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Gravel crunched under-tire as Katters and Zebra neared the end of their road-trip. It had taken ten hours of almost constant driving, but they\u2019d made it to Bayhedge.<\/p>\n
They were not in the quaint, seaside town they\u2019d envisioned. Instead, Zebra drove them through a dense, uninhabited wood, over a side-road that twisted dangerously through the fog. His new property did not coexist with the rest of Bayhedge so much as sit above it, looking down on the city like a gargoyle.<\/p>\n
He could not tell at what point, exactly, the gravel road turned into a gravel driveway. The trees, which could sometimes be spotted looming in through the fog, dwindled in frequency until the car was left alone with the road and a flat wall of grey. Here, all sound seemed to disappear \u2014 even the tires sounded distant, as though the entire world had been swallowed up by the fog and digested into nothing.<\/p>\n
Katters lit a cigarette. Her scales and snout were illuminated orange for a moment, then faded back to their normal, brownish colours. \u201cYeah,\u201d she said, rolling her window down. \u201cThis looks like a real fun place to live.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m just looking,\u201d Zebra said.<\/p>\n
The woods smelled of pine, dirt, and \u2014 faintly \u2014 of salt. It was an unusual combination, and vaguely off-putting for it. Until it was masked by the burning tobacco Katters was blowing into the car.<\/p>\n
\u201cPictures are for looking,\u201d she said. \u201cYou don\u2019t drive five hundred miles to look at a place.\u201d<\/p>\n
He glanced over at her, his eyebrows raised and a benign smile on his thin lips. \u201cI\u2019m curious. Aren\u2019t you curious?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCurious of what?\u201d She tapped ashes into an empty soda can. \u201cCurious of how we\u2019re going to die horrific deaths at the ethereal hands of your inherited poltergeist? No. I\u2019m not curious. I\u2019m suspicious.\u201d<\/p>\n
She bared her teeth at him in a sarcastic smile, too wide, too sharp.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not haunted,\u201d he said. He kept his tone light, but frustration leaked into it anyway, and his pale hands turned even whiter from his grip on the wheel. He was tired of hearing about how haunted his house was. Ten hours of it was more than enough.<\/p>\n
A distant porchlight bloomed into existence, a yellow-white dot piercing the murk like the lure on a deep-sea fish. He slowed the car as the rest of the house faded into view.<\/p>\n
It had a bloated look to it, much wider than it was tall. Despite this, it carried a Victorian air, with peaked roofs and matching overhangs over the slender windows. The trim looked black in the fog, and the paint was a dingy yellow-grey that could have been intentional or could have been neglect.<\/p>\n
He parked in front of the porch. They peered out the windshield, up at the house.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhether or not it\u2019s haunted,\u201d she said, \u201cand it is \u2014 it looks like a death trap. And not the fun kind.\u201d<\/p>\n
He climbed out of the car.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeriously, Zeebs!\u201d she called out the window. \u201cLet sleeping ghosts lie!\u201d<\/p>\n
He ignored her, making his way up the porch steps. They felt soft, and didn\u2019t creak \u2014 swollen and bloated from the moisture in the air. He would have to check the house for mould, later.<\/p>\n
The car\u2019s passenger door slammed open and shut. Zebra pulled the key from his jacket and when he looked down, his shaggy, black hair fell over his shoulders and face. He brushed the curls back into place \u2014 or close enough \u2014 and Katters caught up with him. She was treading carefully, probably keeping an eye out for trap doors.<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t there supposed to be someone here to meet us?\u201d she asked. \u201cA probate attorney, or an estate attorney, or\u2026? Vincent Price, maybe?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. We\u2019re all alone out here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, that\u2019s great.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grinned. Not as sharp as hers, but sharp, for a human. \u201cNo one even knows where we are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlso great.\u201d She peered out over the driveway at nothing, and the flippancy in her tone could have meant she\u2019d stopped paying attention to the conversation, if it had been someone else. But she was planning an escape route, or calculating how far they were from civilisation, or just regretting the trip.<\/p>\n
Zebra unlocked the door and stepped into the house.<\/p>\n
The foyer seemed enormous. Its walls stretched out and away, into the shadows.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, this uncle of yours,\u201d Katters said, keeping close behind him while he hunted for the lightswitch.<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat-uncle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat-uncle. This great uncle of yours. He did what, exactly?\u201d<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t give off any body-heat, or at least none that could be noticed, and she had a soft, easy step. So it was difficult to tell how close she was, except by the sound of her voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cPushed papers,\u201d he said, distracted. \u201cI\u2019m not sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
It made him uncomfortable. Having someone that close and not being able to tell. It was like she didn\u2019t exist, physically. It was weird. Unnatural. But he pretended to not have noticed.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wasn\u2019t a serial murderer or anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot as far as I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He found a lightswitch and flipped it. The foyer was bathed in light and its dimensions became both solid and reasonable.<\/p>\n
A web-like skylight decorated the domed ceiling. A mural was painted around it, but the chandelier below \u2014 a gaudy thing made of antlers and faux-candles \u2014 aimed all its light downward, casting heavy shadows on the ceiling.<\/p>\n
Katters wandered out of his personal space, closer to the middle of the room. \u201cHow did he die?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHeart attack.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chairs and loveseats dotted the ground floor, made of dark wood and thin cushions. Those could stay, Zebra thought, but the chandelier would have to go. First impressions are everything, and he couldn\u2019t have the first thing prospective buyers see be that<\/i>.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s furnished,\u201d Katters said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe left me everything. The house, and everything in it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything the light touches.\u201d<\/p>\n
There were a pair of curved staircases in front of them, dominating the foyer. They joined together at the second floor, which wrapped around the room like a balcony and framed the skylight from below.<\/p>\n
Zebra straightened his already-straight tie and dusted his fingers against his vest. \u201cI guess we should find the bedrooms, and bring the luggage in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re staying here?\u201d Katters balked, pale-blue ears pinned flat against her neck. \u201cOvernight?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. That would be why we brought our luggage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, here?\u201d<\/p>\n
He started up the stairs and she followed him, apparently more concerned with being alone than being led deeper into the house. \u201cThis is my house,\u201d he said airily. \u201cFor now, anyway. Why not put it to some use?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause it is definitely haunted.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re paranoid.\u201d<\/p>\n
At the top of the stairs, beyond the balcony, a hallway ran the width of the house. Several dark, somber doors interrupted its dark, somber wallpaper. Paintings of ships sailed between them.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow come the lights work?\u201d Katters asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cCompetent electricians.\u201d He tried a door, and behind it was a furnished but clearly not oft-used bedroom.<\/p>\n
She tried one, and he could see a small library over her shoulder before she closed it again. \u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cI mean, why haven\u2019t they turned the power off?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExecutor arranged to have it left on for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The bedroom was small, and decorated in warm colours and a lot of velvet. More paintings hung on the walls, this time of grassy hills and clear skies. The far wall was taken up by a double bed, and there was an enormous elk\u2019s head hanging above it. Its antlers spanned the entire wall and grazed the ceiling at several points. It stared blankly down at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood enough,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
She tried another door and closed it again a moment later.<\/p>\n
The house had a comfortable, lived-in feel. The colours, while dark in theme, were also inviting, and there was just enough contrast in the blues and whites of the decorations to keep the eye from getting bored.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot bad,\u201d he mused. Louder, he said, \u201cI don\u2019t know, I kind of like it. It\u2019s cosy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s haunted,\u201d she repeated, but her words sounded rote and he could tell her heart wasn\u2019t in it. She was getting used to the place and would stop putting up a fuss about staying there, soon. She opened a third door, further down the hallway. \u201cScore!\u201d<\/p>\n
He followed her.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d found the master bedroom, decorated with much the same sensibilities as the guest bedroom \u2014 though lacking in any extra heads. \u201cGot the big bed,\u201d she said, with perked ears and a smug grin.<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat-Uncle Anthony died in that bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
She shrugged. \u201cThen it\u2019s to die for.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSuit yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo comfortable, you never want to get out of it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He left the room. \u201cYou\u2019re the one going on and on about this place being haunted.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho ever heard of a haunted bed? Ain\u2019t no one ever heard of a haunted bed \u2014 that\u2019s just silly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Bed That Eats.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSee?\u201d she said. \u201cSilly.\u201d<\/p>\n
He poked his head into the other rooms as they passed through the hall. Bathroom: white tile, white porcelain, a tiny shower. Library: leather chairs, leather books, dust and vanilla. Bedroom: decapitated megafauna. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that needed more than a passing glance that night.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can bring our things in later,\u201d he said, pulling his head back out of the bedroom and closing the door. \u201cLet\u2019s look at the rest of the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think there\u2019s still food in the kitchen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst you sleep in a dead man\u2019s bed, now you want to eat his food?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not like he\u2019s going to eat it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are the most sensitive person I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
She leaned against a wall while he looked into the rest of the rooms. Study. Game room. Another bathroom.<\/p>\n
\u201cZebra,\u201d she said, patronising. \u201cWe kill people for a living. Hell, not even \u2014 we do it for fun. It\u2019s really just a happy coincidence that killing people also makes us money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd yet,\u201d he said, closing the last door. \u201cYou\u2019re worried this<\/i> place is haunted.\u201d<\/p>\n
From the second floor, he could see the mural painted around the skylight. Silhouettes of hunters on horseback chased deer and foxes in a never-ending circle.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey,\u201d she said. \u201cHey. A ghost haunts TIMPS, that\u2019s different. I\u2019ll kick that ghost\u2019s ass, I don\u2019t even care. That\u2019s my house, you know? That\u2019s my property.\u201d<\/p>\n
They started down the stairs and she continued. \u201cA ghost haunts some house five hundred miles away that\u2019s recently become the property of some guy I know? Fuck that. That ghost can have that house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis house,\u201d he corrected.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not five hundred miles away,\u201d he said, his tone flat. \u201cIt\u2019s right here, all around you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not following.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, okay, yes,\u201d she said. \u201cI absolutely care whether or not a building I\u2019m currently in is haunted. But I\u2019m incapable of doing anything if\u2014\u201d She sighed. \u201cLike, see, it\u2019s not that I don\u2019t care, or don\u2019t want to, it\u2019s that I can\u2019t dehaunt a place if I don\u2019t have the emotional connection that exists between a person and the place they live. It\u2019s much easier to just leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
They reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in the foyer for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not making any sense,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDehaunting?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDehaunting, it\u2019s a word. It\u2019s the process of removing a haunt.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you need an\u2014\u201d he made finger quotes, \u201cemotional connection, with a house in order to\u2014\u201d more finger quotes, \u201cdehaunt it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, man. You ever tried to dehaunt a house you didn\u2019t care about?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said, leading them to the door on the right. \u201cHave you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, but I bet it\u2019s really hard.\u201d<\/p>\n
The door opened onto a kitchen, which had a jarring country aesthetic, at odds with the heavily Gothic d\u00e9cor of the rest of the house. Floral curtains, black-and-white checkered tile, blue countertops. It probably wasn\u2019t worth redecorating, but he made a mental note to look into it, anyway.<\/p>\n
Katters made a beeline for the fridge and her disappointed groan must have meant it was empty. Zebra continued on to the dining room, and back into the land of dark, polished wood and warm velvet.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know ghosts don\u2019t exist, right?\u201d he asked. \u201cHaunted houses aren\u2019t a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t prove that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, but the lack of any actual ghost sightings at all is very compelling evidence, in my opinion.\u201d<\/p>\n
All the rooms on the ground floor were connected in a ring around the foyer, making the house an easy one to inspect. Along with the kitchen and dining room, they passed through a washroom and a lounge. The last door, for the room across from the kitchen, was locked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, you still think this house needs dehaunting?\u201d Zebra asked, pulling the key back out of his jacket.<\/p>\n
\u201cDefinitely.\u201d Katters had picked up a trinket somewhere along the way. A ceramic pig, that she ran her fingers over absent-mindedly. Her claws kept scraping against it and making an awful noise that she didn\u2019t seem to notice.<\/p>\n
\u201cEven though ghosts don\u2019t exist.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis place is very haunted. Super haunted. Have you decided what you\u2019re going to do with it?\u201d<\/p>\n
Still rote. Unable to change her stance, even if she could no longer put any weight behind it.<\/p>\n
\u201cSell it. I\u2019ll have to stay here over the weekend and take inventory of all the furniture and sundry. Maybe arrange an auction. You can take the car back to Snowtown in the morning, though.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt probably would be a bad idea to leave the shops closed an entire weekend,\u201d she said, leaning against the doorjamb. \u201cI\u2019m not sure who I pity more \u2014 me for having to work the register the entire time or you for having to sort through an entire house\u2019s worth of knick-knacks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019ll be like looting the corpses, without the fun part,\u201d he said wistfully, and opened the door.<\/p>\n
Their conversation died suddenly, words curling up in their throats, lodging in them as the corpses of idle chatter. Zebra took an unconscious step back. Katters stood up, dropping the figurine, her ears folded down.<\/p>\n
A chill leaked out of the room and brushed against Zebra\u2019s face and neck with a clamminess that clung to his skin. Things lurked in the shadows \u2014 tall, angular shapes and squat, hunched figures.<\/p>\n
He reached through the doorway and flinched when his hand hit what seemed like a solid wall of cold. But he pressed on, feeling along the wall next to the jamb, and his fingers soon stumbled onto a lightswitch.<\/p>\n
A lamp next to the door flashed on \u2014 first too bright, then too dim. The angular shapes resolved into floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the hunched figures became plush chairs and a desk. An old personal computer sat on that, grey and dusty, and accompanied by a matching line printer.<\/p>\n
Katters\u2019 ears flipped forward. \u201cHoly shit, is that an Atari ST?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Zebra asked, bewildered. She shoved him out of the way, walking into the room and straight to the desk. He stood at the door, feeling left behind in more ways than one.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is!\u201d she said, sitting down. \u201cIt\u2019s a five-twenty, holy shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hesitated, then followed after her, taking in the books that surrounded them. He was tense, and blamed the cold for it. \u201cIs that good?\u201d he asked. \u201cIs it rare?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d she said, turning in the cheap, plastic office chair to face him. \u201cI mean, you got to remember, this thing\u2019s older than you are. There\u2019s a good chance it\u2019s older than I am.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut is it worth anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNah, you\u2019d be lucky to get fifty for it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He lost what little interest he had in the computer.<\/p>\n
The bookshelves were full to bursting of leatherbound volumes, what looked to be primarily \u2014 if not entirely \u2014 nonfiction works. Shelves near the floor broke the pattern with thick, plastic binders. Some had labels pasted to the spines \u2014 B.E.S.T. Business Management, Timeworks Personal Computer Software, MichTron HiSoft BASIC<\/i> \u2014 but most were blank.<\/p>\n
Katters pulled a rack of floppy disks from a desk drawer and started browsing them. \u201cWhat the hell was your uncle doing with this fossil?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat-uncle,\u201d he said, automatically. \u201cI don\u2019t know, what does he have on it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor it. The only thing on it would be the operating system \u2014 called, get this, The Operating System.\u201d She grinned at him, but the expression died when he refused to react to the trivia. \u201cHe\u2019s got some games.\u201d She turned back to the disks and flipped through them. \u201cSuspended, Gauntlet, Captain Blood. Barbarian, which is kind of appropriate if you think about it. There\u2019s a lot of floppies just labelled with numbers \u2014 maybe he was a hobbyist codemonkey.\u201d<\/p>\n
Zebra crossed his arms. \u201cWell. I suppose that\u2019s the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess so,\u201d she said, still rifling through the disks. She selected one and stuck it into the side of the computer \u2014 it slotted in with a ch-k<\/i> noise.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s smaller than I\u2019d expected. The house. Or hoped, really. I\u2019ll do a more thorough look tomorrow, after some rest.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah-huh,\u201d she said, sliding a hand across the back of the computer\u2019s keyboard.<\/p>\n
He started meandering toward the door. The cold had not relented, and he made a mental note to check the window in the morning for drafts. \u201cHey,\u201d he said. \u201cYou want to go do something a little more proactive?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMercy?\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked up, ears twitching. \u201cYeah,\u201d she said, after a moment, and pulled her hand back. \u201cThat sounds like fun.\u201d
\n <\/p>\n
\nNext<\/a><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Gravel crunched under-tire as Katters and Zebra neared the end of their road-trip. It had taken ten hours of almost constant driving, but they\u2019d made it to Bayhedge. They were not in the quaint, seaside town they\u2019d envisioned. Instead, Zebra drove them through a dense, uninhabited wood, over a side-road \u2026 Continue reading