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1
The
brush occupied my mind on the way over.
And well it should. Mostly I
thought about whether I should mention the thing to Bobby.
As I returned to Miss Molly’s house, I saw
Bobby standing on the porch. This time
though, he didn’t come out to meet me.
His face was scrunched and he glared the entire time I walked up to the
house.
“Hey Bobby,” I greeted.
“Hey,” he grumbled.
It was that moment I decided not to say
anything about the brush.
2
Bobby
thrusted a walkie-talkie at me.
“Here, take this,” he said.
“What’s this for?”
“In case I need to get hold of you to warn
you.”
“Warn me?”
I chuckled. “Warn me from what?”
“If anyone is coming?”
“You’re insane—“
Bobby closed my hand around the radio. “Shut up and take it. County might come back.”
“At this hour?” I pretty much doubt it.” I stuck the walkie in my pocket.
“Yeah at this hour…”
“Are we fucking covert or what?”
“You got 10 minutes.” Whatever humor he had left. Okay, he had no humor to start. “That’s all.”
“Fine.
Where was she found?”
“Her bedroom. Second floor.”
“And is that where she died?”
“I assume so. I’m not sure.
I didn’t get to go in the house once county got the investigation going.”
I turned and he stopped me. “You’ll need this. Don’t turn the lights on.”
He handed me a flashlight. I clicked it on. A bright, thing beam slapped Bobby in the
face.
He shielded his eyes. “Turn that fucking thing off! Not out here!
You stupid or something…editor?”
Prick.
3
Boy,
county must have brought him down a notch.
A little deeming I guess.
I walked through the door and shut it as
quickly as I could to give myself the illusion that Bobby wasn’t out
there. But I knew he was. Out of sight, out of mind…for now.
The house smelled like my grandmother’s
house. A little musty, old. Slightly humid, so the musty smell just kind
of hung there, never going away, but at least never getting any stronger.
My eyes adjusted a little, but I still had
trouble seeing anywhere. I made out a
small foyer table with outlines of flowers—tulips maybe—and a coat rack with a
trenchcoat on it.
I turned on the flashlight and saw that the
flowers were tulips and the coat wasn’t a trenchcoat, but a blue Peacoat, like
the sailors wear with the big buttons.
Not much else in here.
The hallway extended the length of the
house and at the end was the kitchen. I
took a few steps in the yellow décor and on my right was the living room. A corner couch, a few guest chairs and a
curio cabinet full of little figurines.
I estimated about 100 or so. They
looked in pristine condition.
The living room went off to the left about
10 feet where a large dining table sat bare.
Behind it a chest with a hutch full of bright white china. Also well taken care of. Behind where I stood was a grandfather clock. The pendulum had stopped swinging. I looked up the hands: they were stuck on
I slipped out my walkied. “Bobby, what time did Miss Molly die?” I released the button and it Chhhhhked.
A click returned. “The walkie is only for me to use.” A pause, and then, “A little before
Other than the grandfather clock, nothing
else was interesting in here.
I went through the second way to enter the
kitchen through the living room. Fridge,
stove, a breakfast nook, large counter space.
I dreamed of having that kind of counter space. I wondered if this was a remodeled kitchen or
if this is how she got it when the house was bought. Mental note: find out.
Nothing seemed out of ordinary here.
Back into the hallway from the opposite end
of the foyer. A small hallway jutted
away to my right. I followed it. A bathroom on my left. I shone the light in there. Clean. The medicine cabinet has been cleared at some
point. County? In the tub was a clump of dark hair living on
the drain. County forgot to take that.
I left the bathroom and followed the
hallway to the right then. A weirdly
laid out first floor. The only thing
down at this end was a bedroom.
The waved the light through. Probably a guest room. It had a Double-sized bed, one chest of
drawers, and a small tube TV.
So far I have been disappointed.
But what’s to be disappointed about when
there was nothing exciting happening here anyway. Well, maybe on the second floor.
My walkie crackled.
“Hurry up in there,” grumbled Bobby.
I don’t know what his deal was. No one was coming to this house at this time
of night. They’d be fucked in the head
to do that. Who likes to visit the house
of someone that recently died in it.
Weirdos, that’s for sure.
Like me.
Shit, I’m
the weirdo.
“I just got to check upstairs, then I’m
out,” I responded. Chhhk. When he didn’t answer
that back, I put the walkie back in my pocket and went into the wall.
Near the door was the staircase leading
up. I paused at the foot of the stairs.
Wasn’t it always the trip upstairs that
screwed you over? You know better not to
go up there, but for some messed up reason, you conclude that hey it is
probably safe.
“Yeah, it’s probably safe,” I said,
smirking.
The first step creaked when I put my weight
on it. Great, a creaking step. Maybe there’s an axe murdered waiting at the
top to swing an oversized axe at my head, quipping “You don’t have a good head
about ya, do ya.”
I smiled.
I was scaring myself.
Instead of trudging up the stairs, I took
them two at a time and paused at the top.
So no axe murder.
I arc the flashlight through the hall. Two doors on the right and three on the
left. Large family portraits lined the
wall. My flashlight hit a medium-sized
picture at the far end of the hall and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t Old Man
Noonan.
Get ‘em Noonan! How many years were they together? A lot is my guess since Noonan has his own
gold framed picture in the house.
Other pictures included actual family. Grandchildren, daughters, sons, nephews,
nieces. Some frames had multiple
pictures in them. Probably all from one
family or one side of the family. Names
were typed under them, but I had Bobby blowing my ass around because he was
nervous about someone coming by. I
didn’t have time to get to know Miss Molly’s family.
The first room seemed to be a storage
room. There was a small bed in there,
but it was piled with scrapbooking materials.
On the floor were small storage books with what looked like
photographs. I flipped one of the lids
open and saw faded, orange-color pictures with people dressed in fancy duds and
sporting handlebar mustaches. Early
1900’s no doubt. I replaced the lid and
went into the room across the hall.
An office or study of some sort. One wall held hundreds of books. Many hardbound, but a few glass shelves here
devoted to paperbacks. A reading chair
and large lamp in one corner and a waist-high sized globe in the opposite
corner. A desk with computer and old CRT
monitor stood near the door. The
computer was off and the desk shelf pushed in.
SCRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!!!
What the hell was that? It came from across the hall.
SCREEEEE!!
A short one, but still piercing. My ears throbbed for a moment after.
I turned my flashlight off and snuck to the
shut door. Did it have to be shut?
My hand went to the doorknob. I jumped back. I looked at my palm. It already started turning red.
I tapped it with my fingers. Freezing.
My eyes finally adjusted from shutting off my flashlight and I saw
little frost pimples forming on the brass handle.
I put my hand under my shirt and used the
fabric as a barrier to grab the handle.
I slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
And there she was.
Again.
She floated over the bed, but this time her
back was to me. She seemed to peer out
the window.
I pulled out the walkie-talkie. Before I could push the button to call Bobby—
SCCCCRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Fuck!
I dropped to my knees, let the radio fall to
the floor. I clapped my palms over my
ears to shut out the sound, but like before it was futile.
Finally, the screeching stopped.
Then, over the walkie, “What in the living
fuck was that?” How did Bobby?
I looked down. The walkie had landed on the button side,
pressing it down.
“Grant?”
I picked it up. “Yeah…”
“What the hell was that screaming?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you hear it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anything?”
I stared at the woman. She still looked out the window.
“No,” I answered.
“Are you sure.”
I paused.
“Yes,” I finally said.
I turned the walkie off. No more interruptions.
Apparently the woman didn’t notice me. I took one step forward and when she didn’t
acknowledge that movement, I crept to the window.
“What are you looking at?” I mumbled.
I followed her gaze.
Bobby sat in his squad car. I checked her eyes. She was looking higher, over Bobby’s
car. There was one light on down the
whole street.
It was Betty’s house. Now why was she looking at Betty’s house?
I turned back to her and she then lowered her
head so she was looking at me. SHREEEEEEE!
It was softer, as if only meant for me.
Betty’s house went dark and Bobby talked on
his walkie—trying to reach me. And I
turned back and she was gone.
A thin mist disappeared within seconds.
4
Soon
as I came out of the house, Bobby jumped out of his car and sprint to me.
“What took you so long and did you hear
that squeal?” He was out of breath. So much for training. Being a police chief of a small town makes
you flabby, I guess.
“There are a lot of rooms in that house.”
“What about the sound?”
“Sound?
It’s all quiet in there.”
“No, there was a high-pitched scream.”
Hiding the fact I had the brush in my
position and now straight out lying to the Police Chief. Hell, I should just start my string of bank
robberies now.
“Bobby, I didn’t hear a thing.” I looked him in the eye. Isn’t that what professional liars do?
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I didn’t see anything either.” I wasn’t convincing him. I watched his eyes dart back and forth from
me to the house and back again. I bet he
wanted to have a look for himself.
“Listen,” I said, “You might just need to
go home and get some sleep. You’ve had a
long day. Three deaths and county coming
in and taking over. That would be
stressfull for anyone.”
Bobby relaxed a little.
“It’s no wonder you’re hearing things,” I
added.
He sunk his head. “Yeah, you’re right I guess. I am tired.”
“Go home and rest. Pick up the rest of the trails tomorrow.”
I can’t believe I was actually giving this
asshole a pep talk. I secretly hoped
that he would go in there and see the thing, hear her screams, and simply just
keel over.
“I will.
Thanks Grant.”
Before I could say anything else, Bobby
hopped in his car and slumped down. He was tired. He started his car, gave one look back at the
house, then pulled away.
And it was silent. My watch read
When Bobby was completely out of sight, I
turned around and went back to the house.
5
I bypassed the first floor and immediately
headed upstairs. Everything still
appeared in order as I had seen it earlier.
I must have missed something.
Something small or odd that I really didn’t know was odd.
The picture of Noonan actually creeped me
out, sending small pings of shivers down my back. A dead old lady’s house and her dead lover
picture hung just feet from me.
I checked the study once more, this time
using my flashlight to reach the harder to see areas: under the reading chair, under the desk,
around the globe. Still, nothing. What does a guy have to do to find something
here?
Back to the bedroom.
I swept the light across the room and
initially saw nothing. Then I reverted
to my original tactic of checking the out of the way places. Under the dresser, under the TV stand, under
the bed—
What was that?
Something gleamed against the light as the
beam hit it. A silver object.
I got on my hands and knees and scooted to
the bed. I shone the light under there
again and saw it was the tape recorder lying randomly on the floor, as if
thrown there. I latched onto it and
brought it out.
It was the tape recorder the Miss Molly had
earlier. She had died in here. I wonder—
I rewound the tape a little bit and pressed
play.
I heard a car drive by and outside air
pushing into the microphone. “Oh this!
I almost forgot. I use it to help
me remember things…appointments, things I must do, you know that old stuff,” I
heard Miss Molly say. Then I heard me, “Yup, I got ya.”
That was earlier today. Strange hearing her voice.
The recording clicked off, then a tight
squeak and it was back recording again.
“Who
are you?” A pause. “How
did you get in here?” Another pause.
Then a loud piercing scream that was
distorted on the tape. The microphone
was able to handle the noise.
“Oh
my God—“
Then silence.
“Where
did you go…”
The doorbell rang on the tape. Then I hear some scratching as the tape
recorder is placed in a pocket probably.
The sounds became muffled after that.
Miss Molly started walking. She opened the door.
“Oh
Hi again.”
Again?
A man answered, but I couldn’t make it out.
“Come
in.”
Who can come in?
“Would
you like something to drink? I have an
amazing story to tell you. It just
happened.”
The man answered but still inaudible.
“What
are you doing?”
Who is this? And what are they doing?
Panicked running—up stairs?-then a door
slammed shut. More scratching and then a
thud. She must have threw the recorder
under the bed at this point.
“What
is that? What are you DOING!?” Pause. “Grant! Stay away!”
Something cracked. A bone sound.
The voice activated control shut the machine off and all was quiet.
But me?
I was here earlier?
More disturbing though:
I killed Miss Molly.