by Abigail Boyd
I followed him in, looking up at the ceiling and over at the desk in disbelief. I hadn't imagined it this time, I couldn't have. The noise had been real, and the lights had definitely turned off. Was it a wiring issue? Or just the possibly faulty connections in my brain?
Hugh poked around in my closet, looked beside my bed and underneath, moving around the boxes, the same way I had when I thought there was a midnight intruder.
Finding nothing, Hugh stood up and turned to me.
"What exactly scared you so much?" he asked quietly.
"The lights went out," I said, disturbed to find my voice still shaking. I pointed at the wall. "And I have been hearing this banging noise, a couple of weeks ago and again tonight."
He went over and rapped on the wall, listening for any echo or response. When he heard nothing, he pulled back and regarded me, as I stood clasping my hands under my chin. I bet I looked just like a child, scared by imaginary monsters in the night. The thought made me feel utterly foolish.
"It's possible that an animal might have burrowed its way inside, trying to escape the cold," he suggested. "I'm sure it was nothing serious."
He gave me a familiar pat on the shoulder as he trudged out of the room, leaving me behind to stare at the space on the wall above my desk.
I knew better. Something was haunting me.
Chapter 12
"Who would name a town "Hell" anyway?" asked Alex Perkins, our class clown eight years running, the next day in History. I had no idea how he would ever qualify for an Honors class. He was a year older than the rest of us, supposedly because he skipped Kindergarten but I figured he had been held back. He made the dumbest jokes and was always the loudest one to laugh at them. His parents had money, so he was considered part of the popular crowd.
Ambrose had taken to sulking in the corner by the back window. No one was willing to pay attention to his stories of false bravado and bedding head cheerleader anymore.
Warwick looked excited to have a chance to explain our town's history. He perched on his worn spot on the desk and looked thoughtfully at the floor, as if gathering his words.
"When George Reeves, the man who originally settled here, was asked what to call the town, he said "Call it Hell for all I care." At least, that's the charming anecdote they like to tell at town meetings," he explained.
"So what's the real story?" I heard Henry ask behind me. I listened automatically at the sound of his familiar voice.
"Depends on who you want to trust," Warwick said. His voice had taken on the quality of someone narrating a Discovery Channel special. "There are several theories supporting the idea that Hell was settled on a spot of evil earth."
Several students around me giggled. He looked up at them impatiently until they stopped. I couldn't tell if he took what he said seriously or if it was just an act. A born storyteller, he'd had told me a million wild, embellished tales when I was kid, about far off places and unusual animals, which I now knew were poppycock. I'd believed in jackalopes and unicorns until I was ten. My younger self had always trusted him, even when Jenna protested the things he said.
"We have more than our fair share of haunted houses," he offered as proof.
"Supposedly haunted," supplied Henry. I imagined his eyes darkening. "Just because people say they're haunting doesn't mean they are."
Warwick continued as if he hadn't heard him.
"Houses that are said to still be the home of trapped spirits, spirits that have been seen by plenty of respected citizens." The last sentence was said pointedly. He ticked the locations off on his fingers. "The blue house on Court Street, the old fire house, the orphanage..."
I perked up and raised my hand.
"You have a question, Ariel?" he asked.
"Are you talking about the Dexter Orphanage?"
"I believe that's the only one in town, so yes," he said, smiling.
"Do you know anything about that one in particular?" I asked.
"Nothing nice," he said, grinning wryly and shifting his weight. "It was said to be owned by John Dexter the third, a lifelong bachelor — spare us your commentary, Mr. Perkins —
who decided to take in orphans after World War One."
"The first few years went without remark, although he made the children work in the farm behind the house to help with money. The kids were seen working from sun up to sun down, no breaks allowed. That wasn't very unusual for the time period, but it was unnecessary since Dexter had inherited his father's fortune when he died. But he apparently believed in instilling a sturdy work ethic in very young people."
He picked up a dry erase marker and started transferring it from hand to hand.
"But then rumors started that horrible things were being done to the orphans in that house. That he was using them for ritualistic sacrifices." It may have been my imagination, but it seemed like the sky had clouded over outside the slender windows. "Feeding their blood into the earth, to rekindle the evil."
I shivered. "But why?"
"Something he read in a book, I believe," Mr. Warwick said, clearing his throat. "That he could gain great power from the rituals, power to rule the entire town."
"And that is why we should never read. Only bad things come from it," Alex joked.
"Hardly," Warwick said sardonically. He turned back to me, his expression curious. "Why the particular interest in the Dexter Orphanage, Ariel?"
I tried to play it off. "I just saw that they were having the haunted house there this year." I didn't know how to explain my dream.
He frowned. "That's a surprise. The house is falling apart. Last I heard, the board was talking about condemnation, but no one could determine who currently held the deed to the property. Rickety floors, ceilings collapsing — it's dangerous. They used to hold those haunted houses years ago to raise money for donations, and there used to be séances there all the time, but..."
"Séances?" I repeated, my breathing shallow.
"Oh, yes," he nodded. "Because of the paranormal nature of the place, people would even go to Dexter to dispel ghosts that were clinging to them, ghosts in their own houses. Which brings me back to my original point..."
"Could it cleanse you if a ghost was attached to you?" I interrupted again, not wanting him to move on.
"That's what many people believed," he replied.
"If ghosts existed, which they don't," I heard Henry mutter from behind me. I blushed, feeling like he was talking to me. Others in the class laughed, whether at the story or my insistence I didn't know, and didn't much care.
"Alright guys, time to get to work," Mr. Warwick said, back in teacher mode as he headed towards the blackboard.
After that, I couldn't get the séance part out of my head. Maybe it was possible to contact whatever was reaching out to me. Whatever clung to me. Maybe on my birthday, when I visited the orphanage, something had attached itself to me. I shuffled through my comprehensive mental catalogue of scary movie plots. I had to find a way to get rid of the spirit, or things would only get worse. I was sure of that.
Theo came over to my house that afternoon. In her hands was a leather-covered binder brimming full of artwork. She was already on her third sketchbook in class. She held the binder as though she wouldn't let it go.
"Hi, Theo," Hugh said warmly. They had exchanged a few words before here and there, but this was the first time they were actually going to have a conversation.
"Hi, Ariel's dad," she said back shyly, still holding her portfolio like a shield against her heart.
"I call him Hugh, you can too," I assured her quietly.
"Okay."
"Show him your drawings," I said, nudging her forward gently. The thing I had learned about Theo was that even though she was shy at first, if one could get her to open up, she became very talkative. It was just getting that first little fissure. Hugh pulled the chair next to him out for her to sit down.
Theo laid the portfolio on the table, and watching Hugh's face as he began leafing through it. She
didn't take her eyes off him, paying attention for any change in his expression.
"This is impressive work," he said finally, holding up a sketch of different angles of hands done in colored pencil. "Ariel told me your mom is the new art teacher at your school."
"Yeah," Theo said, quickly brushing it off. "I don't really show her all that much of my sketches. I don't turn in my sketchbook anymore," she confided to me.
"Well, I don't just give compliments for someone's ego," Hugh told her. Except in my case, but I kept that to myself as he continued, "You have a lot of natural talent, especially at such a young age."
"I'll tell you what," he said finally. "How about you put together a couple of pencil studies like this, and I could find you a space on the wall at Erasmus?"
I thought Theo would have a heart attack. She put a hand to her chest, eyes like glittering pools of green water. "Seriously?"
Hugh nodded. "In fact, I'm going over there right now to drop off some paperwork. Would you girls like to hitch a ride with me?"
Theo nodded her head furiously, a big smile plastered on her face. The pink plastic anchor around her neck jiggled against her shirt. We piled into the Mazda, Theo and I in the backseat. The sky outside was overcast again, as it had been for a string of days.
As we drove, Hugh turned the local radio station on, keeping the volume low. This time of year, there were always a million advertisements for haunted houses.
"Named the scariest attraction in Hell two years in a row," the announcer on the current ad said. "Hell's Orphanage is back after a five year hiatus and ready to claim its next victim..."
"Can you turn that up?" I asked, gripping the back of the passenger seat.
"Discounted tickets are available online. Now through Halloween, get your scare on at the old Dexter orphanage on Canyon Road." The garbled voice finished up, replaced by an ad for toothpaste.
"That was awfully cheesy for Hell's scariest attraction," Hugh said. "'Get your scare on'? I'm more frightening than that."
"I don't know, I think it sounds interesting," I said, shrugging and sitting back in my seat, trying to act as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible. I knew I was terrible at pretending. "I haven't been to a haunted house in years."
"Remember when we used to go every year to the one in the old cider mill?" Hugh said, smiling at the memory. "You were just a little girl then, so it wasn't too scary for you. And then we would eat caramel apples and cider on the picnic tables out back and watch the sun go down."
"I do remember," I said. "That was always a lot of fun." I turned to Theo. "Would you be interested in going to this one?"
"Sure," Theo agreed brightly. "That would be great." Her smile remained a bit too tight. She seemed very nervous about going to Erasmus, even though she was around people who were on her side.
A red brick building from the turn of the last century housed Erasmus. The perfect place for an art collection. Slender topiaries in planters guarded the entrance. Black and orange bows had been tied on them. Theo looked up at the building like we were about to enter a holy temple. I thought she might cross herself.
"Come on," Hugh said, waving us inside to follow him.
The interior had modern architecture, with high ceilings and bowed archways. Windows lined the entire front side of the building, with vertical, mood-setting tan blinds. I had been there numerous times, accompanying Hugh when Claire was working since he didn't trust me to function by myself. There was now a permanent collection of snacks in my honor sitting in the back room.
Gwen, my dad's assistant, greeted us by the front counter. "Hi, Ariel. Who's your friend?"
Gwen was from Louisiana, with a deep southern drawl. She always wore bright jewel tones that complimented her dark skin. She smiled warmly at Theo, and extended her hand to shake.
"This is Theo," I informed her. "She's my next door neighbor. She just moved here this past spring."
"Don't worry, I'm pretty new myself," Gwen said with a wink to Theo.
Gwen had been working for my dad since she moved to Hell last fall. She'd been an integral part at the very start of the business. Hugh didn't have a great grasp on things like taxes and bills, so the gallery would never run without her. Not to mention she brought so much life to the building it was hard to imagine Erasmus without her.
"Well, feel free to have a look at anything you like," she said, as she and Hugh started talking shop behind the counter.
Theo and I wandered slowly from room to room. Painted benches sat in the center of each open space, to admire the treasures on the walls. Not only did Erasmus house paintings and sketches, but also sculptures, painted tiles and more unusual fare for collectors. A gray, squat potter in the shape of a medieval beast lurked in the corner. High windows along the front let in streams of sunlight.
Theo regarded everything with reverence as she took it in. The thought of how much everything probably cost made me wince. But I knew there were many people in Hell who could obviously afford fine art, as the gallery did steady business.
My thoughts kept going impatiently to the orphanage. Now that I was so sure that something was haunting me, I had to admit I was apprehensive about ignoring it.
"Alright, you're going to think I'm weird," I said.
I wanted Theo to know what my plans were. I didn't just want to foist them on her at the last minute; I wanted to make sure she was willing to go along with them, or at least tell me if I was crazy.
"Don't worry, I already think you're weird," she teased. When she saw my serious look, her face became solemn. "What's up?"
We sat down on one of the benches, painted with orange tropical flowers.
"I was thinking of maybe having a séance," I said carefully. I had listened many times when Corinne told people about her beliefs, and watched their faces become skeptical and mocking. But I didn't see that look in Theo's watchful eyes. "Warwick was telling me about the orphanage, the one that was advertising on the radio. That it used to be a hotbed of spiritual energy or something. I thought maybe it would be interesting to try to, I don't know," I shrugged, unable to find the explanation I was looking for, "Call it up?"
Theo's eyes went to the tall sculpture made of crushed cans in front of us. "For sure," she said after a second. "I would love to be a part of that. Consider me in."
We ended up spending the remaining afternoon in Erasmus, drinking strong coffee diluted with creamers as Gwen and Hugh walked around and planned where they were going to fit Deborah Strait's work. By the time we got home, it was deep into dark, and Theo was chatting excitedly about her plans for her sketches.
"Thanks," she said genuinely, putting her hand on my arm.
"You deserve for people to know how talented you are," I replied. "You can't keep that to yourself. You'd regret it forever."
I watched her skip back to her house, leaning on the same fence that had separated us a month ago. It was funny how fast things could completely change.
I went into research mode in the following days. I visited every site I could find on séances that didn't require me to sign up with a credit card. The most legitimate of what I found required four to six people. There were all kinds of different methods, all touted by the people who provided them to be the best. Some involved holding hands, some just touching fingers, some standing, some sitting. I filled an entire legal pad with notes, but looking them over I found a convoluted mess. I would only get one chance, so I didn't want to fail. I figured Aunt Corinne would know exactly how to perform one.
But where would we get two other people? It wasn't like I had a large pool of friends from which to draw.
Of course, I knew who I was most willing to extend an invitation to, and any excuse for me to talk to him worked, even if he didn't think ghosts were real. Henry wasn't going to make it to study this week because he was helping his dad clear out old court papers in their storage unit, so I knew I had to scout him out at school.
I found Henry outside, waiting for the Lexus t
o arrive. He was leaning in front of the twisty oak by the bottom of the school steps, his foot up on the trunk. The top button of his shirt was undone, letting me peek at the smooth skin of his chest beneath it.
"Hi," he greeted me. I looked up into his eyes, embarrassed as he spoke. "How's Vanderlip treating you?"
"Fine," I said with a soft laugh. I had no idea how to bring up my plans without it being awkward, so I just said them. "You want to go to a haunted house this weekend?"
His warm eyes assessed me for a minute and he slid his hands in his pockets. "Honestly, haunted houses aren't really my thing. I don't know if you heard me in Warwick's class or not, but I don't believe in ghosts. That stuff is brainless."
"Yeah, I heard you saying that," I admitted. "But it's just for fun. We're not taking it seriously. We were going to stick around and hold a séance. That's how Hell people get our kicks, y'know. Halloween is in our blood."
The wind caught his hair and ruffled it. A pensive look on his face, like he was bracing to deliver bad news, he said, "Séances, also corny."
"Well, I know it's not as cool as dragons," I said, rolling my eyes.
"I know how to separate fantasy from reality," he said seriously, his eyes darkening a little.
"So do I," I retorted. Most of the time.
I started to turn away, deciding it was a lost cause.
"What the hell, I'll go," he said unexpectedly. "You've convinced me. What day are you planning?"
"Saturday," I said, trying to contain my irrational excitement. "We're going to the orphanage where the haunted house is, and then I think we're going to hang around after. Oh, and make sure you bring a fourth person. It doesn't matter who it is as long as they're willing. And as long as it's not Lainey, or Madison."
"Okay. But don't be offended if I laugh," he warned. His father pulled to the sidewalk and Henry nodded goodbye as he got into the car and disappeared.
Chapter 13
Hugh and Claire went to the airport Friday afternoon to go to a wedding in New York. It was the weekend before Halloween. They asked Aunt Corinne to come over and keep me company, which decoded meant watch over me.