The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) Read online

  “Come on,” he whispered. “If you're here, do something.”

  He waited.

  After a moment, he could almost feel a cold hand slithering onto his shoulder and starting to pull him back. He told himself it wasn't there, that his imagination was filling in the gaps, and deep down he knew that was true; at the same time, he couldn't help himself and he continued to imagine her edging closer with dark, dead eyes.

  And then he imagined her voice, too.

  “You let me die,” she whispered. “You could have helped me, but you wanted me dead.”

  “No,” he replied, “I just... It was too late, you were already gone.”

  “Liar. Dirty, filthy little liar.”

  He shook his head.

  “I'm still here, you know,” she continued. “The other you can't hide everything forever. I'm not going to let you go so easily.”

  He was breathing faster now, while still trying to stay calm as he felt her wrapping her arms around him from behind, pulling him tight into a dead embrace and breathing against the back of his neck, and then he felt several burning pains all over his back, as if she was punishing him. Still, he knew none of it was really happening, and finally he let the image drift away, leaving him still kneeling on the floor in the darkened room. Turning finally, he looked over his shoulder and saw to his relief that there was still no sign of her.

  He'd imagined it all.

  Which meant, he told himself, that the house definitely wasn't haunted. Still, he couldn't help worrying, so he went to the bathroom and pulled his t-shirt up, before turning to examine his back in the mirror.

  Along with the old scars, there were half a dozen fresh burn marks, still blistering into his flesh.

  Chapter Nine

  Today

  He could already hear voices from the other side of the door.

  “They should totally stop and wait for the books to catch up,” an excited girl was saying. “They can't diverge much further from what Martin writes or it won't be an adaptation anymore, will it? It'll be, like, an alternate history, and who wants that? Why don't they stop making it for a few years?”

  “But Martin's basically telling them what to write anyway!”

  “I don't care, you can't adapt a book that hasn't been written yet!”

  Sighing, John considered not knocking. Having always avoided interviews, press events and even book launches except for the bare minimum, he had no idea why he'd suddenly decided to turn up to some dumb little book club run by a bunch of kids, especially since it sounded as if they were having the kind of mind-numbingly unnecessary discussion he could already hear before he'd even walked through the door. After a moment, however, he realized that he did know why he'd shown up, even if he didn't want to admit it. He felt that, by returning to his childhood home and facing the (lack of) demons, he'd passed over a threshold and now he wanted to mark that fact by becoming more open, more real. He wanted to surprise himself.

  So he knocked on the door, felt a shiver of apprehension, and waited.

  “I don't know,” a guy's voice could be heard saying. “Everyone's here. Who ordered pizza?”

  “Not me,” the girl's voice replied, “but I won't say no.”

  A moment later, the door swung open, bringing John face to face with a thin, gangly teenager wearing an old Masters of the Universe t-shirt.

  “Oh my God!” Hannah said, hurrying to the doorway with barely concealed glee. “John Myers! You came!”

  ***

  “Uh, no,” John replied with a frown and a smile, “I honestly never thought of it like that. Lucardo wasn't intended as an allegory for Christ, not at all.”

  “Okay,” said Hannah, “sorry, I was wrong. I get carried away sometimes, my teachers at school always told me I had a tendency to let my imagination go way overboard.”

  “Well, no,” he continued, “you weren't wrong necessarily, it's just not something I intended when I was writing The Revenge of Lucardo Hitch, but that doesn't mean it's not a valid reading of the text. In fact, now you mention it, there are definitely points where an allegorical interpretation would...” He paused for a moment, realizing that he was starting to drone on and on like his old English Lit professor. He looked over at a bunch of Miyazaki and Jacques Tati posters on the wall, feeling momentarily as if he was far too old to be hanging out with a bunch of kids, before finally turning back to them. He couldn't deny that their admiration made him feel good. “You know what? You guys seem to know my books better than I do. I barely even remember the plot of Lucardo Hitch, it's been a decade since it came out.”

  “You barely remember one of your own novels?” Gary asked.

  “I tend to move on once they're done,” he explained. “I don't dwell on things. Well, not when it comes to my work, anyway.”

  “I've read all your books,” Hannah told him, staring at him with wide-eyed enthusiasm. It was the kind of stare he'd never received before, not even from his own wife, and he couldn't deny that it was flattering. “Some of them twice.”

  “Even the bad ones?” he asked with a faint smile.

  “Oh, yes,” she replied earnestly. “Even the bad ones.”

  “There are a lot of books out there,” he said cautiously. “Personally I only re-read the ones that are really important to me.”

  “Me too,” she replied.

  “This is so amazing,” Hannah continued, turning to the couple of other guys who'd turned up for the book club. “I told you he'd come. I know you thought I was making it all up, but I knew deep down that he'd show.”

  “What about ghosts?” asked Louis, one of the other members of the group. “One thing I never really got from reading your books, and from reading interviews with you, is your real-life view on ghosts. Do you think they actually exist?”

  “Tough question,” John replied, feeling as if he wasn't quite ready to give a straight answer. “What about you guys? Do you think ghosts exist?”

  “Totally,” Louis said, and the others nodded in agreement.

  John paused, well aware that they were now waiting for him to tell them what he thought. “Sometimes I believe,” he said finally, “and sometimes I don't. My rational mind says that no, they can't exist, that we'd have evidence if they were real. My rational mind says that with all the camera-phones around these days, and all the equipment that even amateur ghost-hunters can buy online, the lack of documented proof is deafening. At the same time, in the right situation, I start to wonder. I get that same nagging feeling, tugging at me, telling me that maybe there's something else in the cosmos, something behind the things I know about. I think that's a pretty universal human trait.” Another pause. “Which I guess means that I don't believe, not really. I just like scaring myself late at night. Sorry, is that a disappointing answer?”

  “Not at all,” Hannah told him. “It's just so cool that you can write about them even though you have doubts. You make ghosts seem so real.”

  He smiled, even though he knew he was in danger of liking her compliments a little too much. Still, he figured it was all harmless enough.

  “But it's kind of weird,” Louis pointed out, “I mean... You've made your career out of writing about something you think is a crock of... Well, you know what I mean.”

  “So you're saying I'm a professional liar?”

  “No, but... It just seems weird that you'd spend so much time writing about ghosts if you don't think they could possibly exist.”

  “But people think they exist,” he replied. “That phenomenon itself, the belief, is kind of interesting, don't you think? I want to know why people believe in ghosts, why they think they see them, why they create those fantasies. A good lie can be as fascinating as the truth.”

  “But it's almost like you're... I don't know, making fun of people who believe.”

  “I'm definitely not making fun of anyone,” John continued, starting to feel a little as if he was under attack. “If someone wants to see a ghost, the mind can be a powerful thing an
d I absolutely understand why they could truly believe it's happening. That doesn't make the person dumb or sick, it just means they lean in one particular direction.”

  “So you think people only see ghosts if they want to?”

  “On a subconscious level, maybe.”

  “So you've never seen one?” Hannah asked, butting in. “You've never even suspected there's one around?”

  “I...” He paused, aware that she seemed a little more pointed with her questions, as if she was lightly interrogating him. The others in the room seemed more random, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Hannah had an agenda. His natural paranoia, perhaps, was starting to show.

  “Not even once?” she continued, clearly keen for him to answer. “Not even a hint?”

  “I've had my moments,” he replied, choosing his words with care. “There have been times when I've been convinced that a ghost would appear, but...” He paused, thinking back to the old days in his grandmother's house. “I guess I just have a limit to how much I can believe in a fantasy. I truly believe that if ghosts were real, I'd have seen one properly by now.”

  “Because you've been in a situation where a ghost would definitely appear to you,” she asked, “if it had the chance?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Isn't that kind of patronizing?” Louis asked. “It's like you're saying you're too smart to fool yourself, but other people can do it just fine.”

  “I didn't say that -”

  “Leave him be!” Hannah said, nudging Louis. “Jeez, you're being kinda rude! The guy's entitled to his opinions.”

  “I just want to know what he thinks,” Louis replied defensively.

  “I think the human mind is a complex thing,” John said, hoping to keep them from fighting. He enjoyed the way Hannah seemed to be on his side, and even if he didn't want to admit that he found her attractive, he also wanted to keep her attention. Not that he'd ever cheat on his wife, but still, he figured that talking to a pretty girl wasn't illegal. “I was once in a situation,” he said cautiously, “where I truly believed that someone I knew was going to come back and appear to me as a ghost. It wasn't too far from here, actually. I was certain, absolutely convinced without a shadow of doubt, that she'd appear to me. In fact, she'd actually told me, specifically, that if she died, she'd come back and haunt me.”

  “What kind of person says that?” Gary asked.

  “A messed-up, manipulative person, in this instance,” John continued with a faint smile. He felt a little uncomfortable being so open, but at the same time, he couldn't help himself. “So I was more than certain, given her nature and given the circumstances, that she'd show up. And I was more than vulnerable, I was a sitting duck, I even dared her. I goaded her, I told her to show herself. She had ample time to make her presence known in one way or another, but...” He paused.

  “She didn't?” Hannah asked, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “She didn't. Nothing. I imagined her coming back, I built it up in my head, I was terrified at times and I even dreamed about it, but I realized later that it never actually happened. There were no spooky goings on at all. I mean, maybe a few bumps in the night, but nothing that couldn't be rationally explained. Trust me, though, if she could have come back and haunted me, she'd have done so.” He paused again, feeling as if he was opening up for the first time, and wondering why he was telling these kids something he hadn't even told his wife or his so-called friends. “At the same time,” he continued, “I carried the fear of her everywhere I went. For the past twenty years, I've slightly expected her to show up at any moment, so I guess you could say she was haunting me that way. Or rather, I was haunting myself. And then recently...”

  He glanced at Hannah and saw that she was hooked on his every word.

  “Recently,” he added, addressing her and only her now, “I had the opportunity to face my fear once and for all. Just today, actually. And guess what? The house was empty, there was nothing there. Of course there wasn't, there never was, but that didn't stop me building it up over the years. Tonight I'll be sleeping in the place that I once thought she haunted, and by doing so I'll be permanently wiping away the last vestiges of doubt, getting rid of those little whispers at the corner of my mind. The prospect is both intimidating and freeing. I feel like a major part of my life is changing.”

  “So...” Gary paused, frowning, “you're going to spend tonight in a haunted house?”

  “Can we come?” Hannah asked immediately.

  “I have an electro-spectrometer,” Gary said. “It needs a big battery, but I can fit it in my backpack.”

  “I've got infra-red goggles,” Louis added. “And a camera.”

  “I don't need company,” John replied, amused by their eagerness, “and it's not a haunted house. It's just a house. In fact, if anyone in that place is a ghost, it's me, still clinging to the past and letting it define me.” He sighed. “But not after tonight. After tonight, I'm going to be a new man, because I'm going to do what we should all do when we get the opportunity. I'm going to face my fears.” Pausing, he smiled, realizing that he'd gone a little too far into his personal beliefs than he'd intended. “And that, if you want one, is tonight's lesson. Jesus, I promised myself I wouldn't turn into some moralizing old fart, but here I am, offering you a bunch of Hallmark life lessons. You're very welcome.”

  “What if you can't write after that?” Louis asked.

  John turned to him.

  “What if all your inspiration goes? Like... What if you can only write because of who you used to be, and after tonight you won't be able to do it anymore?”

  “Well...” John paused. “Then I guess I'll have to start writing in a different genre. Maybe -”

  Before he could finish, he felt his phone vibrating, and he pulled it from his pocket just in time to see his wife's name flashing up on the screen. For a moment he considered not answering, so that he could keep talking to the others, particularly to Hannah, but finally he realized he needed to get back to reality. He was a married man with two children, and he needed to say goodnight to them before bedtime.

  “My wife,” he told them, feeling as if he was perhaps disappointing Hannah a little. And himself. Getting to his feet, he answered the call and headed through to the kitchen of the cramped flat, hoping to get some privacy. The room was pretty filthy, with old pizza boxes everywhere and wine bottles that had been turned into candle-sticks. “Hey,” he said, unable to suppress a grimace as he saw piles of dirty plates and discarded food all over the place, “what's up?”

  “Oh, it's late and I thought I'd check in and see if my husband is still alive,” Sarah replied airily. “Seeing as you're being all mysterious lately n'all. How are things going, anyway? Do you want to finally tell me what you're doing?”

  “Right now?” He paused with a faint, mischievous smile. “Right now, I'm at a meeting of a small sci-fi and horror book club, talking about my life and work with some fans. Discussing my personal beliefs, a little of my life story here and there, some jokes and observations. It's very relaxed.”

  “Ha ha,” she said flatly. “And let me guess, you rode there on a unicorn, huh? Seriously? You, at some kind of social event? Pull the other one, John, it's got bells on. If you're going to lie, at least be plausible.”

  “I can be social.”

  “No, honey, you can't. I love you, you know that, but you really aren't a sociable best. Not voluntarily, anyway. You have many magnificent qualities, but that's not one of them.”

  “I can fake it, though.”

  “No, you can't.”

  “I faked it at that book launch the other night.”

  “Nope.”

  “I did!”

  “Sorry, honey. Everyone could tell how much you hated it.” She sighed. “Okay, have your little secret. I just wanted to say goodnight, and that the kids and I miss you, and that every second you're away is another favor that you owe me. The kids are officially on holiday now, and they seem
to have more energy than ever. We're supposed to split parenting duties right down the middle, remember? Please don't make me nag.”

  “I'll be back tomorrow,” he replied, as he spotted Gary in the doorway. “Hold on, Sarah. I think someone wants my attention.”

  “Mr. Myers,” Gary said, “we were wondering -”

  He stopped as John held his phone up, allowing his wife to hear.

  “Go on,” John said with a smile.

  “Well... We were wondering if, before you go tonight, you could talk to us a little more about the inspiration for your writing, particularly in terms of the difference between supernatural horror and horror that's grounded in the way people are just totally cruel to each other. Torture and body horror, that kind of thing. It's like, you know, we're such big fans and this is such a rare opportunity, and talking to you has been so cool.”

  John moved the phone closer to his face. “That's fine, Gary,” he said with a grin, imagining Sarah's reaction. “I'd be happy to do that. Tell Hannah and the others that I'll be through in just a moment to continue our fascinating discussion.”

  As Gary headed back to the main room, John put the phone to the side of his face.

  There was nothing but silence on the other end.

  “I have to go,” he said after a moment, “the others are waiting for me. It's been a really interesting book club and I think everyone's learning a lot.”