases them out. But, personally, I don’t really buy into that crap.”

  Kristine wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or distressed by Brenda’s story. Thankfully, there had been no mentioning of hair or nails. The mentioning of the old woman, however, worried Kristine greatly. Brenda clearly stated that the woman who originally owned the house had been old. The woman who Kristine continued to see, too, was old.

  “Come on, Kristine, get it together,” she thought. “Ghosts don’t exist. The old woman is just a figment of your imagination. This is just a funny coincidence, that’s all.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about your investment?” Brenda probed.

  Kristine cleared her throat, attempting to appear unaffected by Brenda’s words. “Not at all,” she replied. “Let’s go over that quote one more time, shall we?”

  Chapter Five

  It was the following afternoon since Kristine’s meeting with Brenda. So far, Kristine hadn’t seen the old lady or experienced anything supernatural in relation to the house. Her fear was somewhat extinguished, although she still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

  Besides learning of the house’s supposed spiritual presence, Kristine managed to make some leeway with Brenda. As expected, the quote Brenda came up with was way over budget. Kristine decided to cut out the extraneous, such as the multiple pieces of expensive imported artwork, and stick to the basics. It satisfied Kristine to think that the house could be fully updated in the span of a few months.

  The weather was sublime; it was the perfect day for Kristine to scope out the yard and brainstorm some landscaping ideas. A beautiful yard would add value to the place. For once, Kristine was happy to have lots of space to work with. In its current form, the yard was vast and green with a bedded perimeter around the house for planting. Overall, it was pretty monotone.

  Kristine envisioned a patio behind the house for entertainment purposes. She saw a stone-walled garden in the corner of the backyard, a few mid-sized trees to catch the breeze and provide shade on a hot Georgian summer day, as well as some shrubs along the perimeter of the house. The majority of the gardening work Kristine could complete herself. As she approached a window along the back of the house―it was, in fact, the window to the second bathroom―her toe caught on a hard object, causing her to stumble. Kristine cursed and inspected the area. She found a rounded stone embedded in the earth. She sat down to inspect it. The stone was the size of a pocket book. It also had a number engraved on its surface.

  “Twenty-seven,” Kristine read aloud. “I wonder what that means?” Perhaps, the stone was marking the burial spot of something valuable. Kristine wedged a stick beneath the stone and pried it from the dirt. Using the stick like a shovel, she scored at the dirt until she saw yet another engraved stone. This time, the stone depicted the number thirty-one. Puzzled as to the significance of the numbers, Kristine scoured the back yard for more pocket book sized stones. She didn’t have to search long before finding another stone amidst the grassy lawn. This stone was marked with the number forty-three.

  Kristine was mystified. What did the numbers mean? A dark thought occurred to Kristine just then. What if the stones were keeping track of something? Visions of bare scalps and mutilated fingertips flashed in Kristine’s mind. What if the stones were graves and the numbers the epitaphs? Suddenly feeling sick with horror, Kristine ran from the yard into the house. She could see the children in their holes, scratching with no nails and tearing at their naked heads. Their screams were as ungodly as the screams of fighting cats.

  Kristine barely made it to the bathroom. The contents of her stomach had transformed into a ball of worms. Her head over the toilet, the digested lunch burned its way up her esophagus, painfully spilling over her lips. She sat weakly on the bathroom floor. Her hands trembled terribly. What was happening to her? She stood gingerly, inching her way to the vanity. The water that poured out the tap, washed the bitterness from her lips.

  “It must have been something I ate,” Kristine concluded. Her conclusion was most erroneous. Kristine’s sudden bout of illness was not a result of something she ate, but rather a result of something someone else ate.

  Before flushing the toilet, Kristine saw something foreign in her vomit. Uncertain of what it was, she knelt by the toilet to get a better look.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped and quickly flushed it down. The object in her vomit was a ball of human hair.

  Chapter Six

  Kristine took a sleeping pill before going to bed that night. To avoid summoning the malevolent old woman, Kristine decided to skip out on her nightly hair brushing routine. At the moment, the anxiety she would experience from neglecting her hair was miniscule in comparison to the anxiety she’d experience if that woman showed up again.

  The following morning, Kristine was awakened by the morning sun beaming through the window. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and slipped out from the covers. It was when she turned to begin making her bed that she saw the hair. Strewn across her pillow were cl
umps of her own hair. Kristine gasped and threw her hands to her head. She couldn’t feel any bald spots, but there was no doubting that that hair was hers. Broken and afraid, Kristine slumped against a wall, wadding her body up into a helpless ball as she slid to the floor.

  Her eyes welled with tears as she wondered what would become of her in this house. If she stayed, would her hair continue to fall out in horrible clumps? Kristine couldn’t live without her hair. It was bad enough she couldn’t complete her evening hair maintenance without some elderly spirit drooling over her. Brenda was right. The house was haunted.

  Depressed and possessing no appetite, Kristine made her way to the kitchen. She had to eat something. The consumption of food was known to help increase mood. A bowl of cereal would do the trick. She took a seat at the long table in the dining room, the bowl of cereal balancing in one palm and a cup of coffee clutched in the other. Eating breakfast by herself at such a long table was lonely for Kristine. The table was so long it could be used for a banquet. It was no wonder the old woman ghost was so creepy. The lack of human interaction turned her mind.

  Kristine choked on her raisin bran. She began coughing in attempts to dislodge what she thought was a raisin from her trachea. She eventually managed to swallow, but the sensation of the cereal going down her esophagus was unusually painful. Perhaps, she hadn’t properly chewed her mouthful of bran flakes. She took another bite. This time, as the food travelled down her stomach, the sensation was even more painful. Her throat prickled and burned as the food passed through. She gagged and choked. She took a swig of coffee in an attempt to clear her throat of any foreign debris, and attempted to digest her cereal once again.

  As the cereal entered her mouth, it suddenly became something else. The consistency changed from crisp and crunchy to ragged and rubbery. The swallow was agonizing. It felt as though bits of glass were tearing lesions into her esophagus. The back of her throat prickled and burned. She clutched it in pain, coughing and spluttering. At one point, she expelled a food particulate from her throat onto the table. Her coughing spell over, she leaned toward the table to examine the fragment of food. It wasn’t food at all. Kristine shot out of her chair, whimpering in fear. On the well-polished veneer of the wooden table was a human fingernail.

  “Oh my God, oh my God!” Kristine’s mind turned in circles as she paced petrified in the parlor. She had to get to the bottom of this haunting business. How was she supposed to sell a house that was haunted?!

  She toyed with the case on her phone. She needed to get in touch with some of the recent owners of the house. She had to be one hundred percent certain that the disturbing events happening to her in the house were a result of supernatural forces. If the ex-owners of the house had encountered what Kristine had encountered, then the haunting was confirmed.

  Unfortunately, in order to speak with the previous owners, Kristine would have to call Brenda. Brenda had mentioned the previous owners of the house almost as if she knew them somehow. At the moment, Brenda was Kristine’s only source for sanity, and she didn’t seem particularly sane herself.

  “Hello, Brenda speaking,” Brenda answered.

  “Hi, Brenda, this is Kristine.”

  There was a pause on Brenda’s end. “Who?” she asked.

  Kristine silently mouthed the word ‘idiot’ before responding, “I’m the agent you spoke with about the renovations.”

  “Ooooh! That’s right. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you could provide me with a contact for one of the previous owners of this house,” Kristine stated.

  Brenda chuckled, “Interested in hearing some ghost stories, are we? I would think you’d have had your fill of the paranormal by now. I’m not really supposed to share personal information about my clients, but… I’m getting the sense your situation is desperate, so I’ll happily oblige.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Kristine responded. She sounded somewhat insincere. Brenda’s smug tone was getting on her nerves. Kristine would pay to watch Brenda being harassed by a deranged ghost.

  “You’re welcome,” Brenda replied. “Just remember: you didn’t get this address from me! The family you want to see is the Willis family. They live on 14 Shermount Crescent, just across the bridge. I had a little something to do with the marble fireplace. Super posh. Best of luck with your ghost busting. Ciao!” Brenda hung up.

  ***

  Kristine wasted no time in visiting the Willis family. A twenty minute car ride later, and Kristine was looking at a gorgeous chocolate bricked house. Peeping out from behind a side fence, Kristine could see the edge of a swimming pool as well as a swing set.

  “There must still be children living in the house,” Kristine concluded.

  She took a moment to collect herself before ringing the doorbell. What would the Willis’ think about a stranger knocking at their door, asking questions about their experiences with ghosts? Kristine was worried about getting a door slammed in her face. If someone came around to her place, babbling on about a haunted house, Kristine would close the door on them.

  Upon ringing the doorbell, Kristine was tempted to make a run for it. How was she supposed to explain her purpose for standing on their doorstep? An attractive man answered the door. He had intelligent, kind eyes. Immediately, Kristine felt less apprehensive about the purpose of her visit.

  “You must be Kristine,” the man said. “I’m Daniel.”

  Kristine furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “How did you know my name?”

  Her reaction made Daniel chuckle. “Brenda called to tell us you were coming. Believe it or not, she’s my wife, Rachel’s, sister.”

  This was news to Kristine. Over the phone, Brenda had made it sound as though she only knew the Willis family professionally. In fact, Brenda had given Kristine the impression that she was taking a professional risk in order to help her.

  “I gather Brenda didn’t mention her relation to us?” Daniel asked.

  Kristine nodded. “No, she didn’t.”

  “That’s no surprise, really. Brenda and Rachel have never been close. For the better, if you ask me.”

  Kristine entered the Willis’ abode. She followed Daniel into the living room where she took a seat at a tremendously long leather sofa. While Daniel disappeared to fetch his wife, Kristine studied the framed family pictures affixed to the wall. It was while glancing at a photograph depicting Daniel and his wife on their wedding day that Kristine made the connection - not only was Rachel Brenda’s sister, she was the real estate broker who sold her the house!

  Chapter Seven

  It all made sense now. Kristine had known Rachel by her nickname, Shelly. During one of their interactions, Kristine had mentioned hiring an interior decorator to help modernize the house. Coincidentally, Shelly’s sister, Brenda, was an interior decorator, so, naturally, Shelly had recommended her.

  “I was afraid we’d meet again.” Rachel entered the room. She had a mug of coffee in each hand, one of which she offered to Kristine. She scoffed and shook her head in a flustered fashion. “I should have known that back-stabbing witch would ruin everything!” she remarked.

  “What do you mean ruin everything?” Kristine inquired.

  Rachel laughed and stiffly took a seat. “My husband and I purchased that house three months ago,” she began. “I have three sons, all of which, thankfully, are currently in school. We were in desperate need of more space. When we saw the listing for the historical mansion, we jumped on it.”

  Kristine sat in an armchair across from Rachel’s position. She dreaded the direction Rachel’s story was headed. “Please don’t let this house be haunted! God, don’t let this house be haunted!” Kristine pleaded.

  “Kristine, you have to understand, this was a great opportunity for my family. That house was supposed to be the place where I would raise my boys. I knew the house had history, but I didn’t bother to research it. I mean… sure, I was curious, but the thought of having such a vast amount of space was
too exciting,” Rachel explained.

  “Oh, God…” Kristine uttered. Rachel sounded as though she was reasoning with a judge. “You knew that place was haunted, and you sold it to me anyway.”

  Rachel cringed. “Yes, I did,” she admitted. “I had to, Kristine! Strange, horrible things were happening to us in that house. Our sleep was plagued with images of an old woman consuming hair. My eldest boy, Garett―one day, he started acting funny. His eyes were wide and trance like, and he spoke with a different voice. He kept saying he’d lost his fingernails. My other boys were in a similar state. My youngest claimed to have seen bald children huddled in the back yard. None of them dared step foot back there. I didn’t blame them. I was reading on the back porch one evening when I suddenly heard a series of horrible screams. I was so scared, I dropped my book, squeezed my eyes shut, and ran blindly back into the house.” Rachel went pale just then. “Those sounds…they sounded like children were being slaughtered.”

  Kristine shuddered; she wanted to cry. She wanted to flee to her neat little condo, collapse into her bed and weep bitter tears into her hypoallergenic pillows.

  “Despite all the nasty things that were going on in the house, my husband kept a cool head,” Rachel continued. “He suggested we do some research to learn about the house’s history.” Rachel stood from her spot on the sofa. She pulled a book from its place on a mantel piece above the magnificent fireplace―the one detail Brenda chose to mention―and handed it to Kristine.

  “The Bertha House: A History Behind the Hauntings,” Kristine read the title aloud.

  “The history portion of the book is consistent with other sources my husband and I found, both online and at the local library,” Rachel said. “The book also recalls the paranormal experiences of previous owners,” she added. “The encounters documented in the book are scarily similar to those of our own.”