“The point is, putting the penny back on the house’s steps worked,” Gavin said to no one in particular, watching his black Converse wear out the carpeting again. “It cured Hank and then it cured you. But how? Why?”
“Pincher,” Teddy said softly, balancing on the edge of the other recliner. “Listen to me, partner, if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t believe it myself. But trust me when I say, it happened and the best thing we can do right now is thank our lucky stars we’re still alive and call it a day.” He brushed his hands together. “The end.”
Pincher studied him through thoughtful slits, running a tongue back and forth across his front teeth. “Are you drunk?”
Teddy sat back, a hurt look washing over his face. “What? No, I’m not drunk.”
Pincher blinked blankly at him.
Clearing his throat, Teddy shifted uneasily in the recliner. “Not really, no.”
Pincher arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
Gavin plopped a finger down on an instant photograph. “Do you remember these roses or not?”
Pincher turned to the picture of the Campbell’s dining room table, absentmindedly plucking an eyebrow hair and rubbing it against his lips. “I told you I didn’t. There was a squirrel salt and pepper shaker in the middle; that’s all I remember.” Pushing to his dress shoes, he bolted into the kitchen. “Like this,” he said, tromping back into the room to display a ceramic salt shaker with a chip in its tail.
Scotty pinched his eyes together. “Hey, why are you wearing your Halloween costume already anyway?”
Lowering the salt shaker, he looked down at his getup and shrugged. “Rehearsal for tonight.”
Despite his recent near-death experience, Scotty managed a laugh and it was good to hear. “It’s choice, Pinch!”
Pincher smiled, color pushing into his cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Wait a minute.” Gavin turned to catch his brother’s gaze. “There was a picture in the microfilm of some people with umbrellas standing around Roger Campbell at the funeral. Then the article said he went home and hung himself. Remember?”
Standing in front of the window, Boone shrugged back. “Yeah, so?”
Gavin pressed his lips into a thin, grim line, eyes stopping on each of them for a knowing second. If the house could talk to them through the camera, then maybe… “We have to go visit their graves.”
Everyone’s jaws hit the floor at roughly the same time.
“Are you insane?” Scotty blurted. “I’m not going to a graveyard on Halloween!”
“It’s not even dark out!” Gavin spit back.
“So! It’s cloudy.”
“But that’s the thing,” Gavin said, softening his tone. “What better time to catch something on film.” He pulled the instant camera from inside his coat and blew pocket dust from the cover. “I have one picture left and something tells me it’s worth a shot. We need to find out why Roger killed his family in 1964 and stop him from corrupting anyone else in the future.”
“But why the cemetery?” Teddy asked, nervously scratching his beard.
Gavin blew out a long stream. “Because other than the house, the cemetery is the only place we can go to find traces of the Campbells.”
Scotty wrinkled his brow. “No. Way.”
Gavin’s eyebrows went up. “Or we can try the house again.”
“You know, actually the cemetery sounds pretty good!” Scotty nodded enthusiastically. “I like that idea.”
“I love cemeteries.” Pincher pushed his big fake glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Thank God I was able to play sick today!”
“Now hang on a second here, fellas.” Teddy stroked his beard with what looked like dark worms tunneling through the back of his hand. “Only the worst spirits can brave the daylight and whatever happened with that family is their business,” he said, gaze stopping on Gavin. “That cemetery is probably just as dangerous as that house.” He furrowed his leathery brow. “Don’t dance with the Devil when your pockets are stuffed with hay.”
“Teddy, we have to stop it from happening to anyone else. It’s up to us.”
“What?” he gasped. “Why us?”
“Because we’re the only ones with half a clue! The cops have no idea what’s going on.” Gavin inhaled a soothing breath and let it cool his tone. “Listen, we can make a difference by driving Roger back to where he belongs. He is behind this and we all know it. But if we band together, nobody else has to get hurt.” His voice grew louder, eyes burning with resolve. “Today, we stand in the face of evil. A demonic tyranny threatening to destroy, not just this town, but all of mankind. Today, we push the darkness from the shadows and shine justice upon the wicked!” He thrust a fist into the air and hit them with an angry sneer. “Today, we become men!”
His fist hovered in the air as he collected the blank expressions staring back.
Arms folded across his chest, Boone lifted his brow. “You done?”
Gavin dropped his fist like it was made of cement. “For now,” he grumbled, kicking a cat toy across the room. “I might think of something later on.”
“Great. You be sure to let us know if you do.”
Smiling proudly, Scotty slowly shook his head. “You have got to run for city council someday. You’re a natural born leader, Gav!”
Blushing, Gavin fanned a hand through the air at him.
“He’s got a point though.” Boone rested his hands on his hips. “I mean, haven’t you ever wondered why there are so many murders and disappearances around here?”
“Why do you think my dad has so many guns?” Scotty replied.
Gavin frowned at him. “I thought you said he was paranoid about a zombie outbreak.”
“That too!”
“Murders?” Teddy clumsily twisted the cap back on the flask. “What murders?”
Scotty lowered his voice to a grave whisper, like he was afraid to think it, let alone speak it. “Cottage Grove is the murder capital of the world.”
“Per capita!” Boone scoffed, tossing his hair back. “It’s nothing compared to Chicago or St. Louis so get a grip, McGruff the Crime Dog.”
Wrinkles fanned out around Teddy’s eyes. “Get outta here.”
“Don’t you watch the news?”
Grunting, he slipped the flask back inside his army coat. “Only when I’m at a shelter, and even then, it’s usually on Sally Jesse Raphael or golf.”
Scotty scooted to the edge of the couch and tented his fingers. “Well, I hate to break it to ya, Teddy, but people kind of have a way of…disappearing around here.”
Teddy stroked his mustache. “I knew I should’ve kept on that train to Cheyenne.”
Through forlorn eyes, Scotty stared at his dark reflection in the TV’s curved glass. “I thought for sure we had a vampire epidemic on our hands here. Don’t know how I missed that one.”
Boone turned to Pincher with a furrowed brow. “Hey, how’d they get your address anyway?”
Pincher’s glasses went crooked when he frowned. “Who?”
“The ghosts.” He nodded to the front door. “They left a penny on your doorstep.”
Scotty balled his hands into fists. “They were here!”
Pincher smiled and shook his head. “Relax. That was me, dude. I pulled an old penny from my collection and planted it after my parents went to Red’s Pumpkin Patch with some friends for the day. I knew you guys would stop by! That’s why I didn’t answer the phone,” he said, delving into another rolling bout of mad scientist laughter.
“But we tried calling all night last night,” Gavin countered. “Why didn’t your parents answer?”
Shrugging, Pincher picked up the two-liter. “They were watching the Sunday Night Movie,” he answered, taking a long drink.
Scotty exhaled a relieved breath and leaned back into the couch before alarm sounded in his eyes. “But what about the spiders out front?”
Pincher lowered the two-liter, thin eyebrows p
ulling together. “Spiders?”
Chapter Eighteen
The Recluse
Betty Campbell’s headstone was black with silver sparkles and shaped like a granite TV from The Flintstones. Dead weeds and leaves hid the stone bases on the other markers in the area but not Betty’s and Jeffrey’s. No, theirs were neat and tidy while Roger’s grave was overgrown and unkempt. Jeffrey Campbell’s marker sat positioned between his mother and father, giving the false impression they’d been a loving family at one time. A family who held hands and took summer vacations to Disneyland and Yellowstone before meeting their tragic and untimely deaths. The dates on the smaller headstone made Gavin shiver. Jeffrey didn’t get many chances to ride Space Mountain. He didn’t get much of a chance at anything.
“He was only six,” Scotty murmured, reading Gavin’s mind with the wind tugging at his hair. “What a jip.”
“Okay, so now what?” Teddy asked, gazing around Founders Cemetery that was just as gray and lonely as the dejected sky above. “We should get a move on before the rain comes.”
Pincher’s white lab coat fluttered around him, outlining his rail thin frame. “Take the picture already, Gavin, I’m freezing!”
“Why didn’t you wear a coat?”
“And cover up my sweet costume? No way!”
Scotty sneezed into his fist. “Damn your cat, Pincher!”
“Screw you, Scotty! Don’t blame your insecurities on Fluffy!”
“I got Fluffy’s hair all over me!” Scotty slapped at his jeans. “I look like a Wampa!”
“Fellas!” Teddy blurted, tightening his coat around him. “Can we please just take the picture and then drive me to the shelter?”
Pulling the camera from his coat, Gavin took aim at Betty’s tombstone before swinging it to Jeffrey’s smaller marker. He stepped back until all three headstones were in the frame, figuring he’d have a better shot of capturing something if the entire family was in the shot. This was it. The last picture until his mom kicked down some cash for a new pack of film, which could be a week or more away. Inhaling deeply, he held his breath, finger caressing the camera’s blue trigger, determined not to shake it when he pressed the button. If this came out blurry, he would kill himself and never…
“Take the picture already, Gavin!”
Gavin flinched. “Boone! I only have one shot left. Jeez.” Filling his lungs, he peered through the viewfinder and held his breath to steady his aim. It had to come out crystal clear so they could see every blade of dying grass, each sparkle in the shiny granite, and the face of the tall silvery shadow he could feel watching them right now. He knew it was here. Could feel its cold, rancid breath in his face. The camera flashed, sending a bright pulse of light reflecting off the gravestones. The motor whined, grudgingly spitting the picture out like a cranky old man. The wind picked up, swirling dead leaves around them. The smell of burning wood drifted past on a ghostly waft of air. Gavin’s heart pounded in his chest as the moment of truth grew near. He knew something would be in the picture because this was the last one and the camera wanted to tell them more. He could feel it as much as the cold wind slipping down the collar of his coat. Finally, the camera ejected the shot. Catching the dark photograph before it blew away, Gavin waved it through the air, willing it to come to life faster than ever before. To unveil every dark corner of this unraveling mystery stealing his thoughts and belying his peace.
Setting the camera atop Betty’s tombstone, everyone gathered around Gavin and watched him fan the picture through the air. A crow cried out and the wind blew harder, pulling the air from Gavin’s lips before he could suck it down into his lungs. Teddy lit a smoke with trembling hands, his Zippo somehow defying the odds. Nervously, Pincher plucked an eyebrow and tickled it against his lips while Scotty huddled closer with bated breath.
Boone hung his head and massaged his brow. “How long does this thing take to develop? God!”
“Here it comes now,” Gavin whispered, bringing the picture closer to his face.
It was like watching a cloud-covered dawn slowly come to life, going from black to gray. Everyone bunched tighter together as the faint image of three tombstones appeared through the fog. Gavin traded an anxious look with Scotty.
Teddy wrinkled his nose. “What is that smell?”
“Sorry.” Pincher giggled. “I’m getting nervous.”
Boone nodded to a tall pine, hair flying out behind him like a cape. “Well, go be nervous over there because that is nastiest thing I’ve ever smelt.”
“I thought Brenna was the nastiest thing you ever smelt.”
A hand shot from Boone’s denim sleeve. Fingers coiled around Pincher’s throat and lifted him to his toes. “Come again?”
“Boone, let him go. He’s going to poop his pants!”
Face souring, Boone dropped him back to his black dress shoes. “Freak.”
Straightening his glasses, Pincher massaged his throat with his lab coat flapping around him like a bloodstained sail. “I’m sorry, Boone,” he panted. “Are you still not going to let me drive your car?”
Wrinkles forged through his brow. “Huh?”
“Dang,” Gavin breathed out, drawing everyone’s attention. Outside of a tiny smudge in the background, the instant picture looked the exact same as it did right now in real life. Blade for blade. Sparkle for sparkle. “I thought for sure this would work. I mean, what else can we do?”
“Wait!” Scotty snatched the photo from him. “What’s that?”
Squinting against the wind, Boone followed Scotty’s finger to the black smudge in the grass behind the markers. “Crows, Sherlock.”
Looking up to see a small murder of crows pecking around in the distance, Scotty’s posture fell with the excitement in his voice. “Oh.”
Teddy took a long drag, eyes nervously shifting between them.
Pincher’s chest lowered as he released a heavy breath. “Now what, Gav?”
Gavin met his friend’s eyes, wheels turning in his mind. He thought for sure this would work, that the picture would tell them what to do next, but it hadn’t. The camera was empty. The game over. He wanted to help but not if it meant going back inside that horrifying house. Something told him that would be his last mistake. But, outside of that, what else could they do? They’d already gone to the library and he seriously doubted Detective Olson would give them access to private case files. But maybe if they told him a little more. Maybe if they showed him…
The camera flashed and the motor whirred. Their heads snapped around to Betty Campbell’s headstone where the Polaroid Spectra AF sat ejecting another picture. Goosebumps crawled across Gavin’s skin and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as the motor issued a high-pitched whine like it was stuck in first gear. Staring into the lens pointing directly at them, he could feel something staring back from the other side. Something dreadful. He wanted to run but his shoes grew roots, mingling with the dirt and worms cradling the coffins below.
“This isn’t good,” Teddy croaked, smoke seeping from his lips as he watched the sheet of film emerge.
Nobody moved, frozen by the impossible. Spellbound by the supernatural.
“Are you sure you counted right?” Scotty whispered.
“Positive.”
The crows flew away and, with one last complaint, the picture fell from the camera and seesawed on the breeze, landing at Gavin’s feet in the dying grass. He stared down at the image with his breath caught in the back of his throat. It was difficult to tell which surprised him more: The fact that the camera took a picture by itself when it was out of film. Or that the picture wasn’t of them. Slowly bending, it felt like he was moving underwater as he pinched a corner of the sheet of film – terrified to look at it, let alone touch it. His back cracked when he stood back up and brought it closer to his warped face. Quietly, the picture came to life much faster than before, tingling Gavin’s spine.
“What the heck is that?” Pincher whispered, standing on his tiptoes to see better.
Looking up from the photograph, Gavin surveyed the headstones in the grass before them. “It’s from the funeral for Betty and Jeffrey,” he answered, looking back down and noting the somber faces seated around two caskets draped in peach-colored roses. A wall of umbrellas framed the background and other than the flowers, the image was as colorless as Roger’s face. Gavin’s eyes zoomed in on the recently widowed father seated in the front row. He was wearing the same suit and tie they saw him wearing before, and there was no disguising the sorrow in his eyes. Tears mixed with the rain pulling on his face, making it appear abnormally long.
Teddy scratched at his head with one of the two fingers holding the cigarette. Ash tumbled down his ballcap. “The funeral from 1964?”
“But that’s impossible.” Boone tucked a loose strand behind an ear. “First of all, I thought the camera was out of film.”
“It is,” Gavin heard himself reply.
“Wait a minute,” Teddy said. “If he killed his wife and son, then why isn’t he in jail? Why’s he sitting at their funerals?”
Gavin looked up. “Because Roger claimed someone broke into their house in the dead of the night, tied him up and murdered his family.”
“But he got loose and ran to the neighbors for help,” Scotty added, looking up to the real tombstones. “At least, that’s what the microfilm said.”
Boone nodded. “The police ate it up at first. They thought it was the work of The Recluse.”
“Recluse?” Teddy said in a weak voice.
“A serial killer named after the Brown Recluse, one of the world’s top ten deadliest spiders.” Scotty turned to Teddy and set a hand on his arm. “Did you know that wherever you go, you are always within three feet of a spider?”
Teddy swallowed dryly. “You are?”
Gavin tapped at the caskets in the picture. “The killer used poison like venom, and knives for the fangs. That was his trademark.”
“Some people got the venom, some got the fangs.”
“Some got both,” Boone whispered coldly, wrapping his arms around him.
Teddy unscrewed the flask and took a long look around. “Remind me never to come to this town again,” he said, taking a swig.
Scary House Page 14