Diary of a Haunting

by M. Verano

  I don’t know. I always figured that the trouble we had in this house with phones and Wi-Fi and everything was just, you know, normal tech malfunctioning. Worse than other places I’ve been, and a major nuisance, but within the realm of physically possible. But what if it’s something else? Something . . . stranger?

  SUNDAY, MAY 10, 10:30 A.M.

  So, it finally happened. Mom is dating someone. Someone who isn’t Dad.

  It seems both out of the blue and not. When I found out, it came as a shock, and I felt it right in my gut. But at the same time, there was a part of me that felt like, “Oh, this makes sense now.” Like it explained some stuff I’d already noticed.

  The sad part is, I found out by accident. It has to do with the way my phone is all messed up now, and sends all these screwed-up messages. Actually, it isn’t just my phone, it’s all our phones—mine, Mom’s, and Logan’s. But I use my phone more than they do, so I’m more aware of it. Or at least, that was true until recently.

  One of the things that has been happening with our phones lately is that we pick up each other’s messages. Like, I got texts from Mom that were clearly meant for Logan, and Logan got texts I was trying to send to Chloe. But Logan didn’t give a crap, because he hardly even checks his phone unless he needs someone to pick him up from something, and Mom, well, Mom as usual was just like “Lalala the universe works in funny ways sometimes!” She can be such a flake.

  So anyway, for the past couple of weeks I have been getting a few sort of strange messages from Mom. Hard to describe, because they don’t seem that strange until you kind of think about it. Like, I’d get messages time stamped from late at night that just said “Hey.” Which is weird . . . to get from your mom . . . you know? And during the day, messages that said, “Hey, thinking of you :)” and stuff like that. Which I guess might not be weird from some moms, but . . . messages from *my* mom are almost always like, “Can you fix dinner tonight? Going to be late.” The cutesy sentimental stuff she saves for in person.

  So for a couple weeks I was just like, what is going on with Mom? Why is she being so weird? And then finally I got one on Friday that was like, “Can’t wait to see you tonight” and I was like, whaaaa? And then I got home and I was like, um, hi Mom, and she told me she was going out to a “department function” except she looked way more dressed up, and wearing way more makeup than she normally wears to school things. And suddenly I was like . . . oh. OH. So I showed her the text and I was like, care to explain?

  And she was like, uh . . . I’m just excited to see you? But I called her on that bull, and finally she came clean. A guy named Arthur Taylor, I guess, who is working on a fire ecology project with her advisor. He came and gave a presentation to one of her classes, and I guess they hit it off. And they’re like a thing now.

  I don’t know, it’s weird. I haven’t even met this guy, and it feels strange to think of my mom in any kind of “dating” context. On the other hand, if she met him through the ecology program, how bad can he be? He’s probably a nice guy. And I’ve already had to deal with my dad dating other people, God knows . . . and that was so much worse. This is weirder in a way because I am living with Mom, but it’s also so much less awful than what Dad did.

  I just wish she had had the guts to tell me. I mean, I can handle it. Can’t I? I don’t know . . . This sort of thing happens all the time, right? In any case, it beats the hell out of thinking my mom was sending me these kind of weird, awkward text messages all the time. At least that makes sense now.

  Now that the cat’s out of the bag, she wants me and Logan to meet him at some point. That sounds . . . awkward. Stressful. But I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 13, 11:05 P.M.

  Something so strange just happened. Am I going insane? I don’t know how to explain this at all—my mind is just desperately flipping through any conceivable way that this can be normal, that this can be a thing that happens to people. I’ve been googling for two hours, trying to find *any* hint that someone else has had an experience like this.

  But Logan and Mom both saw the whole thing, and yet . . . they’re not freaking out like I am. I don’t get it—why are they so willing to just accept shit and not question it? It’s like it doesn’t even bother them. But this is getting too weird for me.

  Okay, I need to start over, just to clear my head. Maybe if I write it all out, I’ll see some reasonable explanation, or at least that it’s not such a big deal, and I’ll be able to calm down a bit.

  So I was sitting in the living room with Mom and Logan. No, this story really starts two days ago, I guess . . . Mom and I had made plans to get our hair cut at this place she heard was good, and so she got an appointment for us after school today. And she reminded me about it in the morning and told me not to walk home this afternoon, but that she would pick me up right after school and we would drive to the salon. Okay, yes, I know this sounds like the world’s least interesting story, but bear with me.

  So school gets out and Chloe finds me to walk home, as we’ve been in the habit of doing, but I tell her no, I’m getting picked up by Mom, blah blah. So I wait on the front steps of the school . . . five minutes, ten minutes, half an hour . . . At that point, that’s when our hair appointment is, so we are missing it. And I’m starting to freak out, because Mom is never late. And of course I have been texting and calling her incessantly this whole time, but she answers none of my texts, and all my calls go straight to voice mail. So finally I text Logan, to see if he knows what’s going on, but he doesn’t answer either.

  So then I am getting seriously freaked out, like maybe there was a car accident, or the house burned down (God, I wish) or some other crisis to keep both of them from texting me or coming to get me or even wondering where I am. Also it’s raining at this point, so that is adding to my grumpy and anxious mood.

  Finally I give up and just walk home, and the house is empty. No sign of either Mom or Logan. So now I am getting frantic—maybe Logan had another seizure or something? Who knows. As a last resort, I break down and call my dad, and he at least answers, but he’s being weird too. He claims he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on (and I feel pretty sure that if there was some crisis with Logan, Mom would call him right away to let him know), so I’m like, fine, you’re no help, and I go to hang up, but then he keeps me on the phone and starts yelling at me about harassing his stupid wife.

  And I’m like . . . what? And he’s like, don’t mess around, I can tell it’s you. You need to stop sending her those creepy text messages. And I’m like, what text messages? Apparently both she and my dad have been getting these texts, sometimes from me, sometimes from “number blocked,” and at first they were just garbled and weird, so he accuses me of drunk-texting him. When I literally have not had any alcohol at all since I left California!

  And then they became more sinister . . . with like, threats and stuff? I’m trying to remember now exactly what he said. I think one was like, “We will know you beyond the tomb” or something like that. Spooky.

  And I’m just like, Jesus, Dad, does that sound like me at all? But apparently he does think so, because he didn’t let up. He seems to think I’m trying to pull some childish prank to drive them apart or scare this dumb girl off, or something. As if I even care what he does! I am so over him.

  Anyway, I tried to defend myself, explaining about how my phone has been acting all weird, but of course he doesn’t believe me. And as pissed as I am, I guess I have to admit that it is a tough story to swallow . . . but still. He’s supposed to be my dad, you know? He could at least try to give me the benefit of the doubt for five seconds before treating me like some kind of criminal.

  But I’ve gotten way off track. This wasn’t the point of the story at all. Where was I? Right, so, Dad is haranguing me and I’m, like, practically in tears because I still don’t know what happened to Mom or Logan, and Dad is just giving me more crap on top of that, and then . . . I’m looking out the window and I
see Mom and Logan pull up in the car. So I run down the stairs and I’m like, what happened, are you okay? And Mom is like . . . we’re fine. We were at Logan’s science fair, why didn’t you come? He won second place.

  And I’m like . . . what? Huh? I’m so confused, and I’m just like, what about our hair appointment? And Mom’s like, I told you I canceled it because I remembered Logan’s science fair was this afternoon. And I’m like, uh no, no you didn’t. And then she goes off on me, just like Dad did, hassling me about how I never listen to anything she says, and she can’t believe she had a whole conversation with me this very afternoon, and three hours later it’s like it never happened, and am I forgetting stuff or do I just not pay any attention in the first place?

  And I can’t even deal at this point. I’m fighting off tears and I’m like, Mom, you didn’t call me. I definitely did not talk to you today. But she is totally convinced that she did, and I’m like . . . just trying to come up with any explanation, so I’m wondering, is it possible that she spoke to my voice mail and just sort of thought that she actually spoke to me, somehow? I mean, my mom isn’t an idiot, she knows the difference between voice mail and an actual conversation, but . . . at least it’s an explanation. So I dig out my phone and I go to check my voice mail and it’s plain as day. Not only do I not have any voice mail, I don’t have a single received call in my call logs since two days ago.

  I show Mom, because that seems like pretty good proof that she did not call me, but somehow she manages to waive this off. Like maybe I cleared my call log or something, which I didn’t, obviously, since I still had older calls in there. But there’s no reasoning with her once she is convinced she is right.

  So finally the stress of the day has worn me out and I just don’t feel right fighting about it anymore, so I let it drop. I’m just like, fine, whatever, maybe you’re right and I’m a complete lunatic who forgets that people called me two hours earlier and also mysteriously erases stuff from my phone. Have it your way. So we manage to make it through a strained dinner, but Logan tells me stories about his science fair project, and he’s so excited about it that I can’t help feeling excited for him, and we all cheer up and manage to put the bad feeling behind us.

  After dinner we all move to the living room and we are watching TV together and I’m sort of idly trying to get some homework done while Mom reads a book for her class, and it’s all peaceful and nice and I feel for a little bit like we’re kind of a family again.

  And then. My fucking phone rings.

  Which doesn’t sound all that weird, except that I usually have so much trouble getting any reception in the living room, but whatever, that’s not the weird part. The weird thing is, I pick up my phone, and on the screen it says “Mom calling.” And my heart basically skips a beat because . . . um, Mom is sitting right on the other side of the room from me, I can see her with my own eyes, and she is very clearly not calling me. And I’m like . . . Mom. Where is your phone right now? And she says, it’s in my purse, on the kitchen table. Why?

  And I’m like, my phone says you’re calling me. And I walk over to where she is and I show her my screen, so she can’t call me crazy again. But where I’m freaking out, she’s just like, “Hmm, that’s weird. Maybe there’s something in my purse that’s pressing on it to make it call you?” Which sounds reasonable at first, but . . . how could that be? It really doesn’t make sense.

  But I don’t want to start a fight again, so I’m just like, fine, maybe you’re right. How about I answer it? And I’m thinking, like she said, that I will hear a typical butt-dial conversation, like I’ll just hear the TV in the background or something, right?

  But that’s not what happened.

  I answered the phone and held it to my ear, and . . . I can hear my mom. She’s talking, and it’s like . . . well, this is what I hear:

  “Hey Paige, how’s it going? (pause) Good . . . well, I just wanted to let you know I had to cancel our appointment this afternoon. (pause) Yeah, I know, but I just remembered that it’s Logan’s thing tonight, the science fair, and I really have to be there. Can you come too? It would mean a lot to him. (pause) Okay, good. It’s at his school, in the cafeteria. I will see you there, 4 o’clock.”

  And meanwhile, I am looking right at Mom, who is obviously NOT on the phone with me.

  But the voice on the phone is still going. “Honey?” she says. It says. “Are you there? I think I’m losing you.”

  Can anyone fucking explain this to me? How did I have a conversation with my mom, when I didn’t get her call until nine hours after she made it?

  I don’t know. Maybe there is a logical explanation. But in that moment, I was so freaked out that I threw my phone across the room and shattered it. That’s one way of solving the problem.

  THURSDAY, MAY 14, 5:35 P.M.

  When I came home today, there was a new phone waiting for me on the kitchen table. Mom’s idea of a peace offering, I guess. I expected her to be mad at me for destroying it on purpose like that, but the truth is, I’d rather have no phone than one that’s . . . possessed? I don’t even know.

  I was downloading some apps when Mom found me. “Paige, honey,” she said, “I’m worried about you.” I started to defend my destructive act, but she stopped me. “I don’t just mean the phone. You’ve had a darkness in you recently, and you need to let it go.”

  “In me?” That seemed unfair. “Why are you putting this on me? I’d be fine if it weren’t for this creepy house.”

  She looked appropriately apologetic at that, and then she asked me if I wanted to talk to anyone about it. To which I was like, YES. I’m sick of her New Age woo woo “We can all get along” crap—I just want to talk to a regular adult. Someone normal, who will help me figure out what is really going on. And she’s like, okay, I’ll make an appointment for you to see Dr. Clyde. And I’m like, uggggh. That’s not what I meant! I mean, exactly how much good has Dr. Clyde done for Logan? If anything, he’s worse now than when he started with her.

  But you know what? I’m going to make the best of it, I’ve decided. It really will be a relief to talk to someone outside of my weird little circle of my family, Chloe, and Raph about all this shit, and get an outside perspective. Plus . . . God, who knows? Maybe it’s all in my head. And wouldn’t that be a relief in a way too? God knows I don’t want to be crazy, but crazy is at least something the world acknowledges and knows how to deal with. Maybe they’ll be able to, I don’t know, put me on some medication and all this craziness will go away.

  FRIDAY, MAY 15, 4:35 P.M.

  First appointment with Dr. Clyde is scheduled for Tuesday. I’m nervous, but also excited and a little relieved, too.

  In the meantime, Logan and I finally got to meet the illustrious Arthur Taylor last night. I greeted him at the door with a shotgun in hand, and asked him what his intentions were toward my mother.

  No, just kidding. It was all right. I didn’t get to know him super well or anything, but he seemed . . . okay. He lives on the Nez Perce reservation south of here, I guess, but he works at the university, studying indigenous fire management practices of the inland northwest. It’s kind of cool, actually. He’s combining fire science and ecology and native culture and history to help firefighters figure out the best way to control wildfires.

  He told us all about it over dinner—how the local tribes used to use ritual burning to enrich the soil and maintain control over the fire. Then the government decided that the best way to protect the land was to avoid fires completely, which worked up to a point, but then when a wildfire did eventually happen, it was 100 times worse than it otherwise would have been. Now scientists are looking more to the traditional methods, using controlled burns to make sure the landscape stays healthy and the fires never get out of hand.

  I can see why Mom likes him, I guess. They have a lot in common. Plus, sometimes he’s really serious, but then he has a laugh . . . kind of a giggle that fills the whole room. It’s really hard not to smile once he starts laughin
g. From the way he smiles and laughs, you would think he was totally innocent and sweet, but then he’ll surprise you with a sharp sense of humor. I don’t know, I expected Mom to go for someone as starry-eyed and hippie-dippie as she is, but I guess people don’t necessarily do that. After all, she chose Dad the first time around, and she likes me, even though I’m not like her. I’ve got my whole bitter, cynical thing going on. So maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that she found someone a little like that to date.

  A part of me kind of wanted to resist him and play the role of the difficult teenage daughter who is impossible to please, but the truth is, I think Mom could have done a whole lot worse. He doesn’t seem like a jerk.

  SATURDAY, MAY 16, 11:15 A.M.

  Here’s a bit of welcome good news: I think the spider situation might be improving! I’m not totally sure since I stupidly decided to stop keeping track of them, but for the past week or so, I feel like I have definitely been seeing fewer. Like, whole days go by without me seeing a single one. Which definitely feels like an improvement in my book!

  But scientifically speaking, it’s hard to know if that means that the population has decreased, or if I’m just not noticing them as much because I’m not writing down the sightings. But if I had to guess, I really don’t think it’s a perception thing. I was aware of that possibility, so for the past two days I looked really hard everywhere for spiders, and I didn’t see a single one. So . . . that’s significant evidence, I think.

  Of course, that brings up the question of why. Are they all dying horrible deaths beneath the floorboards? Much as I might like to wish that fate on them, a house that kills off spiders is somehow almost as creepy as a house that breeds them. And no more explicable.