The family on my doorstep looked normal enough.
Normal in a 1950’s sitcom kind of way: Tall handsome dad, petite blonde wife. Behind them, three young, blue-eyed kids lined up by height. One girl, two boys. This was the type of family that showed up early to get the front row pew.
“Hello miss,” said the father, “Sorry to bother you so late.”
“Hey… how can I help you?”
“I grew up in this house.”
“Oh, nice.”
He cleared his throat, “Would you mind if we showed the kids around?”
“Like… inside the house?”
He nodded, “Show them where their dad grew up. If it’s not too much of a problem.”
“Oh, I… I’m not sure. My girlfriend’s coming home soon and-”
-The mother winced at the word’ girlfriend,’ almost like someone had spat in her face. I pretended not to see it.
The father smiled, “We’d only need ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Yeah, I just… we’re still moving in and, it’s a bit of a mess and-”
“-Say no more,” he put up his hands in a little surrender, and stepped back. “This was all very last minute, and… thank you regardless.”
Muted disappointment fell over the kids’ faces.
“We’ll give you a proper heads up next time,” he added. “Might be passing through in another year, or two.”
They all turned around and started back down the snow-covered driveway. Watching them go, my ever-present, people-pleasing personality kicked into gear. Right on cue.
“Wait,” I said, “fifteen minutes?”
The father looked back over his shoulder, “Tops.”
—
My girlfriend Charlie and I had just moved in.
A killer deal on a two-story at the end of a quiet suburban street. All surrounded by rolling hills and an old forest. “Barbie’s gothic dream house,” Charlie joked. It needed some work, but that was our thing: fix up old houses - flip them - move on. Lucrative, if you do it right.
The neighborhood felt good too. A young married couple from across the street, Harpreet and Miguel, even invited us over for a game night next week. An actual game night. Two married couples playing board games - isn’t that like the settling down suburbia dream? Granted, Charlie and I weren’t married yet, but we talked about it. And for some reason, this house was starting to make that feel possible.
Anyway, there I was, alone on a Friday night when this excruciatingly perfect family showed up on my doorstep.
—
I followed them through the upstairs hallway.
“This room used to be painted blue,” said the father, pointing into a green-walled guest room. He strode forward, and his family followed. “This room,” he nudged open a half-closed door, “used to be a library.”
Now, it was just a storage room. Well, that’s what it was until we figured out what to do with it.
He kept walking, sharing a brief, mundane fact in each doorway. And then, he stopped in his tracks as if remembering something. Turning around, he stared at the wall, puzzled. “What happened to the dumbwaiter?”
“The what?”
He placed a hand flat against the wall, “Used to be a dumbwaiter chute here.”
“I… I don’t know.”
He slid his hand down until it snagged. Leaning forward, he squinted: beneath the wallpaper was a square bump. A handle?
“Huh.” He stepped back. “Looks like somebody covered it up.” He glanced towards the kids, “There used to be a dumbwaiter chute here - went all the way down to the basement.”
They stared at him, confused.
“It’s like a mini elevator,” he explained. “We’d use it for the laundry.”
The kids nodded.
Their mother checked the time on her wristwatch, then crossed her arms. Impatient.
As the father moved on, his family trailed behind. He stopped at the last room, a closed door, and reached out. He froze. Silent. “This used to be your Aunty Abigail’s room,” he said, studying the door like it was a sad painting. A strange gloom hung in the air.
Sensing a private moment, I cleared my throat, “Feel free to keep showing yourselves around. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
He looked back at me and smiled, grateful.
—
I was downstairs now, hammer in hand, prying rusty nails out from above the fireplace mantel. Judging by the discolored rectangles on the wall, several small paintings used to hang here. But they must have been hung crooked, all shifted a bit too far to the right. Just as I wrenched out the last nail, the family filed into the living room behind me.
The father strolled over to the basement door. “Your grandparents used to measure our heights here,” he said, running a hand over the frame’s smooth white finish. “All painted over now though.”
He tried for the handle. Locked. Looking towards me, he opened his mouth to speak but-
-in the kitchen, the oven timer went off. “One second,” I said, setting down the hammer. I crossed over and turned off the timer.
The father blinked at me, “Can we go into the basement?” he asked, hand still gripped around the doorknob.
“Oh shoot.” I shook my head. “Sorry, we’re renovating down there. Lots of tools laying around. Not exactly safe.” Opening the oven, I pulled out a steaming roast.
“We’ll be careful,” he said.
“Lights are out too.” I set down the roast.
“No work lights set up?”
“Not yet.”
His face twitched for the briefest of moments. Then, all smiles, he released the knob and backed away from the door. “Alright, no problem,” he relented.
I hadn’t even been down there yet, but according to Charlie, the basement was a little ‘fucky.’ An old labyrinth patchwork with extra bits added on over the decades. According to neighborhood legend, the house architect was a little eccentric (to put it lightly).
“Alright gang, let’s head out,” said the father. “Don’t want to overstay our welcome.” He motioned his family into the foyer. But as they filed out, he meandered his way back towards the kitchen.
“Thanks again for letting us take a look around,” he said, “meant a lot to the kids.”
“No problem.” Didn’t look like it meant shit to the kids, but I kept that to myself.
Lingering at the edge of the kitchen, he glanced back towards his family as if making sure they were out of earshot. Content, he turned to face me, curious. “This… this is kind of odd but, did you ever notice anything-”
-A commotion in the foyer cut him off, “Excuse me.” He went to investigate.
Intrigued, I followed.
By the front door, the two young boys argued over something while the mother tried to calm them down.
“Where’s Jenny…?” said the father.
No response. The boys kept arguing.
“Where’s Jenny?” he boomed, voice resonating with sudden authority.
The room fell silent, and everyone looked around. No Jenny in sight.
“She, she was just here,” said the mother.
“Jenny?” the father called out. No response. He sighed, rubbing his temples as he turned back to me, “I… I’m really sorry about this. Jenny, our youngest, she likes to hide.”
“Hide?”
“Spontaneous hide and seek. We’ve been trying to correct it but-”
“-Jenny?” the mom called out in the background.
“We should find her easily enough,” he continued. “Gosh, this is so embarrassing,” he shook his head, blushing.
“No… no it’s okay.”
He turned away, “Jenny?! Come on out,” he said, trying to hide the irritation in his voice.
As the family searched the house, I wandered up to the front door and stared out the window. Now, gentle snow was falling. Where was Charlie? She should’ve been home thirty minutes ago. I pulled out my phone and - two missed calls, both from her. Of course. I called back, and three tones rang out. Voicemail.
“Hey Charlie,” I said, “My phone was on silent. Call me back when-”
-upstairs, someone whistled. One of the boys had found something.
“Call me back when you can. Drive safe.” Tucking my phone away, I hurried upstairs.
The family stood huddled in the middle of the hallway, facing the wall. Stepping forward, I peered over the mother’s shoulder to see what they were investigating. A hanging flap of wallpaper had been torn back, revealing the dumbwaiter chute - rusty metal door ajar - no elevator cart in sight. Fuck. This could only mean one thing:
Jenny, the missing kid, was hiding in the basement.
—
Flashlights in hand, the father and I descended the darkened staircase. So much for the basement being off limits.
The rest of his family lingered behind us, wary.
At the bottom of the steps, the father looked around and huffed. His light scanned through rickety shelves, aging support beams, and sagging cobwebs. Down here, the dad almost seemed nervous, like this place brought up bad memories. “Know the basement well?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said, “Charlie’s more familiar with the layout.”
“Charlie?”
“Oh, that’s my girlfriend.”
“Right. Don’t think I caught your name by the way.”
“Eve.”
“That’s a good name,” he said. “I’m Thomas. My wife’s Paige. You can just call the kids: Headache one, two, and three,” he glanced at me, expecting a laugh. I managed a polite chuckle.
Squatting down, he swept his light over the floor. “She’s probably in full-on hiding mode now. We should split up. Cover more ground that way.”
I furrowed my brow, skeptical.
“You have to be quiet.” Thomas pushed off his knees to stand, “If you see Jenny, try and grab her or she’ll just run away and hide again. She’s fast.” His voice strained with the exhaustion of having done this one too many times.
“You’re sure? Just grab her?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. All part of the game.”
Looking to his right, he whispered, “I’ll go this way. You go that way?” he nodded to the left.
“Sure,” I replied, still unsure of his plan. He turned and disappeared around the corner. I moved left and was greeted by a long, empty hallway. Creepy. I trudged forward. This sucked.
And Charlie was right: the basement was fucky. All sorts of nooks and pockets.
Rounding the next corner, I shone light into a garage-like room: Mostly empty. Save for a row of metal shelves. And, sitting in the far corner: a coat-rack beside a dozen or so empty picture frames. A cold draft pushed through me. Shivering, I stepped forward and-
-Something clattered against the concrete. Startled, I turned to look and, across the room, a tin can rolled over the floor. A mess of nails and screws. Great. Now this stupid kid’s gonna step on a rusty nail, get tetanus, and the parents are gonna sue us.
I strolled over, set the flashlight down, and used my hand to sweep nails back into the tin can. As I swept, the flashlight started to roll away. Uneven floors. Nice. I set my foot out to block it and-
-Something in the beam of light caught my eye. Or rather, hundreds of somethings:
Ants.
A trail of black ants, marching along the bottom of the far wall. Fantastic. Add pest control to the unexpected expenses list. Frustrated, I grabbed my flashlight and slogged over. The ants led around the corner, deeper into the basement - all marching in the same direction.
Is that normal ant behavior? Aren’t they supposed to march both ways? Vague memories from a Nat Geo documentary echoed in my head. Shrugging it off, I followed the trail. I rounded the corner into another long, uninviting corridor. The ants trooped into receding darkness - I could almost hear their little feet tapping against the concrete. Where were they going?
Curiosity building, I crept forward. Halfway down the hallway, they took a hard turn into a make-shift wine cellar. I stepped inside.
Stone floor. Arched brace ceilings. Old, empty barrel racks. This room almost looked medieval. The ants ran in a straight line towards the furthest back corner - disappearing out of sight.
I crossed over, and hunched down. They filed into a crack at the bottom of the wall. What’s on the other side? I raised my flashlight and-
-Behind me, two quick footsteps scraped over concrete.
I spun around. About twenty feet away, in the room’s entrance, stood the father - back turned. His posture was strange, almost rigid. Arms straight at his sides, flashlight aiming at the floor. Motionless.
“Hey…” I called out.
No response.
I stood up and glanced around the room. He was blocking the only way in or out.
“Thomas…?”
Silence.
That was his name, right? Clearing my throat, I stepped forward, a growing pit of dread in my stomach. I was about to call out again, but-
-He started whispering, talking to the blank space in front of him, “What are you doing down here Abby? We’ve been looking everywhere for you-”
“-Thomas?” I said, louder now. No response. He just kept talking to dead air, exasperated, “I’m not sure how much longer we can do this,” he said. “I thought you were on board?”
I moved closer, reached out, touched the back of his shoulder and-
“-Holy CHRIST.” Thomas spun around, setting a hand against his chest. “You’re… you’re a quiet one,” he exhaled, catching his breath.
“I… I…” I stammered, still in a bit of shock.
Collecting himself, he chuckled, “Almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I called for you like three times… who were you talking to?”
He stared at me, sincerely confused, “Come again?”
“You were whispering.”
He shrugged, unsure what I meant.
Disturbed, I looked back over my shoulder, just in time to glimpse the last of the ants receding into the wall.
“Any luck?” he asked.
Turning back, I shook my head.
He nodded, “Yeah, me neither. Caught a glimpse of her, but she slipped away. Anyway, we should head up. Jenny’ll get spooked down here soon enough, put up the white flag.”
I agreed. Besides, now I just wanted to get the fuck out of this basement.
—
Upstairs, the rest of the family sat around the living room fireplace. Comfortable.
“Battle of the wills now,” said Thomas. His wife gave a slight nod.
Still unsettled, I wandered off into the foyer by myself. Why weren’t they more concerned about their missing kid? What just happened in the basement? And, more importantly, where the fuck was Charlie? She should’ve been here like an hour ago. I pulled out my phone and-
-the front door swung open, and Charlie stepped through. “I’m late. Roads are shit. Getting shittier,” she said, shaking off snow. “What’s up with the moving truck?”
“The what?”
“There’s a one-ton, parked at the end of the-”
-As if to answer her question, the father stepped into the foyer.
Charlie shot him a puzzled look.
“This is Thomas,” I said. “He grew up here as a kid. He was just showing his family around and-”
“-And now our daughter is playing solo hide and seek in the basement,” he said apologetically.
“Oh yeah? My brother used to do that,” she shot out her hand for a shake. “Name’s Charlie. Charlie Bastion.”
They shook hands, a firm, single shake.
Charlie was my emotional polar opposite. Chill with everybody. Confident, extroverted, trusting, and direct. Good at setting boundaries too. “Any hidden rooms or ghost stories we should know about?” She asked, hanging up her jacket.
Thomas cleared his throat, “It’s a ghost-free house,” he smiled. “Anyway… don’t let us spoil your night. She’ll give up any minute now, never seen her hold out too long. We can go sit in the truck if you want some space.”
Charlie scoffed, “Sit in the truck? You might as well join us for dinner.”
“I… I think we’ll be alright. We had a big lunch.”
“Lunch? Come on, join us. Eve always makes more than enough.”
Thomas smiled tepidly, looking like he didn’t want to impose.
Part of me wanted to grab Charlie by the arm, tell her to drop it, but I didn’t. She hadn’t seen Thomas’ whispering episode in the basement. That being said... maybe I was overreacting? Had a bit of a reputation for that.
“Sure,” he relented, “but only if it’s not a problem.” He glanced over at me as if checking for my approval, but I just shrugged, looking away.
“Wouldn’t be offering if it was,” said Charlie.
—
The fireplace crackled. Wind outside billowed. The creaks and groans of the old house filled the silence. Minus the daughter, we were all seated around the dinner table now.
Charlie reached across and grabbed a wine corkscrew. “Maybe the kid’ll smell the food and give up,” she said.
Chuckling softly, Thomas picked up his fork and-
“-Thomas,” hissed Paige, his wife.
He set down the fork, cleared his throat, “Would it be alright if we said a quick prayer before eating?”
Charlie shot me a look.
“Not wanting to impose,” he said. “This is your house, after all.”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I said.
Grateful, he smiled. Bowing their heads, they shut their eyes.
I never had a problem with prayer, grew up in a religious household myself. I still value some of the lessons, but for every great lesson, there was something that made me question who I was.
Paige cleared her throat, “We’d like to thank Eve, and Charlie, the hosts of this house, for allowing us to eat with them-”
-Considering how traditional this family appeared, I would’ve expected Thomas to lead the prayer.
But as Paige prayed, I glanced over at Thomas: his eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the table cloth in front of him. He looked distant, almost out of place. Was he even religious? I mean, down in the basement, he took the precious Lord’s name in vain so…
Paige continued, “We’d like to thank God for our health, our family, and our friends. We thank you for allowing us to have a fresh start as we move cross country. Amen.”
“Amen,” I mumbled, an old reflex back from the dead. Charlie shot me another look, this time with a playful smirk. I glanced away, embarrassed.
“So… you’re moving, huh?” Twisting the cork out of a red wine bottle, Charlie poured herself a glass. “What prompted that?”
“Needed a fresh start,” said Thomas.
“Where to?” asked Charlie.
“Oh, downstate-”
-“This is delicious by the way,” Paige cut in, looking at Charlie. “It’s really appreciated.”
“Don’t thank me. Eve’s the master cook tonight,” Charlie held up the bottle. “Wine?”
Thomas shook his head, “We don’t drink.”
“Very wise,” said Charlie. She glanced at the two boys. “Listen to your parents, kiddos.”
Paige smiled, opened her mouth to speak but-
-A techno-cover of Beethoven’s Fifth cut in: DUN-DUN-DUN-DUUUUH. Charlie pulled out her phone, “My bad.” She muted it. As she went to put it away, the screen caught her eye, “Oh shit.” She held it up for me to see:
NOTIFICATION:
DANGEROUS DRIVING CONDITIONS ALONG THE NUMBER FIVE CONNECTOR. WINTER TIRES RECOMMENDED.
“Hmm?” said Thomas.
“Roads are getting worse.” Charlie tucked her phone away, “Hopefully the kid shows up soon, huh?”
“She will. Just have to give her space.”
Charlie glanced at the time, “Looks like she’s going for the hide-and-seek record tonight. You guys got winter tires?”
“I used to drive long-haul trucks year-round. We’ll be fine.”
Charlie grabbed the salt, “There’s some tire-chains up in the attic.”
“We’ll be fine,” he insisted.
Paige looked at him, concerned, “You sure it’s worth risking?”
Mouth full of food, he half shrugged.
Paige, deflecting Thomas’ indifference, shifted topic, “Are you married?”
“…Us?” I asked.
She nodded.
Charlie almost scoffed, “Nope.”
Paige nodded again, as if to say, I expected as much. “Are you religious?” she asked, looking directly at me now.
“What, me? No, not really. I mean, I used to be.”
“I only ask because I noticed a Bible in the living room.”
“Oh… that was a gift from my parents. We used to go to church together.”
Smiling tight, Paige jabbed her fork into the roast and started sawing with a steak knife. “What about them?”
“Who?” I asked, starting to feel interrogated.
“Your parents. Do they still go to church?”
“Yeah.”
“What denomination?”
“Lutheran.”
“And they’re aware?” her eyes flicked to Charlie, then back to me.
“Aware of what?”
Paige glanced at her children as if the following words might be too much for their innocent ears. “Aware of you and your friend’s… lifestyle choices.”
“…They are.” Lifestyle choices?
“And they accept it?”
Uncomfortable, I opened my mouth to respond but-
-Charlie cut in, chewing on a mouthful of roast, “What about yours?”
Paige looked at her, “…Hmm?”
“Your parents. They know about your lifestyle choices?”
Paige furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” she said pointedly.
“Paige,” Thomas intervened, “That’s enough.”
Paige stared at Charlie for a long moment, but Charlie didn’t break eye contact. Finally, Paige looked away and returned to eating.
As a chronic conflict avoider, I was actually relieved when Thomas stepped in. But Charlie, she was chomping at the bit, ready to fucking battle. Had I not been there, she would’ve gone at it until Mary Magdalene started crying.
“I was only curious,” Paige relented.
Right then, a blistering gust of wind slammed against the windows. The house lights flickered.
Thomas looked over his shoulder, “Hopefully the power holds out,” he turned back to the table. “Went down all the time when I lived here,” he said, trying his best to change the topic.
The rest of the meal dragged on in tedious silence.
—
The table had been cleared - the kitchen had been cleaned.
Now, I was leaning over, setting kindling into the fireplace. Outside, it was a full-on blizzard. Wind whipped the quick-piling snow into a frenzy.
Thomas had already gone down to the basement several more times, but still, no Jenny was in sight. I still couldn’t shake how calm he and Paige were about it. ‘Calm’ might be an understatement - it was bordering on apathetic.
“Eve,” said Thomas, stepping into the living room.
“Yeah?” I replied, crumpling a ball of newspaper kindling.
“Know any nearby motels by chance?”
“Hmm, nothing close by that I can think of.”
Silence hung in the air, almost like he expected me to say something more. I continued, “I mean… worst-case scenario, you guys can crash here for the night.” I regretted the words the second I spoke them - but in my defense, their daughter was still missing. What was I gonna do? Send them off into a blizzard, one kid short?
“Are you sure?” he said. “We wouldn’t want to impose. We can sleep in the truck too. You’ve already done so much.”
“No… it’s fine.”
“Well, thank you Eve. I’m sure Jenny will show up soon, but just in case she doesn’t - that really means a lot to us. We can compensate you financially for all the trouble too.”
“That’s okay.”
—
But sure enough, Jenny remained a no show. About another hour clocked by until the family finally retired for the night. The two boys into an upstairs guest room - Thomas and Paige into adjacent bedrooms. Despite being married, they didn’t sleep in the same room. Yikes. I almost felt bad for them.
Alone at last, Charlie and I shared a blanket on the living room couch. The warmth of the fireplace filled the room. Charlie leaned forward, grabbed a bottle of wine off the coffee table -- noticing the hammer and bent nails from before.
“Took out the nails,” I explained.
She looked up at the empty wall, “From above the fireplace?”
“Yeah.”
“What? That’s where I was going to hang our crucifix.”
I smiled, “Stop.”
Leaning back, she twisted the bottle opener into the cork. “You seem on edge tonight. Is something up? I mean, besides our new roomies.”
“I just… something feels off about them.”
“Agreed, but something feels off about everyone to you.” She popped the cork out and started pouring herself a glass.
“I know, I just…”
“I need specifics.”
“Before you got back, Thomas and I were in the basement, looking for the kid and…”
Charlie finished pouring, set the bottle down, and looked at me attentively. She used to say I overreacted to things, but lately, she’d been working on her empathy and active-listening skills. The effort was appreciated.
“In the wine cellar,” I continued, “I heard footsteps, and when I looked back, the dad, Thomas… he was just standing there. Back turned. Blocking the entrance. I called out like three times, but he didn’t respond… he just kept whispering to somebody named Abby. I think that was his sister’s name? But, there was nobody there. And then he just… snapped out of it.”
“So, he was standing in a doorway, whispering? Was he talking to the daughter, maybe?”
“No… her name is Jenny…”
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Maybe I’m overreacting. What do you think?”
“About the family?”
“Yeah.”
Charlie took a long sip, “To me, casual bigotry aside,” she handed me the glass of wine. “They seem pretty unremarkable. Or, at the very least, I doubt they’re gonna murder us in our sleep.”
As Charlie shifted her weight, a shiny glint caught my eye. I turned to look. She was wearing a new necklace: A thin silver chain with an oval locket.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a necklace.”
I rolled my eyes.
Charlie reached down, popped open the locket, and held it up. Inside was a photo. A blurry picture of me, hiding my face behind a single hand. I remembered the moment instantly.
When we first started dating, Charlie always joked about how less than zero photos of me existed. I was notoriously camera-shy. Still am. So one day, Charlie, 35mm Pentax in hand, snuck up from behind me - but I saw her at the last second, turned away, held up my hand, and hid my face. Close call.
Charlie clicked the locket shut. “It’s the only known photo of Eve Palmer,” she said.
“…When did you get it made?”
“Today, in town. Little cheesy huh?”
“No… I think it’s sweet.” Charlie was never the sentimental type, but I was a big sap, so the locket was a welcome surprise.
We stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment and then-
-behind us, Thomas stepped into the living room, groggy, rubbing his eyes. He glanced down, surprised to see us there.
“Hey,” said Charlie.
“…Mind if I sit?” he asked.
“Sure,” I relented.
Yawning, he wandered over to an armchair beside the fireplace and slumped down. Flickering shadows danced on his face as he looked around the room. His eyes seemed to fill with memories.
After a long, ponderous silence, he finally spoke, “My parents… they used to make us stand in that corner over there.” He pointed across the room. “Called it the quiet-corner.” Chuckling, he leaned back in his chair. His eyes caught the bottle of wine, “May I?”
“Go for it,” said Charlie.
He leaned forward, grabbed the spare glass, and poured. So much for not drinking.
“Trouble sleeping?” asked Charlie.
Setting the bottle down, he nodded and took a sip.
“Your kid should give up soon enough,” she assured him.
He nodded again, detached. “They’re not even ours,” he said, looking into the fire now. “They’re my wife’s deadbeat brother-in-law’s kids. We adopted them.”
Uncomfortable silence.
“That’s... good of you,” I offered.
“I guess,” he shrugged, “didn’t have much of a say in it though.” Taking another sip, he turned away from the fire. “Sorry about my wife’s comments earlier, at the dinner table,” he smiled grimly. “I never got the obsession with people’s personal lives. Pretty sure Jesus has more important things to worry about.”
Charlie and I nodded, appreciating his effort - at the very least, he seemed well-meaning.
He chugged the rest of his wine and set the glass down. “Anyway. I’ll let you be.” He started to stand but-
“-Earlier,” I said. “You wanted to tell me something.”
Thomas stared at me, puzzled.
“Before your daughter started hiding, you asked if I had ever noticed anything…” I clarified.
“Oh,” he said, understanding now, “It’s stupid.” He waved a hand, “It’s nothing.” He turned to leave, but-
“-Wait,” said Charlie. “Now, I’m curious.”
He sighed, “It’s just… Weird things happened here when I was a kid, is all.”
“What kind of weird things?” Charlie never believed in ghosts, but she sure as hell loved hearing stories. So did I.
“I mean… I don’t think it’s haunted,” Thomas paused, debating whether to share more. Relenting, he sat back down.
He let out a long sigh and then, “We’d been living here about three years when - my sister started to believe the house was… changing. She’d wake up not recognizing her own room. Said weird things like, the walls were a different color now. The furniture was getting swapped out, but… she was the only one who could see it. To everyone else, myself included, it was just the same house it always was.” He paused, rubbing his square chin with a knuckle. “Mom and dad told her it was just nightmares, delusions, but then… she started forgetting faces. People she’d known her whole life became strangers,” he sighed regretfully.
“Our parents never took her to the doctors - they didn’t believe in that. They believed in prayer. So we tried that for about half a year or so, and then she just… vanished.”
Thomas went silent, eyes flicking back and forth across the far wall. “One winter, she just… disappeared in the middle of the night. Police did a three-day search. Nothing ever showed up.” He shook his head again. “But, about one week later, a witness came forward, said they saw a young girl, down by the river that night, standing on the Kettle Bridge. Cops said she probably jumped. Case closed, right? Made sense to my parents, but I just…” he furrowed his brow, weighing his next words carefully. “It’s strange… but part of me wondered if she ever even…” Thomas paused for a moment.
“Despite all the searching, all the diving teams, they never found anything, and I just…” he stopped himself again, then looked towards us. “Anyway, that’s about it,” he said with somber finality, eyes apologizing for the dark story.
“I… I’m really sorry to hear that,” said Charlie.
He gave a slight shrug and turned towards the fire. “Guess I thought coming back here would bring me some sort of closure, but…” he trailed into silence. Muffled wind, aching creaks and groans from the house filled the empty space. I didn’t know what to say.
Thomas’ gaze drifted up to the blank, paintingless wall above the fireplace mantle. His face twitched ever so slightly.
“…Anyway,” he said, “I should get back to sleep.” He pushed up to standing, “Good night.”
“…Night.”
He drifted out of the room, and went back upstairs.
Charlie waited a moment to be sure he was gone, “What the fuck.”
Fair enough.
—
We went to bed shortly after. Charlie was out in five minutes flat. But after hearing that story, I lay wide awake, staring up at the stucco ceiling. Considering what happened, why would anyone bring their family back here? How was he even sleeping while his daughter was still missing? I couldn’t shake any of this. But finally, after two hours or so, I somehow managed to fall asleep.
—
A distant clang snapped me awake.
I sat up, listened carefully: Wind outside. Clock ticking. Charlie breathing. Okay, you’re fine. Climbing from bed, I stretched up my arms and shook out my hands. Maybe the dad’s story was getting to me.
Either way, I needed a glass of water.
—
Downstairs, in the kitchen, I sipped lukewarm tap water from a tall glass, ruminating on the strangeness of everything. When will that stupid kid finally show up?
-Across the living room, the basement door was wide open. Maybe the kid finally caved?
Setting down the glass, I crossed to the top of the steps, and peered down. Uninviting darkness. No thank you. I was about to close the door when-
-At the bottom of the stairs, a small silhouette. Motionless. Child-sized. Enveloped by shadow. Jenny, the missing kid.
I squatted down to appear less intimidating. The same way one does when trying to coax an unfamiliar cat.
“Hey Jenny…” I said, almost whispering, “Your parents are really worried about you. Do you think it might be a good time to come back upstairs?”
Her head tilted, but otherwise, she remained motionless. Now, I could see the slightest glimmer in her eyes, reflecting the moonlight. A long silence dragged by until… I realized something else.
She wasn’t blinking.
Ten… maybe twenty seconds had gone by, and she hadn’t blinked. Not even once. What the hell?
And then… as if reacting to my realization, the figure slowly rose to stand. It wasn’t child-sized after all - it was only hunched down. Now, standing at their full height, the person at the bottom of the stairs must’ve been six feet tall.
In one quick motion, I jumped upright and slammed the door shut. Then, I scrambled upstairs with record-breaking speed.
No fucking thank you.
—
I shook Charlie awake.
“What?” she mumbled.
“There’s someone in the basement.”
Charlie blinked at me, “Yeah… the kid.”
“No, an adult.”
Charlie shook her head, and reluctantly pushed up to sitting, “How do you know?”
“I saw them on the stairs. They were tall.”
Charlie sighed, I could tell part of her wanted to believe me, but mostly, she was just tired. In her defense, I had a long history of freaking out over things that turned out to be nothing.
“Was it dark?” she asked, trying and failing to sound patient.
“Yeah, but-”
“-Eve,” she said, “I’m exhausted and still a little drunk. Can we figure this out in the morning?”
“Charlie, I know what I saw.”
“I know. I believe you, but not enough to look around the basement at three in the morning.”
“I…” I didn’t want to let it go, but Charlie was close to her breaking point and barely awake on top of it. “Okay…” I relented. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe my paranoia was getting the better of me once again, but…
Charlie rolled away and dozed back to sleep. I sat up beside her in bed, staring at the cracked open door until-
-Finally, I fell asleep too.
—
A warm beam of sunlight roused me awake. I looked to my side - Charlie wasn’t there.
Stretching my arms, I climbed out of bed and yawned. All the strangeness of yesterday felt smaller in the morning light - like a fading nightmare. As I stepped out into the hallway, the smell of breakfast filled the air: Eggs. Bacon. Coffee. The only meal Charlie knew how to make.
—
Downstairs, I wandered into the kitchen, but Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Thomas stood over the stove, humming a happy tune, making scrambled eggs. His family, minus the MIA kid, sat at the table. I lingered on the edge of the kitchen, at a loss.
Thomas looked towards me and smiled, “Morning Eve! How do you like your eggs?”
“Where’s Charlie?”
“Who?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Oh. She mentioned something about picking up a generator from town - for the basement.”
I raised an eyebrow. Leaving without telling me, that wasn’t like Charlie.
“She didn’t want to wake you,” he said, “everything okay?”
“Yeah… I’m good.” Unsettled, I stepped around the corner and pulled out my phone. Time to call Charlie. I tapped the screen and-
-Nothing.
I held down the power button. Nothing. Dead battery? I paced up to the bedroom and plugged it in. Still nothing. I blew in the socket. Nope. Factory reset. Nada. I definitely charged this thing last night. Did Charlie unplug it and put hers on? Maybe…
Regardless, I kept my phone plugged in, just in case it started working again. I returned downstairs.
Back in the kitchen, Thomas had joined the rest of his family at the table.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I asked.
He looked at me, chewing on a mouthful of eggs. He swallowed, “Don’t have one.”
I blinked in disbelief and looked at Paige, “Can I borrow yours?”
She shook her head, “We don’t have phones.”
A modern family without cell phones - that might be the strangest thing to happen yet. What was going on here? Frustrated, and getting more weirded out with each exchange, I turned for the foyer. Just borrow the neighbor’s phone.
Halfway across the living room, I stopped short-
-above the fireplace, where I had removed the nails, an unfamiliar painting now hung. A large painting of a treeline - the edge of a dark, green forest. Vaguely familiar. It looked old, almost menacing…
I glanced toward the living room coffee table - the hammer was gone. Did Charlie put it up to troll me? Maybe, but… it seemed a bit much, even for her.
Thrown, I continued for the front door. I needed to phone Charlie. Now.
Dressed for winter, I stepped down onto the driveway, and my heel crunched against something. Looking down, I lifted my foot. Buried in the snow was a small, shiny object:
Charlie’s locket.
—
—
—
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