Rhayven House

by Frank Bittinger

  “You know nobody calls them that anymore.”

  “I know, and I also know why they called them that in the first place.” He stuck out his tongue at Ian in a manner reminiscent of an impudent child. Toby tapped the side of his head with a forefinger “There's all kinds of information floating around in here. You'd be surprised.”

  “Like what?” Ian asked.

  “Cute little ladybugs are pretty cannibalistic evil insects,” Toby said with a maniacal grin. “They will poison another ladybug with toxic bodily fluids and then eat that ladybug's children—the soft, chewy eggs.”

  Ian digested, no pun intended, the information. “That's deeply disturbing, pal.”

  “Thanks,” Toby said.

  “And you say I know a lot of weird shit.”

  Nineteen

  After the séance failed to produce half as much information as Ian desired and after being scared half to death by the manifestation of zombies crawling forth from the catacomb, Ian cleared his mind and set to work on finishing the latest round of manuscript edits.

  Sitting on the sofa in the living room, the printed-out pages in his lap and pen in hand, he was in the perfect position to hear the rustling sounds from the kitchen—like someone was in there rooting around for something and trying to be sneaky about it.

  “Toby? Hey, Toby?” Ian called from his spot on the couch.

  When he didn't receive an answer and the noises continued, he got up and walked to stand in the doorway. “Tobias. Paging Tobias. Is that you in there making all the noise?”

  The noises paused briefly and then started up again. Listening, Ian distinctly heard the cabinet doors being closed—muffled, but he could still hear it.

  “Toby!” he yelled louder.

  And just as Toby's answering yell came from upstairs, there was a huge crash—as if something large and solid had hit the floor—accompanied by the sound of thousands of glasses shattering.

  “Holy shit.” Ian dove for the kitchen.

  Steeling himself for finding apocalyptic ruin, Ian walked in to investigate the carnage. Looking around, he saw nothing that grabbed his attention—just his normal kitchen, exactly the way he liked it.

  Not exactly. The knives—they'd been pulled out of the wood block holder on the countertop and were in the middle of the floor. He bent over and begin picking them up one by one, placing them back into the holder—only to find the biggest knife—the one Norman Bates could kill you with in the shower knife—was missing.

  He couldn't see it anywhere.

  “What are you yelling about?” Toby asked from the doorway. “You're yelling loud enough to wake the dead.”

  Turning to look at Toby, Ian said, “I know you couldn't have heard the rustling around in here all the way upstairs, but tell me you heard the crash.”

  But Toby just shook his head and frowned. “Sorry, pal. Can't say I did.”

  “I'm seriously thinking of asking Belle if she knows a reputable medium I could ask to come in to contact this spirit.” Ian shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought I was on the way to figuring this out, but I have to admit I'm in over my head. Whether or not it's what she intended to do, she, the ghost, has been sending me mixed messages; I can't make heads or tails of it.”

  “It couldn't hurt. You've tried everything else known to man.”

  “If she doesn't know one personally, maybe she can point me in the right direction,” Ian said. “Unless I get answers and figure this out, I can't see myself staying here.” He felt like throwing his hands up and conceding. “Maybe that's what she wants.”

  “My advice is to try the medium. Then, if that doesn't work, move the hell out of here before winter sets in and while you still have the townhouse,” Toby advised, “before you end up as the sequel to Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte.”

  It sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan to Ian. He looked at Toby and said, “As long as you haven't been gaslighting me all along.”

  “I know what that means,” Toby said. “Like I've ever been motivated enough to put together—not to mention pull off—a gaslighting scheme for anybody. Besides, you ain't no demented Southern belle, pal, and this isn't a movie script.”

  “Damn, I wish I'd written the story for that movie. The song alone was haunting enough, setting an eerie atmosphere.” Ian shook his head. “I'm surprised you even remember watching the movie.”

  “I remember you talked me into it and the other bizarre movie when what I wanted to watch was a Dirty Harry marathon. It was a genuinely creepy film. I didn't get that eerie song out of my head for weeks.”

  “And here I thought you'd slept through the whole thing; but you did watch it. The truth comes out all these years later.”

  “On a serious note: Even if you do get the answers you're looking for, it's not going to be a case of abracadaver and it's all over.”

  “That's a pretty clever play on the magic term,” Ian said. “I'll have to make a note of it. You learn that one from your grandmother, too?”

  “Just give your friend a call.”

  “Yes. I will call Belle and hear what she has to say about mediums.” He scratched at an itch right under his rib. “There are so many weird things that have occurred around here—up in Meyersdale, over in Greenbrier, in Darkwood back in the forties. In de Montserrat.”

  “You're saying what exactly?” Toby asked. “There are ghost stories throughout history all across this country, around the world.”

  Ian wiped his face with his hands. “I don't know. Maybe this is all getting to me more than I want to let on, and I don't know what to do.”

  “Call Belle. See what she says, pal. Take it from there. Make one decision at a time. Until then, we both need to get some sleep before we collapse into comas.”

  ~ ~ ~

  After talking with Belle, Ian felt better about his decision to find a medium. She recommended one, an older woman who, Belle assured him, wasn't a weirdo and who had actually assisted the police in several cases. He wrote down her name and number and made up his mind to call her the next day to set up a meeting.

  Instead of taking a walk, Ian decided to go up to the glassed-in room—as he called it—at the top of the house and have a look around the valley.

  Mid-way up the stairs, lying on the step as if it had been carefully placed there, was the missing kitchen knife. It couldn't have appeared more macabre.

  “What the hell?” He bent down to pick it up and realized there were bits of wood on the stairs, like someone had been cutting away at something.

  “Booooyyy.” The deep gravelly voice came from behind Ian and made him hit nearly hit the roof.

  “Sorry,” Toby said when he saw how much he startled Ian.

  “I will never watch any of the Phantasm movies again,” Ian vowed and held up the kitchen implement for Toby to see. “Found the missing knife. Wonder what she wanted with it.”

  “Who knows? I just heard you walking up here and thought I'd ask if you wanted to run into town with me.”

  Ian shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll take a mental health day.”

  Further up the staircase, Ian discovered the now-familiar words carved into the wall.

  N

  E

  V

  E

  R

  NEVER FORGIVE

  O

  R

  G

  E

  T

  “Come here and look at this,” he said.

  Toby came up, took in the words carved into the wall, and said, “Hatred is strong enough to keep her going after death, and it sure sounds like she's pissed at somebody.”

  “She has plans for retribution, at least that's what she said.

  Nodding to the wall, Toby said, “You've seen this before a couple times, yes?”

  “Never physically carved into something like this. This looks hacked into the wall. Way more aggressive action than spelling it out in wax on the coffee table or in condensation on a mirror.”r />
  “Jesus. When did you say this medium was coming to talk with the ghost? Soon, I hope, because this gives me the willies more than anything she's done so far.” Toby ran his finger over the ragged edges of the letters.

  “I'm calling her tomorrow,” Ian said.

  “Tomorrow can't come soon enough. I'll keep my legs crossed she can help put an end to this madness. You're obsessed and it don't look so pretty on you, pal.” Toby put his hand on his friend's shoulder. “I got your back, you know that, but I want you to be willing to put an end to this one way or another.”

  Ian nodded.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes,” Ian answered, his voice sounding hoarse. “There has to be an end.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Things took a darker turn after they discovered the carving in the wall of the staircase leading up to the glassed-in room. Toby attempted again to talk Ian into accompany him into town, reminding him he'd promised to buy him a new suit. He told him he spent his time either working on a book or researching about odd things or trying to uncover nonexistent information about the house and ghost.

  “If it's been buried—no pun intended—so deep, it was for a reason. What makes you think you can exhume it?” Toby asked, and jingled the car keys. “Just get in the car and try to have a pleasant afternoon.”

  Against his better judgment, Ian said he would go.

  Once they got into town. Toby said he might as well pick up some fall clothes while he was thinking about it, and suggested Ian look for something he liked.

  In the men's department, they looked through the clothing and selected three suits—a darker gray, a basic black, and a black on black pinstripe—along with some shirts and ties that would coordinate with any of the suits. Toby said he wanted to see what they looked like on and they went in search of the dressing room.

  When they got to the dressing area, Toby turned to Ian and said, “You coming in, pal?”

  “Might not be such a good idea,” Ian said, his heart thundering in his chest, knowing something was going on. The air changed. It felt like thick, heavy liquid. “Too much temptation after what she pulled earlier.” He needed to catch his breath.

  Ian knew she wasn't here, but her influence was.

  “You said you wanted to dress me in a suit. You can’t dress me from out there,” Toby said as he held the door open.

  “You know what I meant by that. Don't even play around.”

  A half grin crossed Toby's lips. “I know what you meant, what you really meant. The 'dressing room Gestapo' aren't paying any attention to us. C'mon.”

  “This isn't you,” Ian took a step back and said to his friend. “It's her. You know it's her influence; let's just get out of here.”

  “It's all me, pal. Trust me. But what does it matter anyway? Before you can dress me in a suit,” Toby said, his face a deadpan, “you have to undress me.”

  When Ian just looked at him without saying anything, he said, “That’s part of the whole process, isn’t it?”

  “You're nuts.” Ian felt the pull and couldn't fight it. He knew he should resist because it wasn't really Toby's offer, but he walked into the dressing room anyway.

  Toby followed and closed the door.

  Inside the small dressing room, Ian tried to back into the corner as Toby turned to him and said, “What do you want to take off me first, pal.”

  His mouth suddenly so dry, Ian swallowed hard, and swallowed again in attempt to get the saliva flowing. With shaking hands, he reached out to begin unbuttoning Toby's shirt. After Ian slid Toby's shirt off, he knelt down to remove Toby's shoes. His fingers stopped short as he hesitated with Toby's pants. Unbuttoning his friend's pants, Ian unzipped the fly. As he pulls his jeans down, he was sure Toby was getting hard but he didn’t want to say anything. His mouth so dry again, Ian fought back the urge to cough. Toby lifted his feet one at a time so Ian could pull the jeans off him easier.

  Still kneeling, Ian looked up at his friend.

  Toby grinned down at him. “You don't have to take the boxers off. Not unless you want to.”

  Ian stood and dressed Toby in the pants and shirt, buttoning the dark red shirt slowly, all the way to the top, before tucking it into the pants. Zipping the pants, he accidentally brushed against Toby’s cock, felt it jerk from the slight touch. Then he put the tie on Toby, winding the knot and tightening it.

  Standing back, he said, “Look in the mirror. Tell me what you think.” Dizzy, like he needed cool air, Ian went to the door. The dressing room felt stifling. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, his chest.

  “You did good, pal. I look hot,” Toby said.

  Ian didn't answer. He opened the door and walked out into the chilly air of the store.

  ~ ~ ~

  After shopping for the suit, Ian came home and went straight upstairs to bed without speaking to Toby. Lying on the bed, he heard the doorknob turning, a slight grating sound. He sat up and then reached to turn on the lamp and then he waited for Toby to come in. Ian watched the door slowly open, revealing no one standing in the threshold. His eyes went to the doorknob as some invisible hand released it.

  The door shut again, seemingly of its own accord. He heard the door knob turn as if someone had released their grip.

  Ian didn't care; he turned off the light and laid back down. He only wanted to close his eyes again and drift off into blissful sleep. He'd deal with anything else in the morning.

  It only felt like seconds when he heard the sound of the doorknob turning again. Glancing at the alarm clock, he realized he'd fallen asleep. The door started to open. Ian expected no one to be, there just like earlier.

  Opening all the way, it revealed Toby. He walked into Ian's room and tried to apologize. Ian told him he wanted to go back to sleep; they could talk about it in the morning.

  Instead of leaving, Toby closed the door and crawled into Ian's bed, under the blankets.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ian asked.

  Pressing his chest against Ian’s back, Toby said, “Come on. Tell me you forgive me. I know you want to forgive me.”

  “Move.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Toby draped his arm over Ian and pressed his hand against Ian’s chest. “I can tell you want me closer because I can feel your heart slamming into your sternum. Admit it.”

  “Get out.” His breath caught in his throat. Ian said as evenly as he could, “You need to get out of my bed. Don’t do this.” He felt Toby's lips, Toby's tongue, on his shoulder.

  “If you say the words, I’ll let you have what you want for tonight,” Toby whispered. “I’ll give you what you’ve wanted for a long time.”

  “Toby, don’t. Not this way.”

  “Forgive me,” Toby said again as he took Ian’s hand, brought it back, and placed it between his own legs. Ian didn’t resist him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” A deep groan escaped his lips as he used his hand to make Ian’s grip tighter. “But I bet you can make me hard. You already are. Feel it?”

  “This isn't you,” Ian said, drawing his hand away as he turned and sat up. “This is her. You know it and I know it. Stop.”

  “How can it be her when I'm the one telling you, giving you permission?” Toby began to pull the blanket back, uncovering himself.

  “Please, Toby. Just go,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “Fight it. You're stronger than this. Make yourself get out of my bed and leave my room.”

  Ian knew the struggle had to have been going on inside his friend. He felt Toby tense, his body becoming as stiff as if it were frozen solid.

  Silence hung heavily between them and finally Toby slid out of the bed, walked out of the room without saying a word, and closed the door behind him.

  Ian blew out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It was her. And it wasn't fair.

  Goddamn her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Next morning, the silence between them was more than merely uncomfortable. Ian didn't want the ghost using her abilities to me
ss up the friendship between he and Toby, a relationship they'd had for years and one he wanted to continue for many more years.

  “This can’t go on,” Toby said, not quite able to look at Ian. “I don’t know what happened to make me do that to you, but I’m sorry. There's no excuse.”

  Ian stared into those teal eyes; he almost got lost. Teal. Who in the world actually had teal eyes? Those eyes conveyed everything. Such an ethereal line between sexy and sinister. Whatever magical, mystical, metaphysical powers-that-be that laid hands upon him, sure as hell gave him more than just hot eye color. He mentally shook himself off the path to dirtier thoughts. “Apologies don’t always make everything all right again.”

  “Don’t let this abyss between us grow or it will eventually be deeper than the one in the Celebes Sea,” Toby told his friend. “We need to work on fixing this before it’s beyond repair. Don’t be so mad.”

  As difficult as it was to admit, Ian knew he had to put the truth out there. “It’s embarrassing. For me. Damn, you knew exactly which buttons to push, in exactly which order, and here I thought I wasn’t being obvious.”

  Toby smiled and reached for a cup. “It wasn’t a shining beacon but it wasn’t exactly a secret either, pal.” He filled the cup with juice and took a long swallow. “I don’t know what the hell happened last night to be honest. One minute I’d gone to bed and the next I was wrapping myself around you.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Do we really have to go into this? Can’t we just chalk it up to 'the Devil made you do it' and forget about it?”

  “Yeah.” Toby grinned. “Yeah, we can, although I don't think it was the Devil; I think it was our ghost friend because she has a penchant for manipulating stuff for her amusement.”

  “I agree. In fact, I'd bet my ass on it.” Ian scratched his jaw. “She might be getting a perverse kick out of controlling us, making us do stuff we wouldn't normally do if left to our own devices.” He hoped they could get past it and move on.