The Haunted

Julian grabbed her shoulders. “Stop it!” he ordered. “Get a grip!” His own hold on sanity was little more than tenuous, but someone had to be in charge. “Megan needs you! Go over to the hospital and stay with her and make sure she’s all right!” He turned to his mother-in-law. “You stay here, in case he comes back or Roger comes back or …” His brain couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence, and he just let it trail off.

Marian was wiping her eyes. “And you?”

“I’m going over there. I’ll find James and bring him back.”

Claire was still hysterical. “We couldn’t find Dad there! What if you can’t find James? What if you—”

“The longer I stay here, the more time we’re wasting. Go! Take the van. I’ll take the car.” He didn’t wait for a response, and somehow the decisiveness of his words and the determination of his actions seemed to grant him authority. Claire didn’t argue with him but started talking to her mother, telling her mom to call the hospital the second James came back. He wanted to say good-bye to her, give her a kiss, tell her that he loved her, but any indication that this wasn’t going to go perfectly would undermine her confidence and might send her over the edge, so he said nothing as he closed the door behind him.

His last glimpse was of Claire giving her mom a hug.

Then he was hurrying out to the driveway, out to his in-laws’ Civic. He got in, backed out and sped away, hoping he’d be able to find James. And hoping that, if he did, his son would be alive.

Daddy!

Julian pushed that thought out of his mind.

There was far more traffic than there should have been, and he seemed to hit every red light along the way. Several times, he ended up hitting the steering wheel in frustration as he just missed a yellow light, wondering whether the delay would cost him or whether, if he had sped through the red light, he would have been stopped by a cop and ticketed, wasting even more time.

Julian played it safe, just in case, but he grew increasingly agitated as he drove, the short trip seeming to take forever.

Finally, he turned onto Rainey. The houses looked like they’d been abandoned for months instead of days. There were no cars in any driveway, and every tree, shrub, plant or blade of grass was dead. In the middle of the block was his own house, and while he understood that all of the homes here were haunted or corrupted, he knew that his house was at the center of it; in his house lived the source.

He pulled into his driveway, opened the car door. The neighborhood was silent, and the second he got out of the vehicle, he heard his son’s cry. “Daddy!”

It was just like in his dream, and, horrified, thinking he’d been granted a glimpse of things to come, he ran up the driveway, past the side of the house. But there was no hole in the center of the backyard.

“Daddy!”

The voice was coming from inside the house, though how it could be so clear and loud Julian did not understand. It occurred to him that it was not James at all, but he’d never know whether that was true unless he checked, and he ran across the patio and opened the back door, bursting into the kitchen.

“Daddy!”

James’s voice was coming from the basement, and Julian rushed over to the door with a sinking feeling in his gut, remembering what Claire had seen Pam and her husband, Joe, doing down there.

“James!” he called. “I’m coming!”

The basement door was locked. He had no key for it—he wasn’t sure there was a key—so he began kicking the door as hard as he could, aiming the heel of his shoe at the metal plate framing the knob and the lock. He wasn’t sure what good that would do, since the door opened outward, but after two good hard kicks, he heard a metallic clank, and when he tried opening the door again, there was wiggle room.

“Daddy!”

“I’m coming!” Julian yelled. He kicked the door again. And again. And this time when he tried to twist the knob, it turned, and the door swung open. The light was already on downstairs, and as he hurried down the steps, he saw that all of the bags and boxes, all of the odds and ends they’d stored down here were gone. There was only one thing on that basement floor.

The hole.

It was the same hole as in his dream, though it was inside rather than outside. That made no logical sense, but it was true, and Julian rushed down the remaining steps, acutely aware of the fact that his son’s screams had stopped, that the basement was silent. He could hear his own footfalls and the thumping of blood in his ears, but nothing else.

Reaching the bottom, he crossed the few feet it took to get to the edge of the hole and peered down. An arm’s length below the surface, not holding desperately on to a small protruding root, as in his dream, but caught on that root by the back of his pajamas, was James.