A Haunting of Words

by Brian Paone et al.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  I hear a creak before the tiny voice. “What happened?” Janice asks, hiding behind her door.

  Charity continues to cry, so I ask her again what happened.

  “Something … something flipped me out of the bed.”

  Owen looks at me, slits for eyes, before hurrying down the hall to her room. I hug her closer as she cries. I wave my arm to Janice, motioning her to move closer to me. She walks out of her room holding Mandy’s hand.

  Owen appears in the doorway and jerks his head, a clear indication he wants me to join him.

  “Girls, go downstairs and sit in front of the TV for a bit. I’ll be right down to make us a snack.”

  Charity clings to my arm, tear stricken and shaking.

  “It’s all right, sweetie. I’m just going to get you some blankets, and we’ll camp out together tonight. Take your sisters downstairs, all right?”

  I brush her hair out of her face, securing it behind her ear before wiping the tears off her face. She leads the way downstairs, slowly and cautiously, all the while blubbering like a toddler. I watch to ensure they make it safely before joining my husband.

  Walking into Charity’s room I see exactly what she meant. Her mattress is overturned onto the floor. She had literally been flung from her bed. I cross my arms over my chest protectively.

  “Can you believe this?” Owen asks.

  I shake my head as tears fall down my cheeks.

  “I can’t believe she’d pull a stunt like this.”

  My mouth drops as I turn to face him, watching him brush his hair back as he paces. His eyes are still slits, and his jaws are locked.

  “You think she did this?”

  Owen shrugs. “What else could have happened?”

  I bite my cheek to keep myself from yelling. “You know what, Owen? I believe her. I believe that something flipped her out of her bed.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Jennifer? What could have done that? It was a stunt by a rebellious teenager.”

  “That’s not what it was!”

  Owen takes a step toward me, hand outstretched, eyes softening. I tear my arm from his touch and take a step back.

  “Believe what you want. I don’t care, but I’m going to call our real estate agent in the morning. I want out of here.”

  He shakes his head. “We can’t afford to move again.”

  “We’ll have to figure out how we can afford it.”

  I grab Charity’s blanket and leave him alone, only stopping to retrieve Mandy and Janice’s blankets before joining the girls, who are busy watching late night comedy TV downstairs. I give them their blankets before fetching a pack of cookies and four cups of milk. Owen walks into the kitchen as I’m about to walk out with our tray of snacks.

  “I’m sorry,” he tells me. He leans against the doorframe and frowns. “If you want to move, we can, but I refuse to believe anything is happening here that doesn’t have an explanation.”

  I cock my head. “Then how did she end up in the floor?”

  “Maybe she rolled onto the edge of the bed and her mattress was hanging over the box spring.”

  Rolling my eyes, I push past him. “Whatever, Owen. Just go back to sleep.”

  I set the snack down on the coffee table in front of the girls, but none move to get a cookie except Mandy.

  “Mommy, I don’t want to live here anymore,” Janice says.

  “I know.”

  I watch my girls snuggle into their blankets, refusing to move. I need to get my family out of here. Whatever is here wants us gone, at all costs.

  The next morning, I wake up late. So late that Owen has already left to work on his friend’s deck. I sigh as I read the note he left me, telling me where to find him. At least he left me coffee.

  Pouring myself a cup, I start on breakfast and try to call the real estate agent, only to get a recording instead. I should have known she isn’t open on Sundays.

  I’ve almost finished making pancakes when the power flickers before going out completely. My brows furrow with frustration. The power box is in the kitchen, so I pull it open and flip the main switch a few times. When nothing happens, I go through all the breakers, flipping each one twice, only to realize nothing is going to happen.

  I peer out the front door to see my neighbors still have their porch light on, proving there isn’t a power outage. I sent the check in, so there’s no reason they would have shut us off.

  The girls start waking up a few minutes later. Since the pancakes are only half done, I feed them cereal. They pick at their food more than they eat. After last night, none of us are too eager for talking or eating.

  The day goes more smoothly than the day before, except with no electricity to cook. We escape the house at lunchtime, going for a walk down the street to McDonald’s. Mandy and Janice love it; Charity and I are just glad to be out of the house.

  Not until three o’clock is there more thumping upstairs. The girls are in the living room and I’m walking to the kitchen to get some water when we hear the pounding, even louder than the previous days. I stare up the stairs, just inches away, waiting for something to appear. The thumping continues but nothing makes its presence known.

  Charity comes running into the hallway holding Mandy’s hand, Janice hot on her heels.

  “What is that?” Charity asks.

  Mandy laughs. “Tat’s just May pwaying. Her wikes to jump.”

  A cold shiver runs through me at her words. “You stay here,” I tell them, rushing up the stairs, determined to catch something in the act.

  I fling the door open and the banging ceases, revealing chaos. Dolls are strewn everywhere. Books are all over the floor, the beds are stripped, and the toybox is overturned. Mayhem has ensued and my family is in the middle of whatever war is going on in this house.

  My throat closes when I look to the back of the room. A woman dressed in an old-styled black dress, hair wild around her face, slits for eyes, and mouth clamped so tightly her shut lips are barely visible stands in the midst of the chaos, staring at me. The hatred she casts burns through me, chilling me to the bone.

  Too terrified to move, the blood drains from my face to my feet, which start to ache. My mouth trembles as it hangs open, no breath daring to come out. The woman opens her mouth, letting out a spine-tingling wail, which I’ve never heard before. She takes a step toward me, and it’s more than I can take.

  Slowly, so that I don’t anger this woman more, I back out of the room into the hallway. My back touches the banister before I finally turn and dart down the stairs at full speed. I need to get out of here. I need to get my kids and get them out. I can come back for our things.

  When I return, Mandy is in Charity’s arms, clinging to her.

  “Mommy, May’s mommy is mad!”

  I grab Janice’s hand as I run for the door. I hold the door open and gently push my child out, ushering the other two to follow her.

  “Get them to the car and call your dad. I have to get the keys,” I tell Charity, whose eyes brim with tears. “No matter what happens or what he says, don’t come back in.”

  Charity turns away and runs out the door with her sisters. I watch them make their way down the stairs before running to the living room for my keys, sitting where I left them on the mantel.

  Just as I run into the room, a candle flies off the coffee table toward me. I jump back, barely dodging it. My breathing becomes rapid as I realize whatever resides here wants me dead. Every nerve in my body jumps.

  I continue to run, but as I grab my keys, something hits me in the back of the head, jerking my head forward into the mantle. Next thing I know I’m on my ass, struggling to stand up. The room spins as my vision starts turning black. My head throbs as I try to stand. I feel warm liquid running down my face, alerting me to the fact that I’m bleeding. I manage to make it to my feet, only slightly dizzy from my head injury.

  Turning to the door, I see a shadow. A little girl with
blonde hair like Mandy’s, dressed in a yellow nightdress. She looks fine one second, but when I blink, she’s covered in blood, and a chunk of her head is missing.

  My mouth drops as I cry. This is how she died. Did her mother do it? Is that why they’re both still here?

  My blood goes cold when I realize she’s blocking the exit. I can’t get out of the house without passing through her.

  My girls are waiting. I have to chance it. There’s no other option than to run past her to get to my children. I need to get out of this house, or I could very well die here. Maybe it’s just her mother that doesn’t want us here.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cry, running full sprint toward her.

  She doesn’t move, just watches me. I speed past her into the hall and swing the door wide before racing outside. I jump down the porch stairs before I chance a look back to my house.

  The woman from upstairs is now standing right inside the house, peering out the glass in the door. She looks just as ragged and angry, but now her lips are turned up into a sneer that makes my heart pound out of my chest. I cover my mouth to keep myself from screaming out.

  I feel strong arms around me, trying to pull me up, and I scream.

  “Hey! Calm down!” I hear Owen instruct.

  I stop struggling, replacing my screaming with sobbing.

  “What happened to you?”

  His face comes in and out of focus as I squint through my hair and the blood. His eyes are narrow, and his jaw is tight. He looks from me to the house then back to the car.

  “Please don’t take me back in there!”

  “I won’t,” he tells me, kissing the top of my head.

  He pulls me close to his chest, and I let him lead me, feeling a weight of anger and sadness fall from me. I see bits and pieces of my children’s horrified expressions as he wheels me toward the car. I can’t suppress my smile, overjoyed that they’ve made it out safely, and none of us have to go back. Owen helps me into the passenger seat and shuts the door behind me.

  I take one last look at the house that almost killed me. No woman is standing in the doorway anymore, so it looks like a normal house. The house I fell in love with. Someone would never guess that something this horrific could happen, just from moving into a house.

  I try to tell myself it’s over as I take a deep breath and let it out, but when I look back at my children, I can swear I see a wisp of blonde on both sides of Charity. I wipe my eyes to see better, and the second blonde shadow is gone.

  I take another deep breath and repeat my silent chant. It’s over; we’re safe. It’s over; we’re safe.

  I hear the sweet singsong voice of Mandy, her words making me shiver. “How come May doesn’t have to wear a seat belt, Mommy?”

  Mommy and Daddy don’t like me very much. Not like they like my brother. I understand that because he’s so cool. He goes to school, and sometimes when I go with him he cycles very fast. I think he’s the fastest in the world. I’m not very cool. I really like sleeping on the big couch. Sometimes my brother sits on me when I’m sleeping, that’s also not cool.

  Daddy isn’t home much, but when my brother gets home from school, Mommy always asks him if he had fun in school and makes him tea. He likes it with milk. When Daddy gets home in the evening, he sits on the big couch, and Mommy brings him dinner and then he watches TV with my brother. I like falling asleep next to them because I get really tired at night.

  Grandma always drinks tea with milk too. Grandpa told me she drinks milk with tea, but I’m not sure what that means. It’s the same. He says a lot I don’t understand. Grandpa is always very nice to me, so I like talking with him. He has a big nose and a lot of wrinkles that wiggle when he laughs.

  Mommy and Daddy only talk about my brother with Grandma. And sometimes about Daddy’s work. He works with “human ray sauces,” but I’m not sure what it means. Grandma’s house is full of pictures of Grandpa and Grandma when they were young.

  It was my brother’s birthday yesterday, and Mommy baked him a cake. It was very pretty and had seven candles. I counted them myself. I can count to ten already. Grandpa said he is very proud of me. Then my brother’s friends came over, and they played board games and hide and seek. I helped my brother look.

  When my brother has his birthday, I have mine too, a few days later. I wonder if I get a cake. I didn’t get any cake last year, so that’s why I think Mommy doesn’t like me. We don’t go for a long walk to the park on my brother’s birthday. Only on my birthday, so that is just for me. There are lots of trees and flowers and big, pretty stones. It’s my favorite place. Maybe the beach too, but I have only been there once with Grandpa. Oliver likes the long walk and the park a lot.

  I don’t think Oliver likes me a lot. I’m a little scared of him sometimes. He always growls at me when I pet his back. But he wags his tail when he looks at me, and Grandpa told me it’s a sign of affection, but I’m not sure what it means.

  He has blonde hair just like Mommy, Oliver. And very brown eyes like Daddy and my brother. He loves his blue spikey ball, and when Daddy throws it, he brings it back to Daddy. Daddy is very brave and isn’t scared of Oliver. He growls very loud when Daddy tries to take the spikey ball from his mouth. Sometimes you can see the teeth. They look like white crayons.

  Today is my birthday, I think. My brother isn’t going to school, and Daddy is also home. Mommy is making sandwiches and packing a bag, and Grandma and Grandpa are here too. Grandpa asked if I had a birthday wish, and I told him I want to grow up as pretty as Mommy. He said I already looked as beautiful as her and “as-tehtecks” are not very important, but I’m not sure what it means.

  Everyone is going outside to the car now. The car is very big, and I sit in the backseat on Grandpa’s lap next to my brother and Grandma. Mommy and Daddy are in the front. Oliver goes in the boot, and he has his blue spikey ball. Driving to the park is boring. I like to take a nap in the car. I always wake up when we get there.

  Grandma complains about her leg. We walked for a very long time. I don’t think we could have stayed in the car because the paths in the park are too small for the car. We always sit in the same spot, which is next to a big stone with beautiful letters on it. I can’t read yet, but next year I’m going to learn.

  Mommy looks sad and Daddy hugs her. I don’t think they like my birthday as much as they like my brother’s birthday. They always sing when my brother has his birthday. I got a candle too—only one—but it’s way bigger than my brother’s candles. His were more like pencils, and mine is really big.

  That makes me feel happy.

  I sit down on the stone with Grandpa and play with the flower petals. My hand touches the beautiful letters on the stone, and I ask Grandpa what they say. He says they spell out my name, Amelia, and: “Our Darling Angel Born Sleeping.”

  I’m not sure what it means, but I guess it explains why I like sleeping.

  Ross watched Dad push and slide the large box past his bedroom. Mom, her belly bulging, followed with a small mattress wrapped in plastic. Frowning, Ross followed them into the nursery.

  Dad looked at him, smiled, and tousled his hair. “It’s the new crib, fella. I picked it up on the way home.” He brushed melting snowflakes off the box.

  “I liked the old one.”

  “You haven’t even seen this one yet. Besides, it’s not for you. It’s for your little brother.”

  Mom said, “We don’t know—”

  “The way that baby kicks? Exactly like Ross. It’s got to be a boy. Anyway, Ross, you remember we sold the other crib at the garage sale? That crib was old. Your mom slept in it. They make them a lot safer these days, and now we can afford a new one.”

  That didn’t make Ross feel any better. How could adults know so much, but sense so little? He could tell, with the box still unopened, that the old crib had been safer than this one. But he knew, too, what would happen if he tried to say it. They’d think he wondered why they hadn’t given him a safe crib.

  He’d turne
d four and a half before Christmas, and still they never paid any attention when he tried to tell them something important. Like when he told them about the bad string of Christmas lights. They just laughed and rubbed his hair, and were amazed later when the tree caught fire, as if it had been coincidence.

  In frustration, he left the room and stomped down the steps into the den, where he pulled out the Scrabble board and made patterns with the tiles by the light from the fireplace.

  While he played, bangings and scrapings and angry complaints drifted down the stairs to him. A couple of times he heard words his father rarely used. That crib was a bad one, for sure. Dad must realize it by now, from the sound of things, but that didn’t matter. Dad was stubborn. He wouldn’t admit it, and it never helped to tell him. Dad always replied that Ross was the stubborn one, or Mom, or whoever tried to talk him out of his stubbornness.

  It must have taken much longer to put the crib together than Dad expected because Mom called him three or four times to come down for supper before she served Ross and herself without him. But eventually he came downstairs, and while he put away the tools and washed his hands and bandaged his little finger where the crib had nipped him, Ross climbed the stairs and peeked into the nursery.

  The crib, all white, sat with its head against the far wall. It looked innocent enough. That didn’t surprise him; most things looked innocent in bright light. He could smell its vileness though, and he knew how the crib would look with the lights off, sweating cold evil like a glass of iced lemonade sweats water. He imagined the beads collecting and dripping down into the carpet, then evaporating, filling the room with their stench.

  “It stinks,” he said when he went back downstairs.

  “That’s a new smell,” Mom said. “It’ll go away in a few days or a week.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  His mother laughed. “Ross, you’re exactly like your father.”

  Ross frowned, unsure what she meant. Dad frowned as well. Ross shook his head and went back to play with the Scrabble board.