Becca had said as much, pleading for forgiveness. She claimed to have no memory of leading Tyler out to the barn, of seducing him, and seemed so genuinely distraught at the situation, and her circumstance, that Sarah didn’t have the heart to demand she leave.
Now though, as the sun warmed the dew heavy fields, and the air hummed with the happy chirp of birds, there was no reason to delay the inevitable. Becca might not have any memory of the previous nights events, but that didn’t make it any better, or any easier for Sarah to deal with.
“It wasn’t me,” Becca had said as they sat in the attic room after Tyler left.
“It looked like you.” Sarah was still seething with anger.
“I went to bed, the next thing I knew I was out in the barn, half naked, with Tyler.” Becca had wiped tears from her eyes, her face a burning shade of crimson. “I still can’t believe it.”
“So what are you trying to say?” Sarah asked the question even though she suspected what the answer would be.
“The witch.” Becca almost spat the words. “It must have been Martha Ward.”
“So you were possessed?” The incredulity in Sarah’s voice would have been hard to miss at the best of times. “Come on, is that even possible?”
“It’s the only explanation I have.” Becca shrugged, her face somber. “I never sleepwalk, and I certainly don’t hit on boys in my sleep.”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“I know. You’re hurting. That’s what she wants. Martha Ward, or whoever she is, is trying to drive a wedge between us, don’t you see?”
“What I saw was you and Tyler, together.”
“I’m sorry about that. If I could go back and change it, I would.” Becca took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Sarah’s. “I think I should leave tomorrow. Your dad will be back, so you and Jake won’t be alone in the house.”
Sarah nodded, mute.
“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.”
Again, Sarah nodded.
“So it’s settled. I’ll leave tomorrow.”
And that was the end of the conversation. Sarah crawled into bed, pulled the covers up, and lay there, unable to sleep until dawn.
Now they were on the driveway and Becca was leaving for Boston. It didn’t feel real. It felt like a horrid dream, but Sarah knew it was not.
“Will you be okay until tonight when your dad gets back?” Becca asked as she heaved her bag into the Toyota’s trunk.
“Of course.”
“Well, then…“ Becca let the words trail off, unsure what to say next.
“Go.” Sarah forced a weak smile despite the fear and disappointment writhing in her stomach.
“Call me if you need anything at all.” Becca was at the driver’s side door. She opened it. “I will turn around and be back here before you know it.”
“I will.” Sarah watched her friend climb into the car, start the engine. And then the yellow Toyota was crunching gravel as it made a turn and moved away from the house.
Sarah kept her eyes on the car until it reached the old oak and turned onto the main road. Soon it was lost amid the trees lining the highway. Only the engine noise remained, and that too soon faded.
Sarah was alone.
Except for Jake.
That thought didn’t give her much comfort.
Chapter 64
While Sarah was outside, watching Becca depart, a small figure eased itself out of the furthest room on the second floor and padded toward the bathroom. There came the sound of running water, and soon the figure emerged again, a drinking glass grasped in one hand.
The landing, as always, was dark and brooding. With all the doors closed, there were no windows to provide direct sunlight to the interior of the house. This also accounted for the musty smell that permeated the deepest parts of the building, but the boy did not care about that. In fact, he hardly noticed the odor at all as he made his way to the third floor staircase.
Moments later, the glass of water still cradled like a precious cargo, Jake slipped past the mostly closed door into the attic space that had been turned into Sarah’s bedroom.
He paused, his eyes flitting from one surface to the next, looking for something. Then he saw it, Sarah’s most prized possession. Her cellphone. It was on the bed, sitting atop the thin comforter with a pattern of interlocking blue circles. He took the device from the bed and held it before positioning it a few inches above the glass.
He opened his fingers.
The phone plunked into the water with a small splash, only the top third poking above the rim of the glass.
The screen lit up, a brief flare of brightness, and then flickered a couple of times before turning black once more.
He plucked the lifeless cell phone out of the glass, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, and waited for the last of the water to drain from the device, then wiped it on his pajamas and dropped it on the floor.
From below came the sound of a car starting, the low rumble of the engine an indication that his time was limited.
With a flick of his ankle, he kicked the sodden phone into the dark space under the bed, making sure that it was out of sight. He turned and retraced his steps back to his own room. He barely made it back before he heard Sarah enter the house, the front door slamming closed as the breeze caught it. Moments later, she passed by his room on her way to the top floor.
He placed the glass on the nightstand and settled on the bed. He leaned back, a smile touching his lips. He had done well, followed her instructions to the letter.
His eyes lifted to the old rotary dial telephone perched on the far edge of the bed. He extended an arm, pulled it toward him, and waited for it to ring.
Chapter 65
Becca pulled out onto the main road.
Behind her the gnarled oak, and the sprawling fields of Willow Farm, receded into the distance. She passed a sign stenciled with the number 60 in a bold black font. The car’s speedometer needle hovered a hair above forty. She was driving twenty miles under the speed limit. Beside her, on the passenger seat, her cellphone lay silent and dark. She had harbored a small hope that Sarah would change her mind. That she would call and ask her to come back. But the further she drove, the less likely that seemed. A pang of regret, tinged with disappointment, flowed through her.
Things were well and truly messed up.
The incident with Tyler had left her shocked and mortified. It also raised another, more disturbing, question. Had she done a similar thing to Sarah’s dad? Was that why he had acted in such a strange way the previous day when she took him his forgotten wallet? The thought disturbed her, but short of confronting him, asking him what actually happened, she would never know the answer. She wasn’t willing to broach the subject with him, partly for fear of what he would say, and partly because if nothing had happened she would look like a fool.
Better not to know.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Still, she could not shake the conviction that something bad was happening at Willow Farm, and the house in particular. Her thoughts turned to the Ouija board and the terrifying way the planchette had spelled out words with a life of its own. It was easy to believe that the girls were subconsciously moving it when they were in contact with the pointer, but last night it had moved of its own volition, devoid of any human contact. Given everything that happened in the short time Becca had been in the house, it was obvious that things were not right. Should she call Becca’s dad and tell him what they had witnessed? Would he believe her even if she did? Unlikely. She wouldn’t have believed it herself if she had not witnessed it all first hand. Which meant she would have to keep quiet and hope the situation didn’t get worse. And if it did, she hoped Sarah had the good sense to call her.
Chapter 66
It was after 8PM when Andrew arrived home. The sun was setting low on the horizon, the trees throwing long shadows across the golden landscape.
He pulled up the driveway, parking
under the shadow of the old barn, and walked to the house, his overnight bag in one hand, front door keys in the other.
There was no sign of Becca’s yellow Toyota. He felt a flash of anger, assuming that the girls had taken off somewhere without telling him, but when he stepped inside he heard footsteps on the landing above, and then Sarah came into view.
“Hey there.” He dropped the overnight bag, forced a smile. “Where’s Becca? Her car is gone.”
“She went home.”
“Oh.” Sarah’s tone was icy, and he got the feeling there was something she was not telling him. When she didn’t volunteer any further information, he spoke again. “Did you guys have a fight?”
“No.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Andrew sensed something was wrong, but Sarah was cold and distant, as usual. “You can talk to me, you know; I’m your dad.”
“I know,” Sarah said, her voice flat. “There’s nothing.”
“How’s Jake?” There was no sign of his son, which was unusual. Normally the boy would have come running when Andrew got home.
“He’s in his room.” Sarah cast a glance back along the hallway. “He’s hardly come out since you left, except to eat. All he cares about is that old phone. He’s obsessed with it.”
“It’s just a phone, Sarah.” Andrew felt a wave of tiredness sweep over him. He’d hardly slept the night before, despite the copious amounts of whiskey in his system, and even on the flight he’d found it hard to relax.
“Whatever.” Sarah shrugged and turned, disappearing back the way she had come. After a few seconds, he heard her bedroom door slam, and he was alone again.
He picked up the overnight bag and started up the stairs. He made his way to Jake’s room, knocked, and opened the door wide enough to peer inside. The boy was on the bed, sitting with his legs crossed, the phone tucked into his lap.
Andrew suppressed an involuntary shudder.
The phone thing certainly was creepy.
Sarah had a point.
He made a note to talk to his son about it tomorrow. Tonight though, he didn’t have the energy.
“I’m back.” Andrew edged into the room, feeling a little like an intruder in his own home.
Jake glanced his way, unblinking eyes observing him before he turned away again.
The silence was unnerving.
“Did you have a good time while I was gone?” Andrew made another attempt at conversation, hoping for something, anything, to indicate that his son was pleased to see him. “I hope Sarah and Becca did a good job looking after you.”
Jake nodded, his gaze cast downward, to the phone.
“Well, good.” Andrew shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. “Half an hour and I want you in bed, understand?”
Again Jake nodded a silent reply.
“I’ll be back to check on you later.”
This time there was no reply, verbal or otherwise.
Andrew lingered in the doorway a while longer, hoping for something more, some flash of the old, happy Jake. But it soon became obvious that the conversation was over, that nothing more would be forthcoming.
He withdrew, pulling the door closed behind him, and turned to his own bedroom, throwing the overnight bag on a chair near the door. He took his jacket off, placed his phone on the nightstand, and sat on the edge of the bed wondering what to do next.
As if in answer, his stomach growled.
How long had it been since he’d last eaten, ten or twelve hours?
He glanced at his watch.
It was at least that long.
With a sigh, he pulled himself up and made his way to the door, then along the landing. He was exhausted, wanted to do nothing more than sleep, but he also knew that if he didn’t eat something he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
He descended the stairs and went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out some cold cuts, cheese, and lettuce, made himself a sandwich.
He went to the living room, sank down to the couch, and began to eat. He was surprised at just how ravenous he was, and he polished off the makeshift meal in no time at all. He leaned back into the soft, warm cushions and closed his eyes. It felt good and he didn’t want to move. Moments later he was asleep.
Chapter 67
Becca was in a deep and dreamless sleep when the text message came in.
The loud chirp awoke her with a jolt.
She lay in the darkness, looking up at her bedroom ceiling, and didn’t know what had roused her, but then the phone chirped again.
She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and grabbed the phone from her nightstand. As she did so, her eyes fell on the alarm clock.
It was gone 10PM.
Who would be texting her at this hour?
She glanced down, but the screen had gone dark already.
A sudden, terrible thought entered her head. What if it was Sarah, and something bad had happened at Willow Farm? A lump caught in her throat. Sarah was the only person who ever texted her this late, and they were hardly on speaking terms, so if the message was from her friend, it couldn’t be good.
With shaking hands, Becca typed in her passcode and opened the text app.
A flood of relief washed over her when she saw the message.
It wasn’t from Sarah. It was Tyler.
She almost didn’t open it. After the events of the prior evening, there could be nothing good that would come from conversing with him, and if Sarah found out she might never talk to Becca again.
Even so, she had to know what the message said, and eventually she opened it, reading the message quickly, and then reading it again to make sure she understood what it said.
The witch is real Becca. I saw her. She tried to kill me. Forced me off the road. I’m fine, a concussion and some cuts and bruises. Spent all day at the hospital. The car is totaled and my dad’s grounded me. I’ve sent this to Sarah too. I’m scared. Please make sure she reads it – T.
Becca couldn’t rip her eyes away from the screen. She held the phone in her lap, a creeping tingle of fear edging up her spine. For a while she didn’t move, her mind a whir of conflicting emotions. Up until now, the spirit of Martha Ward had not done anything to outright harm any of them. It was frightening but amounted to nothing more than the kind of haunting that the ghost hunter type reality shows on cable TV liked to feature. If the witch really had forced Tyler to crash his car then that meant things had crossed a line. They were in unknown territory. It meant that the spirit was much more powerful, and dangerous, than any of them had thought. It also meant that Sarah and her family were in real peril. This was not some mischievous ghost out to wreak a little havoc, but the non-corporeal consciousness of a hate-filled woman. What that woman wanted was anybody’s guess, but it seemed more and more likely that she was out to do harm. She remembered the priest and the story he had told them. She didn’t want Sarah’s family to end up like that. There was only one thing to do. She had to warn them.
She dialed Sarah’s number, lifted the phone to her ear.
It took a moment to connect.
The phone rang.
She waited for Sarah to pick up.
Instead, the call went to voicemail.
She ended the call and tried again but once more it clicked over to voicemail.
Perplexed, Becca left a message, then hung up. Sarah was never far from her phone, and even if she was still mad, she would answer, given the circumstances.
Wouldn’t she?
Becca wasn’t sure.
What she did know was that Sarah would call her back after hearing the message. Except that the phone remained silent.
She called again, three more times.
No answer.
Frustrated, she rattled off a text message. Surely, Sarah would see this.
But there was no reply.
The time on her phone said it was 11PM. An hour had passed since Tyler’s text message.
Becca felt a stab of fear. There must be something she could
do. Sarah’s dad owned a cell phone of course, but she didn’t know the number. It was dumb that she had never bothered to enter it into her address book, but she hadn’t thought a situation would arise where she needed it. Now she wished she had.
And then she remembered the priest. He had given her a card the day they drove into town to speak with him. She pulled her bag close, rummaged around, finding the jeans she had worn that day, and there, in the pocket, was the business card.
There were two phone numbers. One was for the church offices and the other was a private cell number. She tapped the second number into the phone and waited.
It wasn’t long before a male voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Father Bertram?” Becca said.
“Yes. This is he.” The priest cleared his throat. “How may I help you?”
“Father, this is Becca Wright. I came to see you a few days ago with my friend, Sarah.”
“Ah. I remember. Willow Farm.” There was a softness to his voice that she didn’t remember from their previous meeting. It was almost soothing.
“Yes.” She paused, wondering how to continue. “I’m back home in Boston. I’ve been trying to contact Sarah, and I can’t get through. I think she might be in danger. I need your help.”
“I see,” Bertram said. “Would this have anything to do with our conversation, with what I told you?”
“It’s happening again, Father. There’s something up at Willow Farm. Something bad.”
“Tell me everything you know.” The priest’s voice was low, but there was a graveness to it that eased any fears Becca had about being taken seriously. “Start at the beginning.”
And so she did. She told him about all the things Sarah had told her — the cellar, Jake and the telephone, and the incident with the nightlight. She also told him about the Ouija board and the grave in the woods.
The old priest listened to it all without uttering a word. When she was done, he inhaled a long, deep breath, as if filtering the information, absorbing it. When finally he spoke, his tone had changed. Now the soothing bedside voice was back. “Oh my. This is bad. I had hoped that time and neglect might have dissipated whatever negative energies were present in that house. It appears I was wrong.”
The Haunting of Willow House Page 22