1 The Bank of the River (2 page)

Thanks to
Seattle traffic, Steven arrived home an hour later. During the drive he had
plenty of time to think about what Debra had to say, which seemed damn little.
It was hard to analyze something you didn’t take seriously. He’d been hoping
she might have once heard her father-in-law comment on the house, something
that might have given him a direction to pursue, but instead all he got was
“evil.” Evil was for the irrational, the superstitious, and the simple minded.
Steven was none of these things, and evil held little meaning for him.

Still, she
didn’t seem like a crackpot, the Jesus pictures aside. Most people who believed
in religion weren’t crackpots, Steven felt, just misguided. And he had no doubt
she sincerely believed what she was saying. He just felt there must be more
simple explanations. Evil was too handy a catch-all for the unexplained. It was
just as likely the knockings were hallucinations on his part, and seeing a
doctor to rule out a brain tumor might be a step he’d have to consider.

He pulled
into his driveway and walked to the basement door. Once he threw the deadbolt
and pushed it open he felt a stab of concern. The familiar buzzing of the house
alarm didn’t go off – he was sure he had armed it before he left.  He walked to
the keypad where he would normally punch in a code to disarm the alarm, and it
was dead – no readout. Perhaps the electricity was off? No, lights were on next
door. Light was shining down the stairwell that led up to the kitchen, from a
light he always left on when away.

Steven felt
his heart rate pick up.
Someone is, or was, in the house,
he thought.
Somehow they shut down the alarm system. I’ve probably been robbed...or am
being
robbed.
He contemplated quietly searching the house, but felt unarmed –
what would he do if he ran into someone? Considering his options, he decided to
announce himself. He walked back over to the basement door, opened it, and
slammed it shut loud enough to wake the neighbors.

In response,
there were footsteps above him, moving rapidly.
Fuck, they’re upstairs right
now
, he thought. Steven reached for his cell phone and dialed 911.

-

“Nothing,”
said the second cop, returning from downstairs to the kitchen where Steven and
the first cop stood. The first cop was filling out some paperwork. He spoke
while he wrote.

“No forced
entry. Are you sure you set the alarm? Sometimes people forget, more often than
you realize.”

“I’m almost
positive I set it,” Steven replied.

“You could
have the alarm company run a test, see if everything is working properly,” the
cop replied.

“But the
footsteps? I heard someone up here,” Steven said.

“If there
was someone here they’re gone now,” said the second cop.

“If?” Steven
asked.

“Look,” the
first cop said, “you did the right thing calling us. I’m sure you heard
something. You told us you slammed the door downstairs. They probably left through
the front door as soon as you alerted them to your presence.”

“I found the
front door bolted,” said Steven. “They didn’t go out that way.”

“We’ve
checked the entire house and yard. I assure you there’s no one here. My advice
is to get your alarm fixed right away, and if anything else happens, call 911
again.”

“Thanks,”
Steven said, resigned. He could tell this was routine for them, and they
weren’t going to make a case out of something they didn’t need to, something
they felt was most likely his mistake.

Steven made
his own rounds through the house, double checking the bolts on the basement
door, the kitchen door, and the front door. He checked all of the window locks,
ensuring they held. He checked every closet. He even poked his head up into the
attic and shined a flashlight into every corner until he was sure he was alone.

It’s
difficult to sleep in a house you believe has just been robbed or invaded.
Steven knew he had heard footsteps overhead when he slammed the basement door. Could
the footsteps have been some kind of echo? If someone had been upstairs, where
did they go? If this ended with the same explanation as the knocking – no explanation
– it was going to drive him crazy.

 
It’s
likely I’m not thinking straight about this
, he thought.
Better sleep
and see how things look in the morning. Daylight will bring a fresh
perspective.

Steven
climbed into bed but sleep was not forthcoming. There were too many ideas
floating around in his head, and too much adrenaline in his system. Every idea
he proposed for the sound of the footsteps didn’t stick – nothing seemed like a
reasonable answer. He felt as if he were going around and around, trying out
the same ideas over and over, but not finding an answer each time.

He continued
running scenarios through his mind for a long time before he drifted off.

-

Steven awoke
to the sound of knocking. He strained his ears, threw his legs out of the bed,
and stumbled into the hallway, listening. He was trying to discern the
direction of the follow-up knocks which were sure to come. They always did.

Then four more
knocks, just like before. From downstairs. But then, unlike previous nights,
more sounds. A shuffling, like someone walking.

He struggled
with his balance as his body attempted to wake up. He walked to the top of the
stairs, and looked down into the basement.  The light at the foot of the stairs
was dim, coming from the moonlight in an adjacent basement window. Steven
strained to focus his eyes which were blurry with sleep. The house was silent
now, and he strained his ears for any sound of movement, something that would
tell him what was happening. For several moments he stood there like an animal,
defenses up, senses strained to detect a threat. His eyes continued to adjust
to the darkness, and he looked for anything in the pattern of the moonlight
that might indicate to him the source of the sound. Then he saw it. It passed
almost imperceptibly from left to right at the base of the stairs. They were in
the house again.
He considered calling 911, then dismissed it.
What
am I going to tell them?
he thought.
That I saw a shadow? I need to know
what I’m dealing with.

He felt sweat
break out, and he rubbed his eyes. He focused again. No movement, but now he
heard the sound of water running. It was coming from downstairs.

He walked
down slowly and quietly. He was scared, but he was also determined to find out
who was inside the house. He considered turning on the stairwell light, then
decided not to. This time he wouldn’t scare them away. Perhaps whoever was in
the house didn’t realize he was awake, and he felt this gave him an advantage.

At the base
of the stairs he turned right and entered a hallway that led to a bathroom
where the sound of water was coming from. The door to the bathroom was open,
and as he approached the door he heard the sound of the faucet being twisted
off. The water stopped, followed by a few drips. Steven was convinced he’d
cornered them, there was no way out of the bathroom. Time to confront whatever
was there.

He stepped
in and turned on the light. He could smell the slight chlorine odor of freshly
run water. The shower curtain to the oversize tub was pulled back, and in the
tub stood about six inches of water. He glanced around the room – no one was
there. The room had no closets or corners where someone could hide. He walked
over to the tub and looked down into the water, searching for some explanation,
something to make sense of what he was seeing. He reached down into the tub to
pull up the stopper. To his shock it was already up. The water wasn’t draining.
It must be plugged for some reason,
he thought.
Yes, it’s plugged, that
explains it, and there’s been a slow drip that I haven’t noticed, and it’s been
accumulating for hours.
He knew this didn’t explain the sounds he’d heard
or the movement he’d seen, but this partial explanation accounted for the
water, and he was willing to go with it for now.

Determined
to figure out what was blocking the drain, he leaned over the tub and dug his
fingers into the holes on the sides of the stopper, searching for the blockage.

With his
face just inches from the sides of the tub, he heard it again – four knocks.
This time coming from overhead, behind him. Instinctively he twisted his neck
to look up, but as he did so, a large drop of liquid hit his face and it caused
him to flinch. With one hand in the drain and the other trying to prop himself
up, he lost his stability and fell face-first into the water, its chill jolting
awake any parts of his body still asleep. He pushed himself up with his arms
and lifted his head from the water, wiping his face. His hand came away bloody.
Great, I’ve cut myself
, he thought. Then he heard the knocking again,
directly above him. The sensation that someone was in the room with him washed
over him like the coldness of the water. He knew it was above him, behind him.
In his mind he couldn’t rationalize how it could be above him in the tub, but
he knew it was there, just as you know when someone is standing behind you even
though you haven’t seen them. At first he felt too frightened to turn to face
it, but he realized that for his own sanity he needed to get an answer, to see
what he was dealing with. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in the blood in
his ears. He turned over onto his back to see what was above him.

Something
was there, moving, but at first he couldn’t make it out. Nothing was distinct.
It was as though it was forming, coming together. After a few seconds it had
enough shape that Steven could see it was the head of an old man with his eyes
closed. There were deep wrinkles in the face, and wisps of the man’s hair drifted
above his head. It floated slowly, moving back and forth in a gentle way.
Steven was stunned at the image, almost mesmerized by it. He felt like an
animal being hypnotized before a kill.  

It began to
move towards him. He noticed the man’s neck – it was roughly severed, ragged,
dripping blood, which fell onto Steven.  Trying to keep some distance from it, Steven
lowered his body back towards the water in the tub as the head approached him.
The image of the man kept shifting, like it was behind panes of old glass. When
it was about a foot away from his face, the eyes opened, revealing sockets
filled with blood that began to run down the man’s cheeks.

Reflexes
caused Steven to throw his head backwards and he hit the back of his head
against the bottom of the tub. Water rushed in over his face and for a moment
he felt he was drowning. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He
reached out again to the sides of the tub, trying to grab hold, but his hands
were wet and slippery with the combination of water and blood. The image was
right above him now, just above the surface of the water. If he raised up, he’d
hit it with his head. He felt trapped. He hadn’t managed to suck in much air
before he went under, and he was feeling the need to breathe. He flailed his
arms against the side of the tub, reaching for the upper edge on the left side
to pull himself up. He flung his right arm over his torso to reach for the left
edge, and grabbing it, pulled with all of his might. He felt himself roll out
and slip onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor. There was a sharp pain in
his right knee when his leg crashed from the edge of the tub onto the floor. He
turned his body to look at the head, to see if it was still coming at him.

It was gone.

He quickly
inspected his body, looking for a cut or a gash. He felt the back of his head. There
was no blood, not coming from him, or in the water. The water in the tub was
crystal clear, just as it looked when he entered the room.

Lying on the
floor, he grabbed a towel and wiped it over his face. He was breathing hard and
his body was shaking from the cold water. He closed his eyes, rolled onto his
back, and tried to take several deep breaths. He could hear the water draining
from the tub, as though he had just finished a bath. He felt his heartbeat slowly
return to a normal rhythm, and he felt the need to get up and dry off. But he
was terrified to open his eyes while looking up. He rolled onto his side,
knelt, and stood up, then opened them. The room looked normal, no water in the
tub, and everything in its place, except his ability to make sense of what had
just happened.

Steven
waited in the small office for the doctor to come back. 
Thank god for
COBRA,
he thought. After the event last night, Steven had stayed up trying
to understand it. The only rational explanation was a brain tumor or some
disorder that was causing him to hallucinate. The knocking, the footsteps, and now
the incident in the bathtub – they all had to be hallucinations. He had just
listened, hours before, to Debra’s story of how Ben had committed suicide. It
wasn’t a big leap to think his brain, if it was sick, had taken that story and
ran with it. And consistent with a brain tumor, the hallucinations were getting
worse. This explanation made sense and it was almost a relief.
If having a
brain tumor can be considered a relief
, he thought.

The doctor
came into the room and shut the door behind him. “Listen Steven, the
neurological tests are all negative. I can’t say I see anything that would
indicate a tumor. We could do an MRI but I’m not sure that would help.” He
tapped his pen on the folder he held. “Describe the hallucinations to me
again.”

Steven
recounted the knocking and footsteps. When he described the head, he left out
most of the gory details. He didn’t want the doctor to think he was completely
batshit. A floating, disembodied head was good enough for diagnosis. He didn’t
want to wind up in an asylum for christsake.

“Yeah,
that’s pretty severe,” the doctor said.

“I know how
crazy it sounds, but that’s why I’m here. Something like a tumor is an
explanation that makes sense. I’m sane enough to know there’s a rational
explanation.”

The doctor
kept flipping through the paperwork. “Do you take any drugs?”

“Only the
ones you’ve prescribed for me,” Steven replied.

“Just the
Lozol, nothing else?”

“I’m not a
drug abuser, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“No, I’m
just looking for combinations that might result in something like this,” the
doctor replied.

“No. Nothing
other than the Lozol.”

“Anything
for pain?”

“Ibuprofen, aspirin. 
Rarely.”

“How are you
sleeping?”

“Not well. I
never wake up feeling good.”

“I notice
you didn’t put down any next of kin. Are all of your family passed away?”

“No, I
should have put my father, but he doesn’t like me to list him for anything without
him knowing about it in advance. He’s a little particular that way.”

“Well, why
don’t you arrange that with him and call my staff back with the contact info. I
have to have some kind of next of kin listed for DNR and that kind of thing. Do
you know of any health conditions your father or mother have had? Anything like
this?”

“My mother
passed away after dementia years ago, but that was just caused by old age,
right? She was seventy two. Nothing in my father’s history that I know of. Or
their parents. But people of their generation were very secretive about anything,
you know, mental, so one of them might have had issues and just never told
anyone.”

The doctor
paused. “When did you say the hallucinations first started?”

“About two
months ago. Very minor back then, nothing like last night.”

“What
happened in your life two months ago?”

“Well, I
moved into a new house. And I was let go.”

The doctor
flipped the folder closed. “Those are two of the biggest stressors people have
in their lives.  Only divorce and death in the family rank higher. You’ve had
two big ones within a few weeks of each other. It’s most likely that stress is
the cause.”

“Really?”
This seemed too simple, but then, the doctor was the expert. And it
was
an explanation.

“Yes, trust
me. I’ll prescribe a sedative for you. You said you’ve had difficulty sleeping,
that’s probably compounding it. Lack of sleep can lead to all kinds of strange
things. I want you to find ways to reduce stress, get plenty of rest, and take
this sedative just before bedtime each night for the next two weeks. Schedule
an appointment with me two weeks out and we’ll see how things stand. If things
have improved, great. If not, we’ll see about an MRI.” The doctor handed Steven
the prescription, and before he could ask another question, opened the door,
and was off to the next patient in the room next door.

-

“You look
like hell!”

Steven
stared back at the old man in the doorway. “You too,” he replied.

The old
man’s lips cracked into a smile. “Come on in.”

Steven
entered the house he grew up in. Familiar pictures hung on the walls, and forty
year old furniture graced the living room. It had a particular smell, too. It
made him feel three feet tall. Roy, his father, motioned for him to sit. The
chair used to be covered in plastic, back when his mother was alive. Roy had
removed the plastic after she died.

“What’s up?”

“Listen, I
was at the doctor’s today, and they insist on having a next of kin listing. I
don’t want to list Jason, and god knows I’m not going to give them Sheryl’s
name. So it has to be you.”

His dad got
up, agitated. “What about Bernie? He’d do it.”

“He lives in
San Antonio. You’re right here.”

“I don’t
like being on lists.”

“I know,”
Steven said. His dad’s stubbornness on this issue really got under his skin,
especially since it was in the interest of Steven’s health. Most fathers would
have said “sure” without a second thought. Not Roy.

“This is a
private medical listing, they’d only call you if there was some medical emergency
involving me. They can’t disclose your name or contact info without getting
sued. Medical records are very private.”

“Private my
ass. If they’re so private, why’s my Medicare premium so high?” he yelled back
from the kitchen.

Steven sighed.
“They’re high for everyone. Medical costs have been skyrocketing the last
thirty years, ever since Nixon and HMOs.”

“Don’t you
bring up Nixon.”

He could
have and he normally would have continued discussing medical costs, but Steven
retreated, knowing he was going down the wrong path. It was easy to get
sidetracked when talking with Roy; it was a pattern they had engaged in for
years. They both had the ability to bait each other into discussions neither
really wanted to have and that always ended badly. He needed to get back to the
point.

“Look, I
need this favor, so please do it for me, OK? I guarantee you won’t be bothered
unless something serious happens to me. If it does, I’d rather you make
decisions for me, not Jason, not Bernie. OK? By the way, who do you have listed
with your doctors as next of kin now that Mom’s gone?”

Roy ignored
the question and returned from the kitchen with a beer in hand. “I won’t do it
unless you tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you
mean?” Steven asked.

“Something’s
going on. You look like hell, you’ve gone to the doctor about it, and you look
as worried as a Catholic on his way to confession. Out with it.”

Steven sighed.
Whenever Roy wanted some information, it was easier to give it to him than to
resist. “I may have a brain tumor.”

“You don’t
have a brain tumor,” Roy said.

“Thanks for
your sympathy, Dad.”

“What makes
you think that?”

“I’ve been seeing
and hearing things. Things that aren’t there.”

“What did
the doctor say about it?”

“He ran some
neurological tests, all negative. He says it’s stress.”

“Damn
doctors wouldn’t know their asshole from a hole in the ground.”

“It makes
sense,” Steven replied. “Moving to the new house, losing my job.”

“What kinda
things?” Roy asked.

“What?”

“What kind
of things have you been seeing, that aren’t there?”

“Well, it
started with knockings,” Steven answered. “I would wake up at night, convinced
I’d heard someone knocking. It’s been happening since I moved into the new
house. It happens every night.”

“Plumbing?”
asked Roy.

“Replaced it
all with PEX. It isn’t the plumbing,” Steven replied.

“Neighbor
kids?”

“I set up a
webcam to monitor the yard – nothing.”

“What’s a
webcam?”

“Surveillance.
A video camera that’s triggered when there’s motion. A cat came by, but that
was it. It’s not kids.”

“You think
it’s something supernatural,” Roy said, looking at Steven.

“No, of
course not. It’s a brain tumor.”

“You do, and
you don’t want to admit it. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Steven
sighed. “Last night I had a severe hallucination. Saw the head of a man, the
man who killed himself in my house fifteen years ago. It scared the hell out of
me. That’s why I went to the doctor.”

Roy sat his
beer down, and gave him a look Steven remembered from his youth that meant
how
stupid are you?

“Your new
house is a death house?” Roy said. “You moved into a goddamn death house?”

“Please.
Every house is a death house, people die in homes all the time.”

“Yeah,” Roy
replied, “but you don’t know about it. It’s the knowing that gets you. You knew
about this one, how’d you know?”

Steven told
him about Ben and about his trip to the trailer park to speak with Debra.

Roy looked stunned.
“I just cannot figure out why a child of mine would want to move into a house
where someone committed suicide.”

“Dad, it’s
done. It’s completely irrational to not buy a house for that reason.”

“And now
you’re here telling me you have a brain tumor. Look at you. You’re always two
steps removed from what’s really happening. You have been your whole life. The
only thing wrong with you is that you’re too goddamn stubborn to realize you’re
living in a haunted house.”

“Dad, you
know how insane that sounds.”

“Not as
insane as you choosing to live in it.”

Steven
paused. This was going nowhere. He should just finalize the next of kin thing
and go. But his dad’s immediate willingness to believe in the idea of a haunted
house actually surprised him. He always assumed his dad would be skeptical of
those kinds of things. His mother had been religious – extremely religious –
but his dad had always stayed home from church, didn’t participate in the church
activities that his mother insisted the rest of the family participate in, and
Steven had always interpreted it as his father sharing his lack of belief in
anything supernatural. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he did believe.

Or maybe he
just hated going to church.
God knows I did
, Steven thought.

Steven remembered
something his brother Bernard had told him when they were kids, playing a game
of Battleship. Bernie had just won a game and they were setting up for another.
What Steven had always remembered was Bernie’s comment: “Don’t ever play with Dad.
He knows where the ships are, no matter what you do.” He hadn’t asked Bernie
what he meant by it, because he knew what it meant, but it made him
uncomfortable and he changed the subject. He remembered thinking at the time
that Bernie knew Roy had some kind of ability that they never discussed, and he
had no interest in knowing more about it. Now Steven decided to open that door
a little and see if it was true, if it was what he thought it was years ago.  

“I need
another favor,” Steven asked. “I need someone to see what I’ve seen, or hear
what I’ve heard. If someone else can see or hear it too, then I’ll know it’s
not a brain tumor, that I’m not going crazy. And if that’s true, then you won’t
have to have your name listed at my doctor’s office as next of kin.”

“What do you
want me to do?” Roy asked.

“I want you
to spend the night at my house, in the guest bedroom. If nothing happens, fine.
But if the knocking comes back, at least I won’t be the only one who’s heard
it. Maybe you can help me get a handle on what’s going on. I know…that you can
do that.” Steven glanced at Roy to see if he had picked up on what he meant.

Roy seemed
to be mulling it over. “You want me to spend a night with you in your haunted
house?”

Steven
smiled a little. “Yes, Dad. A night in the haunted house. Just like a grade school
dare.”

Roy looked
down at his hands, then chuckled softly, almost to himself. “It was so goddamn
boring around here the past few years since Claire died. There were times I’d
stare at the wallpaper, trying to think of something interesting to do. A ghost
hunt sounds like just the thing. I’m in.”