The Spite House(21)
He took a deep breath, remembering. “That first time it happened, the moonlight was bright enough that I should’ve been able to see somebody there with me but I couldn’t. I could sense them, though. Sense their fear. I could put two and two together and tell they were frantic because of the fire, even though I didn’t hear them say anything. Then I felt this incredible rush of anger that I knew came from the other person. It was a hundred times more intense than the fire. It was like the harshest, most blinding light imaginable paired with the loudest scream ever heard. I couldn’t see or hear anything past that anger for what felt like forever. Then it was all gone, and I was by myself again, wondering what the hell just happened. It’s not easy, going through something like that…”
“I agree,” Eunice said. She sounded somewhat distant, but not uninterested.
“So, that first time it happened, I stayed awake for the whole night, too scared to move to even save myself. When enough of the day came to chase it all away, I finally got up and walked around the house to be sure nothing had burned up. Everything was fine. I figured my imagination had gotten the best of me and I just kept it to myself. A couple of days went by before it happened again. Then it happened a third time a couple days after that and by then I was so tired I almost fell asleep at the dinner table, and that’s when my grandma made me tell her what was wrong. I told her about it, but I said it was a dream even though I knew it wasn’t one. She looked at my grandfather and said, ‘You want to tell him?’ He pulled me aside, told me about the fire, and how he’d been in that back-corner room when it started. Him and Grandma had argued that night, and she and my great-grandparents all agreed he should sleep off his anger in there.
“He didn’t say what they fought about, but apparently he had a rep for getting into it with some of the people north of the tracks. Sometimes he had a response for when they threw a slur at him. They were used to black and brown people just keeping quiet, never standing up or pushing back. That wasn’t his nature. I’ve got a hunch that it was all related. The fight with my grandmother, his confrontations on the northside, the fire. Maybe Grandma had been telling him he needed to be more cautious, think of everybody else in the house before he got into it with somebody north of the tracks who might take things too far. Not knowing that some of them were already on their way to take it too far.
“Anyway, my grandfather said he never remembered making it out of that room. He remembered being surrounded by flames and choking on smoke and then he must have passed out. The next thing he knew he was in a hospital bed. No one ever told him how he got out. His mom and pops and my grandma just said it was a miracle. God had delivered him. Didn’t even have a mark on him. And he was on his feet and better than ever sooner than expected. The rest of them wanted to move, find some other town, but Grandpa said hell no. They stayed with some friends while he got to work rebuilding the place. His dad was a little too worn down to be much help, but they had some cousins and neighbors who pitched in some. A little later when I asked around town about it, some of the old-timers would tell me it was mostly my grandfather’s work. One of them said that he worked like a man possessed. They wouldn’t tell me much else, except for one other big thing. Nobody north of the tracks ever so much as side-eyed him or the family again. He got some kind of rep after all of that, I guess. And with all respect to my own pops, that story solidified my grandfather as my hero.
“But it didn’t explain what had happened to me in that room. That’s why I don’t call it a ghost story. Like I said, I don’t know what to call it. I’ve looked up theories over the years and the only one that kind of makes sense to me is that sometimes the past has sort of an echo that catches up to the present. It’s not a standardized thing, it doesn’t happen on specific anniversaries or anything like that. It’s random, and sometimes people are there to see it or hear it, and sometimes not. Anyway, that’s my experience, Miss Houghton. You’re the first person I’ve ever told that story to.”
Eunice said, “I appreciate you sharing that with me, Mr. Ross. It did indeed help. I have one follow-up question, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.”
“You said you smelled the smoke and heard flames. Did you feel the fire, too? I’m just wondering.”
A short laugh hopped from his throat, and Eric said, “No, actually. It was cold as hell. Cold as I’ve ever been, and I’ve lived up north, as I told you. I’ve been through some ugly winters, but that room in West Texas, of all places, in the summer, was the coldest place I’ve ever been in. It was like being on the dark side of the moon or something.”
Eunice looked somewhat startled at that, and Eric thought he saw something close to excitement come to the front of her eyes. Maybe even a little smile threatening to cross her face.
“Well then, Mr. Ross, my next question is do you have time now to do a walk-through of the house you’ll be staying in.”
“Are you offering me the job?”
“I’d like you to take a look inside the house first,” she said, “be sure you know what you’re literally getting into. Then, if you’re still agreeable to it, yes, I’m offering you the position.”
“I … I wasn’t expecting that. Thank you. This means so much. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Take a look at the house first. I’ll have Dana take you. Lafonda and I will keep your girls company. Lafonda’s a medical professional. And chef, and physical therapist, and maybe a superhero when I’m not around. Point being she’s great at taking care of people. She and I will take the girls on a little shopping trip downtown, with your approval. I’m presuming you-all didn’t bring any clothes to stay here overnight. Here in this house, I mean. Not the other one. We’ll need a day to get that properly arranged for you.”