“Fuck!” I scream, at the corner, heart pounding and winded. Missed him again. Yusef said no one comes to our block but this asshole has no problem with it.
A shadow catches my left eye. Someone just slipped out of sight, behind the secret garden. Or I think it was someone. The bushes are blocking my view. Could’ve been just a random shadow. Or maybe . . .
“Hello?” I call out in a panic. Bugs shriek in the night air. A breeze ruffles the tops of the trees, leaves shower down on me. I flinch as one touches my shoulder and run back to the house.
Buddy whines from the porch, unaccustomed to being outside without a leash. I grab his collar and pull him into the house, closing the door.
Inside is silent. It takes a moment to process that I’m standing in darkness. The lights, they were on when I left. If someone turned them off, wouldn’t they wonder why I’m running through the streets in the middle of the night?
Slowly, I wade through the hall and flick a switch. The teapot is off. It never whistled, never even boiled. The instant coffee, cream, and sugar I had taken out are all gone.
And my mug is now sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Eighteen
OKAY. SO MAYBE I’m in the middle of some super-cheesy horror movie. I’ve watched enough of them with Sammy to know the drill. We have all the basic elements: family moves to a new town and into an eerie house with a dark past.
But something doesn’t feel right; it’s like the formula is . . . off. By now, we should’ve seen a levitating chair or at least heard some giggling dead kid in the walls. For the most part, nothing outrageous has happened.
Well, except that whole basement door incident. And the wrinkled hand reaching into the shower. And the lights going out. And my mug . . .
I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
Thumbs tapping away, I start my research. It’s not that I don’t believe in ghosts; I’m sure they exist. But I’m not jumping up to tell other people that. Especially when those people already think I’m crazy, seeing bedbugs everywhere I go. This will only make it worse.
Outside, the rain is pouring. I’ve checked several times to see if we’re in the middle of a hurricane, the way the wind is slapping the trees around.
“Hey, Sammy,” I shout toward the door. “Can you take out the flashlights? Just in case.”
Mom and Alec are on a double dinner date with Mr. Sterling and his wife, at Alec’s suggestion, leaving me home to babysit again. Piper hasn’t emerged from her room all night and Sammy has discovered some new series on Netflix, refusing to leave the sofa.
But in my room, wrapped in my weighted blanket, I’m googling “how to know if your house is haunted.” If you had told me three months ago I would be moving to the Midwest, researching hauntings on a dark and stormy night . . . I would’ve asked for whatever bud you’re smoking, ’cause I want to be that baked too. But here we are!
First article: “6 Telltale Signs Your House Might Be Haunted.”
1. UNEXPLAINED NOISES OR SMELLS
Welp. We definitely have that. That funky stench is not just coming from the basement. We’ve experienced it on the second floor too. I keep reading.
2. MOVEMENT OF INANIMATE OBJECTS
Doors opening and slamming on their own, the cabinets in the kitchen . . .
I take a steady breath and scratch the inside of my arm. Okay, two out of six.
3. EXTREME COLD OR HOT SPOTS
Hm. Well, nothing too extreme. But then again . . . I’m always cold in here, so how would I even know the difference? Can’t count.
4. STRANGE ANIMAL BEHAVIOR
I glance up at Buddy’s spot on the bed, now empty as he cuddles with Sammy. Buddy has been acting weird since we’ve moved in here. The barking, whining, staring at nothingness . . .
Three out of six. Not the worst.
“Mari! Mari!” Sammy yells from downstairs.
He probably can’t find the flashlights.
“Yeah, one second,” I say, and keep scrolling.
5. FEELINGS OF BEING WATCHED, TOUCHED, OR EVEN PHYSICAL ASSAULT
Yes, no, and . . . no. Other than my pride, no physical harm. And even I can admit my paranoia can be a little . . . intense.
6. ELECTRICAL PROBLEMS
My blood turns into snow, thinking of the night I hung out with Yusef and Erika at the beach. The way all the lights clicked off. I brushed it off as faulty electrical work. Still could be.
At that very moment, the lights flicker, static hissing.
Okay. Soooo . . . maybe our house is haunted.
With a deep breath, I open a new search tab: “What to do if your house is haunted?” Scanning an article, I zero in on a line midway through . . .
If not done properly, burning sage can aggravate spirits. You may even see more activity. Proceed with caution.
Crap.
“Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!” Sammy yells.
What is he up to now? And damn, why is it so cold in here? Is the boiler broke?
“Mari, are you coming? Hurry up!”
“Coming, I’m coming!” I grumble, locking the screen.
The rain roars outside, clapping against the windows. Sammy has every light on in the house, something he does when he’s scared but doesn’t want to admit it. I chuckle and head down the hall.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
But the first floor is empty. The TV is on, episode five still playing, and Sammy . . . nowhere to be seen. No sign of Buddy either. They couldn’t have gone upstairs without me noticing. Those stairs would let us know ants were climbing up them. He definitely called me from down here . . . although he did sound far away. Farther than usual. I turn off the TV and take in the room.
“Sam?”
Silence. The kind of silence that feels heavy and loaded. On the sofa, a bowl of popcorn is tipped over, kernels spilled onto the rug, the throw blanket still warm. An icy sensation crawls up the back of my neck as rolling thunder makes the glass cabinets shake.
Something is wrong.
“Sam,” I call, louder this time, patting my pockets for the phone that’s still upstairs on the charger. Maybe he took Buddy for a walk? Which makes no sense, but nothing has been making sense lately. Lightning flashes, the back windows like a wall of black mirrors reflecting the stillness of the house: a silver teapot on the gas stove, pans hanging from the ceiling rack, a metal basket of Red Delicious apples on the table bathed in warm light. Pulse throbbing, I approach my reflection in the deck door, cupping my eyes to peer out into the darkness. Trees violently whip in the wind, a hectic dance. Inside, the house is calm, picturesque. Then something clicks behind me.
CREEEEAK
In the reflection, I watch the hallway closet door slowly swing open and the look on my face belongs on a movie poster.
“Sam?” I whisper, peering over my shoulder, the tremor in my voice identical to the one in my hands.
The house holds its breath.
I shouldn’t check, I know I shouldn’t check, everything inside me screams I should just make a run for it. But . . . where’s Sammy?
Lightning strikes, the gold doorknob catching its spark. Keeping my steps light, I creep closer. It’s nothing, it’s nothing, relax, I chant to myself, entire body now shaking. With two quick steps, I wrench the door open wide, jumping to face whatever’s behind it. But there’s nothing there. Just some hanging coats, random shoes, and a mop.