The Haunting of Abram Mansion

by Alexandria Clarke

  “So she’s not paying you?”

  “That would sort of defeat the purpose of this whole arrangement,” I told him, getting worked up. “She needs more money, not for someone else to try sucking it out of her.”

  “Did you ever think that you might need a job?”

  “On the contrary, my husband always assured me he would take care of me.”

  Ben had yet to take a bite out of his bagel, too busy with glaring at me instead. “In four more months, you won’t have a husband to take care of you, per your request. You might want to start making better business decisions before giving away your services for free.”

  “My services?” I laughed as I put on my hat and kicked open the front door. “You know what, Ben? You’re totally right. I should get a job, and I already know my true calling. I’m going to become a sex worker.”

  I slammed the door in his stunned face.

  “I have a lot of respect for sex workers.”

  The Black Cat Café bustled with its early morning customers. Bacon sizzled, pancakes flipped, and eggs scrambled behind the counter as the industrial-sized espresso maker churned out cup after cup of fresh coffee. I’d managed to snag my favorite table, the one in the front corner of the café that looked out onto Falconwood’s main drag. Today was a gross day. The snow had been stomped into muddy ice, and the gray clouds overhead threatened cold rain. On the upside, Della Gordon—my other friend in town—was already here when I arrived. Della wasn’t the person I always pictured of befriending. She was an older woman in her sixties who lived with her husband, Basil, in an airstream on the outskirts of town. They were the type of people who knew enough about nature and living off the land to survive the apocalypse should it ever happen. Della was hardy and strong for her age. Both she and Basil were avid hikers. It showed in their matching wiry muscles. Though I had yet to visit their home, I was curious to do so soon. They cultured their own kombucha, had a hydroponic greenhouse, and grew their own herbs. Their lifestyle was strange and enviable, and I admired the Gordons’ peculiarities because of how different they were from me and Ben.

  In addition to her hippie-ish lifestyle, Della also happened to be a professional nature photographer who had worked in the industry for a number of years. Her pictures had been featured in magazines I drooled over. I’d probably seen her work a few times and never realized it. As someone who’d always wanted to make photography my career as well as my passion, I raved over Della’s success. She was retired now, but she sometimes sent pictures out for publication. Today, she’d asked to borrow my laptop so she could check her email—she and Basil weren’t connected to the Internet—and when she opened her inbox, she had a staggering two thousand unopened messages to read. This, for whatever reason, did not concern her.

  “They’re very brave,” she went on. After listening to me recounting my less-than-regal comeback to Ben, Della had replied with all the dignity I lacked. “If you think about it, they’re putting a tremendous amount at risk, and they’re only doing what they have to do. It’s admirable.”

  “I wasn’t trying to discount sex workers,” I said, lowering my voice to avoid stares from the other café patrons. I groaned into my coffee, which had gone cold in the last few minutes. “I guess I wanted to say something that would shut him up for once.”

  “Trying to get along isn’t going well, I assume?” Della squinted over the top of her reading glasses at the laptop screen and deleted a few more emails. “Did he say anything about the kiss?”

  My stomach lurched at the mention of it. The kiss of relief I’d bestowed upon Ben when he’d woken from anesthesia after his accident was nothing more than that. Della wanted me to break it to Ben easy, but with all the feelings rumbling around in my stomach like acid, I wasn’t prepared to address it.

  “He didn’t say anything,” I told her. “But he tried to make a move on me last night when I was helping him bathe. It didn’t go so well.”

  “I know it’s difficult, but try to be gentle with him,” Della advised. “He’s lost everything he’s ever worked for, including you and his independence. That must be putting a lot of stress on him.”

  “He didn’t lose me,” I said. “We could be friends if he wasn’t so curmudgeonly. Half the time, he’s trying to woo me, and the other half, he wants to bite my head off.”

  Della closed the laptop and pushed it across the table. “Forget it. I can’t take any more of these spam emails.”

  “How far did you get?”

  “Not very.”

  I opened the laptop to check Della’s progress. “Della, you still have 1883 emails left to read! And it looks like this one is about a potential job.”

  “Pah!” She waved her hand as if she were wafting away an unpleasant smell. “This is why we don’t bother with technology. Everyone always wants a piece of me.”

  “That’s because they know you’re a talented artist.” I clicked on the next email and skimmed through it. “Are you sure you don’t want to read this? It’s from National Geographic.”

  “They’re always begging me for more content,” Della said. “I keep telling them to find fresh talent. There are so many young photographers like yourself out there, waiting for a chance to prove themselves, and big magazines won’t bother to print them.”

  “Fine. I’m deleting it. How about this discount coupon for essential oils?”

  “Delete it,” Della said. “Goodness, go through them and delete them all.”

  I kept my index finger on the delete button as I combed through the rest of Della’s email until I happened upon one that caught my eye. “This one is from Falconwood’s historic preservation society, concerning your request about the Abram Mansion. They said it was declined.”

  Della leaned across the table for a better look. “How old is that? I emailed them months ago, before you and Ben moved in.”

  “It’s from July. What were you asking about?”

  “Oh, I thought about picking up my photography project at the mansion again quite a few times.” Della flagged down a busboy and pointed to our empty coffee cups to ask for a refill. “But Basil insisted it wasn’t safe for me to go traipsing around the property. I propositioned the preservation society to make the mansion a museum. At the time, I thought it was public property, but it turned out your grandfather owned it. I guess that’s why they denied my request.”

  “I forgot you loved the mansion so much,” I said. “What did you call it again? A mini obsession?”

  “Micro-obsession,” Della corrected. “Yes, it was my greatest love for a year or so.”

  I pushed the laptop aside and folded my hands on top of the table. “Didn’t you also research the house as well as take pictures?”

  “Yes, I dug up everything I could.”

  “Would you be willing to share that information with me?” I asked her. “I’ve been trying to get a better understanding of why my grandfather might have left the mansion to me and Ben, but I’m having a hard time unearthing anything useful. I would love to take a look at your research.”

  “And I would love to give it to you.” Della bowed her head apologetically. “But I’m afraid I got rid of all my photos and information on the Abram Mansion.”

  Disappointed, I slumped down in the booth. “Why would you do that?”

  “It was Basil’s request,” Della said, sighing wistfully. “After I injured myself exploring the mansion, he asked me to take a step back from it. It was terrible at first, giving up the thing I’d obsessed over for so long. Then after a while, I grew used to being away from it. I tossed everything I had on the mansion, knowing it was for the best.”

  “I’m not so sure,” I said. “The mansion is a big part of Falconwood’s history, and you gathered more information than most. Meanwhile, I can’t find a lick of knowledge about the Abrams. If you’d written a book—”

  “It was never my intention to compile my findings,” Della said. “But I am sorry that the information is no longer available to
you.”

  “Any chance you’d want to take up your old hobby again?” I asked. “Help me find out what I need to know about the Abrams and their house?”

  Della swirled her fresh coffee around, her eyes glazing over as she watched the liquid threaten to splash over the edge of the cup. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I would hate to get sucked back in, and I know Basil would certainly disapprove.”

  Disappointed but not surprised, I placed my hand over Della’s to stop her anxious cup twirling. “It’s okay. I’ll have another look at the library.” I caught sight of the time on Della’s watch. “It’s already two o’clock? I have to pick Sammy up in half an hour. I can’t believe we spent all morning and half of the afternoon chatting.”

  “You’ve been holed up in the house all week,” Della reminded me as she poured my coffee into a to-go cup and handed me my coat. “We had a lot to catch up on.”

  “Thank you,” I said, jamming my hat onto my head. “I missed you this week. We should go for another hike soon. I enjoyed practicing my photography with you.”

  “As did I,” Della replied. “Although I hope our next session doesn’t end in such tragedy.”

  “We’ll keep Ben safe at home,” I agreed.

  “For the record, I think it’s great what you’re doing for Theo,” she added. “Ben might disapprove, but you’re doing a noble deed by helping out your friend. You’re a good person, Peyton Fletcher.”

  I planted a kiss on the top of Della’s head. “Thanks, Della. I’ll see you later.”

  Thankfully, Sammy’s elementary school was right up the road, so I actually arrived early to pick him up. Parents honked at each other in the car pickup line, only masking their angry faces when their child arrived at the side door of their minivan. A grand total of six school buses puffed exhaust into the freezing air, two for each level of education. Falconwood was a tiny town, and its graduating senior class totaled to about fifty-five. Since I wasn’t Sammy’s actual parent, I had to stop by the front office to drop off an official document, signed by Theo, that allowed me to take Sammy home.

  “Hi,” I said to the front desk lady, a girl in her early twenties with a pin on her sweater that read in a jaunty font: Ask me about drugs! “I’m here to pick up Sammy Baker. His mom said I had to drop this paper off to you.”

  I handed over the document, and the bespectacled girl squinted at Theo’s messy signature under her desk light. “Yup, that’s Theodora Baker’s handwriting. I’d recognize her illegible scribble anywhere. You’re good to go. Sammy usually waits underneath the overhang in the pickup loop.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned over the desk and added in a whisper, “Where can I get some drugs?”

  As I left the office, the woman smacked her palm across the pin and hurriedly removed it from her sweater. It appeared Falconwood Elementary School needed to update their D.A.R.E program. I found Sammy exactly where the receptionist said he would be. He was by himself near the pickup loop, sitting on his backpack as he watched a group of kids play in the grass nearby.

  “Hey, kid. Want some candy?”

  “Peyton!”

  He sprang up from his seat on the ground and wrapped his arms around my legs to give me a hug. I ruffled his hair and zipped up his coat.

  “Did your mom tell me you’d be hanging out with me after school for a little while?” I asked him, picking up his Power Rangers backpack and swinging it over my own shoulder. “I hope that’s cool with you.”

  “Yeah, she told me she has to work.” He took my hand and bounded down the sidewalk. “It’s totally cool with me! I like you. You’re fun.”

  “Glad to hear someone thinks so.” As we passed the other kids, Sammy switched to my other side so he didn’t have to walk so close to them. “Hey, Sammy. Why don’t you ever play with the people in your grade?”

  Sammy’s step lost its bounce. “I don’t like them. They make fun of me.”

  “What do they say to you?”

  “They tell me my drawings are weird,” Sammy replied sullenly. “And that Alyssa’s not real.”

  I tightened my grasp on Sammy’s hand. “Did you tell them about Alyssa?”

  “Not everything. Not that she’s dead.”

  Once we cleared the schoolyard and the irritable honking parents, I knelt in front of Sammy to pull his hood over his head and straighten his jacket. “You’re a brave boy, Sammy. A lot of other kids wouldn’t be friends with Alyssa or want to help her. Here’s the thing, though. You know how you don’t want me to tell your mom about Alyssa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s for the same reason you shouldn’t tell those other kids,” I said. “The things you’ve seen at the Abram Mansion are scary for other people. They won’t understand you if you try to tell them, and they definitely won’t believe you. It’s better to keep it a secret.”

  “I know, but they look at my drawings.”

  “Can you make me a deal?” I asked him. “If you stop drawing Alyssa at school—just at school, you can still draw her at home—then I’ll buy you one sticker pack of your choice every day I pick you up.”

  Sammy’s eyes lit up. “Any sticker pack? Even the holographic ones?”

  “Even the holographic ones,” I promised. I offered him my pinky finger. “Do we have an accord?”

  He linked his finger with mine. “I don’t know what that means, but yeah!”

  “Awesome. Come on, let’s get you hooked up.”

  After getting Sammy a pack of holographic planet stickers, I took him to the park and tired him out on the swings. Though it was freezing outside, I feared Sammy spent too much time indoors, either obsessing over his drawings or under Theo’s watchful eye. Every time he jumped off the swings, his spindly legs buckled beneath him. He definitely needed more exercise.

  “We should do this more often!” he hollered as he ran past me, sprinted up the plastic slide, lost his balance, and careened all the way down into the muddy mulch with a gleeful laugh. “I love the park!”

  “We can come every day if you want,” I offered. “But I should have gotten you a snack first. You’re probably starving.”

  “I had school pizza for lunch.” He tried his luck on the slide again. “It tasted like feet.”

  As he slid down once again, I suppressed a laugh. “You should start making lunch for yourself at home. You know how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, right?”

  “I hate jelly!”

  “Oh, really?” I challenged. “Have you tried all the jellies?”

  “I don’t like any of them because they look like blood.” Sammy kept up his maniacal pace around the playground, completely unaware of how creepy his reply sounded. He climbed up to the monkey bars and swung from the first rung. “When are we going to go to your house?”

  “The Abram Mansion?”

  “Yeah.” He kicked his feet to propel himself to the next rung. “That’s why you agreed to pick me up after school, right? So we can help Alyssa?”

  “I agreed because I wanted to help your mom out,” I told him. It was the truth, but not all of it. I also wanted to keep a closer eye on Sammy. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to bring you to the house.”

  “Why not?”

  “According to what you’ve told me about Alyssa, she might get upset if you start asking her questions again,” I reminded him. “If Alyssa starts causing trouble like she did the other night, she might accidentally hurt someone.”

  “Like she hurt Ben?”

  My stomach flipped over. “What are you talking about?”

  “The railing on the terrace was fine,” Sammy said, sounding more like a contractor than Jim ever had. “I think Alyssa made Ben fall.”

  A terrifying flashback of the day of Ben’s injury crossed my mind. Della and I had been hiking through the mountains, looking down at the mansion with a pair of binoculars from the cliffside. Right before Ben fell over the railings, I’d spotted a spooky ghostly face in the attic window, one that
Della claimed she couldn’t see.

  “Why would she have done that?” I asked Sammy.

  He tried to shrug, but his grip on the monkey bars was slipping. “Like I said, she’s scared of you guys. You’re changing things. You have to ask her what’s wrong, but I don’t know if she’ll talk to you. That’s why you should take me to the mansion, so I can ask her.”

  “I can’t risk anything happening to you or anyone else,” I told him. “Do you know what else Alyssa can do?”

  “She moves things with her mind,” Sammy said, concentrating on making it to the next rung. He was only three bars in so far. “She makes scary sounds sometimes. But I think doing those things makes her tired.”

  He grunted as he jumped for the next bar, slipped, and landed stomach down in the mulch below. I raced to his side and rolled him over.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Don’t tell her I said that,” Sammy groaned, holding his stomach. “Don’t tell her I told you she gets tired easily. She’ll be mad at me. Also, I’m really glad you didn’t get me a snack.”

  “Do you have to throw up?”

  “Nope. Nothing in my tummy.”

  Relieved, I put Sammy on his feet again and took his hand. “Come on. Let’s get going. Your mom’s going to be home soon, and I’m sure she’s eager to see you.”

  Theo was already home when we arrived at the apartment, and she was so happy to see Sammy that I didn’t want to stick around and ruin their reunion. She threw her arms around his tiny body and hugged him so tightly that his head looked like it might pop clean off.

  “Oh, my precious boy,” she cooed. “I missed you all day! Did you have fun with Peyton? What did you guys talk about?”

  Sammy looked up at me over Theo’s shoulder. I placed a finger to my lips.

  “Stickers,” he said, showing Theo the one he’d adhered to the back of his hand. “Peyton got me all the planets. This one’s Pluto. My teacher says Pluto isn’t a planet anymore, but it was in the pack of stickers! That means it must be a planet, right?”

  I gave Sammy a thumbs-up as Theo planted a kiss on Pluto. “It must be,” she said. “But there is a lot of misinformation out there, so you have to make sure you fact check. Do you know what fact-checking is?”