by S. Graham
"Carol this is crazy!" I'm shocked at what she's telling me.
"They eventually used the taser and apprehended her, she was a danger to others and even herself. They took her by ambulance. Last I heard, she was in a mental institution getting the help she needed. When she was inside the home she wrote "Forever" on the walls with her own blood, no one knew what that meant. Later, it was cleaned up again and repainted. The new buyers were so creeped out they never wanted to move in. The house was then given to a renting agency to take care of and maintain. The house kept that eerie dark feeling well after, that's when everyone started seeing odd things going on with the house. The lights would flicker like a strobe at night as we drove by late. Sometimes, I swear, I would see someone dart in front of a window upstairs and run away. I wasn't the only one. Almost everyone I knew saw or felt something walking past this house. After the renovations were done, we saw the house listed for rent. It was vacant for a long time until I saw your truck pull up. I thought this was just what the house needed, a beautiful family."
I feel lightheaded taking in all of this. That was us. The beautiful family walking into a madhouse that every single person on this street knew of.
"Don't hate me, Becca. I love you and the boys and didn't say a word because… I guess my own selfish reason. I didn't want you to leave. I wanted this house to have a positive energy again. This was everyone's favorite house to stop at on Halloween, kids doing dares and telling stories about it. It just broke my heart. This wasn't an attraction or fun house, this was a tragic story that needed to be left behind in the past."
My mind starts racing as I make sense of everything she is telling me. All the new house smell when I came in. The new carpet and paint. Just then, the door swings open, and Mitch is standing there. "What the hell is going on? Carol you better not be starting this shit up again. Why didn't you tell us?"
I stand up, swallowing all this information. "Mitch, stop. Let's go inside." I walk in front of him, and he takes a couple of steps back.
"Goodnight, Carol. I'll talk to you later."
She stands there, not saying anything holding her own hands with sadness in her eyes. I get it. I understand why she did it, but somehow I still feel betrayed. Would I have moved into this house knowing what I've found out tonight? Probably not.
"What the hell was she doing here, Becca?"
"Mitch, it's fine. She was just telling me her side. She's just—"
"Stop, I don't want to hear about this anymore. We have a full day here tomorrow and the moving company comes to load the day after. I can't get out of this house fast enough. I'm going to bed, are you coming?"
"I'll be there in a minute. I'm just going to check on the boys and turn all the lights out."
Mitch is already around the corner and gone. I'm left standing there soaking in all this information. I'm looking around at the front windows by the door where she put her hand through. What was she doing in this house? I start heading up the stairs to check on the boys. It's quiet and dark, just the moonlight coming through the windows. It's bright enough I don't even need to turn on any lights. I quietly walk towards Connors' room and open the door just a peak. The boys are fast asleep. Connor has his arms wrapped over Logan. Closing the door, I head down the hall and stop to see Logan's room with the door slightly ajar. Walking towards the room, I slowly open the door. The room is dark, and I sit on Logan's bed that he has never really ever slept in. I pick up a little bear from the bed and look at it. The blue furry little bear has the cutest black nose and brown eyes. I remember when we gave this to him when he was only a couple of days old. Warmth fills my heart, and yet I still feel heartbroken for everything that occurred in this house before us. The boxed-up bedroom feels so empty now and almost sad.
"Listen. I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if this was once your room, but I want you to know I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I'm so sorry your mom got sick and had to move. You need to move on now too Ryan. Everything will be alright."
I sit and listen for a couple of minutes in silence. "Goodnight," I say.
Standing up, I place the little bear on the mattress. In less than 48 hours, this will all be a memory, one I would like to forget. Stopping at the top of the stairs, I listen one more time. Silence again. I head downstairs, making sure to grip the railing with my one good hand to prevent any other unexpected mishaps. I turn off the rest of the lights in the kitchen and check the doors and the window I usually secretly have open for fresh air. The alarm won't arm unless it's closed and locked. With the house now secure and the lights out, I head down the hall to the master where our bedroom room lights on. Maybe Mitch is still awake. Walking into the bedroom, I stop immediately at the doorway. There he is, the small transparent boy standing right over Mitch in bed. Mitch is fast asleep and completely unaware that a dead child haunting this family is now looming directly over him. I grip the doorframe with my nails to stabilize myself from the now spinning room. Watching in complete horror as the little boy I now know named "Ryan" turns his head and looks right at me with an ear-to-ear evil smirk, slowly turning his gaze back at Mitch. He lifts his right foot up, aiming it directly over Mitch's throat. As he gets ready to make the fast, abrupt motion to bring his foot crashing down on Mitch's windpipe, I let out a blood-curdling scream leaving my whole trembling clutching the walls. Mitch lunges straight up with his hands swinging, knocking over the glass of water on his nightstand. The boy is gone.
"Fuck, Becca. What is it? Fuck, look what I did, there's water everywhere!"
I grab my chest in relief, walking straight into the master bath, and grab a towel.
"So, what was your problem? You gave me a heart attack."
"Nothing… Nothing, I'm sorry."
Mitch has had enough. We all have. There was no way I can bring it up again when he's asked me not to. We are almost there. Almost out.
"Damn, Texas' bugs, Mitch. I'm sorry. It flew right in my face."
"Well, if you didn't leave the window open they wouldn't get in."
I make eye contact. He knows I leave the window open.
"I know you like to do that, Becca. We aren't in BC where it's normal to have windows wide open in the summer."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just like fresh air once in a while in this house, I turn the air conditioner off for a bit."
"You can open all the windows you want once we get back to Canada. In the meantime, keep them closed."
"Promise!" I force a smile.
"Let's go to bed." He pulls back the blankets and motions me in, pulling me close to him.
I lay there, and the image that occurred five minutes ago plagues my head, those piercing black eyes full of anger and so much hate. Wiggling free from Mitch's arms, I sit up. "I'm sorry. I can't sleep. Mind if I read a little?"
"No. Go ahead." He rolls over, and I turn on the lamp. Mind if I read all night? I think to myself. I'm not going to sleep tonight. I'll be watching over my family all night long. I can't ignore this feeling, this feeling that something just isn't finished.
Chapter 19
A sound coming from upstairs abruptly wakes me up from a deep sleep. I glance down to the open book in my hand; I must have dozed off mid-reading. Pushing the covers back, I listen, not realizing I'm holding my breath as if breathing would muffle the noise from upstairs. The alarm clock reads 3:39 am. Oh, no, it's that time. I remember reading it in the newspaper clipping. It was the official time of death for Ryan. Panic takes over, and I stand up to head out of the room. Tiny feet run from one end of upstairs to the other into the playroom. Muffled giggling is now in the air, and I know the sounds of my children. Slightly relieved, it's my kids and not the ghost child. I head out of the room and turn back to see Mitch still fast asleep. He can sleep through anything from storms to earthquakes.
I enter the living room, and everything is still packed in boxes. Passing the kitchen, I reach the stairs. No lights are on, and that's a little odd for my boys to be playing in the
dark, but hey, they must be content with the darkness. Going up to the top of the stairs, I look down the hall to see Connor's bedroom door wide open. In the opposite direction is the open concept playroom where every single thing is packed. We let the boys have a handful of toys that would travel with us, and the rest would be trucked back to Canada. Turning left towards the playroom getting closer, and I can see Connor standing in the darkroom with his back to me.
I whisper, "Connor." He doesn't move an inch and keeps his back to me. He looks so cute in those blue pajama shorts, but he is still just standing there facing towards the wall. "Connor, what are you guys doing? It's almost four in the morning." I take a couple of steps into the center of the room. I'm only a couple of feet from him now. "Connor, I'm talking to you."
"I'm playing, Mom," says Connor, but the voice comes from my immediate right.
I turn my head, and Connor is on the floor in between boxes with a car in his hand. I immediately realize that's not my son in front of me. I turn my head back, and the pale porcelain skin of the boy is turning in my direction with his usual dark purple circles under his eyes. I watch him lift his hand towards mine. Stepping away from him, I stumble backward, landing hard on the ground. Ryan, the boy, evaporates right in front of my eyes.
"Mom, don't be scared. He's my friend. He said you said sorry."
"What?" I'm trying to pull myself together. Is he talking about earlier in Logan's room?
Oh God, I think he is!
"He said that you were right, Logan's room was his. I told him he could have it back because we were moving." I can taste the vile burning up my throat. Please stop, don't say anything else. "He said no, we weren't moving."
"Stop! No more, Connor." I'm scared. No, I'm terrified. I fumble to get myself up off the ground and reach for Connor.
"It's time for bed. Everyone's going to be awake in a couple hours and you should have never gotten out of bed."
"He asked me to play, Mom, I never saw him before and he's nice. I don't think he likes Logan because Logan calls him a zombie."
"Stop, Connor! No more. I don't want to talk about this any longer." I take him to his room, where sweet little Logan is still fast asleep. I gently lift Connor over Logan, and I crawl into bed with him.
"Mom what are you doing? I'll go to bed, I promise."
"I know baby," I say as I pull the blankets over me and snuggle up to him. "Mom just wants to make sure you fall asleep."
Connor doesn't argue and closes his eyes, ready for sleep. Looking around the darkroom, I pray not to see him. I want out of here. One more night here would be impossible for me. I watch over both boys as they sleep, and this time I stay awake the last couple of hours until the sun peaks over the houses. This nightmare is almost over, or so I thought.
Chapter 20
I crawl out of the kids' bed and tiptoe downstairs to the silent, undisturbed house. Walking into the master bedroom, Mitch is still asleep with the lamp on my nightstand on. He never even realized I got out of bed. Turning off the lamp, I head out of the bedroom quietly, closing the door behind me.
"Mom, how am I going to take my balloon with me?" I look at the bottom of the stairs and see Connor pointing to the high decorative window up above the front door.
"Oh, Connor, we can get a new balloon somewhere later." I look up at that red foil balloon which is still floating but stuck at that window. That balloon gave me nightmares for days after waking up with it by my bedside. How it still has air is beyond anything I can understand.
"You don't need that balloon!" I hear Mitch say. Mitch picked Connor up and lifted him over his head.
"Daddy, please!"
"Listen to your mom, Connor. How are we? Everything packed?"
I smile, handing him a cup of coffee. "Everything but the coffee maker. Once this is done, I can pack it all up. When are we leaving?"
"I booked a room for tomorrow, we can check in at 4."
Another night in this house. You have got to be kidding me.
"Listen, I have a couple things to do with the truck before it gets picked up. I'm going to get started this morning and then maybe we can grab dinner tonight?"
"Sure," I say.
"I'll take this to go then." Mitch leans in and kisses me. Before I know it, he is heading out the front door.
"Boys, now's the time to make sure everything is in a box and all taped up. Who wants to help me clean some bathrooms?"
"Ewwwww, no, Mom." Connor shoots up the stairs as fast as his little legs can carry him.
The afternoon creeps up so fast. With all the cupboards, bathrooms, walls, and windows cleaned; all that's left is the carpet. Mitch always gives me a hard time with cleaning. "No one can clean like Mom," he would always say to the boys. I look at it more like a curse. I would love just to relax but growing up in a very clean and organized home where my chores were always done and spot-on, led to my very first job as a housekeeper, but that just fueled my OCD with cleaning.
The boys have been playing so well all day and it's time for one of our last couple of dips in the pool. "Boys, pool time!" I hear a bit of an argument upstairs. What on earth could they possibly be fighting about? "Boys?"
Logan is the first to come down the stairs and in a hurry too. "Mom, Connor is talking to the zombie!"
"What?" I pick up Logan and yell upstairs to Connor.
"Connor!"
I can hear him saying, "Shhhhh."
"Yes, mom?"
"Can you come downstairs, please?"
Connor comes around the corner of the stairs and stands at the mid landing. "What!"
"What? Don't 'What' me. You don't talk to me like that. It's pool time."
Connor walks down the remainder of the stairs sulking, and heads to the bathroom where his swim trunks are hung up.
"Logan says you were talking to the zombie?"
"Logan is just a scaredy cat. I was talking to my friend and he's mad at me. He doesn't want me to leave. He also doesn't want me to go swimming."
I'm over this conversation of the zombie as so Logan calls him. "Well, too bad. This is my home and my rules."
"Yeah, well, your rules suck Mom!"
"Connor! Get outside now, what on earth has come over you?" I walk both the boys outside to the pool and watch as Connor dives in. Poor Logan is so quiet, I think he's unsure about the whole situation, witnessing his brother's poor behavior.
"He's mad, Mom," Connor yells from the pool.
Turning to him, I say, "That's enough." Logan's hand is violently pulled from mine, and he is yanked backwards from the back of his life vest. He flies three feet back in the air and lands, hitting his head on the brick corner of the house. "Logan! Oh, my goodness, Logan!"
He lets out a cry no mother ever wants to hear, and I couldn't scoop him up fast enough. With one hand still in the sling, I feel almost useless. The motherly instinct kicks in, and the next thing I know, is that I'm running him inside with Connor right behind me. Logan's head is bleeding dark crimson blood. With a cloth, I put pressure on it right away.
"Told you he was mad, Mom!"
"Connor, that's enough! No one is mad, we just need to get Logan to the doctor right away!"
Logan is screaming as I carry him out. The concern in Connor's eyes is evident as he grabs Logan's Star Wars bear heading out the door.
"Where are the keys to the truck?" I scream. My heart is racing, and panic is setting in. "I see Dad's car keys…. Wait… He has my truck. Let's take Dad's car."
We run out the front door slamming it behind us, and I unlock the car as fast as possible.
"Get in, Connor." He runs to the other side and slides in. Now, Logan's crying is more of a whimper, but I watch his eyes look at me with fear. It's only a seven-minute drive to the closest ER, but it will feel like the longest drive of my life.
We get home a couple of hours later with relief. The doctor said it could have been much worse, but Logan should be fine. No concussion, only a nasty bump on his head and some stitches
. Logan must take it easy for today, enjoying some good Disney in Mom's bed. After putting on Monsters Inc., I wanted to phone Mitch back to let him know we are home safe.
"Becca? Are you home?"
"Yes, Mitch. Kids are in my bed but now I want to talk to you about something else. When are you home?"
"Not for another hour, I'm stuck in traffic. The truck is being picked up tomorrow morning along with our furniture."
"That's good. Listen. I don't want to be here in this house any longer. We are already packed and after today, Mitch, I'm not giving it another second in this house."
"Aren’t you being a little much? We have everything booked for tomorrow. Listen, I hate this house just as much as you do but we can get through another 24 hours, don't you think?"
"No. The bags will be at the front door, Mitch. We are leaving tonight, see you in an hour."
As I am ending the call, I know I won this battle. The safety of my family comes first. We aren't talking about ghosts by my bed, under beds, or playing in the backyard. I'm talking about watching my son get yanked from my own hand. Maybe this spirit is mad. Maybe he doesn't want us to leave, but I couldn't care less. It's been a year too long in this house, and it's time to close this chapter of our lives. Everything is packed. The one open box in our room was for the bedding on our bed. Since we will not be staying the night, I throw it all in. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I hear someone running upstairs. Looking over at the boys in my bed, Connor and I make eye contact. Logan hasn't even noticed with his sweet head all bandaged up.
"Mom?" Connor says, looking at me.
"It's fine, Connor. We are just waiting for your dad." That hour went by so slow. It felt like two hours of sitting here listening to the running around upstairs like someone wanted us to notice them. The thumping, jumping, and tipping over of what sounded like packed boxes. Someone was throwing a fit; someone was furious. Ryan, the ghost child, was raging mad.