Haunted House Tales

by Riley Amitrani

  “Help me move her before your mother comes,” Grant ordered. “We need to hide her body.”

  “She’s dead,” James declared. “Because of you.”

  “Shut up and help me hide her now,” Grant growled through his teeth. The corner of the blanket he had over his privates shifted as he commanded James. It made him shuffle uncomfortably. “You don’t know what this will do to your mother if she sees this.”

  “I don’t care,” James said. He shook his head and looked back at the dead body of his aunt. Her mouth remained open like she was trying to scream. There was no doubt in his mind that the mistress who died in the house was responsible. “You’re the one who did this to Mom. You get to explain things to her.”

  “Son, you are going to obey me when I tell you to move your Aunt Mellie’s body,” Grant raised his voice. “Get her under the bed right this instant or so help me I will…”

  “You’ll what?” James challenged. “There’s nothing you can do to me that won’t lead me to tell Mom that you had an affair with her sister in the bed the shares with you. Don’t even try to threaten me.”

  Grant opened his mouth to scold his son, but the sound of footsteps made them both look toward the door. James hoped that the footsteps belong to Robert. He didn’t want his sisters to see this.

  “Robert is going to…” he began.

  “What happened?” his mother’s voice came from around the door. James cursed to himself. How could he forget that his mother would be able to hear his father’s shout?

  “Nothing,” Grant called out. But it was too late. The sound of her footsteps followed her in through the door.

  Abigail took one look at her naked husband, her son in the room, and the bed. When her eyes met with the body that lay under the blanket, the blood drained from her face.

  “How could you?” she asked softly. There were tears in her eyes.

  James’ heart broke when he saw his mother’s heart break and spill down her face in a flurry of tears.

  11:18 PM, April 26, 1939

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  All Abigail could do was try not to break apart. She took in the sight of her naked husband and dead sister in the room. Little things began to make sense, but she still had so many questions. She wanted to scream and throw things, but all she could do was look at Grant.

  “My sister?” her voice shook from the tears. “It just had to be Mellie, didn’t it?”

  “Abigail,” Grant started.

  “How could you sleep with my sister?” Abigail demanded loudly. “Of all the woman in the world you could have chosen, it had to be her? You could have slept with a number of other woman, but Mellie had to be the one, didn’t she?”

  Grant kept silent. He glanced down and shifted uncomfortable with the blanket still around him. There was guilt in his body language, but there was also something more. In that moment, Abigail realized she didn’t know the man she married. This was not the man she fell in love with. This was not the father of her children. This was not a man she was proud to stand by.

  “She’s not the only one,” her voice fell. The rest of her body wanted to fall with it. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner.”

  “Abigail, it’s not your fault,” Grant said. The words from his mouth made her blood boil.

  “Of course it’s not my fault!” she screamed at him. “This is no one’s fault but yours. I had to take care of five children in the house. I was there every single moment of every day of their lives. And when you asked me to help you at work, I took over and did as much as I could. I sacrificed time with my children to help your career and you think I blame myself for this?”

  Grant’s face changed, darkened. “You played a part in this,” he countered. “This wasn’t just because you were busy. You never made time for me. I needed to do something to cope while you happily ignored me.”

  “You could have told me,” she continued screaming at him. “You could have said something to me instead of crawling in bed with some other woman! There were countless opportunities for you to say something, but you chose the option that would make you feel the best for you.”

  “Nothing would have changed,” Grant yelled. “You care more about the house and the children than you do about me.”

  “I gave you everything!” the tears mixed with her screams. Abigail could feel the pieces of herself crumble with every word that escaped her mouth. She was surprised she could still stand. “Five children, nineteen years of marriage, and I sacrificed my time to make you more successful. I did everything you asked. I gave you three sons to carry on your legacy. I gave you five beautiful children to be proud of, and what do you do? You jump in bed with my sister.”

  “She came on to me,” Grant said defensively. “I may not have made the best decision for this family, but this isn’t my fault.”

  “You are so full of yourself,” Abigail’s voice was beginning to hurt from the screaming. “How many other women were there? Was Isabella one of them too? Did you kill Mellie?”

  “I would never have slept with Isabella,” Grant exclaimed angrily.

  “He wanted to,” James interrupted his father. “That’s why she left. Something happened. The woman Jennie saw was trying to tell us that Dad was having affairs.”

  “Some crazy woman came in and killed Mellie,” Grant said. Strangely, this was the only thing Grant had said so far that Abigail believed. It explained the feeling she had that someone was following her. The voices and footsteps she thought she had heard. It made sense now. Even the dead knew that her husband was unfaithful.

  “You’re responsible for Mellie’s death,” more tears streamed down Abigail’s face. “You killed her. You killed her because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. I married a selfish monster.”

  The words ignited something in Grant. He stopped caring about being modest and dropped the blanket to charge at her. His face was wrinkled in fury and she could see the veins in his neck as he came closer. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact of his fist. But something came between them.

  Abigail opened her eyes to see Robert standing between her and Grant. Suddenly, she realized how much her son had grown into a man. He stood slightly taller than Grant, the width of his shoulders easily matching his father’s. Her son made her feel safe. And she could no longer stand.

  James caught her before she could hit the floor. It felt like her body was collapsing in on itself. She never imagined that she could feel this much pain, anger, and sorrow mixing together into some kind of toxic potion.

  “You’re not going to touch her,” she heard Robert say. “Not after everything you’ve done to her. You’re going to stay away if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Get out of the way, boy,” Grant snarled. Then she heard the sound of something cracking. Grant cried out in pain and made muffled sounds. She assumed that Robert had punched his father and likely broke his nose.

  “Robert, wake the younger ones,” she said weakly. She wasn’t even sure her words were loud enough for him to hear. “We’re leaving.”

  11:37 PM, April 26, 1939

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Robert didn’t have to wake his sisters or Kyle. The three of them were huddled together in the girls’ room as their parents screamed at each other. None of them had dared to leave to find out what happened.

  It took some time to explain what had happened, but even he didn’t feel like it was real. The only thing that kept him grounded was the sight of his mother crying and the pain in his knuckles from when he broke his father’s nose. Robert had been in fights before, but he had never punched someone hard enough to break anything. Yet the feeling of bone crushing under his fist had been strangely satisfying.

  He’d left James with their mother and crossed his fingers that he could keep their father from trying to touch their mother again.

  “What happens now?” Jennie asked.

  “Mom said we’re leaving,” he said gently.
“We’re going to go with her.”

  “We’re leaving Dad,” Kyle said quickly. Robert thought that it was more to himself than anyone else in the room. “I’ll get my bag.”

  “Give me a minute,” Robert said to his sisters. He followed Kyle out of the room and turned the young boy around to face him. Kyle immediately wrapped his arms around his middle and began crying. “I’m not going to make any promises. But as long as I’m around, I promise that we’re all going to stay together.”

  11:51 PM, April 26, 1939

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Abigail had recovered more of herself when Robert returned. James had mostly carried her to her office and sat with her on the small sofa she had in the room. He hadn’t said anything and she had been grateful. She couldn’t believe how strong both her older sons were. It was the only thing that kept her from becoming a shell.

  “I need to pack,” she said shakily. “Robert, please get my bag from the storage room. I need to pack my things.”

  “Mom, let us take care of that,” Robert said. He knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. “Layla is packing your things right now. We’ll be ready to leave soon. Just say the word and we’ll go.”

  “I still can’t believe it,” she said. She had heard other woman compare finding out about their husbands’ affairs to realizing they were in a waking nightmare, but that wasn’t what it was like at all. It felt like something was slowly trying to crush her from the outside while something else ate away at her insides. Her heart felt like it was broken and leaking.

  “I’m sorry,” Robert said. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  “Shh,” she said. “There was nothing you could –“

  “I knew,” he said. His voice broke slightly, “I’ve known for a few months but I didn’t know how to tell you. I couldn’t tell you. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she looked at Robert’s young face. “Your father made his choice. There was nothing we could have done to change things. If he truly wanted me, he would have told me instead of running to another woman’s bed.”

  “What are we going to do?” James asked. “We don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “We’re going home,” she said. “Not our old house. We’re going back to my parents. They’ll be able to give us a place to stay for some time. Until we get back on our feet.”

  “I’ll get a job,” Robert said.

  “So will I,” James followed.

  “We’ll be just fine,” Abigail said. She repeated the words so she would believe them. She didn’t know if she believed it just yet, but some day, she would.

  1:22 AM, April 27, 1939

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Robert placed the last of their suitcases outside and waited for his mother. She had insisted on going back into her room for the last time to take something.

  “I can’t help feeling like this could have turned out another way,” James said. “In some alternate universe, maybe Dad would have listened to us.”

  “Maybe,” Robert replied. He looked at the house. They had lived there for exactly a month, and now they were moving again. Silently, he vowed never to repeat his father’s mistakes. He knew that he could never bear to see another woman break like his mother had that night. “But at least it’s over now.”

  His mother came downstairs with an envelope in her hands. He noticed that her wedding ring was no longer on her hand. He knew that it took a lot for her to leave it behind. Ever since he was young, he knew that her wedding ring was one of the few possessions she had treasured beyond description.

  “I’ve called for a car,” she said. There were still tear stains on her face, but she looked stronger. “It should be here soon.”

  Kyle, Jennie, and Layla came downstairs. Robert stood at the open door as each of them walked out to join their mother. He looked at his father where he stood in a robe outside the door of his room. Robert smiled at the purple nose on his father’s face. The thundercloud that seemed to loom over his father’s face made him feel a deeper sense of satisfaction. He was protecting his family. He would be the man his father wasn’t.

  “It’s finally over now,” Layla said. She stopped and stood next to him, facing the front yard. “I don’t know what happened out there while Mom and Dad screamed at each other, but it’s over now.”

  “Yeah, it is,” he replied. “No more ghosts for the Thomas family.”

  “It’ll be the Brensens now,” Layla corrected him. Brensen was his mother’s maiden name. She turned around to look in the house, “We saw her again.”

  “What?” Robert turned to her. “When?”

  “After the screaming stopped,” Layla said. “I think it was when you broke Dad’s nose. She appeared and told us that it was over. I think she tried to smile at us.”

  “Did she say anything else?” he asked. “Did she say if we were right?”

  “We had to be,” she replied. “She wouldn’t say it was over if we were right. You said it yourself, you didn’t believe that she was trying to kill random people. Just the ones responsible for the affair.”

  “Yeah,” Robert looked at the spot next to the bottom of the stairs. Layla followed his gaze and squeezed his hand. “Maybe now she can have some peace.”

  The Haunting of Carver’s Arms Pub

  By Riley Amitrani

  Prologue

  Herriard, United Kingdom

  21 January, 2018

  Herriard was a quiet and peaceful village. Had been for as long as any of the old-time residents could remember. The locals reveled in the fact that the lack of all the noise and crime and pollution associated with nearby London was foreign to them. In fact, no one who had lived in Herriard for any length of time could recall the last time any sort of serious crime had touched their beloved village. However, as of late, a series of minor break-ins all over Herriard was hanging like a cloud over the town. It was not exactly what the average person might describe as a “crime wave”, but to the residents it was at least unsettling.

  There seemed to be no real pattern or common thread to the thefts, but Carver’s Arms, the pub that was a central feature of the town square, and frequented by most of the townsfolks, seemed to have been a more frequent target than any other location in Herriard. John Carver had run the popular watering hole since he took over ownership from his father. In all these years since running the pub, John could not recall ever having had any type of incident that had been going on in the last few months. The break-ins all over town were not serious, but it was obvious that some sort of repetitive intrusion was going on and did not seem to be letting up. As Carver’s Arms seemed to be a more focused target, the people of Herriard came to John to take some action.

  Herriard was so small and had been so unaffected by any type of crime over the years, that a physical police presence had been done away with long ago. After repeated requests from his friends and patrons, John summoned the regional police to look into the incidents. It was not just some sort of altruistic gesture on John’s behalf, though, as the last couple of assaults on Carver’s Arms seemed to have escalated in intensity. John avoided describing the most recent incidents in great hyperbole, but in his heart and soul they could only be described as having ransacked the establishment. Whoever was responsible seemed to be intent on leaving a major mess behind. To John, there seemed to be a growing destructive force behind the break-ins. To the other residences in Herriard, there were small, but noticeable thefts. At Carver’s Arms, however, it was not like anything was ever missing. It was just more of an incursion to cause damage and make sure some sort of message was being delivered…at least from John’s perspective.

  The police arrived upon repeated reports from John and found the man to be congenial, welcoming and friendly, as did all the residents of Herriard. However, as is often the case with many people these days, there was a darker side to John Carver that was unknown to all. Five years previous, John had grown so aggravated and annoyed with his wife of man
y years that in a fit of rage, fueled by alcohol and desperation, that he murdered her. In the dark of that night, he surreptitiously disposed of her body, covering up the murder with a story of how she had left him to run off with a new lover on the Continent. John’s good standing and warm personality among the folks of Herriard were more than adequate to have the tale readily accepted. No one ever thought to question the story.

  Unbeknownst to John, the spirit of his former wife is still well-attached to the pub, her ethereal presence in severe unrest following her murder. She is responsible for the various unexplained noises and minor disruptions in and around the pub, but John has ignored them as anything more than generic sounds of the old building and never gave them any more thought. Even other patrons of Carver’s Arms had mentioned the odd banging of doors when no wind was present, oddly inexplicable creaking floorboards and other related odd observances, but John just wrote them all off as what comes with a structure over a hundred years old.

  The only person in Herriard that did not buy John’s tale of his wife having run off with a new lover was John’s son, Jack. Since a young lad, Jack had witnessed more than his share of his father’s frequent violent outbursts of anger toward both his mother as well as himself. Despite the well-accepted fable his father had passed around Herriard, Jack had never been able to accept this as the truth. Once when was in his mid-teens, Jack finally had reached his fill of seeing his mother being physically abused by John and he gathered all his courage to step in intervene. His reward for such action was to be physically ejected from his home. Jack had been estranged from his entire family ever since, and took to, in recent years, breaking into Carver’s Arms late at night in attempts to uncover any evidence he could find to prove that his father’s story was a lie.