The Haunted

“I was alone in the house this morning,” Claire told her sister, keeping her voice low so their father couldn’t hear. “And I found the laundry basket in the middle of the hall. It wasn’t there ten minutes before. I was the only one in the house.”

“Maybe—”

“No!” Claire insisted. She lowered her voice. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.” She explained how she’d come home last week after they’d gone to lunch and found the laundry basket in the middle of the kitchen. Then she described how Julian’s record had played itself, though no one was upstairs and Julian was out of the house.

“Every time you move, you do this. Look, your new house isn’t haunted, your old house wasn’t haunted, and I’m beginning to think there wasn’t anything at your place in California.” She shot Claire a quick apologetic look. “Sorry.”

Claire sighed, shook her head. “That’s okay.”

“You do this all the time.”

“Maybe you’re right. It’s just—”

“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even say it.”

The two of them were silent, remembering. Behind them, they heard their father’s trowel digging into the dirt.

“Hey,” Diane said, changing the subject, “did you hear about Mr. Otano at the library? He’s being laid off. Budget cuts.”

“He’s been there since we were little.”

“They’re only going to be open Monday, Wednesday and Friday, with one part-time librarian and the rest volunteers.”

“Jesus.”

“Remember when I was thinking of being a librarian?” Diane shook her head. “I’m glad I didn’t go into that field.”

“I always thought it suited you better, though.”

Diane shrugged. “People don’t read anymore. But the demand for electricity only goes up.”

“Depressing but true.”

The two of them walked back into the house to help their mother set the table for lunch. She’d told them she’d be making BLT sandwiches, but when they entered the kitchen, she was heating up barley soup on the stove. A flicker of worry crossed Claire’s mind. Both she and Diane were concerned that their mother had started to forget things lately, and she hoped this was just a result of not having the right ingredients for her original meal rather than a symptom of memory loss. She shot Diane a look, received and acknowledged, and, clearing her throat, said, “I thought we were having sandwiches, Mom.”

Their mother looked up, startled to see them. “Oh!” She smiled. “You’re right. We were. But I found out that we were out of bacon. And tomatoes.”

Relieved, Claire went over to the sink to wash her hands, and she and her sister started setting the table, Diane getting out the bowls and cups, Claire taking care of the silverware and napkins. Ten minutes later, their father was called in, and all four of them sat down.

They discussed family matters as they ate, in-laws and grandkids, gossip, until her dad, sipping his soup, frowned at Claire. “You know,” he said, “I had a dream about your house the other night.”

She lowered her spoon, the skin prickling on her arms, and glanced quickly over at her sister.

“What happened?” Diane asked.

He frowned, shaking his head. “I can’t remember exactly. But it was some kind of nightmare, because your mother said I was thrashing around and calling out in my sleep. She had to wake me up.”

“I did!”

Claire’s heart was pounding.

Her dad spoke slowly, and she wasn’t sure whether the import that gave his words was intentional or not. “The only thing I remember,” he said, and Claire felt cold, because she knew what was coming next, “is that it had something to do with your basement.”

Nine

Finally, her friends were going to be able to stay over, and Megan planned for the slumber party by writing down lists of food, drinks, games, movies, everything they would need. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance, and as each item was found or purchased, each task completed, she made a check next to the entry on the appropriate list. Her parents had even arranged for James to spend the night at Robbie’s house, so she and her friends would have the place to themselves, and that alone was worth the wait.

James’s friend might have stayed over first, but she was going to have a party. And it was going to be good.

The day of, everything went smoothly.

Until it didn’t.