Footsteps scuttle across the ceiling above my head. I swallow hard. That definitely wasn't the wind.
I don't have my phone on me, and I don't know any of the neighbors. I don't just want to run into the night. I run back to the front room and rip open the hall closet, searching the messy contents. The first thing my hand finds is an old wooden baseball bat.
The second I reach the top of the stairs, the lights flicker and go out. Lightning illuminates the hall as I creep down it, gripping the baseball bat tightly. I swallow hard as thunder rumbles around me.
The lightning flashes again, and I make out a male figure at the end of the hall. The weakness of fear rushes over me, but I edge forward. As lightning strikes again, the figure is gone. I advance down the hallway and back to my room.
As soon as I enter the attic, the radio starts to blare a Bon Jovi song. I drop the bat and cover my ears, as I look around for the culprit, but see no one. I rip open the doors to the closet and poke under my bed, but the room is empty. Static starts to break through on the radio, and I stalk over, yank the cord out of the wall, and wrap it around the radio. I chuck it in the back of my closet.
The window is still cracked, and the howling wind brings a dusting of rain inside. I go to shut it, peering outside suspiciously. An old trellis structure runs up just beside the window, the corpses of old vines wound around it. But I see no sign it's been used. This house is getting the better of me, I'm getting paranoid. Maybe I imagined it all.
I retrieve the bat, just in case, and descend the stairs two at a time back down. I force open each door with the tip of the bat as I pass.
The stairs squeak in front of me and I slowly creep toward them, clutching the bat with sweat-soaked palms. I turn the corner, and come face to face with a hideous grimacing wraith. Blood drips down her face, running from a black bullet hole over her eye. She leers at me with blood-coated teeth.
I shriek and swing the bat in an arc toward her. She tilts her torso backward, avoiding my blows, pressing her chin into her chest. I blink my eyes shut, trying to calm down enough to act, and when I open them, she's gone.
I'm getting out of this house.
I run down the stairs, my goal being the exit. But three figures block my way at the bottom—the girl with the bullet hole, and another man and woman, both of them bloody, with green, rotting skin. Lauren and her parents. Fear shoots through my heart like a flaming arrow and I almost trip, reaching out for the banister. It wobbles in my hand and throws me off balance, and I tumble down the remaining stairs right toward the ghosts.
CHAPTER 6
Icy cold water streams over my head and drenches my skin, soaking my hair and clothes. I let out a shriek. A bright flash blinds me, and when I blink I see an iPhone camera in my face. The three figures burst into raucous laughter, doubling over and smiling at each other. The lights zap back on, and I see that the ghosts are actually Carla and her two friends, Paul and Lotte, from school, dressed up as the Mosses.
"Gotcha," Carla says, stowing the iPhone in her pocket. Paul dangles the empty water bucket from his wrist.
"What the hell?" I mutter. I banged my head hard on the way down, and I sit up, rubbing the bruise. I stand up and shake water off of my arms, smoothing my drenched hair away from my face.
"I can't believe you're so gullible," Lotte says in between giggles. "You totally bought it."
"Why did you do this?" I ask, glancing between the three of them.
"Boredom." Carla shrugs. "We smoked my stash and mom's medicine cabinet was empty. And the Halloween store was having a sale." She peels the rubber bullet hole from her head and dangles it in front of me. "You're pretty entertaining when you're peeing your pants."
"I didn't pee my pants," I snap. I feel my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, and I'm on the verge of sobbing. I'm horrified, not wanting them to see my tears.
Paul pulls off his brown wig, revealing his blond, spiky hair, tied with the same pink bandanna as usual. He wanders over to the living room and glances around at our furniture, picking up a paisley throw pillow and dropping it with a scowl. "Tacky. Is your mom blind or did she hire a crackhead to decorate?"
I clench my fists together. The tears are definitely going to come now. I feel the telltale prickle as my eyes begin to water.
The lights flicker again, electricity hissing, and the intruders glance toward the glass globe in the foyer.
"This place is such a shit hole," Carla mutters. "They should have just torn it down." The wind howls in response, making branches scratch against the house.
"The storm's getting bad," Lotte says, casting nervous glances out the window.
The lights die, drenching the room in blackness. Lotte screams shrilly. A black, unearthly figure floats the stairs, and our heads turn toward it. Red light illuminates its demonic face. It moves noiselessly in our direction, fixing its hateful glare on Carla.
"Get out of this house…now…" the figure intones. The door slams open again by itself and Carla shrieks this time, her hands flying up to her face. A quick sense of triumph pierces through my fear—she's genuinely scared. The windows rattle loudly, this time by more than the wind, and Paul and the girls run toward the exit. I'm frozen in my spot by the banister as the figure glides toward me. Cold air kisses my face, caressing my cheeks. I hear Carla and the others run into the night, and the door slams. I gulp hard, feeling my throat constrict, choking off my air supply.
The lights blink on and I see Aaron Moss's face in front of mine. His glowering expression softens and he halts in place, then cracks a smile. I let out a deep breath and feel myself going faint. I reach out and grab the banister so that I don't crash.
"Are you okay?" he asks, the smile smoothing away. He frowns in concern, but makes no move to come closer.
"What are you doing in my house?" I growl. I have to direct my anger at someone. At least I don't feel like crying anymore.
"I'm sorry, Ash." His voice is soothing, even when I don't want it to be. "I just didn't want them messing with you anymore. I saw them dump that water on you. I had to think fast." He sets something down on the stairs and laughs gently, pleased with himself. "They were scared shitless."
Headlights light up the front window. I turn and see my father's car roll into the driveway. "My dad's home."
Aaron nods, then brushes past me and jogs around toward the back of the house. "I've got to go."
"Wait, Aaron!" I suddenly have no many questions. He turns his head back around, messy hair grazing his eyes, but he doesn't stop.
"I don't want his first time meeting me to be alone with his daughter," he says, his expression masked in secrecy. "Too much to explain."
He disappears into the kitchen just as my dad steps up the walk and opens the door.
I explain what happened as logically as I can, but he seems to think that I'm making it up. He's really tired and I give up on trying to convince him as he stumbles to his room. He doesn't need anything else to worry about.
I clean the wet floor and the footprints that the others left behind. I find a window in the living room cracked. So that's how they got inside in the first place. I make sure to lock it this time.
I don't know how Aaron got into the house, and I don't know how I feel about him coming to my rescue. Just the thought of that demonic image he created gives me shivers.
I head upstairs, and nearly trip over something. It's a black flashlight with a red bulb—it must have been what Aaron used to make himself look scary. I recoil at the memory. Dragging the bat with me, I stow it in the closet of the pink room along with the flashlight. My old bed frame and dresser are in here now. I sit on the bed and stare out the window, and finally let a few tears out until I'm relaxed enough to go upstairs. I don't know that I'll ever get used to this place, to its creaks and sighs and mysteries.
As I'm lying in bed, there's one detail of the fake haunting that nags me. I smash my face into the pillow and shut my eyes, but I can't stop thinking about it.
The radio, the one I couldn't get any stations on, blaring music all by itself. Right before I finally drift off, I think I hear static from the closet.
CHAPTER 7
Somebody's been busy at my locker the next day. There are newspaper headlines pasted all over the front.
Tragedy in a small town, family slaughtered.
Son wanted for questioning in shooting death of parents and sister.
Bloodbath site a nuisance for neighbors as police, gawkers swarm.
And a hideously unflattering photo of me from last night, mid-scream, with my eyes half-open and my tonsils showing, water streaming down my face. I crumple up the photo and strip off the gray bits of paper with my nails. I toss them in the trashcan, hoping no one else saw. I was hoping she had gotten her fill with me last night, but no luck.
I find Carla and her friends clustered in the parking lot, indiscreetly passing around a joint. They giggle and point at me as I cross traffic toward them. The others scatter and Carla stubs out the roach in a mint box and jams it into her purse.
"What's with all the practical jokes?" I ask her caustically, my temper bubbling below the surface.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says smoothly, then starts gliding away past me. She pulls a cigarette out of the side of her bra and lights it, puffing smoke into the air
"Don't play coy with me. Defacing my locker and pranking me like we're in middle school? You want to waste your time, fine, but leave me out of it."
She spins around and glares at me. "You'll find out pretty soon that there ain't shit to do in this town. You were entertaining." She picks away at something on her lip gloss and takes another drag on her cigarette. "Don't worry, the new car smell has worn off you. We'll go back to ignoring you."
"Why now?"
She looks around to make sure we're alone. The part of the parking lot we're in has cleared out while we've been talking. She leans closer to me and beckons me forward, her eyes scanning around for potential witnesses.
"You repeat this and I'll kill you," she hisses, her reddened eyes narrowing. She takes a deep breath. "The truth is, I do believe. In the afterlife, and vengeful spirits. That house…" I watch as she shudders violently. "Whoever that guy was last night, he wasn't…human."
I almost break out laughing, but I bite my bottom lip instead. "What guy?"
Fear flickers across her face. "You know, the one who tried to scare us off."
I widen my eyes, pretending not to get it. She growls at me and tosses her cigarette at my shoe where I stub it out.
"Take my advice," Carla says. "Don't go fucking around with things you don't understand. I learned my lesson last night. I couldn't sleep for hours. If I were you, I would tell my dad it's time to move."
"Why are you so afraid of my house?"
"When something that terrible happens, there's got to be something left behind. There's karmic debt to be paid, it's just a question of who is going to pay it."
_________________
When I get home, I find my dad trying to sop up a wet mess in the living room with towels.
"All that rain came right through the roof here," he says, then heads into the utility room. I follow him as he grabs a flashlight and buckets from the shelves. "Do me a favor and check the basement for flooding." He chucks the flashlight at me. "You'll need this, it's dark down there. The key is on my ring." He scurries to the living room to deal with the dripping water.
I grab his key chain from the counter and head outside. My shoes squish into the mud left over from last night, but at least the rain has stopped. I step onto the driveway and notice Aaron walking up to me, his hands in his pockets as he regards me cautiously.
"I don't want to talk to you," I tell him. "You need to stop coming here."
His face twists in a confused, hurt expression. I feel conflicted, wanting to smooth the expression away with my fingers. He's still wearing the same brown sweatshirt and sneakers that he always does—it's like his uniform. Only the shirt underneath changes. Yet his clear, sharp eyes, perfect bone structure, and smooth, pale skin make him the most attractive boy I've ever seen. I hate to admit it, but it's undeniable. Even as I want him to leave, even as he drives me crazy.
"Why are you so mad?" he asks, tilting his head.
"Where do I start? How about with you being in my house in the middle of the night. Why have you been creeping around here so much?"
He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and blows out a breath. "I can explain," he says in his disarmingly soft voice. "I was out walking last night and I saw those jackasses pop the front window and crawl in."
"Just another one of your walks?" I ask skeptically, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Yes. I told you I do that a lot, it was just good timing. I knocked, but the door was open. I tried to come in to warn you, but it was too late. I was one step behind you, and behind them."
He shoves his hands in his pockets again and glances up at me through his hair. I want to brush it away from his forehead, and dismiss the irrational thought. I need to stop thinking about him that way. He needs to stop being so cute and distracting.
"What did you do to piss them off?" he asks. He smiles widely, and impressive dimples stand out in his cheeks. The pit of my stomach drops. There's no hope for me now.
"It didn't take much," I say, the side of my mouth lifting.
"It doesn't with those types of people."
My voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me you were part of the Moss family?"
He looks mildly alarmed. "How do you know about that?"
"The whole town likes to talk about it, as I'm sure you know. That's what this house is known for."
"And what have they told you?" His eyes scan my expression.
"That your brother…" I struggle to find the right words without being crass. "That Seth did it."