The Haunted

Her first thought was that she was being punished, that, even though she’d obeyed orders and done nothing, the thing in the house knew what she’d been thinking and wanted to prove that it could get to her whenever it wanted, despite all her precautions. If true, what would happen to her if she dared to tell her parents about the slashes on her legs? What would happen to them if they knew? The safest thing would be to maintain her silence and suffer.

There was a nagging notion in the back of her mind, however, that the cuts had not been inflicted on her by some outside force but that she had made the cuts herself. In a way, this idea was even scarier. Because, try as she might, Megan could not remember doing such a thing and could think of no reason why she would.

Maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe none of the things she thought were going on were really going on. Maybe she hadn’t received any of those weird texts. Maybe there’d been no camouflaged monster at her sleepover. Maybe …

No. Her mom had seen one of the texts—

Take off your pants.

—as had James—

I will kill you both.

—and her friends had all gotten spooked by that out-of-control Ouija board even before they’d fallen asleep. These things were real.

Megan leaned forward, looking at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t crazy. She was just caught up in a crazy situation.

But what could she do about it?

She went downstairs, where her mom was already waiting for her. “Are you ready?” her mom asked.

“Yeah,” Megan said.

The two of them were planning to walk downtown together, her mom to go to work, she to go to the library. She’d finished another book, and was due a prize from the summer reading program. The program was nearly over, so prizes were getting down to the bottom of the barrel, and she wanted to make sure she got something decent. Of course, the library wouldn’t be open for another hour, but she could hang out at her mom’s office and the two of them could get in some mother-daughter bonding time. They could talk, and maybe she could even …

Megan thought of the cuts on her legs.

No.

They were already out the door when her mom realized at the last minute that she’d forgotten to bring along her flash drive, so Megan waited outside, standing in the front yard while her mother went back into the house. She pushed at the tire swing, wondering why her dad hadn’t taken it down, since neither she nor James used it. Then she wondered why James didn’t use it. The swing was something he should have loved.

A man walked slowly past on the sidewalk, making an almost comically obvious effort not to glance at their house or yard. Megan frowned. There was something familiar about him, and she tried to remember where she’d seen him before. He was an older guy, wearing a backward yellow baseball cap, and though she was almost certain he did not live on this street, and he did not seem to have any reason to be here, he walked by, then crossed the street and walked by in the opposite direction, the way he had come, still not looking at their yard.

That was weird. But then her mom came out, and she forgot all about the man.

“Let’s go,” her mom said.

Away from the house, Megan felt better. The fear was still there—it was always there these days—but she felt lighter, physically as well as mentally. She noticed the difference only when she left, but at home there was a heaviness to everything she did. Her thoughts were slower, her movements more sluggish. It felt completely normal to her while there, but the minute she was off the premises, it was as if she’d lost twenty pounds and gained twenty IQ points.

What in the world was wrong with their house?

It was a question she carried with her, one that was always in back of every thought. She had still not come up with a satisfactory answer, but it seemed clear to her that whatever plagued their home was far more than just a simple haunting. No ghost or spirit could do all … this.

Her mom seemed in a better mood, too, away from the house. As they walked through the park, she began asking Megan about school. It started in only two weeks, and usually by this time they were going shopping for clothes, had started to pick up supplies and were getting ready. But this year, school didn’t even seem to be on the radar. Even when they weren’t distracted by other things, the subject just never came up, and it felt good to be finally talking about it. Reassuring. She herself had been so focused on events at home that she’d given very little thought to her entry into eighth grade. It was going to be her last year in middle school, and while, ordinarily, that would have made her anxious, excited or something, this summer it had hardly registered.

So it felt great to be talking to her mom in a normal way about normal things.