The Haunting of Willow House

by Anthony M. Strong

  Waiting.

  Becca shrank back, her shoulders hitting the tiled wall. She raised a hand to cover her mouth as her breath came in sharp, rapid quivers.

  And then, to her horror, the shower curtain moved.

  It rippled, as if there was a body stirring the air close by, and then it started to press inward, ever so gradually.

  The curtain bowed in the middle, the hem inching up the side of the tub, scrapping.

  A dent appeared, pushing inward toward her.

  The curtain wrinkled, formed around something that looked very much like…

  A face.

  The realization hit Becca right around the same time that the countenance in the curtain opened its mouth, the fabric falling into the space between the lips, which moved up and down, silently miming a single word.

  Rebecca.

  This was too much.

  Becca let out a shriek, her stomach tightening in fear, and she lunged forward. She gripped the edge of the curtain, threw it back in one sweep, several eyelets ripping from their hooks as she did so.

  The grotesque face vanished as the curtain flew aside, the fabric relaxing and slouching on one side under the weight of the unsupported material.

  The room was empty.

  There was no demon lurking beyond the tub, waiting for her. Everything was as it should be.

  Becca let out a sobbing breath, her nerves tingling, the memory of those lips silently mouthing her name burned into her mind.

  She shrank back, the cascading shower water, now tepid, splashing over her body. She drew in a long, measured breath, her heartbeat returning to normal.

  At that moment the bathroom door burst inward, slamming back on its hinges.

  Becca let out a scream, expecting to see the ghastly, misshapen form of Martha Ward lurching toward her. But it was just Andrew, standing in the doorway, a concerned look on his face.

  “What’s going on?” He stepped into the room. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Becca said, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her. “I just got spooked, that’s all.”

  “Oh. I see.” Andrew looked relieved. But then his face changed. A look of shy awkwardness came upon him, and he back peddled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  At first Becca didn’t comprehend what he was talking about, but then she followed his gaze, glanced down, and remembered that she was naked.

  “Oh my god.” She reached out, pulled the shower curtain toward her, sheltered behind it, her face a burning shade of crimson.

  “You’re sure you are okay?” Andrew was looking away now.

  “I’m good. Thanks.” She wished that the floor would collapse and swallow her up.

  “Okay.” Andrew nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m across the hall if you need me.”

  “Thanks.” Becca watched him leave, pulling the door closed as he went. She let the curtain fall away and turned off the water, stepping from the tub. She grabbed a towel, dried off as fast as she could. There was no way she was staying in this room a moment longer than necessary. She slipped the nightgown over her head, scooped up her clothes and went to the door, checking to make sure the coast was clear before she entered the hallway and scurried toward the attic stairs. By the time she reached the bedroom, her heart was pounding. She slipped inside, pushed the door closed.

  A few feet away Sarah still snored, although her clothes now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  Becca scooted down into the sleeping bag and lay there, her cheeks still flushed from the naked encounter with Sarah’s dad, her stomach churning at the memory of the face in the shower curtain. When she finally fell asleep, the two merged, and she dreamed of Andrew, his face mashed into the curtain, watching her while she bathed.

  Chapter 45

  Andrew entered his den and closed the door, leaning heavily on it. He felt embarrassed, foolish. He should have knocked instead of barging into the bathroom like that, but when he heard Becca’s scream he hadn’t stopped to think.

  What if it had been Sarah? What if she had hurt herself, tried something again? He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her too. Only it wasn’t his daughter, it was her friend. An image of the girl cowering in the shower, the water dripping off her, forced its way into his mind. He pushed the memory away. She was mortified, no doubt. Heaven alone knew why she had let out that scream, but she certainly hadn’t expected him to come flying to her rescue, barreling through the door, of that he was sure.

  Now he was glad to be going to New York. By the time he got back she might be gone already, and if not, at least the incident would have faded.

  From the corridor he heard a faint click, and soft feet hurrying away.

  This would be Becca, hightailing it back to the attic.

  He stepped away from the door, went over to the desk.

  The laptop was awake, its screen glaringly white and empty, the cursor blinking at him.

  When are you going to write again? it asked. What’s up — can’t think of anything?

  That much was obvious.

  If he could come up with a single line worth a damn, he wouldn’t be flying to New York in the morning to pander to a bunch of slick suited shysters with nothing but dollar signs in their eyes.

  Andrew glanced sideways to the shot glass, ready and waiting, full to the brim as always. How many had he consumed tonight? It didn’t matter. One more wouldn’t hurt.

  He picked it up, knocked it back in one gulp.

  The liquor burned a path down to his stomach, where it sat, warming him.

  He leaned back in the chair, the alcohol making him drowsy. He fought to keep his eyes open, but lost the battle. A few minutes, nothing more, he told himself as tiredness washed over him. But he knew it would be more than that. This wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep at his desk. He had a feeling it would not be the last.

  Chapter 46

  Becca’s eyes snapped open.

  She lay for a minute, unmoving, almost as if she was taking stock of her surroundings, then squirmed free of the sleeping bag and stood.

  In the bed Sarah was curled up, only her head visible above the sheets.

  Becca extended a hand, her fingers grazing Sarah’s forehead, teasing a stray curl of hair.

  Sarah moaned and rolled over, turning away.

  Becca went to the door, eased it open. She crept down the stairs and walked along the corridor toward the chink of light that still glowed under the furthest door.

  When she reached Andrew’s writing room, she tapped on the door and waited.

  Chapter 47

  Andrew awoke to a quiet rapping on his writing room door. He opened his eyes, finding first the vodka bottle, the always full shot glass. How long had he been sleeping? It was still dark outside, so it wasn’t morning yet. He sat up, found his phone, and checked the time.

  Almost one o’clock in the morning.

  The tapping came again, urgent and quick.

  Andrew stood, felt his legs wobble a little under the fading influence of the booze, staggered to the door.

  He pulled it open a crack, peered out.

  Becca stood there. She wore a knee length nightgown, and not much else. Despite everything, his mind wandered back to the shower.

  “What’s wrong?” His mouth was dry, like someone had poured rocks down his throat.

  “Nothing.” Becca looked up at him, wide eyed. “Why would you think there was something wrong?”

  “Why else are you knocking on my door at this hour?”

  “I feel bad about earlier,” She said. “The shower.”

  “If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”

  “Can I come in?” Becca ran a hand through her hair.

  “What?” Andrew was taken off guard. “Why?”

  “I’ve never been in the new writing room. I want to see where the magic happens.” She smiled. “Besides, it’s freezing out here in the corridor.”

  “I suppose.” Despite the a
larm bells going off in his head he pulled the door wide and stepped aside. “Maybe you should have put something a bit warmer on if you’re cold, a sweater or something.”

  “Don’t you like this?” Becca stepped into the room, pushed the door closed. She looked down at her nightgown. “I think it looks nice.”

  “I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate for the situation.”

  “What situation is that?” Becca inched closer. She looked up at him.

  “This.” Andrew waved an arm. “You being here in the middle of the night.”

  “I see.” Becca bit her bottom lip. “Can I let you onto a secret, Mr. Whelan?”

  “Sure.” Andrew wondered if he was still sleeping. Something about this encounter felt weird, like a dream.

  “I like you.” She snaked an arm around his neck. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I’ve thought about this moment so often.”

  “This isn’t a moment, Rebecca.” Andrew fought the rising tide of desire. He took her by the shoulders, pushed her back. “This is wrong on so many levels.”

  “So what?” Becca played with the top of her nightgown. “Are you telling me that you didn’t like what you saw in the bathroom?”

  “That was a mistake.” Andrew shook his head. “I should have knocked. I’m sorry.”

  “You still haven’t said if you liked it,” she said, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I think you did.”

  “For heaven’s sake.” Andrew felt the conflicting urges battle inside him. “You’re my daughter’s friend. You are still in high school.”

  “I turned eighteen last month,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “You don’t need to worry.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is?” Becca cooed. She closed the gap between them again. “I won’t tell Sarah. I promise.”

  “It’s not just that.” Andrew felt her body pressing against him, felt the hot tickle of her breath on his neck.

  “Jennifer?”

  He didn’t need to speak that time. The look on his face said it all.

  Becca slipped an arm under his, her hand resting in the small of his back. “You don’t have to keep everyone at arm's length. She would want you to be happy. She would want this.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” Becca snaked her other arm back around his neck. “You deserve this.”

  “I…” He struggled to find the words. His mind raced.

  “Hush.” She lifted herself on tiptoe, found his lips with hers.

  Andrew closed his eyes, felt his whole body tremble. Becca tasted like cherries. Her mouth was soft and inviting. He could feel her breasts against his chest, could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He slipped an arm around her, caressed her back, let his fingers trail down her spine until they couldn’t go any lower. He felt the desire surge inside of him. He pulled her in, his other hand finding the back of her neck and holding it tight as he returned the kiss, his fingers in her hair.

  And then it was over.

  When she pulled her lips away, he felt a pang of longing.

  “See, I knew you wanted it as much as me,” she whispered in his ear. “Why don’t we go to the bedroom?”

  “No.” It hit him all of a sudden. No matter how much he wanted this, no matter how alluring and manipulative Becca was being, he could not let it happen. It was wrong. Worse, if Sarah ever found out she would never forgive him. “This has gone too far already.”

  “Don’t worry…”

  “Enough.” He pushed her away. “This can’t happen. Ever.”

  “Maybe this will change your mind.” She reached down, took hold of the nightgown, and lifted it up over her head in a quick, fluid movement, discarding it on the floor.

  “I said no.” Andrew wanted to look away, couldn’t.

  “You’re really turning me down?” Her voice carried an incredulous tone. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” Andrew snapped, averting his eyes from her nakedness. When he spoke again, his voice was hard, angry. “Now go back to bed.”

  “If that’s what you really want.” She bent over, picked up the nightgown, and walked to the door. When she got there, she lingered, turned back to him. “The bedroom’s right there. It’s not too late.”

  “Just go.” Andrew felt drained, defeated. Any desire he’d harbored was gone, sapped by the realization of what could have happened.

  “Alright then. You’re the boss.” She pulled the door open and stepped through.

  He thought she had gone, felt a wave of relief, but then she was back, the nightgown draped over one arm.

  “One more thing—”, she said.

  “Yes?” He felt a tingle of dread. Something in the tone of her voice told him she wasn’t going to apologize.

  “Your family. Jake and Sarah.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re both going to die, just like your wife.” A cruel grin forced the sides of her mouth high to her cheeks. It looked like her face was about to crack in half. “And so are you.”

  Chapter 48

  Andrew awoke before nine the next morning, the alarm on his phone reminding him that he couldn’t sleep in. There was a flight to catch. He rose and went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth. His stomach churned, a leftover from the over indulgence the night before. He leaned over the sink, waited until the feeling passed.

  After that, he dressed and went downstairs.

  He was in the middle of preparing a breakfast of bacon and eggs when the rest of the occupants of Willow Farm showed up. Jake arrived first, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He sat at the table and watched his father crack eggs and butter toast. A few minutes later Sarah and Becca appeared.

  “Good morning.” He flipped the bacon in the pan, doing his best to avoid eye contact with Becca. “How did you guys sleep?”

  “Fine.” Sarah leaned against the wall near the pantry.

  “How about you, Becca?” Andrew met her gaze as he spoke, his eyes searching for any sign that she was as uncomfortable as him. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  “Of course, Mr. Whelan.” Becca smiled and went to the table. She took a seat next to Jake. “It’s so quiet here.”

  “That it is.” An image of Becca, her mouth bent by a twisted smile, entered his head. Her words lingered in his mind, fresh as the moment she’d spoken them.

  He looked at Jake, then Sarah.

  They’re both going to die, just like your wife.

  Why would Becca have said such a thing, and how could she breeze in here now like nothing had happened? He would need to have a chat with her later, when Sarah wasn’t around. For now though, there was a more pressing matter.

  “I have something to tell you guys; actually, a couple of things.” Andrew shimmied the bacon out of the pan, doled it between four plates, and then turned his attention to the eggs.

  “What, Dad?” Jake asked.

  “Well, you know we put the house in Boston up for sale.”

  “Yes.” Sarah narrowed his eyes.

  “We have an offer. Full asking price.”

  “Don’t accept. Please?” Sarah looked frantic. “We can move back after the summer, sell this place.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’ve already accepted. I just thought you guys should know.”

  “So we’re stuck here,” Sarah said. “Great.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “For you maybe.” Sarah glared at him. “What’s the other thing?”

  “I have to go on a trip.” He watched Sarah’s face, hoped she wasn’t going to pitch a fit about that too. “Harvey wants me to take care of some business in New York.”

  “What?” Her eyes brimmed with indignation. “When?”

  “This afternoon. I’m booked on the 1pm shuttle from Logan.”

  “You’re leaving me here alone?” A look of panic flashed across Sarah’s face. “You can’t do that.”
>
  “I don’t have a choice. It’s that or look for another job.” He served the eggs, took two plates to the table. “Besides, you won’t be alone. Jake will be here, and you have Becca to keep you company.“

  “Please don’t go,” Sarah begged. “Tell them you’re sick or something.”

  “I’m not a liar, Sarah.” His eyes flicked to Becca. If she caught the look, she didn’t react. “I gave my word.”

  “Who’s going to be in charge?” Jake asked before stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth with his fingers.

  “Your sister,” Andrew replied. “And I want you to be good, do what she says.”

  “Why can’t I be in charge?” He was working up to a second rasher of bacon.

  “Because you are ten years old.” Andrew deposited the remaining plates on the table, pulled out a chair, glanced back at Sarah.

  Sarah still lingered in the doorway, her face dark and stoic.

  “Are you coming to eat?” Andrew asked her. “It’ll be cold.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Sarah took a grudging step forward, then another, squeezed in between Jake and Becca. She picked up a fork and poked at her eggs.

  “One night. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Think you can handle things until then?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why do you have to make this difficult?” Andrew felt the familiar frustration that always surfaced when dealing with his daughter. “Most teenagers would be happy to get the house to themselves for a night.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Whelan,” Becca said. “I’ll make sure Jake is looked after. I’ve done my share of babysitting.”

  “I’m not a baby.” Jake scowled.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Becca slid a piece of her bacon over onto his plate. He grinned and snatched it up, all thought of the perceived insult forgotten. She turned her attention back to Andrew. “See?”

  “Alright.” A picture of Becca naked, inciting him to join her in the bedroom, wormed its way into his head. He looked down, suddenly ashamed. The eggs and bacon starred right back up at him, and he realized he wasn’t hungry anymore. He pushed the plate away, stood up.