Haunted House Dread Read online

  He’d gotten her out here, though, and she honestly couldn’t be happier. Maybe his plans for the future weren’t so bad after all…

  Chapter Two

  Camille had chosen the office downstairs, which Brad took as a good sign. She’d been particularly resistant to talks of the future lately. But she couldn’t resist the beauty of the backyard. Right outside of her office doors was a short walkway to a patio surrounded by flower beds. She was in town for the day, looking for a small table and chair set to put out there so she could have her morning coffee and look at the flowers.

  Brad was still in the process of unpacking his own office, but he had the computer set up and had already searched out a few local companies he hoped to work with.

  Despite the bathrooms, three of them, all having newer fixtures, the water for the past few mornings had spewed out rusty and loud. The only plumber Brad had known growing up had been his uncle, who he’d never gotten along with, and so he didn’t know much about plumbing. Which is why he set out to find a local guy who could come and see what the problem was.

  He jotted down the name and number of someone who looked promising – he had good reviews online – and pulled up a program on his computer to start a list of things that needed fixing.

  It made sense, he reasoned, since they’d gotten the mansion so cheap. It was a mansion, even if it was on the smaller side. Five large bedrooms, a breakfast area as well as a dining room, two patios, the wrap-around porch, six fireplaces, and two rooms for entertaining.

  He wasn’t really sure how Camille could imagine not having a family. There was so much room for just the two of them. But then, she’d come from a household where she’d been the only child, and Brad had two older brothers and four sisters. His aunt and cousin had also lived with the family while growing up, so he was used to little space and a lot of family.

  Now, he thought, leaning back in his chair and stretching, he had more than enough room. But he still looked forward to the day when he’d hear laughter out in the hall, see his door creak open to reveal a grin just like Camille’s and dark, messy hair similar to his own.

  Brad had a very focused mind and that made him good at his job. He and Camille had taken two weeks off to get themselves situated in their new home, and now his only preoccupation was possible repairs in the house.

  He wandered throughout the rooms, opening the windows to the fresh spring air. In the front living room he paused, looking out at a stand of lilacs that were somehow already in full bloom. He pushed the windows open as far as they could go, knowing that Camille would love the scent of them in the house.

  Next, he went to each faucet, turning it on and waiting to see how long the water ran rusty for. All of them did to some extent, but it was the worst in his own bathroom. He stood in front of the tap glancing at his watch and the beads of red water striking the porcelain. It took just over six minutes for the water to clear, and even then it sputtered. He definitely wanted the plumber here in the next day or two.

  Brad heard Camille call his name from downstairs, and he took his time going down. He found her in the foyer with a large box propped up against her hip. She smiled up at him.

  “Could you help me with the chairs?” she asked. “They’re in the back of the SUV. The guys at the shop helped me load them, but there’s no way I can get them out by myself.”

  Brad slipped by her as she lugged the box through the house, toward her office in the back and the patio doors she’d left open. He popped open the back of their Lexus and admired the ironwork of the chairs she’d chosen, frowning when he noticed there were only two.

  “What if we have guests?” he called to her as he carried them out to where she stood next to the table, hands on her hips. Camille glanced at him. She knew he wasn’t talking about guests, but kids.

  “We can entertain them out on the other patio. It’s bigger, anyway.”

  Brad grunted and put the chairs down.

  The couple spent the rest of the day unpacking the kitchen, laughing and arguing about what should go where. They left the delicate porch lights on when night fell, and Brad grabbed Camille by the waist to sway with her comically in the living room.

  She jokingly tried to pry herself away from him, but eventually gave in and rested her head on his chest.

  “You should have someone look at that,” she murmured, sounding drowsy.

  “Look at what?” he asked.

  “The light switch. I think it shorted when I turned it off. You didn’t see the spark?”

  She felt Brad shake his head against her hair, which she had up in a messy bun. “I’m just worried,” she continued. “Remember that brownstone down the street from us? The one that caught fire because the wires were old?”

  “I do,” he murmured, already adding electrician to the list in his mind. “The paint is fresh and so are the fixtures, but the bones are old.”

  “And beautiful,” Camille insisted, lifting her head to smile at him.

  He smiled back. “I’ll call someone tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  Almost everything was unpacked, and they still had a week and a half to enjoy before they started reaching out to clients to discuss their investments. Although Camille loved every inch of the house, she particularly loved her office, and broke one of her long-time rules; she put a comfortable loveseat in the corner where she could sink in with a good book. Usually, she liked to keep her work environment strictly professional. But she couldn’t help herself.

  On Thursday, she could hear Brad’s and the plumber’s muffled voices from upstairs. The man had already been over twice, sure both times that he’d fixed the rusty water, but it seemed to return as soon as he left.

  Camille was tucked away in the loveseat, gazing out the large French doors into the back yard. It was like having a wall of windows. She was contemplating what kind of curtains to hang there, if any at all, when the tree caught her eye.

  It was out past the patio and to the left. The immediate area around it was well-kept but void of flowers or other saplings. The tree was old, obviously, and impressively huge. In the city, she’d always admired any tree that managed to grow old enough to get gnarled.

  Over the next few days, she wasn’t impressed so much as uneasy. A few times, she’d fallen asleep in the loveseat and woken up at dusk to see the silhouette of the tree, terrifyingly huge and twisted. It made her so uncomfortable that she no longer stayed in the office past sundown.

  ***

  With two days left of their mini vacation, Brad was working with the electrician now. Camille was left to her own devices. She wandered the yard, trying to identify flowers she’d never seen before. As a city girl, she really didn’t know much about them.

  The scent of the lilacs, which were still somehow in full bloom, drew her to the back edge of the yard. It was a few moments before she realized how near to the tree she was. She’d been curling her toes in the luscious grass when, noticing that it was suddenly broken up by large roots, she looked up to find herself under the far-reaching branches.

  The tree was so big that being underneath it was like being in a dark room. Camille was caught off guard, imagining for a moment the body of a man hanging from one of the lower branches.

  She gasped and stumbled back, her heel catching on a root. Camille scrambled backward into the sunlight, staring up at the tree, Brad’s name on her lips.

  She searched the branches for a body. Her chest was heaving. The spring sunlight was strengthening finally, and it warmed her back. She glanced back toward the house, then at the tree again.

  No man was hanging from that branch. It was twisted, yes, grotesquely so. She got up and hurried toward the house anyway, feeling lightheaded.

  Chapter Four

  The house seemed to feed off of Brad and Camille’s energy.

  For the first few months, it felt warm and charming, despite being so large. They had friends and family over for a house warming. Brad spent the evening in deep conve
rsation with his male family members about the work that the plumber and electrician had done. His father even ducked under their master bathroom sink to get a look at the new, high-end pipe system the man had put in.

  Camille was absolutely glowing – showing her parents around, catering to her friends, laughing. The two caught each other’s eyes across the room and fell a little more in love.

  But well into summer, the house became too hot and tense. Camille had begun making the two hour drive into the city twice a week, unable to stay away from the hustle and bustle for too long. At least that was what Brad believed, but he didn’t know her true motives. She was uncomfortable sometimes even when Brad was just upstairs in his office. She didn’t like looking out into the back yard anymore and began taking her coffee in the breakfast area just off of the kitchen.

  She was also completely baffled that the lilacs were still blooming. “The soil is fertile,” Brad suggested, shrugging it off. Camille didn’t know much about plants, but she was pretty sure that any kind of shrub that flowered didn’t last very long. She’d grown up in a brownstone with azaleas out front, and her father regularly commented on how beautiful but short-lived they were.

  Brad was waiting for Camille when she got home. He’d heard, second-hand from a client, that she’d lost a big investment, and he wasn’t happy.

  He couldn’t be too upset as his own work wasn’t going so well. In the last few weeks, he’d lost a good sum of money on bad investments. But Camille’s loss was larger monetarily.

  “Maybe,” he said dangerously low, “If you didn’t spend so much time driving back and forth, and focused on the actual stocks…”

  “Oh, like you’ve been doing so great,” Camille hissed, throwing her purse onto the counter. “Don’t think I didn’t see your numbers. Four-point-eight million dollars in a week and a half, Brad?”

  “That’s nothing compared to what you did this afternoon! What you lost!”

  They continued to argue, the house echoing with their shouts, moving from room to room. Brad kicked over the tall chairs in the breakfast nook, and Camille stomped heavily upstairs, glaring as she passed his office.

  “If you were home more,” he insisted, “we could discuss things! We used to talk these things out, Camille, bounce ideas off of each other. You were so excited to come here and now you’re gone twice a week. You’re not even in your office anymore when I need you…”

  Camille was about to argue back when a shadow by the door caused her to stop abruptly. Brad was somewhere behind her, gesticulating angrily, throwing the clean laundry onto the bed. He didn’t see the man in the doorway – the way his grimy hair hung down around his face, dirt smudged on his high cheekbones. He was wheezing heavily as he watched the couple, his eyes dark and sunken.

  Camille squeaked and stumbled back into the bedroom, bumping into Brad. She turned even as he was still ranting at her and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tight when he tried to pry her off.

  “What are you doing!? Camille.”

  “There’s a man in the hall,” she insisted, tightening her hold on her husband and turning so that her back was no longer facing the doorway. “Get him out of the house!”

  Brad froze, suddenly unsure. He gripped Camille’s shoulders and moved her behind him. In two large strides, he was at the doorway with his arms tense, ready to lash out.

  Camille shook as she stared at his broad back. She watched the muscles relax. He looked over his shoulder at her.

  “Do you think this is funny?” he asked quietly. “Explain to me…how you don’t want children, but you have no problem acting like one.” The venom in his words made Camille flinch. He was quieter, but angrier. “This conversation isn’t over, Camille. You should stay home tomorrow and look over the stocks. Figure out how to get that money back.”

  With that, Brad left the room and thundered downstairs. Camille knew that he was probably going for the bottle of whiskey that had recently taken up residence in one of their cabinets. She sat at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still too scared to step out into the hallway.

  Chapter Five

  They never recovered the full amount of money lost, but for a short time, it seemed as though their poor luck was plateauing. They neither earned nor lost money. They neither earned nor lost clients. Everything was stagnant.

  Despite Brad’s words, they never picked up the argument again. Camille went into the city only once a week – she couldn’t let go of her office there, but she also couldn’t justify paying for it and not spending some time there. At home, she took to carrying her laptop out into the kitchen and working as she baked. It was a new hobby she’d taken up, one that calmed her down.

  At first, Brad seemed unsure of how to feel about the muffins and cookies that she churned out. But he hoped, secretly, that she was feeling a bit more at home and comfortable there. More like settling in for the long haul. After all, he couldn’t eat all of these baked goods by himself.

  Toward the end of summer, as the days grew shorter, Camille spent more time sleeping in. At first, she tried to tell herself that it was the change in daylight that tired her. But she recognized the signs soon enough.

  Brad knew what was going on right away, of course, as soon as she missed the first day of work in the city and spent the morning in the bathroom. He managed to contain his excitement until she brought it up – and even then, he waited to see how she reacted.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said softly. She wrapped her hands around the cup of ginger tea she was nursing, hoping that it would calm her stomach.

  They sat out at the larger patio, which Camille preferred now, even though there were less flowers there. There shouldn’t be this many flowers at all, she was pretty sure her father had commented on it during his last visit.

  The lilacs had finally stopped blooming, but the air still smelled of them. Camille leaned back in the chair and reached out to touch a rose where it tumbled over the patio bricks. She glanced back at Brad, who had schooled his expression to stay neutral.

  “You can be happy,” she said in an amused voice, but it only made Brad appear more serious.

  “I want you to be happy,” he said, searching her face. She sighed.

  “I’m not unhappy, Brad. I just thought I’d have a bit more time to focus on my career.” She put a hand unconsciously on her lower belly.

  Brad leaned forward and touched her knee. “If you’re worried about finances, you don’t have to be,” he assured her. “Everything has straightened out more or less. We’re in a good spot. I know we weren’t planning on this, but…I think you’ll make a great mother.” He said it quietly, and a smile bloomed on Camille’s face. She couldn’t help feeling warm at his words.

  The next day, Brad drove into the city to collect the things she needed from the office. They decided to keep paying the rent, but have Camille work at home, at least until the morning sickness passed.

  She wasn’t showing at all yet but she very distinctly missed getting her period, and often felt lethargic. She was already sleeping in a lot. Brad let her – their bedroom was two doors down from his office upstairs, and he made sure to shut his door and speak quietly on the phone.

  Camille was drowsing in bed one day, listening to her husband’s voice, half-drowsing, when a loud voice broke through.

  “GET OUT!” it shouted, filling the room.

  Camille bolted upright, already putting her arms protectively over her stomach. She could feel the anger and malevolence in the room. The windows were shut – the night air was colder now, and Brad didn’t want her catching a chill – it made everything in the room feel more intense.

  There were no other words, but Camille heard a growl very close by. She scooted herself back against the headboard, searching the room. Fear made her spine tingle and suppressed the nausea she usually felt.

  She was sure that the voice had come from somewhere near the walk-in closet. With a sudden burst of bravery and protectiveness,
she wrapped the sheet around herself and bolted from the room, hurrying down the stairs.

  Camille chose not to say anything to Brad about the incident. She spent the afternoon in the kitchen, shakily working on a bundt cake. Her husband had already suggested going to therapy so that she transitioned smoothly from full-time work to motherhood. She didn’t want to give him more reason to get her into a therapist’s office, which she thought would be both a waste of time and money.

  Instead, she swallowed her fear and tried to convince herself that the voice had just been the product of a bad dream, lingering as she let herself doze.

  Chapter Six

  Over the next few weeks, Camille dreamt of the angry man more and more often.

  He was both handsome and terrifying. His features were fine, his eyes a beautiful hue of red-brown, but always, he was howling for her in her dreams. Camille woke each morning with her arms wrapped around her abdomen and the small bump that grew there. She stayed buried in the plush covers long into the afternoon, and her clients began to call Brad when she stopped communicating with them.

  Brad was a mess. Reacting to her constant fear and avoidance, which he couldn’t understand, he often struck out angrily – only shouting, but Camille was a petite woman and had never seen her husband act this way. Her cowering only made him angrier. Why couldn’t she be happy that they were well on their way to becoming a family?

  Some days were good days for both of them. She’d get up relatively early and tiptoe downstairs, where she could hear him on the phone with her mother, pleading for advice. Her parents were ecstatic that she was pregnant. And now that she’d gotten used to the idea, she was happy, too. But she was also terrified that something might harm her and the baby.