The Haunting of Willow House

by Anthony M. Strong

  “So what do we do?” Becca was desperate. She felt helpless.

  “You don’t do anything, my dear. You stay right where you are,” Bertram said. “I shall pay a visit to Willow Farm, make sure everything is fine.”

  “Okay, if you think that’s best. Thank you, Father.” Becca felt a lump form in her throat. She felt nauseous.

  “Keep your phone close at hand. I shall call you when I conclude my visit. Hopefully, I will be able to allay your fears.”

  “Thank you.” Becca’s hand shook as she held the phone to her ear. The whole thing felt like a bad dream, but she knew it was not.

  “You are welcome. Remember, keep your phone close.” And with that Bertram hung up.

  Becca took the phone from her ear, looked at the screen until it went blank. She felt useless, sitting there in her bedroom while the old priest drove out to Willow Farm. But what else could she do? She was much further away than Father Bertram. It made sense for him to check on things, and hopefully he would call back in half an hour with nothing out of the ordinary to report.

  Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

  Chapter 68

  It had been too long.

  Becca cradled the phone in her lap, willing it to ring, but it stayed stubbornly silent. She checked the time every five minutes, wondering why the priest had not called like he promised. The drive from the church to Willow Farm was a short one, and by now he surely must have arrived there.

  After forty-five minutes, unable to wait any longer, she dialed his number.

  It rang once, twice, three times, then went to voicemail. She left a message, fighting back the fear that threatened to choke her.

  She called again, with no answer.

  This was too much of a coincidence. First Sarah wasn’t picking up, and now the priest.

  She wasn’t willing to sit idly by any longer. She would drive to the farm herself and find out what was going on first hand.

  She pushed the covers back, climbed out of bed, careful not to make a sound. Across the hallway, close enough to hear the tiniest creak, her parents would be in bed by now.

  She found her jeans, slipped them on, and grabbed a t-shirt from the closet. At no point did she turn on a light. She could not afford to be discovered.

  Pulling on a pair of old tennis shoes, mainly because they would be easy to sneak out in, she went to her bedroom door and opened it a crack.

  The landing was dark. The gap under her parents bedroom door was nothing more than a black slit. Good. They had gone to sleep already.

  She held her breath, scared that even the tiniest sound would alert someone to her nocturnal excursion, and swung the door wide enough to pass through.

  She crept through the house, along the landing and down to the first floor. She lifted her car keys from a hook near the front door and was soon outside.

  She stood there for a time, hardly daring to believe that she had actually made it without waking anyone. Her yellow Toyota was parked half a block away, in a resident zone. It only took her a few minutes to walk the short distance, and soon she was safely behind the wheel. She glanced at her phone, checking one more time, but still there was no call from Father Bertram or Sarah. In the end she started the car and eased out into the sporadic late night traffic.

  Chapter 69

  Sarah lay on her bed, fully clothed despite the late hour. She knew she should undress, climb into bed, but she didn’t feel tired.

  What she did feel was angry, betrayed, humiliated.

  No matter how hard she tried, her mind kept going back to the scene in the barn, Becca had Tyler locked in an embrace. It was a dreadful betrayal made worse by the fact that Becca was her oldest friend. They had known each other since second grade. Becca was like a sister. Even so, a lingering doubt remained. She knew what she had seen, but at the same time, it was so out of character for her friend that it defied belief. Then there was Becca’s claim that she didn’t remember taking Tyler out to the barn and seducing him.

  None of it made any sense.

  The more she thought about it the more she was convinced that Becca was somehow possessed. That she was even entertaining such a notion showed just how much she had changed since moving to Willow Farm. Ghosts were not real. The spirit world was nothing more than the sad delusions of dimwitted people. Except that she no longer held that view. She had seen, and felt, so many things in this house that she could no longer ignore the obvious.

  Willow Farm was haunted, and the brunt of that haunting appeared to be aimed at her.

  She lay there for a little while longer, her mind churning the events of the past few days. She regretted asking Becca to leave, wished she was still there. Even though her dad was back, Sarah felt vulnerable, lonely. She was also scared of what might happen next. It was at that moment that she made up her mind. She would call Becca, clear the air.

  She rolled over, reached out for her phone, which was usually on the nightstand.

  It wasn’t there.

  Puzzled, she sat up and searched the bed. She wondered if the comforter had covered it, but there was no sign of the phone on the bed either.

  That was odd.

  She stood up, checked the dresser, her pockets, but still nothing. Had she left it downstairs? She didn’t think so. So where was it?

  Sarah checked the bed again, hoping that she had missed it the first time, but came up empty. And then a thought occurred to her. Maybe it had fallen on the floor. She knelt down, looked beside the nightstand, then lifted the bed skirt and peered under the bed.

  At first she didn’t see anything, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she picked out a shape, flat and oblong.

  Her cell phone.

  She reached under, pulled the phone free, and sat on the floor with the device in her hands.

  Only something wasn’t right.

  The phone would not turn on.

  The screen remained black and unresponsive no matter how many times she pressed the power button.

  The battery must be dead.

  She stood and went to her nightstand, plugged the phone in, waited for the familiar lightning bolt icon to appear on the screen to show it was charging, but still nothing happened.

  She unplugged it, examined it.

  She could see nothing wrong, except that when she turned it over to inspect the back casing, a few drops of water leaked from the small speaker slit above the screen.

  She turned it frontward again, confused, and noticed something she had not seen before.

  Inside the phone, clinging to the back of the screen, were hundreds of tiny beads that moved and ran in rivulets when she tilted the device. At first she wasn’t sure what she was looking at, and then it dawned on her.

  The phone was waterlogged.

  That was why it wouldn’t turn on. The electronics were fried, shorted out.

  She held the useless phone in her hand and stared at it, wondering how it could have gotten wet. Not that it mattered. Either way she wasn’t calling Becca.

  Chapter 70

  Andrew opened his eyes, and at first he wondered where he was and why his neck ached. But then he remembered. He was on the couch in the living room. He had sat down to eat a sandwich and must have dozed off. He glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight.

  He sat up, rubbed the nape of his neck where a dull pain throbbed from being in such an awkward position for so long.

  It would be worse tomorrow.

  There were painkillers in the upstairs bathroom. He struggled to his feet, stretched, yawned, and made his way to the stairs. On the second floor he turned left to the bathroom, but then he paused. Across the hallway his office door stood open a hair, and beyond that was something much better than Aspirin.

  Andrew listened, but the house was silent. No doubt Sarah and Jake were both sleeping.

  He crossed the hallway and entered the study, turning on the light. He went to the desk, which was emptier than usual. His lap
top was still in the overnight bag in his bedroom. He would get it later. It was the other object absent from the desk that Andrew was really interested in.

  The bottle of vodka.

  He wondered if Sarah had been in here, had found it and poured it away. That didn’t seem right. Even if she had it would be back by now, reappearing as if by magic.

  And then he remembered.

  The bottle wasn’t there because he had hidden it.

  Damn.

  He would have to go all the way back downstairs and retrieve it from the cellar where he’d stashed it the morning before. A part of him thought that was too much work, but another part, a bigger part, wanted to taste the liquor, to feel it sliding down, taking the pain away, and not just the pain in his neck. No, it would ease the sense of hopelessness he’d felt since the meeting the previous evening.

  Four weeks.

  That was a ludicrous timeframe to complete a book.

  Andrew felt the frustration rising again. He choked it down, forced it back, and turned to the door. A few moments later he was at the bottom of the stairs, on his way to the cellar, and the bottle of booze that waited there, patient and ready.

  Chapter 71

  Jake stood at his bedroom door, which was cracked open an inch or two, and squinted through the narrow gap, oblivious of the darkened room behind him. A door opened along the corridor. His father emerged and turned to go downstairs. When the coast was clear, he crept out into the corridor.

  From down below he heard the creak of the basement door, the unoiled hinges protesting the work.

  He stopped and waited to make sure his father had time to reach the bottom of the cellar steps before continuing on.

  It was all happening exactly as his mother had said it would. He wished he could have stayed in his room, talking to her on the old telephone, but she had been most insistent.

  Jake didn’t want to upset her, so he did what she asked.

  Now he was at the head of the stairs, looking down. A tremor of apprehension gripped him. What if his dad came back and caught him before he could complete his task?

  But that would not happen.

  He must keep going and do as he was told, like a good boy. Because deep down, he was a good boy, and soon, very soon, he would see his mother again. She had promised him that.

  She had asked him if he would like to come and join her, live with her and never have to worry about anything ever again. And he had said yes, but only if his dad and sister could come too. He wanted them to be a family again. Whole. Complete.

  She had agreed, like he knew she would. Of course they would be a family again. But first he had to do something, and it would take a lot of courage, and he must not let anyone stop him, not Dad, not Sarah, because they didn’t understand.

  They would soon though.

  And they would thank him for bringing everyone together again.

  Jake smiled when he thought of that. A flutter of excitement filled his belly. This was going to make everything right, put things back to the way they used to be. It wouldn’t be long now.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, Jake took a step forward, careful not to make a sound, and kept going.

  Chapter 72

  Sarah was still contemplating the unusual fate of her cell phone with a mixture of confusion and anger when she heard the faint thud of a door closing.

  A tiny vibration shook the windows facing the rear of the house.

  This only happened when someone opened the back door.

  She leapt to her feet, crossed the room and peered out, wondering who would be going outside at such a late hour.

  The world outside the window was pitch black, and at first she couldn’t see anything, but then the moon rolled from behind a high bank of clouds and the landscape was washed with a pale white glow.

  It didn’t take long for her to spot the diminutive figure crossing the open space between the house and the barns, moving with stealthy ease.

  Jake.

  What on earth was he up to now?

  He had never been secretive, or moody, but since moving to Willow Farm her brother had changed. He had become introspective, quiet. Worse, there was a distinct shift in his interactions with the rest of the family. And then there was the odd obsession with that telephone. That he thought their mother was somehow on the other end of the line – the dead, unconnected line - was creepy enough. But there were other things. The disappearance of the Ouija board pointer, showing up later in his bedroom, and the way he appeared at odd times with cryptic messages. And then her mind made a connection. Had Jake tampered with her phone, broken it deliberately? She could not think of any other way that it would have gotten waterlogged, and his recent behavior seemed to point in that direction. She didn’t believe for a moment that he had stumbled across the Ouija pointer. It had been in her room along with the board, and neither she nor Becca had moved it, so that left one unnerving possibility. Jake was mooching around her room when she wasn’t there.

  He had taken the pointer, hidden it, and then given it back to her at a later time. For what reason, she was not sure. Was he in her room on other occasions when she was not there, poking through her personal possessions?

  She shuddered.

  The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Jake had sabotaged the cell phone. And now he was up to some other mischief.

  How he had slipped out without their father catching him was anyone’s guess, but he hadn’t been that clever. Letting the back door swing closed instead of stopping to ensure it didn’t slam was a mistake. If not for that, she would never have been drawn to the window, would not have noticed his furtive escape. No matter how clever he thought he was being, he was still a ten-year-old boy.

  She watched him move past the swing set.

  He was halfway across the yard now, still heading toward the barns. What reason could he possibly have for going there at this time of night? It didn’t make sense.

  One thing was certain. There was no way he was up to any good, and besides, it wasn’t safe for him to be out there at night. Who knew what was in those barns? He might put his foot through a rotten board or trip and fall in the darkness.

  That left her with a dilemma. Should she alert her dad to Jake’s odd nocturnal outing or deal with the situation herself? She had no desire to get him into trouble, partly because she felt some small measure of sympathy for him. Like her, he was trapped out here, miles away from his friends, but it must be worse for him. At least she could escape to Salem or Danvers if she wanted, and most of her friends had cars. They could drive out here to visit her. Soon she would have a car of her own, and then there would be total freedom. Jake wasn’t old enough to drive or take off on his own, so he was a prisoner in this place, totally at the mercy of her father’s schedule until school started in the fall.

  She knew what she must do.

  She would follow Jake, go out to the barn and put an end to whatever he was doing. Being caught by his sister would be enough to send him scurrying back to his bedroom for the rest of the night.

  Problem solved.

  If her dad appeared, if he caught her leaving the house, then she would tell him about Jake. She wanted to cover for her brother, but not enough to get into trouble for him.

  She went to the closet, grabbed a coat, and crossed the room. She would have to be quiet. Her dad had a habit of staying up late and was, more than likely, still in his study. There was also a good chance that he was drunk, at least if recent events were anything to go by. She wondered if she should check on him, make sure he hadn’t found another bottle of liquor. But that would derail her plan to retrieve Jake unnoticed.

  She gripped the door handle and turned it, expecting the door to open.

  It didn’t budge.

  Perplexed, she tugged again.

  Still it didn’t move.

  Surprised, she stepped back. The door didn’t have a lock, and even if it did, the lock should be on the inside, not the outsid
e. Maybe it was stuck. This was an old house. Even in Boston, her bedroom door would stick once in a while if there was a change in the weather. Except that the door wasn’t sticking earlier that night. In fact, she hadn’t noticed it sticking at any time, even when it was raining.

  Determined not to let it beat her, she tried one more time, putting all her might into it, but to no avail. It was as if someone had drawn a bolt on the other side, which she knew was impossible.

  She let out a howl of frustration and tugged at the handle, desperate to get the door open, but all she succeeded in doing was to leave angry red marks on her palm where the handle dug in.

  She stepped back, her breath coming in ragged gulps, and then pounded on the door with her fists, all thought of saving Jake from her father’s wrath abandoned. Except that her father did not come running.

  A tremor of fear coursed through her.

  She retreated to the bed and sat on the edge, glaring at the stubborn door, wondering what to do next.

  But try as she might, she could not think of a way out of her situation. She was a prisoner in her own room.

  Chapter 73

  Andrew made his way across the cellar. Above him the lone light bulb flickered, creating shadows that leaped and danced across the floor.

  He reached the hutch and opened the doors, moving the various cans and bottles, pushing them aside, and reached in.

  His fingers closed over the neck of the vodka bottle, and he pulled it free. He held it up to the light, relieved to see that it was full, as always. The bar was open. A flood of satisfaction flowed through him. He felt a subtle anticipation. A few more minutes and everything would be fine for a while, thanks to the endless stream of liquor. Maybe he should open a bar, he mused, stifling a bitter laugh. At least the booze would never run out. Of course, it would be a rather dull establishment, a one trick pony. If you didn’t like vodka, you'd be out of luck.