Page 39 of How to Fake a Haunting

The first thing I processed upon returning to the house was the lights.

Every single light, from porch sconces to foyer fixtures, from floor lamps in windows to floodlights over the garage, was burning, blazing, though it was only early evening.

The second thing I comprehended was what these lights meant, the veritable gut punch of a realization that Callum had indeed returned.

One night? I thought desperately. That’s all Adelaide’s and my efforts got us? Callum stayed away a single night?

I parked in the drive and walked to the door with my bag over one shoulder, cocking my head to better discern what I was hearing.

At first, I thought there were so many lights on that the place was actually buzzing.

Then I realized there was music playing, so loud I was hearing it as a vibration, a rattling of appliances against hardwood and doors in their frames.

I walked inside, resisting the urge to bring my hands to my ears.

“Callum?” I yelled. No answer. “Callum! Where are you? What the hell is this music?” It wasn’t the twangy, vertiginous song that had played before, but some sort of death metal, and it was deafening.

I ran to the speaker in the kitchen and manually jabbed at its buttons to lower the volume.

The silence that followed throbbed in its stillness.

A dirty balled-up sweatshirt lay on the floor in the corner. A foul smell reached my nostrils, and upon peeking into the downstairs bathroom, I saw that Cal had neglected to flush the toilet. “Gross,” I muttered, but it wasn’t just gross, it was disconcerting.

I returned to the kitchen and set my bag containing the Prince Rupert’s drop on the island—beside a sink of food-encrusted dishes—and listened, but heard nothing to indicate Callum’s location in the house.

No way he could have slept through that noise; maybe he was passed out, had gotten drunker than usual.

I listened again, a memory from the day Adelaide and I had first gone into the attic coming to me, of looking up at the trapdoor in Bea’s closet and having the distinct sense of not being myself.

I had that feeling now, a mix of disassociation and déjà vu.

Something wasn’t right in the house, some quality to the air, an energy of foreboding.

It wasn’t just the neglected sink or excessive light or absence of sound; my disquiet ran deeper.

It was like the house was holding its breath.

Like I’d come in on it in the middle of something and it wasn’t happy to have been disturbed.

Still, there was only one thing to do, and I set out to find Callum, flipping lights off as I went.

As I reached for the switch in the living room, the smart speaker exploded into blaring, raucous sound:

Open your eyes . . . See what’s right in front of you.

There are ways to see what’s hidden in the dark . . .

Dread pooled in my stomach like oil slick.

That song . . . why did I keep hearing that fucking song?

Then, without warning, the kitchen fell away, replaced by walls the color of ancient, patinaed marble, and I remembered where I was when I heard it, the exchange, the instructions.

“Do you need me to repeat anything?” the woman had asked.

Closer . . . Let me whisper in your ear, the song had teased from the overhead speakers, as it teased me now.

“No,” I’d responded, but I’d been distracted, had wanted to shoo the song away from my ears like a swarm of flies.

“No, that’s all right. I understand what I’m supposed to do. ”

I blinked, shaking the memory loose, my body thrumming with the emotion associated with it.

This time I didn’t bother with the volume button but yanked the cord from its side, as Callum had done the night before.

Once again, the house was plunged into silence.

No, not silence. A thump, on my right. From the playroom.

I walked to the French doors, pulled them open, and saw it immediately.

The world tilted on its axis, and a lump of terror welled in my throat.

The window was open, the screen pushed out, and sitting on the sill, posable arms folded in front of it as if it were praying, was the chestnut-furred, pink-pawed teddy bear.

Again, a long howl filled every inch of my brain.

Had one of the bears gotten left behind last night?

Fallen out of Adelaide’s bag, and Callum had stuck it here?

Had Adelaide come back and left the bear herself?

Or given it to Todd to do the same? I stepped into the room, brain whirring with possible scenarios, but as I did, something crinkled beneath my sneaker.

I looked down and froze. It was a piece of folded-up blue stationery, lying two feet or so in front of the bear.

The blackmailer—Todd, I thought vehemently, for even Adelaide had said she thought he could be behind it—must have placed the bear and the note on the windowsill, and the note had come loose and fallen to the floor.

I picked it up and unfolded it, my fingers shaking as I read:

I’ve got some questions for you, Lainey: Does Callum know where you went on Nav 11? Does he know you decided to play God? Did you take his feelings into account when you made a decision from which there was no coming back?

Does he know what’s buried in the backyard?

I was shaking so hard I could barely read it a second time.

It was obvious, now, that this wasn’t about the haunting.

With the first note, I couldn’t be sure, but this one left no room for doubt.

The handwriting was terrible, and someone might have had a hard time making out whether the date read “May” or “Nov.” But I didn’t need to decipher the handwriting.

I knew which date the blackmailer was referring to.

Todd knew my secret, my only real secret. The thing I kept not only from Callum, but from myself. How the hell had he found out?

I wanted to feel anger, to burn with white-hot rage at the idea of Todd prowling around my house, of knowing something he couldn’t possibly know. Or shouldn’t know. But all I could feel was a wave of fear that spread like ice over my muscles, leaving me trembling and numb.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered. The bear stared crookedly from its post. “This isn’t supposed to be about me.

It’s supposed to be about Callum.” I squeezed the note in my hand.

It was too much to be in this space, filled with the toys and games and crafts that Bea loved.

Feeling sick, I stumbled out of the playroom and back to the kitchen.

For several long moments, I stood there, breathing hard and trying to decide what to do.

Had Callum seen the note? I had to assume it was at least a possibility.

Whether he had or hadn’t, Todd was forcing my hand.

I needed to end the haunting tonight. I needed to convince Callum, once and for all, that he was either completely crazy or the house was haunted.

And there was only one way to do it.

There was still no sign of Callum, the house sepulchral in its silence.

I went to my bag and slid the cardboard box from it, then walked, as if I were in a dream, to the cabinet where Callum stored his various drinking accoutrements.

There were wine and highball glasses, a decanter, and several stainless steel mixers, but I had eyes only for the pint glasses and what sat innocently beside them: a plastic cup of colorful straws, thicker-than-normal drinking straws with concertina-type hinges at the top for bending.

The boba straws Adelaide had clandestinely sneaked into my house.

In case you change your mind, she’d said.

I wrapped my hand around the contents of the cup, lifting out all but a single turquoise straw.

I shoved the handful of straws to the bottom of the garbage can and covered them with paper plates and an empty package of English muffins.

I took the remaining straw in one hand and the Prince Rupert’s drop in the other.

Very, very slowly, I inserted the drop into the top of the straw, tadpole head-side down, halting in feeding the drop through the plastic the moment its tail disappeared completely.

I stared at the straw. It was a good fit. Perfect, actually. The head was wedged in to where it wouldn’t slip any farther down the opening, which would be crucial for this to work.

I opened the freezer. The ice tray was full, and a handle of vodka lay on its side beside a package of peas. I shut the freezer. Then, very slowly, I placed the straw back in the plastic cup and returned the cup to its shelf in the cabinet. Now all I had to do was wait for Callum to make a drink.

A crash came from the upstairs bedroom.