Gridlocked Guesthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1) (16 page)

Maybe it was the start. Let me explain what happened.

I was asleep in my room with Oliver. I was seven years old. I was just a kid. But I remember it just like it was yesterday. It was terrifying. Truly.

I walked upstairs and my dad, he was locked in his room. He was rattling the door handle and he kept shouting, "It's so damn cold in here. What has your mother done! What has your mother done!"

He was shouting. He couldn't stop. I could hear him chattering from the cold. I touched the handle of the door, and it was so cold it hurt my skin. It bit me.

I knew what he meant. Mom had been...

He shouted again, "Let me out!"

"I'll go find her," I said slowly. I didn't touch the handle again. I could feel his teeth chattering on the other side of the door. I went downstairs--

And I think I should tell you that I never saw Oliver. Not until later. I think if I had, everything would have ended differently. After the cops came, they took his body away, and I never knew, I never knew he had been peeled, all his skin flopping loose against his skeleton. I didn't find that out until much later, until I was in my twenties, the owner of a guesthouse.

I did see the twins. I could hear them giggling, even while they hung, their bodies still thrashing against the double-dutch rope. They had taught me to jump with that rope. It had been wonderful. Both of them twirling the ends of the rope, back and forth and laughing, and me, hop skippity in the middle of the thumping ropes.

It's a good memory. Skipping rope with my siblings. Oliver never quite got the hang of it, but I like to think that maybe if he hadn't died so young, he would have been an excellent jumper.

Anyways, I went down the stairs, and I saw the twins hanging there. And I could hear them giggling, even though they were dangling and choking. I tried to help them, I really did. I tried to push the heavy table back underneath their feet, but it was too heavy for me to move. I dragged a single chair over, and Delilah pressed her toes on the back, holding herself up just a little, as I stood on the chair and tried to pull the rope off the chandelier. But as she lifted herself, Trevor fell farther, suddenly choking her again. I could barely reach the chandelier, but I tried. I tried so hard to get them down.

I lost, though, and they died.

I sobbed for at least an hour before I moved on, calling my mother. Begging for her to come to me. I found her in the library.

She was dying.

She kept writing that word. The word I didn't even understand until later, until now. The word that represented her, and represents me too.

I remember trying to wipe it off her as she scrawled it in blood over and over. I had forgotten about my father entirely, and he froze to death. I wish I had been smart enough to realize if I had gotten him out, he might have been able to help her. Of course, I could be wrong.

That word. That single word, scrawled on her thigh, was probably enough to stop him.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Mikaela was sobbing against the wall, her wrists locked over her head in a long lanky chain. Zane was staring at the room. "Do you know what that says?"

Rachel shook her head. "I can say this, it's literally written everywhere."

He looked down at the floor and could see it scratched into the concrete, painted on the ceiling and the walls. Scraped into the shackles on their wrists.

Tiffany stared at it too. "Hagridden. I wish I could google it."

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything," Beth said slowly. She was sobbing softly.

I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear her saying something like that. Would I have put it everywhere if it didn't mean something? Would I?

Would my mother have carved it into her leg with blood, scrawled it on the carpet, on the walls? My father died screaming that word.

My brother Oliver told me it was his last thought as his skin was curled off his body in chunks.
Maybe it doesn't mean anything?

I didn't go in there, I'm not sure I could have controlled myself if I did. Instead, I spoke into the microphone, so that it would boom on the loudspeaker in their concrete prison. "Hagridden--tormented or harassed by nightmares or unreasonable fears. That word is your destiny."

They all jumped when I spoke. I like it when that happens. I feel like OZ, the man behind the curtain. It's a beautiful, intimate feeling. Watching young people jump.

And it was even more lovely watching them inhale that little word. Their eyes opening wide as they realize what it means to be tormented by unreasonable fears.

Harassed by nightmares.

I don't know what killed my family.

I do know they are trapped here, hagridden.

For a word I never had read in a book, or found on a spelling list, I had thought it every day of my life since that moment. Not the moment with the bear in the pit, not then. It was since I found my father freezing. Since that cold handle bit my fingers.

Since I found my brother and sister dangling from a rope.

I have heard that word echoing inside me. And sometimes I think that maybe if I write it down just two more times, it will break free from me. Maybe if I scrawl it on another wall, in another form, painted or written, or scratched or screamed and maybe, just maybe I can make it to the next day.

Maybe it won't kill me.

But this house is not a good place. This house is a monster. It's been waiting and inhaling souls, and I am hagridden.

I am tormented. I am nightmares. I am unreasonable. I am fear.

I have become hagridden.

I am Lillian.

And these ghosts are my people.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Ricky continued to drag out Rafael. He was the last one. The last dead corpse of his friends. He put the body next to Ben, next to Lucy, next to John, and Beezer. He laid them all one at a time next to the large conversion van. He stared at the house slowly. He would do a final walk through, and then light that place up like a firecracker from hell.

He stepped into the house, and the door didn't even hesitate. Sometimes I wonder why it let him in. Why? That door sometimes sticks so fiercely not a single soul can escape. But perhaps the house wanted to be done. Or maybe it was just feeling playful.

He stepped upstairs and the master bedroom rolled out long tendrils of cold air, teasing his ankles. He didn't step inside, instead shouting, "Anyone up here? This baby is about to burn. I'd get out now."

After a long pause, he went downstairs and stepped into the library. From the corner of his eye, he saw my mother lying on the floor. She was writing "grid" on her thigh, eternally stuck in the middle of the word. Ricky let out a serious shrill scream and turned his head, but he couldn't see her if he looked directly at her. Ghosts are funny that way. If he had turned his head just a bit, he could have watched her for as long as he wanted, but no, he charged forward out of the library through the kitchen, panting and shouting, "Is anybody left?"

It was a gasping sob. And I'm sorry to say, not a single person in the basement heard him. If I had heard him, I wouldn't have let him set fire to my house.

He turned and the twins, dangling on the chandelier, both grinned at him and implored him the way they do. Speaking in perfect unison, "The basement."

But he wasn't listening; he was dumping the booze on the ground and shuddering with fright. He didn't want to look at the two thirteen year olds swinging from their jump rope. He lit the first match, dropping it into the alcohol. The flames burst to life and finally the kitchen started to burn.

He turned and stepped to the little hallway at the top of the wooden stairs.

And suddenly he realized what the twins had said. It's funny how adrenaline works like that. If he had been using his head, he would have smothered the flames that were destroying my home right that moment, but instead, he turned and looked down the wooden steps and saw

The basement door

Was

Open.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

I have loved my home from the beginning, even before my family was here eternally. I'm not sure what my mother saw, but she was the first one to be obviously haunted. I mean, she was always odd--if you recall my story about the time I pulled a splinter and snapped my finger.

I'm just saying, there was a time in which I wouldn't have had to hide a splinter from my mother, a time when she wouldn't have laughed at my finger bent sideways. But that time was so long ago, I barely remember it. What I do remember is Delilah telling me about it. About Mama loving us, and jumping rope and dancing. I remember Delilah telling me that.

I don't know why so many people who stay here die. I wish I did. Only my family is stuck here. I'm not sure if it's Mama or Dad who makes them, or who it is. Or if the house is just hungry. I wish I understood it. Sometimes I think maybe I just like to kill people.

But that can't be it. I haven't killed anyone today--just Ben sorta, I guess.

Anyways, you might be wondering a bit more about me now. Like what did I do after everyone in my family turned into apparitions? And do I live in the basement?

Yes, yes I do. I rent out the rest of the house; surely you get that.

But after everyone died, the hardest years of my life started. I had to grow up in a hospital. Mama finally came and got me when I turned eighteen. She told me I should come home, and so I've been here ever since. I've been working on my degree. I plan to write novels for a living. Doesn't that sound fantastic? Gorgeous people like you could read my words and give me hope. If I make enough, I won't even have to rent out this guesthouse anymore! I can go live upstairs. Sometimes I still hug that bear when nobody is watching.

I miss him.

His big dreary eyes, and the white snow around us. I don't know why my dad wouldn't let me keep him alive.

They said I was in the hospital for so long due to mental trauma. I don't know what they are talking about. I'm way less messed up than say, Tiffany. I've never freaked out over a pregnancy that was unexpected or broke up with a man who wanted to marry me. I've never even dated at all. And why would I? Did you see what happened to Beezer and John? Have you seen how screwy Rachel and Ricky are? Ricky said they "do the freaky stuff." I don't even know what that means.

In fact, the only love I have seen this weekend that excites me is that pretty girl Mikaela in her sparkly dress, snuggled up softly on a big tall man. It just makes me feel so dreamy!

If I don't write about the guesthouse maybe I should write romance.

I doubt it, though, because even though I wanna love and dance and beat my heart in tune with another, I understand fear and pain so much better than love.

I've breathed it, swam in it, and danced with it. I'm hagridden. I can't deny it.

Since everyone was downstairs, as far as I was certain, I had opened the basement door to let a little air in. My frightened guests were getting rather stinky from sweat and fear. I let in a bit more than air.

When he found me, I was sitting staring into the room where all his friends dangled from chains. I was staring, bright wide eyes, and listening to them talking. Especially Tiffany, sobbing about her affair, her baby, her abortion. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was taking notes.

In case I wrote romance.

But then Ricky and his big bronze body came crashing into my office. He opened the door and let out a shout. I'm sure I was quite the sight to see. I haven't let anyone look at me in years. In fact, he screamed, he screamed a terrified shout and grabbed my hand!

He said, "We have to get out of here; the house is on fire!"

And I was so shocked I dropped my pen. He didn't even look away from me. Not like people normally do.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

He was holding my hand. Ricky is my favorite now. I don't know if he's your favorite, and he was taking me up the stairs, holding my hand, running past the fire that was licking at my siblings' feet. I was so breathless I couldn't keep my eyes off him. I've never held hands with anyone before. I've never got to do this! And he just treated me like a beautiful girl, and he was my firefighter and we were in love. What kind of babies would we have? All of them!

Definitely my next story will be our story, written out on paper with a proper quill pen. The story of how we met in a burning building and how we loved! Oh, and how beautiful we were. As soon as we stepped out of the front door, I wrapped myself around him and I pressed my lips to his. It was amazing!