Fright Files: The Broken Thing

by Peter Swift

20.

  "No ghosts on a day like today!" Stevie said cheerily as the rays from the brightly shining sun warmed his face and eased his mind. The storm had blown clear in the night, and now not a cloud filled the sky.

  Stevie had considered riding his motorcycle when he left, but thought maybe he'd hang out with Angie afterward and didn't want to be stuck pushing the thing around town. Now he was glad he hadn't brought it. It was such a nice day, and the sun on his face felt great.

  The cool, October breeze pushed the sweet smell of pine through the air, mixed with the pleasant scent of smoke from a fireplace or a burning pile somewhere in the distance. It was cool, but not cold, and he was comfortable wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. He brought his aviator's jacket, though, because he remembered how much cooler The Grove could be.

  They had agreed to meet at the end of the driveway, and when he got there, Mr. Stark and Angie were leaning against the teacher's old, dented Chevy. Normal enough.

  Except that Stevie could have sworn the driveway had been a hundred yards farther down the road. The lighthearted and excited thoughts of adventure were now crowded by a hint of apprehension.

  "Heya Stevie," Mr. Stark said. He stepped away from the car and tapped Stevie's shoulder with his fist. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt under a gray nylon parka. His clothes made him look a lot younger. "Happy Halloween."

  "Happy Halloween," Stevie said, confused eyes scanning the road.

  "What's up?" Angie asked. "Lose your puppy?"

  Stevie shook his head. "Wasn't the driveway more down the road?" he asked, nodding in the direction from which he'd come. "Yesterday?"

  Angie shook her head. "You know, I thought it was up that ways a bit." She waved a thumb in the opposite direction. Pink knit fingerless gloves jutted out from her black jacket. Her hair was pulled up in an off-center ponytail. She shrugged. "Everything looks different in the morning."

  "Yeah," Stevie said, unconvinced. "Yeah, I guess so."

  "Let's get this party started," Mr. Stark said. "I have to document the condition of the place for the Newhope Township Historical Society, though I doubt they'll ever do anything about it. Too many people want to forget it ever existed. Still, I think it's an important part of our town's history, no matter how unpleasant it is. The building should be preserved for its architectural value alone!"

  "Your dad sure doesn't think so," Angie volunteered. "Hey, Stevie, did you call him back this morning? To find out what he was gonna tell you? About the toy?"

  Stevie nodded. "Tried, but he wasn't there." Stevie turned to Mr. Stark. "Why did you suggest talking to your father, anyway? He told us pretty much the opposite of everything you did."

  "He said the whole Grove should be burned down," Angie added.

  "Look," Mr. Stark said. "My father and I have had our differences for a lot of years, about a lot of different things. But when it comes to Harcourt Manor, there's one thing we both agree on. It's a dangerous place. My thoughts lean more towards rusty nails and rotten support beams than ghosts and things that go bump in the night, but the conclusion is the same."

  "You thought he'd scare us off!" Stevie accused him, suddenly understanding. He was surprised, but not angry. "You didn't want us coming here!"

  "I am your teacher. Keeping my students safe is part of the job description. Besides, a little fear is sometimes more efficient than a big fence."

  Angie snorted. "You obviously don't know me so well."

  Mr. Stark grabbed a clipboard and camera from the front seat of the car and pushed his way onto the overgrown driveway. Stevie and Angie followed.

  "Doesn't look like anyone's been here in a long time," Mr. Stark said.

  "I've been here twice this week," Stevie told him.

  "Twice?" Mr. Stark asked, digging his foot into a thick vine of thorns. It was tough and springy though, and twisted around his leg. He held it in place while Angie and Stevie stepped past.

  "My idea," Angie said. "I made Stevie come."

  "Kicking and screaming, I might add," Stevie added.

  Mr. Stark frowned. "I guess my father is losing his scary touch."

  "We came here before we talked to your dad," Stevie said, stepping over a fallen, decaying tree. "He hasn't lost his touch. He's still pretty creepy."

  Mr. looked seriously at his two students. "Seriously, you shouldn't be down there alone. The walls are stone and will probably stand another five hundred years, but that roof is slate and heavy. Last time I was here, I went up to the attic and looked at the beams under it. The supports are still good, but if one of those pieces slides off and cracks you in the head, it's all over. And that's just one example. Things just loosen up and come apart in a place like Harcourt Manor if nobody takes care of it."

  Stevie offered a hand to Angie to help her over the fallen tree, but she just smirked at him and jumped over. She said, "Sorry Mr. Stark. I couldn't wait. But speaking of loose boards, wait until you see what we found under the floor in a hidden compartment!"

  "A hidden compartment?" their teacher exclaimed. Now he sounded as excited as Angie.

  While Angie told Mr. Stark about their adventure the day before, Stevie's apprehension grew. He felt eyes watching them, and not the eyes of the creatures in the forest wary of the three intruders. This was something else. Something that was hunter rather than prey. Something frigid and evil and full of anger. He thought about the broken girl.

  "There it is," Mr. Stark said, pointing at the dark house some distance ahead of them. "Sure is a wonderfully ugly thing, isn't it?"

  "I rather like it," Angie said. "It's got style."

  Mr. Stark laughed. "Morbid, gothic style."

  Angie shrugged. "I think that's what I like about it most."

  Suddenly, Stevie didn't want to go. More than anything, he wanted to stay as far as possible from that horrible, dark place with the twisted past. He didn't care about the ghost or the doll or anything else. He just wanted to pretend he'd never laid eyes on it.

  Run away, he thought. Just go. Tell them you're going home. Tell them you don't feel well. Tell them anything! Just get away from this house!

  The others watched the treacherous terrain, but Stevie's eyes focused only on Harcourt Manor. The paint on the trim had long ago flaked away, leaving the exposed wood underneath to rot in some places, and simply age and petrify in others. Now, everything was either black or gray, from the roof to the porch to the windows to the door. Even the vines and vegetation that had grown along the walls had withered and died. Nothing that touched the place could live.

  Something moved! First, a shape that disappeared behind the house, and a moment later, a shadow in one of the windows.

  "Did you see that?" Stevie asked, gripping Mr. Stark's arm.

  "What?" Angie said.

  "Something moved. Behind the house, and then inside."

  "Probably a squirrel," Mr. Stark said. Then he grinned evilly. "Or a rat."

  "Eeeew," Angie exclaimed. She didn't like small fuzzy creatures of any variety, but especially rats.

  "No, it was bigger than that," Stevie said.

  Had it been his imagination? A tree's shadow? A reflection? Ragged, shredded drapes blowing in the gentle breeze?

  No, it had been none of those things. He knew that as certainly as he knew they should not be in sight of this place. They should not be anywhere near Harcourt Manor.

  It's a dead place, he thought. Full of dead things.

  And he was right.

  "I don't feel well," Stevie said, and suddenly the massive structure towered before them. A moment ago, it had been a fair distance away, but now it was right there in front of them. Had they really come to it so quickly? His palms were sweaty and he rubbed them on his jeans.

  "What's wrong?" Angie asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You look queasy."

  "My stomach," he said weakly. "My head."

  Mr. Stark tore his eyes from the roofline of the house and walked back to Stevie. "You going to be okay?" he a
sked.

  "It's this place," Angie said. She looked at Stevie with concern, and he knew she wasn't teasing him. "It bugs him."

  "You want to go home?" Mr. Stark asked.

  Yes! Yes! Yes! Stevie thought, but he looked at the eyes of his teacher and his best friend. He respected them both a great deal, and he didn't want them to think less of him.

  "No," he said, and pointed to a large rock alongside the driveway. "But maybe I'll sit here for a minute."

  "Sure thing. Come when you're ready," Mr. Stark said, and he and Angie walked toward the overgrown fountain. "I'll make some notes on the exterior, Angie. Then you can show me what you found inside." Mr. Stark paused at the fountain briefly, wrote something on his clipboard, and then continued to the side of the manor. Angie stepped up onto the porch.

  Stevie watched. They must think I'm a huge baby, he thought, but he couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder at the gray-black trees behind him. In the distance he heard a murder of crows making their angry sound, and his mind drifted for only a moment to why a flock of crows was called a murder. He shivered.

  As he sat, the feeling that something was watching from the forest grew and grew. Sitting on the rock left his back exposed to the depths of the woods. It would be so easy for something to sneak up behind him and tear him from his perch!

  He stood and took a few steps toward the house. Angie was on the porch looking in the windows, and Mr. Stark studied the side of the house and wrote on his clipboard. Stevie watched them for a few moments, and then turned around and stared into the shadows of the forest. He searched the woods for any signs of danger.

  What was in there? he wondered. Are you watching me? What do you want?

  His eyes still scanned the dark forest when Angie's scream sliced through the air!