The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories Page 8

  “Sure, but -”

  “I'm never wrong!” I add, placing a finger against the surface of the table and pressing hard, just to emphasize my point. “Never!”

  The House Speaks

  One

  It has been so long since I last heard voices. All my ears are on the inside, so I hear nothing of the street or of the world beyond my doors. I hear only what happens within my walls, and for many years I have heard only silence, punctuated by the occasional creak of a memory pressing on a loose board.

  But now I hear voices again.

  What's more, I think one of them is a child.

  As soon as the door bursts open, they spill into my hallway. A little girl, so young and so keen to explore, holding her mother's hand. She drags her mother by the arm toward one of the doors, where they stop and look through into the dining room.

  “It's so big!” the girl says, her eyes filled with awe. “It's, like, the best house ever!”

  Oh, I like her.

  “Yeah?” the mother says with a smile, as she lets the girl lead her along the hallway that leads to the kitchen. “Do you think you're gonna like living here, Kelly?”

  Kelly.

  That's a nice name.

  “I think we're all going to like living here a lot!” Kelly says, placing a doll on the kitchen counter. “It's so much better than the apartment we had before!”

  “You can say that again,” her mother mutters, turning and looking around at the empty space. “I really hope the truck isn't late with the furniture. I want to get started filling this place up. There's so much work to do. I mean, look at it. It's kind of rundown.”

  Rundown?

  I suppose she has a point, but I've been empty for so many years. Well, maybe not entirely empty, but it must be two decades or more since the last family left. Since then, other than a few realtors and prospective buyers, I've been left almost completely undisturbed. I've heard the occasional loud noise from outside, breaking muffled through my thick walls, but for the most part there has been nothing but silence. I used to enjoy silence back in the day, but over these past few years I've come to miss the sounds of a family. I just hope these people stick around. I hope they're not driven out like the last lot.

  I don't remember exactly what happened to the previous people who lived here, but I know they've been gone for a long time.

  “Where do you want the big case?” the husband calls through from the hallway. “Patty? Do you want it upstairs?”

  Patty. Another nice name.

  “Sure!” she shouts back through to him. “Just put it in our bedroom!”

  “So long as Kelly hasn't claimed it by now,” he mutters, as he carries the case up the stairs.

  Reaching the landing, the husband heads toward the door at the far end. He's the only one whose name I haven't caught yet, but I suppose there's no need to be impatient. Someone'll use it sooner or later, and there's no rush. For now, I can just call him Dad, which seems somehow appropriate. Even now, as he uses his hip to turn the handle and open the door to the master bedroom, I can tell that he's a good person. I've always been a good judge of my inhabitants, and it's taken only a few minutes for me to decide that I like these people. They deserve to spend a long time living very happily here, and I hope they get the chance.

  I hope the gray woman leaves them alone.

  Two

  “Do not get used to this!” Dad says as he lifts the burgers from the take-out bag. “Once we get settled tomorrow, it'll be back to good old-fashioned home-cooked meals.”

  “I like take-out burgers,” Kelly says, already unwrapping hers.

  “That's not the point,” Dad tells her. I still haven't managed to pick up his name. “Take-out food is a once-in-a-while treat. Do you remember why?”

  “Because it's bad for me?” Kelly asks, before taking a big bite.

  “That's right. It's bad for you if you eat it too often.”

  “But it's fine occasionally,” Patty says, reaching past him and taking a burger for herself. “I've got to admit, though, I'm looking forward to getting back to normal. And we've got so much space in this new house to spread out. Seriously, I reckon we could go days without bumping into each other.”

  “Oh, don't tempt me,” Dad says with a smile.

  “Who lived here before us?” Kelly asks.

  “I'm not sure,” Dad tells him, passing her a burger. “Enjoy.”

  “Was it empty?” she continues.

  “I don't know. Does it matter?” He glances at his wife, and I see a very faint flicker of concern in their eyes. It's not much, and I doubt many people would notice, but it's enough for me to realize that they know at least a little of my history. “It's our house now,” he continues, “and we're going to put our own stamp on it. I mean, the place is kinda drab and boring, but don't worry, we'll start painting before the end of the week.”

  That's good. I've wanted to be redecorated for a while now.

  “Can I have blue in my room?” Kelly asks, even though her mouth is full of burger.

  “Swallow before you talk, honey,” Patty reminds her.

  “Are you sure you don't want pink?” Dad asks. “That's more of a girl's color.”

  This starts a big conversation all about who gets to decide which room is painted which color. They're a lively family, happy and full of life, and I love listening to their light-hearted banter. As they continue to discuss paint schemes, however, my attention drifts up through the dining room ceiling and into the landing above, where the overhead light has been left on and all the doors are open to the dark bedrooms. A few minutes ago, before the take-out order arrived, everybody was upstairs unpacking their bags, but then they raced straight down and left the upper floor in silence.

  Almost silence, anyway.

  As happy voices continue to talk down in the dining room, one of the floorboards creaks at the far end of the landing. I don't see anyone right now, but I know she's up here somewhere. Even though she has been here for so, so long, I'm yet to figure out every aspect of her presence. Sometimes she's visible to me as a faint gray smudge in the air. Other times, I can even see her face. And then there are the times, such as now, when I can merely feel her presence, and hear her as she moves slowly through my rooms. She has been very still of late, but I should have expected that she'd be curious about the new family. I just wish I knew exactly what she wants. I wish I remember where she came from.

  I think she's in the smaller bedroom at the top of the stairs.

  I wait, and a moment later I hear a telltale creaking sound as she steps on the loose board just inside the door. I was right. The room is mostly bare for now, save for a blow-up bed on the floor and a backpack that has been left under the window. This is Kelly's room, and she was so excited earlier when she found out that she'd be sleeping on an inflatable bed. Most of the furniture is supposed to be coming tomorrow, and I guess that's when the family will start making these rooms their own, but for now they've just dumped their bags and blown up their beds.

  They're still laughing and talking loudly downstairs. Up here in the little girl's bedroom, however, the board creaks again. It could be just a loose board, of course, reacting to having recently been stepped on for the first time in years. Or it could be something more, something that was still here during the years when I was supposed to be empty.

  A moment later, as if to prove that point, another board creaks, closer to the bed this time. Yes, she's definitely here. I don't remember who she is, but she's still here.

  And she seems particularly interested in little Kelly.

  Three

  “Look at this place,” Patty says as she carefully peels some wallpaper away, exposing a point in the dining room where my oldest wooden panels stop and the newer bricks begin. “Someone must have done some serious work here in the past.”

  Over on the far side of the room, her husband is rooting through a bag, apparently searching for something. The little girl is on her inflatable be
d upstairs, having been sent to bed a short while ago.

  “Brian, look,” Patty continues, running a hand across the brickwork and feeling the join. “It's almost as if part of the house was completely remodeled.”

  Brian.

  His name is Brian.

  I shall have to remember that.

  “It's an old house, honey,” he mutters, pulling some cables from the bag but still not finding whatever he's after. “Of course it's been patched up and renovated a few times over the years. It's all good, though. I had a surveyor come out here before we closed the deal. It's solid as a rock.”

  The surveyor. I'd forgotten about him. He came and poked me and prodded me and wandered around, muttering under his breath while occasionally making notes on a clipboard. He didn't really do his job very thoroughly, though. He only opened the front door and looked inside, before heading back out again. I imagine he sensed a presence in the empty rooms, even if he wasn't quite aware of that fact. He was here so briefly, I actually forgot he was here at all. He certainly didn't go into the basement.

  “What do you think it'd look like if we stripped this away?” Patty asks, sitting back on the floor and looking up at one of my older walls. “If we totally stripped it away and exposed the brickwork? Not now, of course, but later, when we're on our feet a little more.”

  “You want to renovate the house?”

  “I want us to make it our own.”

  “Sounds expensive.” He pulls out a smaller black bag from the main bag and peers inside. “Got it.”

  “I think this place has potential,” Patty continues. “Plus, it'd be something for me to focus on, while I work to get some new clients.”

  “Do I have to help?”

  She turns to him. “I wasn't going to ask you to.”

  “Then it's all fine by me,” he mutters, getting to his feet. “Do whatever you want. Just... Please, don't make too much of a mess. The house is fine as it is, and I'm pretty sure the plan was for us to just get settled again.” He hesitates for a moment, and I can tell there's something else he wants to say. “Patty, when we agreed to move here, and we talked about a second chance for us...”

  “Let's not bring it all up again right now, Brian.”

  Brian. So that's his name.

  “I just think you need to not take on too many jobs,” he tells her.

  Pulling the wallpaper back a little further, she exposes another section of my brickwork. She runs her hands across the bricks, but it's only when her fingers reach the wooden strut that I really feel her touch properly. The brick part of me has always seemed a little numb somehow, and cold, whereas the wooden part is more alive. I don't quite remember when the bricks were put in, I feel as if my memory there is just a little on the foggy side, but I guess nobody needs to remember every single part of their existence.

  I think Patty's going to look after me, though.

  “I'll pay for any work that needs doing,” she mutters, stepping over to the corner of the room and examining the spot where the wallpaper sections are joined together. “I'll pay out of my own money.”

  “You don't need to be like that.”

  “I'm not being like anything, Brian.”

  Brian.

  His name is Brian.

  I must really try to remember that. I'm bad with names. Wait, what's the woman's name again?

  “We're married,” he reminds her. “We shouldn't have separate parts of our lives.”

  “Well, I learned to be more independent while you were gone,” she tells him, turning to head back across the room before stopping as her foot presses against a creaking board. “These are going to need fixing too.”

  “Are you always going to bring that up?”

  She turns to him. “Loose boards?”

  “The time I was...”

  His voice trails off.

  “I don't think we should mention it,” he continues finally.

  “You want to pretend it didn't happen?”

  “I just think it's in the past, Patty. Bringing it up all the time -”

  “It's not all the time.”

  They fall silent for a moment.

  Patty. Her name is Patty, and his name is...

  I knew it a moment ago, didn't I? Or did I? Her name is Patty and his name is... something. I should be better at this. How can I be their home, if I can't even remember their names properly?

  “It's late,” he says finally. “We should get to bed. I'm pretty sure tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

  “What time's the furniture coming?” she asks, heading over to the doorway.

  “Around noon.”

  As she gets closer, he grabs her arm and kisses the side of her head. I don't know if he notices, but she flinches slightly and she most certainly doesn't reciprocate. Instead, she mutters something about brushing her teeth, and then she heads up the stairs, leaving her husband alone in the doorway.

  He doesn't move for a few minutes. Instead, he stares into the dark, empty room, as if he's lost in thought. At first, I can't quite work out what he's doing, but finally Patty finishes in the bathroom and goes to the bedroom, and the sound of the door swinging shut seems to spur her husband into action. He turns and heads up the stairs, as if he was waiting for Patty to be done first, almost as if he didn't want to bump into her again. And even when he gets to the bathroom, he's very slow with everything, and I can't help thinking that he's waiting so that she'll be asleep by the time he gets to the bedroom.

  A few minutes later, after everyone is bed, the loose board in the dining room creaks again. The gray woman is definitely still here. She's just being cautious while she gets to know the new family. I think perhaps she was part of the previous family who lived here, although it's hard to remember for sure.

  Four

  Even houses have nightmares sometimes. Mine are always about the same thing.

  “Daddy, no!” Jennifer screams as Ronald drags her up the stairs. “Daddy, stop!”

  I feel every bump of her body, on every step of mine. She's powerless to get away from her father. Ronald was a big man in his youth, and still big enough in his forties to drag his daughter to wherever he wanted her. Most nights, he wanted her in his bedroom. She'd cry out, but never quite loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Sometimes, I think that although she wanted him to stop what he was doing, she was equally scared of outsiders getting involved. She knew, perhaps, that outsiders might send Ronald over the edge. She was scared that if the police arrived, Ronald might do something really bad.

  After all, he owned a gun.

  “Daddy, please,” she sobs, with tears in her eyes as he drags her by her hair, hauling her into the small bedroom. “Daddy, not tonight, I can't -”

  He shoves her to the floor and kicks the door shut, slamming it so hard that the frame shudders.

  I felt that.

  “You said you'd let me rest,” Jennifer splutters, as a trickle of blood runs from her mouth. “You promised that if I -”

  Suddenly she cries out as he grabs her hair again. He drags her the rest of the way, manhandling her onto the bed and then letting go as she curls into a weeping, trembling ball. He's breathless now, and for a few minutes he simply stands and watches as she sobs. I have no idea what he's thinking, what could possibly be running through his mind at a time like this, but I know there's not a hint of pity in his soul. Ronald was a good man once, I'm sure of it, but something changed him. Now he's crueler, more vindictive, more bitter. I wish I could remember why he became like this, but that part of my memory is long gone.

  “It's late,” he says finally, sounding exhausted but still staring down at Jennifer. “I'm tired. I don't have time for another of your performances.”

  She tries to say something, but she has her face buried in her hands and I can't make out any of the words.

  “If you keep on like this,” Ronald continues, “you're gonna make me think you don't want it. Is that what you want me to think? That you're ungrateful? That you
don't love your father?”

  She sobs for a moment longer, but then finally she stops trembling. This is something I've always found shocking about Jennifer. She knows what Ronald wants from her, and somehow – despite her obvious terror – she always manages to give it to him. She must have learned long ago how to hide her true feelings and put on a show for her father. Slowly, she sits up on the bed and dries her eyes, and then she turns to him. She's quite remarkable.

  “Please, Daddy,” she says finally, her voice wavering only very slightly as she forces a smile. She wants to get this over with. “Won't you join me, just for a while before you go to sleep?”

  She pats the bed next to her.

  “Please?” she continues. “I'd... I'd like it so much.”

  He folds his arms across his chest, watching her carefully.

  “Please,” she whimpers, with a hint of desperation in her voice now. “I really mean it.”

  “You've almost got me convinced,” he mutters.

  “You know it's true,” she sobs, forcing a smile as she wipes fresh tears from her face. She pats the bed again. “Ignore the fact that I'm crying. That's just because I'm a foolish girl. Listen to my voice. You know I want it.”

  “Liar!” he hisses, spitting on her face before turning to leave the room.

  “No, wait!” she shouts, stumbling after him and grabbing his arm, dragging him back toward the bed. “Don't go! You know I'm telling the truth, don't you?”

  This is how it always goes.

  He makes her beg for the pain and humiliation. And she does it because she knows that at least this way, it'll be over soon.

  Why do I struggle to remember some parts of the past, while other memories come to me again and again in nightmares? Even now, I remember the awful sounds that came from Jennifer's lips, and I remember how I used to try focusing on all the other empty rooms, in a desperate attempt ignore the bedroom where the bad things were happening. It's hard for a house to ignore any of its rooms, of course. Even if one can drown out the sounds with one's own thoughts, one still feels one's floorboards creaking, or one's windows rattling in the frames, or the side of a bed bumping against one's walls.