Her Home (Haunted Places)

by Boris Bacic

  “It won’t. It will just help you stay healthy. You look like a mess, cheri.”

  “Thanks, Fabiola,” Cheryl chuckled.

  Fabiola’s visits made her feel much better. She always made sure to do everything the mambo taught her in order to protect herself from evil spirits, word for word, and so far, it had worked perfectly. Fabiola still insisted on visiting her every couple of months, just to make sure she was truly okay. Cheryl told her that she wouldn’t have enough cash to pay her, but Fabiola insisted that a cup of tea would be more than enough payment. During her visits, she made sure to teach Cheryl more things so that she could continue to protect herself.

  “Remember, cheri, you are like an HIV patient.”

  “That’s uplifting.”

  “My point is, you can live a perfectly normal life, but you need to make sure to take care of yourself. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Fabiola repeated as she finished packing her things. “Then I am done today. Thank you for the tea, and I will see you in a few months, wi?”

  “Sure thing. Are you sure you don’t wanna come with me to Jill’s house? I’m sure she would be happy to see you.”

  Fabiola shook her head and walked to the door.

  “I do not want to remind her of the bad things that happened. But say hi to her in my name, oke?”

  “Alright, I’ll be sure to do that.”

  Fabiola hugged Cheryl tightly. Cheryl found herself wondering how this woman got her masculine strength. The life of a mambo was undoubtedly physically demanding.

  “Oh, one more question,” Cheryl suddenly remembered.

  “Wi?”

  “Is there like, any danger that I can unknowingly put Jill and Charlie into if I get too close to them?”

  “We talked about this before, non? You do not need to worry about it. Protect yourself, and you will also protect them.”

  “Thanks again, Fabiola,” Cheryl smiled.

  “You take good care of yourself, cheri.”

  Fabiola smiled one last time before opening the door and leaving. Cheryl felt lighter after every single one of Fabiola’s visits. The mambo was a lot more experienced in this sort of thing anyway, so her Vodou protections were a lot more efficient than Cheryl’s.

  Cheryl would get better at it; she just needed time.

  But right now, it was time to visit her sister and nephew.

  ***

  “What took you so long?” Lee asked as soon as Jill stepped inside the apartment.

  He was sitting on the couch with his laptop on his lap.

  “Busy day at work,” she exasperatingly sighed.

  “You need to take it a little easy. I know you got promoted, but that doesn’t mean you need to be there for everyone all the time.”

  “I know, I know. I’m already working on slowing down, I promise.”

  She dropped her purse onto the chair in front of the kitchen counter and gave Lee a quick peck on the lips.

  “Is the little troublemaker in his room?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Been there almost the entire day.”

  “You didn’t pick out some clothes for him for when Cheryl arrives, did you?”

  “Oh, crap.”

  Lee’s face contorted into the familiar one that said, ‘I messed up!’. He immediately tried making an excuse about being too busy and forgetting, but Jill dismissed it with a laugh. She was too excited about Cheryl coming over to get irritated.

  It had been a few months since she’d last seen her sister. Ever since their reunion at the house, they kept up with seeing each other at least once a month—they were only one state away, after all.

  Jill walked over to the door of Charlie’s room and rapped on it.

  “Charlie?” she called out after Charlie didn’t respond.

  When there was still no response, she let herself in. As soon as she opened the door, she heard the sound of soft and steady scratching. She saw him sitting at the desk and facing away from her, jotting something down in a notebook.

  “Charles,” Jill called out.

  He rotated in his seat, finally becoming aware of Jill’s presence.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said with a grin.

  He had his Fortnite t-shirt on and a pair of sweatpants.

  “How was your day, sweetie?” Jill asked as she stepped inside.

  Charlie’s demeanor immediately changed from calm to excited as he started talking about his day.

  “It was great! I played Minecraft with Kyle, and we finished building a castle on top of a mountain! And we have a farm below, and there’s a cave full of diamond nodes underground, and—”

  “Okay, okay!” Jill patted him on the head. “But let’s talk about that later, okay? Aunt Cheryl will be here soon. Go tell Dad to pick out some clothes for you, alright?”

  Charlie hopped off the chair and started towards the door. Jill smiled to herself and shook her head. She was about to follow him out when her eyes fell on the notebook on Charlie’s desk.

  It was open, and a pencil lay on top of it. At first glance, the drawing looked depressing and crude. Jill hated thinking about her son’s artwork that way, but she saw all the other colorful things he drew, and this one was—

  It was a vèvè.

  A fucking vèvè.

  Jill pushed the pencil out of the way and raised the notebook with trembling hands. A vèvè. Papa Legba’s vèvè, at that. No, not Papa Legba’s. The one her Mom drew on the wall of the house.

  “Uh, Charlie?” Jill called out, trying to hide the quivering of her voice.

  “Yes, Mommy?” Charlie stopped in front of the door and turned around with rapt attention.

  “What is this?” she turned the notebook for him to see and stepped closer.

  Charlie shrugged. Jill knelt down and pointed to the vèvè.

  “Where did you see this?”

  “My friend showed me.”

  “Wh-what friend, Charlie?” Jill’s voice was merely a whisper.

  She felt a knot forming deep in her stomach. Thank goodness she hadn’t eaten prior to that, otherwise, she would have thrown up.

  “Charlie, what friend, honey? What friend is that?!” Jill raised her voice to a near frantic level.

  Charlie was visibly taken aback, his eyes widening, and he hung his head down, just like he did every single time he did something wrong.

  “Charlie, look at me. Who showed you this? Who is the friend who showed you how to draw this?!” Jill pointed to the vèvè even more vigorously.

  Lee rushed inside the room to see what the commotion was all about. Charlie calmly looked at Jill in total silence for a moment more, as if contemplating whether to tell her or not.

  And then he opened his mouth.

  “The boy,” he said…

  Heart n’ Home Hospice, OR

  “Good morning, Doctor Greer,” Violet faked a smile as she walked past the doctor.

  “Oh, Violet?” he turned to face the nurse just as she walked past him.

  “Yes, doctor?”

  “Would you mind checking on the patient in room three? She’s been a little agitated lately, and I’m worried about her.”

  “Of course, doctor. I’ll do it right away,” Violet said.

  “Thank you, Violet,” he smiled in return before proceeding back down the hallway.

  Violet had a lot of things to do already, but she was happy to assist Dr. Greer whenever she could. She learned a lot of things from him, and she wanted to stay in his good graces in order to continue having it so. She started her career as a nurse by working in Reed Hospital for Special Care under Dr. Emily Torres for the first three years, and she had learned nothing. The doctor was not only a recluse who had no patience to teach newbies, but she was also extremely unapproachable.

  For the next few years, Violet hopped from hospital to hospital, eventually ending up working as a home health nurse for the Heart n’ Home hospice. She worked not just at the homes of the patients, but at the hospice, as w
ell. It was rough, but Violet enjoyed the job.

  In fact, she loved it so much that she constantly educated herself in order to improve in her job. She was, in a literal sense, a workaholic. She never even got married, even though she had the opportunities for it. She had many patients, male nurses, and even doctors who tried wooing her, but she wasn’t interested.

  Her parents always told her that she should get married and have kids, but Violet wasn’t interested in any of that. She dated for a while, but her cold demeanor would always drive the men away. She was far too busy anyway, and life was too short to bother with such insignificant things.

  Violet stopped in front of the elevator and pushed the button to call it. It opened almost immediately, revealing a stern, middle-aged man with a janitorial cart.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stein,” Violet coldly said.

  Mr. Stein gave her a brusque nod and pushed the cart out of the elevator before making his way down the hallway. He wasn’t very talkative, but Violet was okay with that. Back when she was younger, she tried to be polite to everyone at her job. Whenever someone didn’t match her politeness by greeting her back or by being rude to her, she’d get offended and would end up spending the whole day replaying the encounter in her head.

  Eventually, she learned how to detach from those things. She herself became desensitized to the patients’ moans, complaints, and problems, until being a nurse became an automated routine for her.

  “I’m just so scared of what’s going to happen to my daughter after cancer kills me,” Mr. Wilgrave would say to her almost on a daily basis.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine, Mr. Wilgrave. Now, turn so I can give you your injection,” Violet would coldly retort.

  She knew that thinking about those things would eventually start gnawing at her. It happened when she was younger. So, she began treating the patients as inanimate objects rather than humans. Eventually, she found that she was no longer pretending, but actually no longer cared.

  Violet entered the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The doors closed, and the elevator started ascending. It was an old, slow elevator, so it would take some time until it reached the desired floor. But Violet didn’t mind. She patiently waited until the doors opened, revealing a pristine, narrow hallway. There were orderlies buzzing from place to place, and Violet ignored every single one of them as they politely greeted her.

  “Hey, Violet! Have a good weekend?” Mark asked with a nervous grin as she walked past him.

  She made a show of rolling her eyes and refused to answer him. Mark had been eyeing her from time to time, and she expected him to ask her out any day now. She didn’t even care enough to ponder how to tell him no without hurting his feelings.

  Mark was a bald, overweight, forty-year-old orderly in the hospice. He was never married, as far as Violet knew, and there was a rumor around the place that Mark was actually gay. Violet sure hoped he was. That way, she’d be able to avoid the inconvenience of being asked out.

  Violet opened the door to the patient’s room, not bothering to knock first. Why should she bother with that? The patient was pretty much a vegetable.

  “Good morning, Annette,” Violet said in a loud tone. “How are we today?”

  No response. Of course not.

  Annette sat on the bed, staring blankly at the floor, drooling from her mouth. Violet wrinkled her nose at the horrendous smell that permeated the room. The patient must have defecated in her diapers, and no one bothered to change her again.

  As she entered the room, she glanced at the desk. There was a platter of untouched mushy food on top of it. Violet sighed and took a mental note to tell Dr. Greer about the neglectful behavior of the orderlies towards the patients.

  “Still haven’t had your breakfast, Annette? You need your nutrients. I suppose sitting in a room all day long, doing nothing but drawing takes a lot of strength.”

  She fed Annette, bite by bite. She still retained her chewing and swallowing reflex, but she often made a mess by forgetting to close her mouth or swallow. Feeding her was a long and tedious process, but it had to be done.

  Once that was finished, she placed the platter of half-eaten food on the bed and began cleaning Annette and changing her clothes.

  “You’ve been really messy lately, haven’t you?” Violet asked.

  She had a habit of talking to mentally handicapped patients. They never talked back, they never disagreed, and they never complained. Not like the terminally ill patients who were so negative all the time.

  “All done. You look good enough for a ball,” Violet said as she finished cleaning and dressing Annette. “And a good thing, too. I have my monthly meet-up tonight with a group of people, and they are very interested in hearing about you. I’ll be sure to tell them how wonderful you look.”

  She took the platter of food and turned, ready to leave the room, when her eyes fell on the desk again.

  There was a paper on top of it, with black crayons next to it. Annette was incapable of even the most basic functions, but for some reason, she would draw from time to time. That’s why Violet insisted that they allow her to have a notebook and some crayons. She couldn’t have pencils, of course, because they were deemed too dangerous for patients like Annette. She might end up severely hurting herself.

  It wouldn’t be the first patient to end their life like that.

  Violet got closer to the desk and glanced down at the paper. There was a crude, and yet oddly precise drawing there, made with a black crayon. Annette only used the black crayon for some reason, and in rare cases, red.

  “Hm. You’re getting better. This is Papa Legba’s vèvè, isn’t it?” Violet asked, not bothering to look at Annette.

  “Papa… Legba… Pa… pa…” Annette muttered.

  “Hm,” Violet pensively uttered.

  She freed one hand of the platter and reached down for the black crayon.

  “I’ll be sure to tell everyone tonight how much your drawing has improved,” she said as she stared in silent awe at the accurate lines Annette made.

  She was able to draw the vèvè from memory perfectly.

  Violet pensively tapped the crayon on the paper, observing the artwork for any irregularities. She shrugged a moment later and said to herself, “It’s a good vèvè, but in the end, we had a deal.”

  She added one simple line on top of the drawing. She placed the crayon down and turned to leave the room.

  “Have a good day, Annette. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said as she closed the door softly behind her.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Boris Bacic (spelled Bačić in his native tongue) was born in 1990 in Serbia, in a small Northern town called Subotica.

  As a kid, he developed a passion for writing and drawing because it allowed him to dive into a world of his own. When he started going to high school, he stopped writing for a while and focused on fitness in hopes of becoming a police officer (or a soldier).

  After serving the army, he worked as a fitness coach for a few years before becoming interested in Creepypastas (short scary stories found on the internet). He spent a long time reading horror stories and listening to Creepypasta narrations before deciding to post his own story on Reddit’s Nosleep forum. He immediately got tons of recognition and praise from the frequent readers, having his stories narrated by prominent Youtubers (some of which include MrCreepypasta, MrCreeps, DarkSomnium, DrCreepen, etc.), translated into various languages, and his most popular Nosleep series, Tales of a Security Guard, is currently being made into a video game and short film.

  Boris published his first book in 2019, titled Scary Stories With B.B., and after that, he focused on writing novels. His first novel, titled Radio Tower, received a lot of praise and positive criticism and continues to sell well among readers of all horror and thriller genres.

  Boris’ motto is ‘I plan to keep writing until I’m either famous or dead’.

  In his free time, he enjoys goin
g to the gym, reading books, playing video games, exploring topics for his next book project, and occasionally – going to escape rooms.

  Message from the author:

  Want to get in touch with me? Shoot me an email at:

  authorborisbacic@gmail.com

  I always love hearing from my readers.

  BB

  Final Notes

  Huge thanks for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I would appreciate it if you left a review on the Amazon Product page. Your reviews help small-time authors like me grow and allow us to continue expanding our careers.

  Haunted Places Excerpts

  Apartment 401

  Stephen fished the keychain out of the pocket of his jeans. The keyring jingled jovially in his hand while he fiddled with it, looking for the right one.

  “Hey, Steve. Busy day?” Marty asked in passing, flashing a pearly grin and winking playfully.

  He was a man in his forties, with a balding head and thick-rimmed glasses. He wore a white shirt and red tie, with beige dress pants and shiny shoes – just like every real estate employee had to in the company. Stephen hated the red tie, so he at least tried to hide it partially with a blue jacket over the white shirt.

  “Yep, you know it,” he said to Marty with a cock of the head.

  Stephen would have shot him a finger gun had he not been holding a folder full of papers under his left arm. As he strode down the corridor and past one of the cubicle offices on the fourth floor, the murmurs of the busy employees intensified. They faded only a moment later when Stephen turned right and entered through the glass door with the sign next to it that said LiveBetter. The floor in his company’s office had a red Belgium carpet that muffled the employees’ footsteps. It gave it all the more the impression that people needed to be quiet because, with the absence of the loud thudding on the tiled floor, voices and low shuffling of the papers and seats became the only discernible noise. It was like a library. Stephen clutched the keyring tighter in his hand to prevent it from jingling.