Scary House

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  “Hey,” Boone said, rushing across the room and steadying Gavin on his feet. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” he replied, shoving him away. His heavy-lidded eyes jerked to the pickle jar. Mopping a sheen of perspiration from his forehead, his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth when he spoke. “We have to put it back.”

  Scotty’s face shriveled in the daylight coming through the windows. “Are you high? I’m not going back there!” He studied the enormous pickle jar. “It’ll take all day to find that penny in there. They’re all pennies!”

  “1964,” Gavin muttered, staggering closer to the dresser and using the bed for support. “That’s the one we want.”

  Boone wasted no time getting his hands dirty. Grabbing the jar, he dumped the contents onto Pincher’s bed. A symphony of metal sliding across glass played out as loose coins splashed down into a pool of copper. Gavin examined the pennies with a far-off ringing in his left ear. He wasn’t sure if there were hundreds of them or thousands. His vision doubled around the edges and he was never any good at guessing how many Jelly Bellys were inside a goldfish bowl at the county fair.

  “1964?” Planting his hands on his hips, Boone surveyed the loot and blew out a long breath. “Is that a wheat penny?”

  “No, actually the wheat penny ended in 1958 after President Eisenhower decided the public had grown bored with…”

  “Shut it, Scotty!” Boone snapped, reaching for the pool of copper.

  “Don’t use your hands!” Gavin said, making him jump. “Use something else.” He tried to focus on breathing but something in the room was making him sick to his stomach. Sweat ran down the sides of his face. The air felt too thin. Boone grabbed a hairbrush and dove in. The coin wanted to be found. That much Gavin was sure of. They didn’t have to find it. It would find them. That was its design. Its calling. “Wait,” he panted, going over and gently prying the screwdriver from Pincher’s hand. Coming back, he used the tool to stir the pot of coins. Stopping with the tip buried, he filled his lungs with the smell of gym socks and slowly pulled the tool back. Emerging from the pile of loose change, a single penny clung to the magnetic end of the screwdriver, slipping up and over the other coins. When it was free of the horde, Gavin flipped it over and checked the date. “Got it,” he whispered, jerking his chin at Boone. “Grab that baggie.”

  “How the hell did that just happen?” Boone asked, grabbing a Ziploc lying next to the dismantled skateboard and dumping some loose nuts and bolts onto the floor. “This is so messed up,” he whispered, holding the baggie open while Gavin carefully deposited the tarnished penny inside.

  Tossing the screwdriver on the bed, Gavin sealed the bag. “Let’s get out of here,” he panted, wiping sweat from his upper lip.

  “Hey Gavin, take a picture of him.”

  He frowned at Scotty until understanding flared in his eyes. “That’s a good idea,” he said, pulling the camera from an inside coat pocket and popping it open like a tent. Coming around the end of the bed, Pincher looked the exact same through the viewfinder as he did in real life. Dazed. Bleak. Gray. The bulb flashed and the motor purred. A white-framed sheet of dark film crowned a sliver at a time, emerging like a fragile newborn while Gavin’s mind conjured up an image of something dark and bony riding Pincher’s hunched shoulders. Something the human eye couldn’t see. Something with long fingers and dirty nails.

  Impatiently snatching the shot from the Polaroid’s lips, he waved it through the air. His heart beat faster against the glowing egg printed across the front of his t-shirt, the temperature rising in the room to an unbearable level. The far-off ringing in his ear grew closer, toying with his balance. The moment of truth was nearly at hand, sucking the air from the room. Time came to a standstill and the only noise was their ragged breathing and overworked hearts.

  “How long does this thing take to develop?” Boone shifted his weight from one Nike Vandal to the other. “I gotta get out of this room. It smells like baby poop in here.”

  “Here it comes,” Gavin muttered, watching the dresser against the wall slowly materialize in the photograph. Next, came the poster of T2 above it. Then, Pincher came to life one grain at a time. The far corner of the room came together last. Gavin looked over to it now – in real life – and saw the blue guitar. A stubborn breath sunk its meat hooks into his throat, refusing to let go. His eyes scoured the entire picture, looking for the paranormal Waldo that had to be here. He looked up and down to the picture in his hand. Pincher was free of any demons riding his back, or shafts of light glowing from the outer edges of his slumped silhouette. Gavin’s spirits sank with his posture. “I thought that would work for sure.”

  “Me too,” Scotty glumly replied, turning and screaming when he found Pincher standing right behind him. “Ahh jeez! Please don’t kill me, Pinch!”

  Swaying in his stance, Pincher stared hard at Scotty, turning the screwdriver in his hand again. “You have to stop him,” he said in a weak voice that didn’t sound anything like the skinny kid they knew and loved. The one who liked building ramps and hitting the skate park. “Please,” he said through clenched teeth, as if it hurt to talk.

  “Stop who?” Gavin whispered.

  Pincher’s bloodshot gaze dragged over to Gavin. “Roger,” he replied, returning to the end of the bed and staring out the window again.

  “Roger who?” When there was no further response, Gavin looked at the others and swallowed dryly. “Okay, I think it’s time to bail.”

  “I second that,” Boone agreed, heading for the door.

  “Hey, don’t kill anyone if you can help it, Pincher,” Scotty said over his shoulder, following the others out the bedroom door. “We’re going to put the penny back and fix you!”

  Darting down the hallway, they tackled the staircase like a herd of water buffalo, shaking the pictures on the walls and spilling into the living room. Pincher’s mom looked up from a paperback of The Pelican Brief, knitting her powdery brow. “How’s he feeling?” she asked from a brown recliner matching her husband’s.

  “Not good,” Scotty replied, making a beeline for the front door. “I wouldn’t go in there for several hours if I were you.”

  “Lock up all your guns,” Boone added, pushing Scotty from behind.

  Pincher’s dad watched them over the newspaper, pressing his face into a deep seeded scowl. Grunting, he returned to The Cottage Grove Gazette.

  Outside, Gavin pulled fresh air into his lungs to steady his swimming head. This was really happening. Darkness existed and it was a race against time to stop it. He couldn’t believe it. A penny! It was surreal. He’d dreamed of finding the supernatural lurking in one of these decrepit houses and, now that he had, he just wanted it to stop. Wanted everything to go back to normal. He hadn’t counted on the fear shortening his breath and the paranoia turning his stomach.

  “Hang on a second!” Pincher’s mom stopped in the doorway, robe fluttering. “Did you get your bike lock key?”

  Chapter Ten

  Microfilm Rules!

  Popping the camera open, Gavin cleaned the lens with the end of his t-shirt while Scotty let a backpack slip from his shoulder to Gavin’s bed. Unzipping it, Scotty pulled mysterious items from inside and neatly displayed them on the bedspread with a quiet gleam in his eye. Boone frowned at Gavin, who could only shrug back.

  Straightening up, Scotty set his hands on his hips and surveyed the spread. “Gentlemen, pick your poison.”

  Gavin set the camera on his dresser, unable to take his eyes from the haul. “This is so awesome.”

  “Where’d you get all this stuff?” Boone asked, scratching his head.

  “Most of it came from antiquing.” Scotty looked up from the bed. “And garage sales.”

  Boone picked up a pair of long nose pliers and studied it in the light. “Are we supposed to pull their teeth?”

  “Ghosts don’t have teeth.”

  “Vampires do,” Scotty replied, painting a smug
smile across his face.

  Gavin grabbed a squirt gun and smiled. “This is one of my favorites.”

  Noticing the bewilderment swirling in Boone’s dark brown eyes, Scotty stepped in to ease his pain. “It’s filled with holy water,” he explained, tenting his hands. “Stole it from our church drinking fountain.”

  Setting the squirt gun down, Gavin released a dejected sigh. “I just don’t get how an old penny can make somebody go crazy.”

  Scotty pressed his palms together like he was about to pray. “Did you know that the flu virus can survive on spare change for up to ten days? Just think how long an evil curse can last.”

  Boone tossed the pliers onto the bed with a soft bounce. “What’d I tell you about talking so much?”

  “We need to find out more about the people who used to live in that house before we go back there.” Gavin flipped hair from his eyes. “Pincher said we have to stop Roger.”

  Scotty shook his head. “I thought he was talking about the crazy realtor at first.”

  “Me too,” Gavin admitted, tapping a finger against his lips. “But his name isn’t Roger.”

  Boone shrugged. “How’re we supposed to find out who used to live there way back in 1964?”

  Gavin made a clicking noise with his tongue and then stopped. “There’s only one place we can go.”

  “The library,” Scotty breathed, eyes brightening.

  “The library?” Boone reached for a silver crucifix and pulled his hand back at the last second.

  “Oh, I love the library.” Scotty spread his palms. “Did you know they just opened a new coffee shop with a patio and everything?”

  Boone and Gavin stared dully at him.

  “It’s called Chapters Café.” His eyebrows rose into his forehead. “Get it? Like chapters in a…”

  “We get it, Encyclopedia Brown.” Taking a butterfly knife from the odd assortment, Boone flipped it open like a ninja and held the blade up to the light. “Now, this is nice.”

  “Thanks, my uncle Chuck gave it to me for...”

  “Don’t care,” Boone said, flipping it shut and slipping it into a back pocket.

  Gavin held up a piece of whittled wood, twisting it in his hand to make out the tiny inscription carved into its side. “This is new.”

  “Good eye, Gav. That’s a wooden stake, hand-crafted from an ash tree in my grandmother’s backyard.”

  Gavin looked at Scotty. “Nice!” Slipping it inside his coat, Gavin pulled out a box of Junior Mints. “Let’s go check out some microfilm at the library,” he said, popping a mint into his mouth. “It’s time to get serious.”

  “Microfilm rules!” Scotty tucked the silver cross into his waistband. “We’re about to go Jodie Foster up in here!”

  Boone arched an eyebrow at him.

  Scotty pulled down his hoodie. “Silence of the Lambs. Duh.”

  Pressing his lips together, Boone took something small from the bed and held it up to the light. “What’s this?”

  “That’s a silver bullet I ordered from the back of a Spawn comic.”

  He laughed. “For what again?”

  “Warding off werewolves.”

  Dropping it to the bed, he pulled a Penthouse from the backpack. “What’s this for? Warding off Elton John?”

  Scotty’s abrupt laughter jiggled his belly. “That’s for later, but not before the fat lady sings, my friends.”

  “And this?” Gavin asked, holding up a gold-colored Zippo.

  “That’s for lighting witches on fire.”

  Slipping it into his jeans, he straightened his coat. “Let’s bag it up.”

  Returning items to the backpack, Scotty smiled. “Hey, maybe this will lead to a buried treasure map in that house or something. And maybe if we unearth the treasure, the malevolent spirits will be released.”

  “Or we could just put the penny back and call it a day,” Boone suggested.

  “That too.”

  “Come on,” Gavin said, pulling his jeans up by the belt loops. “We have to hurry before Pincher does something we’ll regret.”

  Looking up, Scotty’s face sobered dramatically. “He’s really sick, isn’t he, Gav?”

  Pausing to meet his friend’s frightened eyes, his throat clicked when he swallowed. “I’m sorry I got us messed up in this. It’s my fault.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Scotty set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “This house is our destiny and there’s no escaping the fact that we are meant for bigger things than this world has ever seen the likes of before.”

  Boone flipped his hair back like Vince Neil. “Listen, if this house is really haunted, it could make national news and that means a movie deal for us because we found it.”

  Scotty inhaled sharply. “How sweet would that be?”

  Grinning, Gavin let his eyes stray from focus. “We could stop renting and actually buy a house with a backyard.”

  “And never eat Hamburger Helper again.”

  Scotty wrinkled his nose. “That stuff is like a million calories.”

  “I’d get a dog!”

  “Not to mention I could get Brenna back,” Boone added, drifting to a window as if he just heard her pull up outside to tell him she’d changed her mind about breaking up. That she’d made a horrible mistake. His voice came out in a dreamy whisper that fogged the glass. “This could change everything.”

  Scotty shook his head and chuckled. “Dude, you should totally go for Laney. I think she really likes you.”

  “Laney?” Laughing sharply, Boone spun on his heels, a silhouette against the daylight outside. “And live without Brenna’s laugh? Or the way she cries when I tickle her? No thanks, Captain Crunch.”

  Scotty’s face sagged and the room flashed like a lightning strike. Their eyes jerked to the camera resting on the dresser. The motor’s soft hum curdled Gavin’s blood. The sheet of film squeezing from the camera’s lips sent a wave of goosebumps rippling across his flesh.

  “What the hey?” he barely heard Scotty say for the blood rushing to his head.

  The photograph ejected onto the dresser and just sat there, looking as dark as the feeling corrupting Gavin’s soul. Watching it slowly develop to the soundtrack of their pounding hearts, he inched closer on rubbery legs. Scotty and Boone crept up from behind, their breath warm against the back of his neck. Crowding around the dresser, they watched the picture of them standing around Gavin’s bed grow clearer. They were talking to each other in the photograph, and Gavin’s windpipe plugged when he noticed the slender figure standing behind Boone in the far corner. It was tall and pale and had no eyes but appeared to be watching them just the same.

  Boone gasped when he saw the long, bony fingers reaching for his hair in the photo. Instinctively, he moved out of the way and checked behind him in real life. Gavin searched the corner of his bedroom, terror seizing his chest. Other than a baseball glove and a ball coming apart at the seams, that corner was completely empty. His baffled gaze snapped back to the picture of the genderless thing with saggy skin and long arms reaching for Boone. It had to be at least eight feet tall and if it wasn’t for the camera, Boone would probably be dead right now.

  “What is that?” Scotty asked in a dead whisper, fearful it was still in the room with them. Listening. Watching. Reaching.

  “I don’t know.” The hair went up on the back of Gavin’s neck. “But I think it’s still here.”

  “Wait!” Scotty hissed, thrusting a finger out to the picture. “Did it just move a little? That thing?”

  Pulse racing, Gavin tightened his eyes and studied the photograph. For a split second, he nearly thought Scotty was right. The tall thing shifted a little to the left and then froze again. He tried blinking the disbelief from his eyes. “No, it’s not moving.”

  “I saw it too,” Boone whispered, searching the room through panic-stricken eyes. “Take another picture. See if it’s still here.”

  Gavin reached for the camera with a shaky hand and the bedroom door cracked o
pen. Everyone screamed at the top of their lungs, including Cindy. Boone and Scotty whirled on their heels, forming a human wall to block out the bag of weapons and porno mag on the bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Cindy asked from the doorway, clutching her chest. “You about gave me a heart attack!”

  Gavin hid the mysterious picture behind his back, forcing a weak smile. “You scared us, Mom!” he panted, praying the camera wouldn’t go off again. Not now. “We were telling ghost stories for Halloween.”

  She opened the door and leaned in the frame, purple frosting smeared across the front of a red checkered apron. Her suspicious eyes quietly evaluated the situation and Gavin couldn’t help looking at the corner of the room where that tall thing was standing in the picture. If it was still there, his mom was standing right next to it. It could grab her by the hair before they could stop it, pull her to its jagged teeth and bite down. He had to get her out of the room. All of them had to get out of the room.

  “Well, your cupcakes are ready for school tomorrow. I made you ghosts and bats,” she said, craning her neck to see over Scotty’s shoulders. “Come and help yourselves to the ones I messed up.” She sharpened her gaze to a razor’s edge. “What’re you hiding behind there, Scotty?”

  Red blotches formed on his cheeks, breath quickened. “Uh, a squirt gun filled with holy water from my church’s drinking fountain?”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Sounds about right.”

  “Let’s go get some cupcakes!” Releasing a victory cry, Gavin pushed her out of the room while Scotty packed up the rest of the stuff and then tore down the hallway after them.

  “Hey, are those gluten free cupcakes?” he shouted, pulling his pants up and tripping over his own two feet. “I’m on a diet!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Deliver Us From Evil