Darkhouse (Experiment in Terror #1)

by Karina Halle

  I didn’t even want the big plate special, or whatever it was, but something told me it wasn’t a good time to bring that up. I sucked on my lower lip and gradually brought my eyes to meet his again.

  “Remember when you told me I should let you know when you’re creeping me out?” I reminded him. “This is one of those times.”

  He held my gaze for a few seconds more before leaning back in the booth and running his hand through his hair. “This is also the time you tell me what happened to you last night.”

  Ah. A light went on in my head. Now I knew one thing that made Dex tick—when he didn’t know something. No wonder he was so intent on trying to read my thoughts. If he didn’t know everything that was going on, it drove him nuts. He must be one of those boyfriends who constantly ask you what you’re thinking. It probably drove his girlfriend up the wall.

  “OK, then. I’ll tell you from start to finish. Just keep an open mind, refrain from thinking I am crazy or delusional, though I may very well be, and don’t say anything until I am done.”

  His dark eyes lightened up a smidge. “I promise.”

  I sighed, took a long gulp of the terrible black coffee for strength, and told Dex everything, starting with my dreams, what I made up on the beach, about what Uncle Al told me, and what I saw last night. When I was done, the platters arrived on our table and I was suddenly ravenous from talking excitedly for so long.

  I shoved a greasy slice of Canadian bacon into my mouth and said, “And now you know everything that I know. Which is nothing. Happy?”

  Dex had stayed true to his word and remained quiet and attentive during the whole spiel. Even now he wasn’t saying anything. He just pursed his lips until he resembled a sexy duck before digging into his breakfast. I tried not to watch him eat, even though I could see from the furrow between his brows that he was deep in thought, trying to make sense of what I told him.

  We ate in silence. The longer he went without saying anything, the more torn up I felt inside. Did he believe me? Did he think I was mental? Because if there was anyone at this table who was mental, I knew it wasn’t me. That said, I did have a dead man trying to hand me an oil lamp last night.

  “You actually believe all that?” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “Of course. It happened. I don’t know how else to explain it but that’s what happened.”

  I looked at him closer; my mouth dropped a little bit. Was he doubting this whole thing?

  “You think I’m making all of this up? This was your idea.”

  He laughed. “Come on, Perry. We didn’t really find anything the first time we were out here. I wouldn’t blame you for trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

  I could barely form thoughts, let alone speak at his assumptions. “You think I’m faking it?”

  “I think you see what you want to see,” he said, and shoveled an entire pancake into his mouth. I was too livid to even consider how gross that was.

  I couldn’t help but reach across the table and grab his forearm. I squeezed it. Hard. He looked up at me, pancake frozen inside his wide yap.

  “Dex,” I said, with as much intensity and seriousness that I could muster. “I’m not lying. I don’t care about any of this. You found me. In the end, you found me. I’m just telling you the truth. You think that lighthouse is haunted, you’re looking for all the proof, but I’m telling you now that I know it is. It is.”

  He searched my face, while slowly chewing the pancake until it was gone. I didn’t know what he thought, but there was nothing more I could do at this point.

  “Look,” I finally said. “I’ll prove it. Let’s go there right now. Hell, let’s go tonight. We can drive back to Portland after. I need to show you. I need you to believe me.”

  He shook his head. “No can do, kiddo. I’ve got to get back tonight.”

  “Why? What do you have to do? Is your girlfriend so paranoid that she won’t let you out of her sight for the weekend?”

  He was taken aback at that and managed to laugh. “My girlfriend? Jenn doesn’t give two shits if I’m there or not.”

  That was news to me. I tried to not let that show.

  “No,” he continued, “I’m just done with it. I don’t think I should get any deeper into this whole thing. I’ve got enough footage and, with your permission, I could combine it with what you shot last week.”

  “What if I say no?” I countered, arms crossed.

  “I’d say you’re being awfully stubborn and acting like a typical young girl who isn’t getting her way,” he shot back. “And then I’d shrug, wipe my hands clean of this whole thing and go home.”

  “To your girlfriend who doesn’t even care if you’re there or not?”

  He threw down his napkin. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t care. I just think you’re chickenshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I could tell the anger was rising behind those eyes, but I didn’t care. I was past caring and beyond angry myself.

  “That’s right,” I reinforced. “I think you are chickenshit. You’re happy to call this whole thing off just because you are too scared to go back there because you actually think I am telling the truth. And the truth scares you.”

  He leaned in closer across the table and this time grabbed my forearm.

  “You scare me, Perry,” he growled and gave my arm a sharp squeeze. “You.”

  I eyed his grip. He met my eyes and then very slowly, hesitantly, released me.

  “This is going to be a really awkward car ride back home, isn’t it?” I asked, a trace of amusement in my voice. The whole situation was ridiculous.

  He sighed and leaned back, pushing his plate away from him.

  “I hope I’m driving you as crazy as you’ve been driving me,” I said bluntly.

  He shook his head and got out of the booth. “I’m going to go pay,” he muttered, despite the fact that I wasn’t done eating. It didn’t matter, though. I had had enough too—of the food, of everything. At least breakfast was free.

  I watched him approach the till and decided it would be a good time to get a breath of fresh air before the hellish ride back.

  I walked out of the diner and took in a deep breath. I closed my eyes and looked up at the sky, letting the rain fall on my face and feeling like it was washing away the dust that was accumulating inside my brain.

  I exhaled through my lips, slowly and fully. I opened my eyes before I started to feel a bit off balance.

  There was a woman, an old woman, standing directly in front of me. She was grinning a bright smear of red, waxy paint. The lipstick was on her yellowing teeth. My breath caught on the way out.

  I had seen her before, in the lobby of my office.

  I don’t know how long we stood there staring at each other. I felt paralyzed, unable to breathe, move or talk. She didn’t move either, just kept up that demonic grin.

  She slowly reached over with a bony hand and placed it on my shoulder. Her hands were covered with many rusted cocktail rings; the white taffeta coat she was wearing had clownish puff balls on it. They were all different colors. Bright yellow, orange, red, blue and green. She really did look like some satanic clown’s aging mother.

  She started to speak. Rather, her sticky red lips moved but no sound was coming out. She spoke like this for a few seconds before she finally said, “Declan.”

  What about him? I thought inside my head, the terror competing with curiosity.

  “He’s got some stories to tell,” she whispered, her voice low, almost metallic sounding, as if she was speaking through a phone. There was a familiar accent on certain syllables. “He’ll tell you, one day. About what happened to him. You just need to watch him. Watch out for him. Closely. You’re cut from the same cloth.”

  She took away her hand, and with her eyes focused on the diner, walked straight inside as her coat ruffled behind her in the light breeze.

  I stood still, my breath coming back. I realized I
was soaked to the bone from the rain (and maybe sweat); I didn’t care. I looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed what just happened, but there was no one on the wet, grey street.

  I looked back at the diner and took a hesitant step toward it, wondering why she had gone in there and if anyone else noticed how fucking freaky she was. I dipped low, trying to see inside through the dark tint and the stupid food paintings. I couldn’t make out anything except a few shadows of people sitting down at their tables. I put my face at the window and cupped my hands around it, not caring if anyone inside saw me trying to be a Peeping Tom.

  I had thought I saw some sort of commotion, when the door flung open and Dex burst outside. I jumped a few inches off the ground and almost knocked my head against the glass. He looked around him—pure panic in his eyes—and then spotted me.

  He reached over and grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly towards him. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

  We ran over to the car. My mind was racing. What was going on? Who was that lady and why did she warn me about Dex? Watch out for him? What did that even mean?

  I jumped in the passenger seat and barely closed the door before Dex stomped on the gas and the SUV rocketed down the street, veering side to side on the slick roads. I decided to heed her advice. I would keep an eye on him. He looked like a man possessed.

  I turned my head to look back at the diner, but Dex yelped, “Don’t look back there. Keep looking forward.”

  Heart in my throat, I did what he said.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I squeaked out once he brought the car off of the street and on to the highway.

  He just shook his head, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were a hard shade of white.

  “Dex! Talk to me! Slow down!” I yelled as the car went skidding around a corner, water flying everywhere, my body straining against the seatbelt.

  He kept his foot on the gas, speeding in deathly silence.

  He reached over and locked all the doors in the car.

  Watch Dex, indeed. I felt like he would be the last thing I would ever see.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We were speeding crazily around the wet corners on the 101 heading north. With the doors locked for some inexplicable reason, and Dex refusing to utter a word or even look my way, I was on the narrow verge of having a freak out.

  It was obvious that Dex was having one himself as the look of absolute fear never left his eyes. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to grab hold of the steering wheel and pull the car over myself. But as strong as I was, he was no doubt stronger and in this weather I’d probably end up flipping the car, or worse.

  I wondered if screaming would help, or if pleading would help, or if crying would help. Billy Joel was still playing from the speakers, which made the situation even more absurd.

  And then it dawned on me. I knew what it was. I knew what Dex was afraid of. It all made sense. He saw it, her, with his own eyes.

  “You saw her,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. “Didn’t you?”

  Dex’s hands tightened on the wheel though his foot came off of the pedal slightly. His eyes darted towardsme and then back to the road again.

  I leaned in closer, careful not to invade his space.

  “I saw her too,” I confided. “And I’ve seen her before that, back in Portland. She told me things.”

  Dex’s brow furrowed. “What did she say?”

  “So you did see her!”

  He ignored me. “What did she tell you?”

  “Pull over and I’ll tell you. I won’t talk to you while you’re like this. You’re going to get us both killed.”

  Just like that, Dex stepped on the brakes and yanked the Highlander down a rural road flanked by waving chestnut trees. The car lurched to a stop and he impatiently flipped the gear into park and flicked off the ignition.

  He took off his seatbelt and adjusted himself in his seat so he was facing me. The rain was falling hard on the roof. I had always found that to be one of the most soothing sounds and this time was no different.

  “Talk,” he commanded bluntly. His eyes were noncommittal; his long, wide mouth was set in a grim line. His hat had slid down a bit, adding shadows to his face. The front of his hair flopped onto his forehead.

  I reached over and tilted the hat’s brim up off his brows and gently smoothed his hair to the sides. His forehead was hot and smooth underneath my hands; his hair slightly damp from sweat and hair product.

  Touching him felt strangely intimate, like I was really seeing him for the first time. I don’t know why I did it; I guess some part of me instinctively wanted to soothe him. It was the first time I’d seen him look remotely vulnerable.

  I was only a hand’s length away from his face. His eyes, though unreadable, were looking deep into mine. I could have easily sat there for a long time just staring at him, holding his gaze. If I imagined hard enough, I could almost see lightning flowing between us in an unbroken line.

  But the more I stared at him like that, the more I became conscious of how much of a psycho I must have looked.

  I took my hand off of his forehead and dropped my eyes to the seat. The bolts were broken. I noticed how heavily my heart was beating in my chest. What was it about this man that agitated not only my mind but my heart as well?

  There was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath and dove in.

  “Last week at work,” I said, “I was waiting for the elevator. There was no one in the lobby, or so I thought. Then I noticed this lady sitting, totally motionless, on the couch. She was like no one I had ever seen before. Like someone out of a David Lynch film, almost.”

  I met his eyes again. They had never left mine, like they were waiting for my gaze to return to his. I felt like he was trying to hypnotize me. I was torn between feeling self-conscious and wanting to look away, or to fall deeper into them and lose myself. Then there was that accompanying feeling of tightness in my chest, the feeling that I wasn’t getting enough air, and that I was drowning in this indescribable whirlpool.

  I couldn’t take it anymore and quickly diverted my eyes to the outside of the car. The rain and interior fog had blurred the windscreen but I could still make out the shapes of the trees dancing in the background. I focused on their movements, all the while knowing he was still looking at me. I continued talking.

  “She was wearing...well, it looked like she was dressed for her prom, only she had to be about eighty or something. She had perfectly curled hair—you know, like they did in the forties, set with pins and everything—and a whole face full of the thickest makeup ever. Like greasepaint. And her lipstick. My god, I have never seen such a sloppy job. She even had it on her teeth, which was scary because this freak would not stop smiling at me. Even as the elevator doors were closing.”

  I shot a glance at Dex to make sure he was still listening. And gasped.

  There was a trail of blood running out of his mouth.

  He was biting his lower lip so hard that he was drawing blood. His eyes remained motionless and fixed on mine; I started to wonder if he truly was looking at me or if he had gone into a trance, or was experiencing some kind of seizure.

  “Dex, you’re bleeding,” I said trying to hide the horror in my voice.

  With a measured movement he languidly licked his lips and dropped my gaze. I quickly reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a tissue. He reached for it in stupor. I pushed his hand aside and dabbed the tissue on his lips. With my other hand I leaned on his shoulder and bent down so that my face was right in front of his. No lazy gazing this time. I needed him to see me.

  “Are you OK?” I asked politely but firmly. “Seriously. Answer me, Dex. Otherwise I’m calling my uncle for help because I don’t know what to do with you right now.”

  He took the tissue from my hand, balled it up and then tossed it in the backseat. He sucked back on his lips for a few seconds. The individual hairs in his moustache bristled. For
a mere moment I entertained the idea of sucking his lips myself. It was an inappropriate thought, above all else, and I pushed it out of my head.

  He released his lip. It had stopped bleeding. His eyes looked up at the ceiling and he took in a deep breath. I felt that maybe I wasn’t helping. I took my hand off of his shoulder and sat back.

  “Two weeks ago,” he started, his voice rich like cream, “I took Jennifer to Bainbridge Island.”

  Oh yes. Jennifer. The main reason why sucking his face would be oh-so inappropriate. I sat further back still.

  “I actually had to move there from New York at the end of high school to live with…well, anyway, needless to say I had never gone back there since I moved. But Jenn was insisting that we at least pay the place a visit since she had heard there were a few trendy wineries popping up here and there. It’s all about the fucking trends.”

  I nodded, eager to know more about him.

  He continued. “Finally, I just gave up and told her we would go for a day trip. The weather was gorgeous and it had been fucking fabulous until this last week. And yeah, there were a lot of bad memories still locked up and lurking around different corners but I felt like I was close to putting that part of my past all behind me and moving forward. As we all hope to do. So, Jenn decides she wants to get some gelato at this busy new store, even though I know she’s going to start regretting it and throwing up in the bathroom after she eats it. She’s lactose intolerant and uses it as an excuse to binge and purge. You know, an acceptable form of bulimia. I hope you don’t subscribe to that bullshit.”

  He wagged his finger at me. I shook my head adamantly.

  “Anyway, she goes and waits in this retardedly long lineup for pansy-ass ice cream, because that’s all gelato is, so I decide to occupy myself and take a wander down by the docks. If there is anything I can’t stand it’s waiting for people. Keep that in mind, Perry.

  “Yes, where was I? Oh. Yes. So, I walk down to the docks. It’s a gorgeous day, and people are milling about doing their usual tourist thing. I’m watching a middle-aged couple getting ready to leave in their sweet sailboat when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Someone has sidled up next to me.