by John Inman
“Chimney,” I said. “It’s pronounced chimney.”
Then I realized what Timmy had said. So did Sam. We locked eyes with each other.
Without even thinking about what I was doing, I glowered up at the ceiling and shouted, “Don’t even think about blowing him up the chimney!”
Sam muttered around a grin. “Don’t believe in ghosts, huh? Then who you talking to?”
Timmy laughed. “Daddy was kidding. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Did he tell you that?” It was Sam asking the question. He beat me to the punch.
“No,” Timmy said, squeezing one eye shut because he was having another brain freeze moment. “I just know it. Daddy loves me.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Uh-huh. Where do the rhinos live?”
That question was so far out of left field, Sam and I had to blink back our confusion for a moment. Then I said, “Oh. Two streets over.”
“That’s what I thought,” Timmy said, sucking anew at his cherry Popsicle, or what was left of it. He was almost down to the stick now.
Timmy suddenly cocked his head to the side and gazed off blankly into space as if listening to a sound only he could hear. Which was apparently the truth, for a second later, he said, “It’s Mommy!”
Sam and I jumped. “Say what? Where?”
Timmy pointed a sticky red finger at my new cell phone, sitting beside me on the kitchen counter.
“There.”
And the moment we looked at the phone—it rang!
Sam and I jumped again. Who wouldn’t?
Sam stared at Timmy like he had never seen anyone as fascinating in his life. “How did you—”
But before Sam could finish his question, Timmy plucked the Popsicle stick out of his mouth and a grin split his face. “Look! There’s Daddy too! See him?”
I stumbled to my feet and spun 360 degrees. I didn’t see anyone but the three of us. Sam even made the supremely ridiculous motion of bending down and peeking under the kitchen table. I almost laughed. And the overriding word in that sentence is almost.
When the cell phone rang again, we ignored it.
“Where is he?” Sam and I asked together. “Where’s Daddy?”
Timmy pointed to the stove. “There.” Then he added, “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh? Uh-oh what?” Sam asked. His eyes were as big as golf balls. He obviously didn’t like the sound of that “uh-oh.” I didn’t like it either. We had experienced “uh-ohs” before.
We turned to the boy, and just as we did, Timmy’s grin dropped off his face like the last leaf of winter. “Daddy’s mad,” he said, scrunching down in his chair and pulling his dinner napkin over his head. Thumper seemed to finally realize something was going on. She struggled to her feet with a clatter of toenails and looked around. Baring her teeth, she growled in the direction of the stove, and then Timmy grabbed her back leg like a drumstick and dragged her close so he could pull the napkin over her head too. Together the two of them lay hunkered under the napkin, not moving a muscle. I wondered if I should crawl under there with them.
The cell phone rang a third time.
“I don’t see a thing,” Sam said to me, perplexed as hell. Like I wasn’t.
“Neither do I.”
We both giggled with relief, thinking we had just been fooled by a four-year-old. I was about to reach out and answer the phone when, with a boom, flames suddenly gushed out of each of the four burners on the stove. The flames roared and crackled and shot all the way up to the ceiling. I clutched my heart just as Sam grabbed my arm.
“Holy Christ!” To this day I don’t know who said it. Me or Sam.
I could feel the heat of those four towers of flame all the way across the kitchen, could see the reflection of the red streaks of fire mirrored in a dozen appliances. It was almost as if the flames were all around us, but of course, they weren’t. They were sure as hell shooting out of the stove, though.
Sam and I seemed to come to our senses in the same moment. He snatched Timmy off the chair, bumping the table so hard with his hip he sent Timmy’s milk glass crashing to the floor. I grabbed Thumper off the table, and together, Sam and I retreated to the far wall, as far from the heat as we could get. By the time we got there, the pyrotechnics were over. Pffft! Just like that and the flames were gone.
The four pillars of fire had disappeared as quickly as they’d come, and once they did, the four metal racks that covered the burners clattered back into place with a bang.
It was then that the phone rang again.
Timmy was safe in Sam’s arms, but maybe he wasn’t feeling so safe. He had his thumb in his mouth, and his eyes were squeezed shut like he was blocking everything out. Couldn’t say I blamed him.
“Should I answer it?” I asked Sam while glaring at the phone.
I couldn’t see Sam’s mouth. It was buried in Timmy’s hair. But I heard what he said.
He said, “Fuck if I know.”
Timmy opened his eyes and said, “Omm. That’s the really bad word.”
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, well. Sometimes it’s the only word that fits.”
I picked up the cell phone with trembling fingers and stared at the face of it. Sure enough, Sally’s number stared back at me. Then I lifted my eyes and glared at the stove, wondering what it would do if I answered her call. I could almost swear I heard a menacing grumble coming from the oven, but holy crap, that must have been my imagination.
I kept looking from one to the other. Stove to phone, stove to phone. And finally, when the phone rang again, I punched the disconnect button. Screw it. I hesitated for about two seconds, then went ahead and shut the phone down completely. I didn’t want it to ring again. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
“Bye,” Timmy said, eyes once again wide open, staring at the stove. “Bye-bye,” he said again with a little wave and a smile.
Apparently, Daddy was gone.
“WEIRD STUFF is happening more and more. Now I’ve got scorch marks on my kitchen ceiling. What’s next? Coffins popping out of the backyard? Banshees and goblins swooping in from the moors? Linda Blair twirling her head around in my sock drawer? Tell me, Sam. What the hell is next?”
Sam reached over and twiddled my hair. “Next we have sex.”
That perked me up. “Oh. Well, that’s not so bad, then. I guess I can deal with that.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re such a romantic.”
We were lying in bed. I still wore my lounging shorts, and Sam still wore his yellow rooster boxers. “So when are we supposed to be having this mythical sex, then? Certainly not tonight.”
“No,” Sam grumped. “Not tonight.”
We both looked down at Timmy. He was lying between us taking his half of the bed right out of the middle. Afraid to leave him on his own after what had just happened in the kitchen and reticent to tuck him into his own bed all alone, we tucked him into ours instead. Thumper too. The kid and the dog were sprawled out all over the place, and Sam and I were teetering on either edge of the queen-sized Posturepedic, miles apart from each other.
Tonight the kid was wearing SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas. I liked the rocket ships better.
I glanced at the clock. It was midnight on the button.
Sam was still reaching over Timmy so he could twiddle my hair. His voice was lazy. Maybe even a little amused, although there wasn’t much humor on his face. “You’re starting to believe you have a ghost on the premises. I can tell. It’s finally started to soak in.”
I wasn’t about to argue. “That’s not what bothers me.”
“What bothers you?” he asked.
“You know what bothers me,” I said. I simply couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
So Sam said the words for me.
“You can no longer deny there’s a ghost in your house. But if Timmy is correct, then it’s the ghost of his father. My brother. And for his father or my brother to be a ghost, that means he also has to be dead. Did I miss anything?”
“Yes,” I said. “You missed a lot.”
“For instance?”
“For instance, if Paul is dead, how did he get that way? And how, if he truly is dead, did he come to be haunting my house? He certainly didn’t die here.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, we would have heard about it, don’t you think?”
“From who?”
I wasn’t in the mood for pussyfooting around. Fooling around, yes. Pussyfooting around? No. “Spit it out, Sam. What exactly are you trying to say?”
Sam studied Timmy’s face to make sure he was asleep. I studied it too. We were both a bit amazed the kid could go through everything he’d just gone through and still sleep like a baby. I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be sleeping again until sometime around the autumnal equinox.
Convinced the kid was really asleep and not playing possum, Sam whispered, “You know what I’m trying to say, Jason. You can’t be as dense as all that.”
I groaned. “Fine. I just don’t want to be the first to put it into words.”
“What words?”
“You know what words. And don’t try to trick me. Timmy’s the only one smart enough to do that on a regular basis.”
And then Sam asked the last thing I expected to hear. “How well do you know your sister?”
I sat straight up in the bed and gazed over Timmy and Thumper into Sam’s wide-eyed face. He was lying there looking back at me with an innocent expression that didn’t fool me one little bit. It wasn’t really innocent at all. There was nothing remotely innocent about it.
Any humor I might have had concerning the situation at hand flew out the window before I could even clench my teeth.
“You think Sally killed your brother.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
I stared at Sam a moment longer before turning away and reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp.
In the dark, I turned my back on everyone: Sam, Timmy, the dog. My fears.
I punched the pillow, trying to get it where I wanted, and as soon as I was reasonably satisfied, I said, “Go to sleep, Sam.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered.
I sighed. “It’s okay. Just go to sleep.”
Sam and I settled into an uneasy silence.
With Timmy and Thumper grunting and snoring and flopping around in their sleep between us and with my mind in a turmoil trying to make sense of all that was happening, it would be a long time before morning came.
It was also during that interminably long night that I realized I was in love with Sam.
Great. Now when he left, I’d have a broken heart to contend with on top of everything else.
Chapter 9
THANKS TO Jack, my sister’s moronic boyfriend, and his moronic little car, the road crew was standing around twiddling their thumbs while waiting to tar the street in front of the house. They didn’t seem too annoyed by the downtime. I guess road crews live for downtime.
While the road workers stood at the curb snarfing donuts and guzzling coffee, Sam and I watched through the living room window as the tow-truck driver hooked up Jack’s MINI Cooper to the back of his truck. When it was safely secured, the MINI Cooper with the silly British flag on the roof was hauled off down the street without further ado. The last I saw, it was being dragged ignominiously onto Juniper Street, where it disappeared in traffic. Only then did the road crew finally go back to work.
Sam’s car was parked in the driveway behind my own, safe and snug.
“Poor Jack,” I said, all teeth, my smile so broad I could barely talk.
Sam was leaning on the windowsill beside me, looking a wee bit confused. “Shouldn’t you have tried to stop it?”
“Why?” I asked. “Jack’s a twit. Plus he didn’t leave me the car keys. What could I possibly do?”
Sam smirked. “You might try gloating a little less.”
“Harrumph. You obviously haven’t met my sister’s lover.”
Since the night the stove shot flames into the stratosphere, Sam and I had been sidestepping the subject of my sister and her possible connection to my resident ghost. One of these days, I knew we would have to talk about it. But not yet. I wasn’t ready. Sam seemed willing to let me wait and stew and fret a while longer. Apparently, he had a bit of a mean streak in him. Good to know I wasn’t the only one.
I gazed over at Sam now.
We had been sidestepping other subjects as well. At least, I had. I reached out now and laid my hand to the side of Sam’s neck just to feel his heat. He ducked his chin and gave my wrist a kiss.
“Timmy’s asleep,” he said, his voice already acquiring that husky timbre I had come to love hearing. I knew exactly what it meant. Sam knew I knew what it meant. And I knew he knew I knew he knew.
At least, I thought he knew.
“What are you suggesting?” I asked with a lecherous smirk. “What’s on your mind?”
Sam pulled me into his arms. He laid his mouth over mine until our dicks were hard beneath our clothes and we were both trembling like crazy. His tongue made a full reconnaissance of my mouth—roof, tongue, teeth—and then it waggled its way around again for another tour. God, I loved it when his tongue did that. He stroked my back through my T-shirt. I thought he was going to pull it over my head and really get the ball rolling.
“Not here,” I said, jerking back. “Timmy’s asleep upstairs. He could come down any minute.”
“No,” Sam agreed, finding my mouth again with his lips. Talking through our kiss. “Not here. In the basement.”
I arched away from him a second time and did a double take. “You want to fool around in the basement?”
Sam blinked. “Who said anything about fooling around? I want to search.”
“Search? Search for what?”
Sam gave me a wink. “I guess we won’t know that until we find it.”
“What about fooling around?”
Sam laughed. He reached down and gave my cock a squeeze. “Later.”
I shivered at the touch. “You promise?”
He smiled a gentle, sexy smile, his eyes at half-mast. “You’re so cute when you’re horny.”
“Then I’m perpetually cute.”
“I know. That’s why I love you.”
My jaw fell open, and my tongue slid all the way down my throat to my spleen. By the time I coughed it back out, Sam was gone, headed for the basement door. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard him chuckling as he walked away.
What did he say?
SAM GAZED around the basement from the middle of the stairs. “Don’t you ever clean down here?”
That hurt. I clomped down the stairs and peered over his shoulder. “I just cleaned this shithole before you showed up unannounced on my doorstep.” I was feeling a little testy. I really wanted some further clarifications on that “love you” remark he had made two minutes earlier. “Umm. Sam, a minute ago when you said—”
Timmy piped up behind us. “Whatcha doing?”
Sam and I jumped. We whirled around and stared back up the stairs to see Timmy looking down at us from the doorway. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair, what was left of it, was all over the place. We still hadn’t resolved that problem. Maybe it really would grow out before we got around to doing something about it.
As usual, Thumper stood at Timmy’s feet. She was yawning and giving herself a good shake, trying to wake up. The kid was wearing her out, but obviously, she was determined to stay by his side, no matter what. I wondered if she knew something we didn’t.
My cell phone chirped. I had stuffed it in my pocket earlier out of sheer habit, although I still had no intention of answering it. I ignored it as best I could. I imagined Sally was getting good and mad by now. I hadn’t answered the phone for four days. I guess I don’t have to explain why. She was due back into town in about ten days anyway. I’d let her pound me to a pulp then. Better that than have my ghost burn the house
down around our ears.
Timmy raced down the stairs, ducked between Sam and me, then leaped the last three steps onto the basement floor. Thumper whimpered at the top of the stairs, so I slogged back up to fetch her since her little arthritic legs weren’t up to handling stairs anymore. The dusty old blanket was still crumpled up against the wall where Timmy had left it the other day, so I plopped her down there. She immediately curled up and went to sleep.
Sam stood in the middle of the basement floor with his hands on his hips, inspecting the place while Timmy found my spider-killing hat and pulled it over his head. He set out to explore, rummaging through random boxes and peeking into corners.
“How old is this house?” Sam asked, looking around like a tourist.
“It was built in 1923.”
“Wow.” He sounded impressed.
Sam clucked his tongue at all the boxes and piles of junk everywhere. “You ever throw anything away?”
“A lot of this stuff is Sally’s,” I said a bit defensively. “Sally’s and Paul’s, actually. When I took over the house she asked me to store some of her things for a while because the condo she was moving into wasn’t all that big. She said she’d have the stuff hauled away, but she never got around to it. Or maybe she conveniently forgot. So here it still sits.”
“Hmm,” Sam said.
He was running his hands over the brick walls that stood behind the furnace. The wall stretched from one end of the basement to the other. “If this house is ninety years old, then this must not be an original wall. The bricks look too new.”
I nodded. “Sally and Paul did a lot of work on the house. That is one of the repairs they made. I know there were some structural problems that needed to be set right when they bought the place. Something to do with the house’s foundation. That wall is part of it.”
Sam gazed down. “The concrete floor looks pretty new too.”
“Yes,” I said. “That was also part of the renovation.”
Sam turned to me. “Did you help them with the work?”