Haunted House Tales

by Riley Amitrani

  During truly quiet moment like this, Amberly’s mind often took her for walks. She had never been one to have surrounded herself with many friends…. or even superficial acquaintances for that matter. She guessed growing up in a foster home and an only child at that had been a part of it. But it was more…. she knew that as well. She knew a few other foster kids while she had been growing up, but they all eventually went on to be adopted. When she was little, that had not bothered her much as she had little real insight into what that meant. She was as happy as she figured she was going to be living with her foster family. It was not perfect, but all in all it was all she had ever known.

  She had overheard snippets of hushed conversation at home indicating that an adoption was likely to become less possible as time went by. Amberly had heard it, and on some level, she supposed it would have been ideal to have been officially adopted, but as she became a teenager, she just let it go. She knew adopting a teenager was highly unlikely, but it seemed to only be a real issue for her foster parents. She figured what she had with them was just as good….in a lot of ways, based on what had happened to a boy she had known since elementary school. Kevin had moved from a foster family to being adopted and his home life was awful.

  But now that she was out on her own for good, Amberly found herself wondering more and more about how she had come to be with her foster parents. Why had she been so “unadoptable”? Was there more to her story than anyone was willing to let her in on? She ran her hand across her distended belly and gently caressed her growing daughter. She could not, in her wildest imagination, envision ever not having her or giving her up. What kind of people did something like that? Had her own mother been ashamed? Or had she been in Amberly’s position herself and just had no other options? She looked out over the undulating grasses as the wind continued to blow lightly. None of this introspection ever seemed to help. Instead of answers, all it did was bring up more questions. Questions that Amberly could not resolve.

  Through the years, Amberly had grown to be self-reliant and independent, but right now she felt alone and, quite frankly, rather scared as she considered her future. Ever since she had found out she was pregnant, she could sometimes not control the feelings that tried to make her feel small and unwanted and terrified. What if she could not handle being a mother on her own? Sure…. lots of women did it, but she was very young and had no one to support her down the road. Helen had offered, but she was determined not to impose on her kindness any more than she had to. Helen had done so much for her already, and she had a family of her own to take care of.

  She tried to smile as she thought of Sarah telling her how her hormones would continue to play “ping-pong” with her brain. But she just could not. Despite all her efforts, Amberly suddenly felt overcome and she covered her face with her hands and cried like a child. She had not broken down like this since she was very young. She just felt lost and adrift…….

  Beyond Known Senses

  As her tears passed and she felt her normal calm demeanour return, Amberly pulled herself to the edge of the flat rock platform and let her legs dangle over the side. The sun felt good on her face and she wiped away her tears as she sighed, not liking it when she let her pregnancy-induced emotions take over. She sat up as straight as her bulging abdomen would allow, and felt the necklace that she never took off, swing idly against her chest just below her throat. The small, but distinctive silver cross on a thin sterling chain had been with her as long as she could remember. She had asked her foster parents about it, but all they had known was that it had been with her when she had been abandoned.

  They said that the simple cross was found wrapped around her small leg, the only item found in the crude cradle when they discovered her on the steps of the agency she had been left outside. There had been no note…. nothing. Over the years, Amberly had come to the conclusion that it must have belonged to her biological parents. It was the only link that she had to who her parents might have been. There was no script of any kind etched anywhere on the cross itself. She had hung onto it since she was young, not out of any spiritual attachment to what the necklace represented, but just because it was all she had linking her to her origins.

  She pulled out the cross and slipped the chain over her head, looking at the shape as the sun glinted sharply off the metal. She fingered it, front and back, as she had done often, wondering who had left only this talisman with her as infant. Though irrational, some part of Amberly’s mind kept hoping her touch would somehow show her the connection to her birth parents in some earth-shattering revelation. But as usual, it was just a cold, inert, metallic thing. She pressed the cross into her hand so hard it left a temporary imprint as she yearned with all her heart to know more.

  She had repeatedly asked her foster parents where she had come from, but all they knew was that she had been left anonymously in a handmade wooden container, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, with the mysterious cross twisted loosely about her little leg on the thin silver chain. Amberly finally gave up on them when her father had become increasingly annoyed at her constant inquiries. She had learned from an early age just how far she could push him due to his often-unpredictable temper, and she let it go.

  Unbeknownst to her foster parents, Amberly had even gone to the foster care agency to make enquiries. None of the current staff at the agency was of any help, as none of them had actually been at the organization when she had been dropped off. There were no official records of anything else in their files. All they knew was what her foster parents had already told her. Amberly opened her hand and slipped the necklace back around her neck and exhaled in frustration. This situation had always plagued her, but since she had become pregnant with her own daughter, the situation had been more of a puzzle she just could not seem to get over.

  With the sun beginning to disappear behind growing clouds, as was the norm in the afternoons, Amberly slid off the rock and began the slow waddle back down the gentle decline that led to her house. Soon the clouds began to gather thickly, and by the time she had reached the back door, thunder and lightning was prominent, the day now as dark as evening. Amberly just ducked inside when heavy sheets or rain began to lash down. The thunder boomed loud and often, rattling the small bungalow as Amberly passed through the kitchen and back into the living room, where she flipped on a small table lamp against the sudden darkness in the interior of the house, brought on by the storm. Just as she was heading back to her recliner to get off her feet, a savage bolt of electricity ripped across the sky and the living room was plunged back into darkness.

  Amberly looked around the room and saw that the display on her electric clock had gone blank, as had the one on the small microwave she could see in the kitchen. The last shot of lightning had apparently taken out the power somewhere nearby. Amberly was used to the occasional power outages from childhood and simply scratched out the candles and matches from a drawer in the kitchen. She supposed that this might have given some people a start, but it had been such a routine occurrence in the summers growing up, that she thought nothing of it. She set up candles around the living room and lit them, before easing back into the recliner. She sipped at the remnants of her drink and lay back, closing her eyes, just listening to the power of the storm as it seemed somehow to be picking up in intensity.

  She was soon fast asleep, her dreams filled with a mixture of happy times from her childhood in her foster home and the pain and anxiety that had come to her as her foster father had announced that she was no longer welcome in their home. Amberly tossed and fidgeted in the chair as the latter days of her life at home seemed to take over. She found herself in tears as she pleaded in anguish with him. The dream seemed real, but at the same time part of her was confused, as she had never given him the satisfaction of begging to stay at the time.

  At the edge of her dream, Amberly heard her name being called. It was not in the dream, though. She fell still as she listened carefully. The air went quiet for a few seconds and once again this voic
e whispered her name. She came to full consciousness and jerked visibly as she grabbed the arms of the chair. The dreams had been so realistic, that for just a moment Amberly was not sure where she was. She looked around the room in confusion and then it came to her that she had been dreaming. Her little house suddenly snapping back to her in a flash.

  The candles she had set out were burned nearly halfway down. How long had she been out? She was breathing heavily and there was a sheen of light perspiration across her head and face and down her back and chest. She cocked her head as the weak, but clearly audible sounds of her name drifted through the living room. It seemed to be disembodied, not coming from any particular origin. She felt like it was a man’s voice but it was whispered so delicately that it was hard to be sure. She dropped the leg support of the recliner and sat up on the edge of the chair. The interior of the house went quiet again. She waited and waited. It was silent save for the rain outside and the diminishing thunder which now seemed to be moving off into the distance.

  Just as she was about to convince herself that she had been imagining it all, the voice returned, just calling her name with this husky, whispery quality. Amberly looked frantically all about her but there was no one there.

  “Who’s there?” Amberly yelled, suddenly frightened that maybe in the height of the storm and her nap, someone might have broken in.

  There was no answer. The house went silent again. Just the disconcerting sound of the trees that surrounded her house brushing against the house as the wind continued to blow. She forced herself from the chair with her arms and picked up the candle from the table by the chair. She walked slowly and deliberately through each room, the candle held out in front of her, the flame shaking uneasily from her trembling hand.

  “Is anyone there? I’ve called the police! If you are there, come out now!”

  Nothing. Silence. Even the wind outside seemed to have fallen still. Amberly tried to calm her breathing and still her shaking hand, but it was useless. In her mind, she knew it violated every ounce of common sense to continue searching like this, but she pushed on nonetheless. Part of her was even amused at herself as she realized this was what they all said was a mistake in all those cheap, thriller, horror movies she had loved so much as a teenager.

  She peered around the corner of the bedroom, again announcing herself as she walked in. She shone the light from the candle all around the empty room. Nothing. The bed was still made up as she had left it that morning. Just her clothes hanging in the closet. Same with the bathroom—nothing. And the kitchen. Was this just her mind playing tricks on her, like with the cabinets that just seemed to not stay closed? She sighed with relief and the candle returned to just a normal flickering as her hand steadied. Amberly was shaking her head and laughing at herself as she came back to the living room.

  Just before she entered the room, she grabbed the moulding on the wall as a sharp pain ripped through her abdomen. She gasped as she stopped and waited for the discomfort to pass. It was persistent and she closed her eyes to focus on her breathing, using a technique they had taught her at the clinic. It was too early for the baby, wasn’t it? The pain faded, but did not go away completely, and Amberly exhaled rhythmically in an effort to push it away for good. When it seemed to be leaving her, she opened her eyes and moved forward again. But something was not right. She felt heavy and sluggish, like she was walking through thick mud.

  Amberly concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she forced herself back to the recliner. She began to feel frightened as she blew out the candle she was carrying and set it aside. She felt her way back toward the chair, using her hands to support herself on the table as she moved. She was almost at the chair, when a new wave of stomach cramps hit. Amberly heard herself cry out loudly in pain as she came to a stop and gripped the arm of the chair. Her nails dug into the imitation leather and her knuckles went white under her grip. Once again, she repeated the breathing techniques that she had been taught as she closed her eyes and waited. Eventually they quieted, but did not go completely away.

  Amberly eased herself into the chair and fell awkwardly into the seat as she panted for air and opened her eyes. In the dancing light of the remining candles, now nearly burned to their bases, Amberly looked over at the sofa. Through her blurry vision and anxiety, she spotted what looked like a man and woman seated on the sofa staring into her eyes with great concern and worry. Her vision was definitely fuzzy now, and her perceptions questionable due to the pain, but she was sure she was seeing the indistinct forms of an older couple perched on the sofa. The figures seemed to be solid and real, but their overall appearance was wispy and ethereal, almost transparent.

  The sight of the pair threw a blanket of terror on Amberly, and she felt herself overcome with what she could only interpret as a panic attack. All of a sudden, she could not control her breathing as her heart raced. She fell back into the upright recliner as she felt contractions racking her body.

  Tabula Rasa

  Amberly squeezed her eyes tightly shut and used every ounce of energy and concentration she could muster to regain some sense of calm. She had not yet been able to find the funds to acquire a second-hand car, or to have a phone installed or consider a mobile contract. Even if she did have a car, the waves of pain were coming too rapidly and with too great an intensity for her to drive anywhere. No. Going into labour now was just not an option! She took deep breaths and tried to ride out the pain. Slowly, the contractions abated and she eased herself back to the edge of her chair as she allowed her breathing to return to normal. Good. Not labour. Just those training contractions that were the norm for her condition. She remembered what the nurse at the clinic had told her now:

  “Don’t panic if you experience some pain now and then as you get closer to your due date. It’s completely natural. It is just your body going through adjustments for the baby. They will come and go a bit before the actual labour.”

  Amberly winced as she stood, and decided that it might be better if she got to her bed and lay down. The episode had scared her more than anything. And whatever she had imagined just moments before was over. The figures she had hallucinated on the sofa were gone. She was not sure this type of experience was what her friend Sarah might have included in her “pregnancy brain” theory, but at this point Amberly would not have dismissed anything. She pushed herself up with one hand as she held the other to her belly, and made her way with great effort into the bedroom.

  The storm seemed to have passed completely, the rain over as soon as the wind stopped howling. She peeked out through the window as she walked to see a clear night sky, a half-moon high over the trees that flanked her house. The electricity, however, remained out. Probably a lightning strike on a transformer, Amberly thought. What she was not aware of, however, since she could not see any other dwellings close by, was that only her house was without power.

  Amberly kicked off her shoes and just lay on top of the covers, not even remotely interested in trying to dress for bed. She lay her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, letting her deep and regular slow breathing calm her completely as the recent scare drained away from her. She was not sure how long she had lay there, but Amberly was awakened with the sensation that she was not alone in her bedroom. Her heart raced once more as she was terrified to open her eyes. She was sure the apparition of the couple she had seen on the sofa might have migrated to her bedroom, and she was afraid that, if she opened her eyes and saw them again, she might go mad.

  There was no sound, however, just this feeling that she could not ignore, that she was no longer the sole occupant there. Amberly steeled herself and let her eyelids crack open just a bit. The room was mostly dark, with just a slight hint of illumination from the nearly burned out candles. What did come into her field of view, though, was that something just around her bed was blocking off what little light there was. It was a small room so the fact that anything might be hindering the weak light of the sputtering candles made her sure that what
ever it was, was close by. Before she opened her eyes any further, Amberly began to hear the low but audible strains of what sounded to her like chanting. It was not actual words, just a low murmuring of sound in a rhythmic pattern. She opened her eyes wider, not believing what was in front of her.

  From the headboard on one side of her bed, extending in a rough semi-circle around the entire bed and ending at the headboard on the other side, was a group of what seemed to be a dozen people. Much like the couple from the living room, they were indistinct in outline, appearing hazy and wavering in substance. They were all holding hands, forming the enclosure around her as they swayed in unison, as if hearing some tune that was not audible to her. They all seemed to be the source of the chanting that Amberly was hearing, but it did not seem to be in synch with the motion of their bodies.

  The group comprised mostly adults, but a few children ranging in ages from 8 or 9 to teenagers were also there. They were all clothed in some sort of loose-hanging, one-piece shroud, with oversized hoods that allowed only the vaguest views of their faces. This was unlike the couple that had appeared to her previously, who were dressed in just simple everyday clothing. What Amberly could see, though, was the same look of concern and worry on their faces as she had seen with the couple from the living room. No one reached out to her, they just continued chanting and swaying.