“Ah.” Gran nods her head so vigorously that her tight curls bounce. “This is the ugly old haunted house, right?”
“Yes, except it’s not haunted.”
“I’m certain it’s haunted.”
“Sure, Gran.”
Gran hums under her breath before she turns to me. “Will that sexy ghost hunter be there?”
“Gosh, Gran, I hope not.” I groan. That would be just what I need. “And why is he sexy? I thought you called him a weasel.”
“Weasels can be sexy.”
“Sure, Gran. Whatever you say.”
I turn the car down Douglas as the neighborhood turns from commercial strip centers to residential homes.
“Did you bring anything to eat?” Gran asks. “Your father only has hard candy in his office. He’s going to get diabetes.”
“I have some mixed nuts in my bag. And there’s some lunch stuff at the house.”
Gran scoffs. “Nuts give me gas.”
I smirk. “Doesn’t everything?”
I pull up to the orange house and turn the engine off.
“That?” Gran points.
“Yup.”
“Patricia, that’s the ugliest house I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah?” I open my door. “Tell me something I don’t know, Gran.” I stand up and shut my door.
I’ll get Gran inside. Find something for her to eat. Get the cleaners where they need to go. With any luck, Laurel will show up to help me wrangle Gran. And then maybe, just maybe, we can have a quiet night at home.
After all this time working on the house and trying to get it to a place where it can be sold, I’m ready for a break.
Gran Flirts with a Ghost Hunter
I stretch my arms out over my head and feel the pull of the sore muscles in my upper back and shoulders. Muscles! I have muscles now!
A fresh wave of less-hot air washes over me, and I breathe it in deeply. Earthy and heavy and full of life. Glancing at the horizon that’s just visible through the line of trees and houses, dark clouds are building in the sky.
Finally.
After a solid week in temperatures over 100 degrees, it’s about time we had a decent storm.
And this is perfect timing for a storm too, since the house is scheduled to receive its new donated vinyl siding and shingles next week. Much better for Kansas weather to beat the house to a pulp before all the new stuff is installed.
In the meantime, air that doesn’t feel like a blast furnace is a pleasant change of pace.
The porch steps no longer creak under me as I walk up them, and the white door doesn’t squeak on its hinges. Inside the living room, I can see the wooden floors, the walls, the ceiling. The rest of the house stretches out before me, no longer packed wall-to-wall with clutter and junk.
Now that I can see the floors, the ugly orange house is actually looking pretty good. I wouldn’t go as far to say it’s nice. No. That’s one step too far for a house where I found stacks of decaying curtains, wax-filled hearing aids, and a tub of rotten pickles.
But it’s a house that someone could definitely purchase.
For a moment, I let myself celebrate that. When we first walked inside this dump, I had been confident we’d never see the end of it. Granted, we really haven’t touched the RV yet. That was what we’d be working on while the siding and the roof was going on. But the house didn’t even look haunted anymore—at least from the inside.
As if it had ever been haunted.
“Patricia!”
I poke my head into the dining room where Gran is sitting at the table noshing on the cheese crackers Nathan had brought yesterday. Hopefully Nathan won’t mind that Gran is eating them. If he does, I’ll buy him more. Shoot, at the rate Gran is downing them, I’ll probably buy him a new box anyway.
“This house is strange.” Gran pops a cracker in her mouth.
“Thanks for letting me know, Gran. I hadn’t noticed.” I pat her shoulder as I walk by and open the door that leads upstairs.
The carpet on the steps is coarse and shaggy and speckled with mud.
I can still feel the impact of each step on my back and shoulders. I can still hear the crack of Jerry Galvez’s neck.
I should have let someone else wait for the cleaners.
“Patricia.”
I blink and turn back to Gran, who is watching me with narrowed eyes.
“Sit.” Gran pushes a chair out.
“I’ve got stuff to do—”
“Sit.” Gran pounds the table with Nathan’s box of crackers. “I thought we were waiting for your cleaning people. What else is left to do in this rattrap?”
I lower myself into the chair and cast a smirk at her. “Have you seen this rattrap? There’s still tons to do.” I shrug. “But at least it’s less of a rattrap than it was.”
Gran offers me the cracker box, and I help myself.
“What’s going on with you, girl?” Gran narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not yourself.”
“Well, last week, I fell down those stairs with a man who was trying to beat me to death, and he broke his neck and died.” I crunch on a cracker. “So I’m a little weirded out by being here.”
Gran keeps staring at me. “That’s not it. You weren’t yourself before then.”
I eat another cracker. These are pretty good actually.
“Well?” Gran shakes the box and then pulls it out of my reach. “Ah. Spill.”
I glare at her. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe you can be a grown up.” Gran tilts her eyebrows.
I can’t stop a snort of laughter. “That’s too much work.”
Gran laughs with me and sets the box of cheese crackers down. “Come on, Trisha-girl. What’s eating you?”
My gaze falls to the stack of heavy boxes and equipment Aaron had been sorting in the corner yesterday. He’d been sitting cross-legged and focused, mouth muttering incoherently as he checked and double-checked all the batteries in the drill motors and in the flashlights, making careful note of what worked and what didn’t.
“I don’t know why Aaron hasn’t proposed yet.” The words sound childish even as I say them out loud.
Gran scowls.
“We’ve been together for so long.” I sink into my chair, folding my hands in my lap. “And I know he likes me. I just—I don’t know what I have to do to get him to understand that I love him. I don’t just like him, Gran. I love him.”
“Well, have you told him?” Gran cackles.
“Yes.”
“Then hold your horses.” Gran flaps a bony hand. “He’ll get to it. That boy knows a good thing when he sees it, and he won’t let you go anytime soon.”
“I don’t know, Gran.”
Gran narrows one yellowed eye at me. “Your grandfather took ages to propose to me.”
I sit up. “Really? I guess I kind of always thought you proposed to him.”
“Bah!” Gran grunts. “Only Irish women propose to men and only on Leap Day.”
“What?”
“It’s a thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It sure is. They made a movie about it.”
“Gran.” I lean my head back.
“I thought he’d never ask me.” Gran munches on a handful of crackers. “I remember being all hot and bothered and angry at his fool face for an entire week. And once he finally got around to popping the question, do you know what he told me?”
“This is your story, Gran.”
“Your grandfather told me that he’d been trying to get me alone for a month.” She snickers. “And I was too dang busy to slow down enough for him to ask.” She laughs loud and adjusts her walker. “I’d been so upset at him, and I’d been the one making the trouble all along.”
I smile. “Are you saying that’s what’s happening here?”
“Might be.” Gran slides the box of crackers toward me. “Either way, Trisha-girl, don’t give up. He’ll come around. That hunky Guinness boy is n
o fool, and he’d be a fool to walk away from you.”
I reach across the table and take Gran’s fingers. “Thanks, Gran.”
“You want to thank me?” She points to the box of crackers. “See if there’s anything in this dump to eat other than cheese crackers.”
“There are some rotten pickles we found in a plastic tub.”
Gran glares. “This house is weird.”
A pounding on the front door alerts me to the arrival of the cleaning crew.
“You have no idea, Gran.”
I stand up and walk into the living room. The soreness in my hips and knees is beginning to fade, I think. Hopefully the bruising all over my body won’t terrify the poor cleaning people. They’d volunteered to do this job after all.
I open the door without looking.
First mistake.
It’s not the cleaning crew standing on the porch. It’s Grant Layton in his black skinny jeans, black skull-covered t-shirt, and greasy black hair.
“Grant?”
Second mistake.
I speak to him instead of shutting the door in his face.
“Hi.” He hesitates. “Again. Sorry to drop by unannounced.” He winces slightly.
I should shut the door. I should ignore him. I should tell him that there’s nothing left for him to do here and that he should go hold a seance down by the river instead.
“What—Can I help you with something?”
Third mistake.
I actually care about this weirdo. What is wrong with me?
His smile is genuine, although it doesn’t touch his eyes. “You guys have made really great progress with this place.” He leans forward to see inside the house. “I imagine you’ll be putting it on the market soon.”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“I wonder.” He fidgets. “Look, I know you’re not into the paranormal. You don’t believe.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“But—there’s something here.” He holds my gaze. “Something not right.”
“There was.” I say sharply. “Squatters. Not ghosts. They’re gone.”
He grimaces. “I heard about that.”
A flag pops up in the back of my mind. How would he have heard about the squatters? It wasn’t publicized. To my knowledge, the police hadn’t canvassed the neighborhood. Maybe they’d asked the neighbors if they’d seen anyone or anything, and that’s how Grant had found out?
Sure. Yeah. That made sense.
But the flag in my mind is still waving.
“Sometimes dark places attract dark people.” Grant shoves his ring-laden hands into his tight pockets. “I still feel something dark here, and I’d like to do one more cleansing ritual. If you’d let me.”
I glance back into the dining area.
I don’t want to let him in. I don’t want to deal with him. The guy creeps me out. I don’t believe what he’s selling, but no matter how much I doubt him, he seems certain of himself.
“Why are you so determined about this?” I lean on the door frame.
He smiles. “I had a friend die here. If his spirit is still lurking around, I’d like to give him the opportunity to be free.”
My heart hurts.
What a sad existence Grant and his ghost-hunting friends must live. To believe that someone’s soul is anchored to earth after death? There’s no more depressing thought I can think of. Being a Christian makes life difficult, to be honest, but knowing for sure that death is just a transition to a blessed afterlife is one of the best perks we’ve got.
Maybe this is why I’m here.
If Grant is searching, maybe I can help him. Maybe I can answer his questions. But that has to start with me being open. If I’d been more open toward Keith, maybe we would have been better friends. Maybe I could have had a friendship with him like he has with Cecily, but I’d been too focused on the outside. Like usual. What he’d done. Not how he’d changed.
I shouldn’t do that with Grant.
I smile. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” I open the door. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” He steps past me, politely wiping his feet on the door mat.
“Want some cheese crackers?”
He eyes me, confused, before his gaze settles on Gran in the dining room.
“Hey, it’s the sexy kid from the grocery store!” Gran shakes the cracker box at him.
Grant glances at me, concerned.
“Don’t mind her.” I shut the door. “She’s senile.”
Grant chuckles. “What grocery store?”
“We saw you at the store last week.” I lead him into the dining room. “Gran, this is Grant. He’s a ghost hunter.”
“You left your basket behind, young man.” Gran takes hold of her walker so she can lean forward to shake Grant’s hand. “That wasn’t very responsible.”
Grant smirks. “Yeah, I’d gotten an upsetting call. I had to leave.”
“Right. Your friend Jerry.” Gran taps the side of her head. “Trisha says I’m senile. My mind is better than hers.”
“Of course, it is, Gran.” I turn to Grant. “What do you need?”
He watches me carefully. “Is it just the two of you here?”
“We’ve got a cleaning crew coming to go over the upstairs,” I say. “They should be here soon.”
He nods.
“You know.” He folds his arms. “Now that I’m in here.” He looks around. “I’m not sensing darkness. You all have done an amazing job of cleaning this home, so any evil presences here—they’re just not—they’re gone.” He grins. “Did you bring in an exorcist?”
Gran snorts with laughter.
“Hush, Gran.” I dig a roll of cookies out of my purse and hand them to her.
“You were holding out on me, you skank.” Gran snatches them out of my hand.
“So does that mean, you don’t need to do anything?” I ask him with raised eyebrows.
“I would like to see the RV one more time.” Grant lowers his head. “Before—that was where I felt the most darkness. If I could just check it. I’m sure the evil has fled—just like the evil in the house.”
I glance at Gran, now happily chewing on my emergency cookie stash. She’ll be fine on her own for the few moments it will take to get Grant into the RV.
“Gran, you hang out here.” I pat her shoulder. “We’re going outside.”
Gran makes a happy noise. I snatch my keys off the table and lead Grant outside to the driveway.
The air is thicker now. Heavier than it was before. We’re going to get a storm for sure.
The RV sits undisturbed and eerie in the driveway, its broken back window partly covered by loose plastic we had taped to its rusting side panels. With the house in such bad shape, the RV is less of a priority.
“It’s a mess,” I say with a look over my shoulder. “It’s on the schedule to get to next week.”
“That’s okay.” Grant smiles. The expression still doesn’t reach his dark eyes. “What I need to do doesn’t depend on how clean the RV is.”
“Good thing.”
“Thank you so much,” Grant is saying. “I’ll rest so much easier knowing that this is taken care of.”
“Don’t mention it.” I unlock the RV door.
I step up onto the entryway landing, feeling the pain flare in my right knee. So far regular walking isn’t a problem, but climbing stairs seems to cause pain. But I really don’t have anything to complain about. My neck isn’t broken, unlike poor Jerry Galvez.
I pause in the living area of the RV.
Jerry Galvez.
My stomach turns over.
Grant’s friend, Jerry.
In a fiery flare of panic, I clutch a nearby chair to keep myself upright. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. There’s no way it could be the same Jerry. That would just be—impossible.
“Grant?” My voice creaks, and I hope he doesn’t notice. “You mentioned that someone you knew died in
the house.”
“I did.” His voice is right behind me. “Last week.”
Crap.
I start to turn, and something big, blunt, and hard smashes into the side of my head. The interior of the RV whirls as my knees give out. The dirty carpet of the interior puffs dust and hair as I collapse with a cry, warmth trickling down the side of my face.
I gasp, deep and hard, ready to scream, to shout, to cry—to do anything to make enough noise that someone will notice—
Grant’s fist lands with a deafening crack against my skull.
How does this always happen to me? The wail echoes in my brain as the world goes black.
The RV Really Does Smell Awful
Someone is touching me.
Fingers running up and down my legs, digging in my pockets, cursing and muttering angrily.
I feel like cursing too, if I’m being honest. My head throbs, and I’m pretty sure that’s blood dripping in my eyes and mouth.
How? Why?
Oh. Grant. The ghost hunter.
I force my eyes to open, but they’re sticky, my eyelashes cemented together so it’s hard to open them wide. Blinking a few times, feeling the crust of blood along my eyelids, the ceiling of Old Man Barry’s RV meets my gaze. Rusted and stained, the interior lining losing its adhesive and drooping in places.
The place still smells like death.
Had they found the dead mice yet? If they had, someone had forgotten to put an air freshener in place, because the RV could double as an open-air meat market in Mexico at the height of summer.
I try to speak, but all that comes out in a throaty groan.
“Shut up.” Grant kicks my sore knee.
He looms over me, cell phone in hand, currently dialing a number with shaky fingers.
Grant lifts the phone to his ear, steps over me, and walks to the RV door, which he shuts firmly and locks.
“Roper.” He speaks into the phone. “Yeah, I got the keys. We can move.” Grant walks up the stairs and stands on the stained rug between two reclining chairs built into the RV. “Yeah. They saw me.” He hesitates. “Nobody important.”
Grant stares at me with his dead eyes.
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