The Siren and the Spectre

by Jonathan Janz

  Her most dramatic reaction occurred with his revelation about the video. “And you have this with you?” she said. “The footage?”

  “Yeah, it’s….” He gestured toward the athletic bag.

  “Can I watch it?” she asked, smiling a little.

  They viewed it together, and though David’s spine still tingled at the sound of the footsteps, when the figure appeared this time, it wasn’t quite so unsettling.

  “You think that was your friend?” she asked when the figure had passed.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Who else?”

  “Someone they hired?”

  “It’d take a pretty brave actor,” he said, “to stake out the third floor of a haunted house.”

  “I saw him the other night.”

  David’s legs went numb. “What do you mean you saw him the other night?”

  “The night of the storm,” she explained. “The weather was haywire until, what, three in the morning?”

  “About that,” he said, remembering how Mike Jr. had kicked in his sleep.

  “Sebastian hates storms,” she said. “Storms and fireworks. He shivers all through a storm, so I don’t sleep much either.”

  “He sleeps in your bed?”

  “Best bed partner I’ve ever had,” she said. “No snoring, no hogging the blankets. Anyway, he kept me up most of the night, and by the time the downpour ended, I was just…awake. You ever get to that point? Where you know you’re not going to sleep, so you get up and do something?”

  He nodded.

  “The storm had blown over, so I decided to assess the damage. You know, see if my dock was still there….”

  She frowned, her voice lowering. “There wasn’t much damage, just downed branches and a lot of leaves. But I wondered if the island had been affected. I swam out there—”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Why not?”

  “Gutsy.”

  She smiled. “It’s just an island, Davey.”

  A chill whispered over him at the name.

  She didn’t appear to notice. “I was walking the shore of the island when I turned toward the Alexander House.”

  “I wish I’d been awake.”

  “The storm was over, but there was lightning in the distance. Enough to see by.” Her voice went quieter. “There was a figure in your yard. It was looking at the house.”

  David’s mouth was dry. “In the backyard?”

  She shook her head. “He was on the right side of the house…to the east. It looked like he was staring at the room over there.”

  The master suite, David thought. Where he and the kids had been.

  Jesus.

  David cleared his throat. “Did you, um, get a look at—”

  “It’s a goodly distance,” she said. “But it looked like he was wearing a light-coloured shirt and dark pants.”

  David stared at her. She’d seen the footage, of course, but her green eyes betrayed no sign of duplicity.

  “You think I’m making this up?” she asked.

  “I can’t think of any reason why.”

  “Well,” she said, “if I liked you, I might participate in the ghost story to get closer to you.”

  “If you liked me?”

  “Merely a hypothetical.” Her eyes shone with mirth.

  David said, “Seeing someone in the yard – even if it was the man in the video – doesn’t mean it was a ghost. In fact, it lends credence to the notion someone is having me on.”

  “Your friend Chris…is he a tall guy?”

  “Not exceptionally.”

  “That’s why I think it’s an actor.”

  He nodded. “The more I think about it, the harder it is to believe that Chris would sit up there in that attic waiting for a chance to scare me. Whoever was up there, he couldn’t have known when I was going to enter the long bedroom. It has to be sweltering up there.”

  “He could have brought a cooler, ice packs to keep himself from overheating.”

  “Chris was never what you’d call rugged.”

  “So what’s your next move?”

  He looked at her, the glass halfway to his lips.

  “With the house,” she explained. “What other gadgets can you use?”

  “Not many. There are a couple other things, but they’re just…silly. I only use them to placate the ghost nuts.”

  “Are you sleeping in the house again tonight?”

  “Where else would I stay?”

  “One of the motels in town.”

  “Oh.”

  She sat forward. “You didn’t think I was going to invite you here, did you?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Her mouth opened in an incredulous smile. “You did!”

  “Hey, let’s just—”

  “You were hoping to parlay this into sex.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  “Don’t deny it,” she said. “I see the way you look at me.”

  He tried to swallow, couldn’t. “I’ll admit I find you attractive.”

  “Is that so?” She sat up primly.

  “But we just met.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I have too much respect for you….”

  She gave him a flat look.

  He flailed a hand. “For women in general….”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “Have mercy,” he said. “I swear you and Harkless are in on this together.”

  Her laughter was lighter this time.

  It relaxed him. A little.

  He glanced at her. “I would like to take you to dinner though.”

  “I don’t know if we’re there yet.”

  “Six o’clock?”

  “Consider it a probationary date. But how do we prove you’re being hoaxed?”

  “Catch the guy who’s playing Judson?”

  “The guy you hope is playing Judson.”

  “Man, why did you have to say that?”

  * * *

  He peeled off his still-damp shorts in the tiny downstairs bathroom of the Alexander House and told himself not to get too excited. It was just a date, after all. He’d gone on hundreds of them.

  Not with someone as interesting as Jessica.

  He twisted on the shower. While the water heated up, he brushed his teeth, guzzled a cup of water. It was well water, dank and slightly eggy, but it didn’t bother him. He’d never been the sort to require purified water that had been collected from some glacial mountain pass.

  He climbed into the shower, let the steamy water spray over him. Damn, it felt nice. He turned up the heat a speck, closed his eyes.

  He’d washed his hair this morning, but because of his impending date with Jessica he decided to do it again and eliminate any river residue. He didn’t think he smelled like fish, but images of the turd-coloured minnows darting around his legs kept recurring, and he wanted to be sure he didn’t stink. He worked the shampoo in, exulting in the seething assault of the showerhead.

  Hands closed over his shoulders.

  David gasped, thrust out against whatever was in the shower stall with him, but the shampoo suds streamed over his eyes, stinging them. The skin against his fingers was pliant and warm, and for a crazy moment he thought, Jessica?

  The hands slithered over his chest, and he heard laughter. He blinked the suds away, grimaced as the burning in his eyes intensified. He placed a hand on the invader’s chest – his fingertips encountering full breasts – and raised his face to the showerhead. The spray washed over him, needling his eyelids and ameliorating some of the sting. When he turned his head and dragged a hand over his smarting eyes, he finally realised who’d invaded his house.

  Honey, horribly and gloriously naked, her hands cupping her ample breasts, her
tongue licking across her upper lip.

  “What…the fuck…is wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “Not a thing, darlin’,” she said. She fondled her nipples, which were taut nubs. “Not a thing.”

  David reached for the shower door.

  But Honey was there, her fleshy hip bumping his hand away. He caught a glimpse of her sodden light brown bush.

  “Here,” she said, fingers closing over his penis, “let Honey take care of you.”

  He smacked her hand away, hissed as her thumbnail scratched his glans. “What the hell?”

  “We’re both adults, David,” she said, closing in. Her breath was heavy with alcohol, her fingers insistent on his chest. “Don’t pretend you don’t wanna be inside me.”

  He stepped to his right, but not only was the coffin-like space too tight for him to slip past, the low-hanging showerhead slashed his temple. He brought his fingers to the wound, was amazed to discover blood there.

  “Let me help with that,” Honey said, and took his bloody forefinger into her mouth. He jerked away, but her hands swarmed over him, one rubbing his testicles, the other grinding the crack of his ass.

  “Hey,” he growled, “get your goddamned—” He slapped her hands away. He endeavoured to squeeze by on her left, but she pressed her body against his, laughing huskily. Her fingers slithered over his genitals.

  “Let’s slip this beast inside,” she breathed into his ear.

  David seized her by the arms, swung her to the back of the shower stall.

  Upon impact with the hard plastic wall, Honey’s eyes widened. “Oh, baby, I love it rough!”

  She reached for him, but he was pushing away, his heel kicking open the frosted-glass door. She lunged for him, but he was out, and before she could grab him again, he shouldered through the bathroom door, hurried through the den, made it to the master suite just as he heard the slap of footsteps behind him. He looked up as Honey, soaking wet and somehow terrifying in her birthday suit, stumbled into the den, spotted him, and began an ungainly dash in his direction.

  “Oh don’t you—” she started, but he slammed the door on her, slid shut the lock. She actually thumped against the door, shouting something unintelligible, and began hammering on the wood. David backpedalled, looked around to find something, anything, to improve his predicament.

  A landline phone on the nightstand. Thank God.

  He only hesitated for a moment before calling the sheriff’s office. Georgia Harkless might enjoy busting his balls about this, but he thought she’d believe him. If their conversation last night had been any indication, she wasn’t a fan of Honey Shelby either.

  “You open the door right now, you goddamned queerboy!” Honey shouted.

  The phone rang twice before a woman picked up. Harkless wasn’t in, but they could radio her and have her come out. “Please do that,” David said. “It’s urgent.”

  “There’s a deputy closer,” the woman said. “Want me to send him?”

  He considered. “Better make it Sheriff Harkless.”

  He rang off.

  Honey pounded on the door. “What’s the matter, Caine? You not man enough for me?”

  “Go back to your husband,” David shouted. Thought about the Shelby children. “Better yet, go jump in the river.”

  The door trembled under Honey’s blows. “Open the door, you fuck!”

  David bit down on his response. The door continued to rattle in the jamb for a good thirty seconds. Then, with a series of muttered expletives, Honey’s footfalls squelched away. He stared at the closed door, thinking, Did she walk over here naked, or are her clothes somewhere in my house?

  He listened intently, hoped Honey wouldn’t attack the door again. He wondered if this was how Shelley Duvall felt in The Shining.

  But instead of renewing her assault, Honey went out the front door. At least that’s how it sounded. He wouldn’t put it past her to feign an exit and jump him the moment he opened the bedroom door.

  He remained there, listening, for a long time.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later there was a knock from the front porch.

  David put his hands on the bedroom door, leaned closer, and listened.

  “Mr. Caine?” a woman’s voice called.

  Sheriff Harkless.

  “Thank God,” he muttered.

  He went to the front door and let Harkless in.

  She entered the foyer. “I was told this was urgent.” She studied him. “Your hair is wet, and you’re shirtless. You trying to seduce me?”

  He’d been putting his T-shirt on, but now he stopped and stared at her.

  She looked at him, deadpan. “I’m messing with you.”

  “Honey tried to force herself on me,” he said.

  “You mean she waited this long?”

  “She got in the shower with me.”

  That got Harkless’s attention. “You invite her in?”

  “No, I didn’t invite her. I was washing my hair when she started…groping me, I guess.”

  “She was naked too, I’m assuming.”

  “Very naked. Can we go to the porch? I feel like a prisoner in here.”

  She followed him out. “You’re worried she’s gonna make an accusation.”

  “It occurred to me, yes.” He plopped down in one of the white metal chairs. “You should’ve seen her. I wouldn’t put anything past that maniac.”

  “Me either.”

  David looked at the sheriff. “You think I’m in trouble?”

  “Hell, I’ve thought that since you arrived.”

  At his aggrieved expression, she smiled. “I believe you, Mr. Caine. But Honey is as unpredictable as a top. Once she starts twirling, there’s absolutely no telling which way she’ll go.”

  He hung his head. “Damn.”

  Harkless’s voice was not unsympathetic. “You called me. That was smart. Now the best thing to do is take your mind off it.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged. “Take in a movie. There’s one about a deranged neighbour playing at the Lancaster drive-in.”

  He stared at her.

  She was chuckling, a hand on her belly. “Oh, come on. That was a little funny.”

  He shook his head, was about to comment, when he jolted. “Wait. I’ve got a date.”

  She levelled a finger at him. “You better not be sniffin’ around Alicia Templeton. I swear I’ll take that typewriter of yours and cram it—”

  “It’s not Alicia,” he said, “and I write on a Mac.”

  “Better not be Alicia. Girl’s half your age.”

  “I’m well-preserved, though.”

  “So help me God,” Harkless said and raised an open palm.

  David raised his hands in truce. “Kidding! Take it easy.”

  Harkless settled in her chair. “So who’s the lucky woman?”

  “Jessica,” he said, watching Harkless’s face.

  “Your stalking paid off.”

  “I wasn’t stalking!”

  Harkless gave him a look. “Be nice to her. She’s a friend too.”

  “Is there anyone around here who isn’t your friend?”

  She stared at him, raised her eyebrows.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said.

  “You walked right into it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  David’s date with Jessica went better than he could have imagined. Only afterward did the night go to hell.

  She sold him on a Chinese restaurant, which turned out to be not bad. It wasn’t, they both agreed, as delicious as Peter Chang’s, a place they’d both frequented in Williamsburg, but it was better than your average buffet and a damned sight better than the food David had been eating since he’d arrived.

  Afterward, they went for a walk in downtown L
ancaster. Not much to see, but there were a few art shops and a bookstore that carried some of David’s books. He signed them for the owner, wondered if Jessica was impressed, and decided if she was, she was gifted at concealing it. Leaving the shop, he recognised the beginnings of a crush. Not love – he found the concept too perplexing – but infatuation for sure. Too bad he had to leave in July.

  They were walking side by side, the evening sun making the quaint cobbled street glimmer like midafternoon, when Jessica said, “Can I ask you something without your thinking it’s an invitation to sex?”

  “Wow.”

  “What I’m wondering is…will you take me to the house?”

  A chill whispered over his neck. He glanced at a storefront that featured bridal wear and prom outfits. “Why would I have assumed that was an invitation to sex?”

  “You’re a guy,” she said.

  He looked at her. “Now there’s a helpful statement.”

  She shrugged, unabashed. “I’ve met quite a few Neanderthals.”

  “As long as we’re being honest, I better tell you something.”

  And he told her the story of Honey, which led to his other experiences with the Shelbys. Jessica gasped when he told her about the mistreatment of the children and occasionally burst out in stunned laughter. Especially the part about Honey trapping him in his bedroom.

  “She really called you that? ‘Queerboy’? I haven’t heard that word since junior high.”

  “Honey is a bundle of prejudices.”

  “Was that all of it?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “And you’ve been here how long?”

  His mouth wrinkled in distaste. “Less than a week.”

  She shook her head wonderingly. “Ghosts, stalking, sexual assault in the shower—”

  “Enough.”

  They took a right down a street devoid of storefronts, the kind of street you’d be scared by in a bigger city. In Lancaster, however, he doubted they were in much danger of being mugged.

  “Why did you tell me about Honey?” she asked. When he began to scowl, she put her hands up. “Don’t get me wrong – it’s interesting, if a little sad. I can’t believe they can’t get those kids out of that house….”