Ghouls Rush In

by H. P. Mallory

  Officer Gunner smiled lazily at him. “When the time is right.” Then he offered me a bemused smirk before stalking off to join the other officers who were getting ready to check the house.

  “I said you were innocent,” I told Ryan, shrugging all the while.

  “We’ll let him go soon,” a female officer announced, appearing on the opposite side of the squad car. She gave me a quick smile before watching the officers approach the house, their guns drawn but pointed down at the lawn. She glanced over at me again. “They just have to make sure everything’s okay inside, and that your stories match up.”

  “That our stories match up?” I repeated, at a loss as to why they wouldn’t.

  She shrugged and glanced back at Ryan with distrust. “Sure, he could have threatened to hurt you if you didn’t do as he said.… We never know what’s going on in these sorts of situations, so it’s best to assume everyone is guilty and go from there.”

  I nodded, figuring it made sense, but whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty? Especially since the neighbors were now gathering along the street, wearing a wide array of colorful robes, pajamas, and furry slippers. They looked like a pack of zombies who just raided the sleep section of J. C. Penney.

  Fifteen minutes later, the officers emerged from my house empty-handed. They didn’t find anything or anyone, and from the expression on most of their faces, I wondered if they thought I’d just imagined the whole situation.

  “We’ll complete a report, and if anything happens again, give us a call,” Officer Gunner announced, mostly to me, even though he was standing between Ryan and me. Another officer was busy releasing Ryan from his handcuffs.

  “Okay,” I said as I exhaled deeply and tried to figure out what it meant if no one was in my house.

  “Just be sure to lock all the windows and doors,” Officer Gunner continued. “And if you’re still uncomfortable, consider getting a dog, maybe motion lights or a security system.”

  “Thanks, Officer, but I can take it from here,” Ryan interrupted with a definite frown, apparently ill at ease with the way the officers had treated him; or maybe it was the flirtatious smile the handsome policeman was still in the process of giving me.

  “Thanks, Officer Gunner,” I said with a sincere grin, although I couldn’t get my mind off what in the hell I heard if it hadn’t been footsteps.

  You heard footsteps, Peyton! I shouted at myself. You know you heard them!

  “If you’re still too shaken up, you might consider staying with a friend tonight,” Officer Gunner continued, his smile going beyond suggestive.

  “She can stay with me,” Ryan interrupted.

  I didn’t say anything because I really didn’t know what to say. I was tired—no, I was beyond exhausted. In the course of the last hour, I’d uncovered a mystery that took place nearly one hundred years ago; my house had been broken into, even though no one seemed to believe me; and now Ryan was inviting me to stay the night at his house?

  I first glanced at Ryan—he was scowling at Officer Gunner, who was still smiling at me—before I took in the throng of my neighbors, who were all whispering to each other. I needed nothing more than a few shots of Patrón.

  If you’re nervous about bein’ alone tonight, Peyton…” Ryan started, and actually seemed somewhat tense himself as he led me back into my house. He dropped his eyes to the floor before bringing them back to mine again. This was after he cracked his knuckles on both hands twice. “I meant what I said—you can stay at my place.” He cleared his throat and quickly added, “I have quite a few guest rooms.”

  I would’ve been nervous about everything that had just unfolded if I were living in my house. But, really, what was there to be scared about when I was headed back to the Omni hotel shortly? It was now maybe ten minutes since the police had left and it was also nearly midnight. The officers had spent another twenty minutes or so ensuring that Ryan’s gun was registered and he possessed the proper permits to carry it. Once they were content that he was completely legal, they went on their merry way. Well, all except for Officer Gunner. The handsome man (who, I imagined, was also quite the Don Juan) asked me twice if I felt comfortable being left with Ryan, to which I, of course, responded affirmatively. Then, as if sensing his window was closing, Officer Gunner immediately announced he would be getting off work soon and would happily return to keep me company. After seeing Ryan’s expression of disbelief mixed with extreme irritation, I politely declined.

  And as to Ryan? Although the idea of spending the night at his house was akin to eating Toblerone when you’re PMSing, I knew I had to decline. Why? Because I wasn’t sure Ryan truly meant to invite me. Instead, it seemed more likely that he simply asked in order to keep Officer Gunner from getting any ideas about seeing more of me.

  Despite Ryan’s reiteration that I was free to stay the night at his place, I still wasn’t sure he wanted me to. And worse, I didn’t want him to feel like I’d backed him into a corner. The more I considered it, the more it occurred to me that Ryan seemed hesitant about the whole thing, like he was uncomfortable with the idea. That was enough for me to begrudgingly decline. Truthfully, however, I could think of nothing more wonderful than driving away my fears and concerns in Ryan’s arms. With an inward sigh, I promised myself that if and when Ryan ever invited me over to spend the night again, it would be for the right reasons—not because he felt roped into it.

  “I’m fine, Ryan, but thanks, I really appreciate it,” I said with a quick smile that I hoped seemed genuine. The smile deepened as I realized how grateful I was to have him in my life. I couldn’t imagine going through everything I just had without him. “I mean it, I really do appreciate everything,” I repeated for emphasis.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” he continued, eyeing me skeptically. “I can give you a lift to the hotel if you’re too frazzled to drive?”

  I shook my head. “Really, I’m fine. I can drive.” I laughed as if to prove I was just as okay as I pretended to be. Although I was still a bit shaken up, I didn’t see how staying at Ryan’s or asking him to drive me to my hotel would help. Besides, he’d already gone above and beyond for me. I winced as I recalled everything he’d had to endure in the last hour, and all on my account. “I’m so sorry you had to go through…all that.”

  “It was to be expected,” he answered noncommittally with a shrug before glancing out the front window again, checking to see if all the neighbors had gone back to bed. Looking back at me, he smiled, holding up three fingers. “Three left.” Then his gaze returned to the street and he shook his head, seemingly annoyed. “Nosy bastards!”

  A laugh died on my lips as I eyed the foyer of my house again, trying to figure out just what the hell had happened over the last two hours. Despite my repeated attempts to make sense over the police not finding anything or anyone, none of it added up.

  “What’s on your mind?” Ryan asked, reacting to my silence.

  I shook my head as I faced him, the worry gnawing at my lips and eyebrows. “If no one was in my house, I just don’t understand what those sounds could have been. I mean…I heard footsteps. I know I heard them!”

  Sighing, Ryan cocked his head to the side before staring out the window again, this time holding up two fingers. He faced me with a boyish grin. “You heard Officer Dreamy…”

  I laughed, recalling Officer Gunner’s handsome face and pretty green eyes. Officer Dreamy was a good nickname for him, I had to admit. But of course, I wasn’t going to admit that to Ryan, who was clearly not one of the policeman’s fans. “Officer Dreamy? Really?”

  Nodding, he chuckled a deep, hearty, and infectious sound. “I saw the way he was lookin’ at you, an’ my Lord, how many times was he goin’ to ask if you were okay stayin’ with me?” He shook his head as he threw his hands up in the air in mock frustration. There was something that made me incredibly happy at Ryan’s response—it appeared that Officer Gunner really ruffled Ryan’s tail feathers. And I could only wonder if that me
ant Ryan was—dare I say it?—jealous?

  “You have a point,” I conceded with a small smile. I figured there was no reason to try and figure out if Ryan was jealous, because ultimately, what did it really matter? Yep, that was a good line of thinking, I firmly decided. Whatever was meant to happen with Ryan or wasn’t meant to happen would reveal itself. I intended to remain an innocent bystander.

  “At any rate,” Ryan continued, apparently returning to our previous conversation and eyeing the window again. “Still two,” he said softly, as if to himself. He turned from the window and faced me fully. “Officer Gunner was right—your intruder could have hightailed it out the back door and none of us would have noticed.”

  “The back door was still locked from the inside, Ryan,” I argued, trying to ignore the rock taking shape in my stomach. Pondering the facts over the last two hours was making me nauseous.

  “Or maybe he opened a window an’ crawled out?”

  I shook my head. “The police said they checked every window on the first floor, and they were all either painted shut or still locked from the inside.”

  Ryan nodded but didn’t look convinced. “The upstairs windows?”

  I frowned. “If he chose that route, he’d either be dead or, at the very least, wounded somewhere in the bushes around the house.” I took a deep breath. “That’s a long fall.” I took another breath. “Besides, the police checked the perimeter of the house, remember?”

  Ryan nodded and became quiet for a few seconds as he ran his hand through his wavy hair and expelled a breath, looking like a frustrated god. Good Lord, did the man have no idea how incredibly attractive he was? He finally faced me with an expression that suggested I probably wouldn’t like what was going to come out of his mouth next. “Well, honey, maybe you’ve got yourself a genuine—how should I say this?—ghost?”

  I immediately scoffed at him, my eyebrows rising on their own accord. “A ghost? Really, Ryan? Next, are you going to tell me Scooby and Shaggy are coming to solve the mystery?” I crossed my arms against my chest and frowned. “And wouldn’t you know it? I’m fresh out of Scooby Snacks.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender, a smile forming on his mouth. “Hey, back down, Ms. Uptighty-Whities.” I laughed as he shook his head, the smile vanishing from his lips. His expression conveyed more gravity, or more than before. “This isn’t Los Angeles, Peyton. N’awlins is much more open-minded when it comes to that sort of stuff.”

  I tried to decide if he was still trying to pull one over on me. I mean, we were talking about ghosts, things that went bump in the night, things that I was afraid of as a kid. But that sort of stuff was exactly that—kids’ stuff. None of it was real. “So you’re telling me you believe in ghosts?”

  He shrugged again but seemed a bit ill at ease with the conversation, almost like he wasn’t sure what he believed, or maybe he felt uncomfortable admitting it. “Let’s just say I don’t disbelieve.”

  For a few moments, I quietly started to consider whether or not I’d simply been visited by someone from the beyond. In lots of ways, having a ghost made sense—well, if ghosts actually existed. I faced Ryan again and sighed, not liking where the conversation was headed or that I was about to recite some facts that might support his observation, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m not saying I agree or believe in anything we’re talking about right now, but just in support of your argument, even though I am definitely, one hundred percent, not convinced…”

  “I get it, Peyton,” Ryan said with the hint of a smile.

  “Right before I heard the footsteps, the temperature in the room became arctic.” I shivered, remembering how cold it was. “It got so cold in that room, I could see my breath.”

  Ryan nodded but didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “Sounds pretty haunted to me.”

  I was quiet for a few seconds as I reconsidered it. Wasn’t that what all those ghost encounter shows touted? That spiritual manifestations caused the temperature in the room to freeze? I threw my hands in the air and shook my head, immediately forcing the ridiculous notion right out. “Oh my God, this is completely crazy! We’re trying to convince ourselves that my house is haunted!”

  Ryan didn’t seem fazed though. He simply continued studying me before he shrugged. “Well, last I heard, burglars can’t magically control the indoor climate and drop the temperature until you see your own breath.”

  I frowned and then sighed. “Maybe it was just a cold wind. This is an old house and, no doubt, drafty…”

  “A cold wind?” Ryan repeated, with a raised brow expression that said he wasn’t buying whatever I was hawking.

  “Yes, it could have been a breeze.”

  “That blew into the guest room, when no windows or doors were open in your entire house, and the place doesn’t have air conditionin’?” Ryan interrupted, this time raising his other brow.

  I frowned because I didn’t have any rebuttal. He was right. There was no reason for the temperature to plunge so low, much less so quickly.

  “If it looks like a ghost, smells like a ghost, sounds like a ghost,” Ryan started. He had that dimpled, winning smile on his mouth, making him look like a thirteen-year-old boy after stealing a kiss.

  “One other point that I did find interesting…” I interrupted, consciously ignoring his dimples, as well as the idea of kissing him.

  “Yes?”

  I cleared my throat, momentarily forgetting what I was about to say. “Um,” I started, shaking my head as I ordered my mind to get back into gear. Luckily, my previous thought reentered my head, sparing me from looking even more stupid than I already did. “I never heard footsteps going up the stairs in the first place. It was like they just materialized in the master bedroom, directly above me.”

  “Maybe that’s where your haunt spent his last moments of life?” Ryan asked in a level tone, like he wasn’t surprised in the least that my house might be haunted, but rather, like he was already convinced it was.

  I stared at him with a vacuous expression for the span of a few seconds before shaking my head. “This is absurd, Ryan! We’re talking about a haunted house! We’re actually considering that everything that just happened was because of a ghost?”

  “Haven’t we already established that?”

  “No!” I shook my head, still trying to wrap it around the idea that the footsteps belonged to someone deceased, someone ethereal, someone ectoplasmic. “But…but you called the cops, Ryan! You don’t call the cops on a ghost!”

  He shrugged, seemingly nonplussed by the conversation. His expression revealed so little surprise, we might as well have been talking about the weather. “I didn’t realize it was as simple as a hauntin’ when I called the police,” he replied. “But, now, I’d say your problem isn’t an intruder, but rather a specter.”

  “I’m not there yet,” I admitted. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Ryan grinned. “Then, honey, it’s probably about time you started!”

  Sitting in my bed at the Omni hotel, I tried to persuade myself to sleep. It was now one a.m. and despite my exhaustion, my mind continued racing. Thoughts about my house beleaguered me—specifically, whether or not it was haunted. Had I encountered something not of this earth? And if so, how could I tell said ghost to leave? Should I host a séance? Get a priest to bless or cleanse the place? And more importantly, how in the world did one go about doing either of those things? It wasn’t as though they taught Séances 101 in school, or like you could buy an exorcism kit from Target. Lastly, I didn’t know the first thing about contacting, let alone evicting, the dead!

  My mind wasn’t only centered on the idea that I was now roomies with the dead. My thoughts alternated back and forth between ghosts and Ryan. I kept wondering if I should have taken him up on his offer to stay in his house. Passionate, erotic sex was probably the best antidote to getting one’s mind off the idea that her house could very well be haunted. Of course, who was I really kidding? It’s not as though sex was sitting on th
e table between Ryan and me.

  That, my dear, is called wishful thinking, I said to myself.

  Whatever it’s called, go to sleep! I barked back angrily.

  Feeling slightly offended, I closed my eyes and tried to count sheep; but once I got to fifty, I figured it wasn’t working. Allowing my mind to travel where it would actually ended up being a good thing because, before I knew it, I woke up only momentarily to roll over and change position before I fell asleep again.

  I was in the master bedroom of my house. Even though there wasn’t a doubt in my mind where I was, the room looked completely different. My attention was first drawn to the dark walnut floors, which I instantly recognized, only now they were less faded and worn. The richness of the wood grain seemed restored somehow—newer, fresher. My eyes followed the length of the floor to where it met the wall. Then my gaze shifted up to three floor-to-ceiling windows. I knew the view outside these windows well—a sprawling green and white mansion on Eighth Street. Except when I glanced outside the window now, my neighbor’s house was blue and white, and the oak trees surrounding the house were much smaller.

  I shook my head, finding it hard to figure out how or why everything appeared so different. Then my attention fell on the heavy, navy-blue curtains beside the row of windows. They corresponded nicely with the charcoal-gray walls. But the walls in this room were covered in old ivy wallpaper. And where did the navy-blue curtains come from?

  “We meet at last, ma minette.”

  I twirled around so quickly, I felt dizzy. Or perhaps the faintness was caused by the increased blood flow to my heart, which suddenly pounded apace.

  “Y-you!” I said, hardly recognizing my own voice as extreme shock grasped my brain and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t know why or how, but I recognized the man instantly. It was his intense eyes, which I now realized were dark chocolate. A slight smile made his sculpted cheekbones more pronounced. His nose was just as chiseled as his square jaw, and his tanned olive complexion revealed an affinity for the sun. Staring at the physical embodiment of the policeman I’d seen in the newspaper clippings lining the guest bedroom downstairs, it suddenly occurred to me that his hair was just as dark as the walnut floors.