Scary House

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  “The picture, Gavin!”

  “It’s still developing, Scotty! Relax.”

  Teddy watched Gavin fan the instant photograph through the air, eyebrows dipping. “What’s with the picture?”

  “His camera can see ghosts.”

  Looking at Scotty, Teddy’s mustache pulled down a little at the corners. “Course it can.”

  “How long’ve you been here, Teddy?” Gavin asked.

  “The closet?”

  “No, the house.”

  “Since last night,” he replied, fumbling a crinkled pack of Camels from an upper coat pocket. Digging a bent smoke out with shaky fingers, he lit up, pulling the skin taught around his high cheekbones. A bolt of lightning angrily stabbed at the earth behind him. “I found a bed in one of the rooms upstairs,” he told them, smoke trailing from his nose. “Despite my long talk with Glen, I had a hard time fallin asleep. Kept thinkin I heard Hank coming in through the backdoor.”

  “Hank?” Gavin said, willing the picture to develop faster.

  Teddy took another drag and exhaled a tumbling plume as thunder rumbled off in the distance. “Hank’s the one who told me about this place at a retreat we cross paths at from time to time.”

  Scotty’s eyebrows dipped, pulling his bowl cut down. “Retreat?”

  Spreading a sheepish smile, he scratched the back of his head with the same two fingers clutching the cigarette. “Makeshift campsite hidden in the woods.”

  “He’s clear,” Gavin said, passing the picture to Scotty, who examined it for ghostly imprints.

  Finding none, Scotty looked up and passed the picture to Boone. “Campsite hidden in the woods?”

  Teddy nodded. “I stayed behind, waitin on a friend who never showed up. Hank said he’d wait here for me and then we’d work our way in to Cottage Grove together.”

  They stared blankly at him, unable to fathom this tale on the heels of such supernatural madness.

  “There’s a new shelter in Cottage Grove to get out of the cold,” he softly explained, gazing at the tree line between them and the Camaro. Bringing the cigarette to his lips, he made the cherry glow. “When I got here last night, I knew right away Hank hadn’t been here because he would’ve grabbed that penny on the back steps faster than I can waste money on lottery tickets. But there it sat in my flashlight’s beam.”

  “Why didn’t you take it?” Gavin interrogated, taking the pic back from Boone.

  Teddy snorted, sending smoke rushing from his nostrils like a stallion on a cold winter’s day. “Cuz it was tails up and the last thing I need is more bad luck. But ole Hank would’ve snatched it up if it was covered in woodchuck dung.”

  Scotty’s face twisted. “How’d Hank know about this house?”

  Teddy shrugged. “Through the grapevine, I guess.” Pulling a dented flask from an inside coat pocket, he unscrewed the silver cap with dirty fingers, gazing at the house. “Now I’m starting to think someone was messing with us.”

  “So, what happened in the house last night?” Gavin’s eyebrows went up. “Anything weird happen?”

  Teddy’s face sobered as something played out in his mind against the house’s faded white paint. He grunted and took another long drag. “This morning, I went downstairs to see if Hank was passed out on the couch or wherever,” he said, his words floating off with the smoke, “and I found myself alone. So, I started lookin around the place in the daylight and…” He paused to face Gavin. “There were some framed photographs hanging on the walls and shelves.” He swallowed hard. “Pictures of the man we just saw with his wife and little boy.” Pitching the smoking butt into the weeds, he met their pointed stares. “Then there was one of my pack lying on the bed upstairs.”

  Gavin shuddered and tried rubbing the chill from his arms. “What is this place?” he whispered, looking back to the Campbell house.

  Scotty came up and stopped next to him, staring at the house. “Maybe it’s some kind of time travel portal. A peephole into another dimension.” He turned to him. “A ghost dimension.”

  Teddy’s laughter morphed into a hacking cough. “Well, I wasn’t plannin on stickin around long enough to find out. But that’s when you all showed up.” He pointed at the clothesline. “And then…”

  “Roger came home,” Boone finished for him, jamming his hands in his jeans.

  Gavin looked at Scotty and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “There’s a guy with an axe!” he yelled, pointing behind Scotty.

  Scotty pressed his lips into a flat line. “This is no time for stupid jokes, Gavin. Jeez!”

  “I’m so sick of this crap,” a gravelly voice came from the weeds.

  Scotty spun around to face the machine shed and found himself looking up into the bloodshot eyes of a large man towering over him. A mangy beard framed the man’s solemn lips and Scotty backed up so fast, he tripped and fell to his butt, disappearing into the tall grass.

  “H-Hank!” Teddy sputtered.

  “It’s just no use,” Hank said, his vacant eyes staring past them to the house. “This kinda life ain’t right. We’re people. We count.”

  Gavin’s eyes slid from Hank’s trench coat and greasy jeans to the rusty axe wrapped in his meaty hands.

  “It’s just not worth it,” Hank muttered, eyes falling to Scotty when he sat up in the weeds. “Let me save you the despair.” Hoisting the axe high above his head, he charged across the yard.

  “Hank!” Teddy shrieked, lunging forward.

  Hank ran at Scotty, bringing the axe down like someone trying to ring a bell for a prize at the state fair. A bony wrist shot from Teddy’s coat sleeve in slow motion but it was too late. Hank rushed past him, the rusty blade whizzing through the air.

  Scotty held up his hands and screamed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Country Home Magazine

  The wind picked up and lightning fractured the swollen sky. The axe stuck in the ground between Scotty’s outstretched legs and thunder rattled their bones like fine china. Hank grunted and, with a quick twist, freed the blade from the earth while Scotty scrambled backwards through the overgrowth. Raising the axe again, Hank screamed bloody murder and charged, his battle cry exposing crooked teeth resembling the grill of an old truck. A high-pitched scream finally pried itself from Scotty’s lips as he crawled backwards like a sea crab. Making a desperate choking sound, Teddy stuck a foot out and barely caught Hank’s hiking boot. The big man stumbled, his blitzing drive changing course by a degree or two.

  Boone’s eyelids flipped back into his skull as Hank cartwheeled past Scotty and crashed into him, slamming him to the ground and knocking the butterfly knife from his hand. Rolling to his knees like he was ten years younger, Hank lifted the heavy blade high into the air. Wild eyes zeroed in on Boone’s twisted face as he brought it down. Teddy snatched the wooden handle in mid-swing, ripping it from Hank’s two-fisted grasp and sending him crashing into Boone’s lap. Grunting, Boone pushed Hank off to the side and staggered to his feet.

  Hank started getting up and Teddy brought the axe handle down on the back of his head, making a hollow sounding thunk against his skull. The big man crumpled onto his stomach and that’s when things got quiet.

  The group stared at Hank’s lifeless body with their chests heaving and lightning sapping the color from their skin. Helping Scotty to his feet, Gavin kept his eyes glued on Hank. “Is he dead?”

  Carefully, Teddy bent over his friend and placed two fingers on his wrist, holding them there for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. He stood back up and lightning flickered, filling the lines in his face with wormlike shadows. “He’s alive,” he reported, turning to check on Boone. “You okay, partner?”

  Standing hunched over, Boone clutched his family jewels with hair hanging in his face. “Depends upon your definition of okay.”

  Scotty rushed through the weeds and threw his arms around Teddy’s waist, squeezing him tight. “You saved my life!”

  “Yeah, and almost got me killed in the
process,” Boone snapped, trying to walk it off.

  “Alright now there, Tommy,” Teddy said, prying him off. “It was my pleasure.”

  “It’s Scotty. And I owe you my life!” He recharged the bear hug and dug in with both arms, making Teddy gasp for air.

  “Okay, young fella,” he grunted, patting Scotty’s back. “Somebody’s gonna drive by and get the wrong impression here.”

  Releasing, Scotty stumbled backwards, eyes lowering to Hank. “That guy was gonna bash my brains in,” he said softly. “Why would he want to kill me? I’ve never met him before in my life.”

  Teddy exchanged a nervous look with Gavin and turned back to his fallen comrade. “He must be smashed out of his mind,” he said dully, removing his cap and running a hand through a head of wavy, gray hair. “Hank’s one of the nicest guys I know. Give ya the shirt off his back if ya asked. You probably wouldn’t,” he added, slapping the cap back on. “But he’d do it.”

  “Roll him over and check his pockets.”

  Everyone turned to Gavin, who was busy aiming the camera at Hank’s sleeping body. “Check his pockets for a penny from 1964,” he said, peering through the viewfinder.

  Boone grunted. “Yeah, let me get right on that,” he said, retrieving the pocketknife instead.

  They stared at Hank in the rural route silence choking the property, no one daring to break it. Lightning strobed, lighting up a red spot in the back of Hank’s head. The group flinched with a sudden crack of thunder. Going to Hank’s side, Teddy knelt down and carefully rolled him onto his back.

  Hank flopped over with his arms falling out to the side, eyes sealed shut, and mouth gaping like he was in a deep slumber. “He’s out cold,” Teddy whispered, guardedly digging into a front pocket of Hank’s faded blue jeans.

  “Wait!”

  Teddy yanked his hand back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Here, use this.” Gavin handed him the Ziploc from his pocket. “Don’t let any pennies touch your skin.”

  Hesitantly slipping the baggie onto his hand like a see-through mitten, he slid it inside Hank’s pocket and came back out with a Miller Lite bottle opener, a receipt for a McDonald’s cheeseburger and small fry, and a folded picture of a cozy cottage tucked back in the woods – torn from the pages of Country Home Magazine. Teddy dropped the loot to the ground and exhaled before reaching across Hank’s body and going into the other pocket. This time his bubble-boy hand came out with a half a roll of Tums, some loose change and a red matchbook with Dancers stamped in black letters below the silhouette of a mudflap girl.

  Scotty bent closer to examine the matchbook. “Dwight, Kansas?” he snorted. “Guy gets around, doesn’t he?”

  “You have no idea.” Teddy used the bottle opener to flick the coins apart and there was no doubt which copperhead was the one in question. Using the bottle opener, he scooped up a dirty one cent piece onto the glossy photo of the cottage. He got to his feet, knees cracking as he reclaimed his impressive height.

  “What’s the date?”

  “Nineteen sixty-four,” Teddy panted, holding it away from his body.

  Gavin jerked his chin to the house. “Put it on the back steps.”

  Arching an eyebrow at him for a moment, Teddy turned and headed for the backdoor. Scotty backed away like he was holding a pissed off King Cobra while Gavin snapped a picture of Hank, using the seventh shot and dreading what was oozing from the camera’s thin lips like a slippery black tongue.

  ****

  “Alright, I think I’ve heard just about enough!” Hank rolled to his knees and pushed off the ground, staggering to his feet in the backyard and grimacing with a bolt of pain shooting through him. Rubbing the back of his head, he met their frightened gazes one at a time. “What the hell you people been drinkin anyway?”

  “Them? Nothing,” Teddy snickered, nipping at the flask.

  Hank pulled his hand away and stared at the blood covering his fingertips. It wasn’t bleeding as badly as before and Gavin didn’t think he needed stitches. “I can’t believe you hit me over the head, Ted!”

  “I said I’m sorry, partner, but like we told ya, you weren’t yerself.”

  “Yeah well, I got one hell of a goose egg now thanks to you! And no insurance ta boot!”

  “Hank,” Teddy said calmly, extending the flask. “You tried to kill Scotty and Boone here with an axe.”

  Keeping a safe distance behind Teddy, Scotty shot Hank an accusatory glower.

  “You broke my nut-sack, old-timer!” Boone scowled. “That’s assault where I come from.”

  Hank screwed his face up, ignoring the outstretched flask. “You tried to rob me!” he barked, stuffing his belongings in his pockets and turning to face Teddy. “I don’t know what kind of weird stuff you’re up to here, Theodore, but you’re asking for a world of trouble hanging out with these kids.” Light raindrops began to fall and he straightened his trench coat with an angry flap. “Believe it or not,” he said, limping across the yard, “some of us don’t like going to jail!”

  “Hank!” Teddy called after him, still holding the flask out. “Where’re you going?”

  “If I ever see you again, you’ll regret it!” Hank stomped around the side of the house, following the driveway to the gravel road out front.

  Teddy stared after him, arm slowly lowering with his voice. “Hank?”

  Gavin’s eyes returned to the shiny photograph pinched between his fingers, shoulders sinking. Hank looked asleep in the picture. Peaceful. Just like he did before waking up and yelling at Teddy. There was no difference between the instant photograph and real life and it broke Gavin’s spirits because now there was only one picture left.

  “Okay, that just got super awkward.” Scotty blew out a heavy breath. “Let’s go check on Pincher and see if putting the penny back worked.” He checked his watch. “And it’s almost dinnertime.”

  “Screw dinnertime!” Boone snapped, making him flinch. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than dinner.”

  “But if I’m late again I’ll get grounded! Plus, we’re having spring rolls and broiled tilapia,” he said, rubbing his belly. “I found the recipe in Healthy Cooking.” His stomach broke the taken aback silence with a low grumble.

  Gavin slipped the picture of Hank into a back pocket, squinting against a bright flash in the sky. “At least, we know it worked with Hank. Now we just have to stop it from happening to anyone us.”

  Coughing into a fist, Teddy gazed at the shed looming in the backyard. “You really think a penny…made Hank go crazy?”

  “You saw it with your own eyes, Teddy!” Gavin gestured wildly. “He tried to kill us and didn’t care about anything else. But once we put the penny back where he found it, he was normal again.”

  “Well, he sure didn’t remember any of it, did he?” Teddy tapped a finger against his lips and stared off into the distance. “It was like he was someone else for a minute there.”

  “And what about the realtor guy?” Boone flipped the butterfly knife open, making Scotty take a step back. “He took a penny and then killed his entire family.”

  The tree line tugged at Scotty’s attention, pulling his eyes back toward town. “We should go check on Pincher. Just to make sure.”

  “Geez Louise.” Teddy fumbled a pack of smokes from an upper pocket of his faded Army coat. “Darnedest thing I ever saw,” he said, cupping the lighter with trembling hands.

  Gavin pointed at the house. “They all took a penny from those steps and they all lost their hope. The realtor, Pincher, and now your buddy, Hank.” He turned from the house’s cracked paint to face the machine shed hulking in the distance, voice faint and pensive. “The pennies are his way in.”

  Smoke uncurled from Teddy’s lips like frosted breath. “His?”

  “The dad who used to live here,” Scotty answered, pulling his hood up. “Roger.”

  Boone pinched his eyes against the wind blowing his hair out behind him. “This is so messed up; I’m pissed at myself for b
elieving any of it.”

  Teddy wagged the two fingers clutching the cigarette in the air. “Say, what do you think ole Hank was doing in that shed over yonder?”

  Gavin sighed, deflating his chest because he was wondering the exact same thing and dreaded the answer. His eyes fell to the rusty axe lying in the weeds. Bending for a closer inspection, he ran a finger along the tip of the blade and held it up to the gray light. His face fell as he rubbed a sticky residue between a thumb and finger. “That’s not rust,” he said, wiping his hand on the grass and then pulling the wooden stake from his coat. Tightening his fist around it, he glared at the outbuilding across the yard. “Let’s go check it out.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trailer Trash Father

  Courageously – or foolishly – Teddy darted back inside the house like it was on fire to retrieve his backpack from upstairs before hiding it in the tree line and catching up with the others outside the machine shed. The back end of twilight turned their silhouettes a deeper shade of black against the purple sky, erasing their frightened features. Leading the charge, Teddy waited to turn his flashlight on until they were just inside the metal outbuilding. The place was massive and smelled of cut grass and motor oil with notes of rotten eggs and animal waste lingering in the air. Raindrops tap-danced on the roof. Dust motes swirled in the flashlight’s beam as it slowly panned across a work bench littered with grimy tools and dilapidated cobwebs. The circle of light slid over a roll-top desk and then a riding mower with a chewed-up seat. There was an old freezer next to a wood lathe that looked like something from the stone ages, and a dirty tarp covering some sort of vehicle in the middle. Teddy yanked on one corner and the nylon sheet fell away, stirring up a dust storm and crumbling at their feet. Gavin stared at the blue tailgate of an old pickup with Chevrolet printed across it in white letters. Rust had devoured the wheel wells and the left front tire was flat, making the person sitting behind the steering wheel lean a little to the left. Breath caught in his throat, Gavin’s pulse skyrocketed, injecting a high dosage of vertigo into his system.