The Spite House, page 6
“Val grunted and staggered, and I could tell something was really wrong, and that frightened me. Her strength frightened me. Not knowing why she wouldn’t answer me or look at me frightened me. And the cold. That horrible, unnatural cold. But the worst came when Val shouted at whatever she was looking at, ‘You can’t have her! You can’t have her!’” Eunice shouted the words like she needed to be heard a block away. Her interviewees all flinched. Eunice saw that even Lafonda, who had to know this moment was coming, shuddered a little, although that might have been due to the shrillness of Eunice’s voice.
“I can’t do it justice,” Eunice said. “Think of a voice heavier and heartier than mine, and much angrier. I’ve had cause to be angry in my life, but I’ve never sounded like she did. Never that frantic, either. She was using her last breaths on those screams. It was an effort just to get the words out, I could tell, much less to have them come out so forcefully. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears, but at the same time like she could kill an army with her bare hands if she had to. Or she’d at least give it an honest try.
“Then the cold started to move. It closed in like it knew it had us trapped. I heard this raspy, growling sound. Low and threatening. I heard it all around us, heard it through my skin as much as in my ears. Val screamed one more time and pushed me down so hard my chin hit the ground, but I didn’t feel any pain at the time. I was too cold to feel pain, and I was distracted. Val’s voice was trailing off. Or falling off, more appropriately. Falling away, following her down the hillside. The cold followed her too, and the rasping voices that came with it. It all went over the edge, still lingering with me for a second, but soon everything was quiet again, and the sunlight was warming me, and the world seemed like it had gone back to normal.
“I didn’t want to look back, because I knew what I would see if I did, so I just stayed there on my hands and knees. I thought of my scraped chin and the sun being on me, and I tried to think of Aunt Val being right behind me, about to put a hand on my shoulder, but gentler this time. Back to being herself. She’d ask me if I was okay, check on my scrape, tell me not to cry, that I was tougher than a little ol’ scratch on the chin, and everything would be normal again. She wouldn’t have to explain herself to me. I wouldn’t care what had caused her to act that way, I’d only care that she was alive and herself again. All I wanted was for the truth to be a lie, because the truth was that she was at the bottom of that rocky hillside.
“She wasn’t shouting any instructions up at me, so how could I know what to do to help her? That’s if she was even alive, and if she was, how much longer could she hold on? I had to get someone to help her. I had to go fast. I ran as hard as I could and I was a lot less careful around some ledges and declines than I’d ever been before, and rolled my ankle pretty bad once, but I could be tougher than a little ol’ sprained ankle for my aunt’s sake. When I got home, I went to my mom and dad, who were with my uncle and a few older cousins, and I told them Aunt Val had fallen.
“They had to bring me along for the rescue so I could show them where Aunt Val went over, but when we got there, they didn’t let me look past the edge. My mother took me away even though I was shouting at her to let me see if Val was okay. I knew she wasn’t. Something had gone wrong with her before she’d gone over, and then she’d fallen, and now they weren’t telling me if she was okay or not. All of that let me know everything there was to know. But I still wanted to see her. She must have hit those rocks pretty bad because her funeral was closed-casket. Besides pictures, the last time I saw her face was when she was yelling at something only she could see.
“A few days after we buried Aunt Val, my mother came to my room. I was crying again, even though I knew Aunt Val would want me to be tougher than that, which just made me sadder. Anyway, my mother sat at the foot of my bed, patted my legs for a while, then told me she had an important question, and that it was very important for me to be honest with her. She asked me if I’d felt anything strange while Val was having her heart attack, before she’d fallen. I told her about the cold, which I hadn’t mentioned before because I thought everyone would think I was making it up, and because it didn’t seem all that important. But my mother nodded when I told her about it, and I knew she believed me. Then she took a big breath, straightened her posture, and told me that my beloved aunt was the latest victim of a family curse that stretched back to the nineteenth century. She’d hoped to spare me that news until I was older, but I was going to find out sooner rather than later, anyway. Val wasn’t my only relative to die when I was young, and I’ve been living with that over my head since I was a little girl. So you can probably imagine why I’m more compelled than just curious to uncover certain mysteries of the hereafter. I have quite a bit at stake. I’d rather pass more peacefully than Val, and I’d much rather find out ahead of time if dying is where the agony ends or just begins. Now, be honest, do you think yourselves up to the task of helping me make this discovery?”
The ghost hunters stared at Eunice a moment, again unsure if she actually wanted them to answer, then jumped when they heard a knock behind them. They turned to see Dana in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Dana said, “but your one o’clock is already here, Mrs. Houghton. Just wanted to be sure you knew.”
“Oh. Good on them getting here so early,” Eunice said. “Thank you, Dana. We’re done here anyway.”
She motioned for the interviewees to follow Dana out of the room. They hesitated, and she could tell they wanted her to finish her story. She told them, “Thank you for listening. I appreciate your courtesy. If we’re interested, you’ll hear from us. Have a pleasant rest of your day.”
“Right this way, please,” Dana said. Then the four of them stood and followed Dana, shuffling out in silence as though they had just received terrible news and were still processing it. After they were gone, Lafonda approached and said, “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad. My blood was up for a moment.”
“I saw.”
“You could read my watch from way over there?”
“I could read your face.”
“Oh? What’s it saying now?”
“‘Damn Lafonda and her perceptiveness. I know that’s a big part of why I hired her, but I kind of hate how good she is.’”
Eunice laughed, then said, “Would you mind helping Dana with our next group. I believe it’s the father with his two girls.”
“Oh, right.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with keeping the girls occupied? It shouldn’t take very long, but I can ask Dana to trade places with you, if you like.”
“No, no,” Lafonda said. “She’s probably already mad I let you go so long with this last one. Anyway, I already wear a hundred other hats in this house. I don’t think a little babysitting will kill me.”
“As always, I appreciate your efforts, Miss Lafonda.”
“And as always, I appreciate my healthy salary, Miss Eunice.”
They shared a small, quiet laugh, Eunice knowing better than anyone how her family home’s acoustics could carry a sound even all the way down the stairs and up to the front door. She didn’t want Dana to hear the two of them joking any more than Lafonda wanted that. It was liable to put Dana in a mood and they would have to meet after this last interview to discuss next steps. Eunice did not want to spend any time this afternoon listening to Dana sigh, suck her teeth, and answer any request for her opinion with, “It’s really your decision, Eunice.”
Before she left, Lafonda said, “I’m changing the routine this evening. Just warning you now—”
“Don’t you dare,” Eunice said.
“—so I don’t have to hear you complain later. Well, not as much.”
“I want to hit the bag. I’ve been looking forward to it. I need to hit the bag.”
“You need to relax.”
“That does help me relax.”
“Not as much as the yoga. We have stats on that, you know. The lady who pays me runs a whole big company built around that kind of thing.”
Eunice frowned. “We’ll talk about this later, but I’m boxing tonight.”
Lafonda waved as she exited the office. Eunice went behind her desk, put on her glasses, and woke up her laptop—docked to large dual monitors—to check her notes for the next interview. She worked almost as hard on remaining computer literate these days as she did on remaining as fit as feasible, in no small part because of situations like this. She’d forgotten the name of the person she was to meet with. There it was on the screen, though, in her business notes app. Eric Ross. Beneath his name, a few things about him she’d documented while quietly listening in on his prescreening call with Dana.
2 daughters—did not volunteer names.
From “northeast area.” When pressed, claimed from “near Philadelphia.” No accent?
Why is he living out of motels with his girls? He did not say. Messaged Dana not to ask. Don’t want to scare him off.
Sounds sincere. Clearly hiding something. Might be running from something. Fugitive? Will have Dana check background to be sure it’s nothing serious. Otherwise, this could make him more likely to stay. Could be an ideal candidate. Should have thought of someone like this before.
Question: Should I tell him what happened to Jane and Max? Leaning toward yes, for the sake of his girls. We’ll see how I feel in the moment.
She reread the last lines a few more times, determining how she felt now that the moment was here.
CHAPTER 7
Eric
It surprised him that there was no gate or guard in place to keep out trespassers. He followed the directions Dana gave him yesterday after retracing his path back from the site of the spite house to the sign that welcomed people to Degener. From there he headed north, toward the even more scenic and less densely populated part of town. After passing a couple of ranches, the road rounded into a large hollow where a monstrous mansion stood in the middle of several lush acres.
“Wow, it’s like a castle,” Stacy said. Eric jumped a little at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t realized she had woken up.
“Yeah, it is,” Dess said to her sister.
Eunice Houghton’s estate was almost overstuffed with natural niceties and man-made outdoor amenities. After turning onto a long cobblestone driveway that looked too nice to be driven on, Eric passed large trees that must have been hundreds of years old. There were multiple benches and picnic tables, isolated gardens, two small ponds (both of which featured a walkway leading to an island gazebo), an atrium, and an encompassing trail that looked to be made of the same synthetic material Dess would run on at her track meets.
The trail created an informal border that marked the end of the more “civilized” section of the Houghton Estate. Beyond it on three sides lay the wilds. Clustered trees, tall grasses, small hills, and the sounds of the animals and insects that occupied that land. Eric did not know where Miss Houghton’s property truly ended, but believed you could lose yourself for at least half a day finding your way out of the surrounding woods after walking in.
He tried to imagine owning even a tenth of this property. The privacy it could afford them. He imagined that people who lived in such places did so specifically to have some space, enjoy some seclusion.
A black-haired woman in a dress suit stood a few feet from the steps leading to the mansion’s front entrance. He parked the car several feet away from her, and by the time he and the girls walked close enough to be within comfortable speaking distance, the first woman was joined by a black woman dressed more like she was about to run a few errands. The first woman extended her hand and said, “Welcome, Mr. Ross. I’m Dana. We spoke yesterday. This is Lafonda, my colleague.”
Eric shook hands and introduced his daughters. “This is Odessa, and this is Stacy.”
Lafonda said, “Well, young ladies, it’s my pleasure to meet you. You’re going to hang out with me for a bit while your dad talks to my boss, if that’s cool.”
“Sounds good,” Dess said.
“Do you live here?” Stacy said.
“I do,” Lafonda said. “Come on. I’ll show you around some.”
Eric and his girls followed Dana and Lafonda into the house, first passing through a foyer that was larger than many of the motel rooms they’d stayed in, then parting ways at the crest in the marbled floor of the main hall. Lafonda said to Eric, “If you need me, have Miss Eunice page me,” then took the girls with her to the right, toward what appeared to be a huge sunroom.
Dana said, “This way, please, she’s waiting for you in her office,” then escorted him up the hall’s staircase, which reminded Eric of the stairs in the film Titanic. Midway up the stairs he started to feel dizzy. This place was too large to be thought of as anyone’s home. The house back in Maryland—which Tab had convinced him was the one, even though he’d been a little unsure due to its price tag—had been more than enough for his family. Four bedrooms, a decent little office, a dining room and breakfast nook, a den and living room. Very nice, and it could fit in Eunice Houghton’s home at least ten times over.
“You live here, too?” he said to Dana, staring up at the ceiling that seemed closer to the clouds than the dirt.
“No, my husband and I live closer to the town proper,” Dana said. “Puts me closer to the plant and campus for work. I go in just about every day so Eunice doesn’t have to. I’m presuming you’ve done some homework about her.”
“What makes you think that?” he said, still trying to take in the mansion’s sprawling three stories from a vantage point that barely let him process one.
“You sounded smart on the phone. Smart people do homework.”
He looked at her, tried to gauge whether this was a continuation of the prescreening. “I did a little.”
“Good.” At the top of the stairs they went down the left hallway, and to Eric the mansion increasingly became more of a museum. The halls were wide enough to bring a tour group through, eleven or twelve feet tall, he couldn’t quite tell, and lined with impressive art pieces. Paintings primarily, with a few engravings and large photographs—some portraits, some candids—spread throughout. One at the end of the hall captured a woman with a smile big enough for two. She looked to be about a second away from laughing, and Eric almost expected her to come alive within the frame and do just that.
“Right here,” Dana said, stopping in front of a closed door. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m pulling for you. The others that have come through, I haven’t been a fan. You? You’re not claiming to be some amateur expert in an unscientific field. At least, I don’t think so. You’ve got that going for you.”
“So don’t be an expert,” he said. “Got it.”
Dana’s smile changed, like she might be impressed but also a bit wary. “I’m not giving you pointers, just pointing something out. There’s a difference.”
“I agree.”
“Just be yourself.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The smile shifted again, in which direction he couldn’t tell. You’re getting cute, he thought. Don’t blow this before you even get to it, for God’s sake.
Dana opened the door, brought him in, introduced him to Eunice. The older woman got up from her desk, and the thing that struck Eric most about her was her posture. She was in no way bent or stooped, and didn’t appear to be trying hard—if at all—to stand so erect.
“Mr. Ross, please have a seat,” Eunice said.
Dana told him, “Good luck,” then left him alone with the rich woman who owned a strange house she believed to be haunted, and lived in a mansion that would make kings envious. His girls were elsewhere in this house, in the care of someone he’d just met. It occurred to him that all of this should have made him more anxious or suspicious, but the past year and a half had numbed him somewhat. The immensity of the manor was something else, something new, but the rest of it, the need to have some measure of faith in strangers if he had any chance of earning some money, finding some shelter, he’d grown accustomed to that.
Eunice’s gray eyes were closer to the color of steel than storms. She had them open wide, like she was looking for more of him than was there. “I hope you found us without any trouble.”
“I did,” he said.
“Good. Unfortunately, that’s all the small talk I have for you. It’s been quite the day, and I think I’ve used up about all the charm I can muster. I hope you understand.”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Good. Good. Then, to begin with, I must ask what’s brought you to where you are? Not the physical space you’re in, but the general condition of your life. My first impression of you, based on appearances, is that you don’t come across as a neglectful or irresponsible man. But here you are, living out of a motel and desperate for stable employment. That’s questionable enough on its own, but with one school-aged child and another who’s barely an adult … How on earth did you get here?”
Despite saying he was fine with skipping small talk, Eric had counted on using it to warm Eunice up to him. Make it evident that he was a decent, reliable person, regardless of his circumstances. Then, he figured, he’d have some leeway to be vague about what they had left behind and why. Now a small lie might be in order. He took a breath, not wanting to get started before his brain had enough of a head start to keep him from stammering.
“Back home, back in Philadelphia, there was a situation. Something to do with family. We had to get away. Nothing criminal, but, well, there were elements involved that didn’t have my kids’ best interest at heart. There were dangers involved in staying home. I wish I could tell you more—”
