The Big Book of Ghost Stories

by Otto Penzler

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, when these things happened, the coffee cup, the ladder, the desk, where was Donna?”

  Richard thought for a second. “There with me.”

  “Each time?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “All right. This may be hard. Do you think that Donna felt angry with you? I mean about losing the baby?”

  “I … I don’t know. She may have.”

  “You said you argued about responsibility.”

  “Well, yes …”

  “Isn’t it possible that she may have blamed you for the things she feared? The side effects, and what might have caused them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think she may have wanted you to share that responsibility? And when you didn’t, when you said that there was nothing to feel guilty about, she thought you were trying to cop out, leaving her to take the consequences?”

  “Look, John!” Richard half rose to his feet.

  “Relax, Richard, I’m not saying that it’s true, I’m just asking if Donna might not have seen it that way.” Richard sat back, slowly. “Well? Could she have?”

  “I suppose … it’s possible.”

  “So then,” Parsons went on, “she loses the baby, blames herself, but blames you as well, and then strikes out at you.”

  “Strikes out? How?”

  “Call it telekinesis if you like. Everything’s got to have a name, doesn’t it? What happened in the bathroom was something she projected. From her mind to yours. She knocked over the ladder, spilled the coffee, slammed the desk.”

  “Jesus Christ, John, you’re supposed to be a scientist. How can you spout this shit?”

  “Richard, the more I study the mind, the more I learn I don’t know. Now, I do have limits. Ghosts are out, as are demons. No magic spells. Astrology is crap. Lumps on heads, crystals, channeling, ouija boards, it’s all bullshit. But what the mind can do isn’t.”

  “You mean you think that Donna made me see and hear it all? That she … she attacked me with her mind? Knocked over that ladder without touching it?”

  “I think it’s possible. Highly improbable, but possible.”

  “All right, look. Assuming she could, why would she? Why try to hurt me? She loves me, John. She says so in the letter, and I believe it. I know she does.”

  “If she’s behind all this, Richard, it isn’t her conscious mind that’s doing it. It’s her subconscious. And there, deep down in that pit of primitive irrationality, she may very well hate your guts. And instead of accepting her own hostility toward you, she projects it into the baby. The fetus, I guess I should say.”

  Richard barked a laugh. “But how can she do that? Turn her baby—what she thinks is her baby—into a … a monster?”

  “Maybe it just gives her more to take responsibility for.”

  Richard stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the snow-covered quadrangle, where the down- and wool-wrapped students passed like purposeful bears. “So what do I do?” he wondered aloud.

  “Do you know where she could have gone?”

  Richard shook his head. “Her parents are dead. She was an only child. John,” he said, turning to Parsons, “what do I do?”

  “The only thing you can. Wait. Leave her alone.”

  “… and she’ll come home.”

  “Probably. When she finds there is no baby. That she isn’t still pregnant.”

  “Do you think … when she has a period?”

  “Maybe that soon. Or maybe she’ll ignore it. Could be a full seven months. Or more. Whenever she realizes that there’s nothing there to come to term.”

  Richard swallowed heavily. “What you said about the mind. Do you think … could it be possible that …”

  “I know what you’re thinking. And no, it’s not possible. You can’t get around biology, Richard. Donna lost her baby. That’s all there is to it. She’ll be back. And she’ll come back alone.”

  VII

  Donna came back in July, in the middle of a summer so hot and dry that the grass around the farmhouse had yellowed, then browned to the color of dead leaves, crackling like melting ice when Richard walked on it.

  He was sitting on the front porch, drifting back and forth on the rusty metal glider, a vodka and tonic dripping condensation onto his bare leg, when she drove down the driveway in the Accord. She parked, but didn’t get out of the car right away. She sat there for a minute, watching him watching her. Then she opened the door, walked up the path, and stood at the bottom of the porch steps. He noticed her hands were empty, her belly flat. She looked as though she had lost weight. Her color was bad, her eyes tired, her cheeks as hollow as his stomach felt. “Hi,” she said, with barely a trace of emotion.

  He looked at her and nodded. Twice.

  “Aren’t you glad to see me?” Now there was, he thought, just a touch of pleading.

  “You didn’t write,” he said. “Or call. Seven months and not a word from you.”

  She tried to smile. “I thought you’d try to find me. I didn’t want you to.”

  “I didn’t try. If I would have, I could have. A detective could have traced the car, followed you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not trying. For leaving me alone.” She stepped onto the porch and sat next to him on the glider. “Aren’t you going to hug me?”

  Slowly, he set down his drink and embraced her. His arms felt stiff and heavy as they touched her, but the contact changed his mood immediately, as a spark of power lights a dusty and long extinguished lamp. He held her tightly, buried his face against her shoulder, and began to cry.

  “Oh, Rick,” she said, putting her arms around him and hugging him tightly. “Oh, Richard.” Her eyes teared. Her nose began to run. “I did miss you.”

  “I didn’t know,” Richard said through his crying. “I just didn’t know. You could have been dead. I didn’t know if you’d ever come back.”

  “I’d always come back. You knew I’d come back.”

  “You were so upset,” he went on. “I thought you might even … hurt yourself.”

  “Oh no. Never that. Never that. Shh. Shh, darling. I’m home now. I’m home and I love you, and everything’s all right. More than all right.”

  He cried some more, and Donna kept holding him, lightly crying as well. “Where were you?” he finally asked. “Where did you go?”

  “Ohio. A small town near Akron. I just drove until I found a place that felt right. A boarding house. An older lady had it. She was very nice. I helped her with the housework and things until …”

  She paused. In the heat, Richard felt very cold. “Until … you came home.”

  “Yes.” Donna nodded. “Until then.” She took her arms from around him, stood up, leaned on the porch railing. “Rick, remember my letter?” she asked quietly. “What I said I thought was happening?”

  He nodded, smiling to drive away the specters.

  “I was right, Richard. What I thought was happening? It happened.”

  He would not stop smiling. If he stopped smiling, he would let the monsters in. “No, Donna. The baby died. We lost the baby.” He smiled, being rational.

  Donna smiled back. “It’s in the car.”

  He shook his head. He smiled. How he smiled. “No.”

  “Come look. See for yourself.” She reached out her hand and took his, drawing him to his feet. Together they walked down the chipped and flaking wooden steps, down the path to the Accord. “It was sleeping on the way in,” she said.

  “It,” Richard parroted.

  “I don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl. I can’t really tell. Not yet.”

  “Donna …”

  “Shh.” They were at the car, and Donna leaned over and looked into the back seat. “Look,” she said.

  Richard looked.

  He did not see it at first, but as Donna’s grip tightened on his hand, something swam into view, hiding t
he faded blue vinyl. Its outline was a pair of joined ovals, one larger than the other, with four protuberances he tentatively identified as arms and legs. They were round and fat, and, like the trunk and head, pink in color. His breath locked in his throat as he heard her ask gently, “There, do you see it?”

  “Donna … no …”

  “Yes you do. I can see you do.”

  “Donna …”

  “It’s very quiet. Very good. It doesn’t eat, but it loves to be sung to, talked to.”

  “Donna, it’s … it’s not there. Not really. You created it.”

  “Of course, Richard. We created it. Together. It’s our baby.”

  “It is not there, Donna.”

  “You can’t say that. You can’t believe it. You see it. It’s what we did. It’s us, Richard, it’s part of us. It’s who we are, and what we’ve done.” She looked down at the shadowy form, which was growing ever more distinct. “So we have to take care of it.” She rested a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside now. Into our house.”

  She turned and started to walk up the path. When she saw him hesitate, looking at her and then at what lay in the back seat, she gave a little bell of a laugh. “We don’t have to take it,” she said. “It’ll be inside before we are.”

  She was right. When they entered the living-room, it was lying on the sofa, half-seen, like some plump fruit shrouded by leaves and branches. Donna looked down at it lovingly, then walked around the room, touching familiar things. “You’ve kept the house nice, Rick. Everything looks so clean. We’ll be happy now.” She smiled at him. “I think I’ll get my bags. I won’t really feel at home until I’m unpacked.”

  Richard continued to gaze at the shape, seeing it float on the brown brocade as he’d seen a similar shape float in water, dark and lambent. “I’ll … I’ll help you,” he said huskily.

  “No. You stay here.” She embraced him from behind. “Sing to it, Richard. It loves that.”

  He felt her kiss his hair, then listened to her retreating footsteps, the screen door slamming shut on its weary spring, the boards of the porch creaking under her weight.

  It did not disappear, did not vanish in her absence as he had thought it might. It remained on the couch, its outline firm. How strong can she be, how strong?

  And then the other thought intruded:

  How strong have I become?

  Parson’s mysteries of mind swept through him, and he wondered what cancer had clamped his brain, what sickness, what maleficent suggestion had given him the power to conjure this thing that shared his house, his wife’s love, and, ultimately, his own affections.

  The plumpness on the sofa moved as if trying to give an answer, and the appendages twitched, stroked through unseen waves, extended toward him as if to say:

  Love me. I am here, am yours. Love me.

  He looked at his baby, and found himself humming, very gently, very quietly. It was a carol, a carol and a lullaby.

  I am yours. Love me, it said to him.

  He would. Helpless, bound, he knew he would.

  Permissions Acknowledgments

  “Mr. Arcularis” by Conrad Aiken from Harper’s 1931. Copyright © 1931 by Conrad Aiken. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Brandt & Hochman Literary Agents, Inc.

  “The Night Wire” by H. F. Arnold from Weird Tales, September 1926. Copyright © 1926 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “Legal Rites” by Isaac Asimov and James MacCreigh from Weird Tales, September 1950. Copyright © 1950 by Isaac Asimov and Frederick Pohl. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of the Trident Media Group and Curtis Brown Ltd.

  “The Corner Shop” by Cynthia Asquith from The Ghost Book, edited by Cynthia Asquith. London, Hutchinson, 1926. Copyright © 1926 by Cynthia Asquith. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Roland Asquith.

  “The Follower” by Cynthia Asquith from My Grimmest Nightmare, London, G. Allen & Unwin, 1935. Copyright © 1935 by Cynthia Asquith. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Roland Asquith.

  “Song of the Dead” by Wyatt Blassingame from Dime Mystery Magazine, March 1935. Copyright © 1935 by Popular Publications, Inc. Copyright renewed 1963 and assigned to Argosy Communications, Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinted by arrangement with Argosy Communications, Inc.

  “The House in Half Moon Street” by Hector Bolitho from The House in Half Moon Street by Hector Bolitho, London, Cobden-Sanderson, 1935. Copyright © 1935 by Hector Bolitho. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of The Alfred and Isabel Marian Reed Trust.

  “The Avenging of Ann Leete” by Marjorie Bowen from Seeing Life! And Other Stories by Marjorie Bowen, London, Hurst & Blackett, 1923. Copyright © 1923 by Gabrielle Margaret Vere Long. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Sharon Eden.

  “The Ghosts of Steamboat Coulee” by Arthur J. Burks from Weird Tales, May 1926. Copyright © 1966 by Arkham House; from Black Medicine, Sauk City, WI, Arkham House, 1966. Reprinted by permission of Arkham House.

  “Playmates” by A. M. Burrage from Some Ghost Stories by A. M. Burrage, London, Cecil Palmer, 1927. Copyright © 1927 by A. M. Burrage. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of J. S. F. Burrage.

  “Just Behind You” by Ramsey Campbell from Poe’s Progeny, edited by Gary Fry, Bradford, U.K., Gray Friar Press, 2005. Copyright © 2005 by Ramsey Campbell. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Behind the Screen” by Dale Clark from Weird Tales, April 1934. Copyright © 1934 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “Death Must Die” by Albert E. Cowdrey from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, November/December 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Albert E. Cowdrey. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Punch and Judy” by Frederick Cowles from Star Book of Horror No. 1, 1975. Copyright © 1975 by Michael W. Cowles. Reprinted by permission of Michael W. Cowles.

  “Pacific 421” by August Derleth from Weird Tales, September 1944 and Something Near by August Derleth, Sauk City, WI, Arkham House, 1945. Copyright © 1945 by Arkham House. Reprinted by permission of Arkham House.

  “The Return of Andrew Bentley” by August Derleth and Mark Schorer from Weird Tales, September 1933 and Colonel Markesan and Less Pleasant People, Sauk City, WI, Arkham House, 1966. Copyright © 1966 by Arkham House. Reprinted by permission of Arkham House.

  “Death’s Warm Fireside” by Paul Ernst from Dime Mystery Magazine, March 1936. Copyright © 1936 by Popular Publications, Inc. Copyright © renewed 1964 and assigned to Argosy Communications, Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinted by arrangement with Argosy Communications, Inc.

  “The Lost Boy of the Ozarks” by Steve Friedman from Backpacker, November 2009. Copyright © 2009 by Steve Friedman. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Floor Above” by M. L. Humphreys from Weird Tales, May 1923. Copyright © 1923 by Rural Publications. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “Mr. Saul” by H. R. F. Keating from The Thirteenth Ghost Book, edited by James Hale, London, Barrie & Jenkins, 1977. Copyright © 1977 by H. R. F. Keating. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Advent Reunion” by Andrew Klavan from Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, January 2011. Copyright © 2011 by Amalgamated Metaphor. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Dead-Wagon” by Greye La Spina from Weird Tales, September 1927. Copyright © 1927 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “Smoke Ghost” by Fritz Leiber from Unknown, October 1941. Copyright © 1941 by Fritz Leiber. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Richard Curtis Associates, Inc.

  “He Walked by Day” by Julius Long from Weird Tales, June 1934. Copyright © 1934 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “The Fifth Candle” by Cyril Mand from Weird Tales, January 1939. Copyright © 1939 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

&nb
sp; “The Considerate Hosts” by Thorp McClusky from Weird Tales, December 1939. Copyright © 1939 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “Mordecai’s Pipe” by A.V. Milyer from Weird Tales, June 1936. Copyright © 1936 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “But at My Back I Always Hear” by David Morrell from Shadows 6, edited by Charles L. Grant, New York, Doubleday, 1983. Copyright © 1983 by David Morrell. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Night-Side” by Joyce Carol Oates from Night-Side by Joyce Carol Oates, New York, Vanguard Press, 1977. Copyright © 1977 by Ontario Review, Inc. Reprinted by permission of the author and John Hawkins and Associates, Inc.

  “Thing of Darkness” by G. G. Pendarves from Weird Tales, August 1937. Copyright © 1937 by Popular Fiction Publishing Co. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Weird Tales Ltd.

  “Make-Believe” by Michael Reaves from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March/April 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Michael Reaves. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Journey into the Kingdom” by M. Rickert from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, May 2006. Copyright © 2006 by M. Rickert. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “They Found My Grave” by Joseph Shearing from Orange Blossoms by Joseph Shearing, London, Heinemann, 1938. Copyright © 1938 by Gabrielle Margaret Vere Long. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of Sharon Eden.

  “The Midnight El” by Robert Weinberg from Return to the Twilight Zone, edited by Carol Serling, New York, DAW Books, 1994. Copyright © 1994 by DAW Books. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “School for the Unspeakable” by Manly Wade Wellman from Weird Tales, September 1937. Copyright © 1937 by The Popular Fiction Publishing Company. Renewed. Reprinted by permission of David A. Drake.

  “In at the Death” by Donald E. Westlake from The Thirteenth Ghost Book, edited by James Hale, London, Barrie & Jenkins, 1977. Copyright © 1977 by Donald E. Westlake. Reprinted by permission of the estate of Donald E. Westlake and LJK Literary Management.