08/19/2024
***I was inspired by a Reddit thread that gave a similar account, though I can’t find the original source***
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***I removed the song lyrics that were in my original story, but I was also inspired by the Blue Öyster Cult song “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” when writing this story***
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Prompt: Write a story about things that can’t be explained.
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1972
John yanked the flashlight out of his friend’s hand and flicked the switch. His face was washed out in the bright glow as he held it under his chin.
“This is the story,” he began, pausing for effect as the rain poured down outside, “of the Honeymoon Hanger.”
A loud boom of thunder shook the old house and made his three companions jump. John laughed and shook his head.
“You think you’re scared now?” he said with a sinister grin. “This is only the beginning.”
“We’re only here because you made us come,” Lisa, John’s girlfriend, mumbled with a shiver.
“Yeah,” Kelly chimed in. “We shouldn’t be here.” Her boyfriend Brian chuckled softly and shook his head.
John ignored his friends and began his tale.
“Fifty years ago, the Thomsons bought this house and turned it into a bed and breakfast.” He exaggerated the last three words with a ghostly waver in his voice. His friends snorted at his jest.
“The husband managed the property and the finances while his wife ran the upkeep and hospitality side of things. But it turns out the wife was really into hospitality, if you know what I mean . . .”
He winked at his girlfriend and nudged her shoulder. Lisa rolled her eyes as she nudged him back.
“One day the husband came back early—he was out of town on business, or so his wife thought. The poor bastard discovered her in the honeymoon suite, but she wasn’t alone.” John let out a gasp of mock surprise before he continued.
“Blinded with rage, her husband strangled the man with a noose, and his wife watched in horror before she suffered the same fate for her betrayal. Legend has it that he sank the bodies into the river, off the Old Town Bridge, never to be found.”
John paused, flashing his friends another dark smile over the flashlight beam.
“Even after everything that happened here, he kept the bed and breakfast open. He invited countless unknowing victims for a free weekend’s stay in the honeymoon suite, all young newlyweds. And when they graciously accepted . . . they would never be seen or heard from again. These young lovers would vanish without a trace, and no one was ever the wiser.”
John looked around the circle. His friends were wide-eyed, silent.
“What happened to the man?” Brian asked quietly, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Well,” John began, pausing as he looked up at the dark ceiling above, “there was one woman who escaped . . .”
The group exchanged glances.
“Escaped?” they echoed in unison.
“Yes. On a night a lot like this one, in fact. That evening, the Hanger invited another young couple to stay at the Budding Rose Inn. They were having dinner when he made his move. With an old frayed rope he held underneath the dining table, he lunged at the husband and wrapped the rope tight. And with his last breath, he told his wife . . .”
“Told him what?” Brian asked, leaning forward. The girls sat in silence, fear on their faces as they waited for the answer.
“Run.”
The room remained silent, everyone’s eyes still fixed on John.
“And so the woman ran for her life, out into the storm, the Hanger close behind. As she came to the Old Town Bridge, she heard the distant sound of an engine gaining on her, and the car sped by her and skidded to a halt at the end of the bridge, blocking her path. The Hanger got out of the car, noose in hand as he chased her down. The woman was pulled back with a sudden jerk as the rope tightened around her neck, cutting off her air supply. She kicked and screamed soundlessly as the Hanger wrestled her to the ground. As he tightened the rope and held her down, the woman managed to pull out a knife that she stowed away at dinner, and she stabbed him in the neck. She rolled his body into the river, and she told the authorities that the Hanger killed her husband and skipped town. His body was never found.
“The woman still lives here to this day, and word still gets around. After the news came out about her husband’s murder, and the police connected his death to countless other victims, rumors would spread about this place and what happened here. People come from all over to see if the stories are true. They say that the killer’s ghost still haunts this house and nobody that comes in ever leaves.” He paused and looked each of his friends in the eyes. “And that’s the legend of the Honeymoon Hanger.”
John paused for a beat before he jumped toward Lisa and screamed, “Boo!”
Everyone jumped at his sudden exclamation. He laughed uncontrollably, wiping a tear from his eye.
“Not funny, John,” Lisa said as she punched his arm, smiling despite herself. “Now I think I speak for all of us when I say let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Oh come on,” John protested, “it’s not like ghosts are real.”
As he said the words, his flashlight flickered and went out. The room was shrouded in pitch black darkness.
“Very funny,” Brian muttered, fear seeping into his agitated tone.
“Knock it off, John,” Kelly said, voice wavering. “Turn on the light.”
“Guys, that wasn’t me,” John said, all humor gone as uncertainty took over.
“Yeah, sure,” Lisa laughed humorlessly, trying to mask her uneasiness. “Come on, we told you to cut it out.”
“Guys, I swear . . .” John trailed off, the only sound the frantic clicking of the flashlight switch and nervous breaths in the blackness.
Thunder boomed and a bright flash of lightning lit up the room. In the brief flicker of light, John thought he saw something in the shadows. As another flash-bang illuminated the room, John saw a man standing by the window. A rope dangled from his fist, tied into a noose. His face and body were covered in blood, and a knife protruded from his neck. In another flash he was gone, but John was already scrambling to stand. He didn’t even stop to reach for Lisa as he half-crawled to the front door in a panic.
“Run!” he screamed as he yanked on the doorknob. It was locked. The sound of three bloodcurdling screams made John freeze where he stood. He kept his eyes forward as the room fell silent, save for the three distinct thuds of his friend’s lifeless bodies hitting the floor. Taking a few rapid and shallow breaths, he willed himself to turn around. His friends were quiet, still.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, hands flying to his mouth as he trembled all over. He leaned back against the door and slid to the floor, mumbling their names in the darkness.
“Brian? . . . Kelly? . . . Lisa?”
Another flash of lightning lit up the room, and John could see the man as he knelt beside Lisa to remove the noose from her neck.
Another flash. The man stood, staring at John with sinister eyes and a wicked smile.
Another flash. He was standing in front of John, wrapping the rope around his neck and dragging him to his feet. John tried to cry out as the noose tightened around his throat.
“No—!”
In another flash, John’s body hit the floor, and the man with the noose vanished.
—
Present Day
“Anyway, it’s been in my family for a long time, and I’d really like to get the place fixed up. She’s got good bones for a vintage house. I’m also hoping to get it registered and recognized as a historical site.”
Joseph looked as his friend, Tony, showed him the pictures of the vacant residence on Main Street that had been there as long as he could remember. Dating back to the 1920s, it had been let go for nearly a century, but in the old photographs, the house was truly magnificent. As he looked at a snapshot of the young B&B owners beaming in front of the then-new house, his face betrayed him as his eyes lit up and his eyebrows arched with genuine interest.
“So, what do you think?” Tony asked. “You think your dad would be interested in helping you out?”
Joseph shook his head and shrugged, eyes fixed on the picture.
“Well, it’s not me you have to convince—and make no mistake, it would be quite the undertaking. But running it by the old man is another story entirely. You know how he feels about that house.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tony said with a sigh, “my old man didn’t want anything to do with it either, which is why it’s been sitting neglected for so long. But I just keep thinking it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity to restore a piece of town history, ya know? Get her back up and running, good as new. It could be great for tourism, what with all the rumors about the place and all.”
“Mhmm,” Joseph said, thinking.
“Is that a good ‘mhmm’?” Tony asked. His smile looked like a desperate grimace.
“Well, it’s going to take a lot of convincing,” Joseph said finally, “but if I can get him on board, we’ll meet you on site tomorrow to see what we’re working with.”
Tony grinned.
“That’s enough for me,” he said as he eagerly gathered up the aged black-and-white photos. “See you in the morning?”
Joseph shook his head at his friend, who no doubt already thought it was a done deal. He smiled and shook his head.
“Sure,” he said. “See you in the morning.”
—
Joseph’s dad picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, son,” Scott said in greeting. “Everything alright?”
“Hey, dad. Yeah everything’s fine. So listen, I was talking to Tony today . . . about that old house on Main Street. You know the one.”
Scott remained silent.
“You know, the old B&B?”
He waited a few beats. Still nothing.
“Dad? You there?”
Joseph heard a light rustling as Scott shifted in his recliner.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Scott replied with a sigh.
“Well, Tony wants to get the old place fixed up, maybe open it up for business again or put it on the market . . . which is why he came to me. He asked if I’d be interested in being a part of the project, and he also wondered if you’d be interested too . . . so I told him I’d run it by you and get back to him.”
There was another long pause and anxious shift in his chair.
“I don’t know son,” he said finally. “That place has a pretty bad reputation . . . at least it did when I was growing up. I think there’s a reason it’s been let go this long. I’m sure it was the talk of the town during its time, but maybe it’s one of things that needs to be left alone.”
Joseph had already prepared for his initial pitch to fail. He pressed on, stubborn and unfazed.
“Look, I know you’ve got bad memories linked to that place. But wouldn’t it be a shame to let it go after one tragedy? No one even knows what happened to those kids . . . the town has been spreading rumors for years.”
“Mm,” Scott grumbled.
“And who better than Scott and Son’s to do what we do best: restoring old gems to their former glory?” Joseph let out a short sigh. “If you saw this house, Dad, I mean really saw it, you’d understand what I mean.”
Scott said nothing.
“Well, that was my spiel,” Joseph muttered. “I guess I’ll let you go.”
“Hold on there son,” Scott said. “I’m just mulling things over.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Joseph tried to hide the lilt of hope in his voice as he waited.
“Well,” he said finally, “I can’t say I haven’t wondered what the inside looked like.” Joseph could hear him rubbing the stubble on his chin, the way he always did when he was in deep thought. “Can I take a look before I decide?”
“Yeah, of course,” Joseph said eagerly, informing his dad that Tony agreed to meet them at the property the following morning. “There’s no harm in looking around at least. And if you still don’t want any part of it, we’ll walk away, no questions asked. But I really do think that you’ll be impressed.”
“Then I guess a quick once-over wouldn’t hurt,” Scott said, with a hint of that burning curiosity Joseph knew and understood all too well. “What time?”
—
Scott’s dad let out a low whistle as he got out of the company truck. He adjusted his belt, tucking his hands into his pants pockets as he gazed up at the old house.
“She’s a beaut, son.” He clapped a hand on Joseph’s shoulder.
“She is,” Joseph replied, breaking into a grin.
Scott ambled toward the waist-high gate and pulled it aside, gesturing for Joseph to follow.
“Well, let’s see if she’s worth all this trouble, hmm?”
They made their way up the sidewalk, where Tony was already waiting, neck craned upward as he admired the old house. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached.
“Mornin’ fellas,” he said, shaking both their hands. “Ready to take a look inside?”
They followed him in, up the warped and creaky steps and through the front door. When they entered the dimly lit foyer, Joseph and Scott looked at their gold-trimmed and cobweb-covered surroundings in silent awe. The ceilings were vaulted, with gilded rose crown molding, framing a giant golden chandelier suspended above a grand staircase that split off to the left and right. The main floor was a black and white checkerboard pattern, grayed by dirt and grime. Despite the dust, the house was as ornate as it was breathtaking.
Without a word, Scott wandered off to explore the ground floor as Joseph and Tony headed up the grand stair to look at the bedrooms. There were six rooms total, including the double door suite at the end of the hall to the left, which Tony saved for last.
“And here’s the honeymoon suite,” he said as he gestured for Joseph to walk inside. The suite was more elaborate than the rest of the rooms, decorated with dark red carpet and original vintage wall paneling. A large chandelier hung in the center of the room, smaller than the one downstairs, but no less stunning. Joseph was admiring the old bones of the otherwise empty room when Scott stepped in.
“Suite I assume?” he asked. “Beautiful chandelier,” he added as he gave the room a quick once over.
“What do you think, Dad?” Joseph asked. “Think we can take her on?”
“Oh, sure we can do it . . . it’s just a matter of if we should.”
Joseph could see the concern and enthusiasm at war on his father’s face as he said the words. As Scott rambled on about renovations—mostly to himself—Joseph and Tony talked numbers.
“I’ve got $600,000 for the whole project,” Tony said, “with $50,000 to $100,000 take-home for the two of you, depending on material and construction costs. I’d like to have it finished up in four to six months if possible.”
“Dad? You hear that?” Joseph called over his shoulder. Scott was busy admiring the wood paneling, lost in his fixer upper daydream.
“Hmm?” He mumbled as he adjusted his belt. Joseph waited for him to acknowledge that he heard Tony’s terms, like he always did after he asked someone to repeat what they just told him. “Well that does sound doable.” After a short pause, he turned to them, grinning. “Sure, why not? There’s some life in these old bones yet. And I don’t just mean myself.”
Joseph beamed as he shook Tony’s hand.
“Then it’s done. It’ll take us three to six weeks to prep and to get everything together, but I don’t see why we couldn’t get started right after that.”
“Perfect,” Tony replied. “Thanks so much for this. I know I can count on Scott and Son’s to restore the Budding Rose Inn to its former glory. Now, how about lunch? It’s on me. Call it our first business meeting.”
“Sounds great,” Joseph said. “Coming, Dad?”
“Oh yeah, sure,” Scott said absentmindedly with a wave of his hand. Joseph didn’t notice he hadn’t followed until he and Tony were back in the foyer.
“Dad?” he called out. There was no reply. He was about to call again when he heard shuffling from upstairs.
“Yep, coming,” Scott called as he appeared at the top of the stairs and slowly caught up.
—
Five weeks later, the Scott & Son’s truck was parked out front of the old house again, and Joseph and Scott were hard at work getting everything in working shape.
After the initial teardown of the unsalvageable parts, they started with the exterior. They restored as much of the original foundation that they could and added some new touches, repainting the outside and returning it back to its original slate-gray color, with its steel-blue accents on the shutters and the front door. They had to replace the entire wrap-around porch before moving on to the painstaking task of redoing all the interior carpeting and floors—save for the checkerboard tile on the ground floor, which would just need a good clean and polish when the project was completed. They repainted the inside walls, repaired old plumbing, and replaced outdated appliances, giving the old bed and breakfast the time and attention it deserved after being neglected for so long.
After six months, the house was almost finished. Scott and Joseph stood outside, admiring their handiwork before they went in for the last time to complete the final tasks around the house.
“Well, the furniture comes tomorrow, bright and early,” Scott said. “I can’t believe we’re almost done,” he added, shaking his head. “Six months later and she’s as good as new.”
“I can’t believe it either,” Joseph said as he admired the restored bed and breakfast. “Thanks for agreeing to this.”
“How could I say no? You’ve got a good eye for this stuff. Heck, you’ll be in charge of Scott and Son’s before you know it.” With a wink and a good-natured elbow nudge into his son’s side, he made his way up the sidewalk. “I’m gonna head upstairs to the old suite, clean up the windows and take a look at the wiring again. One of the bulbs still flickers a little. See ya in there?”
“Right behind you,” Joseph replied as he followed his dad inside. A few minutes after Scott disappeared upstairs, Joseph could hear the faint sound of music floating down to the first floor. Scott hummed along to an upbeat ‘70s song, some old favorite rock tune that Joseph always forgot the name of but knew it when he heard it. With a knowing smile and a shake of his head, he took to checking the light switches and cleaning the ground floor windows. When he was finished, he threw the dingy rag over his shoulder and dusted his hands off in satisfaction. With a frown, he glanced up the stairs. He hadn’t heard much from his dad for the past half hour. As he gathered his cleaning supplies, he called up to him.
“You doing alright up there?” he asked as he straightened up and adjusted his tool belt. He could hear the opening notes to “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” starting to play as Scott called back.
“Doin’ good. Could use a hand with that wiring after I finish cleaning up in here.”
Joseph began his ascent up the grand stair.
“On my way,” he called, running his hand up the newly polished banister. He looked up at the beautiful chandelier, now free of cobwebs and grime, admiring how elegant it was in the dim light, reminiscent of the days when it was new. As if on cue, a sun ray shone through the adjacent floor-to-ceiling stained glass window to Joseph’s left. The bright beam reflected off the chandelier, sending a blinding light straight into his eyes. He drew back, closing his eyes tight and shielding his face as his ears began to ring. Sunspots burned into his vision, and as he blinked rapidly and lowered his hand, what he saw made his blood run cold, paralyzing him where he stood. The music became distant and warped as the moment passed like minutes.
At the top of the staircase, a man smiled warmly as he gestured for someone behind Joseph to follow him upstairs. Joseph turned and jumped back against the banister as a couple ascended the staircase, seemingly unaware of his presence. The man motioned for them to walk ahead, following close behind. When he reached the threshold of the suite, he gazed over his shoulder, searching Joseph’s bewildered eyes with a curious and mysterious stare. He held his gaze for a long moment before he smiled a strange smile and disappeared after the man and woman, into the room where Scott was preparing to fix the wiring.
In an instant, Joseph jolted back to reality, breath rapid and shallow and heart racing as he steadied himself against the banister. The ringing in his ears faded to a dull hum before it faded into complete and eerie silence.
“Dad?” he whispered, chest heaving.
Nothing.
He tried again, louder this time.
“Dad?” His voice lilted, loud and high-pitched. He held his breath as he waited for an answer.
“Son?” Scott called after a few unsettlingly silent seconds.
With a sigh of relief, Joseph slowly started up the stairs.
“I’m heading up.”
“Alright,” Scott said. “I’ll be here.”
Joseph paused a couple steps from the top of the stairs, trying to make out the music his dad was playing before, but he couldn’t hear anything.
“Weren’t you listening to music?” he asked as he took another step up.
“No, but that’s a good idea,” Scott called back.
Joseph glanced up, brow furrowed in confusion. He knew that he definitely heard “Don’t Fear The Reaper” playing earlier. As the song began to play again, from the beginning, a feeling of dread washed over him. He stood frozen on the steps, trying to comprehend what just happened on the staircase and in the suite. His father wasn’t known to be confused or forgetful.
Joseph could hear Scott as he shuffled around to move the ladder. The sound of groaning metal rungs filled the air, and a moment later, he heard a small thud. The music blared louder, as if the source of the sound fell to the floor, out of a shirt or pants pocket, where Joseph was sure Scott’s phone had been before it tumbled out. The sound of frantic grunting and choking came immediately after. Joseph sprinted up the last few stairs and bounded down the hall, into the room where his father was hanging by the electrical wiring of the chandelier. Joseph stared in horror as Scott thrashed and kicked, clawing at his throat as his face turned purple. As the ladder fell over with a jarring clang, Joseph sprang into action. He ran to Scott’s side, hoisting him up by his legs in a bear hug as he coughed and sputtered and pulled the wires free. They tumbled to the floor, and when Joseph crawled over and cupped his father’s face in his hands, he didn’t open his eyes. Joseph cried out.
“Dad? Dad!”
He felt for a pulse, and much to his relief, he could feel the slightest sign of life as he held his fingers to his bloody neck, bruises already forming on his strangled skin. Scrambling across the floor, he retrieved the toppled and upturned phone, and, not even taking a moment to turn off the music that was still playing, he dialed 911.
—
It wasn’t until that night that Scott came to at the hospital. Joseph, asleep in the chair next to his bed, jolted awake at the sound of him stirring.
“Dad,” he breathed as he leaned forward, white-knuckling the armrests. “Thank God.”
“Son?” Scott croaked, blinking his eyes in the after-hours glow of the dim overhead light above his hospital bed. “Where am I?”
“We’re at the hospital, Dad,” Joseph said, voice wavering. “I found you upstairs . . . I—”
He choked back the lump in his throat as the unwanted memory of his father dangling and gasping for air flashed across his mind. “In the room,” he continued, voice low. “I got there just in time. What were you even doing? I was on my way to help you.”
Scott looked lost.
“What room?” he asked. “Were we doing a job?”
Joseph looked at his father, bewildered.
“You mean you don’t remember? The old B&B we’ve been fixing up for the past six months? The suite upstairs?”
Scott stared back at his son, his expression blank. His brows came together as he tried to recall.
“I . . . I don’t remember any old house . . . I mean . . . should I?”
Joseph’s face paled as his mouth moved soundlessly, trying to make sense of what his father was saying. His hands trembled as he balled them into fists.
“Son? What’s wrong?”
“Do you remember anything at all?” Joseph asked, ignoring his father’s question. “About today?”
Scott thought for a moment before his eyes lit up with recognition.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtful. “I think I remember . . . a dream?”
“Tell me,” Joseph urged.
“Well . . .” Scott began, grimacing at the memory. “I remember the sound of some distant and distorted music . . . I couldn’t tell what it was. I was walking up this grand staircase, one that split off in two directions . . . there was a gold chandelier . . . everything around me was pretty much a blur . . . except for a man . . . he was standing at the top of the landing . . . waving to a young couple that walked by me like I wasn’t there. They went down the hall and the man looked down at me . . . and he smiled. But it was a strange smile . . . unsettling. Then he just followed after the young man and woman . . . and that’s all I remember.”
Joseph listened, mortified as his father described exactly what happened to him on the staircase earlier that day. His lips began to silently move again, more frantic as his eyes darted back and forth.
“I . . . I don’t understand . . . Dad, I—”
Scott patted his shoulder.
“You don’t look so good, son. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”
“But Dad, I saw—”
“Son, you need to sleep. Please, don’t worry about your old dad. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. Alright?”
Joseph knew his father wouldn’t budge on the matter. Despite not wanting to let him out of his sight after what happened, he had to admit that he was exhausted after the day’s events. Maybe with a well-rested and clear head things would start to make more sense. Right now, though, he was lost, and he didn’t feel like himself. He knew his father saw it too.
“Okay,” Joseph said finally. “But I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.”
Scott clasped his son’s hand before waving him toward the door.
“You bet,” Scott said with a smile as he closed his eyes. “See ya then.”
Joseph gently closed the door behind him. With a sigh, he laid his head against the cold glass pane, hand resting on the handle. After a few deep breaths, he stole a final glance at Scott through the small window, where his father was already fast asleep. His tear-filled eyes glistened as he looked at his battered and bruised body, lying helpless in a hospital bed with blackening bruises around his neck. Swiping at his eyes, Joseph tried to ignore that nagging feeling that his father was there because of him. The whole way home, all he could think about was the mysterious man on the stairs.
—
Welcome to the Budding Rose Inn . . . Right this way . . .
Joseph slowly made his way down the hall to the honeymoon suite, following the man and the couple as they entered their room. As he stood behind the door and peered in, the man turned to look over his shoulder. He smiled that strange smile again as his unblinking eyes turned black. Staring right at Joseph, he held a finger to his lips as he slowly closed the door. A moment later, Joseph could make out two muffled and frantic voices.
What are you doing?
Get away . . .
No!
The woman let out a bloodcurdling scream, followed by a familiar choking and coughing sound. As she screamed again, an unnatural and gutteral sound, Joseph sat upright in his bed. His chest heaved as he took in his surroundings, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He let out a shaky sigh of relief when saw the familiar bright-blue numbers of his alarm clock on the nightstand next to him.
It was 3AM.
His heartrate was just beginning to normalize when his phone began to ring. He jumped at the sharp sound of his ringtone blaring at full volume, and quickly grabbed the flashing device as he tried and failed to answer the call. On the fourth attempt, his room fell back into silence as he successfully picked up.
“Hello?” he said, his nervous breaths causing static to crackle in the receiver.
“Joseph Hayes?” a polite and unfamiliar voice asked.
“Yes,” he replied, voice husky from lack of sleep and nerves. “Who is this?”
“I’m Monica, your father’s nurse,” the voice said, politeness giving way to a more somber tone that made Joseph’s breath catch in his chest.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, hand tightening around his phone. “Do I need to come back to the hospital? I can be there in—”
“Joseph,” Monica cut in, voice unsteady, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this . . . but your father . . .”
Joseph’s ears began to ring as the nurse recounted the events of the night. It was as if she stood in a tunnel as she told him how his father woke up screaming, saying he couldn’t breathe, like he was choking on the air in his lungs. How it was too late by the time the nurses got to him.
Joseph let the phone slip from his grasp. He sank to the floor, his face in his hands as he cried. Monica was still on the line, voice far away and small in his ears as she tried to console him on the other end of the phone that glowed next to him in the dark.
“I’m so sorry . . .” two whispers overlapped as Joseph spoke to his father and the nurse gave her condolences before hanging up.
—
After the funeral, Tony called Joseph to arrange a meeting to pick up the check for the renovation project. Joseph was already at the coffee shop when his friend arrived.
“How you holding up?” Tony asked, patting Joseph on the shoulder before sitting across from him at the round wooden table.
“Oh, you know,” Joseph said with a shrug as he stared out the window.
Tony nodded silently, lips pursed. As if remembering the reason he asked to meet, he rummaged in his coat pocket for the check.
“This is for you and your . . . well . . . for you, anyway,” he said quietly as he slid the little paper rectangle across the table, made out to Scott and Son’s.
“Thanks,” Joseph said as he stared through the company name scrawled on the check, knuckles whitening around his coffee mug.
“Well I appreciate everything you did,” Tony said. “And I know business is the last thing on your mind. You can cash this whenever you’re ready. Just let me know if you need anything at all, alright?”
“Sure,” Joseph replied, gaze fixed on the steam swirling out of his cup.
Tony rose from his chair and nodded silently in farewell. As he turned toward the door, Joseph looked up.
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
His friend turned around and sat back down, brow furrowed.
“Can’t say I really know. Why do you ask?”
“Something happened in that house, Tony. Not just to my father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Joseph began, “before . . . the incident, I was on my way up the stairs . . . and I don’t know . . . it sounds crazy, but I swear that I just snapped into a different reality, and it felt like I was seeing someone else’s memories . . . and then I came back, except I didn’t feel like I was back . . . like something was out of place. Like something was really wrong. And that’s when Dad almost . . . when he . . . and at the hospital that night, he told me he saw what I saw . . . but he didn’t remember the house or what happened at all . . . and I know something happened in that room, but I can’t prove anything. I guess I just needed to tell someone. I just hoped it would start to make sense, but none of it does. I mean, my dad and I have done countless jobs together . . . he’s never forgetful or mindless about anything . . .” Joseph let out a shaky breath. “I know he didn’t fall off that ladder.”
Tony’s face grew pale.
“You think he was pushed?” he asked.
“Something like that,” Joseph said. “I feel like my world just got turned upside down, like none of this,” he gestured to Tony and the world outside, “is real. It’s like I walked up a different set of stairs completely. I know that sounds completely mental. Maybe it’s just the guilt talking,” he choked, biting back a sob. “All I know for sure is that I should’ve been there for him.”
Tony leaned forward on his elbows.
“I don’t think you’re mental, Joseph. Truth be told, I thought it was all a hoax . . . all those stories those teenage kids go around saying about that house. My dad would never talk about it, what happened to his friends back in the day. But I knew whatever it was must have been horrible. But if what you say is true . . . I’m starting to wonder if the stories are true.”
“I know what I saw,” Joseph said, shaking his head. “Something is wrong with that place. I just wanted you to know before . . . before something happens to someone else.”
Tony gave a grim nod.
“Well, I’ll hold off on doing anything else with the place. I trust your judgment. I’m just sorry about getting you involved in the first place.”
“No one knew,” Joseph said with an absent shrug.
Except Dad, he thought.
“Well, either way, I’m sorry, friend. And if you need anything, just give me a call, like I said.”
“Yeah,” Joseph replied with a joyless smile. “Sure. Thanks, Tony.”
With that, Tony left Joseph to his lukewarm coffee, staring sightlessly out the shop window.
—
On autopilot, Joseph drove and parked in front of the renovated house. As he stared at the For Sale sign out front, he thought about the story his dad told him about a group of kids from his class that disappeared after setting foot in the house decades ago. Joseph never pressed him for details, but it was something that his and Tony’s father didn’t seem keen on remembering. Until now, Joseph never gave it a second thought. Now all he could think about was the fact that his father would still be alive if it wasn’t for this job. If it wasn’t for him.
He drove home in a daze and didn’t return to the house. He took on the family business, but couldn’t bring himself to change the company name or do any restoration project that reminded him of what happened at the Budding Rose Inn. Every night, Joseph dreamed of the man with the strange smile that did unspeakable things to his hopeless victims in that cursed house, each time the scene becoming darker and even more sinister. And as the night terrors got worse, he started to see his father, hanging from the wires as the man pulled them tight while Joseph could do nothing but stand there, helpless and horrified, unable to call out.
—
Fifty Years Later
Hunched over and body weathered, Joseph stood in front of the house, all grown over and disheveled, with an old and faded For Sale sign out front. He never returned to that place after the funeral.
Not until today.
He slowly shuffled up the warped and creaky steps of the porch and peered into the grimy window. In the shadows of the rainy day, he could still make out the gold-trimmed, cobweb-covered, and checker-tiled interior, all faded by dust and time. The vaulted ceilings, with their gilded rose crown molding were still magnificent, framing that giant golden chandelier that remained suspended above the grand staircase, defiant and stunning, as if nothing ever happened there.
It was as beautiful as it was haunting.
Joseph hesitated before he pushed the warped door open and stepped into the foyer. It was like going back in time, but the dust and cobwebs had returned with a vengeance, and everything looked colorless and dreary in the gloom of the morning. The familiar feeling of dread overtook him as his feet slowly carried him forward, across the dingy checkerboard tile that had long lost its shine again. He placed his hand on the banister of the grand stair, gripping the railing tight as he willed his weary bones up, one slow step at a time, all the way to the landing. He squinted down the dimly lit hall, footsteps silent on the old carpet as he pressed on. As he neared the double doors, his hands began to tremble and he felt a cold sheen of sweat on his furrowed brow.
Gripping the handles tightly, he threw the doors of the honeymoon suite open, heart quickening as he prepared for what might be inside. The room was the same as it had been on the first day, yet there were still signs of the last. The new furniture was never delivered to the house, even though everything was finished. The wiring of the chandelier hung down, frayed and never reconnected, and the ladder was still haphazardly on its side where it clattered to the floor.
Ignoring the wiring and the ladder, Joseph took a deep breath and stepped inside the room. He walked over to the rain-streaked windowpane and stared out. There was no one around; all he could see was the seemingly abandoned neighborhood and his old and gray reflection. The longer he stared, the more it took the shape of his late father, and the more it reminded him of things he didn’t want to think about anymore. With a deep sigh, he turned on his heel and hurried out of the room.
As he made his way down the stairs, he was stopped short by a sudden chill down his spine. He looked over his shoulder, but saw nothing. He turned back around, gaze shifting upward to the chandelier above him.
The man was there.
In an instant, a flash of lightning sent a bright ray of light through the stained glass window, bouncing off the chandelier and blinding Joseph like an all too familiar flash-bang. Shielding his face with his outstretched arm, he slowly blinked and looked up. His pounding heartbeat roared in his ears as he stumbled down the stairs and toward the door in a panic, clutching his chest. He grabbed his left arm as the thrum of his heart grew louder and his body grew heavy. He could hear distorted music, his father humming upstairs, the man laughing maniacally behind him in a warped cacophony of overwhelming sound.
As he stumbled out the door he heard the man’s voice, loud and clear through the haze.
You weren’t supposed to be here
Joseph fell onto the sidewalk, drenched in rain as he writhed and cried out in pain.
“Help!” he cried.
But there was no one there.
He strained and looked up at the house, through the window on the porch. He saw a young man cleaning the glass on the other side, a version of himself that he once was. Puzzled, the boy’s hand stopped mid-circle as he met Joseph’s gaze. Behind him there was an older man that looked more like Joseph looked now, standing on the top of a ladder as he wired the elegant chandelier, where the sinister man was only moments before. He was humming along to a familiar tune.
As Joseph stared at a distorted echo of some alternate reality, the darkness began to overtake him. As he drew his final breath, the music faded away.
THE END