Authors: Jodi Thomas
Ransom Canyon (26 page)
The place was empty, so they weren’t likely to be bothered. Yancy worked across the street at the retirement community surrounded by senior citizens.
Since Wilkes was only talking to himself lately, another voice might pull him out of his slump. Maybe he’d even tell his friend about Uncle Vern’s plan to marry him off to the first chubby, rich, dumb girl they could find.
“How can I help?” Wilkes had no idea why Yancy needed to talk to him.
“I got a history question for you.”
Wilkes thought of telling the guy that just because a man had a history degree doesn’t make him an expert on any time period. He’d majored in history because it sounded easier than math or English. “I’ll try to help.”
Yancy straightened, took a gulp of hot coffee the waitress slid in front of him and started. “You think a house can draw you to it? Kind of like it’s calling you?”
Nope
was the first answer that came to mind, but Wilkes leaned back, deciding this conversation might just be interesting. “Tell me about it, Yancy.” His friend seemed suddenly far younger than twenty-eight.
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
Wilkes shook his head. “I can’t help if I don’t know every fact. Just start from the beginning, and don’t leave out a single observation. I’ll wait until I know the details before I call you crazy.”
The handyman nodded, took another gulp of coffee and said, “Last night, like I do a lot of nights, I took a walk down the north road. The moon seemed to be whispering secrets in the midnight air, like it does on cloudy nights, you know.”
“I know.” Wilkes’s brain cells woke up. He didn’t know at all. He doubted he would be any help to Yancy Grey, but he was curious to hear more.
“I moved down the road toward the old Gypsy House. I heard some folks’ll swear they’ve seen strangers as foggy as ghosts going into the house after dark and never coming out. The retired folks across the street say the place is haunted by dead Gypsies or hippies, no one knows which. Some say the crumbling old place almost took four teenagers’ lives a few years ago, but I was too much into my own problems then and don’t remember the details. When I asked about the house, folks claimed evil lived there. One even said he thought he heard a scream once when he passed the place.”
“I’ve heard the stories, too. Did you see or...feel anything?” Wilkes interrupted.
Yancy shook his head. “The house has been drawing me since I arrived in Crossroads. Even before I’d heard it was haunted. I guess you probably heard I came to town broke, alone and fresh out of prison.”
“I heard. Also know you helped the sheriff catch a gang of rustlers who almost killed Staten Kirkland.”
Yancy smiled. “Yeah, after that folks accepted me. I’m doing all right. Got a good job. Hell, I even saved enough to buy a car, but still I walk at night out to that old place. I feel like it’s mocking me. Daring me to step inside. Sounds crazy, don’t it?”
Wilkes shrugged. “I’m tracking you.”
Yancy continued, “As I got close to the house last night, it seemed to grow. Maybe it was in my head, but with every step closer the place looked bigger. I’ve seen some bad things in my life, but last night I swear I felt a shiver run down my back like someone had walked over my grave.”
Wilkes smiled, realizing, truth or not, the guy could tell a story better than Uncle Vern.
“When I felt it calling last night, I gripped the flashlight in my pocket like a weapon and stepped off the road, determined to get to the bottom of a nightmare. I headed through the high weeds that circled the place like a moat around a monster’s castle. I had to do something.
“I yelled that I was going in, but I sounded like a frightened boy. I’m tired of having bad dreams, and last night I figured to put an end to it.
“The warped frame of what had once been a screen door tapped against the side of the house as if knocking on a crypt’s door in a forgotten cemetery.
“I planted my boot on the porch and stepped up, relieved that the wood took my weight.” Yancy took a few seconds to breathe then continued. “I yelled like I wasn’t afraid, ‘You don’t frighten me.’ I took one step toward the door.
“The boards creaked as if crying out for me to stay back but I didn’t stop. I widened my stance and pulled the hammer I’d brought from the loop on my pants. With as much force as I could manage, I pulled the nails from the two-by-fours blocking the door.
“As the boards tumbled, thumping against the house and rattling across the porch, I took a long breath. What I was doing was probably a crime. The place had do-not-enter signs posted at every corner of the house. But I didn’t care. I’d made up my mind.”
Wilkes shoved his coffee cup aside. He felt as if he was at the old house with Yancy. His senses hadn’t felt so alive since the army.
“Once the boards were off, I shoved the door open with little effort and flashed my light inside.
“Three rotted steps led down onto what looked like a dirt floor. If there was wood beneath the dirt, I couldn’t tell. For years the house had been settling and shifting as leaves and trash blew in through open windows. When part of the roof must have tumbled in on the high school kids, no one thought to clean anything up.
“I avoided the steps and jumped down into the lower level of the house. The remains of stairs leading to the second floor lined one wall. They reminded me of rotting, broken teeth hanging lopsided in an open mouth. When I passed my light over the floor I noticed a few old broken chairs and a bed frame.
“All the noise of loose boards rattling and wind whistling through cracks seemed muted inside. I just stood there, too afraid to go farther. If something fell on me I’d be nothing but bones before anyone thought to look for me in that old place. Then, in the stillness, I swear I felt a hand on my shoulder, a slight tug pulling me deeper into the blackness. Whatever drew we to the house seemed to want to keep me there. Fear stampeded through my blood as I climbed out and hammered the boards back across the door, knowing even as I nailed that I’d have to come back.”
Yancy took a drink. “The house calls me, Wilkes, I swear, and it won’t stop until I figure out why.”
“So what’s your question?”
Yancy grinned and picked up his cold coffee. “Can you help me figure out what it wants with me? I need to know the history of the place and who I have to get permission from to go in without worrying about being caught.
“I’ve thought about it all night. You’re the only person I know who might go back with me. I remember that night on the Kirkland ranch when we were waiting for the rustlers in the dark. You said, after the army, you gave up being afraid of anything. Well, now is your chance to prove it. Go back to the house with me.”
The waitress must have been tired of waiting for them to motion her over. She appeared, notepad in hand, ready to take their order. “If you men don’t order soon, you’ll have to switch to the lunch menu.”
Both men apologized to her and picked the special. She refilled their coffee and mentioned something about how Dorothy should charge for squatters.
As soon as she was out of range, Wilkes lifted his cup and smiled. “I’m in.”
Copyright © 2016 by Jodi Koumalats
ISBN-13: 9781460384091
Ransom Canyon
Copyright © 2015 by Jodi Koumalats
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