Malefic Page 5

  The turning of the knob was complete, and the door fell open with a metallic pop, soon followed by the slow rasp of its hinges. It eventually came to rest a third of the way open, and the velvety darkness of the hall entered into view. Though I stared a long while and felt something like a cool draft seeping into the room from the open door, no visual sign of the one who'd opened it could be found. There was only darkness; darkness and the malign possibility that was its perennial concomitant.

  Heart racing, I marched across the room, heedless of the chill climbing down my spine, and took hold of the knob. Darkness so thick it may as well have been a curtain met me as the door flew open with a squeal.

  And within that darkness, a shadow, as of a person with very long limbs lumbering towards the stairs, was briefly glimpsed. The distortion of the profile made it impossible to say just who or what I was looking at, but the lack of audible footfalls bespoke the drifting stride of something weightless and thus inhuman. The fleeting hope that it was Joseph or Melissa returning from the bathroom vanished at once.

  Then I heard a terrible pounding. It sounded like a battering ram was being taken to the front door. Despite the hammering of my heart, I couldn't help investigating and I stepped out into the hall, groping for the light.

  Bracing myself, I headed for the top of the stairs. The banging sound came again, and this time my aged years were able to pinpoint it more effectively. It was definitely coming from the level below.

  I descended the stairs into the unlit lower story all by my lonesome. Surely Joseph and Melissa had heard this commotion and would soon join me, but in my terror I hadn't even thought to rouse them.

  There was a third bang, and with it came certain vibrations that I sensed in my clutching of the handrail. The wooden bannister—and the very air around me, for that matter—was frigid. The night had been reasonably cool for summer, but as I staggered down the stairs I felt like I was venturing deeper and deeper into a walk-in freezer.

  When I'd reached the bottom of the staircase, I immediately went searching for a light switch. Further blows were struck as I sought out the lights, each of them causing dishes and silverware to jingle in the kitchen. When I finally discovered a switch near the base of the stairs, I flicked it.

  I found myself in close proximity to the front entryway, with the dining room to my right. Neither space contained the source of this racket. Cutting to the left, I plumbed the dim depths of the living room, and it was there that I stumbled upon the origin of the infernal pounding.

  Megan stood before one of the living room walls. Holding a hammer in one of her small hands and staring dazedly ahead, she'd been striking the hardiest blows her young arm could manage. This assault had resulted in a series of large dents and cracks, and I saw that the head of the hammer was presently embedded in the drywall. The girl, jittery in her movements, grunted demoniacally as she sought to pry the tool loose.

  “Megan!” I barked. The girl startled at the sound of my voice, and instantly her grip on the hammer relaxed. “What are you doing?” Rushing towards her, I took her by the shoulders and examined her. She was drenched in a cold sweat that left her Pete the Cat pajamas sodden around the chest and back, and her eyes were unfocused. Standing slack-jawed, shuddering, the girl didn't seem to notice I was there. I waved a hand in her face, snapped my fingers, but couldn't get her to react.

  A panicked Joseph and Melissa stormed into the living room, nearly tripping down the stairs.

  “It's nothing,” I announced, stepping back so that the parents might scoop up their soggy girl. “It appears she's sleepwalking.”

  “Sleepwalking?” Melissa palmed the girl's dark hair from her clammy brow. “She's sleepwalking?”

  I gripped the hammer and pulled it from its resting place. There was a small hole left in the drywall, roughly an inch across. “Yes, and it seems she had her mind set on a couple of home improvements. Quite handy, this one.”

  Joseph studied the damage to the wall, then peered into his daughter's face. “M-Megan has never done this before,” he stammered. “Is this normal?”

  “Every child is different,” I replied. “Sleepwalking is just one of those things. It can start up without warning and abate just as suddenly. I've heard it put down to stress, so in that sense I'm a little surprised this is the first time. Sleep disorders aren't my speciality, though.”

  “Megan?” Melissa knelt down and caressed her daughter's cheek. “Are you awake, sweetie?” She peered up at me while waiting for the girl to awaken. “She kind of gets this way when she has bad dreams and screams about that figure in her room. She stays unresponsive for awhile and it's hard to wake her. But she doesn't wander. And where the hell did she even get the hammer? Maybe we should splash some water in her face?”

  “I'd just put her back to bed—no need to wake her,” I said. “This lack of responsiveness is typical in cases of sleepwalking, I believe.”

  Melissa took the girl's hand and led her back to the stairs. “Are you awake, sweetheart? Why did you do that? Why did you hit the wall? You could have hurt yourself, baby.”

  I heard Megan groan a little, as though the question required a lot of thought. Then, dreamily, she replied, “I had to let the birdie out.”

  At hearing this, Joseph turned to me, wide-eyed. “Birdie? What the... She must be talking about the tapping I mentioned—from behind the walls.” He grit his teeth. “This damn house is getting to her. It's... it's driving her to do this weird stuff. Do you get it now? We've got to get her out of here. We can't stay anymore. This house is a nightmare.”

  Careful not to disclose prior events, I laughed off the girl's sleepwalking. “Don't worry about it. We'll talk about it in the morning. I'll admit she gave me a good scare, but in the end it was only a little childish mischief. Bear that in mind, Joseph—that's all we're dealing with here. The wall can be patched and your daughter's sleep hygiene can be improved to—hopefully—put a stop to these little nocturnal episodes.”

  “I hope you're right...” Joseph scanned the room with pursed lips. Though he turned up no ghouls or phantoms, he shivered just the same. Walking back to the stairs, his shoulders remained tense.

  My stomach sank as I recalled what I'd witnessed mere moments before emerging from my room. The turning of the knob; the muffled, croaking voice I'd heard outside my door; the worrisome note I'd gotten from Constance. There was more happening here than a bout of sleepwalking, but for Joseph's sake I put on a happy face and urged him back to bed. “Morning will be here before we know it. Get some rest.”

  Joseph and Melissa got the girl back upstairs, and the soundness of her snoring seemed to me a guarantee against further wandering, at least for what remained of this night. We bid each other a second “goodnight” and returned to our rooms.

  The first thing I did when the door was shut behind me was revisit the journal. I still hadn't replied to my wife's earlier message. Picking up the book, I discovered Constance had written a brief addendum to her earlier scrawl while I'd been preoccupied downstairs. It was in as unsteady a hand as that which preceded it.

  MARCEL, WE SHOULDN'T HAVE COME HERE.

  I meditated on the messages for a time before penning my reply.

  Constance—what's wrong? Your notes have me a bit nervous. What's in this house, and why does it hound you? I've been here less than a day—how can I abandon Joseph and his family now? Especially if the situation is as dire as you've made it seem? Come now, love, surely things aren't as bad as all that? Is there a sinister presence in the house that has intimidated you? More than one? In our previous experiments the souls of the dead have sometimes proven hostile, but I've never seen you react to them in this way. Please, tell me what's troubling you.

  I went to bed. I don't mean to say that I slept, only that I got under the covers and stared at the ceiling until the sky began to lighten. The house remained quiet. My mind, coursing with apprehension, did not.

  The hour hand of my Seiko was inching close to the
five when I next heard the scratching of the pen against the journal, and the brief reply Constance left me did not much soothe my nerves.

  IT'S NOT LIKE THE OTHER TIMES, was all she'd written.

  Seven

  Dawn brought no further communique from my wife. I found it difficult to mask my dismay at this fact over a bowl of Cheerios and skim milk at breakfast.

  My hosts, despite the night's upheaval, appeared sufficiently rested and in good humor, and they were apologetic to find me less so. Megan claimed to have no memory of her sleepwalking episode, and when presented with the damage she'd done to the wall in her fugue state, proved incredulous.

  Spreading butter over an english muffin, Joseph smiled at me from across the table, asking, “So, what's your take on the house, uncle? You spent the night observing, right? Where do you go from here?”

  There was no way in hell I was going to be honest with him. To share the full extent of my dread would have robbed him of what little peace of mind he'd built up. After crawling out of bed an unrested husk of a man and steeping in the shower, I'd given my next step ample thought however. I had come up with a course of action by which I could better observe—and hopefully nullify—whatever forces lurked within these walls, and now had to pitch it to them.

  “So, the night was mostly free of disturbances,” I lied. “There was a point when I thought I heard those voices you mentioned, though.”

  “You did?” he asked, sitting upright in his chair.

  I nodded. “It turns out that it was only your snoring.”

  Melissa chuckled. “I live with it every day!”

  “More seriously,” I continued, “I can't say yet whether there's anything supernatural to be dealt with here. In order for me to do a thorough investigation and to give the matter the attention it deserves, I'd like to stay here for a few more days.”

  “Sure,” replied Joseph. “We'd be happy to have you.”

  “Alone,” I added.

  Joseph peered at his wife, grasping for a response. “Uh... wait, you want to... stay here alone?”

  “That's right. Just for a few days. If there is something here, I think that's all I'll need. Furthermore,” I continued, “I want you three out of the house for awhile—for two reasons. Firstly, you need some distance from the situation. You've all been cooped up, have been giving this too much headspace. Spending a few days elsewhere will clear your minds, help make you reasonable again. The other reason has more to do with the nature of spirits. With so many people in the house it's difficult for me to differentiate between human and spiritual activity. If I'm alone, whatever souls might reside here will have no choice but to interact with me, and if I witness potentially supernatural phenomena, I won't be able to blame it on any of you.”

  “Sure,” said Melissa, smiling like she'd just sat on a tack. “But... where will we go while you do this?”

  “Anywhere you like, my dear. Find the best hotel in the city, or a resort of some kind, and I'll put you up there as long as necessary.”

  “What about my toys?” asked Megan, slurping down the last of her milk.

  I picked a few twenties from my wallet and slid them across the table to her with a wink. “I understand that this is quite an inconvenience for you, madam. Perhaps you could use this to buy a few new toys to enjoy in the meantime, yes?”

  “Uncle Marcel, that's not necessary!” said Joseph, looking ready to intercept the crisp bills from his daughter's clutches. “Maybe we can find someone in town—a friend—to stay with. I'll make some calls. I don't want you spending all of your money sending us to a hotel. I really appreciate the offer, but—”

  “If you appreciate it so much, why not prove it by taking me up on it, Joey?” I asked. “And for that matter, what else am I going to spend my money on, eh? Cigars? More whiskey? I'm an old man and I'm blessed to have more of the stuff than I know what to do with. If I can't spend it on the lot of you then it's no good. Pick your hotel—near or far—and I'll put you up in it as long as you like. I'll throw in funds for meals and entertainment. Travel, too, if necessary.”

  “But, uncle—”

  “Staying in a good hotel is quite the hardship, I know, but consider it the cost of science!” I joked, looking to Melissa. “Are there any hotels with indoor waterparks hereabouts? I bet Megan would enjoy that, wouldn't she? Perhaps they have a spa, too?”

  Melissa's opposition to my plan waned at the thought of a free mani-pedi. “Well, there's that resort in Auburn Hills,” she said, nudging Joseph's arm. “And that's only about a half-hour from here on the freeway...”

  “Oh, come on.” Joseph worked over his muffin for a time. “We don't need to do this. It'll be very expensive.”

  “You mentioned that you'll be working a temp job over this summer, till school starts again,” I said. “Would this interfere with your getting back and forth to work, Joey? I don't mind paying for cab fare or gas, if so.”

  “Well, actually...” Joseph hesitated. “I'm not set to start that job for another ten days, so technically, no, it wouldn't be a problem. But...”

  I smacked the table playfully. “It's settled! Melissa, give me the number for this resort and I'll make a reservation at once. You won't mind terribly if I put you up in, say, the presidential suite?”

  Melissa took hold of her phone and immediately began scrolling. “N-No, that'd be wonderful!”

  I took my empty bowl to the sink and gave it a rinse, and like a needy dog Joseph followed. “Uncle Marcel, I appreciate this, but you don't have to do something so over the top. I mean, put us up in a hotel, fine... But it doesn't have to be Disneyland!”

  “Would you prefer Disneyland?” was my rejoinder, and it was met by a squeal of excitement from the girl.

  “No! No! The resort is fine!” he snapped.

  “Tell me,” I asked him, arms crossed, “since school let out have the three of you gone on any kind of vacation?”

  Joseph shook his head. “No, the move got in the way. And we didn't really have a vacation fund, either.”

  “I thought so.” Eyeing Megan in my periphery, I gave Joseph's shoulder a squeeze. “Megan won't be a little girl forever. In fact, I guarantee—in less time than you think—you're going to look back on this summer and wish you could have done more. Pardon the cliché, but you won't get this time with your family back. You've just bought your first home. It should be one of the happiest times of your life. Instead, you've all been miserable. Let's turn that around, shall we?”

  “If you insist,” he conceded.

  “I do. On one condition, of course. Be sure to take a lot of pictures. Someday, when you're old as dirt like I am, those pictures will mean the world to you. An album full of family photos is the next best thing to a working time machine.”

  “All right,” he promised. “I'll do that.”

  I nudged him towards the living room. “Go on, then! You've all got some packing to do! I want you out of this house stat. It's soon to be a laboratory—authorized personnel only!”

  Reservations were made and bags were packed. I gave Joseph a good ribbing about the tacky Hawaiian print on his swim trunks, and stuffed a much protested check into his hand to cover all of their expenses. Before they piled into the family car and departed for Auburn Hills, I asked them for directions to the nearest high-end grocer, and then arranged for a cab to pick me up within the hour.

  889 Morgan Road was almost unbearably quiet without the family of three clogging up its halls. The silence was unwelcome, oppressive, and quite unlike the silence I'd known in my years as a semi-reclusive widower. I'm not sure I can articulate how it was different, but the singularity of its silence struck me most profoundly just as I saw Joseph and the others off.

  When I'd finished waving, I re-entered the house, closing the door behind me. Outside, there'd been birds chirping. I'd heard a wasp speed by. A lawnmower had roared from somewhere on the next street over, and from two houses down I'd heard the dribbling of a hose as someone washed thei
r car.

  Inside the house, the only sound that awaited me was that of my pulse.

  In closing the door, it was like I'd stepped into a thoroughly soundproofed space, and I'll admit that the shortage of sound was more than a little disorienting. Meandering through the rooms, taking stock of what I'd effectively made my prison for the next few days, even my steps did not make half the sonic impact I thought they should.

  I went up to my room and flipped through the leather journal, hoping that Constance had written me at some point in the morning.

  She hadn't.

  Taking up the pen, I wrote her a short note.

  Darling—I'm headed into town. I kicked Joseph and his family out. They're going to be staying in a hotel. It's just the two of us now. Well—the two of us and whoever or whatever else dwells herein. Please write soon.

  Usually, Constance only wrote after sunset. Now and then she'd manage to write during the daylight hours—an allowance from the norm which neither of us could explain—but her messages almost always turned up at night. For reasons unclear to the living, spirits simply hit their stride after dark. I supposed, in that sense, Constance was playing by the same set of rules as whatever else wandered this house.

  I was alerted to the presence of the cabbie by a honk from the driveway. I locked up the house with the key Joseph had left me and, climbing into the taxi, asked the driver to take me to the nearby natural grocer.

  His name was Larry, and the two of us talked a great deal as I went about my errand. Wearing a ragged Detroit Tiger's baseball cap, he discussed his previous fares and, at my prompting, suggested his favorite place in town for good seafood. The grocery store was just over five minutes away by car—a walkable distance had I been feeling less lazy—and I asked him to wait in the lot for me while I picked up some food.

  I filled a small cart with convenience foods—most of them healthy. I bought up ingredients for salad, as well as a few frozen entrees, tins of fish, a bit of fresh fruit and some prepackaged snacks. I also nabbed two bottles of cheap local wine, which I intended to enjoy when things around the house were slow. Carrying my bags out to the cab, Larry shuttled me back to Morgan Road in a jiffy.