The Spite House(28)

She’s smaller than me. She’s quieter.

Not that small. Not even Stacy’s that small.

Well, if it wasn’t her, who or what was it?

Eric had little difficulty believing that something unseen could be with him and his daughters in this house. Life experience had taught him to keep his mind open to possibilities that rational people had every reason to dismiss. Part of him even hoped, for selfish reasons, that the house was indeed as haunted as Eunice wanted him to prove it to be. But he found it hard to believe it would manifest itself so soon. Perhaps because he dared not think that whatever else was here would make it so easy for him.

The money Eunice agreed to advance him for living here was a comparative stipend. The true reward awaited once he brought her enough stories for her to feel satisfied that he’d really walked and talked with the house’s spirits, and unearthed the Masson House’s buried secrets. What she meant to do with that satisfaction, she hadn’t shared, and he didn’t really care as long as the money was real. Eric had steeled himself to be here for several weeks, perhaps even a few months. It seemed impossible to him that any activity might start before noon on his first day here. At that rate, he might only have to subject his girls to this for one or two weeks at most.

The warmth of anticipation and hopefulness kindled in his chest. He shook his head and grunted disapprovingly at himself. He could not trust optimism. He knew better.

He went to the door of the adjunct hallway, opened it, and looked inside. The walls were thin enough for him to hear Stacy talking to Miss Happy, back in her room now. Eric found the light switch along the wall and flipped it. The bulb in the center of the hall lit up, but its light could not penetrate the thick darkness at the other end of the hallway.

Have to ask for a brighter bulb to be put in here, he thought. Don’t forget—

The thought retreated as his eyes adjusted. Was there someone standing at the end of the hall? He sensed this more than he saw it, like the air had shifted closer to him. It brought up the gooseflesh on his arms. He saw a small figure within the darkness, like a body pressing against a thick, black curtain. Was it facing him? Facing the wall? He could not tell. The longer he stared, the more convinced he was of the shape’s presence. His imagination would have swayed the figure one way or the other, moved it closer or farther away, stretched or compressed its height. It wouldn’t have been able to hold the form so rigidly, he thought. And he was sure the hall had grown colder than it had been a few seconds earlier.

He surprised himself when he spoke aloud without a second thought.

“Hello,” he said to whoever he saw at the end of the hall.

The bathroom door opened slowly, as if whatever opened it wanted to peek first at what was on the other side. Daylight from the small bathroom window seeped into the end of the hall, just enough to illuminate that no one was there.

“Dad.” It was Dess. She had been in the second bedroom, the room that the door at the end of the hall led into. Eric heard her leave the room, go through Stacy’s room, and enter the foyer. He lingered in the hall an extra second to be sure that whatever had been at the end of the hall was truly gone, then stepped back into the foyer, where Dess was waiting for him. She looked like she had seen a car drive off a bridge but was just barely calm enough to give a solid account of it to first responders. Before she said anything, she turned to shut Stacy’s door.

“That wasn’t you, was it?” she said. “The bathroom door opened just now.”

“I know.”

“And it couldn’t have been you, because you were over here, right?”

“It wasn’t me,” Eric said.

“All right. Do you think that was a thing or not? Like, could it have just been this weirdo house being uneven or something?”

“I don’t know, Dess. I guess it could be that.”

“It has to be that, right? I mean we just got here. Anything weird would take longer to start up if it was going to happen, right?”

“I wish I knew, Dess. I feel like maybe I saw something, but maybe not.”

“Okay. Oookay.” She put her hands behind her head and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up from her mother. “So, that either happened or it didn’t. I mean it did, but it was either real or it wasn’t. Which is pretty obvi when I say it like that, but that’s what it is, right? It either is or it isn’t. Shit, I feel like I’m not saying what I want to say.”

Eric put his hands on her shoulders, and her light tremors gave him an extra measure of calm. His sense of fatherly responsibility activated and demanded he be strong for her despite his own anxiousness over what he did or didn’t see in the hallway.

“I understand. I know what you’re trying to say.”

Dess shook her head. “No, no, no. Dad, you don’t. You can’t because I’m not saying it right. What I’m saying is what if that is a ghost or something? I know what we do if it’s not, but what do we do if it is?”

“I just write it down, that’s all. That’s what she’s paying me for. And if it really is something, we’ll be fine. It can’t hurt us.”

“How do you know that? There’s no way you know that.”

“Listen, if you don’t want to stay, I can ask Eunice to take you and Stacy in. She’s already agreed to that.”