—this house. All I have to do is make a break for it. I take a deep breath, gathering as much air as I can and holding it in my lungs. Stepping off the porch, I feel the sun hit my skin. I wince at the light and shiver, hot and cold all at once.
Nothing moves. The revenants remain frozen in place, as if they’re chess pieces scattered haplessly around the board, waiting for me to make a move.
Take it slow, Erin, I think. One step at a time. Just keep your eyes—
A revenant to my left turns. A Black man. His head tilts at a severe angle, his ear to his shoulder, as if he’s questioning me. My presence wakes him. He sniffs at the air. I watch him as I pick up my pace. I should keep my attention on the car, but I’m not looking where I’m going. I can’t help but stare at the lost soul as the look of desperation on his face grows—
I collide into the mother and child. The impact sends her arms fanning out, and for a moment it looks as if this woman is offering me her own newborn.
The baby slips from her hands and falls to the ground. When it hits, the infant still won’t cry. It merely gazes up at me, mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, opening—
A scream escapes my throat.
All at once, the surrounding revenants turn. Their gray eyes ignite with a dull glimmer. Their mouths gum at the air like newborns hungry for a suckle. All they want is a taste of what haunts me, haunts all of us. They’re hungry for life. They want to see it, experience it once more.
I’m running now, racing for the car. They’re following, reaching for me. The desperate need on their faces is too much. I can’t look. There’s too many—they’re all around me.
I push away the lost soul standing in front of the driver’s side door, my hand connecting with what feels like a slab of beef.
My wrists shake so much, I can’t find the right key.
They’re gathering around me—surrounding the car. So many. Too many. I hear them closing in, but I will myself not to look. Don’t look don’t look don’t look—
I try one key. The tip of it scrapes the door before I can force it into the lock. It doesn’t fit, so I scramble for the next. Too many keys, I shout in my head, too many keys, too many—
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, like so many radio towers receiving an electric signal. Someone’s standing right behind me.
The next key doesn’t fit, either. I feel the sandpaper rasp of a cold tongue scrape at the back of my neck. Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t—
The third key slides into the door’s lock. I twist my wrist. The lock pops and I fling the door wide, leaping in and slamming it shut. Don’t look don’t look don’t look—
I lean forward, my chest pressing against the steering wheel and accidentally honking the horn—fuck fuck fuck—as I plunge the key into the ignition.
Fists hammer against the driver’s side window, pounding right at my ear. Someone tumbles onto the hood. Feet scramble up the windshield, scuffing the glass. I don’t look, forcing myself to focus on my trembling hand. I can barely steady my grip long enough to perform the simple task of starting the car.
Start the car, start the car, START THE FUCKING CAR—
They’re everywhere. Banging their fists against the hood, slapping their hands on the windows. Eyes wider than I’ve ever seen before, filled with the same hungry look, begging to be let in. They slip their fingers inside the cracked window and try to pry open the door. They’re licking at the window, running their gray tongues against the glass. They want a taste of me.
I can’t see out the windshield anymore. The sun has been eclipsed by spirits, each and every one banging on the hood, the roof, the windows.
Among the mass of bodies, I see the woman’s baby, its face smushed against the glass. I scream as I force all my strength into my wrist and twist the key, turning the engine over once, twice, grinding until it finally shrieks into existence.
My foot presses on the accelerator, the car still in park, the engine heaving under the strain, roaring all around. I slip the car into drive and speed out, parting through the sea of revenants. Their pale bodies grow smaller in the rearview mirror until there’s nothing left of them to see, their gauzy silhouettes swallowed by the horizon.
I’m free. Free of that house. Finally fucking free of Tobias.
Silas is still there, I think. Still at home. Our home. I want to blame him for abandoning me in that house—but it wasn’t his fault, was it? It was the drug. It was Ghost. He lost himself to his addiction. I understand that now because the same thing nearly happened to me.
But I’m free now, aren’t I? I got out of there. I escaped our haunted house.
I’m free, I keep repeating to myself. Fucking free!
I laugh so hard that tears stream down my face.
overdose
I put a few miles between me and home when I sense a pressure against my chest that only grows heavier the farther I drive. No matter how fast I go, pedal to the fucking metal, my flesh begins to feel like it’s getting yanked in the opposite direction, as if the gravitational pull of the house will skin me alive. Home’s calling me back.
There’s no escaping your own haunted house. It reels you in whenever you try to run.
There’s a Shell station on the side of the road and I pull in, parking haphazardly next to the pumps and abandoning the car. Pay phone, I think. I need a pay phone. I borrow a quarter from the man behind the counter. He doesn’t want any trouble so he simply gives it to me. I think I thank him but I’m not sure he hears me.
It takes a moment to remember my parents’ number, struggling to keep my hands from trembling. I dial the wrong number and have to start all over. Gripping the phone in both hands, I try to hold myself together as it rings. And rings.
Mom finally answers. “Hello?”
“Mom! Mommy, can you hear me?”
“Erin?” I hear the slightest gasp escape my mother’s mouth from the other end of the line. “Is that you? Good god, honey, where are you? Whose phone is this?”
“Mom, please, I—I need you to listen.”
She doesn’t. “You haven’t answered any of my calls. We were worried half to death about you—”
Only half? “Mom. Just—stop. I need you—I need you to help me—”
“What? What’s wrong? Do you need money?”
Of course she’d think this is about money. “I don’t want your fucking money!”
A chill slips through the receiver. She’s finally silent.
“…Mom? Mom, are you still there? Mom?”
She’s already retreating into her protective shell, muttering under her breath as she passes the phone. “…sounds like she’s on something.”
“Erin?” Dad’s taken the phone. His voice has a soft edge to it. “Is everything all right?”
“Daddy! Daddy, it’s me! I—I need help. Please. I don’t know where I am. Somewhere in Hopewell, I think. I need you to find me, Daddy. I need you to—”
“Are you high right now?”
Not high, Daddy.
Haunted.
“Erin, listen to me very clearly.” The sharpness in my father’s voice cuts right through the receiver. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into—”
“You don’t understand, I—”
“—but your mother and I will not tolerate this type of behavior.”
“But…but Daddy…” I can’t keep the tremble out of my voice. I feel so small. He’s treating me more like one of his clients than his own flesh and blood. His own daughter.
“Whatever you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in, it ends now.”
Oh god, he’s cutting me off…
“Are we clear? We’ll have none of this.”
He’s cutting me out…
“When you’re ready to come home…”
Cut, cut, cut…
“We’ll get you the proper care you nee—”
I hammer the receiver against the pay phone. I know I’m crying but I can’t feel it. My parents are perfectly content to throw money at me, if they think it’ll fix the problem. Or at least make the problem go away. But they refuse to get their hands dirty, even if it’s their own daughter asking for help.
Where am I supposed to go now?
—