Haunted

Jim put his pencil down on the desk and rested his chin on the palm of his hand. Despite how many times Ms. Thompson told him to focus on his work, his eyes kept wandering to the window. Fall greeted him with its orange and yellow leaves, gray oppressive sky, and chilly wind. The season always amped up his imagination each and every year. There was no room for reality, there was only room for the spooky and supernatural.

He thought about the old house in the woods. How he was going to go there right after the last bell. He heard about it by accident, hearing a conversation between Angela, his sister, and a friend: “I know. I was high. That doesn’t mean the footsteps were in my head! Someone was running upstairs! Everyone was too busy laughing and telling jokes. Let’s just stick with Fletcher’s basement, I refuse to go back to that creepy, haunted house...”

“Put your work away and your chairs up,” Ms. Thompson announced to the class.

Jim was swift at putting the math sheets away and placing his chair onto the desk.

As Jim passed Ms. Thompson’s desk, she said, “You need to do your work or I’m going to have to call your parents.”

Jim perfunctorily nodded and said, “Yes. Sorry Ms. Thompson.”

He rushed over to the door and met shoulder to shoulder with a few students as he squeezed out into the hallway.

Fall always made the mundane places seem sinister. Classrooms appeared neglected and dusty. The hallways appeared dark and cavernous. If not for the other students, the illusion would have been complete, but their laughter and screams shattered the alluring phantasmagoria.

He reached the entrance and walked across the street and into the woods. The children’s laughter faded into nothing the further he went and was replaced altogether by leaves rustling in the wind.

He wasn’t sure where he was heading. All he knew was to walk straight until he found a dirt road.

If he couldn’t find the house, he was content with returning home and watching horror movies. His sister was cool and often let him linger around. She would let him watch horror movies with her, which she downloaded from torrent sites. The last movie they watched was Halloween. She thought it was old-fashioned, he thought it was great.

‘Is that the road up ahead?’ he thought.

There was not much “dirt” on the dirt road. It was nearly covered by overgrown grass. The only hint of it being a road was a pair of lines where the grass had been recently flattened by tires.

He started to walk down the road. He crossed his fingers, hoping he was going the right way.

It was darker outside when he finally reached the haunted house. His feet were sore and his body was hot. He determined he only had half an hour to explore before he needed to head back home.

He crossed the overgrown grass of the lawn and climbed up the creaky porch steps. He brushed his hand on the wall, feeling the flaky paint scratching at his skin. He peeked into a shattered window for any sign of an ominous shadow.

He pushed open the front door and yelled, “Hello?”

He waited for an answer. The only sounds he heard were the howling wind and the boards groaning. Then a soft thump erupted from the ceiling, like someone jumping off a chair. He waited a moment, slowing his breath, waiting for footsteps his sister heard the last time she visited this place.

‘That wasn’t my imagination,’ he thought.

His mind raced from one idea to another, one becoming more gruesome after the other. First it was a doll hopping off a chair, sensing a new owner. Then a cat who dropped a dead, fat mouse onto the floor from its bloodied mouth. Finally, a severed head rolled off a dresser and landed with a soft thump. He winced a bit when he realized it was Ms. Thompson’s head.

He left the door open behind him. It reminded him of the time his mom sent him to the neighbours to drop off a jar of sugar. How he waited at the door, for someone to greet him. Now, in the haunted house, he did the same thing, except he was waiting for someone’s red-eyed silhouette to appear from one of the open thresholds in the hall.

“Hello,” he said less confidently.

Nothing.

‘You can always check,’ he thought.

He climbed up the stairs, the steps straining under his weight, his hand sliding up the rail. Once he reached the landing, he passed one open doorway after another until he came upon the one where he was certain he heard the noise.

“Hello?”

No one answer.

He entered the room and noticed it wasn’t as damaged or neglected as the other rooms. For one thing, the walls were intact, no graffiti or punctures. The floor had less trash, only an empty pop can and chip bag. The furniture had been left alone, no open drawer or saggy mattress. The last few things he saw were a 4:3 TV set with a VHS player in one corner. If he hadn’t known the house was abandoned, he’d be convinced someone was living there.

On the middle of the floor, he noticed a VHS tape. He picked it up and read the title, Beetlejuice. One of his favourite films. Was this the thing he heard falling onto the floor?

Then the closet door opened and a meek voice spoke, “Please... please... Mr. Ghost. Don’t take that.”

Jim eyes widened and he screamed, dropping the VHS tape. He ran toward the door, suddenly hearing laughter erupt below and someone in his sister’s voice saying, “Do you hear those footsteps?”

He ran past the threshold and grabbed onto the rail. His teeth chattered and body shivered. Every part of him tensed up, screaming for him to start running and never look back.

He turned around to look at the room. It had completely changed. It no longer looked like it was maintained, it looked like the rest of the house—abandoned and trashed.

Before he knew it, he collapsed onto the floor.

***

Daddy never believed him. Daddy always said, “There’s no such things as ghosts.”

Duran knew the truth. There were ghosts. They liked to make noises. They liked to bang on the walls. They liked to bust the windows, except the windows weren’t broken whenever he checked up on them. They liked to talk in loud voices—like the way Daddy does when he gets drunk.

It was quiet now. There was not much to do. He had finished eating his pop and chips. There was only one thing to do: watch a movie.

He ran downstairs to the living-room and grabbed Beetlejuice and ran back upstairs to his room. He held the VHS tape in his hands and looked at it. The ghosts on the cover weren’t the same ones he saw. No one’s head had been lopped off, no dead bride dressed in white, no ghost dressed in a black-and-white pinstripe suit. The ghosts he saw were... normal.

“Hello?”

Startled, Duran dropped the VHS tape by accident. He knew it was not his Daddy. It wasn’t 6 o’clock yet.

He tiptoed to the closet and shut himself away.

“Hello?”

The voice sounded like one of the older boys at school. They were mean to him. They called him “Peeboy.” He had accidentally peed himself one time at school. Everybody laughed at him, everybody teased him.

A dark shape appeared from under the door. He heard something being scraped up from the floor.

‘Beetlejuice,’ he thought. ‘If the ghost takes it or hides it, Daddy is going to get mad at me.’ He was more scared of Daddy than the ghost, so he mustered as much courage as he could and opened the door ajar.

The boy in the room was looking at the VHS tape. He didn’t recognize the boy. But something was wrong with him. Light was hitting him but it looked like he was still in shadow.

“Please...” he began, feeling like he couldn’t hold enough air into his lungs, “please... Mr. Ghost. Don’t take that.”

The boy’s eyes widened. He screamed and dropped the VHS tape. Then other sounds came from below, of laughter and someone mentioning footsteps.

Duran closed the door and curled up into a ball. He decided he wasn’t going to come out until Daddy got back from work.

***

‘Jim’s in there,’ Angela thought.

The high beams of her car struck the abandoned house. A shit-hole Fletcher and Lacey took her to get high and have a few drinks. She didn’t think she would ever be back here again, especially at night.

She left the engine running, got out of the car, and yelled, “Jim! Are you in there! If you’re there, come out!”

There was no answer, no sound whatsoever. The wind had died down, leaving everything in an unsettling stillness.

“If I find you, you’re in big trouble!”

As she walked across the lawn, she pulled out her phone and turned on its light. She climbed the rickety steps and entered the house.

In the hall, there were milk crates, beer bottles, and cigarette butts. She was there the day before, smoking a joint Fletcher passed her. She coughed up a fit the moment she blew out the smoke, her throat burning. Lacey laughed in her witchy way while Fletcher smiled. She wasn’t used to it, or enjoyed it as much as the other two did, but she didn’t want to be left out. Then she heard the footsteps...

“Jim!” she yelled.

She shined the bright, round light around, peeking into one room after another. She knew she was futile. She knew where he might actually be.

“Fletcher wants to go back,” Lacey said over the phone, after they returned from the abandoned house.

“No way! I told you two about the footsteps.”

Lacey let out a short laugh. “Fletcher thinks it was a hobo you heard. He promised next time he’s going to check inside for anyone before we do our business.”

“No. There was something wrong with those footsteps.”

“Are you still high? Footsteps are footsteps.”

“I know,” she started to scream. “I was high. That doesn’t mean the footsteps were in my head! Someone was running upstairs! Everyone was too busy laughing and telling jokes. Let’s just stick with Fletcher’s basement, I refuse to go back to that creepy, haunted house.”

Her hands were shaking and tears were forming in her eyes. Then she saw in the corner of the eyes, Jim listening in on their conversation...

She pointed the light at the stairway. ‘If Jim heard everything,’ she thought, ‘he would be up on the second floor.’

She climbed up. The light in her hand shook. She wasn’t like her brother whose imagination ran rampant. But there was always the “What if?” part of her mind she couldn’t shut off. What if there is a hobo? What if there is a ghost? What if...?

‘The only way you’ll know is by doing,’ she thought.

She was at the landing. Her light scanned the hall. Immediately, she spotted Jim lying on the floor. She rushed over to him, grabbing onto the rail as she kneeled next to him.

“Jim,” she whispered, forgetting about the mysterious footsteps.

He didn’t stir. She examined him, shining the bright light on his head and body. She found no sign of injury.

“It’s been a long time since I did this, but I think I can still do it,” she said more to herself rather than to her unconscious brother.

She put the phone into her pocket, letting the top part to stick out, so the light would continue to show her the way. Carefully, she lifted Jim like the way she used to, by holding him between the legs and buttocks and by letting his torso rest upon her chest. She prayed for her phone not to slip further into her pocket as she started to walk toward the stairway.

“What the hell did I tell you about breaking stuff!” a voice boomed.

She stopped and stood rigid.

Another voice chimed in, “Daddy, it wasn’t me. It was the ghosts!”

She pressed Jim harder to her body. She didn’t know what to do. The only thing she did know was she wanted to protect her brother.

“This again. I told you there are no such things as ghosts!”

“Daddy...” the child sobbed, “...they’re at the door right now.”

The door slammed shut. Through the door, she heard, “This will teach you to tell lies!” A snap of a belt sounded and then a child’s cry. Another snap followed and a sharper cry erupted.

Angela’s eyes formed tears, tears of fear, frustration, and anger. She swallowed hard and walked away.

***

Jim woke up and lifted himself up, realizing he was in the backseat of Angela’s car. He willed himself to stay awake, his eyelids straining to remain open. He needed to say something, he needed someone to listen. But he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Do you remember the time I hit?” Angela muttered.

Jim just sat there. Not sure what he was hearing. Sleep was drowning his senses and consciousness, only bits and pieces seemed to be coming through.

“You were probably four, or five. You were having a tantrum. I didn’t know what to do or how to calm you down. Mom and dad were out. You yanked at my hair and then…”

She sniffled and breathed in deep breaths. In a shaky voice, she said, “Do you remember? Have I done enough good things for you that it doesn’t matter anymore? Am I allowed to forget or am I supposed to be haunted by it?”

Jim let himself lie back down. His eyelids were heavy—too heavy. Jim remembered what he wanted to talk about and said one single word, “Ghosts.”

“There are no such things as ghosts,” Angela whispered.