The Haunted

Fifteen

Pam and her husband, Joe, were the first ones to arrive at the party. Claire greeted them warmly, accepted the expensive bottle of wine they brought, and took them on a quick tour of the house before returning them to the dining room and the food.

“This place is terrific,” Pam told her. “The kitchen is amazing! And I really like the openness. And the high ceilings.”

“Thank you.”

“Even your kids’ rooms look like something out of a magazine.”

Claire laughed. “Well, we made them clean up before packing them off to Grandma’s. Believe me, they don’t usually look like that. Especially James’s room.”

“It is a nice place, though,” Pam said. She punched Claire lightly on the arm. “Now aren’t you glad you did this?”

The doorbell rang.

“Ask me in two hours,” Claire told her.

Julian reached the door before she did and ushered in a pleasant-looking young man who had also brought a bottle of wine and whom Julian introduced as Cole Hubbard, one of their neighbors. It was his turn to give the tour, so Claire graciously accepted the gift and brought it to the kitchen, while Julian took the man upstairs, no doubt to show off his office.

Julian’s friend Rick was the next to arrive, and Claire forced herself to smile at him as he entered, bringing nothing. Rick was a printer, and Julian had met him years ago when he’d needed some new business cards. The two of them had hit it off for some inexplicable reason, though outwardly they would seem to have nothing in common. Jardine-born and -bred, Rick had never finished high school, let alone gone on to college, and his sole interest appeared to be beer, his favorite brands of which were advertised on the series of grimy, faded T-shirts that made up his wardrobe.

Claire had never liked Rick, and she knew that, as usual, he would end up drinking too much and railing against his ex, who’d moved to Las Cruces over three years ago. Declining to take him around their new house, she pointed him toward the food, and was saved from further conversation by the ringing of the doorbell. It was Julian’s other friend, Patrick, along with his wife, Kathleen. The two of them, both workers at the hospital, were the polar opposite of Rick, and she stood with them in the entryway for a few moments, talking and catching up and apologizing for not having them over sooner. It was getting too crowded to give tours, so she bade them explore to their heart’s content and answered the next ring of the doorbell, which turned out to be her friend Janet.

The floodgates opened after that, and for several minutes she did not even have a chance to close the door between arrivals. They’d decided not to invite family, only friends, and while she’d bristled at that at first, Claire was happy now that Julian had stuck to his guns. It was hard enough dealing with the disparate personalities of their respective circles without throwing relatives into the mix.

Julian had turned on some music, low and not overpowering—one of Brian Eno’s ambient records, she was pretty sure—and the party seemed to be going well. People were eating and drinking, talking and laughing, her friends from work getting to know the neighbors from her street, and though her natural instinct was to hang out with her closest friends, the ones like Janet whom she’d known forever, she made a concerted effort to mingle. There was a long-haul trucker, she discovered, a retired accountant, a veterinarian, a bank teller, a contractor. It was an eclectic group, their new neighbors, and Claire was glad she and Julian had decided to host this get-together. Two of the couples from down the block were just as unfamiliar with their other neighbors as she and Julian were, and they made a special effort to let the two of them know what a great idea this was and how much fun they were having.

After spending a few moments talking to Patrick and Kathleen about recent cutbacks at the hospital and an unseasonal uptick in flu cases, Claire excused herself and maneuvered her way into the dining room to refresh her drink and grab a handful of chips. She practically bumped heads with Julian, who had arrived at the table to snag a couple of taquitos.

“It’s going well,” she said.

He motioned toward the table. “Do you think we have enough food?”

“We have enough drinks. So if we run out of food, it’s your job to make sure everyone’s drunk enough that they don’t notice.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

In the kitchen, Rick and Cole were arguing politics. Loudly. Claire hadn’t noticed before, but now their voices were carrying. She nudged Julian, nodding toward the open doorway.

“It’s those damn pensions,” Rick was saying. “Public employee unions have taken this nation hostage. Our tax dollars are going to pay off the retirement of those bureaucrats.”

Cole shook his head. “Your dollars are going to pay off everyone’s retirement. Oil company CEOs? That’s where those extra pennies you pay at the pump go. Computer company pensions? That’s why you’re paying a hundred bucks for a word-processing program that cost fifty cents to mass-produce in China. You know, instead of pissing and moaning about how other people have it better than you and how their retirement systems should be as bad as yours, why don’t you insist that your retirement be as good as theirs? Instead of trying to drag everyone else down to your level, try to push yourself up to their level.”

“Don’t give me that commie crap.”

“Do you want to know why we’re really on the hook for those pensions? Because the stock market went south, and brokerage firms pawned off toxic assets to pension fund managers, promising that they were good investments, and everyone got screwed. The pension funds lost their money due to fraud and deception, and now taxpayers are on the hook for it. That’s why those executives and Wall Street types are so rich. They just take the money and let everyone else fight over the crumbs.”

“Good point,” Julian whispered.

“And, of course,” Cole continued, “they want to eliminate retirement systems and Social Security and have everyone gamble their retirement money on the stock market—which is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place.”

Rick’s face was getting red with anger. Sensing trouble, Claire dispatched Julian to defuse the situation. “Your friend,” she said. “You take care of him.”

She watched with more than a little admiration as he did just that, walking between the two men and deftly changing the subject to a mash-up YouTube video he’d recently seen featuring John Wayne, a supermodel and a condom ad. Seconds later, all three of them were laughing.

But the mood of the party seemed to have shifted, and Claire was not quite sure why. She turned back toward the living room. The light, friendly tone that had dominated the gathering until now was gone, replaced by an edgier, more competitive vibe. Even the background music seemed darker, although she knew that Julian had not changed CDs.

Refilling her wineglass for the umpteenth time, Felicia, the bank teller, asked about the upstairs—perfunctorily, Claire thought—and, putting a smile on her face, Claire took her up to see the kids’ bedrooms and Julian’s office. An older man she didn’t know was standing in James’s room, staring intently at the boy’s bed in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable. She wanted to order him out of her son’s room and out of her house, but she forced herself to be polite and give the guy the benefit of the doubt, and she asked pointedly, “May I help you?”

“No,” he said in a voice that implied he was offended by her very presence. He turned and, without another word, walked past her and Felicia, out of the room, down the hall and down the stairs.

“What the hell … ?” Claire said.

Felicia shrugged noncommittally, and Claire quickly pointed to and identified each of the rooms before ushering the other woman back downstairs.

She searched for the man unsuccessfully in the hall, dining room and living room. The front door was wide-open, and she peered outside before closing it, seeing the back of the man’s jacket as he headed down the sidewalk. Who was he? she wondered. Was he one of their neighbors? Had he even been invited to the party or had he just crashed? She considered hurrying after him, confronting him, but he was already gone and it was night, and the idea of meeting up with him in the dark frightened her.

She closed the door, locking it so no one from outside could come in.

Claire looked for Julian, but he was nowhere to be found. In fact, much of the party had moved outside, to the backyard, and she walked through the kitchen and out the open door to the patio, hoping to find him somewhere in the crowd. Quite a few people were out here, but most of them were standing around silently or speaking desultorily in low, enervated voices. One man she didn’t recognize was sitting on the ground, head between his knees as though he were about to throw up, atop the bare mound of dirt where James had covered up his hole. In the garage, by contrast, the lights were on, and through the dirty window she saw a couple energetically dancing, though the music from the house was not audible out here. From the alley, she could hear the sound of someone rooting around in their garbage cans.

“Julian!” she called out, but there was no answer. None of the people in the backyard even bothered to look over at her.

Where was he?

Claire was about to walk over to the garage, just in case he was in there with the dancers, when a tap on the shoulder caused her to turn around.

It was Janet.

“Do you know what’s going on in there?” Janet motioned toward the kitchen doorway.

Claire was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Come here,” her friend said, grabbing her hand. Janet led her back into the house and through the kitchen, stopping before the open doorway that led to the basement. From downstairs came a series of rough male grunts accompanied by a woman’s high-pitched cries.

“I don’t know who they are, but it’s been going on for a while,” Janet whispered. “That guy lasts,” she added. “I’m getting sore just listening to him.”

“That is not right,” Claire said angrily. “That’s where we store our stuff. The kids’ toys are down there.” The lights in the basement were off, but she turned them on with the wall switch, and, fists clenched, stomped down the steps.

It was Pam. And her husband, Joe.

Only they weren’t together.

She was on top of a box, skirt hiked up, panties down, using one of Megan’s old Barbies to pleasure herself, inserting the doll’s head, then pulling it out, inserting it again, pulling it out. Much of the doll’s hair had been worn away, and its clothes were ragged, torn. The flesh-colored plastic looked shiny in the overhead light.

He had pushed aside some stuffed Hefty bags and cardboard boxes and cleared a space in the corner (the corner!), where he was standing with his pants and underwear around his ankles, grunting loudly as he thrust into what appeared to be a Christmas decoration.

“What the hell are you doing?” Claire screamed.

There was a sudden cessation of movement. Both of them blinked at her dumbly, almost as though awakening from a trance; then they grabbed and pulled on their clothes, embarrassed. No, more than embarrassed. Ashamed. Pam met her eyes for a brief second, and what Claire saw there was confusion and humiliation. It was as though she’d been completely unaware of what she’d been doing and had only now realized it.

But that did not excuse her and her husband’s actions. Claire looked disgustedly at the shiny, worn-out Barbie in Pam’s hand, at the fouled Christmas decoration Joe had dropped. “Get out of here!” she ordered.

She marched back up to the kitchen and stepped to the side of the door to let them pass. Janet, standing opposite her, looked shocked by what had happened down there, but, unsettlingly, also intrigued. Claire glanced away, not wanting to meet her gaze.

Pam and Joe emerged moments later, hurrying past without looking at either of them, and Claire followed the couple into the living room, watching as they rushed out toward the street and their car, slamming the front door behind them. Julian had appeared from somewhere and was sidling next to her, drink in hand. “What was that all about?”

She wanted to tell him, but not here, not now, so she shrugged it off and asked him where he’d been.

“Upstairs.” He grinned. “Showing off. I convinced Cole to check out my record collection. He was suitably impressed.”

Claire looked around. The house suddenly seemed much more crowded, and she saw several people who had been in the backyard only moments before. Her first thought was that something had happened out there, something that had chased them all inside, but though the men and women around her seemed subdued, they appeared neither frightened nor upset, and she supposed it was possible that they had come in because they were looking for food or drink, or perhaps preparing to leave.

The lights flickered.

Claire froze, half expecting the electricity to go off. It was rare to have a blackout unless there was a thunderstorm or a major wind, but it was not unheard-of, and she thought with resignation that this would probably be an appropriate ending for their party, which seemed to be heading rapidly and steadily downhill.

The lights continued to flicker, making the living room seem as though it were being lit by candles. Glancing through the front window, Claire saw that none of the houses across the street appeared to be affected.

Of course not.

“Do you think it’s—” she started to ask Julian, but her question was interrupted by a loud roar from the rear of the house, a sudden harsh, lionlike sound that made her jump and caused Julian to spill his drink.

“What the hell was that?” he asked. He didn’t sound frightened, but she noticed that he wasn’t going back there to investigate, either. Everyone, in fact, had frozen, as though waiting to see what would happen next.

The sound came again, only lower this time, and halfway through, it began fading away until it dwindled down to nothing.

Wafting in from the rear of the house was a strong scent of burned toast.

Almost as one, the guests moved to the left in order to see down the hallway, the area from whence the noise and the smell seemed to have come. They were looking at one another, talking quietly, wondering what was going on. Claire and Julian shifted over, too.

A tall man was shuffling down the hall.

They all grew quiet.

The man was dressed in heavy clothing, inappropriate for the weather, and he moved slowly, as though his legs did not work properly. Claire tried desperately to figure out who he was, but it was hard to see his face because the hallway was so dark. Too dark, she thought, and she realized that once again something was wrong with the lights, although this time they were merely dim, not flickering.

The shambling figure moved slowly toward the living room.

Claire squinted into the gloom, but his features grew no clearer to her. It was as though she needed glasses, and while he continued to come nearer, his face never emerged fully enough from the shadows for him to become recognizable. His clothes were sharply defined, however, and she thought there was something familiar about them, although she could not immediately say what.

Gasps greeted his appearance as the man shuffled into the living room.

Now he could be seen. People were moving away, backing up. It was a face that should have remained in darkness. Dark, sunken eyes revealed no whites. A flattened nose seemed lost amid the swollen folds of mottled flesh that made up the forehead, cheeks and chin. The mouth, too large, was grinning, teeth inappropriately bright. Behind her, the front door opened, then closed as someone left.

Escaped.

The man stopped. She recognized him now. She still had no idea where she had seen those clothes before, but that grinning mouth was unmistakable. This was the man from her nightmare, the man from the basement.

Someone else left the house.

Claire stared in horror. That grinning mouth was opening impossibly wide, wider than the muscles of his face should have been able to stretch. From it issued that horrifying roar, only, this close, the volume was practically unbearable.

The lights went out, and the house was thrown into darkness. Someone screamed. Seconds later, the lights came on again and the figure was gone. Everyone was looking around frantically, afraid he might suddenly pop up right behind them, but there was no sign of the man.

Cole was the first one to speak. He was close by, and he turned to Julian. “That’s the man who died in your house.”

Claire had no idea what he was referring to, but she knew he was saying that the man was a ghost, and she looked at Julian. “See?” she said. “What did I tell you?” She was breathing heavily, as though she’d just run up several flights of stairs. She could hear the amplified sound of her crazy-pumping heart in her ears.

The party was breaking up. People were leaving without saying good-bye, and the few who did stop to speak with them made no mention of what had happened, simply offered perfunctory congratulations before they quickly departed, like guests ashamed of a drunken host’s behavior. In moments, the house was all but empty.

Rick, surprisingly, was the only one with an honest reaction. He was the last to leave, and he shook his head as he looked back toward the hall. “What the hell was that?” he said.

Claire and Julian shrugged helplessly.

“That was a fuckin’ ghost, man. We all saw it.”

It felt good to hear the word spoken, even if it was by Rick.

“Shit! Did anyone get a picture? I didn’t even think about it. I shoulda whipped out my phone. Did anybody else take one?”

“I don’t know,” Julian admitted.

“People always wonder why those UFO photos are always grainy and shit, why no one ever gets a good picture of Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster or whatever. It’s because when it’s happening, when it’s going down, you don’t think of stuff like that. You’re too scared to even move.”

“You’re right,” Claire told him.

“But we were here,” Rick said. “We saw it. All of us. So don’t go second-guessing yourself tomorrow, telling yourself you imagined it or it didn’t really happen. It happened. I’m a witness. That was no figment of your imagination. That was a ghost. And there were a good dozen or so people who stood here and watched the whole thing.”

“He’s right.”

Surprised, Rick turned to see who had spoken. Cole Hubbard was standing on the stoop behind him, and Claire wondered whether he had gone and come back or had been there the entire time. She could not recall seeing him leave.

“That was a ghost,” Cole said. “And we all saw it.” He looked from Julian to Claire. “I can’t say I’m all that surprised, and probably most of the other neighbors aren’t, either. In fact, that might even be the reason some of them came.” He motioned toward the two houses on either side of theirs. “Or didn’t come.”

“What are you talking about?” Rick said.

“A lot of old neighborhoods have a ‘haunted’ house. Well, this is ours.”

“I told you.” Claire faced Julian. “I told you.”

“You want my advice?” Cole said. “Sell the house. Sell it now before the word spreads. Get out while you can.”