Ghost of O'Leary House

Chapter Eleven

As the house finally settled, with Grandma shutting off the lights to the rooms one by one before retreating to her own, David sat in his room under the covers with the blank pages of the book open, his hands running over the thick parchment to try and understand the enigma before him. He’d taken a rubber band to the photos before sliding them back behind the sleeve of the front cover. He’d carefully written out the names of each child and the marked years on a notepad, before tearing away the pages and secreting them away into his suitcase. Now all he had to do was look up who these children were, and how they were connected to his Grandmother.

“Somehow these are all connected, I just know it!” David said, idly turning the pages of the large tome. “And they’re all connected to this book as well!”

The patches of hardened green goop on his arms had long since halted the itchiness that had begun to plague David, the pollen from the Witch-Hazel giving him spots of rashes over his arms and up his neck. He scratched at one of the more irritated spots on his neck, giving in to the momentary relief the action gave. Closing the book, David slid it under his mattress for safe keeping before swinging his legs off the bed, his slipper clad feet landing on the cold wooden floor with nary a sound.

Standing up, he walked across the room and opened his door. Across from his bedroom was the door to his Grandmother’s room, the door closed with the melodic sounds of nighttime radio coming from behind the heavy wooden door. Smiling at the idea of his grandmother tucked into bed, slowly drifting off to sleep to the sounds of a slow jazz symphony, David opened the bathroom door and walked in. Flipping on the light, he looked around the before moving to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he washed his hands before splashing his face a few times.

Clearing his eyes, he looked at the reflection coming off the medicine cabinet and smiled at it. He stretched his neck back and forth to look at the hot pink and red welts that had grown in spattered spots over his bare skin. It was too late to go to his grandmother for more of that salve she used, so he just settled for searching for some moisturizer. Beneath the sink, he found a pump bottle of the substance, old and crusty and forgotten. Giving it a few pumps to clear the tube, he squirted a large dollop into his hand before rubbing the soothing solution over his exposed neck.

Sighing at the cool touch, he continued to lather and rub the lotion over his irritated skin. The lotion soon disappeared, leaving behind an oily residue that made his skin slick to the touch, yet refreshed at the same time. Staring in the mirror, David watched as the welts paled slightly in color, the creamy white lotion easing the pain that the Witch-Hazel caused.

“Never knew I was allergic to anything other than roses,” David said to himself, pulling his night shirt low to see if any of the splotches had spread to his chest. Content when he saw none, he moved to put the lotion back before closing the cabinet.

Looking back up in the mirror, David jumped when he saw the old woman once again, staring at David with hollow eyes. Spinning around, David looked at the old woman. She was standing with her tattered clothes wrapped around her, a shawl that seemed to be never-ending and dark as night. Her withered hands were curled into tight claws, one tangled in her shawl near her neck as she stared down at David with a look of pure loathing.

“So, the little boy returns,” the woman said, her voice thick with an unfamiliar accent, whispery and raw.

“Returns?” David asked, backing up into the sink. “I’ve never been here before. Who are you?”

“Come upstairs to see,” the woman replied before collapsing in on herself, slowly curling like a dying flower until her body was nothing but mist and shadow.

David stormed out of the bathroom and down the hall, past the kitchen and into the living room. He stared at the boxes blocking the stairs for a moment before he walked up and lifted one over the bungee cord, setting it aside so he could make a narrow path up the stairs. The boxes were surprisingly light, not packed with anything but shredded newspaper and some old books. Once he got the path clear, he began climbing up the dark wooden steps into the shadowy interior of the house.

The upstairs had a hall, just like the one downstairs, with two doors leading to rooms facing the front of the house next to the stairs, a door leading to a room that would be facing the garden, and a final door that would face the woods. The floral pattern of the wallpaper on the walls was peeling, and the door’s lacquer was slowly chipping away. The thin carpet on the floor was matted and old, with balding spots every few feet. It was obvious that what Grandma had said was true; she didn’t use the upstairs for anything anymore.

David walked slowly down the hall, hands pressed against the wall so as not to trip on anything. He came to the first door facing the front of the house, just over the living room, his hand immediately drifting to the knob. Turning it slowly, David slid inside the room and, instinctively, went to flick on the light switch.

Amazingly, it worked! A dim, dusty bulb flickered on above head, revealing a bedroom that looked as if it hadn’t changed since the Victorian era. Looking out at the window that stood over the driveway, David was certain this was where he’d seen the old woman standing when he’d arrived here earlier today.

Walking slowly across the room so as not to make any noise, David looked at the four-poster bed dominating the center of the room. With the drapes drawn closed, he stared at them for a good thirty seconds before he heard it.

A faint rustling of cloth against cloth, coming from behind the curtains. Nervously wiggling his fingers, David took a step closer to the bed and reached out for the curtains, intent on finding out what was behind them. They breathed in and out as if they were one big lung, providing oxygen to the ancient house. This made him wonder where the heart of the house would be. As his hand reached out towards the curtains, he was interrupted.

“No!” Cried a hoarse voice, a thick hand coming from around the curtains and grabbing onto David’s bony wrist, causing him to scream.