The board wasn't very big, but it was a little heavy for Noel, and he had a hard time keeping it steady. It slid against the frame of the window, and he tried to readjust it.
"Hold it still, Noel," Walter said.
"I'm trying," he replied.
Walter waited until he'd lined it up again, then he pressed the point of the nail to the board and aimed the hammer. Then he brought it back and swung it.
A tremor ran through Noel's arms, and the board slipped.
Walter brought the hammer down right on the knuckle of his thumb. He pulled his hand away immediately, wincing at the pain and gritting his teeth.
Noel's eyes went wide. "Sorry!" he said.
"Damn it!" Walter shouted gruffly. He brought his thumb up to his lips, as if that would do anything, and he kept his teeth gritted, waiting for the pain to subside. He felt his anger flare up, but he stuffed it back down. When he was calm, he took a deep breath and told Noel it wasn't a big deal, knowing if he yelled at him he would just make the rest of the job harder for himself.
They tried again, and Walter nearly missed a second time, but the hammer caught the nail and he drove it in with a few swings. He breathed heavily as he worked, and Noel could detect the telltale scent of all the alcohol that he'd drunk the night before. He hated that smell for so many reasons, but most of all because he knew it was on his father's breath the night his mother died. Noel was too young and naïve to tell, but Walter was still half in the tank.
Despite this, the rest of the work went smoothly, and the board was easier for Noel to hold as more nails went in. Walter did a sloppy job, but it was enough to keep it attached to the house and protect the window from the storm.
When they were done, Walter dropped the hammer into the snow and it sank right down until it was invisible.
"What else do you need me for?" Noel asked impatiently.
"That was the only thing, really," Walter replied. "But I was gonna put up the Christmas lights, too. Want to help me with that?"
Noel paused. He really didn't.
"Come on, we'll make this place nice and warm and cozy for the holidays. It'll be just like old times. I'll go up on the ladder; you just feed me the lights."
But it wasn't going to be just like old times. Not for Noel.
"I know what you're thinking," Walter said. "You don't want to do it, do you?"
"No," Noel said.
"Okay, that's okay," he replied. He looked around, as if searching for something else to do. "Hey, what about that sled you're standing on? We've got a big open field out here. What do you say I take you for a ride?" He held a smile on his face, knowing he got his son with this one. But he was met with the same stolid look, and the happiness drained from his face. "What's wrong, kiddo?"
Noel stepped down from the sled and his boots sank into the snow. He folded his arms and looked away. "You know what's wrong."
Walter's arms dropped limply at his sides. "Please."
Noel's gaze slowly made it up to his father. "Please what?" he asked.
"Please just tell me what you want from me. I have no idea what it is. What can I do for you to get rid of this... this shit between us?"
Noel turned away again, folding his arms even tighter. A tear came to his eye and rolled down his cheek, because he knew that there was nothing that could be done to fix this.
"Noel, I'm begging you," Walter said. "I know you miss your mommy, and I do too, believe me I do. I would give anything I have to bring her back, even my own life. But I can't."
"You're lying."
"What did you say?"
Noel faced him squarely. "You heard me. You're lying."
"How?"
"You don't want her back," Noel said. "You don't care about her. You don't care about me, either."
The waterworks came down Walter's face, and it turned into a reddened, misty mess. "That's not true!" he shouted. "You don't know a thing about what I feel!"
"And you don't know anything about me!" Noel said. "I don't wanna put up any stupid Christmas lights, and I don't wanna go on some stupid sled ride. I don't want to do anything with you ever again! I just wanna get out of here. I'll run away if I have to."
"Don't you dare!" Walter snapped, more out of fear than anger. "We're not leaving here. This is a perfectly good house, and we're staying. Even if we have to go through bad times with each other—even if we hate each other—we're going to tough it out, and that's just the way it is." Walter's face got redder as his agitation grew. "Do you even know how much I've sacrificed for us? For you? Even having this roof over your head is a miracle. Do I wish things could've turned out differently? God, yes. But I'm doing the best I can, Noel. Even if you can't see it."
But Noel had heard enough. He didn't want to hear any more excuses from his father, so he turned and left, opening the door and disappearing back into the cottage.
"Noel, hey... don't you walk away from me!" But Walter stood there impotently, watching him go. The door shut, and the sound was like a dagger sliding into his heart. The wind whipped and the snow washed in his face, and he stood there cold and alone. The redness slowly drained from his face and it turned white, and he began to shiver. He sank down to his knees and faced the cottage, resting his forehead against it and softly pounding the façade with his fist. He sobbed again. "I didn't mean to," he whispered to no one. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." His face twisted into a wretched mask and he took a long time kneeling by himself in the snow.
When he composed himself, he pulled the sled back around to the side of the cottage and pushed it against the wall, then he looked at the ladder that he'd propped against it. The roof was pretty high up considering the cottage was two stories, but the ladder would reach. The bundle of Christmas lights he bought from the store sat on the snow next to it, and he looked at both of them with a steely determination. Even if Noel didn't want to help him, even if Noel didn't want this or care, he was going to put the lights up, damn it.
He unbundled the long cord of lights and then pulled the ladder away from the house, extending it and wedging its feet firmly into the snow. He tested it to make sure it was stable, then he grabbed a roll of duct tape he had sitting on the snow and got started. His work was sloppy from the start, but it brought some contentment back to him as he gazed proudly at the unlit lights stuck to the rain gutter. When he put up a length of it, he climbed down and moved the ladder, then went up and continued taping the lights to the cottage.
The wind was quite strong up by the roof, and he braced himself against it, peering into the coming storm with slits for eyes. It was cold out, but he had something to keep him warm. He pulled the zipper of his coat down and reached into his pocket, removing a flask. He unscrewed the top and took a swig then put it away in his coat. He let the liquid slide down his throat and warm his belly. He breathed a sigh of relief. That felt so much better.
Walter made his way near the edge of the cottage, almost at the back, loosely hanging another length of lights. He never fully sobered up from the night before, and on an empty stomach he was quickly becoming drunk again. His work became slower and sloppier, and his grip on the ladder became less disciplined. He yanked the cord up to pull more lights to him, but the bundle had become tangled below. The lights tugged against his grip and unexpectedly slipped out of it. He made a slapping motion at the air to reach for it again, then he suddenly found his foot had slipped off the ladder and met nothing but air. Then he fell.
He shouldered the front door of the cottage open and a flurry of snow rushed in and covered the hardwood. Walter groaned and stumbled in, barely able to keep his footing. He reached behind and rubbed the back of his neck, wincing in pain. He knew he injured something in the fall, but he was too drunk and delirious to figure out what it was. He didn't want to injure it further, and he knew he just had to sit down for a while. He left his boots and coat on, and left the door to the cottage wide open, inviting the howling wind and snow, as he stumbled down the hallway to the living room. He sa
nk into the armchair with another pained groan, then he closed his eyes, praying that the pain would go away. His back felt all right, but his neck was tweaked real bad. His lips trembled for another drink to wash away the agony, but even moving his arm hurt him, so he sat still and kept his eyes closed.
Upstairs, Noel stood by the window in his bedroom. He'd slipped under the blind and rested his forearms against the sill. He glumly stared out into the white expanse, watching the storm come in; watching his own demise.
And then, out in the white, a flash of pink.
Noel's eyes shot over to it, and he saw the girl creep out from the woods. She stood in a snow bank and stared up at him. She wasn't running away this time and she didn't look scared.
He had felt abandoned by her before, but now she was like the light at the end of the tunnel. He badly wanted to see her and talk to her, maybe beg for her to take him with her. Maybe he could convince her parents to let him stay with them.
He rushed downstairs to throw on his coat and boots, and he stopped at the sight of the open door. His eyes traced the wet trail along the floor to the living room, and he could just see half of his father's shoulder and the side of his head in the living room. He didn't know why his father had made such a careless mess, but his only concern was not being seen sneaking out. He quietly put on his coat and boots, then he slipped out the door and headed to the opposite side of the cottage from where Walter was putting up the lights.
Emily ran to meet him when she saw him.
"Where did you go?" Noel said suddenly. He told himself that he wouldn't open with that, but he found himself just blurting it out.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to. I'm glad to see you're okay."
"Yeah," Noel said.
"Are you doing all right?" she asked. There was a very concerned look on her face.
"Yeah," Noel said again. "Why?"
And he didn't realize it, but Emily could see a grimness etched into his features that hadn't been there the last time she saw him. "I think we should talk," she said.
"Okay," he said. "Well?"
She looked around. "We should do it inside. Where's your dad?"
"He's in the living room, I think. I don't want him to see you, though."
Emily shook her head. "Don't worry, he won't. We'll sneak upstairs."
They made their way back to the front door, and Emily hid behind Noel as he peeked inside. It was hard to see anything indoors as his eyes had to adjust from the glaring whiteness outside, but he squinted, and after a few moments he could still make out his father's motionless shape sitting in the chair.
"Okay," Noel whispered, then the two of them quietly hurried inside. They left their coats and boots on, and they snuck up the stairs to Noel's room, shutting the door behind them.
Noel took off his coat at last, then kicked off his boots with soggy and loose socks. "Do you want to take your coat off?" he asked.
Emily shook her head.
He took the juice box that he'd set on the dresser and held it out to her. "Are you thirsty?"
"No thanks," she said.
"So what do you want to talk about?" he asked.
Emily looked around. "Here, it'll be safer to talk in there." She headed to the closet and Noel watched her with a curious look. She stopped just inside, ducking under his clothes. She twisted her head around. "Are you coming?"
He slowly followed her. "Where are you going?"
"I'll show you," she said.
Noel ducked and then got onto his hands and knees, holding the juice box in his hand and following her along the floor of the closet to the wall. It was so dark that he could barely see anything, but he heard her moving something. In the next moment, he vaguely saw her black shape shift farther ahead, as if she were crawling through the wall. He was confused at first, but then he realized that she had opened some kind of panel.
He followed her inside and waited in darkness. His heartbeat quickened, and he felt scared, not having any idea where they were.
In the next moment, a light flicked on, and Noel saw a single bulb was affixed to the low ceiling only half a foot above their heads. They sat down on the floor of the small cubbyhole behind the closet, and Emily crawled across him to put the panel back in place and shut a sliding wooden door inside.
"What is this place?" Noel asked.
"It's a cubby," Emily said.
"What's that?"
She looked at him with surprise. "You've never had a cubby before?"
He shook his head.
"Well you missed out." She looked around. "I've always loved this place. Anytime I needed to be alone and get away from everyone else, I would come in here. Anytime my mom got really upset, this is where I would always hide."
"Alone?" Noel said. "But isn't this Rachael's room?"
Her eyes shifted around quickly. "Uh... yeah, it is. I mean..."
"That's something that's been bugging me," he said.
"What?"
"Didn't you say that Rachael hasn't lived here for years?"
A weak smile came over her face. "So I guess you figured it out then, huh?"
Noel looked at her, confused. "Figured what out?"
The smile disappeared from her face. "I'm Rachael," she said.
"You're Rachael?"
"I mean, I'm Emily. What I'm saying is there was no Rachael. I made her up. I used to live here, not someone else."
"I don't understand," Noel said, desperately trying to grasp onto the answer she was trying to give him.
Emily looked down at the juice box he was holding. "Here," she said, grabbing it from him. He watched as she slipped the straw into her mouth and sucked out some juice.
"I don't get it," he said.
The juice suddenly came out of her mouth and splashed onto the particleboard beneath them.
Noel lurched back in surprise. "What are you doing?"
"Didn't you see?" she asked. "Look closer." She sucked up more juice and held her chin out over the floor. Her lips were sealed tight, and then in the next moment the juice fell out of her mouth and splashed on the floor, as if it had fallen through her mouth.
Noel gasped.
"Noel..." she started. "I'm dead. I'm a ghost like all the rest."
Cubbyhole
"You're... dead?"
Emily nodded.
"I can't believe it," Noel said.
She took off one of her gloves and touched her hand to his face.
He shivered. "You're so cold!"
She held her hand there, gently pressing her fingers to his cheek, then in the next moment, her entire hand sank through his face and came out the other side.
Noel froze in shock as the unbearably icy sensation ran through him, leaving him with a feeling akin to eating ice cream too fast. "How long?"
Emily searched her memory. "What year is it?" she asked.
"You don't know the year?" Noel asked, stunned. "It's 2017."
Emily did the math in her head. "Then I've been dead for 18 years."
Noel was speechless.
"Those posters on your wall were new when I lived here," she said.
He took his time to slowly work through the shock. "So... that room across the hall was your brother's room."
"Yeah," she said.
"What happened to him?"
Her face fell and she looked at the apple juice-stained floor. "He's gone, too."
Noel looked around suddenly. "I never saw him."
Emily's face became even sadder. "He's not here."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Not everyone stays," she replied. "I did, and my mom did, too."
One revelation after another hit Noel like he was slamming into a brick wall. "Your mom... was she the one in the..."
Emily nodded. "She got real sick near the end. When she had the strength, she would walk the hall up here to keep an eye on me and my brother. She didn't have the strength to go any farther. She always wore her white nightgown. Now she'll always wear it forever.
"
Noel gulped. "Forever? You're here forever?"
Emily shrugged. "I don't know. I think so. My brother got to go on, but we didn't. We're stuck here."
Noel lurched forward on his knees. "What can I do to help you? There has to be some way I can get you out of here."
Emily's face held its sad tone. "I don't think there's anything you can do."
"But why did your brother leave and you stayed here?" he asked. "What do all the ghosts here want with me and my daddy? Do they want to... kill us?"
Emily's face became strained and she didn't answer. She looked like she was wrestling with herself, internally trying to come to some decision. Then she nodded to herself, her eyes staring off into space. She looked at Noel, all pretense gone from her. "You have to get out of here. Don't let any other ghost in here trick you into staying."
"I can't," he said.
"Yes you can," she replied. "You're not like us. You're still alive, so you can leave. And you have to. It's not right for you to stay."
"My daddy won't let us leave," he said, exasperated.
"There must be some way to convince him," she mused.
He shook his head. "I tried everything I can think of. But he won't listen. I don't think he can see the ghosts."
Emily nodded slowly. "My mom was like that. She couldn't see them either; only me and my brother could."
"Then what can I do?" he asked. "It seems like he's getting sadder and angrier every day. I don't know how to make him listen."
"I've seen you and him fight before," she said. "You sound sadder and angrier with him, too."
Noel was nearly offended. "It's not my fault! He's the one who killed my mommy."
"Maybe you shouldn't be so hard on him," she suggested. When Noel shot her a fiery look, she added, "I mean, you might need his help to get out of here."
"But I've tried! He just won't listen. I thought if he loves me, he'll want to get out of here, but he just doesn't." Noel's eyes sank to the floor.
Emily thought long and hard. "Then I think you'll have to leave on your own." Her eyes were stern, like she fully understood the implications of what she'd just said.
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 27