PROLOGUE
Just outside of town, sitting atop Hampton Hill, which is situated smack dab in the middle of Boneyard Bog, stands the Old Merston Place. Often referred to as The House of the Shrieking Skulls, for reasons that are long forgotten, it stands like a spectral sentinel, waiting for just the right moment to call forth its legion. The vaporous quag below and the massive guardian oak trees surrounding it keep the phantasmagoric residence shrouded in mist and shadow around the clock.
Very few of the residents of Elkstone Hollow knew even a single soul that had ever dared set foot inside the black, wrought iron fence encircling the house. As teenagers they often goaded one another to brave the perils of The House of the Shrieking Skulls but they never pressed too hard for they knew they themselves would never be brave enough to traverse the bog, scale the hill, and place even a single toe across the threshold of the Old Merston Place. And it wasn't just the scary stories they were told as children growing up nor the eerie vibe that emanated from the landscape; it wasn’t the fact that the town, and therefore the house itself, was bathed in the penumbra of Shadow Mountain; there was something else altogether - and which nobody had ever been able to explain - that kept the residents of Elkstone Hollow from crossing the marsh and climbing the mound.
As the residents of The Hollow grew older, they didn’t forget about the Old Merston Place, but it receded slightly into the background. With each year of their lives that passed by, they looked up at it less often than they had the year before. Nobody could explain quite why, because the house wasn’t any more or less spooky than it had been in their younger days, but eventually they would realize it was because it reminded them of their own mortality, which as one grows older, one wants to think about less often. Let’s be honest, as children, we have a tinge of immortality woven into our DNA, yet as we age, those bits begin to flake off until one day you awaken to the fact that death is imminent and you never know from whence it might arrive.
Be that as it may, Elkstone Hollow isn’t such a bad place. Other than that oddity sitting eerily outside of town, it offers a great many benefits. The people are friendly, well-educated, and tolerant. The community is supportive of its members without getting too wrapped up in each other's business. Additionally, there is a wellspring of activities to be enjoyed both in and out of doors. It's a wonderful place for one to grow up and let the days go by.
And yet, always lurking, always watching, following the lives of the Elkstone residents from its perch on high, was the Old Merston Place. The House of the Shrieking Skulls.
PART I
Crosby Willoughby had spent thirty-seven of his almost forty-nine years as a resident of Elkstone Hollow. After graduating from Elkstone High, he went off to college and promptly forgot all about his hometown and The House of the Shrieking Skulls. He was too wrapped up in his studies and new life experiences to worry about such banalities.
Four years of college earned him a degree in visual arts and after spending three years bouncing from one job to the next, he eventually found success in an advertising firm as a digital artist. A year later, while working on a project for a catering company that had hired his firm to create a new logo, he met his wife Pamela. They hit it off immediately and married two years later. Another two years after that, Crosby and Pam realized that though they enjoyed each other and their work, their lives wouldn’t be complete without the pitter patter of tiny feet. However, as exciting as the idea of creating a family was, neither of them wanted to raise children amidst the hustle and bustle of the big city. After many late night talks and a significant amount of conscientious deliberation, they decided to move back to Crosby’s hometown.
*****
Crosby sat at his computer - a long, gray ponytail hanging down to the middle of his back - putting the finishing touches on his latest work project. He relished being able to work from home. The freedom it provided as well as the increased time it allowed him to spend with his children was a gratuity he knew was afforded to very few people.
"Daddy!" It was Crosby’s youngest daughter, Jessa, calling.
"I'm upstairs, honey. In my office."
Crosby could hear her heavy, nearly seven year old footsteps charging up the stairs. It always surprised him how her sixty pound frame could cause such a ruckus escalating a single flight of stairs. He swiveled around in his chair - dropping his circular gold-framed glasses from atop his head down onto the bridge of his nose - just in time to see her burst into the room and leap at him. In one fluid motion Crosby stood and caught Jessa in a bear hug.
"Hey, Pumpkin, how was school today?" Crosby asked.
"It was okay. Xavier was absent today so I had to play with Carson and Nina on the playground. Mrs Klein gave us new spelling words and she started teaching us how to count by fives.”
“Which specials did you go to?”
“Music and PE.”
“That’s good. You love those two classes.”
"Music was fun but not PE. We had to run back and forth in a straight line. And when we weren't running we had to stand by the fence and wait. It was so boring."
"I see. What else did you..."
Jessa cut Crosby off. "Daddy, while I was waiting along the fence I was looking at that house up on the hill. Who lives there? It's really scary looking."
Crosby’s older kids, Carissa and Dylan, 17 and 14 respectively, knew about the Old Merston Place but Pam and he had yet to really discuss it with Jessa. She tended toward the hysterical when it came to things that frightened her.
"Nobody lives there,” Crosby said. “I don't think anybody has lived in that house for over one hundred years."
"Bobby told me at lunch that people died in that house."
"You know what, I think he’s right. From what I understand, some people did die in that house. But like I said, it was a long, long time ago, and if I remember correctly, they died of old age."
“He also said that there were ghosts there.”
Crosby sat down in his chair and placed Jessa in front of him where he could look into her eyes.
“Some stories do exist about ghosts living in that house,” he said. “But I have lived in this town for most of my life and have never seen nor heard anything strange coming from that place. And none of the people I know have either. People like to invent ghost stories because they are interesting, but I promise you, you don’t need to worry about that house. It’s just really old.”
"Have you ever been in it?"
"No, I haven’t. I don't know anybody who has. It wouldn't be right. You shouldn't go into houses that aren't your own."
Jessa looked at Crosby quizzically for a quick moment and then shrugged. "That's true," she said. "Okay, Daddy, I'm going to go get a snack now. Do you want one?"
"No thank you. While you're eating your snack, do your homework and I'll check it when I'm finished with what I'm working on."
"Okay."
"Also, can you ask Dylan to walk Jake so I don't have to do it later?"
"Yep."
She turned on her heel and Crosby smiled as he watched her hurrying down the stairs. It seemed no matter how many generations came through Elkstone Hollow, that old house would be a mystery to each and every person to lay eyes on it.
"And tell Dylan I want his homework done too!" Crosby yelled down after her.
"Okay, Daddy," he could hear Jessa say on her way into the kitchen.
Crosby turned around and went back to work.
*****
“Pass the mac and cheese, please,” Dylan requested. He was already diving in for seconds before anybody else was remotely close to finishing their firsts. Pamela picked up the dish, which was loaded with broccoli and spinach as well as the macaroni and cheese, and handed it to Carissa, who gave it to Dylan. Both Dylan and Jessa were loathe to eat vegetables on their own but usually didn’t mind if they were masked by things they really enjoyed, like cheese.
As Dylan dumped two large scoops onto his plate, Pam asked him how his day at school had gone.
“It was okay. We played Jeopardy in World History to review for our test on Friday and I scored more points than anyone else on our team. Biology was fun because we had a substitute teacher and Ms Salterman was nice enough to leave a group activity for us to work on. In geometry we’re learning how to find the volumes of solids and in English we wrote an essay on To Kill a Mockingbird.”
He smiled a toothy grin when he finished his daily summary then shoveled enough cheesy pasta and veg into his mouth to assure he wouldn’t have to speak again for some time.
“How about you, Carissa?” Crosby asked.
Carissa was working on some homework at the table while she ate.
“It was good, Dad. Kelly and I stayed after school to try and finalize the details for the carnival fundraiser our class is organizing to raise money for the local animal shelter. I also spent some time today talking to Mrs. Henry about what colleges I might want to apply to in the fall.”
“Any candidates yet?” Pamela asked.
“Nothing definitive, although I’m pretty sure Cornell and UC-Davis will make the cut. I was thinking that once I have a list of possibilities compiled we could sit down and talk about the pros and cons of each. I should have my list whittled down pretty soon.”
“That sounds great,” Crosby said. “How about we carve out some time next Sunday evening after we return from our hike up Shadow Mountain?”
“That would be perfect. Can Priya come over? She’s thinking about veterinary medicine too.”
“Of course she can,” answered Pamela. “ Her parents can come too if they’d like.”
“I’ll ask her, but I think she wants to get her thoughts and feelings in order before she talks to her parents about it.”
“Either way,” Crosby began, “we’re happy to help.”
Pam turned toward Jessa.
“How about you, Pumpkin?” she asked, touching Jessa on the arm as she did so. “How was your day?”
Jessa jumped in her chair. She often got lost in her own world at dinner time. As she ate, if the rest of the family wasn’t engaging with her directly, she would be having a dinner party with any one of her copious imaginary friends.
“You okay, little lady,” Crosby asked.
“Yeah, Mom just scared me a bit.”
“Scaredy-cat,” Dylan said out of the corner of his mouth.
“I am not!” Jessa yelled at him.
“Are too,” he said. “That’s why you have to sleep with a night light on in your room.”
“Cut it out Dylan,” Carissa scolded him, giving him a sharp nudge with her elbow.
“Ignore your brother, Jessa,” Pam said. “What did you do at school today?”
“Mrs Klein taught us about our new spelling words during ELA and during math we learned how to count by fives. In music, we learned a new song about rainbows. I really liked it. And in gym class we had to stand against the fence and wait until it was our turn to run. It wasn’t fun at all.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Pam said. “I know how much you enjoy PE. Do you remember the name of the song you learned in music today?”
“No, but it’s really good. Mr F showed us a video to help us learn the words. In the video there was a frog playing a guitar in a swamp.”
Pam’s eyes lit up.
“Was the name of the song The Rainbow Connection?”
“That was it, mommy!” Jessa yelled.
“That’s one of my favorite songs! I’d forgotten all about it. Before bed tonight you’ll have to remind me how it goes.”
“Okay,” Jessa replied and then she returned to entertaining her imaginary dinner guests.
For the next ten minutes or so, Crosby and Pam talked about their respective days and who would take whom where during the remainder of the week. Between various practices, clubs, and meetings, mistakes would be made if a schedule wasn’t outlined beforehand. Just as dinner was ending, and they began cleaning up, Jessa burst out with, “Daddy told me someone died in the house up on the hill.”
The look Pamela shot Crosby could have taken down an elephant.
“Yes Jessa,” Crosby started, “but remember, I said that was a long time ago.”
“I know but I still think ghosts might live there. It looks haunted,” Jessa stated.
Before Crosby had a chance to respond, Dylan chimed in. “There are definitely ghosts in that house!”
Jessa’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked.
“No honey, he’s just trying to scare you,” Pamela replied.
“No, I’m not, Mom. Scott’s older brother’s best friend, Josh, said his father’s cousin went up there one Halloween on a dare and was attacked by spirits.”
“Nothing like relying on Scott’s older brother’s best friend as a source of factual paranormal information,” Pam retorted.
Dylan ignored her and kept talking to Jessa.
“Apparently, before the guy was even halfway up the hill, he was attacked by ghosts.”
“Dylan!” Pam scolded him.
“Mom, it’s true. According to Josh, about a third of the way up the hill, some spirits started flying around him, pulling at his clothes and whispering things in his ear. I guess it really freaked him out because he ran home as fast as he could. He didn’t even stop to say anything to his friends as he went running past them. A week later he was hospitalized with insomnia because every night when he went to sleep he was tormented with nightmares.”
“Jessa,” Carissa cut in, “you know he’s lying to you, right? When has Dylan ever told you the truth about anything?”
Jessa shrugged.
“How come nobody ever believes me?” Dylan shouted.
“Do you really need to ask us that?” Carissa replied.
“Fine,” Dylan said, shoveling a final forkful of food into his mouth. “If nobody is interested in hearing what I have to say, may I be excused?”
Pamela nodded. “Take your plate and silverware to the sink on your way out.”
Dylan picked up the designated items and stormed off into the kitchen with Jake, the family basset hound, trailing closely behind hoping for some scraps.
“Listen honey,” Pamela said to Jessa, “even if Dylan did hear a story about some ghosts, it doesn’t mean it’s true. Since the beginning of time people have been telling ghost stories to both frighten and entertain each other. But they’re just stories. They may be fun to tell but in the end they’re make-believe.”
Jessa’s eyes traveled from Pamela around the table to me and then back again. You could see she was trying to make a decision.
“Okay, Mommy, I believe you.”
And just like that she returned to her dinner party.
*****
“I thought we were going to wait to tell her about that place,” Pamela said to Crosby as she loaded the dishwasher and he cleaned the casserole dish.
“Pam, I’m fully aware that what I’m about to say will make me sound like a child, but I didn’t do it. It was someone else. I think she said it was Bobby that told her about it while they were outside during PE. When she got home from school she started asking me questions and I told her exactly what you told her. That she’s going to hear stories but they aren’t true. But you know Jessa, she probably needed some reassurance.”
“I’m sorry, I should have known. Someone was bound to say something to her about it at some point. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to ask about it. You can’t go anywhere in this town without seeing it. It amazes me the town hasn’t torn it down.”
“I think they like having it there. It’s like a tourist attraction. Plus, I think they don’t want to spend the money to find a way to get equipment across the marsh and up the hill just to knock down an old house that will eventually fall down on its own.”
“Makes sense. I’m just hoping it won’t keep her up all night.”
“Me too. I hate missing out on sleep. After you and the kids, it’s my favorite thing!”
Pamela gave Crosby a smile and playfully bumped him with her hip on her way out of the kitchen.
*****
Dylan walked up to the bright red door and read the lettering on the window, “Elkstone Hollow Books, Scarlett Rain: Proprietor.” His parents came here often. He’d been here many times himself but never alone. Scarlett was always exceptionally nice but there was something about her that weirded him out. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The shopkeeper's bell tinkled as he entered.
“I’ll be out in just a moment in case you need some help,” Scarlett’s voice sang from an unidentified location, “but in the meantime feel free to wander about and see if something strikes your fancy.”
Dylan did as he was instructed and walked up and down the aisles, hoping he might find what he was looking for so he could limit his interaction with Scarlett. He scanned the shelves, reading the section titles as quickly as he could. He was quite familiar with where Scarlett kept the graphic novels and manga, as well as general fiction and the sciences, but aside from that he’d never really had much need to commit the rest of the store to memory. As he passed by the travel books and foreign language guides, he jumped at the sound of Scarlett’s voice behind him.
“Why if it isn’t Dylan Willoughby! I wondered when you’d finally find the mettle to brave the perils of Scarlett’s lair alone.”
Dylan wheeled around to see Scarlett, in all of her blazing glory, standing less than a foot away. The first thing he always noticed about Scarlett was the bird’s nest perched atop her head; it was a tangled mess of ribbons, chopsticks, and fire orange hair whose care routine he couldn’t possibly fathom. Next he saw her green eyes staring out at him from between violet shadowed lids and blood red lips smiling at him mischievously. Finally he saw her bare feet poking out from beneath the floor-length red dress she wore which was mended in various places with a mishmash of colorful patches.
“H-h-hi Scarlett,” Dylan stammered. “How are you today?”
“I’m doing well, young man. And you?”
“I-I’m fine. I was j-j-just looking around.”
“Oh, I see. It’s just odd to see you over here. Normally you’re poking around fiction or the sciences.”
“That’s true,” Dylan said, “I just thought maybe I’d m-mix it up today.”
“Looking to become a bit more well-rounded?” Scarlett asked.
“Something like that,” Dylan responded.
“Well, I think that’s a marvelous reason to be exploring different areas of the store. Let me know if you need any help. Of course, if you’re not looking for anything specific, feel free to spend your entire afternoon searching Scarlett’s stacks.”
Scarlett flashed Dylan another of her smiles, this one a bit teasing. Dylan knew she knew he was uncomfortable and was purposefully and playfully goading him. Normally he wouldn’t have taken the bait so easily in an attempt to prove himself but today he didn’t care. This woman frightened him.
“Um, well, I guess I could use some help. Do you have a local section?”
“I do indeed, young Willoughby. Follow me.”
Scarlett spun, her dress flaring out all around her, and took off at pace. Dylan hurried to keep up and a few moments later they were in the far right corner of the store.
“Here we are. Most of the history of Elkstone Hollow available for your perusal.”
“Thanks,” said Dylan.
“You are quite welcome. For now, I’ll leave you to your own devices. Of course, if you need any help, just call out my name and I will be at your service.”
Dylan looked up at the shelves and though there weren’t that many titles in the local section, he knew that in all probability, it would take him a long time to find what he was looking for, if he did at all. So before Scarlett even had a chance to turn he said, “M-Ms Rain, before you go, I do have a question.”
Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Ask away, good sir.”
“Do you have anything about the Old Merston Place?”
At first, Scarlett didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t move at all. She just used those probing emerald eyes of hers to peer deep into Dylan’s sapphire counterparts. While she stared, and while he uncomfortably returned her gaze, he thought to himself, I’m never coming in here again. After more than a few moments, the corners of Scarlett’s mouth raised ever so slightly into a grin.
“Dylan Willoughby, you are full of surprises today. Once again, I must ask you to follow me.”
Scarlett turned and walked along the back wall, Dylan close on her heels. He thought she was taking him to another section of the store but when she reached the far left corner, she took a right, passing through the red velvet curtain that hung in the doorway. Dylan followed and stepped into what he imagined a tenure professor’s office on a university campus would look like. A large oak desk was positioned in front of the windows with a mahogany colored leather chair behind it. Around the perimeter of the room were more bookshelves, each one overflowing with books, magazines, newspapers, and various statues, masks, talismans, and more.
“Take a seat,” Scarlett instructed, pointing to a collapsible lawn chair filled with more writings, sitting in front of the desk. “You can just place those items on the floor.”
Dylan did as he was told, making sure he didn’t upset the rhythm Scarlett had going on in the room. He wasn’t sure if there was an order to it but he had a feeling that whatever chaos he was seeing was systematic in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Scarlett had gone to the bookshelf closest to the windows and removed a large portfolio from the bottom shelf. She brought it over to her desk, the only space free from clutter in the whole room, and set it down in front of her. She took a seat in the chair and opened the top cover of the oversized folder.
“Before we go any further,” Scarlett began, a serious look on her face, “tell me why you want to know about that house.”
Just as he was about to speak, Dylan realized that inexplicably, he was no longer nervous. He couldn’t pinpoint why but suddenly Scarlett seemed like the kindly woman his parents held in such high regard.
“I wish I had a better answer than the one I’m about to give, because I worry if I don’t say the right thing you’re going to ask me to leave, but I’m really just here because I’m curious. At dinner the other night, Jessa was asking questions about the Old Merston Place and Mom and Dad told her there was nothing to worry about. When I tried to tell her about a story I’d heard, everybody yelled at me and told me I was lying. But I wasn’t. Granted, I have no way of knowing if the story I heard was true, but that doesn’t mean I was lying. I understand they don’t want Jessa to worry but I don’t think it’s right to tell her there’s nothing to worry about if there might actually be something to worry about. Anyway, that night, I tried to find information online but I couldn’t find anything. Nothing. It’s like the place doesn’t even exist. It doesn’t even show up on Google maps!”
Scarlett studied Dylan as she mulled over what to do next. She knew Dylan was being sincere - she started studying the occult at his age out of simple curiosity - but she didn’t want to anger Pam and Crosby who were decent people and loyal customers.
“Curiosity,” Scarlett began, “is always a good reason to want to know more about the world, so your answer is a fine one. The question is, if the information I share with you today supports your claim, what will you do with it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you to wield anything you learn here today as a weapon against your family. Your parents have every right to protect Jessa from information they worry might be harmful to her. Don’t you think they did the same for you until they felt the time was right?”
“Yeah, I suppose they did.”
“See? It’s important to remember that. Now, I am happy to provide you with what you desire but you have to promise me you will take it and learn from it and you will not use it just to prove others wrong.”
“I can do that,” Dylan said.
“All righty,” Scarlett said, a look of excitement washing over her face, “let’s get started.”
*****
“Sorry I’m late!” Dylan yelled as he came crashing through the door.
Everybody else was sitting around the dinner table, chicken stir fry over rice piled on their plates.
“Where have you been, young man?” Pamela asked. “I called your phone multiple times to check up on you.”
“I’m sorry,” Dylan apologized, pulling his chair up to the table and heaping food onto his plate. “I forgot to turn the ringer on after I left practice and it was in my bag so I didn’t feel it vibrate. I went to the bookstore after school and just lost track of time. You can call over there and check. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“It’s all right,” Pam said. “It’s just that nobody knew where you were. Next time you go somewhere after school either let Carissa know where you’re going or make sure you have your phone on you.”
“I promise.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Crosby asked.
“What?” Dylan said, wondering if they’d already figured out why he’d gone to the bookstore.
“Did you buy anything while you were there?” Dylan’s father inquired further.
“Oh, right. Um, I bought Volume 8 of Teenage Miscreant Vigilantes. At the conclusion of Volume 7 it looked like things were about to get crazy.”
“Sounds exciting,” Pam said.
“I hope so,” Dylan said with a smile then, as was his way, filled his maw in hopes that it would put an end to the familial interrogation.
“Well, I have a question for everybody,” Pam said to get everyone’s attention. “What are we going to do for Dad and Jessa’s birthday this Saturday?”
It just so happened that Crosby and Jessa shared the same birthday, May 13th.
“I want pizza and cake,” Jessa said, matter-of-factly. “Cheese pizza and chocolate cake, with lots of vanilla frosting on top, and a picture of Lin from Superhero Kindergarten on it.”
“Well, I guess that covers the main food categories,” Crosby said. “Can we have ice cream too, Pumpkin?”
“I guess,” Jessa replied with a shrug.
“Okay. Pizza, cake, and ice cream to eat,” Pam summarized. “What…”
“Can we also get a pepperoni and jalapẽno pizza? And chicken wings?” Dylan interjected.
“I don’t want chicken wings,” Jessa whined.
“You don’t have to eat them,” Dylan shot back.
“Look,” Pam cut in, “let’s not worry about the menu so much. I’m sure everybody will be able to find something they want to eat. What I was really referring to is where we should have it and what we should do to celebrate. Any ideas?”
“I say we have it right here,” Crosby said to Pam. “We can order food from Antonio’s and you can pick it up on your way home from the anniversary party you’re catering. After we stuff ourselves, we can open gifts, and then we can gather around the television and have a family movie night.”
“What do you think, Jessa?” Pam asked her youngest.
“As long as we don’t watch anything scary.” Jessa replied.
Pam looked over at Dylan, expecting him to taunt his sister as he had the previous evening, but he was surprisingly tight-lipped.
“I think that’s fair, honey,” Pam said. “Carissa, do you have time in your schedule to make the cake for me?”
Carissa pulled out her phone and checked her calendar.
“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem. It doesn’t look like I have anything going on Saturday morning. Jessa, you want to help me?”
“Can I?” Jessa asked, excitedly.
“Sure,” said Carissa. “You can help me mix the batter and after it’s done baking you can help me put the vanilla frosting on.
“Can Toby and Olive help too?” Jessa asked, making certain her two best imaginary friends could be included.
“Only if they promise not to lick their fingers and stick them back into the bowl,” Carissa explained.
“I’ll make sure they don’t,” said Jessa.
“I love this idea. It sounds like the perfect birthday to me,” Crosby said.
“More stir fry, please” Dylan asked, holding his plate up to be filled again.
*****
Crosby and Pam laid in bed, lights off, talking to one another.
“How was your birthday?” Pam asked her husband.
“It was pretty spectacular. I spent the morning watching my two daughters bake a cake, the afternoon helping my son with his swing over at the ball field, and the evening enjoying movies with the wife and kids. It can’t get much better than that.”
“Jessa absolutely loved the playhouse you built for her. I bet she spends all week in the backyard hosting lavish soirees for Toby, Olive, Samantha, and Laura. We’ll have to see if some of her real life friends can come over soon and enjoy it with her.”
“She was pretty excited. Although I think I was just as excited about the mountain bike. I’ll have to play hooky from work one day this week and test it out.”
“Live it up because when you hit the big five-oh next year you’ll have to trade your mountain bike in for a cane.”
Pam laughed and Crosby turned over and planted a kiss on her lips.
“Well, let’s see who has more stamina, you or me.” Crosby teased just before kissing his wife again.
“Mommy!” Jessa’s voice reached out of the darkness and snapped their romantic moment in two. It was followed by a sharp bark from Jake.
“Mommy!”
Crosby rolled over and switched on the light. Jessa was already wrapped in Pam’s arms.
“What is it, baby?” Pam asked, calmly stroking Jessa’s hair.
“There’s someone in my room.”
Before Crosby heard anything more, he was out of bed. He rushed out of the room and took an immediate right turn, crashing headlong into the door to Jessa’s room, which was only halfway open. He flicked the light switch, to shed some illumination on whomever dared to enter their home uninvited. Fists at the ready, he scanned the room. It was empty but for furniture, the standard chaos of a seven year old’s bedroom, and Jake, standing in the middle of the room growling at the window. Jessa’s favorite toy, a stuffed plush rabbit aptly named Bunny, lay on the floor by the wall.
Crosby inspected the window. It was locked. He hurried out of her room, Jake in tow, and proceeded to systematically check every room in the house. Other than Carissa and Dylan, who’d both awakened as Crosby careened from room to room, the house was empty. In fact, all of the doors and downstairs windows were closed and securely fastened.
“We didn’t find anyone and everything seems to be locked down tight,” Crosby said as he, his two oldest children who’d joined him in his inspection of the house, and the dog walked into the bedroom.
“Thanks for checking,” Pam said as she rocked Jessa who’d climbed into bed with her. “I have a feeling it was just a nightmare.”
Jessa sat up.
“It wasn’t a nightmare, Mommy. I was dreaming but then I woke up and when I opened my eyes, there was a woman standing at the end of my bed, looking at me. When she saw I was awake, she smiled. It was really scary, so I threw Bunny at her and ran in here.”
Crosby sat down on the bed. “Well, if there was someone there, Pumpkin, she isn’t anymore. Carissa, Dylan, and I checked the entire house and we didn’t find anybody.”
“What did she look like?” Dylan asked, a concerned look on his face.
“Dylan, don’t egg her on,” Pam scolded.
“She was old,” Jessa began. “Really old. And tall. And skinny.”
“What did her hair look like?”
“Dylan, stop it!” Pam was angry now.
“It was rolled into a ball on the top of her head.”
Dylan was shocked. He had to tell somebody but he didn’t want to get in trouble. As his parents comforted Jessa, he grabbed Carissa by the wrist and led her out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, Carissa pulled free. “Dylan, what are you doing?”
“You have to come with me. I have something to show you.”
“What could you possibly have to show me at a time like this?”
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s important.”
Carissa looked back toward the bedroom.
“Carissa, please!”
It was the way he whispered “Carissa, please!” that convinced her to go with him. Something was up.
“Okay, let’s go,” she whispered.
Dylan led her downstairs to his bedroom. Carissa almost never set foot in his room and when she looked around she remembered why. It was a mess. Clothes, bags, books, and anything else that might occupy a teenage boy’s bedroom was scattered about so haphazardly finding a bare spot to step was nearly impossible.
“Take a seat,” Dylan said to his sister.
“Where?” she asked.
Pointing to a chair he said, “Just push that stuff on the floor.”
Using the slack in her pajama bottoms to cover her hand, she pushed a pile of stuff, which included what looked like a pair of dirty socks, onto the floor.
“Dylan, this place is disgusting! How can you live like this?”
He grabbed his backpack off the floor and sat down on his bed.
“Can we talk about my living conditions another time? I need to tell you something.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Remember the other day when I came home late and said I was at the bookstore?”
“Oh Dylan, what have you gotten yourself into?”
“Nothing. Listen. I was at the bookstore but I was also there the two days after that even though I told Mom and Dad I was at Craig’s playing video games.”
“Okay, that’s not such a bad thing. Why lie about it?”
“Because I’ve been meeting with Scarlett each afternoon and she’s been teaching me about some things.”
“What things, Dylan?” Carissa asked with a mix of confusion, suspicion, and disgust.
“She’s been teaching me about The House of the Shrieking Skulls.”
“Dylan, this is what you brought me down here to tell me? I can’t believe you. I’m going back upstairs.”
Carissa stood up but Dylan grabbed her arm.
“Carissa, please sit down and hear me out.”
Carissa looked into her brother’s eyes and could see that, however silly this was, it was important to him.
“Fine,” she said, sitting back down, “but make it quick.”
“Scarlett hasn’t really been telling me about the house, she’s been telling me about the family. The Merstons. Specifically, Zelda Merston.”
“What’s so important about her?”
“Scarlett says that it’s because of Zelda Merston that people started telling weird stories about that place. Apparently, in the late 1800s, Zelda Mertson became a very well-known spiritualist.”
“What’s that mean exactly?”
“A spiritualist is a medium, someone who can communicate with the dead.”
“Dylan, I have to tell you, pretty much every medium that was ever investigated was found to be a fraud. They used sleight of hand, hidden machines, and other various tricks to make people believe they were for real. But it was all a show.”
“I know. Scarlett told me all about it. Nevertheless, people came from all over to have Zelda Merston contact their ancestors. And when I say they came from all over, I mean they came from all over the world. People came from as far as China, India, and Australia just to have Old Lady Merston speak to their dead. And the people of Elkstone Hollow hated it. They couldn’t stand having foreigners coming through their town, always asking questions about whether they knew Zelda Merston and whether she was the real deal or not. It drove them crazy. At first they tolerated it, assuming the novelty of it would wear off, but it never did. Eventually, it got to the point they couldn’t take it anymore and they decided to do something about it.
“They held a town meeting and together they hatched a plan to ruin Zelda’s reputation. Each time someone new came into town looking for the famed spiritualist, they would make up stories about her. They conjured detailed stories about events she’d experienced that had forced her to be locked up in an asylum. They dropped hints about how some people who came to her for help died during her seances. They would tell people she’d gone mad with consumption or that she’d killed her husband, anything to convince people to turn away, and yet, it had the opposite effect. Her fame only grew. The stories about insanity and consumption were easily explained away as causes for her exceptional talents. The deaths were seen as unfortunate consequences of communing with the afterworld.”
“Dylan, that’s an interesting story, but why are you telling me this right now when our parents are upstairs with our sister who is scared out of her mind?”
“I promise I’ll tell you in just a minute. Let me finish the story. After the attempted character assassination didn’t work, they devised a different course of action, one that was much more direct. They went to her house. A mob of thirty or so people, with torches, pitchforks, and even a few guns, stormed across the bog and up the hill. They charged right through the gate and up to the front door. Using their various implements of destruction, they banged on the door, yelling for Zelda to come out of the house. But she wouldn’t. So what did they do? They kicked the door in. But once they were inside, there was no one there. Not a single soul. But the mob would not be deterred. Before they left the house they went into the kitchen, found a bag of oats, and poisoned them.
“The following morning, just after dawn, as people were waking and getting ready to start their day, a shriek rang out over the town that echoed through the hollow for a full minute or more. As eerie as it was, after it was over, nobody thought much about it. Yet, within weeks of that morning, the people coming to town looking for Zelda diminished to almost zero. When they did come they told the townspeople they’d heard she no longer practiced but was hoping she’d make an exception. Eventually, nobody came any more. It is assumed, though there is no proof, that Zelda’s husband and daughter died the morning of The Shrieking. Whether Zelda lived or not after that day, no one can say, because whether out of fear or guilt, not a soul was willing to go to the house and check on the family. However, some believe it was Zelda who left a message on the side of the school house one spring night which read:
Thy a-sins
In a-time
Will a-be
Dealt a-with.
“After that, nobody ever saw or heard from the Merstons again, though stories remain of candles glowing in the windows and ghostly figures walking in the marsh.”
“Dylan, why are you telling me all of this?” Carissa asked.
“Because,” Dylan said, reaching into his backpack, “this is Zelda Merston!”
Dylan pulled a piece of paper out of his bag and held it in front of her. It was a copy of an old flyer from over a century ago with an aging woman’s picture on it and the words ‘Zelda Mertson - Spiritualist, Communer of the Dead, Interpreter for the Afterworld’ on it. But it was the picture that was important. Though it was grainy and faded, even Carissa had to admit, it looked exactly like the woman Jessa had described only minutes ago.
