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Authors: J. N. Duncan
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heard something, and it was making her stomach knot up. Jackie closed her eyes and caught it again, this time holding onto the sound, a barely audible keening, almost like a . . . baby.
She whispered. “Nick?”
He stood up from where his hand had come to rest on the couch. “This person has moved on or is no longer around here. What is it?”
“Can you hear that? I swear it sounds like crying.”
Nick nodded, his grim face staring at her curiously now. “That’s the babe, I think. You can hear that?”
The cleaning man edged around behind Jackie and quickly walked toward the back door. Jackie turned around in a slow circle, until she finally determined a direction. It was above them. She pointed at the ceiling. “It’s up there.” Jackie then dropped her hand and turned back to Nick. “What’s going on here, Nick? Why can I hear that?”
“Not sure,” he said and put a hand on her shoulder. “You OK? You’re looking pale now.”
“’Cause I’m fucking freaking out here, Nick. Why can I hear a crying baby? I don’t have psychic abilities. I don’t!”
“Maybe you do now,” he said. “Let’s go up and check things out. This could be very important if it’s true.” He headed up the stairs, but Jackie balked. Halfway up, Nick turned. “It’s safe, Jackie. It’ll do little more than scream its lungs out at us. Annoying, but hardly dangerous.”
Easy for you to say , Jackie thought. Could something have happened to her on the other side? Could it be more than just Laurel? Could it be every fucking thing out there? “It needs a damn off switch,” she said, and marched up to find the screaming dead baby.
The temperature dropped with each step up. The smell of blood and death ramped up a notch. By the time she reached the landing, it wasn’t just cold, it was freezing.
Jackie frowned and began to breathe through her mouth. The odor had grown incessant, cloying at her stomach. If she didn’t know better, Jackie would have sworn someone had just been gutted. The landing wrapped around the stairs, the four doors going back all closed. She walked toward the back, feet silent on the runner stretched the length of the floor. There was no doubt where the screaming was coming from. Nick was already there, opening the door, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to do. When he opened the door, Jackie’s stomach lurched but nothing changed. The noise level remained constant, and the smell still gnawed at her stomach.
Nick waited for her, just inside the doorway. “Bloodstained bed, Jackie. That’s all. A lot of blood though.”
She walked up and stopped next to Nick. Even breathing through her mouth wasn’t enough. The stench of blood and human insides filled the room like a cloud, thicker than normal air. “God. You’d think we were wading in it the way it smells.” She tried to hold her breath.
“Tell me if you see the babe’s ghost,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to be materialized.”
The room looked like what you’d expect from any suburban master bedroom: a long dresser against one wall, a queen-size bed with matching head and footboards, matching bedside tables, a chair and ottoman beside the window. From there, the rest was in total disarray. Lamps were broken on the floor. The mirror above the dresser had fallen behind and there were shards of glass strewn over the dresser’s top. Pictures were broken and torn on the floor. Someone had taken a knife to the chair and ottoman, with stuffing billowing out of its many wounds. The bed had been stripped, but the bloodstain remained. It was enormous. Blood spatter from the gunshot wound to the head adorned the headboard and splashed the wall behind.
There was no baby to be seen. Yet the muffled wailing continued, persistent and distressing. Jackie squatted down and peered under the bed. Her breath was already beginning to run out and her stomach would not deal with another lungful of the fetid air. She walked quickly
She whispered. “Nick?”
He stood up from where his hand had come to rest on the couch. “This person has moved on or is no longer around here. What is it?”
“Can you hear that? I swear it sounds like crying.”
Nick nodded, his grim face staring at her curiously now. “That’s the babe, I think. You can hear that?”
The cleaning man edged around behind Jackie and quickly walked toward the back door. Jackie turned around in a slow circle, until she finally determined a direction. It was above them. She pointed at the ceiling. “It’s up there.” Jackie then dropped her hand and turned back to Nick. “What’s going on here, Nick? Why can I hear that?”
“Not sure,” he said and put a hand on her shoulder. “You OK? You’re looking pale now.”
“’Cause I’m fucking freaking out here, Nick. Why can I hear a crying baby? I don’t have psychic abilities. I don’t!”
“Maybe you do now,” he said. “Let’s go up and check things out. This could be very important if it’s true.” He headed up the stairs, but Jackie balked. Halfway up, Nick turned. “It’s safe, Jackie. It’ll do little more than scream its lungs out at us. Annoying, but hardly dangerous.”
Easy for you to say , Jackie thought. Could something have happened to her on the other side? Could it be more than just Laurel? Could it be every fucking thing out there? “It needs a damn off switch,” she said, and marched up to find the screaming dead baby.
The temperature dropped with each step up. The smell of blood and death ramped up a notch. By the time she reached the landing, it wasn’t just cold, it was freezing.
Jackie frowned and began to breathe through her mouth. The odor had grown incessant, cloying at her stomach. If she didn’t know better, Jackie would have sworn someone had just been gutted. The landing wrapped around the stairs, the four doors going back all closed. She walked toward the back, feet silent on the runner stretched the length of the floor. There was no doubt where the screaming was coming from. Nick was already there, opening the door, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to do. When he opened the door, Jackie’s stomach lurched but nothing changed. The noise level remained constant, and the smell still gnawed at her stomach.
Nick waited for her, just inside the doorway. “Bloodstained bed, Jackie. That’s all. A lot of blood though.”
She walked up and stopped next to Nick. Even breathing through her mouth wasn’t enough. The stench of blood and human insides filled the room like a cloud, thicker than normal air. “God. You’d think we were wading in it the way it smells.” She tried to hold her breath.
“Tell me if you see the babe’s ghost,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to be materialized.”
The room looked like what you’d expect from any suburban master bedroom: a long dresser against one wall, a queen-size bed with matching head and footboards, matching bedside tables, a chair and ottoman beside the window. From there, the rest was in total disarray. Lamps were broken on the floor. The mirror above the dresser had fallen behind and there were shards of glass strewn over the dresser’s top. Pictures were broken and torn on the floor. Someone had taken a knife to the chair and ottoman, with stuffing billowing out of its many wounds. The bed had been stripped, but the bloodstain remained. It was enormous. Blood spatter from the gunshot wound to the head adorned the headboard and splashed the wall behind.
There was no baby to be seen. Yet the muffled wailing continued, persistent and distressing. Jackie squatted down and peered under the bed. Her breath was already beginning to run out and her stomach would not deal with another lungful of the fetid air. She walked quickly
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