The Spook House (The Spook Series Book 1) (15 page)

“Just go.” After a moment I added, “Please.”

Ashira was silent, staring at me. She did not like rejection. Finally, she said, “Fine.”

 Strangely enough, I didn’t want Ashira to go away mad. I didn’t want us to leave on bad terms. There were many reasons why. I couldn’t put them all into words. Part of it was that she was still smoking’ hot, and that still had a certain power over me. Another part of it was that I was glad she had appeared after God had, to give me the other side of the argument. Lastly, and most importantly, I wanted to stay on good terms with her. It could be dangerous not to.

I thought about the whole situation. God cared about the fate of humanity. But Ashira seemed to too, in a weird way.

The other women vanished and the red-haired woman sat alone on the bed. I said, “Ashira, I wanted to say ‘Thanks.’”

“Thanks for what?”

“For coming to me. For appearing before me, you know, in the flesh. God just appeared like a light, but you came in person.”

Ashira smiled, “He always did like that voice-in-sky act. And you know me. I’m all about the flesh.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of what God said was like, all cryptic and stuff. You did a better job of explaining yourself.”

“Really?” Ashira smiled broadly. I could tell she like the idea of being better than God at something.

“Sure I can’t change your mind?” she said, thrusting her boobs into the camera.

“No, I’m good,” I said, feeling safer already and sensing that I was almost clear.

“Well,” Ashira said, “If you ever need me, if you ever want to hook up, or even if you’re just lonely, you know my number.”

“Your number?”

Ashira looped her hand and forefinger in the air three times. The number hovered in the air as trails of fire before burning out. The smoke lingered in the air, swirling around Ashira. The number was “666”.

“Your number,” I said. “Of course.”

22

So in the end, I was like, kind of happy the Devil showed up at my house again. Uninvited, of course, I was happier when she left, but when I thought about it, I was kind of lucky, in a way. Like I said, her return was a confirmation that I wasn’t crazy. Every now and then we get things like that, and we could all use more of those.

But then something happened that should leave no doubt in anybody’s mind that this is all true. Wait until you hear what happened next.

–––––

About two weeks after Ashira dropped into my bed with her generous offer, I got the ultimate confirmation. I was washing the dishes one evening with the TV on. I liked to have the TV on pretty much most of time I was in the house. It was too quiet otherwise – lonely, and kind of freaky.

I usually had on 24-hour news channels or on trash TV – you know, the cheesy celebrity tabloid gossip news about Hollywood hotties and who’s dating whom and stuff like that. I liked the background noise and the fact that those “shows” don’t require any viewer commitment or involvement or anything. You can just drop in or out of them or not pay attention at all, because the topic changes every few seconds.

So that night I’m doing the dishes and I hear something in the background about “a car accident that killed a 29 year-old woman.” Then the newscaster said something about “a prominent judge.” My ears perked up and I paused what I was doing. When I heard the name “Hubert Tubb,” I bolted to the TV set.

It was Judge Tubb. He’d been in an accident. He had lost control of his car and drifted into oncoming traffic. He was being rushed to a hospital.

Tubb was still alive, barely. He was in critical condition, but doctors were hopeful that he would make it. I had a strong feeling he wouldn’t.

Primetime news came on hours later. The car accident was the first story. Tubb died. Preliminary blood tests showed no alcohol or drugs in his system. Investigators suggested that he might have had a heart attack or fallen asleep at the wheel. Also, they wouldn’t rule out a mechanical failure of the car or foul play. There would be a full investigation.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Somebody else had fulfilled the mission I had aborted. It was like some giant invisible weight had been removed from me. I felt the relief wash down my spine. Somewhere, subconsciously, I was afraid that I might be responsible for failing to prevent the next Holocaust or World War III.

But now it was over. The forces of light had beaten the forces of darkness. God had gotten His way, in the end. The good guys had won – this round, at least.

I thought about the 29 year-old woman who died. In a way, God had sacrificed her for a higher purpose. I felt a sort of pride, realizing that I was privy to a secret that only God and the Devil knew. The woman’s family would never understand why she died. Ministers and loved ones would stay that “everything happens for a reason” and that “We can’t always understand God’s purpose.” They would say those things to comfort the mourning family members, without knowing if the things they said were true or if they really believed that themselves. But in this case, they were right. And only I knew that.

After that night, I felt a strange sense of peace. Whatever version of the game of “good versus evil” that God and Satan were involved in had moved on. The location and the players had changed. It was no longer my problem.

–––––

Life, for awhile, kind of went back to normal after that. Months passed, although it felt like a lot longer than that. The memories started to fade and became blurry to the point where I could tell myself I dreamt most of it.

Not long after that, I had my seventeenth birthday. I saw my dad in city that day. He tried to smile, but I could see his sadness that he was locked up while I turned 17. Birthdays are reminders of time passing, and that time is limited. My birthday was a sad reminder that the days of his life, at the moment, were being wasted.

At home that night, I was celebrated alone with Sampson. I wanted to get some weed and smoke a bowl badly, but I had sworn off that shit. With no real purpose, I went online. In my email I saw a message with the title, “Happy Birthday!” Then I looked at who it was from and felt a chill run down my body. It was from Ashira666. I opened the message. It said:

Jacob,

Guess you heard about the death of our friend. I’m sure you figured out who’s responsible (HINT: It’s not me!) Head-on collision. Ouch. My ex took him out, along with an innocent young woman. I told you He was brutal.

I’m emailing to wish you a Happy Birthday. I still think you look hot. Let me know if you want your special gift. >;-)

-Ashira

I looked at the sideways smiley face made out of punctuation marks at the end of her email. It looked like something a teenage girl would do. I was amazed by how somebody as old as the universe could come off so carefree and juvenile. She had an amazing talent for meeting people where they’re at (mentally, emotionally, and physically). “I’m just like you!” she was saying. Yeah, right.

I had mixed emotions about that email. At first I was freaked out. I thought I’d heard the last of the masters of the universe.

I didn’t like that Ashira was still around, and that she was still thinking of me. But as perverted as it was, it was nice that somebody remembered my birthday, and that somebody (besides my dad) cared. Then I reminded myself that Ashira was not a friend. It was bizarre enough that I could call her an acquaintance. I did not respond to her email.

23

I thought was done with all of that weird shit back then. I expected to experience moments of terror when I joined the Army. I understood there would probably be firefights and bombs and shit, but that’s part of the job. I didn’t expect to be trapped in a haunted house. Alone. The troops in my unit – my buddies – had shot each other with friendly fire. Something else killed Kaz. I was the only one left.

I descended the stairs, slowly putting my weight on each step. The wood creaked in protest.

So much for the stealth-approach, I thought. If there’s anything alive down there, it knows I’m coming.

 I imagined the thing below, whatever it was, retreating into darkness. I knew it would be quiet and still when I entered, possibly watching to determine if I presented any threat. Or maybe it had already decided I wasn’t, and now it was eagerly anticipating my approach, waiting for me to come closer.

I watched my hand reach for the doorknob, grasp it, and turn it slowly. Once the door was ajar, I kicked it open. I grabbed my machine gun with both hands. I was ready to spray the area with fire. But there was nothing. The thing in the dark was poised to spring. The darkness was waiting. I exhaled briefly.

I looked inside and my heart sank. Total darkness. The beam of my flashlight could barely penetrate it. The walls might as well have not existed. The floor was cold damp earth that hadn’t seen the sun in God-knows-when. Overhead was a “ceiling” of wooden planks.

I hesitated before stepping in. I couldn’t believe I had asked the men of the C Team to go in there earlier. More than that, I couldn’t believe they did it. Maybe they had the same feeling I had at the moment. There is a certain confidence (or maybe you could call it “overconfidence” or even “stupidity”) that a soldier gets when he’s carrying a loaded machine gun. Hell, I think everyone carrying loaded gun gets that boost.

There was a sign of hope too. When I opened the door, I had expected the air inside to be dank and smell of mold and decay, like that of a freshly dug grave, or a long sealed tomb. But it wasn’t. A cold breeze blew across my face. The smell was earthy, but not damp. This place was ventilated.

A gust of wind surprised me. It was unexpected, which could have been scary to some people, but not for me. I took it as a really good sign. That meant there was an opening to the outside down here – a big opening. Although I couldn’t see light coming from the outside (like I had hoped to), the draft meant that the cellar door wasn’t sealed. Even if it were, there still had to be an equally large opening around here somewhere. I felt confident the way out was down here. I stepped inside.

When stepping over the threshold, I felt like a scuba diver jumping off a boat into the ocean at night. I had just left the relative safety of where I was and had entered a whole new world. My first thought was that the door was going to slam behind me, like in the movies, but it didn’t. I was expecting that so much I was kind of surprised when that didn’t happen. But I was relieved, a least a little. If the door slammed shut, from the draft or something else, in this darkness, I might never find it again.

I reluctantly took my left hand off of my weapon and awkwardly fumbled with the shoelace that tied the handle of one of the lanterns to my belt. With some effort, I freed one from my hip. I left the light on the ground by my feet, marking the location of the door.

With the light anchoring the position of exit, I cautiously moved deeper into the darkness. The light receded until it looked like a distant buoy on the night sea.

The total darkness screwed up my sense of direction. I only knew whether or not I was moving towards or away from the light. As I moved further away from it, I had the sense that I was on a downward slope. The ground got harder beneath my feet. I aimed the light up. At some point, the wooden “ceiling” had given way to stone. It appeared this basement was actually an underground cave. The cave ceiling was higher over my head than when I had entered. It appeared my sense that I was descending was correct. I was going deeper underground.

I looked back at the tiny light I left by the exit. It was like a light on a distant shore at night that looked deceptively close, but that a swimmer could never reach before drowning.

I had to make sure I was going in one direction, so I made a plan. I would keep the light on my right until I hit a wall. I would then follow the perimeter of the “basement” cavern until I found the way out at the far end, which I envisioned to be another staircase leading up to the storm cellar doors I had seen earlier.

Time seemed to be distorted down here just as space was. I wanted out so badly that it seemed to take a ridiculously long time to reach a cave wall. I resisted the urge to start running to get to it sooner. Eventually, I reached it.

“Thank God,” I said out loud. At least I had achieved Part 1 of my plan. Now I just had to follow the wall to the exit.

Following the wall was taking me deeper down into the cave. I was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of my plan when I spotted markings on the cave wall. I looked closer. They looked like cave paintings.

They looked real. I’m no expert, but what I’m saying is they looked old enough to be real. Men were depicted as stick figures with long arms and legs. Animals were detailed and recognizable. They struck me as oddly beautiful.

This is a Native American holy site or something, I thought to myself. These must be Indian paintings.

After admiring the technique of the ancient artists, I was suddenly curious about what they were trying to say. I could see a hunt, with the stickmen chasing animals with their bows and arrows and spears. I got that.

But then I lost the story. There was a big symmetrical symbol of something that looked like a spider. Then I saw an arch with a dark rectangle inside of it, which I took to be a cave or a door or something. Next to that was a scene of another hunt. This time, the Indians were going after a bull, represented by a big horned head. I looked closer. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure the horned thing was supposed to be a bull. The stickmen weren’t chasing after it. They were running away from it. Some of them had been reduced to broken stickman pieces.

I moved on carefully as the cavern was getting deeper. The ground was lower, making the “ceiling” look higher. There were actually stalactites hanging from it like enormous stone icicles. At some point, I turned the corner. I was facing the far wall now. The exit light was now directly behind me and slightly overhead, as distant and inaccessible as a star peeking through storm clouds at night.

Something moved to my left. I froze. Then I jumped back and pointed my gun in the direction of the sound. Something moved away from the light. Maybe I’d just imagined it. No, I there it again. This time, it seemed to be on the wall. I swept the area with my light. Then I saw the doorway.