GHOST HOUSE REVENGE
by
Clare McNally
Copyright © 1981 by Clare McNally. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Don Congdon Associates, Inc.; the agency can be reached at [email protected]
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
Summer, 1975
The little girl clung to her father’s hand, feeling a warmth that made her happy and secure. It was a beautiful afternoon to be seven years old, and Alicen Miller was very happy. Her father smiled down at her, seeing the anticipation in her brown eyes. She was such a cheerful little girl!
They were standing on a corner, a block away from their apartment building, watching the cars that sped down the highway. Alicen and Derek were looking for one car in particular, a blue sedan that belonged to Alicen’s mother, Elaine. She had spent the last week in Maryland, attending the funeral of her only relative, Alicen’s great-aunt. Both Derek and Alicen missed her terribly.
“Now, listen,” Derek said. “Mommy might still be very sad, losing her aunt like that. After all, your great-aunt practically raised her. Now all she has are you and me.”
“I’ll be extra-special nice to her,” the little girl said in a sing-song tone.
Just then, they spotted Elaine’s car. Alicen jumped up and down, waving excitedly. Derek raised his arm to wave, too, but he never completed the gesture.
There was another car behind Elaine’s, about thirty yards away. It was weaving erratically across the highway and coming up on Elaine’s car—fast, too fast.
Desperately, Derek tried to signal her off the road. Reading his gestures, Elaine looked up into her rear-view mirror and saw the car behind her. Quickly she tried to turn out of its path, but it was too late. There was a loud crash, a screech of tires, and a scream.
Elaine’s car flew over a road divider, tumbling down a deep embankment. Derek felt his legs pull him forward. His arms stretched out as if he could grab his wife and save her.
“Elaine!”
This couldn’t really be happening. . . .
Derek’s legs gave way from under him as Elaine’s car went up in flames, and he fell to the sidewalk. His mouth dropped open, and his palms pressed hard against the warm sidewalk as he gazed at the inferno. He vaguely heard sirens, barely registered the sight of fire trucks and water-gushing hoses. He was too busy watching the fire and praying.
Please let it be a mistake. Please don’t let it be Elaine.
He pulled himself up onto his feet, his legs as heavy as tree trunks. Derek hardly felt the sidewalk underneath him as he walked toward the car. He heard humming in his ears—was it the whispers of the curious bystanders or the shouts of the paramedics? Or maybe it was the hacksaw they were using to get Elaine’s door open.
That’s not my wife, he thought.
Two hoses at last managed to still the flames enough for firemen to get inside the car and pull out Elaine. Or what was left of her. What had once been a beautiful woman was now a blackened mass. Not a woman. Not his Elaine.
Then he noticed the blackened hand. On one finger was a diamond ring—the ring Derek had given Elaine the day he had asked her to marry him.
He threw back his head and screamed. And then he felt a small, cool hand in his. He looked down and to his horror saw his little daughter standing at his side, staring at the flame-engulfed car.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered.
He grabbed Alicen into his arms and turned her away from the sight hugging her tightly as if to protect her. If only someone would protect him . . .
He heard laughter. Sweet, childish laughter that rose above the sirens and screams. It was Alicen’s laughter.
“Oh, daddy,” she said, “I made a mistake. Mommy isn’t coming home today at all. She’s coming home later on.”
She’s in shock, Derek thought. Thank God she’s being spared from all this. Thank God we both don’t have to suffer.
“Mommy will come home when she’s ready,” Alicen said. “When she wants to see me again, mommy will come for me.”
1
When the noon sun struck the mansion at the top of Starbine Court Road, its whiteness seemed to glow like a holy vestment, and anyone seeing it might have thought: “There is a good, beautiful old house.” And on this April Saturday, it seemed everything was good about the 185-year-old structure. Nothing set it apart from dozens of other Long Island mansions. Its large front porch faced the town of Belle Bay. Magenta azalea bushes ran from either side of the wooden steps to the rounded towers at its sides. These towers, added over a hundred years after the original Colonial mansion was built, made the house all the more breathtaking.
But those who had the powers to see beyond pretty flowers and inviting front porches would have known the house harbored a terrifying evil and that those who lived within its walls faced unspeakable dangers.
For now, though, all was well. Behind the house, two children were working on a corner of the back yard, which stretched for an acre to the thick woodlands that surrounded the house on three sides. Kyle and Gina VanBuren tugged hard at weeds and dug up rocks in preparation for a spring garden. Kyle found a fat grub and dangled it in front of his sister’s nose.
“Daddy, make him stop!” Gina cried, her mouth turning down in a grimace.
Their father looked up from the legal papers he was reading. Kyle was giggling, but he had put the worm down again. Gary smiled at him.
“You’re a rip, Kyle,” he said. “Be nice to your sister.”
Gina decided the incident had been funny after all and started to laugh. Both children rolled around merrily on the newly cut grass. Gary grinned at them, forgetting his work long enough to watch them play. He felt a surge of love for his two oldest children and decided that in the long run it had been a good idea to move from the city into this house. They would have to put last year out of their minds. It was over, and now it was time to enjoy their new home.
Gary looked up at the house. Although the front was somewhat gingerbready, the back was more true to the original Colonial style. His eyes roamed proudly across the back of the house. Suddenly they stopped at one particular window, which stood out because of its modern construction. The odd window brought back memories that made Gary shudder, and he forced them out of his mind. He quickly raised his eyes higher.
The weather vane at the peak of the roof needed straightening, he thought. Someone would have to come and fix the whole roof. The shingles were all curling up at the edges. Gary sighed to think that less than a year ago, he could have been the one to climb up there and do the job. But that was impossible now. He couldn’t even climb stairs.
Gary looked down at his legs, muscular after so many painful hours of exercise, and yet useless. His fingers wrapped around the arms of his wheelchair. He’d been confined to it for four torturous months, ever since an—intruder—had pushed him out of that hated upstairs window. That November night, when he had
become a cripple, had been so horrible that he and his family never talked of it.
He shivered, then pushed the accident from his mind and went back to his paper work. Gary refused to let the wheelchair hinder him. Maybe he couldn’t go to his office in the city, but he wasn’t about to give up on the law practice he had had for fifteen years. He had arranged with his partner to have all paper work sent to the house. Clients were handled over the phone and were invited to the house to discuss divorce settlements in his upstairs office. But he still longed to get back to his Manhattan office.
Well, Gary thought, sighing, that was impossible right now. As part of his rehabilitation program, he had to go to physical therapy sessions four days a week at a distant medical center. Gary worked himself hard and amazed the doctors by his progress. His bones were mended by now, and they said he would soon be able to walk on crutches. Nothing would make him happier.
“Daddy,” Gina said, interrupting his thoughts, “would you hold the bag open for us?”
“Sure,” Gary said.
He closed his briefcase. Lad, the Weimaraner puppy at his feet, jumped up from his nap, and Gary patted the puppy’s smooth, silver-brown head, then unlatched the brake of his chair. He wheeled himself toward the children. “When’s Mom coming home, anyway?” Kyle asked, obviously hungry for lunch.
“In a while,” Gary said, looking at his watch. “It’s just noon now.”
Gina had something else on her mind as she filled the plastic bag with debris. “Daddy, the school glee club is singing next Wednesday afternoon,” she said. “Can you come?”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Gary said. “I have therapy that day. I can’t miss it.”
“It’s okay,” Gina mumbled, though it was clear she was disappointed. A moment later she looked up and asked, “Do you mind going to the hospital so much?”
“I’d much rather jog on the beach,” Gary said, playfully flicking the long dark braid that hung down his thirteen-year-old’s back. “But therapy helps me, and the sooner I get out of this wheelchair the better.”
Having finished cleaning up the debris, Kyle put a twist tie on the bag and carried it to the barn. Gary couldn’t help smiling to see the grim expression on his son’s face. Though he was barely nine, Kyle was already a go-getter who considered no job too big. God bless my kids, Gary thought. They make it so much easier.
As Kyle turned back to the house, he saw someone move past the bay window of the dining room. She stopped, and through the lace curtains Kyle made out her blond hair. He waved. She did not wave back.
“Mom’s home!” he cried, racing toward the house. Lad ran after him, barking and wagging his tail.
Gary, wondering why he hadn’t heard his wife’s car, wheeled himself around the side of the house. The driveway was empty. For a few moments he stared in confusion at the strip of gravel.
“Hi, honey!” someone cried.
Gary jumped a little when an arm wrapped around him from behind and a kiss landed on top of his head. He turned so abruptly that his wife, Melanie, backed away from him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” Gary said. “I was lost in thought. Where’s the car?”
“You wouldn’t believe the trouble it’s been giving me. It stalled three times this morning, and then it died completely down on Houston Street. Nancy and I had to walk up the hill.
“I’m glad you were dose to home,” Gary said.
“Well,” Melanie said, shrugging it off, “the station wagon’s an old car. It was bound to start giving us trouble some time.”
“We’ll have the garage check her over,” Gary said. “Tell them to do a complete overhaul. I don’t want my wife driving a dangerous car.”
With that, he reached out and slid his hand around Melanie’s small waist, pulling her onto his lap. Before she could protest, his fingers weaved through her hair and squeezed the back of her neck. He brought her face to his and kissed her warmly.
“Love you,” he said.
“I love you, Gary,” Melanie replied. “Now, let me up. I’m much to heavy for you.”
Gary snarled playfully but let her go. He wouldn’t admit that under the weight of her body pain had shot through his legs. No less a man because of his wheelchair, Gary winked up at his wife.
“Never mind, Romeo,” Melanie said, turning him around. She pushed the chair toward the ramp. “I know that look in your eyes, but I’ve got three hungry kids in the house and a car full of groceries down the road.”
In the kitchen Melanie poured Gary a glass of beer, then steered Kyle and Gina out to help fetch the abandoned groceries. Gary grinned at his five year old, Nancy, who sat on the floor playing imaginary games with a stuffed yellow rabbit. “You’ve got a mustache, daddy,” she said, pointing a chubby finger.
Gary erased the offending stripe of foam with the back of his hand. Then he opened his arms, and Nancy ran to him.
“I want a ride!” she squealed, wriggling onto his lap.
Gary laughed, kissing her golden curls. He wheeled the chair toward the kitchen door, into the dining room and down the hallway. Nancy laughed with delight, trying to touch each brass doorknob as they raced past. Neither Gary nor his daughter knew they were being watched by a pair of malevolent eyes. A beautiful young woman stared at them, her heart almost set aflame with desire to destroy their happiness and their lives.
On Monday Melanie dropped Nancy off at kindergarten, then headed toward the medical center with Gary. She hummed softly as she drove, enjoying the scenery.
“Long Island is so beautiful in the spring,” she commented. “I’m so glad we moved here from the city.”
Gary mumbled a reply, staring out the window. He was thinking how much he hated these long drives. In truth, he hated them less than the fact that he himself was not doing the driving. Melanie recognized his frustration and tried to cheer him up.
“Dr. Norton says you’re doing remarkably well,” she said. “Pretty soon, you’ll be able to stop coming here.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” Gary said.
At the clinic Gary was greeted by his doctor, a middle-aged woman with a perpetually sunny disposition.
“My colleagues and I had a meeting about you this morning,” she said. “We’re all very impressed by the progress you’ve made. Looks like you’ll be out of this wheelchair in a few weeks, Gary. And there isn’t anything you’re doing here that couldn’t be done at home, under the care of a private therapist.”
Gary smiled broadly and said excitedly, “When do I start?”
Dr. Norton laughed. “Next week, possibly. I know a fine therapist who is available. His name is Derek Miller, and I recommend him highly.”
“Then he’s the one,” Gary said. “Uh, what sort of setup will it be? Does he live near Belle Bay?”
“He’s from New Jersey,” Dr. Norton said. “I’m sure he could find an apartment near your house.”
“When we’ve got lots of extra bedrooms? He’d be welcome to stay with us.”
“I haven’t finished telling you about him,” she cautioned.
“Why would I have any objections?”
“Because Derek hasn’t done private work in three years,” Dr. Norton said. “You see, he’s a widower with a teen-age daughter. If you were to board Derek, you’d have to take in Alicen, too.”
“That’s okay,” Gary said. “There’s nothing wrong with the kid, is there?”
“No, nothing really. She’s rather shy. She wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“I’m sure,” Gary said. “Listen, I want to discuss this with Melanie before I give my final answer. But I can’t see any problems.”
The entire family was sitting around the dinner table that night when Gary announced his news. The children were delighted. Now their father would be able to spend more time at home. They asked dozens of questions about the therapist and his daughter. Melanie, however, remained silent. Gary looked at her,
not understanding the worry in her eyes. But he decided it was best to discuss her objections in private.
Later that night, as they lay in bed, their arms entwined, Melanie told Gary of her fears. “I just don’t think it’s safe to bring people into this house,” she confessed.
“Why not?” Gary asked. “We certainly have enough room. And if the extra housework is too much for you, we’ll hire a maid.”
“I can get along fine without a maid,” Melaine said. “Gary, you know what I’m talking about. You know what happened last year! What if it happened again? What if . . .”
“That is over, darling,” Gary said. “We promised not to talk about it, remember?”
“Perhaps we should talk about it,” Melanie said. “Let’s get the statement out in the open, Gary. Our house was haunted. And not by nice harmless ghosts flitting around in white sheets. What’s our guarantee that the ghost won’t come back again?”
“I just don’t think it will,” Gary said firmly. “You know, lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”
“Yes, it does,” Melanie protested.
“What do you expect me to tell the man?” he demanded. “ ‘You’re taking this job at your own risk, Miller. We once had a ghost in our house who may come back again’?”
“Stop making fun of me,” Melanie said. “I think my fears are justified.”
Gary’s expression softened as he bent to kiss his wife. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But don’t you see how much this means to me? I hate going to that medical center. It would be easier for me—and for you. Just look at all the time you take out of your painting just to drive me.”
“That never bothered me,” Melanie said.
“Look, Melanie,” Gary said. “Nothing is going to happen. I want this so badly that I’ll go ahead and do it in spite of your objections. But please say it’s all right with you!”
His eyes were so like a little boy’s that Melanie felt herself melting. She nodded slowly.
“All right,” she said. “All right, do what you want. I’m just being ridiculous.”
“No, you’re not,” Gary said. “But don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Ghost House Revenge Page 1