by J. L. Hickey
“Dad!” Haylee began screaming. “Get out! Get the fuck out of my life! Go! I don’t want you here!”
“Fine!” Gerald yelled back. “I’m done with this. I have given you my whole life! I have tried to help you, fix you! You’re just an addict! Pill popping junkie! My daughters, one dead, one wants to be!” He opened the front door, making a dramatic exit. He slammed it as hard as he could; the walls shuddered from the force.
“Fuck!” Haylee screamed. She collapsed to the couch. Drained, she had no more tears to shed. She went numb. She wasn’t even angry anymore. She’d simply given up. It was too much.
“He doesn’t understand,” Lydia took the seat next to her. Haylee laid her head on her shoulder. “Most people don’t darling. They don’t walk in our shoes. They don’t know the horrors we see. They think they have an answer for everything. What they fail to realize, is that there are things in this world, we just can’t explain.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aaron sat on the other side of Haylee. He slipped his hand into hers. She squeezed him tightly.
“What about you?” Haylee looked at him. “You think I’m just an addict? Just a junkie? Making all this up?”
“No,” he said plainly. “I have seen the fear in your eyes—the terror. I was attacked by a man who tried to kill me. Who has some sort of connection to you and that house? I don’t know what to believe, to be honest. But I don’t think you are lying. And I am no one to judge how you cope with everything.”
Haylee didn’t say anything.
“—But,” he continued. “Your dad is sort of right on one thing. You can’t keep abusing those pills. They will kill you.”
“They are the only thing that works,” Haylee’s voice was a soft murmur.
“He is right,” Lydia nodded. “The cold truth. Many of us who share this gift, or curse, whatever you define it as. We battle through the same demons. Numbing your mind is easy. Drugs, alcohol, the stuff that can alter your reality, these are the simplest means of escape, but the damage is the same. They steal your life. We get you clean; we get you sober, and with my help, we take your life back.”
“I’m too far gone,” Haylee shook her head. “I feel it, like a candle burning inside my head. The flames almost out, it’s been too long. I can’t be helped.”
“That’s not true. Not at all,” Lydia protested. “First, we need to figure out what attached to you. What this dream signifies, who was this person who attacked Aaron? What does it have to do with the other home? I need every little detail of what happened.”
“Where do I begin?” Haylee straightened herself upright, doing her best to compose herself.
“Let’s start with anything leading up to the night of your sister’s murder. Anything that was life-altering I need to know about. Then, I need to know in detail the events of the murder. I am sorry, I know it’s hard to talk about but, I need to know every single little detail. We will slowly work our way up to today.”
“Oh god,” Haylee frowned. “Okay...I think I should start with the woods…”
“The woods?” Lydia questioned.
“No,” Haylee corrected herself. “I should start with Dennis Simmons.”
“Dennis?” Aaron squinted his brow in confusion.
“I have not been totally honest with everyone,” Haylee’s hand was shaking, her legs trembling. “I didn’t know, though. I never saw the dungeon or would have thought he was bisexual. He was handsome, smart, and Robbie and I were already having issues…”
“It’s okay, dear,” Lydia rubbed her back in a circular motion, soothing her. “You are in a safe place. We are here to help.”
“Okay…” and Haylee started with the truth.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Jeanie pulled her vehicle up to the abandoned home. There, a white Subaru was parked, it remained running. A man sitting in the driver seat, window rolled down, smoking. It was a quarter past noon when she arrived at the home. The man saw her pull up, exited his vehicle, dropped the cigarette onto the unshoveled driveway. It fizzled out. He was a short, stocky man. A black winter hat pulled over his head, and a thick matching winter coat zipped to his chin.
The residence was lovely, comfortable looking, a shame of its history. Beautiful location, nestled cozily against the national forest. Large front and back yard, quiet, no neighbors nearby. A lovely home for a family. In Jeanie’s past life as a realtor, prior to her mentorship with Lydia, she could have sold this home effortlessly, except for the grisly murders. Even noting that she thought she could make a pretty easy sale.
It was modern, well taken care of, even now with its new owner. They didn’t live on-site, but they kept it up. Windows were newer, roof too, good shape. She wasn’t sure what she expected pulling up, a wreck of a home? Some derelict cabin with blood-stained walls right out of a horror film? Old rickety and dilapidated? A lot of the homes she and Lydia visited had storied pasts, usually multiple generations of lives sharing their lives within the walls.
This home was much newer, maybe five years tops. And yet, there it stood, vacant, lifeless. Despite its short time on this earth, the stories it could tell, the violence it had seen. Jeanie couldn’t wait to explore the inside.
Jeanie enjoyed the research part of the investigations. With her experience as a realtor, she was good at digging up information on the locations. Part of her job was to research the homes for Lydia. Find out the past, the secrets, the rumors. Lydia would go in blind, get a feel for the house, the rooms, and the two would compare notes.
Lydia rolled down her car window before exiting. Always one to play it safe, she did not know this man and wasn’t about to put herself in danger out in the middle of nowhere. “Are you the owner of the property?” she smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.” He returned the kindness with a friendly wave. “Name’s Brian.”
“Hello, I’m Jeanie. I work with Lydia. She wanted me to meet up with you,” Jeanie, confident enough, exited the vehicle. She shook the man’s hand and shook it, locking her car with the key fob.
“I recognize you from your old show, The Talking Dead” he smiled brightly. “My wife and I are big fans. One of the reasons we bought the home was due to the hauntings. We’re big-time followers. It would have been perfect for your show. Any chance of bringing it back? All sorts of weird stuff going on in there.”
“The show? Afraid not,” Jeanie replied. “We enjoyed filming, but Lydia did not like how the network was forcing storylines. What we did was real, the way they portrayed it wasn’t. So, we made some decent money, and used it to keep our little business afloat.”
“Damn network greed,” Brian shook his head, “—loved the show, just loved it.”
“We appreciate that. What can you tell me about the house, the murders?” Jeanie asked.
“Not much, really. A rich guy built the home as a rental. The young couple was the first to rent. They got it quick. Houses out here go fast. Nice and quiet, away from the city, nice yard. People love the isolation. It was a newer model, real nice inside. Of course, then the murders happened. That can affect value. Locals dubbed it the murder house. The original owner who built the place, wanted nothing to do with it after a while. Wife and I own a few different places, and we rent as well. We picked it up, been renovating a bit of the inside.”
“Right,” Jeanie nodded.
“Anyway, as for the murders? The woman’s name was Haylee, she and her fiancé at the time. I think his name was Robbie? They rented the place from the original owner. She didn’t stick around long, for obvious reasons. The owner tried to rent it back out, but no takers. Whispers of hauntings, you know, that sort of stuff. He was a motivated seller, so my wife and I stepped up, bought it. We’re thinking about set
ting it up as an Air BnB. We’re currently saving up for some modifications to the home, mostly in the basement. That’s where the murders happened. You’d be surprised how popular the home is, though. Always having people breaking in, young kids walking around the outside, stirring up trouble. We have let a few paranormal groups stay overnight, working investigations. One group bailed before midnight. So, stuff seems to go on in there.”
“Local tourist trap, huh?” Jeanie approached the front porch. She scoped out the front of the house, peered into the windows.
“Definitely,” the man said, following. “Normally, we don’t let people onto the site. Only done it a few times for a few local paranormal groups. Super excited to get a call from you and Lydia, though. Like I said, big fans. I have the key here,” Brian fiddled in his pocket until he found the keys. He unlocked the front door. “The house is yours as long as you want to be in it. Just lock it on your way out.”
“You’re not staying with?” Jeanie asked. “I was hoping you could give a tour?”
“Sorry,” Brian frowned. “I own a few homes around here. I have some work to do on a rental, the other side of town, and a showing for another. Gotta catch up on shoveling some of the driveways and approaches, damn blasted winter snow. I trust you will be respectful. Nothing in there to steal, so, no harm in letting you have as much time as needed.”
“I promise to lock up,” Jeanie shook the man’s hand once again. “Thank you.”
“Pleasure’s mine, let me know what you guys find out. I would love to hear about the findings. The basement’s through the kitchen, that’s where everything went down. It’s also where the few groups who came in before you said was the most haunted parts of the home.”
“Thank you,” Jeanie waved to the man as he made his way back down the porch and into his vehicle.
Jeanie entered the home. She closed the front door, settling herself in. The windows, completely exposed, no curtains keeping out the sun from spilling onto the hardwood floor. The interior was barren. She took a seat in the middle of the living room. She sat where the sun hit, as the home had no power, no running water, it was freezing inside. She welcomed the warmth of the rays.
The first thing she was to do was meditate. Sit, connect, breathe, feel the home. Center her mind, open herself up to her surroundings. She would do this in every room, for roughly ten minutes each place. Soak the energy from the surrounding space, the air, the walls, the floor beneath her.
Jeanie knew the story well enough. Lydia told her in great detail about Haylee’s life, about the basement and the kitchen, both probable hotspots. Although experience taught her every room needed meditation. She was never to let her guard down. Sometimes when a home was active, it could very well be in the least expected area—a closet upstairs, an attic, maybe a crawlspace in the basement. Somethings enjoy the small nooks and crannies.
Jeanie took a seat in the sun, sitting Indian style. She pulled out a small recorder from her bag. She hit the red record button, placing it in front of her.
“Living Room: 12:26 pm ten-minute meditation. Recording now. Jeanie solo.”
Jeanie sat, breathing in slowly, deep into her diaphragm. Counting to twenty, she released each breath as slow as possible. She envisioned her surroundings in her head. She visualized herself, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room with the warmth of the sun beating down her back. She imagined her spirit, her core, leaving her body, floating above her physical form. Looking down at herself, she tried to piece together the room from her memory. She absorbed the energy in the walls, the floor.
Ten minutes passed, and nothing. Clean. Jeanie stood up, stretched her legs.
She would hit every room on the main level. Once finished, she would hit the two bedrooms upstairs and the half bath. She would then move downstairs into the basement. She had a long time ahead of her. Ten minutes was a minimum, but if she was to start experiencing anything unnatural, she was to remain there. Tap into the energy. She would provoke it, push it out, attempt communication. If it was demonic, she was to leave immediately. Her first time alone, she thought she would be afraid. She was not.
She was excited.
Jeanie took out her recorder: “Living room, 12:37 pm, ten-minute meditation. Clean. Nothing of note. She clicked the recording off.
Lydia had built up her confidence.
Where would she be if Lydia hadn’t found her? There was no way she would still have her job at the Realtor company. She was rapidly breaking down at that point in her life. For her, the gift came late. Lydia had explained to her that when she was young, she was probably able to cut it off. Subconsciously ignoring it to the point, the veil weakened. Jeanie was lucky. Her childhood was boring in a good way, with two loving parents, decent grades. Lydia explained that it fed on weakness, fear, anger, the black emotions that poison the human condition. Because she was loved, cared for, and able to stay away from tragedy, the creatures from the veil were never able to gain control. They gave up. The veil was too weak.
That all changed in college. One stupid night, a frat party. The ingredients that ruined her life: Four men, camera phones, and a pill to knock her out.
It was rape.
Violent.
Revolting.
Her entire life physically and mentally was invaded by these monsters. Not a month after, still dealing with the emotional wreckage. The embarrassment, the pain that would never leave her. That wall she had built up to keep the veil out, it came crashing down.
Voices snuck into her head.
Shades of creatures stalked her day and night.
She managed to graduate, despite it all she was able to land a job with the realtor. For five years, she felt her mind crumbling, slowly decaying. She was barely hanging on, drinking heavily to keep them at bay. She remembers when she finally snapped. A bottle of pills washed down with a box of wine. She had moved back into her parents’ home by then, afraid to live by herself. They found her. Her stomach was pumped, lucky to have survived.
That’s when Lydia heard about her. She knocked on her parent’s door one evening, offering her help.
No one before Lydia ever understood her about the voices, the visions. It was her coping mechanism, a reality broken from the violent men. They said the mind was a fragile thing, and her mind was raped by those men just as her body was.
Lydia thought otherwise. Lydia paid for the best counseling, her own doctor she worked with for people like her. She healed that part of her life, coming to terms with the rape. Lydia helped her with the other part of her life. The voices, the shadows, the dreams.
Without Lydia, Jeanie wouldn’t be alive today.
Lydia stood up from her seat in the living room, made her way into the master bedroom on the western side of the home. Jeanie readied herself for a long isolating afternoon. She repeated the same steps for the bedroom. She sat cross-legged, eyes closed, meditating. There was an energy to the house, something unnatural; she continues breathing, connecting.
Then something happened that shook her.
A gush of cold struck her back. A loud rush of footsteps clamored across the floor of the living room. She jumped, a natural reaction from the startlement. Jeanie, heart thumping in her chest, hurried to her feet. She swung around, looking out into the living room—a lump formed in her throat, causing her to swallow hard.
“What the hell?” Jeanie’s eyes fell on the front door. It hung open; the cold winter air wafted into the home.
But she closed it, hadn’t she? When she entered? Yes, she remembered feeling the door mechanism latch. There was no way she would leave the door open in the middle of winter.
Now it sat open.
And the footsteps? They sounded like they w
ent towards the kitchen. Jeanie was unsure what to think. Her eyes fell to the wooden floor. Wet footprints...leading into the kitchen.
“Brian?” she whispered. She grabbed her phone from within her inside jacket pocket. Just in case, she pre-dialed out 9-1-1, her thumb resting on the green phone, ready to call for help. “Hello?”
She made her way slowly into the kitchen.
THIRTY-NINE
Haylee wasn’t sure where to begin or how to start. Everything in the last few years has spun out of control. One mistake spiraled into a tsunami of blood and death. There was so much to tell Lydia, about Robbie, about her sister, about the Simmons, about the woods, and what happened underneath the blanket of fern trees. Lydia asked to start at the beginning. But Haylee didn’t even know where it all began. When did she stop living her life? When did she become the victim of happenstance time and time again?
“It’s okay, just breath, there’s a lot to unpack here,” Lydia encouraged her. “We have all afternoon if need be.”
“Dude, for real, I can leave if it’s an issue,” Aaron saw the unease on her face. “I don’t want to complicate things. I want to help.”
“No, stay. It’s just…” Haylee paused. “I don’t even know how to put everything in words.”
“Be blunt; be honest,” Lydia replied. “Be unapologetic.”
“Okay…back in Ohio, after high school, I was failing at college. I met Robbie. I fell for him hard. I had boyfriends in high school, a few in college. But I never fell in love, not like this. That was Robbie, charming, handsome, a bit shy. He allowed me to put my guard down. I never told him about my issues with the voices. But he was aware of everything else. He was my rock, because my family, my father, our relationship has always been love and hate. Anyway, Robbie and I were together through college. We moved into an apartment during our last year. He cheated on me that first year we moved out, some girl he worked with. He said it was an accident and that he needed to come clean, that lying to me every day was killing him. I would have never known because I trusted him, so much, I would have never guessed he’d cheat on me. It hurt so bad fucking bad... I had never felt so low, not since I lost my mother. We decided to, you know, make it work? I guess...Before he cheated, I was so happy with my life. The bad things started to clear up. I wasn’t getting the visions, the voices, the dreams seemed to be less active. Then, when all that pain came from him fucking that girl behind my back...it all flooded back. Even stronger. Day and night, the voices, the visions, weird memories, violent, nasty things would pop into my head. That’s when I went back to what I had done in High School. The drinking, the pills. I did this for a year behind his back. He worked a lot anyway. We tried to repair the damage.”