Listen to Me Now: Supernatural Horror with Scary Ghosts & Haunted Houses

by A. I. Nasser

  “You sure have a funny way of showin’ it,” Hank said, letting go of his legs as he swiftly started untying him. “Why the hell are ya’ tied up down here?”

  “Karen,” John explained. “She’s gone completely mad. This house, it’s doing something to her.”

  Hank nodded quickly, the frown on his face deep as he finally undid the bounds. John felt the sweet release and started massaging his wrists where the ropes had cut him, letting Hank pull him to his feet and hold him until he found his balance.

  “We need to find Karen,” John said quickly.

  Hank shook his head and reached down, John’s eyes following him as he picked up his shotgun.

  “You need to go, John,” he said.

  John stared at him, eyes wide. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked, gesturing to the gun.

  Hank hesitated, and John instantly understood.

  ***

  Walter Garland rattled the cuffs as he raised a questioning eyebrow towards Karen.

  “What are you doing, Mrs. Krik?” he asked. “Do you know how much trouble you’re getting yourself into?”

  Karen chuckled. “Trouble? Sheriff, I’m just protecting what’s mine.”

  “You’ve cuffed a sheriff to a radiator and have stripped him of his weapon,” Walter said. “That’s a whole hell of wrong right there.”

  Karen cocked her head to one side and pouted. “But you’re trespassing, Sheriff.”

  “The front door was unlocked, and I was worried about you and your husband,” Walter said. “I received a call warning me that David Green might try something stupid. He thinks you killed his daughter.”

  “I did,” Karen said, her smile wide.

  Walter’ eyes widened in surprise, unable to truly comprehend what the woman had just said.

  “Are you admitting to murder, Mrs. Krik?”

  “I am, Sheriff Garland,” Karen nodded, her eyes glinting in the dim light coming through the bedroom window. “You don’t have to worry about her father, though. I killed David long before you came looking for him.”

  For a split second, Walter was reminded of the way Ana Dean had looked at him when he had gone to tell her about her husband’s death. He could see the same look on Karen Krik’s face, the look of complete insanity, a mind lost and replaced with sheer madness. The expression frightened him, and he instantly knew there was no way he was going to get out of this alive. Karen wouldn’t be admitting to all of this if she had any intention of letting him go.

  “The real question is how long it will take your deputies to find out what happened to you,” Karen cut into his thoughts. “Ana tells me that they’re not a very bright bunch.”

  “Ana?” Walter asked, frowning. “Ana Dean?”

  Karen nodded.

  “Ana Dean is dead,” Walter said. “She killed herself almost thirty years ago.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Karen smiled. “Tell me, Sheriff, have you ever heard the expression ‘the walls have ears’? Well, they do, but they can also talk, if you care to listen.”

  Walter shook his head in confusion.

  “They do. Really,” Karen continued, “and the more you listen, the more the voices manifest themselves into lovely people. You see, this house has been good to me. It tells me everything. It told me about John and that whore from next door, and it told me what I had to do to make sure my husband never strayed again. It cares about me.”

  “Mrs. Krik,” Walter said. “Karen. You need to listen to me. This house is not talking. I don’t know what you’re hearing, but you need to listen to me now. You need to take these cuffs off me, and come with me to the station where we can discuss this whole thing in a more civilized manner.”

  “But, if I let you go, you’re going to kill me,” Karen said.

  “Are the voices telling you that?”

  Karen sighed and turned her head to look past him. “See, I told you he wouldn’t believe me.”

  Walter felt the temperature in the room suddenly drop.

  “Who are you talking to, Karen?”

  Karen looked at Walter and nodded towards the bathroom where the lights had suddenly begun to flicker on and off. “Him,” she said simply.

  Walter looked to his left and felt his heart stop as he stared at the open bathroom door, the figure of a man appearing and disappearing with the flickering lights, his eyes bloodshot and his smile as manic as the one on Karen’s face.

  For the first time in a long time, Walter Garland began to pray.

  Chapter 25

  “You can’t!”

  Hank pulled the gun back from John, angrily shoving him back.

  “She killed June,” Hank spat. “I’m not going to let her get away with that.”

  John grabbed Hank by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes, trying his best to find a way to calm the man down.

  “Listen, that is not Karen,” he said. “My wife is not a killer.”

  “I saw her!”

  “I know,” John nodded quickly, squeezing on Hank’s shoulders as he tried to talk some sense into the man. “I watched her kill David Green. She tied me up down here. She did all that. But, that is not my wife!”

  “So why stop me?”

  “Because it’s the house,” John pressed. “The house is the problem, Hank, not Karen.”

  Hank stared as if he were trying to understand quantum mechanics, the look in his eyes clearly suggesting that he thought John was insane.

  “I know this doesn’t make sense, but you have to believe me,” John said. “This house is poisonous. It’s gotten to her somehow. It went for her the moment I pushed it away, and it’s been messing with her since. We need to get her out of the house.”

  “She was out of the house when she killed June,” Hank said. “How will gettin’ her out now be any different?”

  John didn’t know, but he wanted to believe that there was a way to save his wife. Even after all she had done, he needed to believe there was some part of her still there that could be salvaged. She was the mother of his child, the love of his life, and he had to try, even if it meant pulling her out kicking and screaming.

  “There has to be a way.”

  Hank looked at him hard, his eyes angry, his frown deep. He sighed and shook his head, his shoulders dropping as John could see him give up on the idea of murder. At least for now.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Hank asked.

  John quickly scanned the basement, searching for anything that might give him an idea as to how to proceed. When his eyes fell on the pipe he had been tied to just moments before, the plan materialized quickly.

  “How did they say the Green’s house burned down?” he asked.

  Hank smiled.

  ***

  Walter Garland was dying.

  The cold hand around his neck had blocked the air to his lungs completely, and his body was shaking in uncontrollable spasms as he experienced centuries of emotions and pain surge through him. Images flashed before his eyes, quick glimpses of the past, every single event that had ever happened inside the Victorian quickly filling his mind as if he himself had experienced them. In a matter of seconds he had lived through generations of Dean family members as their lives unfolded before him, inside him, tearing at the threads of sanity in his head, his mind unable to cope with the volume of emotion and information rushing in.

  He wanted it to stop, but there was nothing he could do. Try as he might, he was numb to the world around him. He could hear Karen laughing from far away, as if he had been torn from this reality and were swimming in a different one where nothing existed except a myriad of memories and emotions.

  He tried to break free of the hand around his neck, slamming his free hand against it, but there was no use. The grip was firm, and he slowly felt his eyes grow heavy as the world around him darkened.

  “Karen!”

  Walter felt the grip on his throat loosen, then break away completely, and he drew in deep breaths as he fought to stay alive.


  “Karen, we’re leaving! Now!”

  Walter recognized John Krik’s voice immediately, and as he looked up at his captor, he could see the look of anger on her face. Karen got up quickly, forgetting about the gun as she grasped a kitchen knife in her hand and made for the bedroom door. Walter watched her leave, and as she turned into the dark hallway, he could smell something else mixed with the already familiar stench. The scent was vaguely familiar, and it took him less than a few seconds to realize what it was.

  Walter looked at the cuffs holding him prisoner, and then at the thumb of his bound hand. There was only one thing to do.

  ***

  “What are you doing, John?”

  John stood in the threshold of the kitchen door, hands held out, staring at his wife as she slowly walked towards him. He could see the knife in her hand, stained with what he could only assume was June’s blood. Her eyes were wide and crazed, her lips pursed as she frowned at him in disapproval, and for a moment John felt like he had bitten off more than he could chew.

  Still, he had to try. Karen had come here because of him. She was in this state because of what he had done. He owed it to her to at least try.

  “Karen, we have to go,” he said softly.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” she replied, her tone firm as she edged closer to him. “I thought I had made that clear.”

  John nodded. “You did, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  Karen laughed, her knife raised so that her weapon was pointing straight at him. “You act like you have a say in this, baby.”

  “I do,” John said. “I’m your husband, and I’m telling you, we’re leaving.”

  Karen stopped, the look on her face changing from one of disapproval to anger and hate. “My husband?” she sneered. “You lost all privileges the moment you jumped in bed with little Miss Green.”

  John held his ground. “Now, Karen,” he said. “Put the knife down, pack your things, and let’s go. I’m not going to ask you again.”

  Karen smiled. “I’m not going –”

  “Karen, now!”

  His sudden anger resonated through the house, his voice loud and harsh, and it had the desired effect. Karen screamed in fury, raised the knife high and charged at him. John quickly retreated into the kitchen, his eyes locked on hers as she raced towards him. As soon as she was past the threshold, he watched Hank swing his shotgun around and slam its butt against the back of her head, sending her sprawling to the floor.

  The knife fell out of her hand, and as she tried to push herself up, Hank brought his gun down again, harder, and she fell motionless to the ground.

  “Quick,” John said, helping Hank lift his wife up. “We need to go now.”

  The lights in the kitchen flickered and went out.

  Hank looked up at John, and quickly turned around to follow his gaze.

  A dark figure stood at the end of the hall.

  John instantly recognized her. The woman from the attic, her face shifting as she stood motionless in front of them. John knew that the back door would be locked, and he wasn’t even going to consider the basement. Hank slowly stood up next to him, and John felt a little relief knowing that he wasn’t going to face this on his own.

  “No one leaves,” the woman said, her voice like nails against chalkboard as she floated towards them. “No one will ever leave.”

  John began to panic, unsure as to how he was going to handle this. He had hoped that taking Karen out would put the house to rest and give them a chance to escape, but apparently, he had been wrong. Hank raised his gun and fired, the shotgun’s sound echoing across the house and rattling the glass.

  The woman kept coming.

  Hank was about to shoot again when a voice rang out from the darkness.

  “Ana!”

  The figure stopped its motion, its eyes shifting as its head slowly turned to look behind it. John could see Sheriff Garland standing at the foot of the stairs, one hand holding his gun, the other limp at his side. He glanced at Hank in confusion, and the man simply shrugged at him.

  “Ana, I knew,” Walter said. “I knew all along, and I did nothing.”

  The lights in the kitchen began to flicker, and John suddenly began to realize that the attention was no longer on them. The house was concentrating on the Sheriff.

  “Benjamin,” Walter was saying. “I knew Alexander Green killed him, and I did nothing.”

  John motioned to Hank, and together they began to back towards the kitchen door. They moved slowly, holding Karen between them, and John prayed that the Sheriff could keep the house occupied long enough for them to get out.

  “Benjamin,” the woman gasped.

  Walter nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “I knew Alexander started that fire. I knew.”

  The figure suddenly screeched, the sound piercing as glass shattered around them. John rushed to the door and flung it open. He looked back over Hank’s shoulder, and in the darkness of the hallway, he could see Walter Garland wrestling with the wraith, the woman’s screams making the hair on the nape of his neck stand.

  “Get out!” Walter screamed, and in his hand, John could see the glint of a lighter.

  John Krik turned and raced out into the night, throwing his wife’s limp body over his shoulder and shoving Hank in front of him.

  There was a sudden whoosh, an instant intense heat, and the Victorian exploded in flames behind them.

  Epilogue

  Derrick Fern slumped into the chair behind his desk and ran a tired hand across his face.

  He had spent the last few hours in meetings with the board members, partaking in mundane bureaucracy and watching as they gawked over graphs and numbers displayed across the large boardroom screen. He hated quarterlies, and if it hadn’t been for the sales of John Krik’s recent book, he would have had some very bad news to share.

  Derrick wrapped his fingers on the small package his secretary had placed on top of his desk. The return address said California, with no name attached, but Derrick knew who it was from.

  He hadn’t heard from John since his call from Cafeville two months back, after Karen had been released from the hospital. He had told him about the house, the gas leak, and how it had almost killed them and their visitors had it not been for the Sheriff’s quick thinking. Derrick had offered to help in whatever way he could, but John had politely declined, saying that he would take a long, much-needed vacation.

  Derrick grabbed his letter opener and cut the package open, pulling out a small wooden box from within. The top lid slid off easily. Inside were a note, a blank check signed by John Krik, and a key.

  Derrick recognized the key instantly, holding it up and smirking as he read the note.

  Sorry about the house. Fill in the check with whatever you need.

  Derrick chuckled to himself as he tossed the key back into the box.

  He took out the check, looked at it for a moment, then ripped it in half and threw it on top of the manuscripts he was never going to read.

  * * *

  Bonus Scene Chapter 1

  Audrey Fern covered her eyes and looked away.

  No matter how many times she had dreamt of this day, no matter how much she had imagined looking into the dying man’s eyes as he shook and writhed in his chair, bolts of electricity racing through him, she still found it hard to experience the reality. She could almost smell the flesh burning, the man’s muffled screams as he shook in the chair hauntingly resounding in her mind, his eyes wide as he gazed back at the witnesses.

  Then it was over.

  Audrey got up quickly, not bothering with any hands that tried to comfort her, hurrying out of the witness room and escaping into the fresh air. She ran to the side of the road, belching loudly as she emptied her stomach into the ditch, the taste of acid on her tongue and lips.

  She felt a hand on the small of her back and jumped, looking back to see Henry Pollard eyeing her kindly, the smile on his face one of pity rather than satisfaction. She could see it in h
is eyes; he hadn’t been comforted by the execution either.

  “I’ll drive you home,” Henry said, waiting for Audrey to straighten herself and breathe before walking her to where his car was parked.

  Audrey looked back at the prison, the walls dark and looming, the sounds of the dead man’s muffled screams still echoing through the architecture.

  It was going to haunt her forever.

  ***

  Sheriff Walter Garland walked down the halls of the Sanctuary Park Asylum with a frown on his face. He was flanked by two orderlies, closely following Doctor Hammond as the man led him to cell 4A. The doctor was whistling a tune he couldn’t make out, the sounds echoing off the walls amidst screams and shouts coming from behind the locked doors they passed. It took every ounce of energy in Walter not to tell him to stop. He had no jurisdiction here, and it was only through the doctor’s good nature that he was allowed entry.

  Not that he really wanted to be here in the first place.

  Sanctuary Park had always scared him, the irony of its name enough to keep any sane man away. He hadn’t been here much, but the few times he had been required to visit were enough to give him a picture of what happened behind closed doors. He had seen the almost vegetative state of patients out in the yards or in the ‘playroom’, and he had a pretty good idea what kind of healing methods were being used at Sanctuary Park.

  Still, it wasn’t his place to say anything.

  “I still don’t understand what it is you hope to achieve with this conversation, Sheriff,” Doctor Hammond said, almost a little too cheerfully given the circumstances. Sometimes Walter wondered if the man was high.

  “It’s more of a courtesy call, doctor,” Walter answered. “I have to let her know that her husband’s dead.”

  “And you believe that this will be wise, given her current condition?” Hammond asked, looking back at Walter with a smile that showed he didn’t really care. “First her son, and now her husband.”