The Good Girl

by Barritt, Christy

  I rubbed the velvety flower between my fingers. “He loves me.”

  Now I knew what people thought of me. I knew they thought they were just a little better than I was.

  I guessed they were, and I guessed I deserved every one of their judgmental thoughts. I dropped the final petal. “He loves me not.”

  No, I wasn’t talking about Peter’s love.

  I was talking about God’s.

  ~*~

  The living room at the front of the house had no curtains, just unadorned windows that exposed my train-wreck-in-progress life for all to see. I felt like a goldfish with no place to hide in my fish bowl, a feeling that should be familiar given that my dad was a pastor.

  As evening fell, I turned my thoughts to those windows. I should put some sheets across them. Even the thought of getting that close to the glass, of not knowing what lurked in the darkness on the other side of those panes, made my breathing shallow. Visions from the slasher movie Friday the 13th, the scene where the killer had jumped through the window at the end, wouldn’t leave my thoughts. It had been my sister’s idea to watch the movie and now, fourteen years later, I still couldn’t get it out of my mind.

  Then again, maybe it wasn’t what was on the outside of my windows I should be worried about. Maybe it was the ghost living inside these walls.

  I rolled my eyes. Ghosts were for people who believed in hocus-pocus. Not me.

  Still, a cold shiver breezed down my arm, and I swallowed, imagining an invisible being watching my every move, prickling my skin with its presence.

  Had someone really died in the house? If so, how? What was it that Lana had said? They were murdered?

  I shuddered and pictured a woman sleeping in bed at night, waking to find a man standing over her. Before she can react, he’s strangling her. Panic rips through the woman. She gasps for breath but finds none. Worst yet, she recognizes the man. She knows her killer—

  Pounding sounded in the distance. The woman! She’d come back to find the person who took her life. I shrieked and jumped behind the doorframe.

  “Tara? It’s me. Cooper.”

  Slowly, my grip loosened from the molding around the door. I straightened, feeling foolish.

  Of course it was someone knocking on the door, not a spirit from the afterlife. What was wrong with me?

  I brushed my hair out of my eyes and gathered my wits. The floor squeaked as I went to let Cooper inside. When I pulled the door open, my neighbor stood there with twinkling eyes.

  “Everything okay?” He leaned against the door with his arms crossed, looking at me as if I belonged in a loony bin. Maybe I did.

  “Everything’s just fine.”

  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

  “Scare me? Why would you think that?”

  “I thought I heard a scream.”

  “Interesting.” I gulped and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

  He stepped into the house, his gaze scanning the living room as if he thought I really did have a stash of guys hiding somewhere, just waiting to sneak out past midnight. “I thought, just to be safe, that I’d come and check things out while my son is playing with the neighbor across the street.” He shrugged, his eyes back on me. “You know, with everything that’s happened and all.”

  “Feel free.”

  He began walking the perimeter of the house, checking to make sure the windows were latched and the doors locked properly. “You use these deadbolts at night, correct?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

  He examined one. “They look sturdy. A criminal would have a hard time getting past one of these.” He continued on. “You might want to consider trimming the hedges in front of the house.”

  “I was thinking about tearing them out.” I had to do something to occupy myself while I was here, and re-doing Lana’s flowerbeds just might to do the trick.

  He sent me a glance over his shoulder. “Not a bad idea. It also keeps varmints away from your house. Mind if I check out the basement?”

  “Be my guest.”

  He thumped down the steep steps and ducked his head to avoid hitting it against the low overhang. I followed behind, dreading the voyage down. What was it about basements that were so spooky? The dim lighting, the low ceilings, the various nooks and hiding places, all made my imagination race. I could already feel hands reaching for my ankles as I crept downward. I could picture a madman jumping out as I opened a storage door. I could smell the decay of rotting flesh buried behind a hidden plank.

  A shrill scream rang out. I thought of a demon escaping from hell and shrieked myself. Then I realized it was just Cooper opening a window. He raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re kind of on edge tonight, huh?” The hinges of the narrow window screamed again as Cooper pulled against them.

  “You could say that.” I covered my warm cheeks with my fingers. I remained where I was while he checked the rest of the basement. I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing my lungs to expand and deflate evenly.

  Cooper approached after jiggling the last window. “Everything looks safe. There are a few extra things you could do for security measures, though.”

  I moved my hands away from my face and raised my chin, determined to appear normal. I cleared my throat. “Such as?”

  “You could get an outside motion-activated light.” He started back upstairs and I followed. “You could also get window film to put over the glass. It makes it difficult for intruders to break the glass.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  He paused at the top. “Of course, your biggest alert system is going to be this floor. You can’t take a step on it without being heard.”

  “That’s both comforting and disturbing.”

  Cooper turned to face me. “You going to be okay?”

  Instead of pouring out all my nighttime fears, I nodded. “I’ve got squeaky floors. What more could I ask for?”

  “Look, I don’t know who that was walking off your porch last night. I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it. Besides, if you need anything, I’m right next door.” He handed me a business card. “Or you could just call me.”

  “Thanks for everything, Cooper.”

  He smiled, and wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Tara.”

  The smile faded from my lips the moment the door shut and Cooper was gone. Silence surrounded me, and the bare windows stared at me like a peeping Tom. I took a step toward the couch and the floor groaned.

  My pace quickened and I dove for the couch, nestling myself between the cushions and pulling a blanket to my shoulders.

  What exactly did my sister mean about that ghost she mentioned? What had gone on between the walls of this house? Most importantly, did I really want to know? Probably not.

  I turned the TV on and flipped through the stations. Eerie music from a made-for-television mystery floated from the surround sound. I quickly flipped stations and found a sit-com. I watched it until my eyes began to lose the fight to stay open.

  I clicked the TV off, and silence surrounded me like a hungry pack of wolves. After crossing the room, I flipped the lights off and darted into my bedroom, Gaga right on my heels. I peeled off my clothes and crawled into bed, treasuring the security from the light on the nightstand.

  Gaga jumped in bed with me and nosed under the covers. I stared at the light, knowing if I left it on I wouldn’t sleep, but if I turned if off I wouldn’t catch any Zs either. My arm felt bound with weights as I reached toward the switch. As it flickered out, I pressed my head into the pillow.

  I felt more like a six-year-old than a twenty-six-year-old.

  I closed my eyes. The craziness of yesterday was behind me. Certainly, the rest of my stay here would uneventful. Certainly.

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to will some calmness into my thoughts.

  That’s when I heard the scratch at my window.

  Chapter 6

  Each scratch ti
ghtened my nerves. Was that someone trying to cut the screen and get inside? Tomorrow I had to turn the AC on. No more of this crazy, enjoy-the-fresh-air ideology. No, I needed Freon-charged cool air blowing through these vents and each window locked down tightly and securely. Just because the neighborhood looked all perfect didn’t mean it was.

  Especially if there was a ghost.

  I shook my head, noticing the sweat across my forehead. A ghost? Did ghosts scratch at windows? I doubted it.

  The Ghostbusters theme song began repeating in my head. Who you gonna call?

  That was my problem. I had no one to call. No family here, no friends, not even some crazy local ghostbusters. I sighed. This was getting me nowhere.

  I suddenly didn’t want to be alone. I’d never wanted to be alone, but right now especially I’d do anything to have a friend with me, so I could talk through this crazy situation. I felt like I was being pulled into some kind of dark abyss. My soul was flailing and reaching for help that wasn’t there.

  I took a few deep breaths. I was going to get through this. I just needed to control my thoughts and stop singing that stupid Ghostbusters theme song.

  I closed my eyes, beyond frustrated with myself. I needed help. Serious help.

  And answers.

  Ghosts couldn’t plunge knives into cutting boards or unlock gates or scratch windows...could they?

  But a burglar could. Or some sicko bent on scaring someone. Like Lana’s stalker. Like the people who’d chanted “crucify her” back in Miami. I mean, I had gotten some death threats. Had someone followed me here? If so, they’d been smart. I could disappear here in Minnesota and no one would notice for days.

  The scratch raked across the window screen again, stretching my nerves tight. And immobilizing me. Some people might check out the sound. Not me. I couldn’t move. I could hardly breathe.

  A loud boom cracked the air. I screamed and pulled the covers over my head. Gaga also panicked and nosed under the covers with me, letting out a small whine.

  Thunder. That was thunder. I laughed but only for a moment. My heart had sped and now slowed—but not to a normal beat. Its rhythm was still erratic, and the fact that I was so aware of each beat only increased my anxiety.

  I pulled the covers down, just below my eyes. I could hardly hear anything else over the pounding of my heart in my ears. I thought of Poe’ story “The Telltale Heart.” My own heart was telling its own tale right now, a tale of living in fear.

  Lightning lit the room in an electric shade of blue-white. I half expected the light to reveal someone standing in the room, staring at me with ghastly white skin, a hollow look in their eyes, and a butcher knife in their hand.

  I should have never let Lana convince me to watch all of those scary movies, movies that I’d claimed had no effect on me. Obviously, they did because my subconscious pulled them to the surface at the absolute worst times. Like now.

  Thunder boomed again, causing another squeal of horror to escape. At least Cooper wasn’t around this time to see or hear me embarrass myself. No, he was probably at home, cuddled in bed with his wife. Had Austin woken up and ran to jump in bed with them?

  The thought twisted my heart. That’s what I had wanted. A warm, cozy little family.

  Instead, I was hiding like a nine-year-old in a haunted house—alone. Without anyone to tell me things would be okay. Without faith in God that everything would somehow work out for the best.

  How pathetic.

  Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. Rain pounded the roof. I straightened at another sound. What was that?

  Music?

  The sound was soft. A guitar maybe? Playing a little lullaby?

  But where was the music coming from? It almost sounded like it came from the guest bedroom.

  I shook my head. No, not the guest bedroom. That wouldn’t be possible.

  Chills prickled my skin, fear tightened my lungs and sent my heart racing.

  And what about the scratching? What was the scratching? Should I call the police? And tell them what—that a ghost was haunting my home?

  ~*~

  I looked like a ghost myself when I glanced into the mirror the next morning. Okay, it was actually closer to noon than morning, but who was keeping track? Bags hung beneath my eyes, and my skin looked pale.

  At least there wasn’t an eerie message on the bathroom mirror. I’d count the victories, however small they were. And, right now, that was a victory.

  I splashed water on my face, dried it, and then stepped into the short hallway. I stared at the door on the other side. It was the guest bedroom. I hadn’t been in there yet. I’d had no reason.

  But I had heard music last night, and I didn’t know where it came from. That room was my best guess.

  Even though the storm from last night was long gone and bright sunny skies lit the house, I couldn’t escape my fear. But pride wouldn’t allow me to escape the problems of this house either. I was stronger than this. I’d been defeated in a lot of ways.

  But I wouldn’t be driven away by a ghost. No, if I could face this ghost here then I could also face the demons of my past. Even if it killed me.

  Speaking of demons…I shook my head, squeezing out the images of Satan’s minions and spiritual attacks. I couldn’t go there.

  No, there was a logical explanation for all of this. Not a supernatural reason. A logical one.

  I put my hand on the doorknob, wondering what waited on the other side. Nothing. Nothing waited there. I’d just been hearing things. Or a car had parked outside and its music had drifted into my home in between bursts of thunder. Maybe an alarm clock, programmed to play music, had gone off in the middle of the night.

  I drew in a deep breath. There was no better time to find out than now. I twisted the knob and the door creaked open. Creaky floors and creaky doors.

  My throat felt dry as I got a glimpse of the room. Look for a radio. A radio. My gaze scanned the furnishings. A spare bed. Spare dresser. Clear plastic tubs full of clothes. A bookshelf stuffed with hardbacks.

  No alarm clock.

  No radio.

  My breathing labored as I crept across the floor. That stubborn floor gave out another squeak, as if just to spite me. I touched the closet door. Last place to check in the room. Why did I half expect someone to fly out as soon as I opened the door? Or to see a penetrating blackness on the other side, a darkness so deep it might reach out and grab me?

  Get a grip, Tara. Open the door. Get it over with.

  Before I could psyche myself out anymore, I yanked the door open. I released the breath I held as I saw the space was jammed full of clothes.

  I laughed at myself, at my foolishness.

  I’d never realized just how big of an imagination I had.

  I started to close the door when, for good measure, I shoved a few dresses and suits out of the way. Shoes at the bottom of the closet came into view. One final nudge in the corner stopped me cold.

  I dropped the dresses and took a step back. It couldn’t be. But it was.

  A guitar.

  Chapter 7

  At that precise moment, a knock sounded at the front door. I rushed from the room, knocking off a vase in route. The crystal container crashed to the floor and shattered into hundreds of pieces. I’d clean that up later. I reached into the bathroom, grabbed a robe to throw over my scant pajamas and yelled, “Coming!”

  Would this be more bad news? The police coming to confirm that some extraterrestrial being had left the knife and that the slime on my bathroom window was nothing of this world?

  Or perhaps my ever-present fear of the paparazzi would be realized?

  Nope. It was Candy, standing at the door popping bubbles with her chewing gum and twirling her hair.

  “Hey, Bermuda,” she muttered with a grin. “Wassup?”

  “Bermuda?”

  “You know, an island.” She grinned.

  “Funny,” I mumbled.

  “You ready for Sunday brunch?”

 
“Sunday brunch?” I’d planned on working on my sister’s flowerbeds today, then cleaning her baseboards and alphabetizing her DVD collection.

  Candy shrugged. “It’s a weekly tradition.”

  “Having brunch with Lana is. Lana is in Tuscany.”

  “Yeah, but you’re here.”

  I thought about my options. Stay here in the house with a guitar that plays by itself at night or go to brunch with Candy. I nodded, decision made.

  I rushed back into the bedroom, threw on some clothes, and hurried through everything else I had to do—minus the shower. Finally I met Candy at the door. I glanced at her motorcycle as I stepped out. “We’re not taking that.”

  “No, we can walk, actually. The place we frequent is just a few blocks over on Eighth Street.”

  I’d noticed a gift shop, a sandwich joint, and a coffee place, part of a row of businesses as I pulled into the neighborhood. I’d hoped I might have the opportunity to frequent some of them before I left. The high-rise buildings of St. Paul rose in the distance. The cab driver had told me that the Mississippi wasn’t that far away, either. I had to give Lana credit. She’d picked a great location.

  I glanced back at Cooper’s house as we started toward the sidewalk. His car was gone. Church maybe? I wondered if he was the church type. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I felt a little guilty not being at church myself. I just couldn’t bring myself to go because, if I did, it would simply be out of obligation, to keep a long-standing tradition going. That was no reason to attend church, and I knew that. I dreaded the eventuality of watching my mother freak out when I confessed.

  The sun warmed my skin, but a breeze made it bearable. My loafers hit the cement, a soft thud compared to the clack of Candy’s spiky heels. I supposed that in church circles, Candy would be known as “worldly.” And I supposed in Candy’s circles, I’d be known as a prude.