The Haunting of Abram Mansion

by Alexandria Clarke

  “Don’t you see?” she said. “She wasn’t like this before you arrived. It only happens when people come to our house. First, it was that crazy woman. Now, it’s you and your husband.”

  “What crazy woman? You mean Della?”

  “Della, yes,” said Penelope. “She was the first one who tried to help us. When will you stupid mortals realize we cannot be helped? You’re only making the situation worse.”

  “What do you expect to happen?” I demanded. “You think this house is going to stay empty for all eternity? It doesn’t work that way. This place is old money. Someone’s always going to want it.”

  “But you don’t,” Penelope pointed out. “So why don’t you leave this place?”

  “I would love to!” I told her. “But I can’t leave for another month because of my stupid grandfather!”

  Penelope swept a small bucket of thimbles to the floor in frustration. “Who is this grandfather you speak of? What’s his name?”

  “Andrew Anderson,” I scoffed. “So if you have a problem with the way I’m dealing with all of this, you can take it up with him! Let me know if you get a hold of him because I’d love to give him a talking to. Tell him to take this house and shove it up his—”

  “Your grandfather was Andrew Anderson?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Penelope waved a hand, and the thimbles picked themselves up from the floor and rearranged themselves in the bucket. If I didn’t already know Penelope was a ghost, I would have guessed she was actually a witch. Or a Jedi.

  “Andrew Anderson was my husband’s best friend for a brief period of time,” Penelope said. “Percy trusted him with everything: his money, his assets, even his life.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard,” I said. “Percy and Andrew were best buddies. So what?”

  “So what you haven’t heard is the real reason Andrew Anderson moved to Falconwood,” Penelope whispered, as if she feared our discussion would be overheard.

  I stopped fiddling with Penelope’s dress designs. She had my full attention. “Are you saying you know why Andrew abandoned my mother and grandmother?” Penelope shook her head, but the look in her eyes told me a different story. “Penelope, who was my grandfather to you?”

  “It’s not my secret to tell,” she whispered.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  She turned stern again, squaring her shoulders. “It’s not Alyssa’s secret either,” she hissed, “so don’t go prying my little girl for hints again. You won’t like what might happen if you do.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Penelope disappeared, but not before she knocked over the entire desk. I leapt out of the way as the sewing machine toppled over, tripped over the rug, and landed with a jolt on the hardwood floors. I groaned and rubbed my bruised tailbone.

  “Why can’t ghosts ever be straightforward?” I grumbled, pushing myself to my feet. “Just tell me what you want, Penelope!”

  The answer never came, and I figured Penelope wasn’t showing up again anytime soon. I was on my own again, but whether Penelope knew it or not, she had given me something to look for: the true reason for my grandfather’s disappearance to Falconwood and beyond. I’d already know Andrew held part of the secrets to the Abram Mansion, but this confirmed he’d been up to something, possibly without Percy’s knowledge. Were the two of them actually best friends, or had Andrew been cooking up something behind Percy’s back?

  Alyssa was still crying, but if I went looking for her, Penelope would surely have my head. I bit the bullet and headed downstairs, using the servants’ staircase again. There was something spooky and empowering about the hidden stairs. Using them made me feel like I knew the mansion’s secrets more than anyone else. The door to the stairs was even hidden in the paneling of the wall on the first floor. To exit, you had to pull a lever on the inside to pop the panel out of place. With relish, I yanked the lever and stepped into the first-floor corridor—

  A hand covered my mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” a deep voice whispered.

  I let out a shriek loud enough to pierce the eardrums of my captor, bit down as hard as I could on the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger, and jabbed my elbow as hard as possible into the gut behind me. My captor grunted and doubled over, and I took his momentary lapse in attention to make a run for it.

  My brain was sending me into flashback mode. Just a few days ago, Theo’s crazy ex-boyfriend had turned up at the mansion, intent on murdering us all. I would never forget the feeling of Dylan holding me around the neck and yanking me around by the roots of my hair. My breath came in short gasps. Panic set in. As I fled the first-floor corridor, light footsteps padded quickly along behind me. I was being followed.

  As I rounded a corner, I chanced a quick glance behind me. It was the man I’d found standing at my window that morning, his long hair and beard masking the true features of his face.

  “Wait!” he called in a whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

  His declaration terrified me more than anything. It was always the men who claimed not to hurt you who did most of the damage. I pumped my arms and sprinted into the next corridor. My feet slid on the rug, and I went tumbling down. The man advanced, getting closer to me as I scrambled up and ran on.

  “Help!” I screamed as I ran toward the foyer. Could anyone hear me from outside? “Ben, help! Help me!”

  As we careened into the foyer, the front door opened and Basil Gordon stepped inside. He took one look at the man pursuing me then picked up a fire poker and swung it at the man’s head. The man ducked and gave up his chase. He made a run for the back stairs, and Basil followed him into the kitchen. The door down there opened and slammed shut. I waited breathlessly, my hand over my heart as I tried to calm its rapid pace.

  The stalker of Falconwood had fixed his attention on me.

  26

  “He came out of nowhere.”

  Basil and Ben stood behind each of my shoulders. They both had their feet spread at shoulder-width and their arms crossed, doing their best imitations of the president’s bodyguards. Officer Hillary Spaughton, my favorite Falconwood policewoman, sat across from me at the kitchen table to take my statement.

  “So you led him through the first-floor corridor into the foyer,” she muttered, taking notes on a small legal pad. “That’s when Basil came in and chased him away?”

  “Yes, thank goodness.” I patted Basil’s hand when it came to rest comfortably on my shoulder. “I’m not sure what would have happened if Basil wasn’t coming inside to get a drink of water.”

  “And Basil, what happened when you chased the intruder out of the foyer?” Hillary asked.

  “He made a run for the back door,” Basil said. “I lost him in the garden. It’s a bit of a mess out there. As soon as he made it past the first set of topiaries, I couldn’t see him anymore.”

  “It was like he knew where the kitchen door was,” I added. “As soon as Basil went after him, he made a break for it. Do you think he’s been inside before?”

  Hillary scribbled another note on her pad. “Possibly. We’ve talked about the lack of security in the house before, and this isn’t the first or second time I’ve been here to take your report on an intruder.”

  “Yeah, but this time it’s not some crazy little kid crawling in through the doggy door,” Ben said, speaking at last. He’d been quiet for so long, I was starting to wonder if he’d inexplicably become mute. “We can’t have some dangerous stalker using our house as his motel. How are the police going to deal with this? I want immediate action.”

  “You’ll get it,” Hillary assured him. “This is the first real lead we’ve had on the stalker. We aren’t going to let it go by the wayside. I’ve already got a team combing the perimeter of your property. If he’s still here, we’ll find him. Did either one of you get a decent look at him?”

  “I was too busy running for my life,” I said. “All I saw was long hair and a shaggy beard.”

  “
Color?”

  “Light brown and gray.”

  Hillary wrote more notes. “No eye color that you can remember? Any other defining features?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about you, Basil?” Hillary asked. “Anything to add?”

  Basil cleared his throat. “Frankly, Officer Spaughton, I was too busy seeing red to get a decent look at the jerk’s face. Besides, I only saw the back of his head. He looked scraggly, but he wore an expensive coat. That’s about all I got.”

  “An expensive coat?” Hillary flipped to a new page and scribbled the note down. “How do you know it was expensive?”

  “It was made of mink hair,” Basil replied. “I highly doubt it belonged to him. Hell, he probably stole it from one of the closets upstairs. Those coats can sell for thousands of dollars.”

  Hillary tapped her pen against the notepad. “Hmm. Interesting. Sounds like he might have known how much it was worth. That means he either came from money or spent some time around rich folks.”

  “Or he was cold,” Ben suggested, “and he grabbed the first coat he could find.”

  Hillary nodded in acknowledgement as she stood up from the table and slipped the notepad into the pocket of her uniform. “I’ll let you know if we find any sign of the intruder on the property, and I’ll make sure someone cruises by here every few hours. A cop car should scare this guy off. Give me a call if you see him again or if you suspect he’s been in the house. You have my number?”

  “On speed dial,” I said.

  She tossed her coat over her shoulder. “I look forward to hearing from you, Peyton. Hopefully, it’s to tell me you haven’t seen hide nor hair of this guy. You know, I’m starting to think that the only crime in Falconwood happens at this damn house.”

  The next morning, as I was warming leftover coffee in the microwave because I was too lazy to make a fresh pot, Basil came through the kitchen carrying a shovel, pruning shears, and a huge box of black trash bags. He wore thick gardening gloves and the same boots he used to build the greenhouse.

  “Morning, Basil,” I said, taking in his haul. “I thought you and Ben were taking a break from the greenhouse building to work on the book today?”

  “Ben is.” Basil balanced everything in one arm as he filled his water bottle at the fridge. “He says he can at least start editing the first part of the book. It’s all about the theory of gardening, rather than the practice. Once we get the new greenhouse up and running, it will be absolutely glorious.”

  “I bet it will be,” I said, sticking my finger in my coffee to see if it was warm enough. “What’s with all the gardening supplies then?”

  Basil capped his water bottle and took a test sip. “I’m tackling that courtyard of yours today. It’s a mess.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I assured him. “Please, Basil. That’s not your job. We can hire someone to take care of the courtyard. It’s not your responsibility.”

  “If I’d been able to see the stone path, I could have caught the man who broke into your house yesterday.” Basil’s cheeks puffed out and turned red. “I won’t let something like that happen again, so I’m cleaning up the courtyard whether you like it or not, Mrs. Fletcher, and you can’t do anything about it.”

  “Well, okay then.”

  Without further ado, Basil hoisted all of his tools and proceeded to the courtyard. I leaned against the door and watched as he set everything down next to the first topiary. He flexed his fingers to make sure his gardening gloves were a good fit, shook open the first garbage bag, and began hacking away at the topiary’s overgrown branches. I shook my head and smiled. When it came to plants, there was no stopping Basil’s determination.

  My phone rang. I checked the caller ID, half-hoping it was Officer Spaughton calling to tell me they had the stalker in custody, but it was only Theo.

  “Hey, you,” I answered cheerfully. “Everything okay?”

  “Decidedly not,” Theo replied, her voice terse. “Did Sammy talk to you yesterday?”

  I reflected on my last afternoon with Sammy. “About what? He was pretty quiet for most of the day.”

  “He had another fit at school,” Theo said. “The principal called me at the end of the day to ask if Sammy had been diagnosed yet.”

  “Diagnosed for what?”

  “I have no idea!” she exclaimed. “But what if he’s right, Peyton? What if there’s something wrong with Sammy?”

  As Basil continued to shape the topiary, I decided I wanted a better view to watch him work. I took my coffee, my book, and my phone and moved upstairs. As I climbed to the next story in the house, I told Theo, “There’s nothing wrong with Sammy. Even if he does have something that needs to be diagnosed, there isn’t anything wrong with him. Just because a kid might have a behavioral disorder doesn’t mean he’s broken.”

  “He really didn’t say anything to you?” Theo asked. “The teachers said he was crying uncontrollably. They had to take him out of class again.”

  “He didn’t mention it to me,” I told her. “Maybe he didn’t want you to know. Why didn’t the school call me like they did the first time?”

  Theo scoffed into the phone. “I asked them the same thing. They told me Sammy needed to learn how to control his emotions so he could return to class. I think it’s bullcrap, but apparently it worked. He calmed down after an hour or so, and they made him do multiplication tables for the rest of the day.”

  I made it to one of the hidden balcony entrances and emerged onto the terrace. I looked down into the courtyard, where I could see the top of Basil’s head as he continued his work on the overgrown topiaries. Already, the one he was working on looked more like a rearing horse than a giant bush.

  “That’s good,” I told Theo. “I know it’s hard, but sometimes you have to let Sammy figure stuff out on his own. You’re not always going to be around to help him.”

  “He’s only six years old, Peyton.”

  “I know that,” I said. “But soon he’ll be ten, then fifteen, and before you know it, you’ll have a twenty-five year old on your hands who still lives at home and doesn’t know how to wash his own laundry.”

  Theo groaned. “Don’t remind me that he’s going to grow up. Just don’t.”

  I let out a laugh. “All I’m saying is to give Sammy a little space. You don’t have to be so overprotective. Dylan’s gone now, remember?”

  “Says the woman who got attacked by a stalker in her own house last night,” Theo reminded me. “You’re like a magnet for criminals.”

  “I’m not, but this house is,” I grumbled. Down below, Basil mounted a step stool to shape the leafy horse’s shoulder. “This place is full of ghosts.”

  Theo snorted. “I bet. Listen, I’m going out of town for a work thing in a few days. I’ll only be gone for one night, but I need someone to watch Sammy. Would you be able—?”

  “Of course,” I answered before she could finish the question. “You don’t have to ask. What’s the work thing?”

  “It’s a networking event,” she said. “The office is sending me as their representative. I might make some great connections.”

  I sipped my coffee. It had already gone cold. “That’s great, Theo. Well, I’m more than willing to take care of Sammy. We’re best buds. You know that.”

  “I do,” Theo said. “He tells me that you’re the best part of his day. I’m starting to get a little jealous.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I have no intention of replacing you. In fact, we should all hang out sometime! We haven’t had dinner in a while.”

  Theo sighed. “I’d love to, but I’m alway so exhausted after work. It’s all I can do to read Sammy a bedtime story before I shower and pass out myself. Maybe once everything calms down, we can get together again. For now, I appreciate how much you’ve been there for Sammy. He needs someone like you.”

  “It’s no problem at all.”

  “By the way, don’t worry about picking him up from school today,”
she said. “The office gave me the day off to take him to the doctor.”

  My whole body stiffened. “What kind of doctor?”

  “A psychiatrist,” Theo said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “I want to make sure Sammy gets the help he needs.”

  I clenched my teeth. Sammy didn’t need a psychiatrist to diagnose him with some disorder he probably didn’t have and force medication down his throat that he definitely didn’t need. What Sammy needed was to stop being haunted by his imaginary friend Alyssa and the suicide of his own father. A children’s therapist would be more helpful than a psychiatrist, but it wasn’t my decision as to what to do about Sammy’s health.

  “I hope it goes well,” I managed to say, hoping it came out naturally. Considering my clenched teeth, it probably didn’t. “Keep me posted. If you want to, of course.”

  “I will. See you later, Peyton.”

  I hung up without saying goodbye and tucked my phone into my pocket to stop myself from chucking it over the edge of the balcony. None of this was fair. Sammy shouldn’t be having mental breakdowns in the middle of class. He shouldn’t have to be analyzed by a doctor who cared more about pushing medication than the headspace of his patients.

  Watching Basil work helped me calm down. He knew his way around the courtyard as if it belonged to him. He trimmed the bushes, pruned the withering roses, and weeded the stone pathways. By noon, he had made significant progress. From the balcony, I could tell what the garden was supposed to look like. The path began at the back door and branched out in two different directions. One led through the rose garden and the other led through the topiary collection. Between the roses and the topiaries was the swimming pool. I imagined what it was like to go swimming on a gorgeous summer day. With the weather finally warming up, I considered asking Ben to fill the pool, but with all the “accidents” that occurred around the Abram Mansion, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to swim here after all.