by Dana Pratola
*****
What did Ben get me into here? I had a bad feeling about this place the moment I heard Wagoner, now here I was sitting in a haunted house. Okay, maybe it wasn’t haunted. Maybe I just wasn’t used to all the noises this old structure made. Houses settled. Sometimes they settled so hard, so often, they collapsed. This one definitely had collapse potential.
I wanted to believe that’s all there was to it, but you become pretty good at sensing intruders when you’re sleeping outside all night with livestock, tuning your ears to the soft footfall of a coyote or mountain lion. It could have been the shot to the head, or the history of the place, or the fact that I felt totally helpless, but I honestly believed someone, or thing, was present.
Since it didn’t appear to be threatening, I went back to listening to my music on the couch. I hated this tension, not knowing for sure what was in front of me or lurking nearby—and again, it was probably nothing—but soon the music started seeping in, lowering my blood pressure enough to allow me to recline into a reasonably comfortable corpse position.
If anything was here, it might as well come at me. I’d lost my sight and with it my livelihood. I was in a new environment, my girlfriend split, so yeah, if I was going to be murdered, it may as well happen now.
My blood pulsed harder through my veins as I lay there pulling slow, musty breaths in through my nose, letting them out in elongated streams through my mouth, while expecting icy fingers to wrap around my throat. I practically felt them against my skin, in that fraction of time before they would make contact and begin squeezing.
Only that fraction continued on much longer than I anticipated, stretching until my nerves stretched with it, so taut I had to force myself to relax a little into the inevitability, for fear of bursting an artery.
I don’t know how much time passed. Enough for two full albums to play, and I had dozed off for parts of them, surprisingly. The pain in my head had made sound sleep pretty impossible, so I accepted whatever naps I could get, with gratitude.
It would be great to close my eyes and drift off again. Maybe I’d dream and be able to see things stored in my mind. From back when I had sight, all those days ago. I sighed. That kind of thinking wouldn’t help.
Was it too soon to be discouraged? I had no one to discuss it with. No one going through the same thing as me. No one at all. I could talk aloud to the ghost, but the idea it might answer creeped me out, so I pushed the thought out of my head, placed the phone and headphones where I knew I would find them again, and stood. The room spun once, tilted, then leveled off. An effect of the medication, I assumed. Hoped.
Now I don’t know how other recently blinded people did it, but I counted the number of steps—painfully slow, shuffling steps—to the doorway leading to the hall, then from the hall to the front door. I retraced my steps to the parlor doorway, then counted to the kitchen, and did the same to the stairs. When I finished, I did it again.
When I finished that, I felt around for specific objects. Chairs, tables, lamps. Coat rack—that one scared the hell out of me when I found myself tangled in a heavy coat, that smelled of dust, for several seconds. Whose coat, I had no idea, but it was on the floor now, kicked to the side. I hoped I didn’t trip over it later.
In an act of faith I rarely exhibited, I found the light switches too. I had to make myself believe I would need them sooner rather than later. There was one just inside the door, another in the hall, one at the doorway to the parlor, two in the kitchen. I kept them all up, hoping that if my vision suddenly returned in the middle of the night, the lights would let me know.
Bored and depressed, all over again, I returned to the couch. How much time could I spend sitting here, listening? It wasn’t like there was anything to hear. Not even the ticking of a clock. Just the occasional bird or gust of wind, and I’m pretty sure I heard meowing at some point. As long as all the noises were outside, fine. I could do without the indoor sounds.
I decided to go upstairs to use the bathroom. I didn’t have to go, but by the time I got up there, maybe. It was something to do. Thirteen steps until my toe bumped the bottom step. I found the newel post, started up, then found the bathroom and handled my business. I even managed to wash my hands.
I thought I might as well explore while I was up here, so I turned right out of the bathroom, feeling along the wall for doorways. I found a light switch and flipped it up, and a round thermostat like I had in my house, the kind you dial.
There was a stretch of wall where my fingers brushed wallpaper, or dirty paint, until I came to a doorway with a closed door. I felt for the knob, gave it a twist. Locked. Why would a door in an empty house be locked?
Automatically my mind went to the darkest place. It might be good it was locked. Maybe the murders had taken place here—legend could never be proven entirely factual—and this room was where the most gruesome one had occurred. It probably smelled of blood, brains and guts, the stench so thoroughly permeated into wood and plaster that it could never again be exposed to humans.
“You’re nuts,” I chided myself aloud, moving along the wall until I came to another one in front of me, this one with a window, which, judging where I stood, would look out over the driveway leading to the front steps.
I continued to my left until another wall forced me to turn back to the baluster rail on the right side of the staircase. I followed it past the bathroom, past the top of the staircase to the right, where I made my way to a room over the parlor. Completely empty, if the barrenness of the walls and the resonance of my own breath were any indications. Windows facing the woods—if I remembered the house accurately—more bare wall, back to the door.
Keeping to the wall on my right in the hall, I came across a door and opened it. If I had to assign a color to a smell, I’d say the whole place smelled beige. This space, though, smelled light blue, or pink. Something fresh.
I reached out to begin my tour, startled when my fingers made contact with something immediately. I snatched my hand back, then, when my brain caught up and I recognized the texture of wood, groped inside again. A shelf. Empty.
“Okay, closet,” I said, not caring at all for how my voice trembled.
Another shelf sat a foot lower, this one empty except for a spray bottle, a wire hanger, and a cardboard box in the back corner. I continued probing downward until my fingers brushed soft cloth. I grasped it, put it to my nose and gave it a sniff. It smelled fresh and clean, like detergent and the outdoors. Turning it around in my hands I could tell it was a shirt. Small. A woman’s or maybe a kid’s. I reached down and picked up something else. Delicate, lacy. A bra.
“That’s weird.” I dropped it and kicked my toe forward. A basket. Plastic. Definitely weird.
When I backed out, I closed the door, moving ahead and to the left, finding another doorway. As with the empty room, I tried to do a perimeter survey, but this room was furnished. Bed, dresser, small bedside table. Nothing much to see—pun intended—so I moved on, coming out into the hall, ending my exploration back at the bathroom.
Turning, I thought I heard something from inside the locked room. A small sound like the rustle of a bag. I paused. Did I really want to investigate that? No, not really. I wanted to go back downstairs and pretend I hadn’t heard it. I couldn’t get in anyway.
Halfway down, my phone started ringing in the parlor, giving me an excuse to hurry without appearing to be rushing to safety. Anyone or thing watching would assume I was trying to catch what might be an important phone call. Though I nearly stumbled at the bottom, I found my way back to the couch and my phone. Finally! Contact with another person. I know it was silly, but I’d been cut off from outside contact for a week.
Just as I picked up the phone, it stopped ringing. Fantastic. I waited a minute, standing there with the phone in my hand, wondering if the caller had left a message, until I got the beep notification, which didn’t help me at all. I knew how to answer and hang up, even dial, but Ben hadn’t covered listening to voice mes
sages. Hopefully the person would call back.
With nothing better to do, I resettled myself and fumbled with the phone until I started the book app. Of the three books I’d had Ben download, only one fit my current mood. A crime drama about a ranch hand who’s fired from his position due to false accusations and takes his fury out on the whole town. I didn’t have a specific bull’s eye to aim my vengeance—maybe that stupid horse—but I certainly understood the anger and frustration of being abruptly yanked from the life I’d known into a worse one. And the fear I might not come out of it.
Still, the book maybe fit a little too well after what had happened with Brew at the ranch, so I moved on to a civil war story loaded with guts and glory.
CHAPTER 4
He came up here! Blind! Climbed the stairs, then tried to open my door! What if he tried it again? He probably wouldn’t be able to open it when he couldn’t see, but what if he told Ben he wanted to know what was in here and he helped him get in?
He’d moved all around this floor and had since gone back to the first floor, but my hands still trembled thirty minutes later. I needed to relax. I wanted to see what happened in this story I’d been reading before it got too dark, so I opened the paperback and did my best to ignore the dread slinking into the pit of my stomach.
There was electricity now that Josiah was here, but I still wouldn’t chance turning on my room light in case someone he knew happened by. I didn’t even know if the bulb worked. The low flame from the single candle I lit at night wasn’t bright enough to attract attention from the road. Even if someone did happen to see a flicker, they’d likely think it was a ghost.
I’d heard rumor of this being a haunted house long before I even came to this area, but since I’d been here, I hadn’t seen any evidence of it. Except for the one night the bathroom faucet turned on by itself, and there had to be a logical reason for that. Pressure in the lines or something. I refused to consider any other cause. Anyway, nothing scary had happened before or since, so … yeah.
I read until the sun started to set when I realized I was hungry again. I kept myself going mostly on bagged snacks and bottled water. Not very substantial, especially since I’d always had a high metabolism and preferred to eat every few hours. I deliberated sneaking out and biking to the convenience store in town, but Ben had said he would be back and I couldn’t risk being seen leaving or coming in again. My stomach growled. Could I?
Well, I had to use the bathroom, so I went to the door and turned the lock, making a mental note to buy something to put on the hinges to stop the squeak. One of those spray greases? No, they always smelled. Cooking oil or something.
The first thing I noticed when the door cracked open was the light in the hall spilling down from the overhead fixture. Apparently, Josiah had turned it on during his investigation. Great! If I left the door open a little, once it got full dark I could still read, or write in my notebook, or play solitaire to pass the time. Though I would definitely have to lock the door before I fell asleep.
I crawled to the bathroom and closed myself inside, but when it came time to flush, I didn’t know what to do. Josiah would definitely hear it. Pondering my dilemma, I spotted the toiletries spread out across the top of the sink. Shampoo, body wash, toothpaste. I couldn’t resist popping open the top to the body wash to discover what Josiah smelled like. Very masculine and clean.
He sure was a handsome guy, with his beard-stubbled chin, lean, hard body, and dark, overdue-for-a-trim hair under his bandage. “Rough and ready,” my mom would have said. I remember her using the term once to describe a man she was dating at the time. Thinking of my mom would only remind me of her dying, and that was the last thing I needed when I was already feeling alone and afraid. Just the time I needed her most.
Knowing he couldn’t see anyway, I decided not to flush for the moment, and started making my way back to my room, when I heard a car approaching outside. Would it be better to seal myself in my room or try to listen from the top of the stairs? I didn’t want to be seen, but it might be in my best interest to gather as much information as possible.
I moved to the balcony rail across from the bathroom, tucking myself behind the wall, my head visible to the eyes so I could see. The rain had stopped and the sun emerged—just in time to nudge the horizon—but the remaining sunlight cast a long human image through the glass of the back door, all the way up the hall into the foyer.
“Ben?” Josiah called, when the back door opened and clapped shut.
“Yup,” Ben answered. “Where are you?”
“Right here where you left me.”
There was the rustling of paper or plastic, something thudding onto the kitchen table, then footsteps.
“I brought dinner and some other stuff,” Ben said, walking into the parlor. “Bottled water, snacks.”
“Great. Thanks,” Josiah said.
“I brought my dinner, too, so we can eat together.”
“Won’t that be romantic.”
Ben laughed. “No wine or candles. Speaking of that, why are all the lights on? Oh….” All at once he sounded apologetic. “Sorry, Kash.”
Cash? Must be a nickname.
“Sorry for what?” Josiah asked.
“You wouldn’t know the lights—”
“I turned them on,” he said.
Two pair of feet stepped into the foyer and I ducked my head back before one of them spotted me. My heart pounded so hard, I was afraid they would hear as they passed, but they went to the kitchen, their voices lost amid sounds of movement, chairs scraping on the floor, the refrigerator opening, closing, paper and plastic rustling.
When I did pick up their voices again, they were muted so that it sounded like muttering with the occasional clearly spoken word. There had to be a better place to eavesdrop. I took a chance and stood, starting forward to the stairs.
“I hope it’s salty enough,” Ben said. “I didn’t bring salt.”
“I appreciate it any way I can get it.,” Josiah answered. “Beats hospital food any day.”
As they ate, they talked of horses, clients and someone named Tracy, though with their voices lowering then raising, I had a hard time piecing the bits together. Not any useful information, just dinner talk. I really only needed to pay attention to whether they were bringing the conversation to a close and heading this way. Or if there was any talk of Josiah leaving soon.
After twenty minutes or so, I began wondering if they were just going to hang out in the kitchen instead of coming back this way. I scooted down one step, then another. Their voices were no louder. One more step. One more.
“I’m going to call Cull in the morning to make sure—”
“Done,” Ben interrupted. “He’s on it, taking care of everything.”
“What about Scout?” Josiah asked. “He’s been—”
“I’m telling you, it’s all taken care of.”
“Well, things’ll be harder with two less men,” Josiah said. “That jackass screwed me up good.”
Neither spoke for a drawn-out moment until the scrape of a chair broke the silence. Then footsteps.
“Be right back,” Ben said.
I was at the bottom and couldn’t get back up the steps in a hurry without being heard, so I dashed silently off the bottom step to the left, into the small closet under the stairs. Thankfully, this door didn’t creak, and I had just enough time to shut myself in before Ben started climbing the steps. I looked up, where a tiny crack of light seeped through, disappearing for a second as he passed.
My throat was dry as sand when I tried to swallow. I assumed he was going to the bathroom, but what if he decided to go into my room? He’d see my makeshift bed fashioned from folded blankets on the floor beside the bed with its ratty mattress—no way was I sleeping on that. He’d find my junk food stash, my candle, and meager belongings. I could only wait to see what happened.
The toilet flushed. Oh no! I’d forgotten about that. He must’ve seen the toilet paper in it. After washin
g his hands, Ben trotted back to the kitchen. I opened the door, set to escape back to my room, when I heard them coming up the hall. No time!
“I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Josiah said, his voice coming closer. “How do blind people do it?”
“You’ll be okay, Kash. The doctor said—”
“I know what he said, I was there. I just don’t think I heard the same thing you did. What I heard was a guy trying to give me hope, like you’re doing now. I appreciate it, but he didn’t sound all that confident my sight would return.”
Wow. I couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t always been blind? Poor guy! Ben kept quiet, which made me wonder if, in fact, he really had only been trying to offer hope and doubted Josiah would see again.
“You hear that?” Ben asked.
I froze, thinking maybe I’d spoken the thought aloud, or kicked something, but the closet was empty.
“Truck?” Josiah asked.
Footsteps walked away. “Barry,” Ben said a second later. “Wonder what he wants?”
Great, another person!
More footsteps and the front door opened. “Hey, Bar, what’s up? Forget something?” Ben asked.
Heavy bootsteps thudded across the low porch. “Forget something? I’m here to check things out for you like you asked. Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. Guess you don’t need me now.”
Barry from church! I’d recognize his deep baritone anywhere.
“You weren’t here already?” Ben asked.
“Like I said, couldn’t get here. Mary made me take her to her sister’s, then I had to drop Tad off at football practice,” Barry said.
“Then who opened the windows?”
My heart nearly stopped. That would be me.
“Beats me. Hey, can I see Kash?”
More footsteps, and the sounds of hands slapping backs.
“Hey, Kash, good to see you,” Barry said.
“Good to see you, too,” Josiah said. “Well….”
I didn’t know if he’d said it to be funny, or it was just habit, but a really awkward silence followed before Josiah’s chuckle sounded, just before Barry’s.