The Haunting of Abram Mansion

by Alexandria Clarke

  “When you check facts.”

  “Yes, sir.” Theo tapped Sammy’s nose before she dumped her armload of plastic bags on the kitchen counter. The sharp scent of soy sauce and kung pao chicken tickled my nose. “I can’t thank you enough, Peyton. I got enough Chinese food to feed a small army. The least I can do is treat you to dinner. Are you interested?”

  “I should probably get back to Ben,” I said, though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Stay!” Sammy commanded, yanking on my arm.

  “The prince has spoken,” Theo said. “Sounds like you have no choice.”

  “I’m the prince! I’m the prince!” Sammy chanted.

  I rolled my eyes and plopped in one of the seats at the kitchen counter. “Okay, okay! I’ll stay for dinner and one fortune cookie, but then I have to go home.”

  Satisfied, Sammy climbed into the seat next to mine and handed me a box of rice. “Open this, peasant.”

  “Say please,” Theo chided.

  “Please, peasant.”

  When I finally arrived home, the sun was well on its way to bed. Jim and his crew were long gone, but they had replaced the lights on the terrace before they’d left, illuminating their hard work for all to see. With brand new red tile flooring and a sturdy wrought-iron railing, the terrace had regained some of its former glory. I could see the next family who lived here holding evening parties up there in the springtime, as long as the resident ghost didn’t push anyone else off.

  There were no lights on inside the house. I hung my coat and hat on the rack in the foyer and squinted into the darkness. “Ben! Are you home?”

  It was a bit of a stupid question. Ben wasn’t exactly in the position to drive, and I’d taken our car into town anyway. Technically, Ben could have caught a ride with someone else, but he hadn’t made many friends during our two months in Falconwood. Jim was probably the only person he conversed with on a regular basis other than myself.

  “Hello?” I called, elongating the last vowel sound. I flipped on lights as I made my way through the house. If I had to admit it, I was nervous about potentially being left all alone in the Abram Mansion with only Alyssa for company. “Ben, if you’re here, this isn’t funny!” I turned on the light in the stairway that led to the kitchen. “Oh my God!”

  Ben sat at the bottom of the stairs, his back to me. The chair was tipped on its side on the kitchen floor. I rushed down.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “Did you fall? Why didn’t you answer when I called? Are you hurt? Ben!”

  He stared glumly up at me. “I was hungry.”

  “So you tried to make it down the stairs yourself?” Fuming, I set his chair on all four wheels. “You could have asked Jim or one of the other guys to help you.”

  “My wife was supposed to be here to help me.”

  “So I guess you didn’t see the two sandwiches I set upstairs for you,” I countered. “I can’t stay home all day, Ben. You have to figure out how to do things for yourself—did you pee yourself?”

  “Couldn’t make it to the bathroom.”

  I seized him under the armpits and hauled him into the bathroom down the hall. He went like a limp ragdoll, not bothering to help push himself along. The shower in this bathroom was level with the floor, so I put Ben fully clothed right above the drain and turned the faucet on. It sprayed right in his face, soaking his hair and clothes in seconds.

  “What the hell, Peyton?” He coughed and spluttered, finally giving me an emotion other than pity. “Are you trying to drown me?”

  “You are not paralyzed,” I reminded him. “You’ve had an entire week to get over this self-pity crap, but I’m done with it now. Stop acting like you’ll never walk again. There’s nothing wrong with your legs. You could have gotten out of your chair and walked to the bathroom in plenty of time. If you do this again—I don’t care what my grandfather’s will says about this stupid house—I will leave you before our six months here is up, and you can hire a nurse’s aide to carry your ass to the bathroom. Do you understand me?”

  In the past year, ever since I’d asked Ben for a divorce, he’d never looked scared. His expressions had read all over the place, from sad to disappointed to angry, but I’d never seen him look at me with fear on his face. Now, as he stared up at me through the unyielding rain of the showerhead, all I saw was fear. Above everything else—the frustration of his recovery, rebuilding the mansion, our eventual separation—he was scared to lose me. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was scared to lose him too.

  “Do you understand?” I asked him again, this time in a softer tone.

  “Yes, Peyton. I understand.”

  13

  Though the forecast hadn’t predicted it, that night hit us with the loudest of thunderstorms. Wind tore through the trees, lightning struck inches from the mansion, thunder rattled the window panes, and hail pieces the size of golf balls rained across the courtyard. They ricocheted off our car parked out front, no doubt decorating the roof with a number of dents. I lay in bed, unable to sleep with all the racket, and stared through my window at the courtyard to watch the chaos unfold. A hailstone hit one of the marble statues covered in dead vines and exploded. As another bolt of lightning struck close enough to shake my bones, I had the strangest inkling that the storm had specifically targeted the Abram Mansion. It was fodder, of course. When I checked the weather pattern on my phone, it showed all of Falconwood and its surrounding areas under attack. There was nothing to do but wait it out.

  Just as I was getting used to the cacophony and had allowed it to soothe me to sleep, the overhead light turned on, flooding the room with its yellow glow. I covered my eyes with the blankets, letting them gradually adjust before I peeked out again. Near the door, the actual light switch hadn’t moved. It was placed in the down position, as if the light had come on of its own accord.

  “Peyton?” Ben pounded on my door then let himself in without waiting for me to reply. He wore a fresh pair of pajamas, the silk set I’d bought for him a few years ago, rather than his usual sweatpants. For once, he didn’t ram his wheelchair into the molding as he came in. He rubbed his eyes, his frustration clear in the redness around them. “Do you believe this crap? I’ve got half a mind to call Jim right now to make him fix it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I muttered, my voice rough with sleep. “Because my light came on? It’s probably just a fluke.”

  “It’s not just your light,” Ben said. “It’s every light. Every damn light in the house has turned on.”

  “That’s impossible. Jim only wired the front wing for new electricity so far.”

  “Or so he told us,” Ben said. “Look out your window.”

  I kicked off the blankets and rolled over to face the window again. This time, beyond the storm’s havoc, I could see that the entire mansion was lit up. Since the building formed a square around the courtyard, the light poured into the inner area. The overgrown topiaries and marble statues cast menacing shadows across the garden. The swimming pool had collected dirty rainwater, hailstones, and dead leaves in the deep end. The muck swirled around like a whirlpool that led to the world beyond this one. I gazed across the three other wings of the mansion. We had yet to explore the west and south wings, but I had made an unfortunate habit of sneaking off to the east wing. It was where I heard the voices of the dead the most, as if the Abram family had made most use of that section of the house. I scanned the windows of the east wing, searching the golden glow in each for an explanation of the sudden illumination. Toward the end, about three-fourths of the way to the south wing, I found what I was looking for. A small figure peered out of the window. She was no more than a silhouette, but her chin was tipped skyward, as if she too monitored the severity of the storm. When another clap of thunder hit, the silhouette jumped and dove away from the window. For some reason, it made a small smile cross my face.

  “Why are you grinning?” Ben said, craning his neck to see what I was looking at. “Do you
know something I don’t?”

  “Like I said, it’s probably a fluke.” I swung my legs out of bed, crossed the room, and tried the light switch. No matter how many times I flicked it up and down, the overhead light shone brightly. “Looks like we can’t do much about it but hope for it to resolve itself. We’ll call Jim in the morning.”

  “In the morning?” Ben said. “It’s two o’clock. How on earth are we supposed to sleep like this? You know I’m sensitive to light at night.”

  “I remember.” I stepped into my slippers and pulled a warm robe over my pajamas. “I used to have to cover the clock on the DVD player. Are you still hungry?”

  “What?”

  “Last we spoke, you hadn’t had dinner,” I reminded him. “I figure if we can’t sleep, we might as well make use of our time. Let’s see if we can figure out some cheat codes around the house for you. Teamwork, right? I hear that’s what marriage is all about.”

  Without allowing him to answer, I left the room. As I expected, he followed me out, the wheels of his chair squeaking against the new wood flooring. When I pulled open the front door and a blast of cold air and hailstones buffered the foyer, Ben shouted and covered his head.

  “What are you doing?” he hollered over the noise of the storm. “It’s freezing out there, and if one of the hailstones lands on your head, I’m going to have to break out the first aid kit.”

  Grunting, I hauled in a big box that had been sitting on the porch since I got home yesterday. As soon as it was clear of the entryway, I shoved the door shut again, pushing hard to fight against the wind. I turned to Ben and patted the soggy top of the cardboard box as if it were a stray dog we’d let into the house to avoid the terrible weather.

  “I ordered this a few days ago.” Using my legs, I shoved the heavy box across the foyer and placed it against the wall by the stairs to the kitchen. “It was delivered yesterday, but I forgot about it. It was my first day with Sammy, and I had a lot on my mind. Anyway, I thought it would help you out.”

  Ben curiously eyed the box. “What is it?”

  “It’s a mini fridge,” I said. “Like the kind you put in a college dorm room. I figured if it’s too difficult for you to go down to the kitchen, then I’ll bring the kitchen to you.”

  “That was nice of you.” Ben picked up a box cutter—we had yet to unpack all of our things—and sliced through each side of the cardboard. The box opened flat to reveal the mini fridge. Ben whistled. “Sheesh, this thing belongs in a five-star hotel.”

  “The guy at the store was running a special,” I said, handing him the manual. “You know how people in Falconwood are. If you make them fresh biscuits, they’ll give you twenty-five percent of anything.”

  “Did you make them fresh biscuits?”

  “No, Della did,” I said. “But I reaped the reward.”

  For the first time in a while, Ben cracked a smile. “I’m glad you have friends in town.”

  “They could be your friends too,” I told him, “but you’re always holed up in this house. I know this injury has brought you down. I didn’t mean to be so direct last night—”

  Ben held up his hand to stop me. “No. Don’t apologize. I needed you to say those things to me. You were right. I’ve been acting like a baby for the past week. I shouldn’t have expected you to wait on me hand and foot.”

  “Well, that was the idea for the mini fridge.” I wormed the cardboard out from under the fridge, unwound the power cord, and plugged the unit in to the closest outlet. The fridge powered on, humming happily as it began its work. “I thought if we kept a few of your favorite food items on this floor, where you can easily access them, you don’t always have to be waiting around for me or anyone else to help you eat. However, I do think you should try to walk more. I know your ribs hurt, but you don’t want to start relying on that chair more than you have to.”

  “I get it,” Ben said. “I don’t want to overdo it either though.”

  “You’ll know if you overdo it.”

  He squinted toward the chandelier overhead then flipped the switch that controlled it. The light flickered once but remained on. Ben tried the dimmer next. No luck. “So weird,” he said. “Do you think the electrical company did something?”

  “No idea.”

  In the time since Sammy’s revelation, I’d unconsciously made the decision not to tell Ben about Alyssa Abram. My reasons were similar to the ones I’d given Sammy to keep the secret from his classmates. For one, I didn’t want to scare Ben, and two, I didn’t want Ben to think I’d taken a dive off the deep end and landed in a pool of crazy. I also had the strange feeling of wanting to keep Alyssa to myself. I wanted to win her over. I wanted her to trust me, and I felt like telling Ben about her would betray her trust. After all, she’d only revealed herself to me in small ways, but she had never shown herself to Ben once.

  “I’ll check the electrical box in the basement in a few minutes,” I offered as I wheeled Ben to the top of the kitchen stairs. “Up you get. Until that fridge gets cold, we have to work down there.”

  Ben lifted himself from the chair, and I slipped under his good arm to help him down the stairs. This time around, he made a significant effort to bear his own weight. Though he winced each time his ribs moved the wrong way, he didn’t complain. Once in the kitchen, he lowered himself to sit at the table all on his own, beaming proudly. I left his wheelchair where it was.

  “Alrighty,” I said, rifling around in the refrigerator. “What sounds good? We’ve got roast beef and cheese. You could make a sandwich for yourself. That would be easy. Or we have some leftover Bolognese sauce from a few days ago. No pasta though. You’d have to boil some.”

  “Challenge accepted,” Ben said, saluting me. Still seated in the kitchen chair, he used the table and his own momentum to slide across the floor and reach the cabinet where we stored the pots and pans. He took out a deep pan then slid himself to the sink to fill it. He continued in this manner, working his way around the kitchen for the things he needed, until it came time to reach the pasta, which was on the very top shelf of the pantry.

  “I’ll get it,” I offered.

  “No, no,” he said. “Let me do it.”

  With the handle of a broomstick, he knocked the box of pasta off the shelf and caught it in his lap. Grinning, he tossed aside the broom and went back to the boiling water to get started.

  “Looks like you’re all set,” I said, patting him proudly on the back. “Do you think you can hold down the fort while I check the basement?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The entrance to the basement was at the end of the hall. A set of rickety wooden stairs led into the damp, concrete-lined dungeon below. Thankfully, Alyssa had relieved me of the struggle to find the light switch. For good measure, I flipped the switch upward, just in case she decided to end her trick while I was downstairs. With careful footwork, I made my way into the basement.

  The basement of the Abram Mansion was home to many things, including the ancient and massive hot water heater that worked for this wing of the house. I had asked Jim to replace it, since its age and rust made it a fire hazard, but Ben had prioritized other renovations ahead of the heater. It chugged along, huffing and puffing like an old man with a cigar. Beyond the heater, the basement was cluttered with old hardware and tools. A circular saw with a rusty blade sat atop an old workshop table. A cleanly cut two-by-four waited for someone to finish cutting it, but from the looks of it, whatever project the wood belonged to had been abandoned long ago. Along the wall was a shelf piled high with old board games. Some of them looked as though they’d been sitting there since before the Abrams moved in. I didn’t recognize many of the dusty titles.

  The fuse box was in the far corner of the basement. I waded through the mess, carefully avoiding sharp corners and wayward items. When I reached the fuse box, I flipped each one out of ceremony rather than expectation. Somehow, I knew this wasn’t actually a fluke with the mansion’s electricity.

  �
�Alyssa?” I whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  I didn’t expect her to reply, at least not immediately. If Sammy was right, she didn’t like me very much, but maybe I could win her over with reassurances about the storm.

  “You don’t like thunderstorms much, do you?” I murmured, hoping my voice wouldn’t travel up the stairs to Ben’s ears. “I never liked them either when I was a kid. I didn’t like fireworks too. New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July were always nightmares for me. Loud noises made me jumpy.”

  I kept my tone low and soothing. Something flickered in the corner of my vision, as if someone had come down the stairs, but when I looked, there was nothing there.

  “Balloons, champagne bottles, firecrackers.” I shuddered, exaggerating the movement to catch Alyssa’s attention. “Count me out. Not for me.”

  Another glint of movement caught my eye by the hot water heater. Again, when I looked directly at it, there was nothing to be seen. A real shiver crept up my spine, but I tried not to show it, lest my anxiety scare Alyssa away from making contact with me.

  “But you shouldn’t let a little bit of thunder scare you,” I told the ghostly presence that had crept into the basement to accompany me. “That’s why you turned all the lights on, isn’t it? Because of the thunderstorm?”

  This time, a hazy figure appeared by the shelf of board games. It was about Sammy’s height, and I thought I caught a glimpse of red hair. I pretended not to see her, keeping my gaze focused on the stairway instead. When she nodded—an acknowledgement of our conversation—the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was talking to a ghost.

  “The good thing about thunderstorms is that they’re one of those things you can talk yourself out of being afraid of,” I told Alyssa. “Let’s go through it together, okay? First of all, we’re inside. The big strong walls of your house will protect you from the lightning, so the storm can’t hurt you, right?”