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I know that name. It’s hard to forget the man who wrote the article that changed the course of your family’s life.
“He still writes for theBartleby Gazette?”
“He does. Only now he’s the owner, editor, and sole reporter. I have a feeling you’ll be hearing from him the moment he learns you’re back here.”
“Is there anything else you can remember from that night?” I say. “Anything you think I should know?”
“I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got.” Chief Alcott grabs her hat. “Sometimes, though, I think about that night. How your dad looked. How all of you looked. You know that phrase? ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost’? That applied to all three of you. And from time to time I wonder if there’s a kernel of truth to that book of his.”
My hands go numb with surprise, forcing me to set my mug on the table. “You think Baneberry Hall is really haunted?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she says. “I don’t know what went on in this house that night. But whatever it was, it scared the shit out of you.”
With that, Chief Alcott takes her leave. I walk her to the door and lock it behind her. Between Elsa Ditmer’s surprise appearance and hearing thatHouse of Horrorsfanatics had actually gotten inside, it seems like a good idea.
Alone again, I resume the tour that had been so suddenly interrupted. I notice something strange as soon as I return to the parlor. The winglike doors in the top half of the secretary desk are closed, even though I’m almost certain I left them open.
But that’s not the only thing that’s weird.
The letter opener—the one with William Garson’s initials that I’d lain atop the desk—is now gone.
JUNE 27
Day 2
Our first full day at Baneberry Hall began bright and early, mostly because none of us slept well the night before. I chalked it up to being in a new place with its own set of night noises. The clicking of the ceiling fan. The eerie scratching of a tree branch against the bedroom window. An endless chorus of shifts and creaks as a summer storm rocked the house.
I even heard noises in my dreams. Strange ones that seemed to be coming from both above and below. I dreamed of doors slamming shut, drawers being yanked opened, cupboards closing and opening and closing again. I knew they were dreams because every time I woke up, certain there was an intruder in the house, the noises would end.
Maggie had them, too, although I suspect it was more her imagination than actual dreams. She entered our room a little past midnight, clutching her pillow as though it were a beloved teddy bear.
“I heard something,” she said.
“So did I, sweetie,” I said. “It’s just the house. Remember how Itold you the apartment sings a song at night? This house does, too. It’s just a different song than the one we’re used to.”
“I don’t like this song,” Maggie said. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
Jess and I had already discussed the likely possibility that Maggie wouldn’t want to sleep in her room. She was young and unaccustomed to change.
“We’ll allow one night in our bed,” Jess had said. “I know it sounds a little harsh, but she’ll need to learn to sleep in her own room.”
Since Jess was sound asleep—my wife could sleep through an earthquake and an alien invasion happening at the same time—the decision was mine. Tonight would be the night.
“Sure you can,” I said. “But just for tonight. Tomorrow you’ve got to stay in your own room.”
Maggie snuggled in next to me, and I tried once more to sleep. But the dreams returned. All those noises. I couldn’t tell where they were coming from. And they’d always be gone when I woke.
The only instance when the noise seemed to be more than a dream happened just as dawn was beginning to break. I was fast asleep when I heard it.
Thud.
It came from the floor above. So loud that the ceiling shook. And forceful. Like something heavy hitting the floor.
Jolted from sleep, I sat up, gasping. I cocked my head, my ear aimed at the ceiling, listening for any additional sounds. All was silent. It had been a dream after all, just like the others.
Just to make sure, I looked to Maggie and Jess, wondering if they, too, had heard it. Both were still fast asleep, Jess curled around our daughter, their hair intertwined.
I looked at the clock. It was 4:54 a.m.