Chapter 10
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Author: Rhonnie Fordham
It was well past midnight, but the living room T.V. stayed on. The same 90s sitcom blasted away on the flatscreen. It must’ve been a monotonous marathon.
No one was watching it though. Tony sprawled out on the sofa, sound asleep, still holding the remote. The now-empty bag of potato chips lied on top of his chest. He wasn’t waking up anytime soon.
*
The downstairs guest room was even smaller than Linda’s. The ceiling fan didn’t work, and the air vents weren’t doing their job very well either. In fact, there wasn’t much furniture aside from the bare essentials. Somehow, the room seemed even blander than the rest of the Christy house. It looked like a walk-in closet that had been converted into a bedroom. It certainly had the same claustrophobia.
Most of Bridget’s equipment overflowed on top of a small dresser. There wasn’t enough room in here for a ghost hunter of Bridget’s caliber.
Bridget sat up in bed, her back against the wall. She was half-asleep, but in this room with this heat, that wasn’t enough to take her down. Business as usual, she held the tape recorder up to her ear and mashed play.
Her voice instantly greeted her. The recorder played Bridget’s recording from the basement. The amusing sounds of her and Tony arguing caused Bridget to crack a weak smile. Letting the tape roll, Bridget looked off at the bedroom door, bored.
On the tape, Bridget began to ask questions. Her voice so serious and strong.
As the audio continued, Bridget’s tired eyes kept looking on at the door.
“We just want to know if you’re with us,” Bridget’s voice said on the recorder.
Then an unsettling voice snapped Bridget out of her languid state. The harsh, cold tone she’d dreaded to hear.
“Kill her…” the male voice stated with eerie precision.
“Oh God!” Bridget exclaimed. She held the recorder closer to her ear, scared but prepared to listen further.
As sudden as it began, the voice disappeared on the recording, gone like an apparition. Bridget gave it a few seconds, but whoever it was never returned.
Terrified, Bridget rewound the tape and played it back.
“Kill her…” the male voice said again. There was no mistake. The chilling voice had communicated with Bridget in that basement. And all of it was on tape.
“Jesus Christ…” Bridget said to herself. She stopped the tape and took a deep breath. Like she was coming to the realization of what she’d just heard. Paranormal evidence, and a convincing piece of paranormal evidence at that.
Bridget turned and looked toward the bedroom door.
The door was now wide open, two children standing in the doorway. Amy and Michael. They just stood there in silence, their scared eyes looking right at Bridget. With the dark downstairs hallway lurking right behind them, the bloodied children resembled gatekeepers to a nightmare realm.
“Oh God!” Bridget said in fright.
“Help us,” Amy whispered to Bridget, her mouth never moving. The children’s disembodied voices seemed to exist as separate entities, as if their bodies were too slaughtered and desecrated to speak for themselves.
“Please…” began Michael’s voice.
“Help us…” Amy’s whisper repeated.
The chorus of whispers overtook the small bedroom, blasting right through Bridget’s head. Their voices almost like a taunt if they weren’t so full of anguish.
Overwhelmed by a flood of varying emotions, Bridget threw the recorder onto the mattress and stood up. “Who are you?” she asked the two kids.
Bridget started walking toward them. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I just don’t understand,” Bridget said. Michael and Amy continued just standing there. Neither of them said a word, but Bridget could hear them. She could hear their intense fear in their unrelenting voices.
“Help us, Bridget,” Amy pleaded.
“What do you want?” Bridget asked, doing her best to keep her voice gentle and calm.
Bridget got a foot away from them when both kids turned and took off down the hallway. They were in a hurry. Like they were either playing tag… or they saw something behind Bridget.
“Wait!” Bridget cried out as she followed them out into the hallway. She didn’t see the children anywhere in the dark hallway. She didn’t even hear their footsteps either. But she sure heard Amy’s voice.
“Hurry!” Amy said in a urgent but hushed tone.
*
On Linda’s phone, the exotic music provided the score to the steamy and exciting hook-up between Kevin and Linda. Basically, Linda’s dream soundtrack for her hypothetical porno.
Each one of them completely nude, Kevin climbed on top of Linda in bed. His stray foot knocked over a folder, but neither Linda nor Kevin cared.
“Oh baby,” Linda moaned as Kevin serenaded her neck with gentle kisses. “That’s perfect.”
In between the kisses, Kevin still managed to squeeze some work in. “I can talk to Amanda tomorrow,” he muttered through the shower of affection. “We’ll come to an arrangement on the basement leak-”
“Oh God, just stop!” Linda interrupted, her body too preoccupied to give a fuck about the damn basement.
“But Linda-”
Linda slapped his beefy bubble butt with a firm spank.
“Ow!” Kevin yelled.
Taking the initiative, Linda pushed him over to the side.
Kevin’s leg banged against the nightstand, causing the silver figurine to collapse to the ground. Again, Linda didn’t notice…or maybe she didn’t care at this point.
Eager, Linda hopped on top of the uneasy Kevin. “No business before pleasure, baby.”
Kevin looked on, helpless. “Linda, what-”
Shushing Kevin, Linda put a finger to his lips. “No, baby. Just let me take over.” She leaned back as she began to grind against him. “It’s one of my dreams you’ve helped me realize, Kevin.” Her voice sounded almost too calm. Professional even.
“What do you mean?” he asked, confused.
“Making love in a haunted place.” She smiled at the uneasy Kevin. “I’ve waited a long time for this, darling.”
Squirming, Kevin tried to get out from under her. “But Ms. Kane, this-”
Linda leaned down and interrupted him with a passionate kiss. Accompanied by heavier exotic music, the sex escalated in intensity. “It’s just us,” Linda said to Kevin. Smiling, she glanced around the room. “Us and the spirits.”
Kevin was about to reply when Linda put her finger to his lips, quashing his protest.
“Tonight, we’ll all be as one,” Linda proclaimed with pride.
Enjoying every minute of the long-anticipated realization of her insatiable sexual desires, Linda thrust into Kevin, practically overpowering him. She felt rejuvenated. She felt young. She felt alive.
Lost amongst the kitschy music and squeaky bed was the figurine lying on the ground. Kevin nor Linda noticed it laying there in several broken pieces.
*
Bridget staggered down the hallway. The kids were still gone, but their voices still swirled around her. Even with the T.V. blaring from the living room, Bridget could still hear the children. Their whispers were constant and unrelenting.
Staring ahead toward the back of the hallway, Bridget felt along the walls. Dizziness made her stumble a few times. A constant migraine only swelled with each step. The children’s voices, the house’s tight atmosphere, all of it was just overwhelming Bridget.
“Where are you?” Bridget asked weakly. She stopped and leaned against the wall, tired. “Where’d you go?”
She heard nothing. Not a reply, not even their constant whispers. The children’s voices were gone.
Desperate, Bridget looked down the hall. “Please,” she begged. “Where are you?”
A few feet in front of her, a small door on the left opened on its own in a slow, deliberate creak.
Bridget stared right at it, hesitant.
“Bridget,” Amy’s whisper reappeared.
“What do you want?” Bridget asked. She stepped away from the wall, regaining some energy. “What is it?”
“Go on…”
Taking cautious steps, Bridget approached the door. It was a closet door from what Bridget could tell.
“Keep going,” Amy’s voice continued.
Bridget stopped near the open doorway and looked on in frightened shock. “Jesus…”
The entire bottom half of the door was covered in desperate scratchmarks. The marks didn’t run up very high, and the marks weren’t very long. Marks made from the hands of small children.
“Oh God, no,” Bridget muttered.
“Look…” Amy’s voice whispered.
At Amy’s command, Bridget peered inside the closet.
Boxes piled up in the cramped space. Nothing but cardboard boxes. No clothes on the wire hangers, no shoes. Just really heavy boxes.
Bridget stared at the sight, uneasy. “I don’t understand… what is this…”
“Help us…” Michael’s vulnerable voice whispered.
Bridget looked around the closet. “Where are you?” she asked in fright.
One of the boxes’ lids flew off, startling Bridget. The lid fell right at her feet.
“Look inside,” Michael pleaded.
Bridget recovered from the scare and looked right toward the box. It looked filled to the brim with something Bridget’s couldn’t see.
Bridget took a deep breath. Too late to get scared now, she thought. Remember your dreams, remember your passions. This isn’t A Haunting. This is real.
Full of determination and grit, Bridget took that fateful step forward and looked straight down into the box. The discovery stunned her.
Hundreds of photos were crammed inside. Family photos. The Bakers in all their All-American glory. Amanda, John, Amy, and Michael. The beautiful nuclear family.
“Oh my God…” Bridget said to herself.
She picked up the first photo. It showed the Bakers smiling in the front yard. Well, almost all of them were smiling. John’s face was scratched out. Not by marker or by pen. But literally torn out by fingernail.
Uneasy, Bridget traced her finger against what was supposed to be John’s face. What the Hell, she thought to herself. It looked like a damn monster clawed it out.
Bridget looked down at the other photos in the box. More of the Baker family pictures. The next one was the family standing in the living room. Again, all smiles except for John. His face scratched out again. “What the fuck,” Bridget muttered.
Faster than a detective on the prowl of a fresh lead, Bridget scoured through the rest of the pictures. Someone had torn John’s face out of each and every one of them. But the family kept smiling in each picture. Minus John, of course.
Scared, Bridget tossed the photos back inside the box. They landed on the slush pile of pictures with a tremendous THUD. Many of the photos even slid down the mountain of photographs like a mini-avalanche.
Bridget stared down at the pile. It was all one big collage of the grinning family with a faceless John. The faceless father.
“Bridget,” Amy’s voice whispered.
Startled, Bridget whirled around and saw the girl and boy standing in the hallway. They were mere feet away from her. Amidst all the blood and grue, their haunting and morose expressions could still clearly be seen.
Bridget turned and looked back at the photos. Even with the smiles, it was clear these were the same children now standing before Bridget. Michael and Amy. Amanda was right all along.
Turning, Bridget confronted the two children. What she got was a much more chilling sight than she anticipated: Michael and Amy were now smiling at her. But the smiles didn’t look authentic. They looked like the kind of fake smile you forced at the demand of your parents, Bridget thought. Unnaturally big smiles. Just like the ones in the photos.
Then the man’s voice returned. That eerie, raspy voice. The one from Amanda’s video, the one on Bridget’s tape, the one that felt right at home in the Christy house. “It’s the house!” the man’s voice cried. The sound terrified Bridget. Not just what the man said, but because where the voice was coming from: right behind her.
Before Bridget could whirl around, a blood-stained hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder. The cold touch sent shivers down Bridget’s spine.
“The house did it!” the intense voice yelled. The man’s voice may have been deranged, but he was full of conviction.
Bridget turned and came face-to-face with the startling sight of John Baker himself. His narrow eyes glared right at her. Like savage warpaint, blood was splattered all across his pale face and dirty clothes. The terrifying voice really did belong to him.
“Oh God!” Bridget screamed.
John clung tighter to her shoulder. Bridget struggled to break free, but couldn’t. She felt like his strong grip both restrained her and drained her of all her willpower. Feeling weak, Bridget saw red stains all along John’s fingers and under his long nails.
“It’s the house!” John barked at Bridget. “It wouldn’t let go!”
“No, please…” Bridget said.
Seemingly sensing her fear, John leaned in closer. “It killed them,” he said in an unnerving whisper.
Bridget just stared into his unflinching eyes.
“It killed them all,” John continued.
“Bridget!” Amanda yelled.
Lunging toward the closet, Amanda pulled Bridget away from John’s tight grasp. “What’s wrong!”
Bridget turned to see the worried Amanda. Without missing a beat, Bridget pointed toward the closet. “He’s in there!” she cried out.
“Bridget, listen to me,” Amanda pleaded.
Panicking, Bridget looked around the downstairs hallway. But it was just them. Michael and Amy were gone. So was John. Even the scratching on the door had vanished. “No!” Bridget said. She confronted Amanda. “They were here, your kids and John!”
“I know,” Amanda stated in a trembling voice.
Sensing the genuine fear and paranoia in Amanda’s voice, Bridget went quiet.
“He attacked me!” Amanda said with ferocity. She showed Bridget her arms. “Look what that bastard did to me!”
Bridget looked on in horror. “Oh God. Amanda…”
Amongst the vicious scars were a multitude of fresh bruises. Amanda’s arms looked to be nothing more than a pin cushion for John’s abuse. Both in life and from beyond the grave.
“It’s John!” Amanda rambled on. “He did this to me! I told you he’s back!”
Unable to argue with her, Bridget faced Amanda, struggling to say anything. “Amanda, I don’t-”
“I was in the study!” Amanda stated. She held her arms out in front of Bridget, waving those smoking gun bruises for Bridget’s eyes to see. “It’s the same spots he hit me earlier, Bridget! The same shit he always did to me.” Terrified, she avoided eye contact.
“Amanda-”
Amanda glared at her. “I know it’s him… God, I fucking told you! I fucking told y’all the truth!”
Bridget grabbed Amanda’s shoulders, trying to calm her. “Amanda, look, I know you’re not lying!”
Looking off toward the closet, the unsettled Amanda saw the pictures in the box. The family photos.
“I saw him too,” Bridget continued. “I saw Amy and Michael. I followed them right here! You were right about the boy in the video, it’s him!”
Amanda broke away from Bridget and snatched the first picture off the photo pile.
Bridget looked at Amanda. “It’s Michael,” Bridget stated. “I’ve been seeing him and Amy here all along. I’ve been hearing them.”
“What happened to this?” Amanda asked.
Confused, Bridget walked up to her. “What do you mean?”
Amanda showed her the photograph. The Bakers in the living room. John’s missing face. “I didn’t do this!” she said adamantly.
Bridget looked on at the picture, right at its torn out piece. The missing link to a perfect depiction of the nuclear family.
Nervous, Amanda pointed at John in the picture. “They marked him out,” she sputtered. “They had to!”
“I thought you might’ve done it,” Bridget said awkwardly.
“No!”
Like a torturous motif, John’s voice rang through Bridget’s ears once more. “She’s evil!” he yelled.
“I didn’t do it!” Amanda continued, not hearing John’s voice.
Bridget cringed and looked around the hallway. But no one was there. Just her and Amanda. And the Baker family pictures.
Amanda put the photo to Bridget’s face. “The house did this!” she proclaimed. “It’s evil!”
“It’s her!” John yelled into Bridget’s mind. His voice louder and more anguished than ever.
John’s voice certainly disturbed Bridget. But she knew it was only her that heard him. It was like he had an invisible speaker placed directly into her ears. A speaker transmitting channels from the afterlife.
“He’s back here,” Amanda muttered in a panic. “They brought him back again.”
Bridget ran her hands through his hair, praying that she wouldn’t hear John and his terrifying voice any longer.
“John’s back,” Amanda continued, her mind breaking down amidst the burden of this horrifying realization. “He’s home…”
“I know,” Bridget said.
Conquered by horror, Amanda stumbled back into the hallway. “I can’t escape him!” she yelled.
Concerned, Bridget watched her. “Amanda, stop!”
“None of us will, we can’t fucking escape!” With helpless eyes, Amanda stopped and faced Bridget. “He’s gonna kill-”
A powerful force shot Amanda straight back into the wall. Clouds of dust flew out with the tenacious speed of the mirror’s glass from earlier. Amanda’s hand dropped the picture upon impact.
“Amanda!” Bridget yelled as she rushed toward her.
Dazed, Amanda slid down to the floor. The picture fluttered right before her eyes, John’s ripped image teasing her in mid-air.
Bridget leaned down right next to the groaning Amanda. “Are you okay?” Bridget asked. She rubbed Amanda’s shoulder. “Amanda!”
Lunging forward, Amanda unleashed a fit of bad coughs.
“Oh God!” Bridget said in horror. “Amanda.”
Amanda turned and coughed into her hand. Each hack louder and nastier than the last.
Bridget watched her go on, unsure what to do. She wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. She just saw fucking ghosts. “Amanda, are you okay?” was all Bridget could say.
“Fuck…” Amanda mumbled as she faced Bridget.
Observant as always, Bridget caught a good look at Amanda’s hand. Crimson was all over Amanda’s palm. She’d been coughing up blood. A lot of it.
“He’ll never leave me,” Amanda said in her best woe-is-me voice. At least this tone was well-deserved. “He’ll never leave me alone. John won’t…”
“You don’t know that,” Bridget replied in her best reassuring tone. Bridget was talented at a lot of things, but definitely not acting. “Maybe he’s-”
“You know that’s not true,” Amanda interrupted sharply. “I can’t move. It doesn’t matter what the fuck I do.”
Bridget didn’t respond. There was nothing she could say without lying.
“You know that, don’t you?” Amanda commented. “The spirits never leave once they latch onto you.” She coughed out another violent hack. “Especially in this Goddamn house!”
Concerned, Bridget watched her cough once more. Amanda was a pitiful sight. She wasn’t the strong Southern Belle or the defensive victim. Just a tormented victim at the moment.
“It’s all her,” John’s voice said in a rare quiet tone. His voice had strayed into Bridget’s mind once more. “It’s her,” he stated. His voice was even creepier toned down. Like the subtle difference between a madcap asylum patient you know is fucking nuts and the sinister hushed tone of someone who wants to let you in on their dark little secret.
“There’s nothing I can do,” Amanda said. She looked around the hallway with defeated eyes. “I’m trapped. I’m fucking trapped right here in this house.”
Bridget rubbed her shoulder. “I’m gonna do everything I can, okay.”
“No-”
“I am,” Bridget said with authority. The strong tone even quieted Amanda. “We’re gonna get you outta here and away from him, okay.”
Like a quick rebuttal to whatever optimism Bridget was starting to conjure, the closet door slammed shut on its own.
Terrified, both women looked over at the closet. Its closed door stood tall as a barrier guarding the rest of Amanda’s photographs and memories.
“Goddammit,” Amanda muttered. “It won’t stop.” She tilted her head back against the wall in defeat. “It won’t ever stop,” She closed her eyes as her only means to escape.
The hallway light cut on by itself. While Bridget was startled, Amanda didn’t even flinch.
Bridget looked up toward the ceiling. The lights shined upon them with the deliberate focus of a spotlight. Somehow, the lighting seemed even brighter. Even more powerful.
Wallowing in her anguish, Amanda opened her eyes and looked toward the ground. Shocked horror crossed her face as she pointed toward the spot. “Oh fuck! Look!”
Alarmed, Bridget followed her gaze.
On the floor, the Baker family photograph was laying just a few feet away from them. The strong lights illuminated it just enough for the two women to see one noticeable change: John. He was back in the picture. Back with his family. Not a rip, a scratch, not even a stain could be seen on his face. It was like time had reverted back to the moment the photo was taken. All the way back to when John flashed that confident smile.
*
Bridget was the one who had to put the picture back in the box. She was also the one who had to open that closet door. Even under the incessant lighting, it wasn’t an easy task. But Amanda couldn’t handle it. Not in her current state.
While Bridget may have moved quicker than normal to rid themselves of the photo, she did it nonetheless. Her quick cursory glance of all the other photos showed a restored John in each of them. Him and his smile. But Bridget didn’t dwell on those. She just wanted to get the fuck back in her room safely and call it a night.
As Bridget led the cowering Amanda back to her guest bedroom, Bridget had even looked back down the hallway a few times. But she didn’t see anything. The long hallway was void of any ghosts. For now at least. In a quick motion, Bridget turned off the hallway lights. They shut off in an instant. And nothing turned them back on. No trickery from the Christy house, much to Bridget’s delight.
Bridget finally led Amanda inside Bridget’s dark room. Through the darkness, Bridget could still see the tape recorder lying on her bed. Back to work, she thought.
“He’ll be back,” Amanda said,hHer insufferable fear and paranoia wasn’t going away anytime soon. “He always comes back.”
“Look, just relax, alright,” Bridget reassured her. “You can stay with me tonight.” She helped Amanda stand up on her own. “You got it?”
“Yeah,” Amanda replied.
Bridget walked over and flicked on the lights. They cut on with a start and were followed by Amanda’s terrified scream.
Alarmed, Bridget looked toward a corner wall.
Carved by a blade, large letters ran across the wall like a madman’s graffiti: Kill Em All.
The carvings of the words were etched in deep within the mundane wall. No paint job was gonna be able to cover this monstrosity.
A butcher knife was lying on the ground in front of it. Bits of white paint rather than red blood graced the blade, but it was still eerie nonetheless. Particularly the layers of paint stuck to the blade. The blade was practically coated in the pain due to how deep it hacked into those walls. If someone could do that to the hard wood, imagine what such a force could do to vulnerable human flesh.
Too overcome in fear, Bridget couldn’t even scream. John and the Christy house weren’t just after Amanda. They were after everyone.
“It’s John,” Amanda said, panicking. She snatched Bridget’s arm in a wild grip. “It’s John! It’s John!” Spit and saliva flew out with her screaming. “I told you it’s him! The house brought him back!”
Bridget grabbed her by the shoulders, but nothing was slowing Amanda down. “Amanda, please-”
“No!” Amanda shouted as she pushed Bridget back.
Aggravated, Bridget held Amanda in he arms, restraining her like a prison guard. “Amanda, just fucking chill! I don’t know what’s going on, but you gotta calm down!”
Fire-eyed, Amanda was ready to talk back. Bridget was bracing for it as well.
On the bed, an invisible force mashed in the tape recorder’s play button, the recorder’s ensuing sounds interrupting the two women’s confrontation.
They both turned and looked toward it, uneasy.
An evil voice played on the recorder, resonating through the entire room. “Amanda…” the voice drawled out.
“No…” Amanda said meekly. “John.”
Amanda sure seemed to recognize the voice, but not Bridget. It was the voice Bridget had been hearing, for sure. But while this voice sounded similar to John’s growl, it also seemed a little different. It was deeper and more stilted. Like a different person was imitating John.
“It’s the demons, Amanda,” the male voice continued.
Teardrops slid down Amanda’s face. Bridget couldn’t tell if they were tears or pain or tears of helplessness. Probably a combination of both, Bridget figured.
“They’re here, Amanda,” the voice muttered. “They’re inside me,” the man said as his voice suffered through a strike of distortion on the recorder, lending his voice an even more uncanny aesthetic to Bridget.
Bridget continued staring at the recorder as the male voice breathed heavy through the tiny speakers. Somehow, his voice seemed to only grow louder… as if the tape recorder’s volume had been pushed to impossible levels.
“They’re inside all of us!” the voice cried.
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