The Haunted

Megan arrived home after four, Zoe’s mom dropping her off first, before taking Kate to her house. A monsoon had come up while they were in the theater, and thunder pealed loudly as she got out of the van. They’d missed the rain, although wet streets and a gushing gutter told her that it had really come down, but dark clouds still blocked the sun, and the occasional thunderclaps testified to the intensity of the afternoon storm.

Megan said good-bye to her friends, thanked Zoe’s mom for the ride, ignored Zoe’s sister, then turned toward her house. It looked creepy, she thought as she walked up the driveway toward it, and wondered if maybe they should have seen the romantic comedy. She walked slowly up the driveway. The gray clouds and dim light lent the house a gloominess she’d never seen before, and a chill passed through her as she noticed that none of the lights were on. There was a perfectly logical explanation for that—James liked to watch TV in the dark, and her dad’s office faced the rear of the house and was not visible from here—but she could not help thinking that the house was empty, that everyone was gone.

Dead.

She refused to even go there.

Still, she stood for a moment on the front stoop, listening for sounds. If the house was empty, she was not walking in. Luckily, she heard her dad’s music from upstairs—he liked to crank it up when her mom was out—and, relieved, she went inside. As she’d suspected, James was lying on the couch in the darkened living room, watching cartoons, an open package of Doritos on his chest.

“Is Dad upstairs?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“In his office.”

Megan bounded up the steps two at a time, eager to tell him about the movie.

But her father was not in his office. The room was empty, and, frowning, she moved past the doorway, walking all the way in, checking to see whether he was in one of the corners or crouched down behind the desk. In the back of her mind, though she didn’t want to admit it, was the fear that he had collapsed, had a stroke or heart attack or something and was lying on the floor, dead.

There was a strange clicking sound coming from his computer, and she walked around the side of his desk, grateful to see that he was not on the floor. He was probably in the bathroom, she thought reassuringly as she glanced at the monitor.

Hi, Megan!

The words were in the middle of the screen, and she might have thought her dad had typed them if they hadn’t started dancing as she watched: growing, changing colors, bouncing up and down.

The words disappeared.

I saw U.

She froze, the rhythm of her heart accelerating as the new text emerged, bright red against a light blue background. In her mind, she saw the face in the mirror, the figure in the steam. She thought of the message on her phone: I C U Megan.

“Hi.”

She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice, letting out a sharp, startled yelp.

“Whoa.” He was coming through the doorway, but he backed up comically in the face of her reaction. “I guess you saw that horror movie, huh?”

“Actually, we did,” she admitted. “But …” That’s not what scared me, she was about to say. And then she looked at the computer screen and saw only a series of free-floating icons that her dad was obviously using for his current job.

“But what?”

She shook her head. “I thought I saw something weird on your computer.”

He grinned. “There’s always something weird on my computer.”

“That’s not what I meant …” she began. She thought about telling him what she’d seen on his screen, thought about describing her experience this morning in the bathroom, but trying to make him believe she’d encountered something spooky right after she’d returned from seeing a horror movie was near impossible, and it was probably better if she brought it up some other time. She’d get only one shot with a story as out-there as this, and if she didn’t convince him the first time, she’d never be able to do it. She didn’t want to ruin her one-and-only chance.

So she smiled at him and changed the subject. “That was a good movie,” she told him. “It was creepy.”

“Did you get scared?” he teased.

“A little.”

He bumped her shoulder. “Think I can convince your mom to see it?”

“Sure,” she said, playing along. “And have her bring James.”

They both laughed.

But she still felt chilled, and even as she was joking around with her dad, she kept her eyes on his computer.

Fourteen

Saturday.