“Daily?” I ask. “You mean he hollers like this every day?”
The cable guy frowns. “Y’all not Christian?”
“No. We’re, uh, spiritualists.”
“Like Scientology?”
“What? No! We . . . just believe in a higher power.”
He rolls his eyes. “If you say so. Cable’s up but internet’s gonna take a little time.”
“I see abundances in your future. God knows where the money is and he wants to give it to you. God wants to touch your life! But he needs your help. And if you call now, order your free HOLY SEEDS and follow the instructions, I promise, there will be an anointing on your life. Trust me. I would not lead you wrong.”
Despite the rhetoric, I’m drawn into the skeleton-looking white-haired man who seems to be on death’s door, shouting with his last breath. His neck is pulsing red, skin pasty, gray eyes bulging, blue veins like ivy vines on his temples. It’s like a car crash you can’t turn away from.
“Everyone in Cedarville watches him,” the cable guy adds. “He’s a mighty prophet around here.”
BEEP BEEP
8:05 a.m. ALARM: Time for your pills!
“In the name of Jesus, you will be delivered from drugs, from debt, from wickedness and sin. . . .”
By late afternoon, we have the entire house unpacked and the place is starting to look like a real home. I stand by the vent a few more times, sniffing. Nothing.
Maybe it really was just a passing . . . thing.
DING DING DING
Scattering boots thump from every corner of the house, descending the stairs and out the front door. Mr. Watson doesn’t bother to say goodbye this time.
We gather around the table for dinner, scarfing down a root vegetable medley and salad. Alec makes Piper a grilled cheese sandwich and fries.
“Mom, can you pick up some more oat milk?” Sammy says between bites. “We’re out.”
“What? Already? Alec just bought some yesterday.”
Sammy chuckles. “Well, I’m not the only one in the house using it.”
“I don’t drink that nasty stuff,” Piper declares.
Maybe that’s why Piper’s so pale, the lack of nutrients. I don’t think I’ve seen her take so much as a gummy vitamin.
She catches me staring, eyes narrowing, and picks the crust off her triangle slice.
“I saw someone last night,” she says, concentrating on her plate.
Alec snags a fry. “Who?”
“I don’t know. Someone in the hallway.”
“What were they doing?” he asks.
She shrugs. “Just standing.”
“Was it Marigold?”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would you automatically think it’s me?”
Alec doesn’t spare me a glance. “Just a simple question.”
Yeah, a simple loaded question, he means. I look to Mom, who shakes her head at me, hoping to avoid confrontation.
“It wasn’t Marigold, it was . . . somebody else. She said she used to live here.”
Alec smiles and gives Mom a wink. “Oh. Really? Is this a new special friend?”
Piper stays quiet and builds a small fort with her fries as if she didn’t just mention some stranger was hanging around the halls while we slept.
You ever wake up in bed and feel like you’re not . . . alone?
As I snuggle up to the wall, my eyes pop open, skin prickling at the whispering voices surrounding me, distant and muffled. Someone is standing at the foot of the bed, my senses scream. Standing there, watching me dream. I sit up quick, heart racing. I’m alone. My covers are on the floor, the room freezing, the voices silent. . . .
And my door is wide open.
In the hall, no one else’s door is open besides mine. It’s silent, the house still asleep. But there’s a light on downstairs.
Buddy trots in an infinity loop around the kitchen and family room, nose to the ground like a hunting hound.
“How the hell did you get out?” I ask before a twinkle of light catches my eye.
The glass cup is on the counter again.
I pick it up, glancing at its home on the shelf, the inside still damp with murky water. Or maybe . . . milk.
“Weird,” I mumble.
CREEEEEEEAK
Buddy freezes, his tail erect.
“It’s nothing, Bud, chillax,” I say, rinsing off the cup before shelving it. This place is old, full of old-house noises. My toes drum against the floor. Barefoot, I can fully feel that the house is strangely uneven, the ground tilting it forward, as if trying to feed its contents to the street. The cold bites into my bare legs. I check the time: 3:19 a.m.
“Bud, let’s go,” I order, and head for the stairs but hit a wall of a stench so violent I gag. It’s rancid. A decaying animal, a rotting corpse.
CREEEEEEEAK
This time, the sound is distinct. Sharp. And close. Like it’s right next to me.
Like it’s coming from the hall closet.
A chill wraps my arms in ice, fear ramping up its engine.
CREAK
“Shit,” I say, and take off, scrambling back to my room, Buddy at my heels.
Four
“ANYTHING?”
With a yawn, I hold my phone up like a sword toward the sun on the corner of Division and Maple. Sammy grips the leash as Buddy sniffs the edges of an overgrown yard.
Three bars and several text messages from Tamara roll in.
“Enough to call Dad,” I say, relieved.
Sammy grins. “Do it!”
I press call and set it on speaker. The ring is full of static but as soon as he picks up . . .
“Finally! I thought you forgot about your old man.”
“Hi, Dad!” we say in unison.
“Hey! Hey! Why does it sound like you guys are underwater?”
“No service in the house.”
“No internet either,” Sammy adds.
“Back in the Stone Age. All right, I got a meeting in fifteen, but tell me everything!”
We update him about our new home and the less than pleasant neighbors. Dad lives in LA but he’s on a long-term project in Japan. He’s a contract architect who designs condos and office buildings.
“I’ve heard about Cedarville,” he says. “Most of those homes were foreclosed in the financial crisis, people leaving in droves. Pretty awful, but it’s interesting what the Sterling Foundation is trying to do. Rename the city, buy up all the properties, and develop. Some of those homes were built back in the early 1900s. Too bad most of them burned up during the riots.”
“Riots?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it later, but right now, guys, I have to go. Say hi to Mom and Alec for me, okay? Love y’all!”
“Love you too, Dad!”
“Oh, wait. Marigold, take me off speaker for a sec, would you?”
I give Sammy a look and walk a few paces away.
“Yup, Dad, I’m here,” I say, bracing myself.
“Is everything going okay?” Dad says in that “I’m dead serious” voice.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Okay. Remember what we talked about, we’re giving this a chance . . . and then we’ll see. But you have to keep your end of the bargain. No slipups. One mark on your record is enough.”