Chapter 1
[previous_page]
[next_page]
Author: “Rhonnie Fordham”
House Hunting
Everyone had wondered why John and Amanda Baker had moved into the Goddamned Christy house. Sure, it was pretty. And it was even modern. But it was deadly. No one wanted to say anything when the couple bought it on a steal from Kevin Riley, Stanwyck, Georgia’s resident real-estate guru. After all, the Bakers and their two cute little children Amy and Michael were outsiders in the Stanwyck community. They were from Atlanta for Christ’s sake. And well Atlanta may as well have been a foreign country to these yokels.
After the family moved in, no one really interacted with the Bakers much, and no one really wanted to. It was almost like the townspeople didn’t expect this family to last very long. Whether in the house or above ground. After all, surely this family knew of the Christy home’s dark history. Wouldn’t Kevin or all the internet rumors have alerted them of the house’s evil? John and Amanda both did online work at home, they had to have stumbled upon information regarding their supposed “dream home” at some point. An anonymous forum, an amateur ghost hunter site, anything. Everybody in town thought for sure this would be the case. But apparently, it wasn’t. And the Bakers remained completely unaware. They had no idea what awaited them inside.
It was three months after the Bakers moved in (the community consensus over/under was around four) when the 911 call arrived a little after 11:14 P.M. On the phone, a hysterical Amanda Baker was heard begging and pleading for help. Her sobs were uncontrollable, almost painful to listen to. The operator was a newb and absolutely helpless. Amidst Amanda’s agonizing rambles of “John’s gone crazy,” “there’s blood everywhere,” “hurry before it’s too late,” only one sentence was completely clear: “he took the children.”
*
One month after that frantic phone call, a curious new group arrived at the Christy home. The afternoon sun was blistering and smoldering. But amidst the sweltering summer landscape, the Christy house retained an All-American eloquence. One that wouldn’t be out-of-place in your average 1950s sitcom.
The home itself was just two stories of pristine brick. That’s it. Even the homes all around it practically looked the same. The big yards, the garden sheds/storage rooms, the brick design.
Unlike its neighbors though, the Christy house also bore something else: actual residents. See, the housing market collapse of 08 really wore down this upper-middle-class neighborhood. Enough so that every other house seemed to wave a buyer beware sticker in the form of a For Sale sign. These weren’t selling anytime soon. Not at that price, and not in a non-metropolis city like Stanwyck. After all, this wasn’t Atlanta.
But none of that ever stopped the unflappable Kevin Riley. He was Stanwyck’s number one realtor. Not to mention Stanwyck’s number one asshole or bullshitter depending on who you asked. With this neighborhood though, he certainly had his hands full this time. A challenge none of the city’s other agents ever had any luck in: selling the Christy home and its three acres of archaic loveliness.
Kevin was always a bit of a gambler. Whether it was purchasing the foreclosures or stacking off the local politicians in Stanwyck’s secret poker games, Kevin liked to gamble. He liked taking chances. The Christy home was as exciting to him as an over-bet bluff on the river. This would be one way to show the locals who’s boss. A challenge that could be his crowning achievement as the big fish in this small pond.
Certainly, Kevin’s awful yet brilliantly cheesy For Sale signs hinted at a charismatic personality. Big smile, wide eyes, handsome face. The good-looking jock by way of a cartoony car salesman. Such a manic image adorned the front yard of almost every house in this upscale neighborhood.
Like the rest of the Stanwyck community though, Kevin was well aware of the Christy house’s morbid history. The murders, the tragedies. But that wasn’t stopping him. He was gonna sell this Goddamn house at all cost.
Behind the house’s wrought-iron fence, Kevin’s potential customers were already arriving. Their fancy SUV pulled into the long driveway, parking right behind a nice truck.
Emerging from the house’s front door, Kevin immediately went up to greet this unique crew: Linda Kane’s team. He liked how new and expensive that SUV looked.
Linda, equal-parts adventurous and level-headed, had heard all the stories about the Christy house. Both the facts and the legends brought her here. Nearing her sixties, Linda still retained a youthful beauty, something not going unnoticed by Kevin’s wandering eyes.
The rest of the crew was made up of Linda’s typical accomplices. The bruise and the wits: Tony Winston, Linda’s bodyguard of choice, his big muscles overcompensating for his natural chickenshit instincts, and Bridget Buechler.
Tony had tried to be a football player. Then he tried to be a rapper. He failed at both which led to his natural progression of mall security guard, bouncer, then bodyguard. Somehow he ended up with Linda. It paid better than high school coach, the only other life option for a hulking black man in America apparently.
On the other hand, Bridget was unlike anyone Linda had ever seen because she was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Bridget the afterlife savant as Linda once referred to her. For Bridget had the innate ability to sense spirits and paranormal presences. She could even see or hear them. Even though she had possessed these abilities since childhood, Bridget had never exploited such a talent. She wasn’t one for mugging on Oprah or on those late-night-ads she always saw sandwiched in between the other nocturnal commercials about addiction networks or the latest patented infomercial disaster. Instead, Bridget wanted to stay grounded unlike her ghostly subjects. Her talents were just like any other specialty, she felt. Albeit, within a talent field dominated by sheysters and shitheads forever seeking their fifteen seconds of fame.
Yeah, Bridget knew the stigma associated with her talents, and she didn’t like that shit either. Her days as the lone black woman in every paranormal group had taught her to stick to her visions no matter what. Stick to your gut, baby girl, as her grandmama had often told her.
“Well, hello, there,” Kevin greeted them, armed with a smile and an outstretched hand.
Linda obliged with the completed handshake, a little distrust in her face.
“It’s lovely to meet you in person, Ms. Kane,” Kevin stated.
“Yes,” Linda replied. “It was a very long trip.”
During the casual meet-and-greet, Bridget’s eyes strayed all around the Baker property. It was even bigger once you got past the nearly-abandoned Pleasantville neighborhood. And past that tall and imposing gate.
The yard was undeniably pretty. Full of tall pines and trimmed hedges. An idealic idyll. A sight for sore eyes considering how far Linda and the crew had traveled to get here. All the way from Chicago, Illinois and the many plane rides and rental cars that trip encompassed.
Tony shook Kevin’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” Tony muttered without meaning it.
“Say, you got a strong grip there,” Kevin bullshitted back.
“I work out when I can.”
Linda patted Tony on the back. “That’s why he’s mine,” she said with sarcasm.
Kevin gives her a flirtatious grin. “Oh really?” he said.
The suggestive look doesn’t go unnoticed by the smiling Linda. Kevin was attractive after all. “I could always use more than one bodyguard, you know,” she said back.
The comment made Tony give her a WTF look. Kevin liked where this was going.
As the small talk accelerated to excruciating awkwardness, Bridget tuned it out. Her eyes instead focused on a garden in a corner of the yard. A secluded portion of the Christy house landscape.
The garden was lovely. The many flowers in full bloom. The whole thing was well-organized. Even in such thick humidity, anyone could enjoy such a serene sight. Standing a few feet away from the cherished garden, its shed was just as nice. Freshly painted and clean.
Someone took this gardening shit pretty serious, Bridget thought. But Bridget couldn’t help but wonder… wasn’t this the site of a grisly crime scene just a little over a month ago? Why was this whole area so clean and neat? Like the homeowners had just hit the reset button.
“Bridget, come introduce yourself,” Linda beckoned. Her rough grasp on Bridget’s arm immediately destroyed whatever (and all too infrequently-pleasant) daydreams Bridget was conjuring. “This is the real brains of the operation right here,” Linda told Kevin.
“Ah, I see,” Kevin commented. He sticks an eager hand out. “You’re the gifted one?”
“For what it’s worth,” Bridget responded as she forced a grin and shook his hand.
“I’d be nowhere without Bridget,” Linda explained. “God knows she’s rescued me from so many crazies.”
Bridget noticed how Kevin eyed her with some skepticism. Nonetheless, he played it off well.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Kevin commented to Linda, . He motioned toward the house. “The house certainly is genuine for someone of her talents.”
Taking a step back, Linda gazed out at the home. Definitely not your typical haunted appearance. This wasn’t Hill House or a Gothic castle, that’s for sure. “It really doesn’t look it, does it, Bridget?”
Bridget gave Kevin a cold look. “Nope.”
“Y’all are aware of the tragedies of this house, I assume,” Kevin pleaded. He faced the house himself, getting lost in the visual. “Two families were tragically torn apart in there.”
The others watched Kevin’s “performance.” He was putting on a show that demanded the stage. Shakespeare For Realtors.
“This house guards many dark secrets,” Kevin continued as looked at his customers with the intensity of a hammy leading man. “Two little children just snatched up outta here by their own daddy damn near a month ago, and that ain’t even the start!” He paused for dramatic effect. Only Tony was uneasy which isn’t saying much. “Now, I can’t sell this place to a soul in Stanwyck. Something evil lurks in there, you see. Something otherworldly!”
No one said anything even though it was obvious Linda and Bridget were unimpressed.
“It’s been there for over twenty years, and it ain’t left!” Kevin went on, desperate to engage his potential buyers. “I can tell you that! It ain’t leaving anytime soon.”
“Okay, man, I believe you,” the nervous Tony chimed in.
Like an all-too-friendly preacher, Kevin stepped up closer toward Linda.
She liked his attention at least.
“Now please, ma’am,” Kevin started. “I assure you we have the proof for what you’re looking for.”
“Who’s we again?” Bridget inquired.
Before Kevin could answer, a voice rained down from the cozy front porch. “That would be me.”
Everyone turned to see Amanda Baker herself standing right outside the front door. Right next to her favorite rocking chair. She looked defiant and rebellious. A Southern Belle of feisty strength rather than dutiful politeness.
“And you’re Amanda Baker?” Bridget asked sternly.
Methodical, Amanda took a few steps toward her guests. “Indeed I am,” she responded firmly. She stopped and looked right at them, holding them with her big green eyes. “And my friend Kevin here is right. The Christy house is indeed haunted. And we can prove it.”
“So you can, huh?” Bridget challenged.
“I’ve got proof right inside,” Amanda answered.
Amanda and Bridget maintained intense eye contact. Like a staredown between two heavyweights. Bridget couldn’t help but wonder why Amanda felt the need to wear jeans and a hoodie in this heat. One of many peculiarities with her probably, Bridget thought.
Eager to break up the tension, Kevin led Linda and Bridget up to the front porch. “Let’s go in, shall we.”
“That’s fine,” Bridget said to him.
“You have a wonderful home,” Linda exclaimed to Amanda as they stepped up on the porch.
“Thank you,” Amanda replied.
Unable to help herself, Bridget glanced over at Amanda. “I’m getting a good vibe already,” Bridget quipped with not-so-subtle sarcasm.
“Oh, nothing evil?” Linda asked, the barb flying right over her head.
Amanda just glared at Bridget. This was looking to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
[previous_page]
[next_page]
Comment (0)