“Hello there, young man. How may I help you?” she asked.
“I would like to know who lived inside my house before my family moved in.”
“What house address would that be?”
“333 Elm Road,” Brad said.
He could tell that she’d shuddered as if a cold breeze crawled up her spine. Her fingers at the keyboard, and her eyes glanced at Brad.
“333… what street address, dear?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit hard at hearing.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. 333 Elm Road. E-L-M Road.”
“I’m hard of hearing, not dumb.”
“I’m sorry,” Brad softly said.
“So… it’s 333 Elm Road, correct?” she asked. Her fingers typed fast which surprised Brad. He assumed after seeing his father type with one finger that most older people had trouble with typing. Oh, it was not the case with this receptionist. Her fingers were limber and swift as a fox. The mechanical keypresses clicked as she typed fast. It sounded like a machine gun—that’s how fast she was typing.
“Alright, would you like me to print it up?”
“Yes, I would.” Brad nodded.
The Inkjet printer shot out a couple of pages with names who’d lived at Brad’s house, fairly quick. Once they were finished printing, she handed them over to him and smiled.
“There you go, young man,” she said, warmly. “Is there anything else?”
Brad shook his head. A thought popped into his head, but he wasn’t entirely sure if she’ll know anything about the house. But what if she does? Brad thought.
“Do you know anything about the house?”
She adjusted her glasses that slightly fell off the brim of her nose. She tapped her finger against her chin.
“I do believe that I do… the house had been in the news… oh, gosh! Let me think for a moment… what I’ve heard from my mother was… ah! Ha! Yes, my mother told there was a woman back in the 1920s—you should see her name in the list on that paper—who was sent into the local asylum. What I’ve understood was that she’d rant and rave about the house made her murder her children. But I can’t recall clearly…it’s been long time since I’ve been told that story. My mother had passed two decades ago, so I am horribly sorry that I can’t recall much.”
“It’s okay,” Brad said, nodding his head, giving a pleasant smile.
“Is this some school project that you’re working on?”
Brad shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I just wanted to know… that’s all.” He gave her a smile and thanked her before heading out of the recorder’s office. With the paper in his hand, Brad examined some of the names that were listed. It showed owners but not their family members. Brad would have to investigate this further. However, "Detective Brad,” was on a roll for sure, and he was about to unravel something—large, a vital piece to this puzzle—sooner or later.
Brad’s father placed a new fuse panel in the basement about a week or so ago, and he temporary placed new three-pronged outlets in the house. Brad questioned him if the new outlets would be safe.
“Of course,” Brad’s father said. “Third prong is just for earth or ground, so to speak. Next year, the entire house will be rewired…entire walls would be taken down, better insulation and drywall put up…it’ll be a very tedious task—alright.”
Tedious sounded like an understatement, Brad recalled himself thinking back two or so weeks ago. We’ll have to sleep at motel—next year.
Brad still didn’t feel comfortable about plugging his laptop into his three-pronged outlet, but he had faith in his father. If he says it’s alright, it has to be.
He sat at his desk using his laptop. The papers that the receptionist printed out for him were on the side of him.
Brad used Google search to investigate possible family members that lived inside his house. A news article came up that dated three years ago. Intrigued, Brad clicked on the hyperlink.
“Brad, darling!” His mother called from the stairs landing on the first floor.
He sighed, stood up and headed to the head of the stairs.
“Yes?”
“Did you forget it’s dinner time?” she asked, half-chuckling at Brad’s absent mindfulness. “Grab your sister and come down to eat.”
“Alright,” he replied, heading to Jesse’s room. He entered inside and shivered. It felt unusual cold inside her room. He warmed his arms up with his hands as he continued to shiver more. She laid in her bed, sleeping so elegantly like a baby. She’s been tired mostly, Brad thought.
“Jesse,” he said, shivering. He could see his breath as if it were winter already. It’s October, about two more weeks until Halloween, for God’s sake. Then it dawned to him, the window was wide opened. The curtains flung about as the wind blew inside the room. It’s odd for an October night to be a bit chilly, Brad thought. He headed over to the opened window and shut it close. It was one of those old pulley windows—sash cords (rope) moved along pulleys—that made a lot of noise as Brad closed it. He turned around and jumped backward and bumped into the window.
“Jesus,” he cried. “Trying to give me a heart attack?” He shook his head. “Com’on, dinner time.”
“I’m not hungry,” Jesse said, standing right in front of him.
“You need to eat,” he said.
“Don’t tell me what to eat—cocksucker.”
Brad’s mind was completely blown away. Did she just call me a cocksucker? Yeah, she did. She called me a cocksucker.
He pointed his index finger in a scowling way. “I’m telling mom and dad,” he said. Brad started towards her bedroom door then froze stiff. The room felt much colder. It felt like jumping into a snow bank—naked. He stood there—stiff as a board, terrified to the bone—as her bedroom door slammed shut by itself. There wasn’t any draft to slam that door.
“Go tell them and be a little bitch,” she said, crackling like a mad witch.
Brad turned around. His eyes could tell a thousand of words. There was a sinister appearance within Jesse’s eyes, Brad witnessed. It wasn’t her but someone else—inside Jesse’s shoes. She wouldn’t never act this way, not one damn bit. It appeared to be Jesse—alright, but her personality seemed cockeyed. This wasn’t Brad’s sister that he knew of. It used her voice, walked in her skin, but the vibration or aura that enveloped her seemed malevolent in nature. Her eyes flicked with immense delight on Brad’s fear as she drew a smile from ear to ear before laughing at him. It seemed to come at a pass; when Jesse collapsed on her room’s floor. The room’s temperature seemed to be warming up, not much—but definitely getting there, as Brad felt less cold than seconds ago.
He headed over to Jesse, shook her a couple of times.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She wearily opened her eyes and stood up.
“What happened?”
Brad couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that she called him a cocksucker, laughed like a psycho witch, then collapsed onto the carpet. He replayed the scenario back inside his head. There wasn’t a way that Jesse learned these new colorful swearwords inside her vocabulary list. If mother and father found out about her new colorful swearwords, they’ll have Jesse’s butt spanked—really hard. He thought back, for a brief moment or so, but he shook his head. There was a slim chance that she learned these new colorful words from their parents nor him.
Pussy.
Right…that was the word she described me inside the attic.
Cocksucker and pussy…yet both of those instances…she doesn’t remember saying them. Her eyes would tell me if she’s lying. But no…she’s telling me the truth, alright. She clearly doesn’t remember. Not a damn thing, Jesse doesn’t.
“I don’t know,” Brad softly said. His eyes told her that he was worried about her. He was worried about her. Worried… maybe even scared, Brad felt for his sister.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
Jesse nodded her head, placing her hand to her brow.
�
��My head hurts,” she whined. A whine—not for attention—more of a “what’s happening to me” whine, Brad realized. He didn’t have the answers for her.
Brad took her hand, lead her out of her room and down the stairs then into the dining room. I’ll let it go…it wasn’t her, and I know that. Something or someone took hold of her. Someone…something that isn’t good but evil. The stench of rotten flesh could be smelt a mile away inside her room. I could smell it until she awoke up on the floor. It reminded me of the decay smell coming from the boy in my nightmare. The foul smell that came out from his high-pitch scream near the Elm tree. There’s something to that, though, and I’ll have to figure it out. It’s something important… I know it.
CHAPTER 8
“Mommy?” Jesse asked, shifting her body into a cozy position in bed.
Mother’s head peeked back inside her room.
“What is it, buttercup?”
Jesse smiled.
Buttercup…Buttercup. It’s funny name, Jesse thought.
“Can you turn on my ladybug light?” she asked.
Mother’s smile could be barely seen, but she nodded her head at Jesse. She lowered her body down and flicked on the nightlight next to her doorframe. The ladybug illuminated with delight. Some reason or another… Jesse felt uneasy, tonight and wanted some sliver of light to protect her throughout the night. Her previous nights of sleep weren’t fruitful, so she—at times—would be slightly grouchy. Matt, the boy, she would tell her teachers kept her up. Of course, the teachers would ask questions about the boy, but Jesse wouldn’t tell them much. It seemed… well… it seemed her and Matt had some type of secret pact… a secret friendship, they shared amongst each other. Yeah, a secret imaginary friendship (like every child has in their growing up phase) was the right way to think about it.
“Night, night, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Jesse’s mother slowly closed her bedroom door.
Jesse slowly closed her eyes, turning over to her side and began to drift off into sleep. Night, night. Don’t let the bedbug’s bite. Night…night…nigh—
Psst…wake up, sleepyhead. Wake up! Ragdoll, wake up!
Jesse covered herself more as the room became icy cold.
“Not tonight,” she muttered softly, shivering.
Wake up, lazy bones…wake up! We’re going to play!
“No,” Jesse protested, shivering. Her lower jaw jittered up and down from the intense cold.
We must play. We must… or… I’ll make your brother wake up. He’ll be really angry with you. Breaking all his trophies… tsk… tsk… bad, Jesse. Bad girl, your parents would scowl at you. Naughty girl, they’ll say. And your brother, Brad, he’ll hate you forever.
“Leave me alone,” Jesse cried out. “I’m tired… I need sleep. I’m tired. Can we play another day?”
No… tonight… we play. We play, and then you go to sleep. We play. Yes, you play with me…Yes.
“Then you’ll leave me alone?” Jesse whined.
Oh! I promise. I will leave you alone. You must play with me. Play with me. We’re friends. Yes, we’re friends… very best friends. Get up, lazy bones. Get up!
Jesse whined and moaned but stayed on her bed.
Get up, lazy bones!
The blanket flew off Jesse’s bed.
Up, I say. Up.
“Did you have to throw my blanket?” asked Jesse, getting up from her bed.
Don’t ask to many questions, lazy bones, and get yourself into the attic. I want to show you something… something my mother once showed me… something neat.
“Why can’t I see you, Matt?” asked Jesse.
Follow my voice… in time, I’ll show you. Just follow my voice. Come… and follow my voice.
The voice that Jesse heard within her mind sounded distant as if the voice had traveled down the second-floor hallway towards the attic door.
Aren’t you coming, yet… lazy bones… come and follow my voice… come at once!
Jesse slowly opened her bedroom door, sneaked inside the second-floor hallway and up towards the attic.
Now, shhhh… shhh… stand, right there. Right there, lazy bones… right there…good. We must pray.
“Pray?” Jesse asked, bewildered. “For what?”
Shush! You ask too many questions, lazy bones. Now, kneel… and pray.
Jesse shook her head.
“This isn’t Matt, is it?” she softly asked. But seconds later, she was taken by surprise and forced to kneel against her will.
“Matt wouldn’t hurt me,” she cried.
Red eyes glowed in front of Jesse’s frightened face.
Shush your mouth, lazy bones, and pray. Pray! Pray, lazy bones!
Jesse tried to move her lips, but she found herself unable to. It seemed like crazy glue bounding her lips together. She could taste the blood from her lips trying to unbind. Her screams seemed muffled, and her eyes echoed loudly the horror. The horror of what she saw before her. The nightmarish fiend that stood in front of her. It’s elongated and boney fingers stroked along her cheeks. It shot a malicious grin towards her as the nightmarish fiend leaned towards her face.
Come… pray… come… and pray.
Jesse’s eyes watered as she tried to scream. The nightmarish fiend laughed at her struggles. With one elongated finger sliding down her cheek to flick away her tear. The nightmarish fiend snarled.
Shhh…wake up, lazy bones. Wake up, lazy bones.
Jesse found herself able to scream with all her might. She looked around and noticed that she was inside her bedroom, safe and sound—perhaps.
It was all a dream.
Brad entered her bedroom, alarmed.
“What’s going on?” he asked, flicking on her bedroom light. Her parents rushed to see what the matter was.
“Nightmare,” she cried. “Nightmare. It was horrible.”
“It was only a dream,” mother said as she embraced Jesse.
“I was forced to pray… inside the attic.”
Mother stroked her hair, laying her cheek against the top of her hair.
“It’s just a dream,” mother told Jesse. She looked at Jesse’s crying eyes.
“Do you want to sleep with mommy and daddy?”
Jesse nodded slowly.
“Uh-huh,” she said, sniffling and wiping away her excess tears from her eyes.
Mother picked her up and carried her out of Jesse’s room and into her room.
Brad stood there, peered inside Jesse’s room and shuddered before turning off her ceiling light then closing her door. He could hear mother and father reassure Jesse everything’s alright.
Second time her room felt ice cold. How did my parents not feel it? How? Second time, if not—more.
Just before he was about to head into his bedroom. A sound that sent chills straight along Brad’s spine and chased his skin off his body.
It was the attic door. It slowly popped open and creaked open. Almost, it seemed like a personal invite. An invitation to join the party inside the attic. Brad remembered something. Something, he had read long ago. He didn’t know why he had remembered something dating back in grammar school. But Brad recalled a passage from a ghost hunting book. Face the ghost in your house.
No, I’m not marching up those attic stairs. Hell, no! Nah-uh. Nope. Not me, sir! Well… damn it to hell… apparently, I am heading up those damn stairs.
Midway, Brad was almost to the top of the attic floor. The closer he got to the attic, he felt more invited inside. It felt like a magnetic string pulling him inward, wanting him to come… deeper and deeper… inside the attic. He was inside the attic, now, and something hummed inside his ear. A low electrical hum… hummed inside his ear, seductively.
Brad…
He could almost hear what sounded like Ms. White’s voice. Her voice right next to his ear. A voice, so angelic with innocence and sweet like nectar, whispering like butterfly wings flapping in the air on a summer’s day.
Come, Brad… please, come… and pray with me
.
Brad shook his head.
I must be dreaming. I must be dreaming, Brad thought. Yeah, I’m in bed inside my little PJ’s on and sleeping like a baby. Uh-huh, I’m sleeping—alright. I’m not in the attic. This is a dream.
He jerked as he felt ice cold fingers along his chest. The soft innocent whispering voice echoed into his ear canal.
Come… and pray. Come, please, Brad and pray.
Brad bolted down the attic steps, flung open the attic door, closed it—nice and tight—and headed into his bedroom.
That wasn’t Ms. White. I’m in my house. I’m in my bed. I’m sleeping…or about to sleep. I’m closing my eyes… that wasn’t Ms. White’s face. I’m sleeping. She’s at her own house, sleeping too.
Brad could see a wisp of white, tenderly, female hands lunge towards his throat then disappear into evaporating mist. His heart thudded a hundred miles per hour.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
His heart didn’t slow down. He tried to slow down his heartbeat through breathing. It’s inside my head… it’s inside my head. It’s inside my head. All of it. All of it…is inside my head.
Jesse… she had a nightmare. All of this must be connected. All or some… must be connected. Am I going insane? Am I losing it? No! I’m not. I know what I’ve saw. I know it wasn’t a hallucination. Whatever’s happening inside this house… it’s real. It’s real, alright. It wants something. Maybe it’s fear, it wants, to help it grow… stronger and stronger.
A bowl of cereal rested on Brad’s desk with a spoon relaxing against the side. Brad’s fingers dance along as they type away on his laptop’s keyboard. His eyes glance over to the printed names on the paper. The paper that was happily printed out by the recorder’s receptionist that one day. That one day, Timmy was supposed to meet up with him, but he was unable to because of chores. It didn’t seem to be an excuse, not to Brad’s ears—it didn’t. Timmy’s voice sounded disappointed on the phone. Well Brad interpreted it as disappointment, anyways.
The Elm House Page 8
