Scary House

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  Scotty flattened himself up against the wall. “This isn’t good.”

  The van disappeared around the side of the house, leaving a trail of dust in its wake that drifted off with a lazy breeze. Pincher yanked on the front door, frantically fumbling with the deadbolt. “It won’t open!”

  Gavin pushed him aside and put all of his weight into it, tendons bulging in his neck. “Crap! It’s stuck.”

  “Let’s hide upstairs.”

  They followed Pincher’s gaze up the staircase ascending into the murky gloom, a deathly silence ringing hollow in Gavin’s ears.

  “No way I’m going up there,” Scotty moaned, twisting his fingers. “That’s how people always die in the movies.”

  “He’s right,” Gavin whispered, grabbing the photo album from Scotty and tip-toeing across the living room with Pincher pushing from behind. Sliding the album back inside the coffee table, Gavin kicked something under the couch and hurried into the dining room.

  At the window above the kitchen sink, they stood on their toes and watched a heavyset man push out of the shiny van with a Morgan Realty logo painted across its side. Shutting the door, the man surveyed the back of the house with his hands resting on ample hips and the setting sun reflecting off his aviator sunglasses. A yellow necktie flapped in the breeze as he approached the backdoor, making Gavin and his cohorts recoil like frightened snakes.

  “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap,” Scotty whispered, looking all around. “What do we do?”

  “Just relax,” Gavin panted, scanning the kitchen for another way out that didn’t exist. “When he opens the backdoor, we burst through it to the bikes. Don’t stop and don’t look back. He’ll never catch us in those dress shoes.” He paused for breath. “Pincher you go first.”

  Pincher’s face fell. “What? Why me?”

  The man’s silhouette appeared in the backdoor window, shrouded by a frilly orange curtain faded by decades of afternoon sunlight. The doorknob rattled and keys jingled. Then everything got quiet. Bending over, the realtor’s shadow disappeared from view for a perplexing moment before coming back up with something pinched between his fingers. The three boys peeked out the sink window and could barely see him holding a penny up to the light before pocketing it in his slacks and smoothing a shock of salt-and-pepper hair in the door’s dirty glass.

  Gavin traded a disconcerted look with Pincher as a key slid into the lock. They’d just been on those back steps and there had only been one… The key turned and the knob twisted, derailing Gavin’s train of thought. “Come on,” he whispered, darting back into the living room and stopping at the foot of the stairs. His eyes climbed the carpeted steps, blood pounding thickly in his temples. Thanks to the mysterious thump that came from up there, he’d rather take his chances with the realtor. Something was up there. Something terrible. He could feel it in his bones, and the picture of their bikes cemented the eerie sensation. The worn knob jiggled louder out in the kitchen but the door refused to budge. Scotty grabbed the banister and set a foot on the first step, which arrested his progress with a whiney creak.

  “Sonofa…” Pincher whispered, wrestling with the front door again.

  “Wait.” Gavin shot a hand out as the realtor paused to try another key. And then another. They heard him swear and then everything stopped. The quiet buzzed in their ears as they traded glances. Sneaking back to the window over the kitchen sink, they watched the man slide open the side door on the van and grab a for sale sign from the back. He turned around and they pressed up against the kitchen counter, watching him vanish around the side of the house.

  Slinking back to the Christmas tree window in the living room, they moved with the quiet prowess of professional cat burglars. The realtor planted the sign into the weedy front yard with a brown loafer. After a few more stomps, he brushed his hands together and looked up and down a lonely stretch of gravel road running past. Tucking the yellow tie into his shirt, he headed for the front door, flipping through a large ring of keys with the wind mussing his hair.

  “Oh snap, he’s coming back,” Pincher whispered, scurrying through the dining room and sliding his checkered Vans into the kitchen. The linoleum flooring popped beneath their hurried steps. Pincher yanked on the backdoor with all his might and the others crashed into him, expecting it to be open by now. “It’s locked,” he hissed through clenched teeth, fighting with the door.

  “Come on,” Gavin said, dashing back into the living room and pulling open two folding doors next to the couch. Hurrying inside the coat closet, he banged his head on a corner of raw wood framing the underside of the staircase and barely felt the searing pain for the adrenaline flooding his system.

  The others crammed inside and slid the slatted doors shut just before the front door clicked open. Wiping a cobweb from his face, Gavin could feel Scotty’s chest rising and falling next to him. Slices of daylight cut across their terrified faces as the man cautiously entered the house like he knew someone was in there. Like he knew someone was trespassing. Leaving the door open, he pulled his shades off and examined the broken lamp for an agonizing moment that made Scotty’s breath come hot and fast.

  “Jeezum crow,” the big man whispered, looking from the old television set to the shrink-wrapped couch. His eyes rose to the framed photographs adorning the discolored walls and a shudder ran through him like someone just walked over his grave. Bending for a closer inspection, he studied a black and white picture of the family fishing in a curvy stream. His pager vibrated, making him flinch. Yanking it from his belt, he checked the thin screen and shuffled his brown loafers into the dining room, muttering under his breath.

  “Oh, my God, what is that smell?” Scotty whispered, surveying the others in the stripes of daylight.

  Gavin shushed him and pulled his coat up over his nose as the man’s heavy footsteps faded into the kitchen.

  “It smells like something dead in here,” Scotty muttered, nervously shifting in his stance. “Like a body.”

  Pincher clapped a hand over his mouth and laughter slipped through his fingers, souring Scotty’s face.

  “I thought you just went.”

  “I have to go again.” Pincher slapped both hands over his mouth, body convulsing with an uncontrollable bout of the giggles. Gavin elbowed him in the side, fueling his fire.

  The realtor came back into the living room and Scotty pulled his hood up, as if that would help hide him. Shifting, he stepped on Gavin’s foot, sending sparks shooting across Gavin’s field of vision. Biting a lip to keep from crying out, Gavin’s eyes watered with the white-hot pain ripping through his toes.

  The man took a long look around the living room and smoothed his greasy hair back. “Weird,” he said, clipping the pager onto his belt and releasing a tired sigh. His eyes hooked on the old upright against the wall before floating to the small rocking chair in the corner. He snorted, belly jiggling. “Surprised you’re not rocking by yourself,” he chuckled, looking up the staircase and raising his voice. “If you can hear me, show yourself!”

  Scotty stopped breathing and grabbed Gavin’s wrist with an ironclad grip. Gavin’s heart thrashed against his ribcage and he thought for sure the man would hear it in the silence pressing against the walls.

  Mercifully turning for the open front door, the man wrinkled his nose. “What in God’s name is that smell?”

  A loud thump stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he tipped his head back and looked up at the water stained ceiling. Edging closer to the foot of the stairs, he disappeared from Gavin’s view. “Hello?” the realtor called out, growing nerve rackingly quiet.

  Gavin shut his eyes and held his breath, balling his hands into tight fists. Praying for no response so everyone could get out of this mess alive. Because if something came down those stairs and killed the realtor, it would surely kill them next. And one thing was for certain, something was up there.

  The bottom step groaned when the realtor set a foot on it, shaking plaster dust on Gavin’s shoulders. “Screw it,�
�� the man murmured, coming back into view and hurrying for the front door. “I’ll leave you in peace. I’m sorry.”

  Shutting the door, he turned the deadbolt with a key from the outside. Scotty released a stifled breath, but didn’t move a muscle. Not yet. The seconds turned into undying minutes, the air around them warm and spoiled. Finally, Scotty threw the doors back and stumbled out into the living room. “Oh, my God, it’s in my mouth!” Spitting to the carpet, he turned a piercing glare on Pincher. “What’s your problem, man?”

  Pincher wiped tears from his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he giggled.

  Scotty threw his hood back and mopped his glistening brow with a sleeve. “That’s so gross, Pinch!”

  “I said, I’m sorry; I got nervous! And when I get nervous my IBS starts flaring up.” Pincher’s face suddenly sobered. “Dude,” he whispered, pointing at Scotty with a shaky finger. “There’s something in your hair.”

  “You’re not even close to being funny,” Scotty snapped, eyes slowly rising to his own brow. Startling, he swatted at his hair like it was on fire, smacking an eight-legged creature to the floor. “Ahh!” he cried, watching a spider scurry into the darkness living under the couch.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Gavin said in a trembling voice, seeing the van speed down the driveway and whip out onto the gravel road out front. Sprinting into the kitchen, this time the backdoor clicked open with a simple twist of the knob. Scotty dumped the Hummel figurine and TV Guide on the kitchen counter before rushing outside where it felt like the fresh air could cleanse the horror from their minds. But it was a short-lived triumph, for as they neared the tree line Gavin had the unmistakable feeling something was waiting for them in the shadows. The same something that took that strange picture of their bikes.

  Chapter Four

  We Have to Go Back

  Before entering the tree line, Gavin traded one last look with his two friends. One last look that said: if this is all she wrote, it’s been a helluva ride and thanks for taking it with me. Pushing through a branch of soft pine needles, he saw someone hiding amongst the autumn foliage. The same someone who took the picture of their bikes. His chest fell as a long breath fled his overworked lungs. Their bikes sat alone, lying around a blackberry bush right where they left them. The wind gave life to the stretching shadows, his mind playing tricks on him.

  “I’m telling you, there was only one penny on those back steps,” Pincher repeated, unzipping his pants and squatting down. “And you saw me take it!”

  Gavin scrunched his nose up. “Can’t you go over there and do that?”

  “By myself? No way, Gav.”

  Scotty grabbed a black helmet hanging from his handlebars and loosely strapped it on. “He’s right,” he said, the helmet sliding back on his head. “There was only one penny on those steps and Pincher took it.”

  “When that guy picked up a penny, I immediately checked the one in my pocket and it’s still there!” Crouched on his haunches, Pincher dug the penny from a pocket and gestured with it. “See?”

  Gavin pulled his bike up and it seemed heavier than ever before. “And none of you locked that backdoor after we went inside?”

  “For the last time, no. Why would we?” Scotty climbed on the PK Ripper and grabbed the powder blue grips, eyes straying from focus. “And that picture of our bikes,” he murmured, shaking his head. “How is that even possible?”

  They stared at each other through solemn eyes, unable to latch onto a reasonable explanation. The photo album’s glossy pages flipped through Gavin’s mind like a slideshow. The fact that their bikes had, somehow, become part of the family’s twisted history prickled his nerves. Clearing the images with a quick shake of the head, he turned back to the house. It was watching them through the thinning trees, grinning at them, daring them to come back inside for more fun.

  “What was it the realtor said to the rocking chair?” Gavin asked, watching a group of crows fly over the house.

  “He said he was surprised it wasn’t rocking by itself.”

  “Yeah,” Pincher grunted, ripping a long fart. “Like by a ghost!”

  “The friggin place is haunted and that guy knew it!” Scotty pulled his helmet down and tightened the strap. “What have you gotten us into here, Gav?”

  Gavin stepped closer to the house and tilted his head to one side, unsure if the blond woman staring at him from a dormer window was a reflection of the setting sun.

  “The picture of our bikes,” Scotty began, counting on his fingers, “the penny, and the realtor dude apologizing to a ghost! That’s what just happened and I need a shower to wash it all off.” His face shriveled along with his voice. “Listen, I’m outta here, guys, and I suggest you follow me and don’t look back,” he said, pushing his bike out into the barren cornfield.

  Gavin took one more look back at the house and the upstairs window was empty. Turning, he pushed his bike through the trees, replaying everything in his mind. The closest thing to a supernatural presence they’d encountered in an abandoned house before was the wind blowing a door shut or a rat scratching around inside the walls. But this… This was something else. He could feel it.

  “Wait! I’m almost done!” Pincher yelled, grabbing a handful of dead leaves.

  Back inside the sanctity of the city limits, Pincher bunny-hopped a curb and went north while Scotty and Gavin traveled east. They pedaled faster than usual, looking over their shoulders and thinking people were hiding behind the trees and dumpsters. Scotty’s helmet slid back on his head, acting as more of a parachute than protection as the sun dipped below the western horizon, painting the sky with orange and yellow streaks. Jack O’ lanterns, spiders, and fluttering ghosts decorated the yards and porches, adding to the paranoia already coursing through their veins.

  “Hey, do you wanna go check out this new shop over by Showbiz Pizza with me tomorrow?” Scotty panted, pedaling hard to keep up with Gavin. “It’s open on Sundays.”

  Frowning, Gavin’s shadow pedaled ahead of him on the sidewalk like something was after it. “What new shop?”

  “It’s called Corn Country Antiques and I’ve heard they have a real obscure collection of classic office supplies.” He paused for breath. “Plus, they have free coffee and sugar cookies.”

  Gavin slammed on his brakes, bringing his bike to a skidding halt next to a lonely gas station.

  Scotty hit both handbrakes and started skidding. His helmet slid down over his eyes and his front tire collided with Gavin’s back wheel, tipping him up into the air. “What the hell, dude?” he barked, pushing the helmet back on his head. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to flip out about it.”

  Straddling the Torker, Gavin frantically checked his coat pockets. His palms fluttered against him like butterfly wings, moving down to his jeans and back up to his coat in case he’d missed something the first time around. Slowly, he pulled the photo of the dining room table from an inside coat pocket and stared forlornly at it. The sudden stop in motion and the blood rushing to his head made him dizzy. He looked up to meet Scotty’s baffled expression, throat dry as cotton. “My camera,” he choked out, lowering the picture to his side.

  “What about it?”

  Gavin looked back the way they just came, hair blowing out of his face. “I left it in the house.”

  Scotty inhaled sharply, as if he could suddenly see the future. “Oh crap! Your mom is going to kill you!”

  Gavin stared off into the distance with the wind pulling tears from his eyes. “We have to go back.”

  Scotty’s features wilted in the waning light, leaving dark shadows pooling around his eyes. “Are you crazy? I’m not going back there!” A black Chevelle cruised by and laid on the horn, making him jump. Flipping the cover open on his Jurassic Park watch, he shook his head. “I’m already late.” He looked up at Gavin. “Plus, my blood sugar is low!”

  “If I go home without that camera, my mom will kill me!”

  �
�I just said that!”

  Gavin grimaced as the gravity of his mistake settled in like a cold black wind, coiling around his body and wringing the air from his lungs.

  Scotty snapped the cover shut on the watch and wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Where’d you leave it?”

  Gavin’s gaze dropped to a flattened squirrel leaning against the curb. It had been there for a week or two and was stiff as a board. His mind retraced his steps through the house, reliving the whole nightmare all over again, trying to recall the last time he had the camera in his hands. A flashbulb went off behind his big browns. “By the coffee table. I set it down when I found the photo album.”

  “I don’t remember seeing it.”

  Traffic rolled past, oblivious to Gavin’s dilemma, making him that much more uncomfortable. His pulse banged in his neck. Head swam. Everything seemed distorted. Longer. Thinner. If he lost that camera, his mom would never let him get another one and it was just about the only thing he owned that hadn’t been Boone’s at one time or another. From his clothing and bike, to his Game Boy and baseball glove, everything came from his older brother. Gavin pulled at his hair. He knew his mom spent money she didn’t have on that camera, which made it mean that much more.

  “That place is miles away.” Scotty glanced at the orange sky behind them. “It’ll be full dark by the time we get back there. I’ll never go there again, let alone at night. No way, Gav. I’m too thirsty!”

  Gavin smacked his own forehead. “How could I be so stupid?”

  Scotty snapped his fingers, face brightening. “Hey, what about Boone? Maybe he can drive you out there before your mom gets home from work.”

  Gavin checked his Swatch watch and cringed. His mom worked at a hair salon until six and would be home in less than an hour. “It’s my only shot,” he said bleakly, setting a foot on a pedal and praying Boone was home. Praying his older brother was in a good mood because Boone would know what to do. He was a junior in high school with a real-life girlfriend and a part-time job at The Grove. “You can help me talk him into giving me a ride. He might not kick my ass if you’re there,” Gavin yelled over his shoulder, pedaling hard and cursing the wind.