October Darlings

by Wendolyn Baird

  What I still can’t figure out is how the fence kept it out. And along with that, how and why did those scorpion carvings come to life? I mean ghosts are one thing, but moving, calculating metal arachnids? They would have to be some sort of protector or like a witch’s familiar, right? I wonder if that means I named a mythical creature Frank.

  Lost in my thoughts, I reach the edge of the dining room without a single sighting of the thermostat or Delia. There’s no answer to the cold but to get more clothes from my room after all.

  “Aunt Del?” I holler for her one more time, to no avail. It’s as though she’s vanished into thin air.

  Biting my lip once more, my tongue brushes against the already sore flesh, I regret the nervous habit. Forcing my jaw to unclench, I screw my eyes shut and run headlong along the passageway to my room.

  I hate this, I hate this, I hate this! Fragments of whispers rush past me, in bits of voices that can’t and don’t exist, and the tiniest part of me is terrified this house will drive me insane. Oh, I should have listened this morning when she wanted to talk!

  Stepping into my room, it’s like the sky has opened up to give me another load of problems. As if the whispers, and slamming doors, and terrifying creatures weren’t enough, my window is closed and latched, which could have been Delia... except a neat row of wooden cars grace the sill, taunting, and impossible. Delia wouldn’t have put them there. Would she?

  My breath catches in my throat, and my towel drops to my feet, as I move unwilling towards the cars. They’re just the same as I remembered them, slight, faded, obviously loved at one point or another. But I can’t place who they belong to, or why they’re so locked into my memory.

  “I don’t want this.” I whisper out loud, sinking to my knees before the window seat. “I don’t want any of this.”

  I can’t handle this many questions, or fears. Dad sent me here so I didn’t have to watch him suffer, not so that I could suffer more from an ever-expanding Pandora’s box that this house is turning out to be!

  That’s the problem with life though, no matter if you want things to happen or not, the world keeps turning even as your reality collapses in on itself. We have no choice but to keep going. It’s cruel.

  My phone goes off in my pocket before I can spiral further, and thank god, it’s my dad. Relief floods me as I answer, eager to hear his voice.

  “Addie! Thank god!” He doesn’t even bother with a hello, and the tremor in his voice is worse than anything else I’ve experienced today. I wasn’t expecting for him to mimic my sentiments, and certainly not with paralleled panic on his end of the phone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was just on the phone with Del and I lost signal. Are you home, are you with her? Is she okay?”

  “Wait, Dad what are you talking about, why wouldn’t she be okay? Of course, I’m at the house.” Barring my emotionally fueled excursion to Sabrina’s, I haven’t been anywhere but this blasted room any of the other times he’s called.

  “There was this static and then a terrible rasping noise and I couldn’t hear her anymore.”

  “When?” The hair on the back of my arms raises, and a wave nausea breaks over me, covering me in a clammy sweat to match my rain-soaked clothes.

  “Just a second ago! Is she okay, should I drive out?”

  “No!” I yelp. There’s no way anyone else should come near this property, least of which my dad. “No, the roads are flooding. Her car’s here, I was just out on the porch. I’m sure she’s okay, I’ll go find her now and call you back.”

  “Okay, call as soon as you —” the call drops before he gets any further.

  Swearing, I throw my phone on the bed and hurriedly change. Grabbing a hoodie for Sabrina, I rush out, praying they haven’t gone missing as well.

  “Hey!” Sabrina smiles gratefully as I walk in, but Nick, perched on the edge of the couch is chewing at his nails.

  “Hey, I need y’all’s help.” I snap off the TV and throw the jacket to Sabrina. “My dad just called, he was talking to my aunt and the phone went dead. I think she’s home, but I can’t find her.”

  “Do you think something happened to her?” It figures that Nick’s the one who asks, already suspicious and apparently only going to speak when he thinks there’s danger. Already, he’s staring at me with narrowed eyes and his face is even more tense than before. He’ll probably never come near me again, I’ll just be the freak with the haunted house.

  His question hits me harder than my disappointment as I consider what he’s asking. Dad said there was a rasping on the phone... if that thing did get inside...

  “Maybe. We need to find her.” I need to find her.

  “Okay, I’m just going to come out and ask it.” Sabrina presses her palms to her lap and peers at me through her round frames. “Is this place haunted? We’re not going to get picked off, are we?”

  “Of course, we aren’t,” I snap. “This is real life, not a horror movie. It’s just an old house.”

  A clap of thunder shakes the house as I finish speaking, and the lights flicker, sending us into momentary darkness.

  “Oh, hell no!” Nick exclaims somewhere by the doorway, and when the electricity comes back on, his hands are curled around the doorframe.

  “Alright, so here’s the plan, we find some flashlights in case the power goes out again, and we find Delia. She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  Of course, flashlights are nowhere to be found. The best I can muster is a box of matches from the kitchen, and a couple of scented candles taken from the sitting room. Fresh baked pie isn’t exactly a scent that can be accurately replicated, but the artificial blueberry wax turns our hunt into a fragrance filled nightmare.

  “I know this is real life, but I swear, it still feels like an old timey horror flick,” Sabrina whispers. “All we need now is a seance and a werewolf to come howling out of the woods!”

  “Yeah, and you’ll be the first one eaten since you think it’s all a joke.” Nick growls at her, and impulsively, I reach over and squeeze his wrist, accidentally making him jump. His skin is cool to the touch, and again, I wish I could change the thermostat or give him something else to wear. As it is, goosebumps are racing up his arm.

  “You don’t have to be so mean; I’m just saying! Anyway, Addie, did you check her room yet? All the bathrooms? I mean I don’t know where we should even start, this place is huge! How many bathrooms does this place even have?”

  “Yes, no, and four.”

  “Where is she most likely to be?” Nick asks, catching my hand in his. A shock travels from my fingers to my wrist, and my eyes dart from the candle in front of me, to our hands clasped together, and back again.

  “Uhm, upstairs, probably. I already checked most of the rooms down here. It’s just weird because she usually doesn’t go upstairs during the day. And even if she was up there, I should have heard her walking around or something.”

  My foot is barely on the first step of the stairwell when Sabrina breaks the silence again. “Are there really scorpions carved into wood?”

  “What?” The air rushes from my lungs, and I stumble, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of me. There’s no way she was the scorpions crawling around the cemetery fence. They were too far away, and it was raining. Besides, from that distance even if they saw anything, it’s not like they could tell the scorpions were made of metal.

  “There’s one on the front door,” she explains, “I read some are carved into the staircase too. Supposedly like some sort of good luck charm, which is super bizarre because real scorpions suck and they have absolutely nothing to do with your last name. Doesn’t Nix mean nothing?”

  “I mean, yeah, the word nix means nothing,” I sputter. My face is hot, and Sabrina’s uncanny knowledge about Nix House continues to spotlight all the things I’d rather avoid. Nick places his hand on my back as I continue forward, dropping it as soon as I glance back at him.

  “I’ve never paid any attention t
o the stairs,” I shrug, “I was really little when we moved away.” Please don’t tell me the stairs are going to come to life as well...

  “You lived here before?”

  “Yeah.”

  I lived here when the rooms were nearly all filled. My grandparents shared the bedroom suite, my parents and I slept downstairs, and Delia spent her days painting on the back porch and creating desserts just for me. The front porch was reserved for me and my mom, and every morning started with a hello to Frank and a few minutes swinging while she pointed out all the hummingbirds and mockingbirds flitting about the yard.

  I haven’t seen a single hummingbird since I got here half a week ago.

  “Aunt Delia?” I yell up the stairs, determined to stop the conversation. I wish I could stop my memories so easily.

  “Ms. Nix?” Nick and Sabrina chime in, and for a long while, her name is the only thing we say.

  Each room is similar to the last, furnished in ancient pieces, and dark besides the flashing lightning pouring through the windows. Eventually there’s nothing to do but consider calling my dad in panic or searching outside in the rain.

  “There are other places we still haven’t looked,” Sabrina points out. “We were just talking about them this morning.”

  Cocking an eyebrow at her, I drop my head against a wall and curse the chilled air for the hundredth time. Better to worry about that than the idea of Delia really being missing.

  “You think my aunt went wandering through secret tunnels that might not even be real?” The idea is only slightly less frightening than the knowledge that we’re still being followed. My nerves are on edge, and even the slightest of sounds make me jump.

  “It’s possible!”

  “Wait, what secret tunnels?”

  Sabrina explains as I tune out, scanning Delia’s room for any shred of evidence. As eccentric as she is, Delia wouldn’t just take off with no notice, especially not after telling me to meet her here for lunch. My stomach knots up as I spot the photo albums stacked neatly on her dresser next to a ceramic bowl full of earrings and her cell phone charger. She wouldn’t just leave.

  And the rasping noise Dad heard... surely the shadow couldn’t have gotten in the house? My mouth goes dry, and I nearly drop the candle in my hands, catching it against my hip.

  Nick is busy arguing with Sabrina about the feasibility of searching out hidden passageways, while Sabrina wastes no time, feeling around the baseboards like she’s in a Nancy Drew novel. The sleeves of my hoodie barely reach her wrists, and as she crawls around the side of the vanity, a sudden jerk of movement catches my eye.

  Just like in my bedroom, a swift shadow flies overhead, but now I’m terrified of seeing a figure rather than an insect like I’d thought before. Barely holding back a screech, I move quickly across the room, pulling at the hem of my shirt and twisting at the loose thread there.

  “I think she’s still in the house.” I squeak out. “Sabrina, did any of your books mention where those hidden rooms could be?”

  Nick stares at me like I’ve gone mad, but Sabrina zeroes in on me with gleaming eyes. Delia wouldn’t have left her car behind, and she’s lived here for so long, it’s entirely possible she knows about the passageways, if they really do exist. After all, all she’s been doing since I showed up was hint at family secrets.

  “What’s the coldest or hottest place in the house? My bet that if anything’s hidden in the walls, it’s definitely going to mean less insulation. Pure science!”

  I groan, wrapping the thread around my finger. “Any other theories we could start with?”

  “Why? What’s wrong with that one?” Nick frowns at me, his shoulders tense and his stance unsteady.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do know.” Sabrina points at me. “What room is it?”

  The lights shut off, and this time I can't hold back my scream.

  “What was that?” Nick bumps into me, hard, and only the nearby dresser keeps my candle from falling to the ground. The edge of the furniture presses into my side, and the sharp pinch of a corner scratching at my waist sends a momentary burn through my torso.

  “What was what?” Sabrina's voice is high pitched and strained, and in the flickering candlelight, her hair trembles about her face.

  “Up there!”

  Halfway up the wall, directly across from the bed, is a sliding door set into the wallpaper, and only the slight discrepancy in the dark pattern marks it apart from the rest of its surroundings. No ladder leads to it, no explanation for its presence has ever been given to me, and it most likely leads to an attic, but even so, its very existence is strange and unnerving.

  “Nothing’s there.” I lean into him and try to keep my voice as steady as I can. “I’m pretty sure it’s locked.”

  “No, I could have sworn it was open.”

  Another crash of thunder shakes the floor beneath our feet, and I jerk so violently, the flame in my hand nearly goes out.

  A door slams shut somewhere down the hall, and Nick throws an arm around me, his frame shaking just as badly as mine. Sabrina whimpers from her spot by the window, and her silhouette, lit by the flood lights outside is elongated and shifting.

  I try to call out to Delia, but again, nothing but a whisper escapes my throat. Something small lands at my feet with a clatter, and I jump, clambering onto Nick’s feet as I try to avoid the floor.

  “Something was just on me!”

  “It’s okay,” he hushes me. Leaning down, he runs his palm across the floor, feeling for the object. “It’s okay, it’s just... some sort of hair clip. What is this, a bobby pin? Did you throw this at her?”

  “Me?” Sabrina squawks in outrage. “No way!”

  “Oh god, no.” My lungs fill shallowly, and I shove the candle onto the dresser as dizziness overtakes me.

  Another door slams shut, this one closer.

  Nick drags me further into the room, and Sabrina clings to us as soon as we’re in reach. Her whimpers and the frantic way he’s drumming at his hip provide more noise than I can handle, and the whooshing in my ears takes over.

  Candlelight glows from the dresser, and the floodlights outside the window are our only other source of light, but even though I know all the switches are off, a small pop sounds in the corner of the room. A sprinkling of falling glass and another drop in temperature freezes us in place.

  The clipped sounds of heavy boots climbing the stairs float through the door. Delia doesn’t weigh enough to make the steps creak the way they are, and I know she was wearing sandals this morning.

  “There it is again!”

  Nick pulls us both back against Delia’s nightstand, as far away from the elevated door as possible. By the time I turn my head, there’s nothing but the shadow of a tree dancing on the wall. Sabrina swats at his shoulder and stomps her foot.

  “Cut it out, Nicholas! That isn’t funny!”

  "I’m not messing around! I saw it crack open!"

  “Both of y’all, shut up!” I hiss. “What is wrong with you? Get down!” Can’t they hear the footsteps heading our way?

  “What it is, did you see it too?”

  I tug at both their sleeves until we’re all crouching by the bed, and the footsteps keep coming. A photo frame flies off its nail, and crashes on the opposite side of the room, leaving splintered glass all over the faded carpet.

  Sabrina’s hands fly up to cover her face, Nick ducks, shielding us with his back, and I’m thrown onto my back, halfway under the bed.

  Among the dust bunnies and narrow space lies the fear of something living there, something cruel and cold, with hands like death and eyes that only shine in the dark of night.

  I breathe through my mouth, wishing desperately I could slow my gasps, or even discover the will to move. It’s just a stupid childhood fear, real monsters don’t lurk under beds. I shiver, goosebumps covering my arms. No, real monsters chase me into graveyards and stir up tornados.

  The steps are close enough that the
vibrations move through the walls to the floor beneath my head. Each thud knocks painfully against my already bruised scalp, but Nick and Sabrina only seem cognizant of the broken objects, whispering frantically to each other.

  Time slows, and as I turn my head to the underside of Delia's bed frame, the sight of the wooden slats sparks a long-forgotten memory. I used to come up here and watch Delia get ready for the day. She’d curl her hair and pack her books, ready for the long commute to the college she was going to at the time. But I dropped my bracelet. It was clear, and plastic, and filled with pink glitter that swirled around dyed water, and it rolled under the bed.

  Delia had gotten upset then too. Why?

  The footsteps pause just outside the room, but even as I hold my breath in my chest, feeling the harsh beating of my heart through every bone-chilled limb, the bedroom door swings shut. This time, an audible click pushes past the roaring in my ears and the backdrop of rain pounding on the windows.

  We’re locked in. The problem is, I don’t think we’re alone.

  Chapter Six

  HALF OF THE ROOM IS covered in glass and our only exit is latched shut and blocked by an aura of frigid air that pulsates from the far corner of the room. Whatever, whoever is there, is watching me intently.

  Pushing myself away from the bed and in front of the others, I can’t see anything but the faded striped wallpaper and the glinting shards from the lightbulb and photo frame scattered on the carpet. The more I move, the heavier the presence becomes, pressing on me with a layer of uneasiness that twists my stomach and sends tremors down my spine.

  “What do you want?”

  It’s my house, my ghost, and I’ll be damned if I let my fear get in my way again.

  The moment I speak, a shifting light settles into the silhouette of a person, not a shadow creature like before, but the edges of a man rimmed in the faintest violet glow. It takes my breath away, and the longer I stare, the clearer the image becomes. It’s like the way a mirror clears after a shower, or how sunlight filters through fog as it begins to disperse. Not something I can touch, but something I can see, if only barely. Something I could sense in my gut even as I denied its existence.