Haunted Happenings

by Lucrezia Black

  Marc walked through the house with her, making approving noises at the space he saw. He didn’t care much where they lived. He liked that it was close to work. He liked that it was close to the hospital. And he liked that it made Celine happy. Beyond that he didn’t have much of an opinion.

  Celine mused over the different places where she could put furniture and paintings. She discussed how, after that night, she wanted to cook in the kitchen. She talked about all the things that she could cook. She talked about the fresh vegetables that she wanted to collect when the season was right. Her voice was filled with excitement.

  Marc was happy that she was pleased with the house and their future there. He didn’t know how long they would be there. He’d accepted the six-month transfer to the Leeds firm, but he wasn’t sure if they would need more than that. They would have to wait to see the specialist to be certain. And even then, nothing was ever really certain.

  The rest of the day was spent directing the movers and settling in. Marc occupied Evan while Celine worked with the movers to ensure that everything ended up in the right place. She didn’t want to have to move anything once they were gone. She knew that she couldn’t lift much of it on her own.

  It was well into the evening when things wrapped up. Marc had gone out and picked up take-away Chinese for dinner. They’d all eaten happily in the dining room, and they’d put Evan to bed in his new bedroom.

  He seemed content in the new house. It was hard to rattle him with any sort of change recently. He took everything in stride. He was holding together a lot better than they were and she would always marvel at that.

  “He’s such a little trooper. He couldn’t be taking all this any better,” Marc observed as they stood in the doorway of his bedroom and looked in on the sleeping boy.

  “I don’t know how he does it. In his position, I would be a wreck.” Celine shook her head, still baffled.

  “Perhaps it’s because he’s so young that this is so easy for him. He doesn’t understand the emotions he’s supposed to feel, that adults would feel. He just knows what he knows and he deals with that. Things are simpler when you’re a child. We complicate them when we grow up.” Marc sent her a soft smile. “Now are you going to spend the entire night unpacking or are you going to come to bed and rest for a bit?”

  Celine seemed to consider it for a moment. The offer was tempting. It was rare that her and Marc actually went to bed at the same time. And she could always unpack tomorrow.

  “Are you actually thinking about it?” He chuckled.

  “Maybe…” She shrugged. “Could you just help me finish the kitchen and then we can go to bed.”

  “Promise?” He leaned in and gave her a kiss.

  “I promise.” She nodded.

  She wanted to do more than just the kitchen, but life was about compromises. And it really would be nice to actually go to bed with her husband for once. Life was so often about looking at the bigger picture and being grateful for the little things you had, the little moments you had.

  Celine glanced back in at Evan who was sleeping soundly. She would cherish moments like this; moments when he looked like every other six-year-old boy; moments when she could almost believe that her life was normal.

  She would lock those memories away so that, on the bad days, she could pull them out and remind herself that there had been good days, and that there would be more, that they would get through this.

  She took Marc’s hand and led him away from the bedroom and back down to the kitchen. He followed her willingly, despite wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed before his early morning at a new office. There would be a new boss, new co-workers, new desk – but life was about compromise.

  “We’ll just finish this room and tomorrow I’ll make you something delicious for dinner,” she kissed him on the cheek before moving over to an already opened box.

  He smiled. “Now that sounds like a deal.”

  Chapter 3

  Imaginary Friend

  * * *

  Evan didn’t like the house. He didn’t like anything about it. It smelt weird. The floors were creaky. And it was just too big. He missed their old house, but he knew that he was the reason that they were there. He knew that the reason anything had changed was because of him, and he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

  He didn’t feel sick. Everyone kept telling him that he was sick, but he didn’t feel sick. He felt just as well as he always had. He felt like he was just as normal as he always had been.

  His mom spent a great deal of time unpacking and setting things up. His dad went to work. It was life as usual, realistically. Except for the fact that he was in a house that he absolutely hated. There was just something about the house.

  Celine worked on dinner in the kitchen while Evan played in the corner on the floor. She didn’t have to watch him too closely. He was rather independent and managed to keep out of mischief on his own. Still, she glanced over occasionally to make sure that he was thoroughly occupied.

  Evening was creeping up on them when he started behaving a little strangely. She thought nothing of it at first when he began having a conversation with the truck that he was playing with. Evan had an active imagination when he was playing and would often talk and joke. She had learned to tune such things out.

  But he wasn’t giving instructions or directions to the truck. He wasn’t walking the truck through some make-believe scenario as was usual. It seemed as though the conversation had changed.

  When she looked down at him now, his eyes weren’t even on the truck, they were lifted upwards across from him and he was talking to nothing. He was replying as if someone was asking him questions. And his voice was becoming more and more irritated as the answers continued.

  “Evan,” Celine called from her place at the counter.

  He turned his head in surprise and the guilty expression crossed his face. He hadn’t realised he’d been talking loud enough for her to hear him. He hadn’t wanted to get his mom’s attention. He’d just wanted the questions to stop.

  “Yes, mom?” He offered a smile to replace the look of guilt and hoped for the best. He really hoped he wasn’t in trouble.

  “Why do you look like I just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar, little one?” She grinned as she moved to crouch in front of him. The meal she was cooking on the stove would be fine unattended for a few moments.

  He gave a small shrug. “I didn’t want to bug you, is all.” He cast his eyes towards the floor.

  Out of the corner of his eye he could still see the other boy sitting there smiling, waiting for him to finish with his mother so that they could keep playing. He didn’t like the other boy. He didn’t like the way he smiled or the questions he asked. Most of all, he didn’t like that he couldn’t seem to make him go away.

  Imaginary friends were supposed to go away when you wanted them to. That’s how they worked. That’s how all the imaginary friends he’d ever had had worked. When he wanted them, they appeared, and when he didn’t want to play with them, they disappeared.

  He didn’t understand this nonsense with the boy in the kitchen. He hadn’t wanted to play with the boy and yet here he was. And he wouldn’t go anywhere. No matter how much Evan wished and wished and thought and thought, the boy would not go away. He just sat there, smiling and waiting.

  “Oh, you’re never a bother to me, little one.” She gave his forehead a kiss. “Are you having fun playing with your truck?”

  She watched him nod and then glance towards the corner behind him. His face scrunched up in disgust and then he looked back at her and offered an apologetic smile.

  “What are you looking at, Evan?” She kept her voice friendly but there was a stern undertone there.

  “Nothing,” he replied immediately but he could tell by her expression that she did not believe him for a second. He had learned quickly to read her expressions.

  “Evan…” her tone was measuring. She was going to give him this one chance
to explain himself. She always gave him one more chance to do so before she offered any form of punishment for lying or bad behaviour.

  “It’s just an imaginary friend,” he said by way of explanation. But even to him the explanation felt wrong.

  He knew that the boy in the corner wasn’t really an imaginary friend. He knew there was something very wrong about the boy in the corner. There was a darkness about him. There was an energy to him that made Evan want him to go away. But he didn’t know how to explain that to his mother. He didn’t know how to tell her about the boy.

  So, he offered the simplest explanation. He offered her an explanation that she would understand. And that was that it was just another imaginary friend. He’d had plenty before. She would believe him. And perhaps then, she wouldn’t worry.

  He didn’t want to cause his mother more worry. She worried enough about him already. She worried because he was sick, even though he didn’t feel sick. And she tried to hide the worry, but he saw it clearly on her face. She couldn’t hide it from him.

  “Oh, an imaginary friend.” She nodded her head and though of the dozens he’d had previously. At least in recent years they’d become less fantastical in their naming and description. She remembered the purple dragon he’d had as an imaginary friend, whose name had simply been a bunch of sounds strung together.

  A child’s mind truly was a magical place. She hoped that he never lost that sense of imagination. She remembered having a vivid imagination as a child. She didn’t know what had happened to it. It’s as though it had just disappeared one day. Perhaps that was just what happened when you grew up. She wasn’t really certain.

  She ruffled his light brown hair and gave him a smile. “What is this one’s name?”

  Evan frowned and glanced towards the boy in the corner. He hadn’t asked for the boy’s name. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to know it. He’d mostly wanted the boy to stop asking him questions and to go away. But now he looked at the boy and there was a new hint of curiosity in his gaze.

  Celine watched him look into the corner for several moments with a considering expression on his face. “Have you not given him a name yet?”

  Evan tilted his head in consideration as he looked at the boy. The boy wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked a little angry actually. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted Evan to tell his mother about him. Perhaps he had been happier just sitting in the corner unnoticed. Evan wasn’t certain. But there was no going back from what had been said.

  “He hasn’t told me what his name is,” Evan explained, he looked at his mother and giving a small shrug.

  It was as simple as that, Celine thought and resisted the urge to shake her head. She wondered what it would be like to still believe that there were imaginary friends about in the world. If adults did that, most people called them crazy. It was a luxury we only afforded children, so she would let him enjoy it while he had it.

  “Why don’t you ask him, or are you content not knowing?” She glanced over at the stove. She really needed to get back to her cooking. If she left what was on the stove much longer it would burn and their supper would be completely ruined. She couldn’t have that.

  She’d promised Marc a nice meal for his help unpacking the kitchen and she planned on delivering just that. So, she needed to finish up this interaction with her son before she burned the supper.

  Evan seemed to consider his mother’s proposal for a moment before turning back to the boy. The other boy still wasn’t smiling. His face was set in stiff lines and he looked rather peeved that they were talking about him.

  Oh, how the tables have turned, Evan thought as he considered the other child. It was clear he didn’t like the attention or the questions, but sometimes in life you had to deal with things that you didn’t like. And this was going to be one of those moments.

  Evan tilted his head again and, with nothing but curiosity in his voice, addressed the boy that he knew his mother could not see. “What is your name?”

  The boy remained silent, his frown deepening and his dark hair shifting to cover his eyes. He seemed to be retreating into himself as much as possible, as if to hide from the question. But he hadn’t left yet. He was still there, sitting in the corner.

  Evan asked again. “Please, what is your name? I just want something to call you when we play.”

  The boy’s face re-emerged from beneath his mop of hair and his eyes lit up at the notion of a playmate. The smile, no matter how unwelcomed, returned to his face.

  Evan continued to look at the boy even though he really wanted to look away. He wanted to crawl into his mother’s arms and hide there. Something about that smile sent chills up his spine. Something was not right about the boy. There was something very wrong with him, with the house, and with everything.

  But Evan kept his eyes focused on the other child and asked a third time. “What is your name?”

  The boy opened his mouth and seemed to consider the words that were going to come out of it. He closed his mouth and opened it a half dozen times, like a fish gulping for air as it is pulled out of the water, before he finally said one word.

  “Henry.”

  Chapter 4

  Strange Happenings

  * * *

  Celine hoped that the first week in the house would be a rather uneventful one but it was a great deal more hectic than she had imagined. When she was home she spent her time unpacking and arranging the house. When she wasn’t home, she was running errands and taking Evan to appointments.

  There never seemed to be an end to the appointments at the moment. Sometimes she felt like she lived in doctors’ offices, but he still acted as though he wasn’t sick at all.

  The doctors were optimistic. They all discussed treatment plans. They were just waiting on test results, which meant running around having batteries of tests done.

  They’d been through this all before when he’d received his original diagnosis, but now it was time to do it all again, for someone who specialized in what was wrong with him. Much had changed since the original diagnosis and the doctors wanted the most up to date information. She wanted to make sure she did everything in her power to get that to them as quickly as possible.

  She knew it was a lot to cram into one week. She knew it was a lot for Evan to handle. But he took it in stride like he always did, and she had the feeling that he liked being out of the house. He liked exploring the town with her and, even if the tests sucked, he liked the adventure of it all.

  When the week was over, they were finally able to take a breather. It would take a few days for results to be processed and interpreted. She knew that the specialist wanted all the information in his hands before he made any kind of decision. So they would just sit tight until things came together.

  She was happy for the break, but she couldn’t tell about Evan. He seemed very uneasy in the house. She had noticed that quite often since they’d talked about his imaginary friend.

  He was constantly looking over his shoulder. He looked more and more like he wasn’t sleeping at night. He stuck by her side more than he usually did. He played less. He just wasn’t quite himself.

  Part of her wondered if it had to do with his illness, but she believed it had more to do with the change of environment. Something about the house was getting to him. He hadn’t said anything, but she could tell by the way that he was acting that he wasn’t settling in nearly as well as she would have hoped.

  And she couldn’t help but agree with him. As much as she tried to make a home out of the house, there was something strange about it.

  She loved it. The age of it, the wood floors, the high ceilings, the space – but there was something that would send a chill up her spine and have her looking over her shoulder every now and then. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  More than once, she’d abandoned her bed during the night to check on Evan because she’d heard footsteps in the hallway, only to find that he was still sound asleep in his bed. The hallway had been completely empty. N
onetheless, when she returned to bed she would hear the wooden floorboards creak as if someone was walking on them.

  She’d also heard whispering in the night. It too had pulled her from bed and led her to Evan’s room. She knew that sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he would get up and play with his toys. He would always do so quietly, but she never slept very soundly.

  She’d once again found him sleeping soundly in his bed with no indication whatsoever that he had been out of bed playing. There had been no toys on the floor. He’d looked exactly the same as she’d left him when she’d put him to bed several hours earlier.

  And yet she still heard the whispering. She couldn’t say where it was coming from but it made the hair on her arms rise and a chill run up her spine.

  She’d returned quickly to bed, cuddled close to Marc, and tried to push the memory of it from her mind.

  Of course, Marc hadn’t woken up on either occasion. She hadn’t been surprised by that. Marc slept like the dead. Once he closed his eyes, he was out for the next six to eight hours, without question. It would take a blow horn next to his head to wake him up, and even then, he might be inclined to sleep through it.

  But she had spoken to him about both incidents. He brushed them off as new house jitters and figments of her imagination. He was sure that they were no more than creaks of an old house and wind. He was always the logical one and she was inclined to believe him, but still she felt a little uneasy.

  And Evan’s level of uneasiness did nothing to settle her nerves.

  Halfway through the second week there, she was woken from her sleep by a sound she knew was real: Evan screaming in his sleep.

  She rushed from her room and down the hall. Even Marc stirred at the noise and followed her to Evan’s bedroom.