"It was!" Noel shouted.
Now Walter's face was choked with redness and he sank to his knees in front of his son, almost in pleading. "It wasn't. It wasn't, I swear!" he cried, grabbing onto Noel's shoulders.
"Stop lying!" Noel yelled, then he broke out of his father's grip and trudged to the cottage as quickly as he could. He felt betrayed by everyone; betrayed by his father, betrayed by Emily. He wanted the whole world around him to go away. He pondered the icy grave he'd almost lost himself in and thought that maybe that would have been better. But here his father was to pull him out and return him to this miserable existence. He walked inside the back door and slammed it behind him, leaving his father kneeling out in the snow.
Walter stared at the ground and lowered his hands to it. They sunk through the thin layer of snow and he watched as his warm tears cut thin shafts through the icy crystals. Every emotion he'd experienced from the car crash swirled around in his head and his gut. Incredible guilt gripped him as it had for the year since that terrible night.
He knew it would never go away.
Walter sat at the bar in the den, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He wanted it on the rocks, but he didn't feel like getting up from the stool and heading to the kitchen for ice; the mini fridge behind the bar wasn't working and, try as he may, he couldn't fix it. His whole world was crashing down around him, and he didn't know how to fix that either. The companies had dropped him, and his expected windfall swept away and disappeared like a dandelion gone to seed. There was nothing left but panic and fear, and he felt each wall of the cottage close in on him, inch by inch, day by day. Soon it would crush him and Noel, and he had no way to stop it. Except the drink. And boy did it go down smooth when he needed it.
He tilted his head back and drained the glass.
The pale sun sank over the horizon and the gray sky turned black. Noel sat on his bed with the door to his room shut. He wanted to push his dresser up to the door, and then his bed, and any other piece of furniture he could to bar anyone or anything from coming in. He wanted to shut out everything, to starve to death in his own bedroom if he had to, a lonely and miserable husk. But the isolation scared him even more than the ghosts did, even more than having to face his father every day and feel their relationship crumble piece by piece.
Noel's eyelids became heavy and he felt them slide down. His head drooped forward and then it shot up suddenly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. It happened again, but he forced himself awake, afraid to fall asleep. He was afraid of everything lately and he didn't know where to turn.
He slipped out of his bed and walked around it, looking for something to do. He rummaged in the couple boxes that Walter had brought from their old house, but nothing interested him. He peeked underneath the blind at the dark landscape surrounding the cottage and considered putting on his coat and fleeing into it; he would just run and run and run, and if a wolf snatched him up or he died of exhaustion or exposure, so be it. Maybe then, at least, he'd get to see Mommy again.
Noel drew away from the window and glanced at his closet. He stared at the clothes that Walter hung in there for him, then he walked over to it and poked his head inside. In the darkness behind the closet doors that had been drawn to the other side, he could see a faint outline in the wall. It looked like a panel of some kind, and just as he was about to pull the doors to the other side and investigate, he stopped.
The smell of fresh pipe smoke drifted into his nostrils.
He turned around and stared at the wall between his room and the study. As strange as the scent was, he found it somehow comforting. Drawn like a moth to the flame, he opened his door and stepped into the dark hallway. The light was on in the study, but the door was closed. Noel stood before it and pressed his ear to it.
The gentle creak of the rocking chair came through the door and Noel stepped back.
His hand reached for the doorknob and he twisted it, pushing the door open achingly slowly, a gentle fear in him quickly building.
The rocking chair was moving back and forth, all right. And a man who looked to be in his late fifties, tightly holding a pipe between two fingers, sat in it. He smiled and nodded his head to Noel.
The Study
"Don't be scared, little boy. Come in," the man said with a smile. He set down the book he was reading on the bookshelf next to him and took another drag of his pipe, letting out a bluish puff of smoke into the room.
Noel stood, transfixed, in the doorway.
"Please," the man said. "And close the door behind you. I find it gets awfully drafty in here."
Noel remained, but there was a look on the man's face that implored him to do as he said. Noel took a timid step into the room, then another. Keeping his eyes on the man as he smiled and nodded, he reached behind himself and quietly pressed the door shut.
"Come in, don't be afraid," the man said. "My name's Barry." He was dressed in a tweed jacket with a sky-blue shirt underneath and corduroy pants. He wore shoes that suggested wealth at one point, but now they were old and scuffed. Glasses sat low on his nose, and he had short brown hair that was streaked with white. And though everything about his appearance seemed to convey warmth, there was a sharpness to his face that provided a perpendicular perspective.
Noel approached him and stopped in the middle of the room.
"Is the smell too unpleasant for you?" Barry asked. He held out the pipe, gesturing to it, then he nodded in agreement to himself and overturned it in an ashtray sitting on the bookshelf next to him, dumping out the contents. He set it down and pleasantly folded his hands together in his lap. "You must be awfully surprised to see me sitting here, aren't you?"
Noel nodded. He was still so dumbstruck by the man's appearance that no words came to him.
"And you're Noel, right?"
He nodded again.
"Would you like some candy?" Barry asked.
Noel shook his head.
"Oh, come now," he said, an unbelieving look on his face. "I know what the problem is. You're too scared of this cottage's, shall we say, inhabitants?"
"Yes," Noel squeaked out.
"As well you should be," Barry replied. "This place is haunted by the souls of many people, and not all of them are as friendly as I am." He leaned forward in the rocking chair and it groaned. "You want to look out for some of them," he said in a harsh whisper, and then his eyes darted about the room as if he was afraid of some retribution that would come to him for uttering the words.
"What... what do they want with me?" Noel asked.
Barry looked around again. "They want to take you with them."
"What do you mean?"
Barry searched for words not likely to frighten Noel. Unable to find them, he simply drew his finger across his throat.
Noel gasped. He drew closer to Barry. "What do I do?"
"I'm not sure there's much you can do," he admitted. He eyed Noel up and down. "Any hope of you getting out of this place?"
Noel shook his head. "I want to, but my daddy won't listen."
Barry nodded, his eyes glazing over as he processed the information. "They usually don't," he said. "This place has some kind of pull on everyone who lives here. It makes them go a little mad after a while. Normal people turned sideways like there's a bug crawling around in their brain..." He leaned forward so far in the chair that he almost toppled out of it. "And then they lash out!" he shouted, thrusting his hand at Noel as if he were holding some kind of weapon.
Noel staggered backward in shock.
Barry drew in a long breath and rolling laughter tumbled out of his lips. He reclined in the rocking chair and perched a foot on the knee opposite. "My best advice is for you to watch out, then. It's hard to know the ropes in here, but I can show them to you... tell you who to watch out for."
Noel took a step closer. "I heard the nurse is bad," he said.
"Ah, the nurse, yes," Barry cooed. "Miss Samantha Chapman... an odd one, she was. She was the owner of this cottage prior to
me, in fact."
"She was?" Noel asked.
"Oh yes, back in the late fifties. A long time ago," Barry reflected. "I myself lived here from '67 to '74. Nobody would even look at this place much less consider purchasing it. I didn't mind, though. I wasn't interested in such things as a dismal history to these old bones around us. I should have heeded their warnings." Barry licked his lips and glanced over at the pipe sitting on the bookshelf. He eyed Noel. "Would you mind?" he said. When he heard no objection from him, he opened a tin and placed more tobacco in the pipe, lighting it and gingerly sliding it between his lips. He took a long drag and blew blue smoke into the air. "Ah, that's better."
The pungent smell choked Noel's nostrils, but it wasn't unpleasant enough for him to object. "Why are you still here?" he asked. "How come you didn't go to Heaven, or... or the other place."
Barry smiled. "The people who live here tend to linger upon death. Not all, but some."
"How do I know if it's going to happen to me?" Noel asked.
"Oh they'll try to make it happen," Barry said.
"Who?" Noel asked, breathless.
"The others! You won't find many kind to you in here. But I can help protect you. You just have to do as I say."
Noel gulped. "Okay," he said. "Who are the bad ones?"
"Samantha, the nurse," Barry said. "She's truly deranged. She tortured her patients at the hospital back in the fifties. Poisoned them, killed them. They didn't suspect her for a long time. By the time they did, she coincidentally died of a brain aneurysm in this house. And she's lingered ever since. She gave me many a frightful night living here. Her taunts and laughter haunted my dreams. But I learned how to cope, how to stave off her wrath."
Her laughter. Noel thought about the terrifying voice he'd heard over the radio; that cackle through the noise. "That's her," he said, his eyes widening.
"Hmm?"
"On the radio!" Noel said. "I heard her!"
"Oh yes," Barry replied. "She always did like to carry herself over the airwaves." There was reverence in his gaze. "When you hear that, you know she draws close.
"Then there's the butcher, Harvey," Barry continued. "He lived here with his family in the 1980s. He hunted, fabricated, and sold his own game. But he went mad. I tried to help him, but the others got to him. He butchered his family one fateful winter's night. When the slaughter started, the rest of them tried to hide in the pantry, but there was no hiding from him. He cut them to pieces, one by one, but not before his wife managed to call the police. They confronted him outside the cottage and he tried to attack them in his rage." Barry's lips curled into a devilish smile. "They killed him in a hail of gunfire. And he, too, remains.
"Then there's the brothers. They're dangerous too, oh yes! Don't let their steely countenance fool you."
Noel's head spun. He recalled his encounter in the kitchen. Who he at first thought was a mountain and then a monster, must have been the butcher that Barry spoke of. Then his thoughts fell on the three brothers sitting at the poker table and on the clairvoyant memory he had of them murdering each other in the boat over their father's inheritance. The temperature in the room felt like it was becoming increasingly colder, and Noel shivered.
But Barry just smiled at this. "Candy?" he asked again. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a singularly-wrapped treat, unwrapping it himself and holding out a translucent red piece of candy. "Go on, take it."
Fear riddled Noel's body, but he felt compelled to reach out and grab it. He placed the candy in his mouth, and a pleasant cherry flavor bathed over his taste buds.
"See, it's good for you," Barry said. "And just remember, Noel, these beings want to take your very life. In order to resist them, you may have to hide or flee or even fight back and, if necessary, do worse than that." His face grew stern. "Do you understand that?"
"I... I think so," Noel said.
Barry's smile drew into utter glee, dark overtones painting his face.
The door to the study burst open.
Noel spun around and saw his father standing there, his hand outstretched and holding the doorknob.
"What are you doing in here?" Walter asked. His words were slurred, and his face drooped, like he was somewhere between drunkenness and sleep.
"Uh... I'm not doing anything," Noel said quickly.
"It's late," Walter said. "Go to bed. And brush your teeth, will you? Your toothbrush is in the box next to your bed."
Noel glanced back at Barry, who was still sitting in the chair, gently rocking back and forth and happily smoking his pipe. Noel looked at his father, searching for any kind of recognition of the ghost on his face, but in the next moment, Walter turned out of the room and headed to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, shutting the door behind him.
"Goodnight, Noel," Barry's voice came from behind. There was something unsettling about it.
Noel looked back again, but the rocking chair was empty, gently rolling back and forth on its own. He turned off the light and scurried back into his room. He changed into his pajamas then looked in the box for his toothbrush and toothpaste. Returning to the door, he pulled it open and poked his head out.
The house was dark and silent, and he knew that his father was probably passed out on his bed. Noel searched the darkness carefully before leaving the safety of his room. He was waiting for a glimpse of the woman in white—the woman that Emily seemed coy about. But she was nowhere in sight.
He stepped out. The floor creaked under his feet. He cringed at the sound of each footstep as he headed for the bathroom door, which was open only a crack. Each sound of his movement echoed in the hall, and he suddenly realized how silent it was.
Then he heard laughter. It was quiet, like the voice was laughing to themselves. But it was coming from inside the bathroom.
Noel froze.
A shaking sound echoed through the crack in the door, like someone rattling a bottle of pills.
The nurse.
Noel gasped.
The laughter and the shaking stopped. An unbearable pause lasted for a long time as Noel stood frozen in the hallway like a statue. Then the door slowly opened, revealing pure blackness behind it.
Noel stood before it, staring into the abyss. He couldn't move; he couldn't even breathe.
Then the laughter started up again, louder this time. "Noel..." the voice cooed. "Come in..."
He stumbled back at last, then he turned and fled into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He didn't make it two steps before diving into his bed, pulling the covers over top of him.
A loud squawking sound erupted next to him, and he shot his head out of the covers in terror. It was the radio, sitting again on the dresser beside his bed. How it got there, he didn't know, but static filled his room, and then, the hissing laughter behind the noise.
In a panic, Noel jumped out of bed and opened his window. A blast of icy air hit his face, and he winced against it. He grabbed the radio with both hands and shoved it out of the window. He watched it tumble through the air and hit the snowy ground below with a barely audible thump.
Terror still racing through his body, he shut the window and got back into bed, pulling the covers over his head and holding onto them with an iron grip. He thought about his mother and said a prayer, pleading for his life.
Decorating
In the morning, Noel emerged from his blankets like a butterfly from its cocoon. He threw them off and let his eyes adjust to the light coming in from under the blind. He rolled over and got out of bed, groggy. He lifted the edge of the blind and peeked outside and saw that it was another winter's day, and though it seemed pleasant enough, it was just a little grayer than the day before, like every day got worse and worse, preparing for the crushing blackness at the end.
The horrors of the previous night drifted on the edge of his mind like a vague dream. When he worked up the courage, he opened his bedroom door and peeked into the hallway. The smell of pipe smoke was faintly there, but it was stale. The b
athroom door was open, but no nightmares lay beyond it.
Noel stepped out into the hall and headed quickly for the stairs. His throat was dry and he made his way to the refrigerator, selecting a juice box out of half a dozen sitting on the shelf in there that they had bought from the grocery store the day before. He took the straw out of its wrapping and jabbed it through the foil, taking a sip.
At the same time, the front door of the cottage opened and Walter came in. He stomped his boots on the floor and wet snow splashed across the hardwood. He shook his coat and large flakes fell off of it and drifted down as if from a cloud.
"Good, you're up," he said. "Looks like the storm's going to touch down sooner than they said. I could use a hand outside."
"What for?" Noel asked.
"I want to cover that window," Walter said, pointing out the one in the kitchen with the bullet hole through it. "If the winds get really bad, it might crack right open."
Noel set his juice box on the counter and put on his coat and boots. He followed his father out the door and was greeted immediately by a sharp wind blowing a flurry of snow in his face. He squinted against it and turned his head down, following the backs of his father's boots trudging through the snow in front of him.
"We're just going to nail a board over the window," Walter said. There was one sitting on the snow below it that he'd found in the shed. It seemed just big enough to do the job. "So I need you to hold it up while Daddy hammers the nails in, okay?"
"Okay," Noel agreed.
Walter looked down at him, realizing that he wasn't tall enough to reach the window. He searched around for a moment, then he disappeared around the side of the cottage. A moment later, he returned pulling an old wooden sled behind him by a rope tied to the front.
"Here we go," he said. He positioned the sled underneath the window and hoisted Noel onto it. "That should be just the right height." He bent down and picked up the board, handing it to him and showing him where to hold it. "Okay, keep it steady now," he said. He pulled a nail from his pocket and lined it up, raising the hammer in his other hand.
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 26