The Ash House

by Cross, Amy

  Damn it, I need to start the letter with more anger.

  Scrunching the piece of paper up, I toss it into the bin before grabbing another sheet so I can start again. Still feeling annoyed by the way Nana blamed me for the ouija board, I pause and try to get my thoughts together, and then I happen to glance at a framed photo that shows me and Mum sitting on a park bench. For a moment, the sight of Mum makes me feel extra sad, and finally I reach out to flip the photo down so I won't be able to see it at all. At the last moment, however, I spot not only my reflection in the glass, but also another face.

  A man, staring straight down at me from behind.

  Startled, I spin around and look across the room.

  For a fraction of a second, I swear I hear a faint rustling sound, but then everything falls silent again. I turn and look at the photo, but now I see only my own reflection. Still, there was definitely a second face staring at me just a moment ago, and I slowly start looking all around the room.

  “Hello?” I whisper, although I immediately feel stupid.

  There's clearly no-one here, but that doesn't stop me walking over to the bed and leaning down to double-check that there isn't anyone hiding. No matter how much I tell myself that I'm just being jumpy, I can't get that man's face out of my mind. I remember seeing a man on the steps outside, but it can't be him.

  It just can't, unless...

  I turn and look back toward my desk. For a fraction of a second, I feel as if I can sense another face staring back at me. I can't see the face, but I can feel a pair of eyes watching me from somewhere close.

  A moment later there's a faint knock at the door, breaking my concentration.

  “Daniel?” Nana calls out from the landing. “Can I come in?”

  “I'm busy!”

  “I'm sure you are, but I'd like to talk to you. Please, Daniel, would you mind if I come in just for a few minutes. I owe you an apology and I'd really like to try to work out how we can do things better. We're not getting off to a very good start, are we?”

  “I'm busy!”

  I wait, and a moment later I see the handle starting to turn.

  “No!” I yell, scrambling over the bed and throwing myself against the door, forcing it to stay shut just as Nana tries to push it open. “This is my room!” I shout. “You can't come in if I don't say so!”

  “I was wrong earlier,” she replies, and I can hear that she's still sniffing back tears. “Daniel, we need to be friends. Your mother wouldn't want us to keep fighting like this.”

  “You don't know what she'd want!” I tell her. “Anyway, she was stupid! She did stupid things!”

  “I'm sure you don't mean that. Let's just -”

  “Leave me alone!” I shout, still holding the door shut. “I just want to be alone! I've got things to do in here!”

  “I don't want things to get bad between us, Daniel. Please, if -”

  “Go away!” I yell.

  I wait, and a moment later I hear her walking away from the door. I immediately feel bad, and for a fraction of a second I consider going out there and apologizing, but I guess all of that can wait. Once I hear her going down the stairs, I take a step back and draw a deep breath. I don't even know why I got so angry, but there's a kind of bubbling rage inside of me and I feel like I have to yell at someone. Or at everyone.

  Right now, however, I just feel exhausted.

  Heading back to the desk, I sit down and stare once more at the blank sheet of paper. If I could see Mum again, if I could talk to her, what would I say?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Diane

  “- room and get out of here!”

  Falling back, I slam down hard against the ground. I immediately start getting back up, determined to get over to the desk and pull the man away, but suddenly I find that I'm way out in the middle of the forest. I turn and look around, convinced that there has to be some kind of mistake, but somehow I've ended up all the way out here.

  I'm right back where I started, back when I first woke up after leaving the hospital.

  “Daniel?” I whisper, as I realize that he must still be in the room with the man. “I'm coming! I'm not leaving you there!”

  Setting off again through the forest, I hurry for a couple of miles until finally I spot the house again in the distance. I'm exhausted and my legs are aching, but all I can think about is the fact that Daniel needs my help. As I get closer to the house, I spot a figure at the kitchen window, and I realize that Mum is washing dishes. I have no idea why she's oblivious to the fact that there's an intruder in the house, but I'll figure that out later. Nothing about this situation makes any sense, and it doesn't help that my mind is so fogged.

  I hurry up the steps and reach out to pull the door open, only to find that it's locked.

  “Let me in!” I shout, rattling the door frantically.

  A moment later I hear footsteps on the other side, and the door swings open to reveal Mum's startled face. Completely ignoring me, she looks around as if she's trying to see who was here, as if she heard the door rattling but can't see that I'm standing right in front of her.

  “Daniel's in trouble!” I hiss, slipping past her and making straight for the stairs. “Daniel!” I call out. “It's me! I'm getting you out of here!”

  When I reach the door to his room, I see that he's still at his desk, and that the man is still standing right behind him. Daniel seems to be writing some kind of letter, and he's clearly lost in his own little world. The man, meanwhile, has a dirty hand resting on my son's shoulder.

  “Daniel, move!” I shout as I hurry over to him. “Daniel, we -”

  Suddenly the man turns to me and screams, sending me stumbling back until I crash against the wall and slump down to the floor. I put my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes tight shut, and a fraction of a second later I realize I can feel a cold breeze against my face. I try to sit up, and now the rough bark of a tree is pressing against my back.

  Opening my eyes, I find that I'm back out in the forest again.

  “What the hell?” I whisper, getting to my feet. “How does that keep happening?”

  I set off again, determined to get back to the house and figure out what's wrong.

  “Won't do any good,” a voice says suddenly from nearby. “The same thing'll just happen all over again.”

  Startled, I turn and see a middle-aged man leaning against one of the trees, watching me with his arms crossed. He's wearing an old white shirt under a black waistcoat, with dark jeans that are ripped around one of the knees, and there's a faint, amused smiled on his face, as if he's enjoying watching my troubles.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “Who are you?”

  “That's twice now you've ended up all the way out here,” he continues. “Well, twice that I've counted, anyway. The forest must mean something to you, huh?”

  “I have to get back to my son,” I tell him. “I don't know what's happening, but there's an intruder in the house. Do you have a phone?”

  “Do I have a telephone?” he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Like, just sitting in my pocket? How exactly would that work?” He chuckles as he puts his hands into his pockets and takes a step toward me. “I remember when I was like you. New to this and completely naive. I didn't want to admit the truth, and I ended up wandering this forest for so long, in a complete daze. I can't even begin to tell you how long it took before I figured out what'd happened. Then again, maybe I just didn't want to admit the truth.”

  He taps the side of his head.

  “There's a kind of confusion, though, isn't there? Something that makes it harder to realize the truth. Maybe it's self-preservation. That's my theory, anyway. The human mind doesn't want to admit what's really happening, so it blocks off all those thoughts. I understand that, but it sure makes things difficult when you're trying to figure out the mess you're in, eh?”

  “I'm sorry,” I stammer, “but -”

  “Come on, I'll show you,” he adds, gesturing f
or me to follow as he turns and sets off through the forest. “It's not far from here. The damn thing's been anchoring me in these parts ever since.”

  I watch as he walks away.

  “You'll thank me later,” he continues. “I wish I'd had someone to show me, back when I first ended up out here. Would've save me a whole heap of trouble.”

  I look the other way, in the direction of the house, before realizing that maybe I could humor this guy for at least a few more minutes. After all, it's quite possible that he can explain what's happening, so I start walking after him. I'm not really sure where to begin asking questions, and I'm pretty sure that any questions I do ask will just end up making me sound like a complete idiot. At the same time, every time I try to figure out how I got from the hospital to the forest, my head starts hurting.

  “My son is in danger,” I tell the man. “Do you understand? I need to get help. I don't know why I haven't found a phone that works yet.”

  “I'm sure you do understand. Deep down.”

  “There's a man in my mother's house!”

  “Sounds alarming.”

  “Are you even listening to a word I say? This isn't funny!”

  “It's not supposed to be funny,” he replies, leading me down a shallow incline and then around to the far side of a rotten old tree, where thick roots are protruding from a partially-collapsed bank of mud. I think I recognize this tree from years ago, from when I'd come out here with some childhood friends. We'd play in the lower branches, climbing as high as we dared but never going all the way to the top.

  Stopping, the man crouches down as if he wants to take a closer look at the dirt. After a moment he reaches out and starts brushing some soil away from the tangled roots.

  “Everyone out here has an anchor,” he explains. “Something that keeps you around. The ones who don't have an anchor, they're the ones who fade away. You still see them sometimes, or whispers of them, but they're barely here at all. But some of us have a stronger connection, and there are a few of us in the forest. We mostly keep ourselves to ourselves, but you looked like you needed some help. I guess I've just always been a sociable guy at heart.”

  “I don't have time for this,” I tell him. “Something's happening at my mother's house.”

  “Do you see it yet?”

  “See what?”

  He leans forward and pulls one of the roots aside. The wood creaks and splits slightly, and a swarm of beetles rushes out and crawls across the man's hand, as if they've been suddenly disturbed.

  Just as I'm about to ask why he's doing this, I'm shocked to see a skeletal hand entwined deep in the root system, with the tree having seemingly grown around the bones. As I stare in shock, the man pulls another of the roots out of the way, revealing part of a skull with the upper section completely shattered. Somehow, an entire human body seems trapped in the roots themselves.

  “What is that?” I whisper, too horrified by the sight to look away.

  “Don't you recognize the shirt?”

  As he says those words, I see that there are some scraps of fabric still stuck to the ribs, and then I look at the man and see that he's wearing a shirt with the same pattern.

  “I came out here one spring morning,” he continues, “after I'd been talking to the man at the bank. This would've been the morning of September 23rd, 1936. A little before midday. There was rain in the air, but not too much. I remember the walk out here, and how I was trying to think of some way to make enough money that I'd be able to keep my farm. I'd always been the kind of person who knew he could find a solution, you know? Whatever life threw at me, I could always twist and dodge and come up with something. But that day, I just lost my edge. I stopped by one of my barns and picked up a shotgun, and then I sat down right here and...”

  His voice trails off as he pulls one of the roots back a little further, revealing more of the shattered skull.

  “I didn't think I was actually going to do it,” he adds, with a hint of regret in his voice. “Not at first. I thought I'd just sit down and come up with a solution, and then I'd go home and tell the wife what we'd be doing next. Like always. But then I got to thinking about how much easier things would be if I could stop worrying. So I allowed myself to think for one minute about what that'd be like, and I'm tellin' you that was the most perfect minute of my life. And at the end of it, without even thinking much, I surprised myself. I pulled the trigger.”

  He pauses, before turning to me.

  “Maybe that's why I stuck around,” he adds. “No-one ever found my body. Can you believe that? It just got grown right into these roots, and it's been here ever since. As far as I can tell, no-one ever even came out looking. And I've been here ever since. John Boomer's the name. Maybe you've heard of my farm. Is it still there? I can't get that far out of the forest to go and check for myself. Maybe if someone finds my body one day and buries me properly, I might be free to roam. Or maybe I'd just fade away. Who knows?”

  “Boomer?” I reply, realizing that I recognize that name. I remember my mother mentioning a farm that used to be owned by a man named Boomer.

  I remember seeing abandoned old barns and rusting equipment, and land that had been left overgrown and unused.

  “The confusion's the worst part,” he continues. “After you die, it takes a while for your thoughts to settle and -”

  “After you die?” I reply, interrupting him. “What are you talking about?”

  “It's hard, admitting the truth. I remember the first time I came and saw my body, I couldn't believe it had really happened. Of course, back then it was more than a pile of bones. There was blood everywhere, and flesh hanging down. Over the years, I've watched critters in the forest slowly eat every scrap of meat I ever had. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, exactly, but I get the feeling I'll be here at least until someone finds what's left of me and gives me a good Christian burial. Maybe then I'll get to, I dunno, go off to wherever most people go off to. Them who don't have unfinished business, I mean.”

  “You're insane,” I whisper as I stare at him.

  “Are you from the house about two miles that way?” he asks, looking past me. “I used to buy ash from that place back in the day.”

  “I have to go to my son.”

  “I see you scampering off that way, but you always end up back out here. Maybe someone else has claimed the house.”

  “Claimed it?”

  “You can only have one ghost in one house. At least, I think that's one of the rules. It's not like anyone hands out a list.”

  “You're out of your mind,” I tell him, turning and starting to hurry away. “I don't know what kind of sick joke you think you're pulling, but there's no way I'm going to stand around here and listen while you tell ridiculous stories.”

  “Denial's another part of it!” he calls after me. “You might not want it to be true, but that doesn't change anything!”

  “Psycho,” I whisper, picking up speed and then glancing over my shoulder to make sure that this weirdo hasn't started following me. “This forest is full of freaks.”

  “You'll see I'm right eventually!” he yells. “They always do!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Daniel

  “Daniel, dinner's ready!” Nana calls out from the kitchen. “It's a stew, so you mustn't let it get cold.”

  Great.

  Dinner.

  I swear, Nana spends half her life cooking food, and she spends the other half yelling at me and demanding that I go and set the table, or that I help out with the dishes, or that I do this or do that or just generally act as her slave. Ever since Mum died a couple of weeks ago, Nana seems to have thrown herself into cooking, spending whole afternoons on long, meandering recipes.

  I guess that's how she's trying to cope.

  “Coming!” I yell, as I head through to the bathroom. I know she'll start nagging if I'm not downstairs soon, and I hate it when she nags.

  Stopping at the sink, I try to check my hair in the mirror, b
ut it's too high. Grabbing the shaving mirror from the dresser, I set it on the side and lean down to take a proper look. I want to change my hair so that I look more grown-up, but as I peer at my reflection right now I feel like this pudding-basin cut is never going to work. Mum might have liked it, but she's gone now so she doesn't get to have a say. The last thing I want is to look like a little baby for the rest of my life, and to have everyone laugh at me when I start at my new school.

  So I guess I'll just have to cut it myself.

  A moment later, hearing a brief cough nearby, I turn and look back across the bathroom.

  I wait, but now the house is silent again.

  I guess it must have been Nana who coughed, and the sound must have traveled real well from downstairs. The floorboards in this place must be very thin.

  I turn and grab a pair of scissors from the shelf, and then I turn to look at myself in the mirror again. And then, just as I'm about to start cutting, I realize that as well as seeing my own reflection, I can also see that someone is standing right behind me.

  I spin around and raise the scissors, but there's no sign of anyone.

  Turning back to look at the mirror, I see that the reflection of the other person is gone too. Still, I saw him for a moment, and I swear it was the same old, leathery face that I spotted once before.

  “Don't start hallucinating things, Danny,” I mutter to myself, as I lean closer and try to decide where I should start cutting. “It can't be that difficult,” I add under my breath. “You don't have to be Albert Einstein if you want to be a hairdresser.”

  Mum used to cut my hair, so I guess it's her fault that I've got this stupid fringe. Leaning even closer to the mirror, I move the scissors up and get ready to make the first cut.

  Suddenly a hand touches my shoulder from behind. Startled, I let out a gasp and turn, dropping the scissors in the process and backing against the sink. There's no sign of anyone, but I swear I felt a hand on my shoulder; I even felt the individual fingers pressing down.

  “Daniel!” Nana shouts again. “Are you coming or not?”