The Agony House

by Cherie Priest

  “Oh, wow. Wow.”

  “Vera drew the comic herself, and wrote it too. But for some reason, she didn’t want the whole world to know about it. She let Joe Vaughn pretend he was her—I think she even paid him. He’s the one who showed up for all her conferences and public appearances,” Denise told her. “But Lucida Might belonged to Vera, and Joe got mad when she ended it. Your dad did his best to help. I found one of his letters hidden here, in the house. Let me get it.”

  She offered the old pages to Eugenie, who took them with reverence. “Dad always wanted to help,” she whispered. “He must have known all along …”

  “There’s another letter or two at Tulane, in the library archives. I should’ve taken a picture to show you, but you get the idea from this, right?”

  She nodded in response, her eyes never leaving the old letter.

  Terry could hardly contain himself. He stood up and half paced, half bounced around the room. He said to Denise, “We’ll have to go back to Mrs. James’s place. She’ll want to hear about the body in the attic because you know Dominique will tell her about it. It’s going to be all over the neighborhood tomorrow.”

  “It’ll be all over the neighborhood in another hour,” Norman corrected him. “The neighborhood grapevine is faster than Wi-Fi.”

  Denise considered this. “I can’t decide if that’s awesome or terrible.”

  “A little of both?” Terry was still tickled pink. Literally. His round, freckled cheeks were flush with glee. “It’s totally stranger than fiction. Stranger even than Lucida Might. But everyone will have to believe you! I was there—and my dad was there too.”

  His dad had been half of the responding EMT team, when they’d finally gotten the cell phones working again. Terry wasn’t really hurt, but he was the one who’d called it in. His dad had freaked out and come right over, ambulance wailing and lights flashing.

  Eugenie Robbins pulled out her phone and started taking photos of the last few pages. “My father would have loved this.” She sighed, and held the book across her lap. “I’m positive that he never saw this manuscript. It definitely wasn’t published; I learned that much from the material sent over.”

  “How?” Denise asked.

  “Oh, there’s an archivist in Texas—a guy named Jess Nevins—who’s basically the king of the pop librarians. In his downtime, he compiles bibliographies of comics, pulps, and genre media. He had a complete listing of all the Lucida Might stuff that was ever published or otherwise produced, and he was very, very helpful.” She paused and lifted her face. “Wait. What’s that? Does anyone else smell it?”

  Denise could smell it. One glance at Terry and Norman told her that they could too.

  “Flowers …” Eugenie breathed.

  “Roses and lilies,” Denise agreed.

  “Where’s it coming from?”

  Along with the flowers, came music—soft and vague, and then a little louder. Somehow it still sounded very far away, but very clear. Denise wondered about this odd little song … the one that Vera liked to sing when she wandered through the house leaving tiny, neat footprints in the dust. It was a cheerful, simple string of notes. They lifted and fell at the farthest edge of her hearing.

  Eugenie looked around the room, trying to pinpoint the source. “Do you hear that? It sounds like … like someone singing.”

  Terry slowly reached for his bag, on the floor by the bed. He pulled out his battered recorder, pressed a button, and held it up.

  “I know that song,” Eugenie whispered.

  Denise asked, “You do?”

  She nodded, vigorously and with wonder. “Did you ever see the Lucida Might TV show? Anywhere online? It must be on YouTube somewhere.” She hummed the notes herself, louder and for anyone to hear as clear as a bell. “You don’t know that tune?”

  Denise and Terry both shook their heads.

  Eugenie’s eyes were a little damp, but she was smiling anyway and squeezing the brittle paper between her fingers. “Oh, guys. The TV show. This was its theme song!”

  Norman grinned from ear to ear. “I like this Vera lady. She’s cool.”

  “She really saved our butts last night,” Denise agreed.

  Terry added, “I’m still not sure how, but she chased the other guy away and now …” He toyed with the recorder. “Now I think she’s free and clear to hang around if she wants, or follow the light, or whatever.”

  “I hope she stays,” Denise declared. “If we’re going to have a bed-and-breakfast, it might as well be haunted by somebody famous. Maybe they’ll put us on one of those ghost tour thingys.”

  Downstairs, there was another knock on the door.

  It was Dominique, wild-eyed and fresh out of bed. She was still wearing a pajama top that said GIVE ME ALL THE ZZZZZZS with a pair of shorts and flip-flops when she came running up the stairs. At the top landing she paused, not knowing where to go, until Norman hollered, “In here, Dom. Everybody’s in here.”

  She slid into the room and froze, looking back and forth between her cousin, Denise, Terry, and Eugenie. Rather than ask about the new lady, she said breathlessly, “The whole neighborhood wants to know what happened last night, and dammit …” she grin-scowled at Terry and Norman. “I thought I was going to find out first.”

  “My dad was the EMT who came to the scene!” Terry chirped.

  “My mom was headed into work early, and saw the cop lights,” Norman explained.

  And Denise said, “We really did have poltergeists. Or … one poltergeist, and one badass old lady ghost who saved the day. We found her body upstairs, bricked up in a fake chimney.”

  “Oh my God!” Dominique looked back out into the hall and noticed the tape over the attic door. “Oh my God!” she said again and pointed. “Is that the attic, over there?”

  Terry said, “Yep!”, Norman nodded, and Denise said, “Yeah, but I wouldn’t climb those stairs if I were you. They’re a hazard. That’s how the poltergeist died—he fell down them and broke his neck. His body was lying right … about … where you stepped when you got off the stairs,” she teased.

  The thought of it didn’t bother her so much anymore, now that he was really gone. Gone-gone. All of him, even the nasty leftover parts that wanted to bring down the house and everyone in it.

  It bothered Dom, though. “Well that is just plain gross.” She clutched her own arms, then suddenly noticed the AC. She said with a smile that teased in return, “Hey, you’ve got your own unit! I thought you said this place was a craphole.”

  “I’ve got the only one in the house!” Denise said proudly. “Come on in, and have a seat on the bed if you want. The comic is a little scary, but not, like, corpses-in-the-attic scary. I’ll turn up the air, if you won’t tell my mom, and we’ll get you all caught up.”

  Dominique agreed to this, and Eugenie Robbins made room on the mattress. Norman and Terry held back on the floor, and everyone enjoyed the dramatic reading and interpretive gestures that ensued.

  By lunchtime, the agent had excused herself in favor of lunch and a nap before her convention began, and Terry’s dad had picked him up and taken him home. Norman and Dom were getting ready to leave too, but Mrs. James showed up before they got the chance. She introduced herself to Sally and Mike, who invited her inside to sit in the living room while they rounded up the kids.

  “We don’t need rounding up,” Dom announced as she descended the stairs. “We’re all just hanging out in Denise’s room. She’s the one with the good AC. If y’all had any sense, you’d come up here, instead of asking us to come down there.”

  Norman and Denise followed behind her.

  “Hi Mrs. James,” Denise greeted her. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you too, and to know that you were bluffing me about not having any bodies in the attic!” she said with something perilously close to glee.

  “In my defense, I had no idea she was up there—not when I talked to you the other day.”

  “You knew there were ghos
ts, though. I know you did. It was all over your face, but you didn’t want to say so.” She accepted a soda that Sally brought around from the kitchen, and gave Denise a wink. “But that’s all right. I’ll forgive you.”

  Everybody piled inside and pulled up seats, even if those seats were just crates or wooden pallets. The living room seemed smaller that way. It also seemed warmer and safer. The fresh drywall looked like a promising start, rather than a work in progress. The newly plastered ceiling looked clean instead of plain. The capped-off wires that hung from the ceiling felt like a logical progression, not an unfinished chore.

  The hole in the floor … well, it was still a hole in the floor, but somehow it looked less permanent.

  “Mrs. James, you didn’t have to come all this way to pick up Norman and Dominique,” Mike said, once he understood the general relations. “I would’ve been happy to drive them home.”

  “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I don’t have a car and that’s not what I’m here for. I just wanted to get the scoop!” She told them what she’d told Denise, about being a kid and daring her friends to sneak inside, years before. “And I wanted to see how the place was coming together,” she admitted frankly. “Everyone is curious, you know. The house has been standing for so long, looking so sad. It’s nice that a family has bought it, and good that you’re working to bring it back.”

  Denise prepared herself for another conversation about gentrifiers—right here in her own house, in front of God and everybody. But Mrs. James stopped there and looked at Sally and Mike.

  Sally mustered some excitement, even as they all knew they were sitting in a half-finished, half-rotten space that still had a long way to go. “Yes! That’s the plan, eventually. My mother-in-law—she died in the Storm, but she was a wonderful cook and hostess, and she always wanted for us to buy one of these old places and fix it up. Well,” she blushed a little. “She wanted that for me and my first husband, but he died in the Storm too.”

  “Sally, I am so sorry to hear that. You’re in good company, though. I suppose this means you’re coming back to town, not just coming in.”

  “That’s right.” She rehashed the old story about leaving, meeting Mike, and returning. “So here we are … just barely. This is all we could afford, but we’re doing our best to bring it back to glory.”

  Mrs. James made some encouraging oohs and ahs, admiring the things that were original and the things that were halfway to being fixed. Then she said, “You know, there are plenty of professionals right here in the neighborhood. You can always talk to Pete and the boys down at the shop; they’ll tell you who’s good, and who’s shady. It would be a nice thing, if you could keep the work and keep the money close to home.”

  “That’s our goal,” Mike told her, “And we’re happy to pay fair, but we can’t pay much. The bank is mighty stingy with the payouts, and we’re stretched to the limit as it is.”

  “Oh, everyone here understands how tough it is. If you’re willing to work with people, more often than not, they’ll be willing to work with you. Oh!” She remembered something, and snapped her fingers. “Once you get things up and running, you should talk to Norman’s mother. She’s been in charge of the kitchen at Tulane for years, and they don’t treat her with half the respect she deserves. Or half the money, either.”

  “That would be wonderful!” Sally exclaimed. “If she’s interested, when we finally find our footing. We’ll have to have her over for pizza or something,” she said to him. “Or I’ll just cook, if we ever get the kitchen in shape.”

  “You ought to throw a shrimp boil or something like that, it’s a good way to meet the neighbors …” Dom hinted.

  “So’s church,” her grandmother said back, but she didn’t ask any questions, or make any assumptions. “Honestly, if you need resources, if you need recommendations, or extra hands … you send one of these two”—she waved at Dom and Norman,—“and I’ll come around. I know everybody, and I enjoy putting people in touch with one another.”

  Norman agreed to be a messenger, and added, “When it comes to this neighborhood, if you want to do right—if you want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem—all you have to do is ask. Then, I mean, you have to listen.”

  Dominique agreed. “What happens after that is up to you, but the neighborhood is watching. And the neighborhood doesn’t forget.”

  Sally looked a little embarrassed when she said, “We really do appreciate how kind everyone has been—and how helpful you’ve been, Norman. I know it seems like we’ve been keeping to ourselves, but the house has eaten up so much of our time and energy … we’ve had so many appointments, so many workers coming and going …”

  Mike nodded along to what she was saying. “It must look like we’re hanging out on our own private block, but I promise, that’s not how we want it. Shoot,” he said with a little half laugh. “After last night, we’ve got one hell of a conversation starter!”

  Mrs. James laughed too. “That you do! So why don’t you start with me? Tell me everything. I’m dying to hear all about it!”

  When the last of the police had gone, and all the neighbors had returned to their corners of St. Roch, and the AC was buzzing a little too loud in Denise’s room, she climbed into bed.

  She didn’t smell old lady perfume, but she didn’t smell the primordial funk from the attic, either, and when she listened for ghosts, she didn’t hear anything that worried her. Maybe there was a faint hum, an old TV theme song trailing through the halls. Maybe small, ladylike feet tripped up and down the stairs, bothering nobody—happy to roam the whole house once again.

  Denise had a pretty strong feeling that Vera approved of their work. She also had a feeling that Joe Vaughn had left for good. Now that his secret was out and Vera’s body had been found, he had nothing left to hide or protect.

  “Vera,” Denise said quietly as she snuggled under the covers and picked up her phone. “I hope you stay. I hope you haunt this place like crazy, and we get write-ups on ghost-hunting sites, and people pay us all kinds of money to spend the night in the attic. I hope you give everybody the scare of a lifetime, and I hope it makes you laugh.”

  She called up Trish’s last text message.

  “I hope you like us, and you won’t try to chase us away. I hope you loved this house and this neighborhood …” She turned the phone sideways, for easier typing. “As much as my mom and Mike do.”

  Then she took a deep breath, and let it out slow. She stared at the glowing screen until it dimmed a little, in an effort to save battery life. She tapped it, and brought it back to full brightness.

  Today has been really nuts, and if you’re up, I could tell you about it.

  No response, and no typing bubble to suggest that one was immediately forthcoming. Well, you couldn’t catch Trish at the phone all the time, Denise supposed. She was thinking about calling it a night, when someone else pinged her phone.

  It was Norman. How you doing? You okay tonight?

  Aw, how sweet. She answered him: Everybody’s good. It’s been quiet. Maybe it’ll stay quiet.

  Then she realized someone else was looped in on the message. A bubble with Terry’s name on it replied, Maybe it won’t!

  Such an optimist. A third bubble appeared, but it just had a number—and Denise didn’t recognize it. She was about to ask who it was, when the bubble expanded to say, This is Dom. Norman gave me ur number.

  Cool, Denise replied. Then she sent a little hand-waving emoji.

  Dom sent a hand wave back.

  Denise was about to continue their chat, when Trish finally replied. TELL ME ALL ABOUT UR NIGHT. Especially if there were ghostsin it.

  She switched back to Trish. DUH of course there were ghosts. Maybe when you hear how crazy haunted this house is you’ll REALLY want to come see it. What I’m thinking is

  She accidentally sent the text mid-composition, and started again.

  Is I could show you around. I def want you for a roommate next year, don’t
worry, but maybe you could humor my parents. Sometime before school gets too crazy

  She couldn’t believe she was saying this, but.

  You could come visit, and check out Tulane.

  Trish asked, How far is your house fromTULane?

  Dom was back. Terry played me some of the ghost voices. That’s messed up!

  Denise smiled, and responded: Extremely messed up! You want to come over and try next time? See if we can get Vera to say hello?

  I’ll come too, Norman promised. Me and Terry. WE’ll get the whole scooby gang together.

  She liked the idea, and she told them so. It’s on! Then she switched back to answer Trish’s question, Tulane’s just a bus ride away. No big deal. You could be my roommate in my house, easy as a dorm. Room would be bigger. Got my own AC unit too. Or you could have your own room.

  Not the one with the wasps tho, rite

  She forgot she’d mentioned it, during one of their midday chats. Not unless you want them. I would save them for you, if you do.

  Terry again. There are other haunted houses in the neighborhood.

  Denise asked, Do people live in them?

  Some of them. We could start a ghost hunting club. We could ask for permission.

  Dom wasn’t so sure. Let me start slow. I like this old lady ghost, let me just talk to her first. She seems nice.

  No one will give us permission to hunt ghosts in their house, Denise protested.

  Norman disagreed. Terry’s good at asking for stuff. You let him hunt ghosts in YOUR house.

  Well he was very persistent.

  Terry added, I don’t take no for an answer!

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Denise muttered. “Or texted. Whatever.”

  Trish said, I’ve never been to NOLA.

  No time like the present. Or like, kind of soon, Denise said. U might like it. If you don’t, oh well. But I want you to see it.

  The wheels in Trish’s head were turning. Denise could practically hear them rolling around, all the way over in Texas. Parents would be pissed if I left the state, but NOLA isn’t that far.

  Right, Denise agreed.