by A. I. Nasser
“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Hank chuckled. “It’s a small town. June told me where you were stayin’.”
John nodded, his mind trying to discern what he had just heard.
Did he say Dean?
“You okay, buddy?”
John blinked twice and shook his head. “Yeah, sorry, my mind blanked there for a second.”
“It’s the weather,” Hank nodded. “Damn rain’ll do that to ya.”
“I guess so,” John said, frowning as he tried to recollect his thoughts. “What was I saying?”
“Stench from the basement.”
“Right, yeah, well, it’s stinking up the house. I went down there yesterday and couldn’t find the source. I even left the windows open, but it isn’t helping.”
“Might be the sheetrock,” Hank said, playing with his beard as he stared off in thought. “Maybe a mouse dead in the walls or somethin’.”
“Am I going to need an exterminator?”
“Nah, they won’t help much,” Hank said. “I can pass by tomorrow, give it a look myself. Sometime in the afternoon sound good for ya?”
John smiled at the man and nodded. “Perfect.”
***
“I was beginning to forget what your dead zone was like.”
John sat clumsily at his desk, nestling his phone between his ear and shoulder, tapping away at his keyboard as he listened to Karen. Half of what she said went unnoticed, and his replies came in short one syllable words he knew were beginning to annoy her.
Probably for the best. We don’t want to slip up and tell her about our little one night stand, do we, Johnny-boy?
“Are you even listening to me?” Karen asked.
“I’m sorry, baby,” John said, sighing as he swiveled in his chair and gave his back to the laptop, shutting out the voices in his head. “I haven’t been writing this well in years, and it’s really flowing.”
Karen chuckled on the other end, but he could hear how tired she was. Apparently she was finally feeling the downsides of upper management, and balancing her job with her duties at home, especially without him around, must have been taking their toll on her.
“At least you’re writing,” she said. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, honey,” he replied, his eyes falling on his bed, flashes of his night with Eva popping up in his mind. “Listen,” he said quickly, closing his eyes. “You sound tired, and I’m almost done here. How about we call it a night and I’ll call you in the morning?”
“Good idea, Panda,” Karen said, yawning. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.”
He hung up and sighed heavily, covering his face with both hands as he tried to decide on what to do.
I say get back to work, and let the world heal itself.
John nodded in agreement and turned back around.
He fell asleep at his computer.
***
He woke up later that night to the sounds of running feet above his head.
His head snapped up, suddenly alert as he listened to the noise carefully. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then he heard it again. Feet, definitely feet. Children’s feet. Racing around above him.
John jumped up, quickly opening the door to his bedroom and following the sounds. The running was coming from the attic, and he made his way down the second-floor landing to the small ladder that led upwards. He hadn’t gone up to the attic since he had moved in, Gina herself telling him that cleaning it out would be a waste of her time and his money.
Guess the old bird was wrong. She was probably scared of whoever’s running around up there.
“There’s no one up there,” John whispered. “It’s probably a rat.”
You sure, Johnny-boy? Wanna bet on that?
John stared up at the attic door, listening carefully as the sound above his head started and stopped, changing directions, moving further away from him, then back. He grabbed onto one of the ladder rungs, ready to climb up, when the attic door suddenly lifted up and crashed back down.
John fell back screaming, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst out of his chest. He scrambled away for the attic door, his back pressed against the wall as he stared upwards. The door lifted a few inches and crashed down again, this time harder.
That’s one helluva rat, Johnny-boy.
John pushed himself slowly to his feet, his eyes following the sound of scrambling feet above. His breathing came in gasps, and he listened to the sounds above his head in horror, frozen in place. Then, as suddenly as they had started, they stopped.
John listened carefully, waiting. He stood as still as possible, scared that any movement he’d make would send the feet scurrying about again. He held his breath, his hands shaking by his side, his eyes scanning the ceiling as if he could see through the boards and into the attic.
I don’t know about you, buddy, but if whatever’s up there comes down, I’ll be fine. You, not so much.
John didn’t need to be coaxed any further. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted across the hall and into his bedroom, half expecting the attic door to suddenly fly open and whatever was up there to come flying out, all fangs and claws, reaching out for him.
Nothing happened, though, and he quickly locked his bedroom door and crawled up in the furthest corner from it. He kept his eyes on the door, waiting, listening, his heart racing. When nothing else happened and the sounds didn’t return, he crawled into bed, tired and wasted, and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 9
“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised.”
John sat quietly as he listened to Derrick Fern talk about his submission. He had spent the whole day fleshing out the storyline, pushing his protagonist in different directions, his story growing darker and darker the more he wrote. At one point he had even surprised himself with what was coming out of his head and making its way onto the digital pages. And still, he had kept writing.
“This is a completely different direction, John,” Derrick said, the crisp sound of turning pages clearly audible across the line. “Completely different.”
“Is it bad?” John asked, cutting to the chase.
“No, not at all,” Derrick chuckled. “Actually, it’s better than anything you’ve written before. It’s not what fans would expect from John Krik.”
“Then let’s change those expectations.”
There was a long silence on the other end as he could hear Derrick weighing out the costs and benefits of going along with this new project.
“Come on, Derrick, you said it yourself, the work’s good,” John coaxed. “Give it a chance. This might be a new cash cow for you.”
Derrick laughed, but John could hear dollar signs clinging in the background. The man was no idiot, and he knew a good manuscript when he saw it. The real question was how they’d market it. It was like they’d be wading into new waters, unsure of whether or not they could swim in the currents.
“I’m not your first thriller author, Derrick.”
“No, you’re not,” the man replied. “You’re my first romance author to write a thriller, though.”
“And you can’t handle that?” John teased, knowing that Fern could never say no to a challenge.
“You insult me, John,” Derrick replied. “It hurts when you doubt me.”
He definitely sounds hurt.
John waited for a few more seconds before he finally heard the words he had wanted to hear. “Fine, let’s do this.”
“Great!” John smiled, slapping his knee in excitement.
“You’re sure about this?” Derrick asked.
“Definitely,” John said. “I’m already another seven thousand words in. I think I might get this book done in a month.”
“What the hell’s that place doing to you?” Derrick chuckled, his uneasiness slipping through the laughter. “Never thought you had this much darkness inside you. It’s a little worrying.”
“As long as it keeps the money rolling and my advance i
n my pocket, I really don’t care,” John said, and he hung up.
***
Hank clicked his tongue as he stood in the middle of the basement, hand covering his nose, eyes squinting into the corners of the basement. John watched him work, first inspecting the furnace, then knocking on various parts of the wall.
The stench had gotten worse, the open windows apparently useless against whatever it was that was causing the smell. John felt that if he stayed down here any longer, he might melt from the sheer toxicity of it. He fought the urge to ask Hank to hurry up, hoping the man could finally find a solution to the mess. However, it didn’t look promising.
Hank took another quick look around before turning to John and shrugging. He pointed upstairs and John sighed in relief, leading the man into the kitchen and quickly closing the door. He grabbed the towel, soaked it and replaced it in the space under the door.
“I don’t know, but it seems to me you’re gonna have to tear the walls down, replace the insulation,” Hank was saying. “Whatever’s causin’ that stink, it must be comin’ from there.”
“You think something died in there?”
Hank wrinkled his nose and shook his head in dismay. “I really can’t tell, buddy, sorry,” he said. “All I know for sure, that towel there ain’t gonna keep the smell out forever.”
“Tell me about it,” John sighed. “So, exterminator it is.”
“Sorry, brother,” Hank said. “I really thought I could help. Out of my league, this one. Never smelled anythin’ like it before.”
John waved away the apology. “It’s just as well,” he said. “I hear rats in the attic. I need to get that checked as well.”
Hank packed his tools away, pulled his cap off to scratch his head, and replaced it. “If you ask me, this whole place needs to go. Might as well sell it off to the Greens. They’ve been after it for years.”
“It’s not mine to sell,” John said.
“Then ask whoever gave you the keys,” Hank suggested. “Get out and don’t spend a single dime on this place, if y’ask me.”
We’re not asking him, are we? Tell this fool to get out.
John shook the voice away and smiled at Hank, leading him down the hall and to the front door. “Thanks anyway,” he said.
When he opened the door, both men stopped at the sight of Eva Green standing on the front porch. John felt his heart sink, a part of him hoping he had seen the last of the girl.
Looks like little Miss Green is back for more, Johnny-boy.
“Hello, Hank,” Eva said with a smile, her eyes on John.
Hank tipped his cap and tried his best to hide his scowl. “Miss Green,” he greeted, albeit a little too harshly. “See y’around, John. Let me know what the exterminators say.”
“Thanks again, Hank,” John called after him, both he and Eva watching the man climb into his truck and pull out.
John waited for the truck to turn the corner and disappear behind the Green’s house before he turned to Eva. “What are you doing here?”
Eva smiled at him. “I wanted to apologize for leaving the way I did the other night,” she said. “I thought I could make it up to you sometime.”
I suggest making it up now. How about you, Johnny-boy?
John stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him, making sure their conversation remained outside.
“Listen, you don’t need to make up for anything,” he said quickly. “In fact, let’s forget that anything even happened, okay?”
“That’s going to be a little hard considering we both seemed to enjoy ourselves tremendously.”
John sighed, holding back his anger, her nonchalant attitude annoying him immensely. “I’m married, Eva. Do you know what that means? It means that what happened that night was a mistake, a very big mistake, and I really don’t want to talk about it. Ever.”
Eva smiled and leaned against the porch railing. “I don’t know, John,” she teased. “It didn’t seem like a mistake to me.”
“Of course not,” John hissed. “You obviously don’t get it, so my explaining it to you is useless. Just stay away from me, okay? Stay away from this house. Go home.”
Eva stared at him, her face quickly turning into a scowl. Their eyes were locked on each other for what seemed like an eternity, and before he could repeat himself, she turned around and walked away.
John quickly went back inside and locked the door behind him.
Chapter 10
That was stupid, Johnny-boy.
“Shut up,” John replied to the darkness around him.
He was sitting at his desk, his fingers tapping away as his thoughts raced. His protagonist was in the middle of one of the most gruesome scenes he had ever written, and he didn’t need any distractions. He needed to stay in the zone, lost in the bubble around him. He heard the racing of feet above him again, but this time, he didn’t flinch.
Let them run. Let them come.
He squinted as he dug deeper into emotions he had never tapped into before, letting everything unravel on the screen, his story slowly gaining a momentum of its own; a life of its own. Derrick was going to love this.
I don’t see what the problem is.
“Of course you don’t,” John whispered.
The voice was starting to get annoying, but try as he may, he couldn’t shut it up. In a way, he felt like it was half responsible for the sudden burst of energy he was experiencing, the race of ideas flooding through his head as his story materialized in front of him. He felt like he was a mere co-pilot, the flesh and bone needed to tell the story.
I hate to see a chance like this wasted. Don’t you remember how good it felt?
“I’m trying to forget how good it felt.”
John felt himself smile, amused at the fact that he was conducting a conversation with a disembodied pervert. Oh, if Derrick could see him now. It would probably explain the writing, the man quickly coming to terms with the fact that his best author had finally lost it.
You’re not crazy.
John knew that, but he also knew that this was the first time since he had started writing that he was completely aware of what was happening around him. Since the beginning, the whole thing had seemed like a trance, an out of body experience he had detached himself from. Tonight was different, though. Tonight he was completely here, fully in tune, the emotions racing through him both familiar and terrifying at the same time.
You know that there’s nothing dead in the walls, right?
“I know.”
So what are you going to do about it?
“What Hank told me to do.”
John could hear the scurrying of the rats in the attic grow more frantic the more he ignored them. If they could feel how little he cared at the moment, then they were probably pissed off. He barely heard the attic door opening and slamming shut outside the room, but this time he didn’t cower in a corner the way he had the night before.
That’s right. It’s not the first time. Not even the second time. They’ve been running around up there since you got here.
“The exterminator’s coming tomorrow.”
Those aren’t rats.
“Then we’re going to be in for one hell of a surprise, aren’t we?”
The attic door opened and slammed shut a few more times, the frequency increasing until the sound was like a constant drumbeat. John ignored it, his fingers flying across his keyboard, completely oblivious to the lights of the bathroom that were flickering on and off on their own. The sounds in the attic intensified, rattling above his head, begging for attention and receiving none. Soon the attic door sounded like a double bass that was deafening, and John felt the muscles in his body tense at the sheer amount of distractions that were threatening him.
“Shut up!”
His scream echoed in the empty house, and everything stopped abruptly.
John blinked twice, his trance broken, his breathing heavy as he felt a headache coming on and his temples throb. His fingers shook above
the keyboard as the words on his screen swam in and out of focus.
Great. Now you scared them.
John flinched when he heard knocking at the front door. He looked at his watch, realized that it was well past midnight, and had a sinking feeling about who his visitor might be.
You know how I feel about this, but hey, it’s your call, Johnny-boy.
John waited, hoping whoever he thought was at his door would leave. When he heard the second series of knocks, he got out of his chair, turned on the lights and made his way downstairs. Rubbing the back of his neck, easing the tension that had built up there, he opened the door without checking to see who was outside.
He wasn’t surprised to see Eva Green, hands on her hips, clad in an overcoat that reached below her knees. She stared at him challengingly, both of them quiet, and then opened her coat to reveal the black lingerie she was wearing underneath.
“You still think it was a mistake?” she asked, her eyes daring him to look away, the smirk on her face dangerously enticing.
John swept her into his arms, slammed the door shut and carried her upstairs.
***
June Summers was locking up when Hank pulled up in front of her store. She waved at him as he leaned over and opened the passenger door, waiting as she rechecked the locks and climbed in next to him.
“Thanks for driving me home, Hank,” she said, rubbing her hands together for warmth.
“No problem,” Hank said, shifting gears and pulling out. “Can’t let you walk home this time’a night.”
“That’s sweet,” she mumbled. She checked her purse to make sure she hadn’t forgotten the keys in the door the way she recently had become accustomed to doing, and sat back comfortably, closing her eyes. It had been a slow day.
“Did I tell you that I was at the Dean house today?” Hank asked.
June was suddenly wide awake. Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”
“That writer fellow of yours, the one you said was stayin’ there,” Hank explained. “He came into my store yesterday talkin’ about a stench in his basement. Went there today, damn place smells like dead bodies rottin’ away. I ain’t got a clue how he’s holdin’ up in there.”