Harris

by Sarah J DiFalco

  "This one?" Becca held up a gray sweater.

  Harris shook her head no. "The sleeves are like forty feet long. You will look like an orangutan, or octopus, or orangupus."

  "So I had a brother," Harris blurted out.

  "What? When?" Becca threw the shirt back on the rack.

  "Apparently he died in utero, really early. Guess who told me?"

  "Your dad?"

  "A ghost boy who came to my room regularly when I was little." Harris threw her hands up.

  "Okay. First, back this shit up. You had a brother? Why was this a secret? And then, ghost boy? Your parents knew about this ghost boy? What is happening here?" Becca shook her head in disbelief.

  "I know. I guess I was little and didn't remember the ghost boy. And my mom was too hurt from losing the baby. She didn't want to talk about it and they didn't think it would affect me or matter to me since it was before I was born," Harris said.

  "Does it affect you?" Becca asked.

  "Yeah, kind of. It feels weird that I could have had someone. A big brother to look out for me. Someone related to me who gets me. Also, it feels weird that they just neglected to ever mention him. Didn't they want him to be remembered? I don't know. It makes me see my parents a little differently, now. They aren't exactly who I thought they were."

  "And they knew about your ghost," Becca pointed out.

  "Yeah, they knew about my ghost and never told me. You know how much weird shit that could have helped explain?" Harris sounded exasperated.

  "Oh I know," Becca said, nodding. She had been around through many of Harris's incidents. Harris called her when she heard voices in the attic. She was there when Harris was almost floating at the sleepover. Becca heard all about Harris's flickering lights, shadow people in the hallway, and music from nowhere. Becca was at the new apartment and actually saw a shadowy creature run by. She definitely understood where Harris was coming from, being upset about having this validating information hidden from her until now.

  The girls left the store and strolled down the street. Shops bordered the sidewalk and trees planted every few feet skirted the other side. A woman held her toddler’s hand and Becca and Harris ooed and awed as they passed them.

  "So you have a dead brother and your house was haunted. It could be worse. Listen, you can buy new shoes and we will go light bags of dog shit on Dylan's doorstep. It will all level out," Becca offered, laughing.

  Harris cracked up. It was a lot of information to take in, but it wasn't so bad. She figured her childhood home was haunted, but what about the other places?

  "Bec, I was thinking. My old house, our school, Jackie's, Dylan's, you even saw at my new house, all of these places had weird stuff go on. Spooky weird stuff happens almost everywhere. Do you think, like, the whole town could be haunted?"

  Becca looked around. She looked up at the brickwork of the old buildings that held new retailers. She looked at the sky in thought. "Yeah, I could see that. It's an old town with a lot of history. Lots of dead people. Lots of ghosts. It makes sense. Welcome to Arbory, the most hauntiest place in the country," Becca said with a laugh.

  Chapter Six

  The window was open enough to let a breeze come in. Harris was sprawled out on the couch, feeling the chill from the night air blowing on her. She looked at the window and groaned. She was too comfortable and too tired to move. The glow from the television and light from the kitchen cast odd shadows around the room. The air swirled into the room again, forcing Harris to pry herself from the comfort of her sofa. She closed the window. The parking lot outside was dark. Her apartment was just one of many like it, squeezed together in a complex, row after row of painted brick apartment buildings. It felt safe to be surrounded by so many people.

  A hot shower could wash away the chill from the night, she thought. Harris headed for the bathroom. She started the water. One thing she could not complain about was the water pressure in her apartment. Steam quickly swirled out from behind the curtain. The water slammed into the bathtub, sounding like a torrential downpour. It was instantly soothing.

  Harris tugged the bottom of her shirt up over head. She slid down her leggings with a wiggle. Her hair grazed her back as she spun around, tickling her skin. She turned and faced the mirror. Was that roll always there, she wondered. She sucked in her stomach and puffed out her chest. She studied her reflection. Harris shrugged and let her tummy return to it's slightly rounder shape.

  Steam now swirled around the bathroom. The mirrors were fogging over, as was the window. Harris stepped carefully into the shower and closed the curtain. The hot water stung her skin, but was relaxing nonetheless. She lathered her hair with her favorite shampoo, a green tea infused, overpriced bottle of glop.

  Stepping near the water, she heard a noise outside the bathroom. Well, if anyone is out there they can wait for me to finish my shower before they kill me, she thought, and laughed nervously. She stepped under the shower. The water rinsed the bubbles down her back and butt. She started to relax again as her insides warmed.

  A noise again. This time in the bathroom. She stepped out from the water and stared at the curtain, expecting to see it move or a shadow cross by. She waited, but nothing happened. Harris used a finger to move the curtain aside, letting her see only a sliver of the bathroom. She moved closer to the curtain. Peering through the crack, Harris couldn't see anything, but started to feel a strange sensation. It was like someone was near her. In the shower.

  She turned suddenly, her eyes wide. The shower was empty, aside from her and a giant cloud of steam.

  Shaking her head, Harris grabbed a purple bottle of face wash from the side of the tub. She squeezed some into her palm and rubbed her hands together, spreading it around. She put her hand up to her face and hesitated.

  Again, she peeked through the curtain to see no one in the bathroom. She pulled her head back and began lathering her face. Then she felt it. Someone was staring at her. Or something. She could feel some presence, looking through the curtain. She tried to open one eye but the soap burned. She quickly put her face under the water and scrubbed away the soap, opening her eyes as soon as she could.

  Nothing was there. She rolled her eyes. She was freaking herself out. Harris returned to the water to rinse her face better. The warm water rolled down her skin. She opened her mouth and let the water run in. She swished it around then sprayed it from her mouth. This was what she needed.

  There it was again. She could feel something with her. Her eyes popped open, under the stream of water. Through the blur, she swore she made out a face. She gasped, inhaling some water. Harris choked and coughed as she pulled her head back from the stream. There was no face. It was probably the water in her eyes, she told herself.

  Harris grabbed her loofah off of the tub spout and turned to grab the bottle behind her. Now, standing in front of her, in the tub with her, was a dark, crooked, ghostly figure. It's face was hollowed, stuck in a permanent scream, jaw hanging down. It's mouth and eyes were blackened, empty holes. The figure hovered over the ground, motionless. Harris was frozen. Finally, she felt her fear rip up through her guts into her throat and a scream exploded from her mouth. She jumped backwards, grabbing the curtain as she slipped and tumbled out of the tub.

  As Harris fell back, the ghost lurched forward at her at an unnatural speed. Harris screamed again, scrambling furiously backwards trying to escape. Finally she managed to grip the towel bar above her head and pull herself up. The apparition had already reached her as she stood, causing her to jerk backwards again. The wet floor did nothing for her as she tried to stay upright. Harris slipped hard, onto her back, her head bouncing off of the tile floor. Her lids became heavy as blackness closed in around her vision. Blood mixed with water in her wet hair as she lay on the floor, losing consciousness. Panic held her tight as she faded out, still feeling the presence of the ghost, but unable to see or stay awake. Finally, everything slipped away.

  Chapter Seven

  Mr. and Mrs. Haim stood
nervously at the front desk. The hospital receptionist clicked slowly through the files on her computer, looking for a patient.

  "Harrison Haims?" She looked up at the pair.

  "Harris. Harris Haim. Haim. Please, she is our daughter," Mrs. Haim raised her voice, trying not to become frantic.

  "Oh Haim. Room 218. Take the elevato-" she was cut off by Mr. Haim.

  "Thank you," he blurted out, while grabbing Mrs. Haim's hand and running toward the stairwell. They pushed through the door and hurried down the hallway, reading room numbers above each door.

  "Mr. Haim," a voice called out from down the hall. It was Dylan. He waited in front of the door of room 218. "She's here. In here. She's okay."

  Harris's parents pushed into the room. There, Harris laid on the hospital bed under a blue blanket, her eyes fixed on the television that hung above the door. A white bandage wrapped around her head and an I.V. trailed from her hand to a clear bag hanging near her bed.

  "Oh my God. Thank God," Mrs. Haim rushed to her daughter, grabbed her shoulders, and buried her face in Harris's cheek. "Are you okay? What happened?"

  "I don't know. I was showering, I thought I saw something, a man? Something scared me. I fell and hit my head, I guess," she answered.

  Dylan stood inside the doorway. "She has a mild concussion. And twelve stitches in her head. Otherwise she is okay, they said."

  "Thank God you found her. What were the chances?" Mr. Haim said to Dylan.

  "Wait, hey, yeah. What the heck were you doing at my house?" Harris sat upright, glaring at Dylan angrily.

  "Relax. I text you about your flip-flops and some winter coats from the downstairs closet. You didn't answer again, so I figured I would just drop them off at your house. When I got there, I knocked on the door and then I heard screaming, so I kicked myself in. You were laying on the floor of your bathroom in rough shape. I called 911," Dylan explained.

  "Oh did you get my green ones? They were under the couch. Wait you saw me naked? Ew Dylan, that stuff is over. Perv," Harris slurred.

  "I think that is her head injury talking. They said she might not be herself for a few days." Dylan blushed.

  "Well, when they release you, you will come home with us. We can keep an eye on you until you feel like yourself," Mrs. Haim said, sitting near her daughter on the bed.

  "Honey, what do you mean you saw a man? There was someone in your apartment?" Mr. Haim asked.

  "No, well, I don't know. I don't think so. I just saw something. I scared myself I guess," Harris looked away. She did not want to look crazy and be committed. She just wanted to get released and go home. They didn't have to know what she saw.

  * * *

  At her parent's house the next morning, Harris settled onto the couch and put her feet up. Her head throbbed a bit, but she felt better being home with her parents, instead of alone at her haunted apartment with that creature.

  She pulled out her phone and began texting.

  Guess who saw a ghost and cracked her head open. This gal. Lol.

  Becca

  What? R u kidding? R u OK?

  Harris

  I'm fine. At Mom's. 12 stitches. Concussed. But I'm good.

  Becca

  You need pizza? I'm bringing pizza.

  Harris

  Lol. K bye love u.

  Harris smiled at her phone and set it on the coffee table.

  "I'm going to run to the store. We don't have any soda or sugar. Will you be okay? I won't be long. I can send your father when he gets back from his office. He just had to meet with a student but he shouldn't be too long," Mrs. Haim said, carrying her purse on her shoulder.

  "No, Mom it's fine. Becca is on her way with pizza to keep me company," Harris exaggerated a smile.

  "Okay honey."

  Not long after Mrs. Haim left, there was a knock at the door. Harris jumped up, but realized soon after that jumping up was a bad idea. Her head spun and her stitches throbbed. Before another nasty fall, she sat back down, hoping to regain her balance.

  Knock knock knock knock. The front door banged.

  "Okay, damn girl hang on. I'm injured," Harris yelled from the couch.

  Carefully this time, Harris rose to her feet and shuffled to the door. Swinging the door open, she smiled to greet her best friend. No one was there. She stepped outside. It was sunny and slightly warmer today. She let the sun heat her face. To the left, no one. To the right, no one. That was rude. Someone did a ding-dong-ditch, she figured. Punk kids.

  She shuffled back into the house. Making her way down the hall toward the kitchen, the banging started again.

  "I swear I am going to slap someone. Hang on!" She yelled. She made her way back down the hall toward the front door.

  Knock knock knock knock knock.

  Harris stopped dead. As she passed the hall closet, she realized the knocking resonated from that door, not the front door.

  Knock.

  Harris stared at the door. A chill shot down her spine. She thought about opening it. Maybe her mom had locked herself in there by mistake.

  Knock.

  That was ridiculous.

  Knock.

  Harris backed away. She headed for the front door.

  Knock knock knock.

  She picked up speed and practically threw herself out the front door.

  "Woah woah, oh awww, shit," Becca yelled.

  Harris had plowed into her making her escape from the house. She looked down at the ground. A large pepperoni pizza lay folded on the sidewalk. Cheese splattered the grass and front step.

  "Sorry Bec. Something just, well, I got spooked," Harris said, sorrowfully.

  "Are you okay Harris? Let's get you inside, huh?" Becca grabbed her hand and led her to the house. Harris ripped her hand away.

  "No. Nope. I can't go back in there. There is something in there," Harris objected.

  "Dude, it will be okay. We have each other, like always, remember? I got your back. I will always catch you. Let's just go inside and talk about what happened. You can't be running all over making a scene with your head wrapped up like a shipwreck survivor. People are gonna call the crazy police on you and lock you up. Right?" Becca offered cooly.

  Harris looked at the house then Becca. She thought for a minute. "Yeah, okay. Okay let's go in."

  "We will worry about the pizza later," Becca said.

  Chapter Eight

  The wind outside howled. Harris was home at her parents' house still. It was night, and a storm was ripping at the walls, demanding to be let in. Harris hid under the dining table. The howling grew louder until it stopped.

  The house went silent. The floor vibrated without a sound. It rippled and rolled in waves like a wooden ocean. Harris was terrified, but her body pulled her out from under the table to stand and look into the dark.

  Harris trembled. Her heart pounded in her ears, muffling the sound of the basement door creaking open. An apparition appeared from the basement. It approached her, slowly. Its face was indiscernible, its shape as well. It moved toward Harris. It mumbled at her. She tried to hear what it said, but couldn't.

  "Repeat me," the spirit demanded more clearly.

  Harris felt her mouth move and heard her voice, but she didn't know what she was saying.

  "Tell her," the spirit said, in a low, rumbling voice.

  "Okay," Harris managed to squeak out.

  Harris felt a hand grab onto her shoulder tightly and the voice was right next to her ear now.

  "Tell her," the deep gravelly voice demanded with a loud whisper, right into her ear.

  The grip of the hand and frightening voice had jolted her awake. Harris was ripped from her nightmare. For a moment, she could still feel the hand clenched tightly around her arm and hear the voice lingering in her ear as it trailed off. He had been in her room, in her bed with her. She snapped up and turned around only to see an empty bed.

  Harris had been sleeping in her childhood bedroom. She was feeling better after her head injury but her mothe
r insisted she stay a few more days. Everything had been fine for the past few days, aside from her mother being a bit overprotective and her ex checking in with her everyday. She did feel creeped out by her old haunted home but had not had any problems since the closet incident.

  Harris felt hot and clammy even though her skin was cool to the touch. Her heart raced as she replayed the voice in her head. She tried to remember what he had told her. Did she ever know? Had she ever understood? She knew she repeated what he had said in her dream. She must have known then. Who was she supposed to tell? He had such a sense of urgency as if it was vital that she shares this message but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't remember what he said.

  She stood for a moment and waited for her legs to stop shaking, then headed downstairs to see if her mother was home. Cabinets clicked shut and the refrigerator opened and closed a few times as Harris walked down the hall. In the kitchen, Mrs. Haim clamored back and forth between the cupboards and the stove preparing breakfast.

  "Oh honey I'm so glad you're awake. I was just getting breakfast started. How are you feeling?" Mrs. Haim asked.

  "Uhh, I'm okay. Mom what are you doing home? Don't you have work? Why are you cooking me breakfast?" Harris cautiously climbed into a seat at the island and watched her mother furiously scramble around. "Mom?" She questioned.

  Mrs. Haim turned to face her daughter. Her eyes welled with tears.

  "Honey I have to tell you something," she began, voice quivering. "Becca's mother called. They found her last night, in the river. She's gone, baby. I'm so sorry." Mrs. Haim covered her mouth as crying threatened to erupt from her.

  Harris was still. Her heart sank into her knees. The blood left her face. "I don't understand. What do you mean, why was she in the river? No, it wasn't her. That makes no sense."

  "Sweetie, they found her body in the river. She had drowned." Mrs. Haim was openly crying now, despite her best efforts to appear strong. "They think she may have jumped from Rickers Bridge."