The Haunting of Willow House Read online

  There was no sign of either his dad or Sarah. He had gotten away with it.

  The ring came again, quick and urgent.

  He followed the noise down the hallway and into what must be the living room. Exposed beams ran across the ceiling, and on the far wall, surrounded by built in bookcases, was a wide fireplace, with a stone chimney. The air smelled stale and old, as if it had ben trapped there for years.

  He paused and waited for the sound to repeat, but it didn’t.

  And then he saw the telephone, sitting alone on a shelf next to the fireplace.

  It seemed to call out to him.

  It urged him to come closer.

  He realized that the ringing had come from there. It was not his father’s cell phone. It was this phone.

  He peered at it, inching closer.

  The unit looked old. The plastic was yellowed and dull. Instead of buttons, there was a rotary dial with numbers inside round holes. And the handset was huge, much larger than a modern phone.

  He stared at it, fascinated by the strange squat shape and the curly knotted cord that ran from the handset into the base of the device.

  He touched the dial, his finger slipping through the hole above the number one. When he moved his finger, the dial spun around clockwise with a clicking sound and then sprang back when he released it.

  He put his finger in the next hole and did the same thing.

  Again it rotated back when released.

  He reached out to turn the dial a third time but then paused, remembering his father’s words. He was under strict orders not to touch anything.

  He glanced over his shoulder, toward the hallway, but there was no sign of his father or sister.

  He turned his attention back to the telephone.

  He’d only ever seen one other like this, at his grandparents’ house in Maine. It was the same shape, but that one had plastic push buttons arranged in a square on the face rather than the strange wheel.

  A sudden memory popped into his head.

  It was the previous summer, a few weeks before everything changed.

  He was sitting in the back of the blue VW Bug that his mother loved so much. The top was down, and it was a glorious summer day. The kind only New England can deliver. They followed the coast from Boston, just the two of them. Sarah was too cool to visit her grandparents; she would rather hang out in Harvard Square with her friends. And Dad was always working, tapping away on his laptop or away on some book tour or other. He supposed it was cool to have a novelist for a father, at least that was what people told him, but to Jake it seemed dull.

  They weaved through picturesque seaside towns like Kittery, and Ogunquit, where they stopped to pick up taffy, which he chewed all the way to Portland. It was something they had done every year for as long as he could remember. You couldn’t pass through Ogunquit without getting taffy. That was the rule.

  When they arrived at Gramps and Granma’s house, there was blueberry pie, freshly made with berries picked that day in the back yard, and vanilla ice cream.

  That was another tradition. Blueberry pie.

  Except now it was nothing but a memory.

  There would be no more trips up the coast in that Bug, and no more days sitting on the wide back porch with a slice of pie.

  It wasn’t fair. His eyes grew puffy and red. He wiped them with the back of his hand, grateful that Sarah was not around to see his moment of weakness.

  Jake sniffed and turned away, no longer interested in the old telephone or exploring the rest of the house. That happened sometimes when he thought of his mother.

  He slouched back toward the hallway.

  The phone rang again.

  Jake froze.

  The ring repeated, shrill, loud.

  He did a one-eighty and stood there, staring.

  The ring came a third time.

  Jake walked back toward the phone.

  Should he answer? It seemed wrong not to.

  The ring came a fourth time, demanding to be heeded.

  Jake reached forward, his hand shaking, and gripped the receiver. He lifted it to his ear.

  Swirling static hissed from the earpiece.

  “Hello?” The word bounced back at him. “Is anybody there?”

  Static buzzed and popped, fading in and out.

  “Hello?” he repeated, the word swallowed up in the white noise.

  And then, for a brief second, Jake thought he heard a voice. It was low and muted, barely audible above the static, but it was there.

  “I can’t understand you.” He wondered if he should fetch his father. Maybe it was important. Dad was always on the phone with his agent, a small round-faced man who smelled of garlic and called him the squirt.

  “Jake.” The word pierced the static, still faint, but clear this time.

  Jake sucked in a startled gasp.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake.” His name again, the voice scratchy, far away. He almost slammed the receiver down, but the voice didn’t sound scary. In fact, it sounded familiar. It must be Dad’s agent or maybe someone from the school.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  The static roiled and hissed.

  The voice stayed silent.

  And then, without warning, there was a click.

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 4

  Sarah stood in the attic doorway and looked around in wonder, forgetting, if only for a brief moment, that she was supposed to be annoyed.

  “This is mine?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Every last inch of it,” Andrew said. “I had the workmen tidy it up, sand the floors, and slap on a coat of paint, so everything is clean and shiny. No mice in sight.”

  “What’s the catch?” Sarah narrowed his eyes.

  “No catch,” her father replied. “I thought you might appreciate a little more space than you had in Boston.”

  “This doesn’t mean I like the house anymore than I did ten minutes ago.” Sarah tried to sound disinterested and failed.

  “I’m not asking you to like it,” Andrew said. “But I would like you to give things a try here, for all of our sakes.”

  “Ah.” Sarah nodded. “So this is a bribe.”

  “I prefer to think of it as a loving gesture.”

  “What about Jake?” she asked.

  “You’re worried about your brother now?” Andrew asked. “Don’t be. There’s a perfectly good bedroom on the second floor. It’s not as big as this, but you’ll go off to college in a year or so. His turn will come.”

  “I’m not worried.” Sarah was quick to rectify the misunderstanding. “I don’t want the little brat whining about it, that’s all.”

  “I see,” her father said. “Silly me.”

  “Is there a bathroom up here?” Sarah nodded toward a door at the far end of the room.

  “No. That’s a walk-in closet.” Her father shook his head. “You will have to use the bathroom on the second floor, along with the rest of us, at least for now.”

  “There’s only one bathroom?” Sarah pulled a face.

  “It’s an old house,” Andrew replied. “Maybe in a few months we can see about putting another one in, but until then we share. That’s just the way it is.”

  “Please tell me there’s a shower at least.” Sarah could feel her world crashing around her. She wondered if she could run away and go back to Boston, and hide out in their old house until it sold. That was a stupid idea though. The brownstone would be the first place her father would look.

  “There is a shower.” Andrew laughed. “And hot water too.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Not at all,” Andrew said. “I would never do such a thing.” He put his arm around Sarah and gave her a gentle hug.

  Sarah suffered the act of affection as best she could, then, unable to suffer anymore, pulled away. She walked to the window and looked out. From her vantage point high above the ground, she could see a long expanse of grass that slop
ed to sprawling woods. To the right was a meandering track that led to several structures, barns of some kind, and beyond that, overgrown open fields, bounded by yet more trees. She leaned against the wall. “Do we own all of this?”

  “Pretty much.” Andrew joined her at the window. “There’s about five acres. The farm used to be much bigger, hundreds of acres, but it all got sold off over the years, so I’m told.” He pointed toward the barns. “Those buildings back there, they used to house cows.”

  “Can we get some cows then?”

  “And who’s going to look after them?” Andrew glanced at her. “You?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you going to get up at 5am every day to milk them, even on weekends?”

  “What?”

  “Cows need to be milked twice daily, come rain or shine - or snow for that matter,” Andrew said. “I can’t even get you to load the dishwasher.”

  “Meh. Maybe I’ll get a cat instead.” Sarah looked sideways at her father. A minute passed, and then she spoke again. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time.”

  “What’s this? I don’t believe it.” Andrew feigned shock. “You are actually apologizing for something?”

  “Hey, don’t tease me,” Sarah said. She took a deep breath. “I know how hard it’s been since Mom died, and I realize I’ve put you through a lot—”

  “You can say that again,” Andrew interrupted.

  “But I’m going to try and do better, okay?” She turned away from the window. “I’m still not happy about being here though.”

  “I know,” Andrew said. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?”

  Sarah was about to answer, but before she could get a word out, she heard heavy footsteps pounding up the attic stairs.

  A moment later Jake exploded into the room, his eyes alight.

  “What’s going on, Sport?” Andrew looked down at his son, surprised. “Did you find another mouse?”

  “No.” Jake blurted the word.

  “Then what’s all the rush?”

  “There was a phone in one of the rooms,” Jake said, the words tumbling into each other as they exited his mouth. “It rang.”

  “Like a cell phone?”

  “No. Not like that.” Jake shook his head. “An old time phone, like the one at Gramps' house. I was playing with it and it rang.”

  ”Are you sure?”

  “Uh huh.” Jake shook his head, his hair flopping up and down as he did so.

  “Well, that is odd.” Andrew scratched his head. “Maybe it was a wrong number. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Why would the phone still be connected?” Sarah asked. “Hasn’t his place been empty since the eighties?”

  “It sure has,” Andrew answered. “Who knows? Maybe it’s an oversight on the part of the telephone company. Stranger things have happened.”

  “Are you sure it was a wrong number?” Jake asked.

  “I can’t see what else it could be.”

  “But—”Jake barely got one word out before he was interrupted by the beep of a horn.

  “That must be the moving truck,” Andrew said, standing. “Who wants to go bring in some boxes?”

  “Not me,” Sarah said. “Isn’t that why we paid a moving company?”

  “But if we all chip in it will get done that much quicker.”

  “What do I get if I help?” Sarah asked.

  “Really?” Andrew said, “Isn’t giving you this bedroom enough?”

  “Not for that kind of work.”

  “How about I order us a nice big pizza for dinner,” Andrew countered, taking off toward the stairs.

  “That’s more like it.” Sarah followed behind. “Breadsticks, too.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. Pizza and breadsticks it is.”

  “Can it be pepperoni?” Jake asked. “I like pepperoni the most.”

  “Sure. Whatever you want,” Andrew said. “Unless the queen has any objection.”

  “Nope,” Sarah replied, grinning at the queen reference even though she didn’t want to. “Pepperoni works for me.”

  “That’s settled then,” Andrew said. “But not until we get our things inside the house.”

  Chapter 5

  They worked for five hours, hauling furniture and boxes into the house, and by the time the truck was empty, the contents of their Boston brownstone was in their new home.

  Andrew supervised the unloading of the big stuff, allowing the movers to handle it, but that still left the smaller items. Piles of boxes were stacked in each room, ready to be unpacked. But that could wait. First up was the promised, and long overdue, pizza.

  Andrew made the call, and thirty minutes later they were chewing slices of thin crust topped with melted cheese and pepperoni.

  They ate in silence, too hungry for conversation. Usually there would be a few slices left, which would go in the fridge to be consumed cold the next day, but not this time. Fifteen minutes after they sat down, the pizza box was empty.

  Sarah sat back in her chair, sipping Coke from a red plastic cup. She glanced toward the boxes stacked in the kitchen. “Do we have to unpack those tonight?”

  “No,” Andrew said. “I think they can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Awesome.” Sarah said. She turned toward the door. “I’m going upstairs.”

  Chapter 6

  Andrew watched his daughter flee the room. A moment later he heard the thump of her footsteps as she ran up the stairs in the direction of the attic. It seemed that having such a large, private space to call home had overcome her objections about the move, at least for now. Tomorrow she might be back to her sulky, pouting ways, but tonight he would claim a small victory.

  He picked up the pizza box and dropped it in the trash, then turned to Jake.

  “You want to help me in the living room?”

  “Doing what?”

  “There’s a lot to put away. Might as well get started on it.”

  “Okay.”

  Together they opened boxes and filled the shelves with books. Andrew had always loved reading and owned an extensive collection of hardbacks, many of which were first editions. Several were signed. He had spent countless hours sitting in the leather chair near the front bay window at the brownstone, reading these tomes. Jennifer would joke that he kept the bookstore in business single-handedly, and he suspected that it even if that were not true, he was surely one of their best customers.

  He smiled when he thought of her, standing in the front room, complaining about all the space his books took up. But at the same time a dull ache throbbed inside of him. He wondered what she would think of the old farmhouse. Moving out of the city was something they had talked about on several occasions, but it had never happened. There were always too many obstacles. The kids were in school, and they didn’t want to uproot them. His writing career – he’d had three bestsellers already and was working on a fourth – meant he had to be close to his agent. So they stayed where they were and fantasized once in a while about their haven in the country over a glass of chardonnay.

  But after her death, the old priorities didn’t matter anymore. Andrew felt increasingly lonely despite the crowded huddle of people in the city, and he could feel the children becoming withdrawn and distant. The idea to move them out of Boston was already in his head when he got a call from the school. Sarah had been found unresponsive in a bathroom. They were rushing her to the ER. After that, he knew what must be done.

  “Dad?”

  Jake’s voice drew Andrew back to the present. He looked down. “Yes.”

  “There’s only one place left.” Jake looked toward the shelf with the telephone on it, a pile of books in his hands.

  Andrew walked over to the shelf. “So this is the infamous ringing phone, huh?”

  “It did ring,” Jake said, indignant.

  “I believe you.” Andrew picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. “There’s no dial tone. Maybe you jostled the bells and it just sounded like
it was ringing. These old phones have real bells in them.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. They have two of them, with a ringer in the middle that vibrates and hits them when someone calls.”

  “That’s neat,” Jake said. “So it didn’t really ring?”

  “I don’t see how it could.”

  “But I heard stuff on the other end. There was a voice.”

  Andrew picked the phone up, tracing the cord to a wall socket. He pressed down on the plastic tab and unhooked the handset. ”It's still plugged in. There might have been some power going to it. Maybe that’s what you heard.”

  “I don’t know.” Jake looked happier despite his caution.

  “Tell you what.” Andrew wrapped the cord around the phone. “I’ll put this out by the trash, and that will take care of it. Problem solved.”

  “You don’t have to.” Jake eyed the handset.

  “What else are we going to do with it? It’s too old to use, even if we had a land line, which we don’t.”

  “Can I keep it? It reminds me of Gramps' phone.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Jake nodded, his eyes wide. “I am.”

  “Okay then.” Andrew unhooked the other end of the wire from the back of the unit and handed the telephone over, placing it into his son’s waiting arms. “It’s all yours.”

  “Awesome.” Jake inspected his new prized possession. “Can I put it in my room?”

  “Sure.”

  “Right now?”

  “You don’t want to help me with the rest of this first?” Andrew motioned to the partially unpacked boxes.

  “Nope.” Jake shook his head. “I want to see my room.”

  “It is getting late.” Andrew glanced at his watch. “Maybe we should go upstairs.”

  “Sweet.” Jake grinned. “Is my room as big as Sarah’s?”

  “Not quite,” Andrew replied, wondering if he was about to have a tantrum on his hands.

  “That’s okay. She can have the attic,” Jake said, shrugging. “It’s creepy up there anyway. The ceiling slopes and those stairs are dark.”

  “That’s very adult of you.”