The Abel House

Three

There was something uneasy and distinctly horrible about living in a place where people had been murdered. I couldn’t explain what it was that made it so unpleasant; I hardly understood the feelings myself. I just knew that the emotions were bad.

Sunny thought that the ghosts of the dead haunted the house, but she was wrong; it was something else. It was a haunting brought on by myself and my own brain, which created insane scenarios; I obsessed over whether the floorboards that I walked on had once had blood soaked on them, if someone had died on them, and I wondered if my bedroom had once been where the little dead girl had slept, and I wondered if the crazy father had stored his weapon in the closets I’d looked in, in the rooms I’d wandered into.

And the thoughts made me sick. They drove me wild. I just wanted to know what had happened here. I wanted to know for certain, so that I could stop wondering and obsessing and thinking things that most likely were not true.

Normally, I would just look it up, but I had no internet, and my mom had taken away my data for the summer, as part of my punishment. I could always have gone to the library to find some old newspapers, but the drive in to town was long, and I wasn’t very sure I would find anything.

So my options fell to Dad, who certainly knew about the history of this place.

Things between the two of us had been tense since he, you know, lied to me about living in a murder house, but… I was willing to be nice if it meant getting answers.

I had this epiphany while I laid in my pink bed in the early morning. I could hear my dad clinking glasses together downstairs, so I knew he was up, and I figured that this was my chance.

With a depressed sigh, I pulled my hair up and out of my face and went to go get some breakfast. Per usual, the stairs creaked under my feet, alerting everyone in Oregon to my presence. By the time I got downstairs, I knew that my dad knew I was up.

I entered the kitchen, spotting him at the table. Despite knowing that I had to be nice to him, I only barely repressed the urge to scream at the sight of him. I was still angry.

This getting along thing would be tough.

“Hello,” he greeted cautiously.

“Hi,” I said, going over to the fridge.

There was a pause, where he was surely picking his words carefully. “I made eggs,” he said.

“I don’t want eggs,” I replied. Was that mean? “Er, I guess I’ll take some.”

Wordlessly he handed me a plate filled with some scrambled eggs already on it, then took a seat at the table, opposite to me. He lifted his newspaper and his mug of coffee, beginning to read. I watched him for a moment, thinking he might talk to me or start a conversation, but he was engrossed.

I dragged my fork across my plate in two big circles before stabbing down on some egg and plopping it in my mouth. “Dad,” I then said, with my mouth half full.

“Swallow,” he replied without looking up.

My lips twisted into a scowl, but I swallowed before speaking again. “Dad, I was wondering…”

“What?” he sighed out.

“I’m wondering what happened here.” I took a short pause. “I mean, like… how they died.”

“You know how they died.”

“Yeah, but what happened? Why did that guy--?”

“Reagen.” Dad folded the newspaper in half and set it down on the table. With it away from his face, I could see his expression clearly, and he wasn’t happy. “I need you to go get some of the spare tarps from the basement. You’ll be helping me repaint one of the guest rooms upstairs.”

The change in subject startled me, and for a second I was extraordinarily furious. I had been nice and on my best behavior, and he dismissed me anyway. What the hell? “Dad--” I tried, but he cut me off again with a shake of his head.

“Go get the tarps.” His tone was tight, and I knew it wouldn’t be smart to push him.

“Fine.” I pushed away from the table and stomped out of the room. And more than anything, right then, I wanted to go find the paint he’d gotten and pour it all over his head… but, to be honest, there wasn’t much to do around here. If I didn’t have my paint job for today, then I’d just be sitting in my room, thinking about the terrible things that had happened in this house.

So I got the tarps.

Weirdly enough, the basement didn’t make me feel strange at all. The place was well lit and fairly organized, and it just seemed like a normal basement. I could picture myself hanging out down there, reading or doing whatever, whereas, everywhere else, I only found bad images.

Soon I found myself back in the kitchen, asking my dad which specific room he wanted done. “Third one on the right. There’s already supplies in there,” he told me. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I grumbled, still upset with him.

I went up the stairs, setting the tarps at the top before going into my pink room and changing into some worn clothes. When I was thoroughly certain I was wearing something I’d be fine with ruining, I headed back into the hall, got the tarps, and set out for the room.

The floorboards creaked as I moved, each step I made creating a moaning sound on the wood beneath me. Dutifully, I ignored it, focusing on the big bundle of tarps instead; they weren’t heavy but large rather, and the grouping of such made it hard to see. I had side vision, at least, and managed to get to the location just fine.

Arriving, I found there to be a ladder, white paint, and a few different brushes in the room. The walls were already taped, and so the only prep really needed was to set down the tarps. I quickly got to work.

Tarps were easy, and I used some of the brushes to hold them in place before I moved the ladder over to the right wall. I brought the paint pail over next, grateful to see that it’d already been opened, though covered to prevent drying.

I began my ascent up the ladder with the pail, which I set down, right to my feet. Ready to start, I dipped my brush into the pail before lifting it to the wall, and then I hesitated, suddenly uncertain. I wasn’t sure whether to paint vertical or horizontally… or if it even mattered. Dad hadn’t specified, and this wasn’t my area of expertise. I didn’t really care but redoing it wouldn’t be optimal.

Shrugging, I decided to go for vertical and began working to cover up the light blue. It was a little fun, actually, and I thought that I could even like it, if I wasn’t doing it for my dad… Oh, or if the paint was used in my room, to cover up all that bright gunk on the walls.

Around five minutes into my work, a bizarre thing happened. I wasn’t sure why or how, but the ladder was jerked away, and it was almost like it had been kicked. Strongly. Almost violently.

What happened next all happened under a few seconds, but it moved slow.

The ladder clattered as it fell, and it sounded like a gunshot, though that wasn’t what I was focused on. My eyes were fixed on the falling pail, which had overturned from the force and was releasing a steady stream of paint. I watched as it actually changed color for maybe a millisecond to a deep and dark red, before it landed back on the ground, white.

I fell to the floor, too, at the same moment. I hit my elbow in the process and my head--not bad, but both hurt enough to cause me to cry out quietly. And it was as I laid there, struggling with the pain, that I saw it.

My breath froze, and my heart must have stopped--if only just for a second--while I looked on. I had no idea what it was, but it was something… the height of an adult standing upright, right over me. It was invisible, exposed by the paint that had landed on it during the fall.

Some white dripped from it to the floor, and I stared on, horrified.

It didn’t move or speak.

“What? What’s going on?”

The call tore my attention from the figure to my dad, who was yelling and had just rushed into the room.

I stared at him, then back to where the figure had just been… but there was nothing there. “What?” I mumbled.

Maybe I’d just hit my head…

“Why did you yell? What happened?” He got quiet, and I looked at him once more, seeing him studying the room. “Ugh, Reagen! What a mess!”

“The tarps got it,” I said quietly, trying to make sense of what I’d just seen. I had to have imagined it. Brain trauma. But then what had made me fall? And why had the paint looked red?

Had it been real?

My dad let out a loud groan, drawing me away from what had happened, and he huffed, “We’ll have to go get more paint now.”

I turned, watching him overturn the pail, briefly allowing me to see that, in fact, more than half of what had been in there before was now gone, surrounded us on the floor. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“What happened?” he asked me.

“The ladder just fell,” I said.

Dad went over to inspect the fallen object, then sighed. “The spreaders aren’t properly locked in. That’s what made you fall. You should’ve checked that.”

I held my tongue, thinking that there was no way that could be true. Something had pushed me…

Right?

As I sat on the floor, head still hurting, mind whirling, I thought, just for a second, only one: What if it was haunted? What if Sunny was right? And what if something had really been there--something dead, something that had died here?

It was too creepy to consider. I quickly shoved the thought aside, finally standing.

From higher up, it was easier to see the damage the paint had inflicted; it’d splattered everywhere. I had to cringe a bit.

Dad glared at me. “You’re cleaning this up, you know.”

“I know.”

“There’s a hose outside,” he told me before walking back out of the room.

I stared after him for a second, indignant, surprised to be put out of his mind so quickly, before refocusing on my new assignment. A big sigh escaped from my lips.

I had to take each tarp down one at a time, mindfully and slowly to not cause more of a mess. By the time I’d gotten them all by the hose, it was midday, and I was tired. And sweaty. And annoyed.

Going back upstairs, I went for the bathroom and took a shower. The water wasn’t exactly cold but not warm either. My body got used to it but only after a while, and by then I just wanted to get out. Regardless, the shower gave me time to clean and to think, and I came to a decision.

After drying off, I went to my room and dug Sunny’s business card out of the pocket of my pants, which were lying on the ground. I took a short breath and wondered if I was being stupid before shaking my head and pulling up my phone to dial her number.

She answered on the fifth ring with a furious voice, yelling before I could even talk. “Look, can you guys quit calling me and trying to get me to vote for whoever! I’m not even eighteen! Get me off the call list!”

“Uh… Sunny?” I asked.

There was a pause.

“Who is this?” she replied.

“This is Reagen. We met the other day at the hardware store. I don’t know if you remember. I was—”

“Oh, Abel House girl! What can I do for you? You got a scoop?”

My lips pursed, and I let out a sigh--too quiet to be picked up over the phone. “Look, can we talk?”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Uh, sure?” she said, probably confused as to why I sounded so serious.

“Uh, well, I was just wondering… I mean, I remember you mentioning… I mean…” I drifted off. Why was I so nervous? Jeez. I took a deep breath. “Sorry… you said your dad was a cop?”

There was a slight pause. “Why? You in trouble or something? What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! It’s nothing like that.” I wasn’t so sure how to phrase what I needed to say. “Um… I mean… I was just…”

“Just what?” she asked curiously—too curious and impatient to give me the time to find the right words.

I sighed. “I don’t really know how to say it without it seeming weird.”

“Just say it.”

Still, I couldn’t quite force the words out.

She groaned. “Come on, spit it out!”

Despite her urge, I still had to pause before managing out, “Well, I was wondering… if I could get the case file of the Abels.”

There was a pregnant silence on the other end. I had to check a few times to make sure that the call hadn’t disconnected or that Sunny hadn’t hung up on me. Eventually, I just couldn’t take it anymore, and I asked, “Are you there?”

“I’m here,” she replied after a beat. “So… you want me to steal case files?”

“Well, your dad is a cop. I figured you could just ask him nicely. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

There was another pause, but this one was shorter. “Why do you want the files?” she asked finally.

The truth was that I was just needed to know more about the Abels, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t really get me anywhere with Sunny, so I said, “I’ve been having some ghost, uh, activity.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “And I wanted to—”

She brightened. “What? Really! What’s happened?”

“Uh, you know, small stuff. Things falling… and stuff like that. I want the file on the Abels so I can try to understand all of the activity.”

I could tell, even with a phone and miles between us, that she was torn. “Oh, man… My dad keeps some files on them in the basement,” she admitted slowly. “The case is closed, but some details always bothered him, so he keeps the file close to look over it sometimes. I could get a couple files without him noticing, I think.”

“What’s stopping you?” I asked.

“If he catches me, I’m dead.”

The thought clearly disturbed Sunny deeply, and I could tell that I was losing her. “Dead… like the Abels?” I pressed. “Maybe you would be a ghost then, too…”

“Aw, man! This is too good to miss!” she cried, and, with a smile, I knew that I’d won her over. “I’ll get you your files!”

“When could you have them by?” I wondered eagerly.

She thought for a second. “Today? Is that too soon? It’s just that I really want to—”

“No, that’s awesome!” A sense of relief hit me. I would find out about the Abels today. I would know what had happened here, and maybe I’d even be able to sleep at night then. “Today works!”

“Where will we meet?” Sunny asked.

“At the house,” I replied.

“Ooh, spooky. It will give me a good atmosphere to get my creative juices flowing.”

For a second, I considered this. Should I ask my dad if I was allowed to have guests? I decided I wouldn’t. “How will you get here?” I inquired.

“Oh, my mom will give me a ride. She’ll be happy to hear I’m making friends. And that I’m outside.”

“Uh, okay. Do you need the address?” I asked.

“Reagen,” she said, and I could almost feel her rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows where you live.”