The Haunting of Willow House

by Anthony M. Strong

  “Becca has something to ask you,” Sarah said.

  “I was getting to that.” Becca shot her friend a withering look. She turned back to Andrew. “I was thinking…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yes?” Andrew said, wary.

  “Would you mind if we went into town for the day?”

  “I don’t know. I have a lot to do—”

  “That’s okay. We can take my car.”

  “How long have you had your license?” Andrew knew he shouldn’t be worried, but ever since Jennifer died he’d been terrified of letting Sarah ride with anyone but him. God alone knew what he would do when she wanted to take her driving test. She was already old enough, but so far hadn’t pressed the issue.

  “A few months,” Becca said. She sidled closer. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m a great driver. Call my dad and ask.”

  “You’ll stick to the speed limit?” Andrew narrowed his eyes, tried to give her his stern look. A jab of pain shot through his tender head. He might need a couple more painkillers.

  “Of course. You have my word,” Becca replied. “We’ll even call you when we get there so you know that we got there safe and sound.”

  “Alright then.” He couldn’t think of a good reason not to agree, and besides, it might do Sarah some good to get out of the house for a few hours. She spent so much time on her own.

  “Awesome.” She grinned.

  “What are you going to do in town?” He probably should have asked that before giving permission.

  “I don’t know,” Becca said. “Catch a movie.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Andrew rubbed his forehead. All he wanted was for the girls to go away so that he could get some peace and quiet. “Be home by dark. And drive carefully.”

  “We will.” Becca took Sarah’s hand and practically dragged her from the room. As they left, she shouted over her shoulder. “Thanks, Mr. Whelan. You’re the best.”

  “You’re welcome.” He watched them go, and then, after the front door closed, turned his attention back to the toaster oven. A dark curl of smoke rose from behind the glass door. He’d burned his breakfast again.

  Chapter 35

  As soon as they were in Becca’s car, driving toward the old gnarly oak that stood at the edge of the road where their property ended, Sarah turned to her friend. “You lied to my dad.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Becca took a right and pulled off the dirt track onto the paved road. “We are going to Danvers.”

  “I don’t mean that. You said we were going to the movies.”

  “Well, duh. Of course I did.” Becca made a frustrated huffing sound. “I swear, Sarah, sometimes you can be so dense.”

  “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about saying where we’re really going?”

  “Because if we tell him we’re off to the library, he’ll think we’re up to something.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” said Sarah.

  “Yes, he would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one goes to the library. It’s boring, and we’re not studying for a test. One mention of that and he’ll know we’re going to meet boys for sure.”

  “But we’re not meeting boys,” Sarah said. “We really are going to the library.”

  “Exactly.” Becca fell silent, as if that was all the explanation that was warranted.

  “I don’t get you sometimes.” Sarah settled back in the seat. “I’m pretty sure there was no need to lie.”

  “Whatever. It’s done now.”

  “And what about breakfast? I thought we were going to eat before we left.” Sarah’s stomach grumbled in response. She hadn’t expected to feel hungry, but apparently her digestive system had not gotten the message.

  “Yuck. Toast?” Becca wrinkled her nose. “No way. I have something better in mind.”

  “What?”

  “Dunkin’ Donuts. There’s one up ahead.” Becca was already steering the car toward the drive-thru.

  “Do we really need to eat donuts?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Becca said, rolling her window down to order. Afterward, with a donut in her hand, she spoke again, between mouthfuls. “Besides, your father didn’t look too hot.”

  “He looked fine to me.”

  “Trust me. I know,” Becca said. “He had a hangover.”

  “I still don’t see the need to lie.” Sarah turned away, glanced out of the window as they entered the town of Danvers. She didn’t want to believe that her father was hung over, wanted it to be another lie, but deep down she knew it wasn’t. She felt trapped, hopeless to stop him sinking back into the despair that had crippled him in Boston. She also hated that Becca had sensed it, so she remained mute until they pulled up outside of the library, a large classic revival building set on several acres of lush parklands. It boasted arched windows and majestic columns bearing a half round portico that gave the whole thing a regal look.

  “Come on.” Becca hopped from the car, slammed her door. She waited for Sarah to climb out, then locked the car and took off across the lawn in the direction of the building.

  It was cooler inside. The air smelled of lemons and books. Becca went straight up to the information desk and asked where the Internet stations were located.

  “Reference Department,” replied the young woman behind the desk. She twirled her ID badge lanyard around her index finger, and then uncurled it again, only to repeat the motion. “You’ll need a library card though, and it’s an hour limit.”

  “Here you are.” Becca pulled a card from her wallet. She held it out.

  The woman took it, swiped it, handed it back. “All set. The Reference Department is to the left past the meeting rooms. Workstation 3.”

  “Super.” Becca slid the card back into her wallet. She set off, hardly waiting for Sarah, who hurried to catch up.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Looking up Martha Ward, of course. The Internet seems the best place to start.” Becca turned left toward a bank of computer workstations. Each one had a card attached to the top of the terminal with a number. She made a beeline for Workstation 3.

  “Couldn’t we have used our phones to do that?”

  “This is easier,” Becca replied. “Besides, we can go look around the stores once we’re done here.”

  “Fine. So what are we looking for?”

  “Let’s start with the name, date and location. Martha Ward, 1693, Massachusetts.” Becca brought the search engine up, tapped on the keyboard.

  The screen changed to show a list of results. The first hit was a link to the University of Virginia. The name Martha Ward was prominent.

  “Try that.” Sarah pointed.

  Becca clicked on the link. “It looks like an online archive of the Salem Witch Trial documents. There’s a record for a Martha Ward.” She scrolled down the page. “Crap.”

  “What?”

  “Martha Ward was accused of being a witch,” Becca said, wide eyed.

  “No way.” Sarah peered closer. The screen showed a scan of an old yellowed document. The writing was oxidized, brown, and faint. “Can you read it?”

  “I can try. It’s not very clear.” Becca studied the page, and then began to read. “Martha Ward of Salem Village was brought before us by Joseph Herrick, Constable in Salem, to Answer John Fellows and Joseph Wright of Salem Village Complainants on behalf of His Majesty against Martha Ward for suspicion of witchcraft by her committed, according to a warrant dated Salem, March 20th, 1692.”

  “Oh my god.” Sarah shuddered. It was bad enough that she suspected Willow Farm to be haunted, but to find out that there was a victim of the Salem witch trials right in their back yard, that was something else. It scared her, but at the same time she felt sympathy for Martha Ward, who surely did not deserve her fate, whatever that might have been.

  “There’s more.” Becca was still reading. “It says here that Martha Ward d
enied the charges, but it didn’t do any good. She was tried and convicted in the spring of 1693.”

  “That’s the year on the headstone,” Sarah said.

  “Oh, this isn’t good.” Becca glanced at Sarah, a worried look on her face.

  “What?” Sarah craned her neck to see the screen. “What have you found?”

  “They hung her.” Becca was shaking. “They strung her up in an oak tree at the entrance to her property.”

  “Willow Farm.”

  “Exactly.” Becca was pale. “You don’t think the oak they hung her from is the same one that’s there now, do you?”

  “There aren’t any other oak trees close to the road, and it does look old enough.” Sarah felt like crying. Things were going from bad to worse. “Crap.”

  “At least it explains the grave. Unconsecrated ground.”

  “Great,” Sarah said, her voice flat. “They hung a witch in front of my house.”

  Chapter 36

  It was after midnight.

  Sarah opened her eyes, roused from her sleep by the padding of feet on the wood floor, the creak of a door. She lay in the darkness, her heart beating fast, but then she remembered that Becca was there, just a few feet away. If things were going to get weird, at least she wasn’t alone.

  She rolled over, looked down at the inflatable mattress. Becca’s sleeping bag was empty. The bedroom door was ajar. It had been closed earlier, when they went to bed. Of that she was sure.

  She slipped out from under the covers, went to the door, peeked out. The stairs were dark. There was no sign of Becca.

  Sarah put her shoes on, opened the door wide enough to pass through, and made her way to the second floor landing.

  She paused, a creeping sense of uneasy coming upon her. Where was Becca?

  As if in answer, the sound of the front door opening, the worn hinges squeaking, drifted up from below.

  Sarah moved again, taking the stairs as fast as she dared, and hurried to the door. It was closed but not locked.

  She gripped the door handle, unsure if she should go outside, especially after the events of the previous night. But Becca was already out there, and that made no sense. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped out into the night.

  It was cold.

  The chill cut into her like a sharply honed knife. She pulled her top tight and looked around. There was no sign of Becca. It wasn’t that long since Sarah had heard the door open, so where was she?

  Somewhere far away an owl hooted, the call sad and haunting. The wind rustled the leaves, and from some distant location there was the faint sound of a car engine, but then it faded almost as quickly as it came.

  Sarah was perplexed.

  She walked past the old barn, the one her father wanted to turn into a garage. It leaned a little to the right, and the roof sagged. If outward appearance was anything to go by, the building was a goner. A few feet away stood Becca’s car so she was on foot.

  Sarah paused, her eyes searching the darkness.

  “Where are you?” She spoke the words under her breath. And then, when she was about to give up, there was a flicker of movement at the periphery of her vision. She turned and watched the figure as it moved away from her. This had to be Becca.

  Gravel crunched underfoot as Sarah hurried down the trail. It was much too dark. She wished she had a flashlight, considered going back to fetch one, but dismissed the idea. Becca was ahead of her, and she didn’t want to lose her.

  The fields on the left and right were nothing more than expanses of empty black nothingness. It made her feel like she was walking through an endless void. She shuddered, remembering her days in the hospital, when she was lost in limbo, comatose. She wished she didn’t remember the way it felt, but she did. There was a presence there with her, just out of sight, and she had the overwhelming conviction that it wanted to keep her there. She liked to say that she didn’t believe in heaven or hell, but that wasn’t entirely true. She did believe, deep down, and she thought she already knew what hell was like. She also wondered if the entity in the house – and she did now think something was there – had latched onto her because she had straddled both worlds already. She was an easy target.

  A flash of movement pulled Sarah from her thoughts.

  There was someone there, a figure hurrying along the trail. It turned, the face in shadow, but Sarah recognized Becca despite the distance.

  Her friend slowed, raised an arm, and beckoned for Sarah to keep going, to follow her.

  And then she lost the figure again in the darkness. She could see the low fence skirting the road, the woods on the other side, and the twisted oak, but not Becca.

  Sarah picked up the pace, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She felt a tingle of apprehension.

  She was almost at the end of the driveway now.

  She stopped in the shadow of the oak. She looked left, and then right. If Becca was on the road, she would be visible, but there was no one there. The only other option was the driveway leading back to the house. This too was empty.

  So where was she?

  Sarah stood there, confused.

  How could Becca have vanished?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  And then she heard a low, lazy creaking sound from above, in the tree. Sarah looked up, and what she saw filled her with terror.

  Becca was in the tree.

  She appeared to be hovering between two misshapen branches, her arms drooping. She swayed in the wind, her head bowed, hair falling past her shoulders like a silken waterfall.

  At first Sarah could not understand what she was seeing, could make no sense of it, but then she noticed the rope slung over a high branch, followed it down to the noose pulled tight against Becca’s neck. And in a flash she understood.

  Her friend wasn’t hovering.

  Becca was dead.

  Chapter 37

  Andrew was dreaming about Jennifer and their honeymoon together in San Francisco when the frantic scream pulled him from his sleep. His eyes snapped open. Instantly alert, he was on his feet in a matter of seconds and pulling on a pair of pants.

  He rushed from the room, almost tripping over himself as he hurried to buckle his belt. In the hallway he went to Jake’s bedroom.

  Jake was sleeping soundly. The room was dark, silent.

  Andrew turned toward the staircase leading to the attic, a knot of fear churning in his stomach. He was halfway up when he heard another scream. Only it didn’t come from above, it came from below, on the ground floor. He flew down the hallway, took the stairs two at a time and almost ran into Sarah as she came barreling through the front door.

  “Whoa. Slow down. What’s wrong?” Andrew surveyed her looking for any outward sign of an injury. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Sarah gasped, her face flushed and red. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Not me.”

  “Then whatever is the matter?” Andrew took her by the arm, led her away from the open front door, and pushed it closed. “And what were you doing outside?”

  “I followed Becca,” Sarah said. “I woke up and she was missing. I heard her go outside and then—”

  “Why on earth would she go outside at this hour?” Andrew didn’t know what time it was, but he knew it was late. “It’s not safe to be wandering-“

  “Who cares about that?” Sarah blurted. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “So tell me,” Andrew said. “But if Becca is outside we need to go and find her.”

  “There’s no point.” Sarah’s voice rose. She sat on the bottom stair, wiped the tears from her eyes. “Becca is dead.”

  “What?” Andrew felt lightheaded all of a sudden. He leaned against the wall. “What do you mean, she’s dead?”

  “She’s hanging in the tree, out by the road, the old oak. There’s a noose around her neck, and she’s dead.” Sarah looked up at Andrew with a look of pure anguish. “I followed her down the driveway. When I got to the tree, she was there.”
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  “Show me.” Andrew was already pulling on his shoes. He wondered where his cell phone was. “We need to call the police too.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Andrew recognized the voice right away. “Becca?”

  “Who else would it be?” Becca stood at the top of the stairs. Her nightgown hung to her knees. “Why are we calling the police?”

  Sarah stood up, watched Becca descend the stairs, a confused look on her face. “How is this possible? You’re dead.”

  “I don’t think so. I was sleeping pretty well though, until you guys woke me up.”

  “You were upstairs all the time?” Andrew asked. “You didn’t go outside?”

  “Why would I go outside?” Becca asked.

  Sarah studied her. “You were gone when I woke up. I saw you in the driveway.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Becca yawned. “I’ve been in bed the whole time. Haven’t moved.”

  “But—”

  “Okay. Enough of this fooling around.“ Andrew slipped his shoes back off. He turned to Sarah. “I don’t know what you are playing at, what kind of ploy for attention this is, but it had better not happen again.”

  “It’s not a ploy for attention,” Sarah protested. “I really did see—“

  “How, Sarah?” Andrew asked. “Becca is right here. She’s not hanging in a tree. She’s not dead. Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t.”

  “I’m telling you, I did.” Sarah looked near to tears again. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

  “Show me what?” Andrew said. “There is nothing to see.”

  “I’m right here, Sarah. I’m fine.” Becca placed a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

  “No. I don’t want to go back to bed,” Sarah said, pulling away. “I’m not making this up. You have to believe me.”

  “I give up.” Andrew shook his head. “For heaven’s sake, Sarah. If it’s not one thing, it’s another with you. I swear, I don’t understand you at times.”

  “I’m really not—“

  “I’m going back to bed. You can do what you want.” Andrew pushed past Sarah, climbed the stairs. “Just do it quietly, please.”