A Haunting of Words

by Brian Paone et al.

  “Well it isn’t mine. That smell has been there since we moved in. Maybe the last owner spilled a bottle and we can’t get the smell out. I’ll open the window again after dinner and try to air it out some more.”

  “Tat’s May’s mommy’s perfoom,” Mandy chimes in before taking a bite of her food. “Her said dat her spilled it one time and her was whipped and wocked in her woom. Her said it’s your woom now, Mommy!”

  Prying my eyes from my youngest child, I turn to my husband for support. His mouth is open and his eyes are wide. He’s as speechless as I am.

  “Wh …” He clears his throat, struggling to find the words. “Where did you hear about getting whipped?”

  I’m just as perplexed as he is. We’ve never used corporal punishment, and all she watches is cartoons.

  “May told me.”

  While cleaning the counters in the kitchen, I hear thumping upstairs. I put the kids to bed an hour ago, so there’s no reason they should be up running around or playing. I toss the towel in the sink before heading into the hallway and up the stairs, stumbling over Charity’s sneaker.

  “Son of a …”

  Sighing, I pick up the sneaker and stomp up the rest of the stairs.

  Janice and Mandy’s shared room is the first door at the top of the stairs, directly over the kitchen. The door is slightly ajar, allowing the hallway light to seep into the room. I open the door to peer inside. Janice is sprawled across the top bunk while Mandy is cuddled on the bottom. Both girls are sound asleep.

  My brows crease as I squint to look around the room. I could’ve sworn the thumping had been coming from in here. I close the door to its original position before tiptoeing my way down the hallway to Charity’s room. I pause before knocking, listening for any signs that Charity is the culprit, but come up empty with clues. There’s no noise from inside that I can hear.

  I knock twice and wait for my daughter to open the door. It swings wide and Charity stands there in her pajamas staring at me as if she had better things to do.

  “Yes?”

  I frown at the bitterness in my daughter’s voice that I’m still not used to hearing. “I heard thumping. I’d appreciate it if you could keep the noise down a little. The girls are trying to sleep.”

  Charity crosses her arms and huffs. “I’m sitting at my desk studying with my headphones on. You can’t blame me for everything.”

  “Did you drop something? Or maybe you went to the bathroom?”

  “No, Mom. I’ve been there for twenty minutes, and I haven’t dropped anything.”

  I plant a false grin on my face to try to keep from grimacing at her attitude. “All right. Sorry I bothered you, sweetie. Get back to your studying.”

  Charity’s face softens before she closes the door.

  I take a deep breath. Surely Charity had heard the thumping as well. It was so loud, as if someone had been running around. I rub the back of my neck and shake my head, convinced I’m finally losing it.

  Deciding the house is clean enough for one night, I turn in early, showering before I go to bed. Halfway through, however, I smell something rotting, in addition to the perfume stink. I rush through the rest of the shower, eager to get out of the room.

  “Honey, I think something may have died in there. It smells rancid.”

  Owen rolls over to face me, half asleep but still managing to give a hoarse laugh, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s that perfume.”

  He reaches out as I walk by, grabbing my hand to pull me down on the bed beside him. I nestle into him, and his hand immediately slides down my arm to rest on my hip.

  “No, Owen. It’s a different smell. Maybe we should call someone to come out and look.”

  “I’ll check it out in the morning, and if I don’t find anything we can call an exterminator.”

  His breath is warm on my neck.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s probably just a dead mouse.”

  I shudder at the thought, causing my body to sink deeper into his. He laughs as his hand moves to my stomach, pulling me closer.

  “I love you, you know?” he asks, kissing my neck.

  “Marcus, you have to come over and paint for me! This wallpaper is horrible. I’m awful at it and it’s your job!” I pause to listen, holding the phone to my ear. “That’s what brothers do! Please? Owen is supposed to go build a deck for his friend today for some extra cash. I’ll feed you.” My lips form a smile as I finally get the response I’ve been waiting for. “Thank you! Yes, that color will be perfect! I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Clicking the phone off, I set it on the table. The TV clicks on, alerting me that the children have finally awoken and are joining the living. Walking into the living room, I see Janice and Mandy occupied with cartoons.

  “Girls, breakfast is on the table when you’re hungry. Sausage biscuits today.”

  “Ohtay,” Mandy says, turning the volume up.

  I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch my young girls. When I pry my eyes away, I turn to the stairs, once again seeing Charity’s shoes staring back at me. Groaning, I pick them up and carry them back to the front door before making my way up to the girls’ room to make their bunkbeds. I know I should make them do it, but I want to give them a little more time to grow up.

  After tucking the blankets under the mattresses, I pick their teddy bears from the floor and lay them gently on their pillows. Mandy’s favorite baby doll is barely poking out from underneath the bottom bunk, so I fish it out and lay it beside her bear.

  I’m starting down the stairs when I hear a small thud from the girls’ room. My eyes slant and I turn around, seeing the reason for the sound: Mandy’s favorite doll had somehow fallen.

  My chest rises and falls as I make my way back into their room. I grab the baby doll from the floor, placing it farther back onto the bed than I had the last time. Maybe when I was walking, the vibrations bounced it off.

  I head downstairs, yet again spotting Charity’s shoes on the stairs. My mouth drops as I exhale sharply before roughly picking up the shoes and stomping into the living room, seeing both girls where I left them.

  “Who did it?” I demand. I feel my eyes widen as my lips thin, but there is no calming myself.

  The girls look to me, mouths parted and eyes wide.

  “Who did what, Mommy?” Janice asks.

  I take a deep breath before responding. “Who put Charity’s shoes on the stairs? I keep picking them up and putting them back on the shoe rack, but someone keeps putting them on the stairs. I want to know who’s doing it.”

  Janice shakes her head but Mandy laughs. “It’s May, Mommy!”

  My heart sinks. “This isn’t funny, Mandy, it isn’t a game. Someone could fall down and get hurt.”

  “Mandy was here the entire time, Mommy.”

  I cock my head at Janice but throw my hands up before leaving the room, defeated by a couple of preschoolers.

  Owen peers around the corner before walking over to me. “I can’t find anything, Jen,” he tells me.

  I shake my head as I toss the shoes in the right direction. “Fine. Whatever.”

  I try to walk past him to the kitchen, but he grabs my hand to stop me. “Jennifer! I looked. I didn’t see or smell anything. Maybe there was a skunk outside or something.”

  I take a deep breath before planting a smile on my face. “That’s fine. Thank you for looking.”

  He nods, releasing my grip. “I have to get out of here, I’m already late.”

  My smile fades. “I thought you said we’d call an exterminator? You want me to?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I don’t see the point in that. It’ll just be a waste of money.”

  He rushes out the door without so much as a goodbye, completely forgetting his usual goodbye kiss.

  An hour later, my brother is at the door as promised, carrying three bags of paint supplies.

  “Thank God you’re here! I really need my bedroom to be someth
ing other than floral.”

  Marcus laughs, pushing his way inside. “Floral isn’t that bad. I have a few clients a month request it. They’re usually much older than you, but still …”

  I chuckle. “Follow me.”

  I lead the way down the hallway, through the kitchen, to my bedroom.

  “I don’t think you had to move everything onto the bed,” Marcus says, setting his bag down on the ground.

  I shrug. “There are some things in the closet too.”

  Marcus starts to unload his bag and assemble paint rollers.

  “Want some coffee?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No thanks. I had a cup before I got here. You know there’s a McDonald’s at the bottom of your hill?”

  I laugh. “Of course I do. That’s how I convinced the girls this would be a good move. I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need help.”

  I walk back to the living room, only stopping to look up the stairs, seeing Charity’s shoes, once again.

  “Son of a mother …”

  I climb the stairs to pick them up and return them to the shoe rack. I bend to place them strategically behind the shoe rack, harder for the girls to find. I stand up, catching a glimpse of myself in the glass on the door. My hair is messy, and I could probably use a little makeup. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and see a billow of blonde hair streak past me, heading for the kitchen.

  Smiling, I turn to chase my only blonde daughter, Mandy. My smile falters as I run into the room I had just seen her disappear into. I narrow my eyes and shove my hand in my pocket as I search around the seemingly empty kitchen.

  “Mandy?”

  “Yes, Mommy?” Mandy walks into the kitchen from the hallway I had just come from.

  I cock my head as I look at my daughter. “Did you just … were you in the living room?”

  Mandy nods.

  “But I thought you ran past me when I was by the front door? You didn’t run past me?”

  Mandy shakes her head, scrunching up her face. My eyebrows raise and I shake my head to clear it.

  There is thumping upstairs as if the girls are up there running around or wrestling, even more loudly than the night before.

  I exit the kitchen as Mandy gets a juice from the refrigerator. I bound up the stairs, wanting to hurry to catch whoever is causing the ruckus directly in the act. I make it halfway up before I trip over something. Looking down, I see Charity’s shoes. Hot anger boils through me as I lean down to pluck them up, carrying them with me the rest of the way upstairs.

  The thumping is coming from Janice and Mandy’s room. I reach for the doorknob and let the door swing wide to face a vacant room, banging abruptly stopping.

  “What the hell?”

  I walk around the room, searching for Janice or Charity or some hidden animal but find nothing. The toys on the bunkbeds are out of place; some stuffed animals are at the foot of the beds and some are off the beds completely. Mandy’s favorite doll is sitting on one of the rungs on the ladder. I cover my mouth and slowly back out of the room before briskly walking to Charity’s room, knocking loudly.

  A drowsy, bitter teenager opens the door, not so eager to start her day. “What time is it?”

  “Were you in there jumping or running or drumming, by any chance?”

  Charity’s eyes squint and she snarls. “Are you drunk?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, hands shaking. “Please just answer the question.”

  Charity’s eyes soften and she shakes her head. “I was asleep.”

  I feel Charity’s eyes bore into me as I run back to the girls’ room. I hear her stomping up behind me as I kneel down to check under the bottom bunk for some clue as to where the noise had been coming from and who had messed up the beds.

  I rush around the room, looking behind toys and around toy boxes, not knowing what I’m looking for but looking nonetheless. I open the closet and rifle through the clothes before Charity finally pipes up. “What’s going on?”

  “I have no idea,” I say, shaking my head as I walk past my daughter and run down the stairs.

  Janice and Mandy are still in the living room, a coloring book and crayons in Janice’s hands, a juice box in Mandy’s. I watch the girls for a minute before realizing I’m still holding Charity’s shoes.

  “Janice, did you move these shoes?” I ask, holding them up. My voice is thick with anger. My blood still boiling as fear and confusion still shake me.

  My middle child raises her eyebrows as she shakes her head. “I’ve been coloring and watching TV.” Her voice is sad, which sends a guilty punch to my gut.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I turn my back to the girls and saunter off toward the door. This time I put Charity’s shoes under another pair of shoes. I walk toward the kitchen as Marcus comes out of the bedroom, bags in hand. I had nearly forgotten he was here.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, eyeing him.

  His eyes are wide; his cheeks pale. “You have to move. You have to get your kids and get the hell out of here.”

  I frown. “Come on, Marcus. Wallpaper isn’t that hard to take off. I said I’d help.”

  He shakes his head and edges to the door. “I’m serious, Jennifer.”

  I pause, hand on his arm. The seriousness in his voice is enough to make me stop. “What happened?”

  His eyes brim with tears. “Something happened here and I don’t feel it’s safe.”

  My eyes mirror my big brother’s as he pulls away and backs toward the door.

  “You get some things together and come stay with me and Anna until you sell this place. Just get out. Right now.”

  He opens the door, and I chase after him. “What happened, Marcus?”

  He throws his bag in the back of his truck, frowns at me, jumps in the driver’s seat, and takes off without another word.

  I walk back into the house, taking slow, deep breaths. This is shaping up to be a bad morning.

  “May said her mommy didn’t wike Uncle Marcus,” Mandy tells me as soon as the door is closed behind us.

  I sit on my knees to make myself eye level with my youngest daughter. “What do you mean, sweetie?”

  “May said her mommy didn’t wike Uncle Marcus. Her wanted him to die.” Mandy’s lip quivers.

  I pull her into my arms and hug her. “He’s all right, sweetie. He’ll be fine.”

  Charity is standing on the stairs, mouth agape and eyes wide. “What a strange morning.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I stand up. “I made sausage biscuits, if you’re hungry. How about we all go get one?”

  Charity bounds down the rest of the stairs, only stopping to touch Janice on the shoulder. Janice stands in the living room doorway, staring teary eyed at the door.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I ask.

  Her chest heaves as she stands there, rigid, looking past me. I follow her gaze, but see nothing.

  “Jan? What’s the matter, sweetie?”

  Her face scrunches up and tears fall down her face. “She doesn’t want us here.” Her throat catches as she sobs.

  I scoop my little girl into my arms, hugging her close. “What are you talking about? Is this because of what happened with Uncle Marcus? I’m sure he was just being silly, sweetie.”

  She shakes her head and pushes away from me, pointing toward the door. “I saw her, Mommy. She looked so mad! Her hair was gray, and she was wearing a dress, and her hair was everywhere. She was so scary. Then she looked at me! She looked at me, Mommy, the same way she was looking at Uncle Marcus.”

  “Shh …” I hug my daughter as she cries uncontrollably, trying to comfort her. “It’s all right. Nothing can hurt you, Janice. Mommy’s here to look after you.”

  “Mommy, May says Uncle Marcus got in twubble for wipping da paper off da wall. He untovered her dwawings.”

  “Her drawings?”

  Mandy smiles a toothy grin. “Yeah! In your bedwoom!”

  Upon entering my bed
room, I know exactly what Mandy is talking about. The wallpaper had been covering drawings and words and scratches, clearly indicating someone once lived an unhappy life here. I walk closer to inspect the drawings and words. A shiver of ice runs through me, seeing the words written over and over again: Be good or I’ll kill you.

  The drawings are of a stick figure with long messy black hair, choking a smaller stick figure with yellow hair—or of a stick figure holding something up as the other stick figure lay on the ground, blue tears dotting her round face. Every nerve in my body jumps as I realize the little girl who once resided here had been abused. The scratches, which are all so close to the ground, are deep, as if someone had dug into the wall trying to get out.

  I turn to my daughters, finding Mandy cowering behind Charity.

  “Mandy, did you see Uncle Marcus take the wallpaper off?”

  She shakes her head as her big eyes widen more.

  “Then how did you know about these drawings, sweetie?”

  “May told me.”

  Owen gets home a little after lunch time. No matter how many times we tell him our side of the story, he refuses to acknowledge anything strange is happening. He brushes the banging off as old pipes. He insists the girls aren’t really seeing ghosts and that their imagination is playing tricks on them. He claims the toys could have been knocked over from the vibrations from walking and slamming of doors.

  By the end of the night, he has me convinced that today had been my imagination and convinced the girls that even if something is in this house, it can’t possibly hurt us. He claims the writing and drawings could have been from a teenager, wanting to cause panic and fear in the new occupants. Not wanting to believe some innocent girl was tortured here, I decide to agree with my husband.

  Owen and I are sleeping in our bed when I hear a loud bloodcurdling scream. Being jolted awake causes every nerve on my body to jump from fear. There’s another scream as I’m climbing out of bed, and I realize it’s Charity.

  Owen and I both run toward our eldest daughter at top speed. We make it to the bottom of the stairs as she starts to run down, crying and screaming. We both run to meet her, and she throws her arms around me.