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Authors: Ania Ahlborn
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remote. It appeared to stand at the edge of the earth, exiled among the trees.
For a moment, all he could do was sit and stare. This was it, the scene of the crime, the house that nobody but Halcomb truly understood. Lucas’s chest tightened along with his fingers, which were gripping the wheel. Was this a good idea? Was this really the best way to get his next book? Was it right to usher Jeanie through that front door and into a sleeping nightmare?
It’s just a house.
The assurance bumped against the inner curve of his skull.
There is no such thing as haunted places, only haunted people.
He had read that somewhere once, and at the time he hadn’t been so sure. The absence of haunted places meant that life was finite, that after we exhaled our final breath, there was nothing beyond the door. Lucas didn’t like that idea. His ever-present love for all things morbid demanded he believe there was more to death than that.
But that house was glaring at him—glaring, and yet, simultaneously inviting him in. Come, it whispered through the darkness. Welcome. Don’t be shy.
Lucas looked away from it. His gaze drifted along the wooded property, pausing on a couple of empty beer cans abandoned at the base of a pine. People had been here, more than likely kids that were a carbon copy of who he had once been. He couldn’t count the times he and his friend Mark had climbed fences, ignoring signs that warned trespassers of prosecution. He couldn’t remember how many windows of abandoned houses they had peered into, or how many supposedly haunted tunnels they had walked. And yet, here he was, the lover of all things dark and mysterious, wondering if taking up residence in Audra Snow’s old house was worth the risk.
What are you going to do, Lou? Turn the truck around and drive back to New York? You don’t live there anymore. That life is gone. You’ve been abandoned, excommunicated, forgotten, or has that already slipped your mind? With Caroline’s sister Trish on hand in case of an emergency, the house in Briarwood was locked up for the two weeks Caroline was overseas. Who knew what she’d do with it once she returned? Perhaps, on top of signing divorce papers, he’d also be signing a sales agreement. The New York City real estate market was ripe for the picking. She could list it on a Monday and have a deal wrapped up by the weekend.
“Jeanie.” Dropping a hand from the wheel, he caught his kid by the ankle and gave her a light squeeze. “Jeanie, wake up.”
Jeanie exhaled a muted groan, her fingers prodding at her still-closed eyes. “What?” she mumbled, her voice dry with sleep.
“We’re here.”
“We are?” She sat up, her hair wild and luminescent with the glow of the dashboard. “This isn’t it, is it?” She squinted at the place, yawned, then gave her father a dubious look through the shadows of the truck’s cab. Lucas leaned back against the U-Haul’s bench seat and let his hands drag across the thighs of his jeans. “Dad?” Her attention bounced from the house ahead of them to her father’s face.
He had seen it online, photographed in the daylight with sun shining off of its wood-paneled, stone-covered front. It had reminded him of the Brady Bunch house, complete with its front double doors and badly worn shingle roof. In the sunshine, the place looked welcoming. But now, it was nowhere near what he imagined.
“Hang on . . . Dad . It isn’t even near anything.” She was twisting in her seat, getting a good look at nothing but trees. “You said it was close to town. Close to the movies, to something . . .”
Lucas chose to ignore his daughter’s complaints and nodded toward the house instead. “Come on, let’s check it out.”
Jeanie let out a dramatic sigh and shimmied across the long seat toward the passenger door. She was unhappy, not to mention cranky from being woken up, but it was too late now. They were here, and Lucas wasn’t putting another mile on the odometer
For a moment, all he could do was sit and stare. This was it, the scene of the crime, the house that nobody but Halcomb truly understood. Lucas’s chest tightened along with his fingers, which were gripping the wheel. Was this a good idea? Was this really the best way to get his next book? Was it right to usher Jeanie through that front door and into a sleeping nightmare?
It’s just a house.
The assurance bumped against the inner curve of his skull.
There is no such thing as haunted places, only haunted people.
He had read that somewhere once, and at the time he hadn’t been so sure. The absence of haunted places meant that life was finite, that after we exhaled our final breath, there was nothing beyond the door. Lucas didn’t like that idea. His ever-present love for all things morbid demanded he believe there was more to death than that.
But that house was glaring at him—glaring, and yet, simultaneously inviting him in. Come, it whispered through the darkness. Welcome. Don’t be shy.
Lucas looked away from it. His gaze drifted along the wooded property, pausing on a couple of empty beer cans abandoned at the base of a pine. People had been here, more than likely kids that were a carbon copy of who he had once been. He couldn’t count the times he and his friend Mark had climbed fences, ignoring signs that warned trespassers of prosecution. He couldn’t remember how many windows of abandoned houses they had peered into, or how many supposedly haunted tunnels they had walked. And yet, here he was, the lover of all things dark and mysterious, wondering if taking up residence in Audra Snow’s old house was worth the risk.
What are you going to do, Lou? Turn the truck around and drive back to New York? You don’t live there anymore. That life is gone. You’ve been abandoned, excommunicated, forgotten, or has that already slipped your mind? With Caroline’s sister Trish on hand in case of an emergency, the house in Briarwood was locked up for the two weeks Caroline was overseas. Who knew what she’d do with it once she returned? Perhaps, on top of signing divorce papers, he’d also be signing a sales agreement. The New York City real estate market was ripe for the picking. She could list it on a Monday and have a deal wrapped up by the weekend.
“Jeanie.” Dropping a hand from the wheel, he caught his kid by the ankle and gave her a light squeeze. “Jeanie, wake up.”
Jeanie exhaled a muted groan, her fingers prodding at her still-closed eyes. “What?” she mumbled, her voice dry with sleep.
“We’re here.”
“We are?” She sat up, her hair wild and luminescent with the glow of the dashboard. “This isn’t it, is it?” She squinted at the place, yawned, then gave her father a dubious look through the shadows of the truck’s cab. Lucas leaned back against the U-Haul’s bench seat and let his hands drag across the thighs of his jeans. “Dad?” Her attention bounced from the house ahead of them to her father’s face.
He had seen it online, photographed in the daylight with sun shining off of its wood-paneled, stone-covered front. It had reminded him of the Brady Bunch house, complete with its front double doors and badly worn shingle roof. In the sunshine, the place looked welcoming. But now, it was nowhere near what he imagined.
“Hang on . . . Dad . It isn’t even near anything.” She was twisting in her seat, getting a good look at nothing but trees. “You said it was close to town. Close to the movies, to something . . .”
Lucas chose to ignore his daughter’s complaints and nodded toward the house instead. “Come on, let’s check it out.”
Jeanie let out a dramatic sigh and shimmied across the long seat toward the passenger door. She was unhappy, not to mention cranky from being woken up, but it was too late now. They were here, and Lucas wasn’t putting another mile on the odometer
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