The Haunted

She’d been hoping everything would be back to normal and they could all return and live happily under one roof. Her disappointment was overwhelming, and it was all she could do not to cry in frustration. But fear overpowered disappointment, and Megan realized that even with the light on, the living room still seemed dark. She had no desire to go deeper into the house, to go upstairs or down the hall or into the kitchen. She wanted only to get out of here, and was about to tell Zoe that they should do just that, when the lights went on in the dining room. And then the kitchen.

“Megan?” Zoe said nervously.

Upstairs, something heavy fell to the floor, shaking the whole house.

“Megan?”

The danger was palpable. She wasn’t supposed to be here and would get in trouble for coming over, especially when no one was home, but that didn’t matter. She was worried for her dad, and she immediately sent Zoe outside while she wrote her dad a quick note, using a pen and the back of an envelope she found in a pile of mail on the coffee table:

Dad,

Zoe and I stopped by while you were gone. Don’t tell Mom.

We heard a loud noise upstairs and the lights came on by themselves.

You need to get out of here. You can’t stay. It’s dangerous. Please!

I’ll call you when I get back to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Leave your cell on. Don’t stay here, Dad.

Please! I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m scared. I love you.

—Megan

She left it where he would be sure to see it, leaning the envelope against the TV screen in the living room.

There was another loud noise from upstairs, a thump, followed by a high-pitched whistle that could have been a teakettle, could have been a bird, but was undoubtedly something else.

She hurried outside, closing and locking the door behind her, then looked around for Zoe. Her friend was nowhere to be seen, and, worried, Megan called her name. “Zoe!”

There was an answer from the backyard, and it was with a feeling of dread that Megan walked up the driveway and around the side of the house. It had been wrong to come here, and she wished now that she had just listened to her parents and stayed away. Something could happen, and if it did, no one knew where she was.

Zoe was standing by the back fence, by the gate that led out to the alley. “Your yard’s dead,” Zoe said, motioning in front of her. “Don’t you guys ever water it? All your plants …”

“They died overnight. We don’t know what happened.” She was about to say that it was probably some disease, but she decided not to lie. She wanted Zoe to know what was going on, wanted someone besides her family to be a witness.

Her friend seemed to sense that it was something serious and significant, and it was with a solemn expression that she walked over the dead grass to meet Megan.

Megan told all. Well, not all. There wasn’t time for that. She wanted to get out of the backyard and away from the house as quickly as possible, so she didn’t go into too much detail. But she told Zoe that the house was haunted and hit the highlights, including the guy who’d committed suicide in their garage. Zoe had been frightened enough by the Ouija board and the sleepover that she didn’t require a lot of convincing, and when Megan said that she’d tell her the whole story later but that right now they needed to get out of there, Zoe didn’t argue.

She did, however, pause. “Wait. I hear music. Maybe your dad’s home.”

Megan heard it, too. It was coming from the house, and it sounded like one of her dad’s records. Joe Jackson? Elvis Costello? Graham Parker? Someone like that, someone he’d taught her about. But her dad wasn’t home, and there was no way—no logical way—that his stereo could have been turned on. She listened carefully, and the lilting tune wafting from the open upstairs window of her dad’s office gave her chills. She recognized it now. Joe Jackson. “It’s Different for Girls.”

Was that some sort of message?

The music disappeared.

The open upstairs window? Whenever her dad left the house, he always made sure all doors and windows were closed and locked. She looked up, sensing movement behind the screen. A figure was standing there, looking down at them. It was too dark to see any details, but she could make out a backward yellow baseball cap.

It was the man who’d killed himself in their garage.

Screaming, Megan ran down the driveway toward the street. Zoe was screaming right behind her, and she grabbed the handlebars of the bike, kicked up the kickstand, leaped onto the seat and started pedaling. Megan kept running. Neither of them slowed down until they reached the park.

Zoe reached the park first, and was already off her bike, walking it, when Megan caught up.

“Told you,” Megan said, breathing heavily.

Zoe, trying to catch her breath, just nodded.