Ghost House Revenge (5 page)

And then something reached his ears, some strange sound that didn’t belong in the
house. As if he had never been asleep, the dog raised his head and shoulders with
a jerk. He looked around, his ears alert for the noise.

Loud wailing was coming from Melanie’s studio. With a loud series of barks, Lad jumped
to his feet and ran upstairs. A sudden terror overtook him, and he cowered in the
studio door and whined, smelling something, but seeing nothing.

Across the room, one of the paintings lifted off its stand as if by itself. It seemed
to shake in midair.

She sells paintings, and that’s all she cares about. She doesn’t care that I was her
friend once. She doesn’t care about what happened to me
.

The painting came crashing down against the easel.

She laughs with her family while I cry for life. But I will have vengeance
.

Lad snarled as he saw the painting rise in the air again . . .

Vengeance!

. . . and come crashing down on the easel. But what he heard next was a human voice,
disembodied and powerful. He scurried to hide underneath the couch.

“Vengeance! I’ll kill them all. I’ll make them suffer like I do.”

There was a final crash, and then the house was silent once more.

“That was one terrific evening,” Melanie said as she and the others walked up the
porch steps. She was carrying Nancy, who was asleep, while Derek pushed Gary’s wheelchair.
“Thanks for everything, guys.”

“I wonder why Lad isn’t down here to greet us?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah, that’s weird,” Gina said. “He’s always here when we go out.”

“Well, he probably got tired of waiting,” Melanie said, handing Nancy to Derek as
she took off her coat. “We were out very late—so, up to bed!”

Derek offered to carry Nancy to her room. As Melanie
followed him down the hall, she noticed she had left her painting there that afternoon
and picked it up. Upstairs, she put her sleeping daughter into a pair of pajamas,
then tucked her in.

“Sleep good, love,” she said, kissing the child’s forehead.

She picked up her painting again and carried it down the hall to her studio. Slightly
giddy from the wine she had been drinking all night, she was whistling a tune as she
opened the door. Her whistling stopped short when she turned on the light.

The room was in complete disarray. Her paintings were scattered everywhere, easels
were overturned, and a tube of bright yellow paint had oozed out all over the couch.

“What happened?” Melanie demanded out loud. She could feel her heart start to pound,
but she breathed deeply and walked further into the room. She spotted one of her paintings
lying on the floor. The frame had been bent completely out of shape, and there were
long, ugly gashes running the length of the canvas.

Melanie dropped it as if it were boiling hot and ran out into the hallway. Somehow,
common sense got the better of her, and she managed not to scream out in anger. How
would she explain this to the children?

Gary was at the bottom of the steps with Derek.

“Gary, could you come to my studio with me?” Melanie forced her voice to remain calm.

“Sure,” Gary said. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” Melanie insisted. “I just want to show you something.” She looked at
Derek. “Good night.”

As she pushed him down the hallway, Gary asked what all the mystery was about. But
Melanie refused to speak. Gary’s answer came when she opened her studio door.

“My God, this place looks like a cyclone struck it,” he said. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Melanie said softly. She walked across the room and lifted the torn
painting. “Look at this. This is a painting I did a few years ago of the three children.”
She brushed back one of the torn edges to reveal a little baby. “That’s Nancy, remember?”

“It was one of my favorite pictures,” Gary said sadly.

“Mine, too,” Melanie answered. “Why, out of all my paintings, was it singled out for
destruction?”

“Singled out?” Gary asked. “You say that as if someone did this on purpose. But no
one’s been home.”

Melanie remained silent as she tried to straighten out the
mess. She propped her paintings and canvases back on their stands and righted the
easels. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she sniffled.

“Melanie, I’m sure there’s some logical explanation,” Gary said in a soothing tone.

“There always is,” Melanie answered.

A long stretch of silence passed before she spoke again. She had her back to her husband,
busily trying to scrape the yellow paint from the couch cover.

“It could be a ghost, Gary,” she said.

“Oh, of course not! Some local kids probably broke in and got their kicks by vandalizing
your studio,” Gary said.

“It isn’t impossible that the ghosts are back?” Melanie asked uncertainly.

“No, it isn’t,” Gary answered. “But it’s improbable. Honey, there is no reason to
believe all that happened here last year will happen again. You’re just tired and
upset. Why don’t you wait until morning to think this out?”

Melanie burst into tears then and ran to put her head on Gary’s shoulder.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen to me!” she cried. “I was so happy!”

“It’s okay,” Gary said, rubbing her back. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

He stared across the room. If only he had some proof that all this was the result
of mortal hands. And then, as if in answer to his pleas, he saw a small brown paw
poke out from under the couch. Then another, and then Lad slowly slithered out. Gary
tapped Melanie’s shoulder, and she looked up.

“There’s your culprit,” he said.

Lad slunked toward them, whining in terror.

“He must have been chasing a mouse,” Gary said. “And he knocked everything over. The
torn painting just caught on an edge of the easel—that’s all.”

Melanie looked into the dog’s big brown eyes and saw fear there. Though she nodded
her head in agreement for Gary’s sake, she wasn’t quite sure the dog was guilty.

An icy touch brought Melanie out of a dream sometime in the very early morning. Without
opening her eyes, she tried to brush it away, groaning. But it stayed with her, insistent,
pressed against her bare arm. Groggily she rolled over onto her back and squinted
up through the darkness.

A woman was leaning over her.

Just a dream
, Melanie thought, closing her eyes again. She sighed and opened them a second time
to check the clock. The woman was still standing there, moonlight casting a glow over
her face and dark hair. She let her hand slide down Melanie’s arm and took her hand.

“Come,” she said, simply.

Melanie opened her mouth to waken Gary, but no sound came from it. Still half-asleep,
she didn’t question, but got out of bed and followed the woman into the hallway. In
the soft moonlight, colored amber through the stained-glass window at the end of the
hall, she could see the woman was a head shorter than she. Could it be Alicen? What
did she want? Melanie couldn’t open her mouth to ask. She felt as if she were in a
dream world, where everything is fuzzy and feet don’t make contact with floors.

They went downstairs to the dining room. Now Melanie was beginning to become more
fully conscious, and she was aware of the soft rug under her bare feet. But this was
a dream, wasn’t it?

She knew it wasn’t a nightmare, because, somehow, she wasn’t afraid.

They entered the kitchen. Someone had left the light on, and in its brilliance Melanie
saw the woman’s face. It was pretty and childish, framed by long, dark hair. The old-fashioned
gown the woman wore was torn to shreds, and she had no shoes.

Encouraged by the gentleness of the woman’s face, Melanie spoke at last. Her voice
sounded hollow, far away, yet she had the feeling this was all really happening. She
wished Gary were down here.

“Who are you?” Melanie asked.

“I have come to warn you,” the woman said. “Leave this place!”

“Why?”

“There will be more sorrow,” the woman said. “I take great risks coming here—for if
she knew of me, she would conjure up the wrath of hell.”

“Who would?” Melanie demanded. “Who’s she? And who are you?”

Suddenly the woman gave a small cry. “I must go! She walks too near!”

“Wait!” Melanie cried.

The woman turned a panic-stricken face to Melanie and shook her head. Her hair waved
slowly from side to side, as if
it were floating in water. Then suddenly it started to fall out. The pretty white-and-pink
skin began to shrivel and draw away from the skin. Brown eyes disintegrated, and the
swanlike neck became a tree branch. Melanie watched in horror as the woman sank to
the floor, drawing her arms and legs up in a fetal position. She was nothing but a
black, shriveled blob. Then a skeleton. Then, nothing.

“Nnnnooo!”

Melanie screamed and screamed, falling back into a chair. She felt two hands on her
arms and tried to pull away, but they held her tightly. And from the other side of
her terror, she heard a comfortingly familiar voice.

“Melanie, wake up!”

She dared to open her eyes. Gary was leaning over her in his wheelchair.

“Gary?” she asked weakly. “Where did the woman go? Did you see the woman?”

“What woman?” Gary asked. “Here, calm down. There’s no woman here.”

Melanie looked around at the empty kitchen.

“Yes,” she said, her voice weak but insistent “Yes, I saw her! She led me down here.”

“No one led you down here,” Gary said. “I saw you get out of bed and leave the room—by
yourself.”

“You must have seen the woman, too,” Melanie said. “Why didn’t you follow us?”

Gary sighed. “Melanie, you were alone. You must have been sleepwalking, although I
didn’t realize it until I heard you screaming. Luckily, I was awake.”

“What about the children? Did they hear me?’ Melanie asked, her fears giving way for
the moment to motherly concern.

“No one’s awake,” Gary said. “Now, come back to bed.”

Melanie stood up.

“Gary, I saw a woman,” she insisted. “She brought me down here. She even spoke to
me, warned me to leave this place!” Melanie shuddered. “And then she turned into a
skeleton.”

“There was no woman,” Gary said. “You were sleepwalking, that’s all. And it’s no wonder,
after you found your studio torn apart like that. That was a frightening experience.”

“It isn’t happening again, is it Gary?” Melanie asked, her voice almost childish in
its pleading.

“Of course not,” Gary said. “Come up to bed now, darling.”

She did. But she laid awake for hours thinking of the woman. Who was she? What did
she want?

No answers came. Melanie considered the possibility that she had been sleepwalking,
as Gary said. She only wished she could be sure.

“Well, today’s the day, Gary,” Derek announced as the two entered Gary’s therapy room
the next morning. “I’m going to have you start on crutches.”

“It’s about time,” Gary said eagerly.

“Here, wheel yourself to this mat,” Derek said. “That’s the way.”

“What’s it for?” Gary asked, looking down at the heavy vinyl mat.

“Hopefully for nothing,” Derek said. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Fine,” Gary said. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, a little tired. Melanie and I
were up late last night. She went into her studio and found it ransacked. It upset
her pretty badly.”

“Did someone break into the house?”

“Oh, no!” Gary said. “I found Lad cowering underneath the sofa. I think he knocked
over a few things and got scared. Anyway, it’s okay now—so let’s get on with this.”

Derek positioned a pair of crutches under each of his patient’s arms, then lowered
the footrest of the wheelchair. After warning Gary to go slowly this first time, he
stepped back and said, “It’s all yours.”

Gary grinned at him, his face a mask of confidence. He had waited so long for this
day that he was certain he would just get up and speed right across the room.

Suddenly, as he was leaning forward, the chair shot out from behind him. With a frantic
cry, Gary dropped the
crutches and grabbed for it, landing sideways in the seat. His hands clutched the
back, and he looked up at his therapist with wide eyes.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Derek said firmly. “Try again.”

“I’m not so sure . . .”

“Try again,” Derek said, his voice firm.

“Yes, sir!” Gary answered, eyeing him suspiciously. Was he going to let him fall again?

He repositioned the crutches, then took a deep breath. Slowly he started to get up
again. And then he sank back down into the chair, frozen.

Memories of his accident came flooding back to him. He saw himself flying through
the window, shards of glass flying, sparkling all around him. Down and down and down
. . .

His eyes snapped open when his dream-self hit the trash cans below the window. He
stared down at his hands, ashamed of his fears. But he still couldn’t move.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “I just don’t understand, but I can’t do it!”

He was so frustrated that tears began to well in his eyes. Ashamed, he ran his fingers
through his hair. This was supposed to be so easy!

Derek was kneeling beside him. “Of course you can do it,” he said, with a strange
gentleness that Gary had never heard before. “You see, Gary, you associate falling
here with the fall that injured you.”

Gary blinked and looked at him. “How did you know that?”

“Simple,” Derek said, smiling as he stood again. “It’s a very common thing with people
who were hurt in falls. Why do you think I put that gym mat down?”

“But if you knew that,” Gary asked, “why did you let me fall?”

“You didn’t really fall,” Derek said. “You just got up the wrong way. And I did tell
you to be careful. These things take time, Gary.”

Gary smiled. “Look at me, will you? An overgrown crybaby. I guess I’d better tackle
those damned crutches right now, eh? Before I’m too scared to try them again?”