by N. M. Howell
Yeah, Bailey doesn’t have a good track record for guys.
I met Brett for the first time around Halloween, and he really rubbed me the wrong way. I got a bad vibe from him, and, luckily, I only had to interact with him that one time. He pretty much disappeared after that, and I was grateful. Turns out my gut reaction to him was wrong, though, as it turned out he also worked for the Boston Police and was one of Jordan’s old colleagues. He certainly didn’t have Bailey’s natural exuberance, and it just took me a little while longer to get to know him. It was hard to get over that initial distain for him that I felt, even though deep down I knew I had no reason to feel that way towards him. In the end, he seemed to have turned out to be a pretty good guy.
“That’s why I’m so excited,” Bailey said, finally pulling her hands away from my shoulders. I thought she was going to shake me to death, and my coffee mug got dangerously close to spilling on the floor. I could forgive people a lot of things, but wasted coffee was not one of them.
“Okay, I’m intrigued. Why is this so exciting?”
“Well, it means we are going to be spending the night together in Boston, obviously. We haven’t spent the night together, yet, and I have a feeling spending the entire night—,” I clasped my hands over her mouth just as a family with a young child came through the door. I wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but I had a feeling it wasn’t family appropriate.
I pulled my hands back immediately as she stuck her tongue out between my fingers and giggled. “Oh, gross,” I muttered as I wiped my hands on my pants. “What are you, five?”
Her laughter was contagious, and before long, we were both bent over in a fit of giggles like school girls. Sometimes, that girl made me forget my age, which was a welcome treat on days like the one I was currently going through. I rubbed my hands along my arms for warmth as cool winter air blew into the restaurant as the newcomers came in from outside.
The family of three took a table right next to us as another group paid their bill and left. They were a young couple with a daughter who looked to be about four-years-old. She had beautiful blonde curly hair, and had sticky red stuff all around her lips from a lollipop she held in her hand. I turned my attention back to Bailey, but couldn’t help over hear what they were saying.
“Scarlet, listen to your father,” the mother was saying. “Look at him. Honey, look at me. Scarlet?” The girl was staring absent-mindedly at the wall beside her mother, an expression of complete emptiness on her small delicate face. The mother turned to her husband with a worried look on her face, but he simply shrugged.
“She’s a kid, Suzanne. Kids are weird. Just leave her be.” The man placed their order with the waiter as the woman, Suzanne, snapped her fingers in front of her daughter’s face. When the kid didn’t respond, she let out an infuriated groan and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.
“Scarlet, you were fine this morning. Are you sad about giving the piano to that old woman? Is that why you’re being this way?” She snapped her fingers again in front of her daughter’s face. The kid looked up momentarily into her mother’s eyes then stared up at the ceiling and remained transfixed with a light fixture above her head.
Bailey checked her phone and jumped out of her chair. “Oh, oops. I forgot I was meant to pick up something from Mrs. Pot’s bakery to bring home to Mrs. Brody. I shouldn’t be late.”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, you definitely don’t want to make Mrs. Brody wait. Remember last week when Jane was an hour late bringing her the newspaper?” The memory made me laugh even harder, and I clutched my stomach tightly in an effort to prevent another laughing fit.
“Jane had the newsprint tattooed on her face for two days!” Bailey nearly fell to the floor, she was laughing so hard.
I wiped a tear from my eye and finished my coffee in one final sip. “You’d better get going, then. God knows what she’d do to you if you were late bringing her treats from the bakery.”
“She’d probably turn me into a cupcake or something,” Bailey laughed. “All right, see you later, River. Hope you have a better day at work.” Bailey buttoned up her coat and left the restaurant with one last wave back to me as she walked out the door. I waved back and looked again to the two workers sitting in the booth. They hadn’t moved or said anything the entire time we were in the restaurant.
“Weird!” I said to myself under my breath.
I called goodbye to Jordan, who was still in the back room, and left a tip for the coffee on the counter as I casually walked by the booth and dropped a piece of paper that I had in my back pocket. It was actually my shopping list that I’d forgotten to take out earlier, but they weren’t meant to know that. I was hoping they wouldn’t look too close at it. A sly journalist’s trick I’d picked back at school from one of my favorite profs.
“Does this belong to either of you?” I asked a moment later as I bent down to pick up the piece of paper next to their table. Neither of the two men responded. I blew out an audible sigh and waved the paper in front of one man’s face. He slowly turned his gaze towards me and stared blankly at me with large empty eyes. I took a step back as my own eyes widened. I sensed a strange prickle of energy emanating from them. It wasn’t quite magic, or, at least, none that I had ever experienced before, but there definitely was something strange about the two men. I put the paper back in my back pocket and slowly walked away from their table. “Never mind, it must have just fallen out of my bag.” The man continued to stare at me, and I turned away from him, totally creeped out.
I scurried towards the door to put as much distance as I could between myself and the creepy men and looked back once more at the family before leaving. I noticed the small girl was still staring absently at the ceiling. Her parents had given up any attempt of drawing her attention back, but I could tell her mother was still worried. I didn’t know much about kids, but it did seem off that a girl of such a young age was able to stay so still and so calm for so long. Typically, they ran around destroying everything in their paths, didn’t they? Or made enough noise to make people want to smack them with an umbrella or something. At least, that’s the urge I get when kids run around me. I was no expert, but I suspected there was more going on than met the eye.
Why did I care? I rubbed my eyes and sighed, realizing it really had nothing to do with me, and I left the restaurant to return to work upstairs. It was a testament to how bored I was that I was so interested in Jordan’s patrons. JoAnn was waiting for me when I arrived, and, thankfully, she seemed full of energy. Unlike everybody downstairs.
She had a massive smile on her face, which usually meant we had a new story coming in. I smiled back as I grabbed my laptop from her desk and moved it to a small table at the back of the office. “What’s up? You look happy about something.”
JoAnn laughed and turned her laptop towards me. I squinted to see the tiny image on her screen and raised my eyebrows, waiting for her to explain.
“There have been all these strange rumors about some old rich woman who moved to town a while back,” JoAnn finally said. She scrolled through her laptop, cycling through a few images of a large, deserted-looking house.
“I recognize that house. It’s just down the street from where I live,” I said. “I didn’t think anyone lived there. The lights are never on.”
JoAnn nodded thoughtfully and smiled again. “Hence the rumors. A woman by the name of Regina Hemingway lives there, and, apparently, she is notorious for her art collection. One of the largest personal collections in the Eastern United States, or something like that.”
“Huh,” I said. “Never heard of her. We’re doing an article on her, I imagine?”
JoAnn smiled and nodded. “You are,” she corrected. “I’d like you to go today and ask her a few questions and take some photos. Is that all right with you?”
I glanced out the window and noticed the sun was already going down. It was evening, but if I got the interview done tonight, it would save a lot of time tomorrow to
write. I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll head over there right now.” It was hardly the scoop of the century, but after the dreary few weeks I’d had, I’d take it. I was actually quite excited about the prospect of looking at some expensive art. It sure beat staring at the puddles, that was for sure.
I grabbed a handful of the disgusting licorice candies on JoAnn’s desk that I seemed to be strangely addicted to, and popped one in my mouth as I waved goodbye. I was excited about the new project, and it felt good to get out of the office to investigate something new. I sucked on the candy as I walked down the street and immediately spat it out in a trash can when I rounded the corner. I furrowed my brow as I walked on, hardly recognizing myself anymore. I shrugged to myself as I walked towards my bike that I had chained to a nearby bench and couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips. Finally, something new to break the boredom.
Chapter 3
The sun had set by the time I arrived at the house.
The house was only a few streets farther than my own, and the trip only took fifteen minutes or so on my bike from downtown. Luckily, the rain had stopped, or it would’ve been a miserable ride. I parked my bike on the street, locked it to a light post, and made my way down the long winding driveway towards the mansion that was set back obscenely far from the road.
The house was beyond massive, and the photos JoAnn showed me on the computer screen didn’t nearly do it enough justice. The building was at least five stories high and sat at the edge of a large bluff, similar to the house I shared with my three housemates and Mrs. Brody down the road. It looked like the past owners had built onto the original home numerous times over the years, as turrets and balconies and other strange projections grew out of the structure at various locations. It was beautiful in a chaotic sort of way. The windows were boarded up, and it looked like no one had lived there in a century. Although, when I looked up, I noticed there was smoke coming from the chimney, so someone must have been inside.
I ran my fingers through my wind-tangled hair as I watched the thin wisps of smoke billow out from the large chimney. What sort of person lives in a house with boarded-up windows? I couldn’t help but wonder. I wasn’t convinced I wanted to know the answer, to be honest. I let out a slow breath as questions flooded my mind. I had a feeling it was going to be a fascinating interview.
The clouds rolled in overhead, and I looked up as lightning streaked across the sky. I counted three long breaths before the loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance. Just as I was about to step towards the entranceway, the sky opened up and rain poured down from the sky in buckets. I sighed audibly and tugged my jacket tighter around me. At least it had been dry for my bike ride.
I pulled my sorry excuse for a cotton hood over my head and ran eagerly forward, under the front veranda. I looked back over the property that extended out for what seemed like miles around the house in either direction along the bluffs. I could hear the faint crashing of the waves down beyond the rocks and wondered what this place would look like in the day time. In the evening, it held an eerie quality that reminded me of the haunted house the town had run during the Shadow Festival last October. A shiver made its way up my spine at the memory of it. Looking around the gloomy site, I understood why rumors of this place being haunted had spread.
I snapped a quick photo of the property, but struggled to fit everything into the frame. It was more for my own reference, anyway, as I was more likely to use photos of the interior of the house for my article. Lightning flickered again across the sky and cast a long shadow of my form against the front door. I counted two breaths that time before the thunder came. The storm was drawing nearer.
With camera in hand, I reluctantly walked up to the front door, careful as I stepped up the rickety stairs that looked as if they would give out at any moment. The wooden planks were splintered and soft, and the boards bowed slightly from the weight of my steps. I hesitated a few seconds before knocking on the door, and I held my breath as I listened through the doorway. I waited at least two minutes, but nobody answered. I knocked again. After a few more long moments when still nobody answered, I rang the doorbell and heard the high-pitched ring echo eerily from beyond the front door.
Again, no reply. But suddenly the door creaked open in front of me, and I jumped back a few feet in fright. My heart raced wildly in my chest as I stared wide-eyed at the partially opened door. “Hello?” I asked timidly into the silence. The darkness beyond the doorway became even darker as the house was illuminated by another flash of lightning. My call was answered only by thunder.
I stepped cautiously back toward the entryway and pushed the door open half-way. I poked my head through the threshold to look around, but couldn’t see through the darkness. “Hello? Mrs. Hemingway, are you there?” I called out. As expected, no one answered. I took a second step over the threshold and held my breath. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but I could have done without the eerie vibe I was reading from the house.
Mustering my courage, and realizing there was nothing that an old house could do to hurt me, I called again, “Hello? Is anybody there?”
My voice echoed down the hall, and I was met with more silence.
I reluctantly pushed the door the rest of the way open, and stepped inside over the threshold.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but as I looked, I was impressed with the enormity of the space around me. I was standing within a large entryway complete with massive curved stairs and hallways that led out in multiple directions. The room was two-storeys high, and was so dark I couldn’t see the ceiling above me.
My heart beat fast in my chest and a cold chill crept up my spine as the hollow emptiness of the space pressed against me.
“Hello? Mrs. Hemingway?” My voice came out a hoarse whisper. My words echoed around me and disappeared down the long hallways, consumed once again by the eerie silence of the home.
I held my hand against my chest and took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. Standing alone in the dust-filled room, I could understand why this place was rumoured to be haunted. It was beyond creepy, especially at night in the dark.
I reached my hand out and felt along the wall for a light switch, and was relieved when my fingers came upon a small metal plate adjacent to the door. I flicked the switch, but nothing happened. I let out an audible sigh and rubbed my eyes in frustration. It had been a long day. A long week, to be honest, and I had just about enough of this whole waiting around for something to happen, thing. I held back a yawn and rolled my neck side to side to ease the tension that had built up over my day as I tried to decide what to do.
I had less than two days write the story, so I couldn’t waste any time. I brought my phone out and looked at the time. It was only 7 o’clock. It was early enough that the owner wouldn’t be in bed, or anything.
I decided to have a look around, at least near the entryway, to see what I could find. Maybe she was in a back room listening to TV or something, and she just couldn’t hear me. She was rumoured to be extremely old, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she couldn’t hear my timid calls.
With my hands outstretched before me, I slowly made my way down the dark hallway adjacent to the stairs, running my hands along the wall next to me for guidance. My fingers felt dusty, and I jumped when my hand came upon a cobweb further down the hall. My heart raced in my chest, and a buzz of adrenaline flooded my body. I swore under my breath as I wiped the cobweb on my pants, and let out another deep breath as I tried to shake out my anxiety. I was a witch, for goodness sake. There was no reason for me to fear haunted houses. Not that the house was really haunted, or anything.
I thought back to the haunted house the town held during the shadow Festival last October, and remembered the immense power and energy I felt in the place due to the other paranormal beings.
I held my arms out and tried to see what spirits I could sense, and nothing but a small tingle of energy buzzed over my skin. The tingle was more li
kely due to my nerves than anything else, and the lack of obvious paranormal energy within from the house relaxed me somewhat.
Even if it was haunted, that didn’t mean anything bad. If anything, a ghost might be able to answer some questions for my article. The thought made me laugh, which echoed eerily down the hall for a long moment, before disappearing in the silence once more.
I ran my hands through my hair and took another deep breath and let it out slowly. I counted to ten and my heartbeat finally slowed in my chest. I was acting foolish, being afraid like I was. It was just the dark, and there was nothing there that could hurt me.
An image of an old woman with a shotgun then flashed in my mind, as I recalled the memory of watching some crappy TV show with my housemates last month on security and breaking and entering. I guessed I was technically breaking into her home, and this was America. I bit my lip as I peered through the darkness around me. I highly doubted an old lady was going to shoot me for entering her home. But then again, stranger things have happened.
I shook my head again and pushed that thought from my mind. The door had opened when I knocked, right?
“Mrs. Hemingway?” I called, louder this time. I heard something creak down the hall that made me jump. Holding my hand over my elevated heart rate, I pushed myself forward as I tried to see through the darkness at the end of the hall. I could barely make anything out, the hall was a mass of varying shades of black. But just as I changed my mind and began turning back towards the door, I saw a glimpse of a dark figure move at the end of the corridor.
Narrowing my eyes, I tried to make out what it was. It had moved fast, but it was too dark to see anything in detail. Could I have just imagined it? “Hello, are you there Mrs. Hemingway?” The sound of my voice echoed and slowly disappeared into the blackness.
I was now confident that there was something moving at the end of the hall. The room was consumed in blackness, but an even blacker shadow flashed again from one side of the hall to the other.