House, Part Four

Rachel came home from yoga, we had a beer together, and started dinner. I told her what I’d learned. “So what are you thinking?” she asked, chopping veggies.

            “Maybe there was something Satanic going on. Maybe they built it on an Indian burial ground. Or maybe a toxic waste dump that drove them crazy. And whatever it is, is still there, pulling people in.”

            “Why Jeffords? Why now?”

            I shook my head. “Good questions.”

            We ate dinner. Rachel had a list of schools to apply to. She’d already started looking into loans and scholarships. “Do you think I’d qualify as a minority because I’m a psychic?”

            “Do what everyone does—say you’re one-sixteenth Cherokee.”

            She kicked me under the table. “I could tell them I’m bi.”

            “I love it when you talk dirty.” She kicked me again.

            After dinner we sat down to watch Stranger Things again. I wasn’t exactly hooked, but Rachel liked it. And the kids were cute.

            I was starting to glance more often at my book, though, hoping Rachel wouldn’t notice, when my phone buzzed. Ashley Jeffords. On a Saturday night. I sighed. This couldn’t be good.

“Client,” I said, starting to stand.

            Rachel paused the show and pulled me back down on the sofa. I answered, “Tom Jurgen speaking. Ms. Jeffords?”

            “Tom?” Her voice quivered. “He’s gone. He came back from golf, we had dinner, he went into his office—and now he’s gone. The car’s gone.”

            Damn it. “He’s at the house. He must be.” I looked at the clock over our TV. “It’ll take me an hour or so to get there. I’ll leave right away.”

            “I’ll come too. I can get there faster.”

            I wanted to argue, but she had a right to know if her husband was safe. “Don’t go in the house. Not until I get there.”

            “Right. All right.” She didn’t sound as if she meant it. Not my problem right now, though. 

Damn it. I stood up. “I have to go out to the house.”

            Rachel turned the TV off and stood up too. “I’m coming.”

            I’d learned not to argue. “Fine.”

            “Let me get some supplies.” She headed for our bedroom. 

            Supplies? Whatever. I picked up my half-empty beer, then set it down. It was going to be a long drive.

 

 

“Drive faster,” Rachel said as we zoomed west on the highway. 

“Got a bad feeling?” I checked my mirrors.

“No, I just want to get home for SNL.” But she looked nervous in the darkness next to me.

I drove as fast as I could. Fortunately the Friday night rush hour traffic had dwindled away, but there were enough cars and cops to make me cautious. There was no point in getting killed on the way to visit a haunted house. 

Scout Road felt like a tunnel into midnight. Streetlights every few miles only made the shadows darker and thicker all around the car. The headlights felt like they were fighting to cut through the darkness. 

Ashley Jeffords was waiting for us. She stood next to her husband’s black car, with her own dark blue Lexus parked right next to it. Maybe they’d gotten a deal. Her headlights were on, pointing at the house. 

I’d only ever talked to her on the phone. In person she was tall, with slender arms in a windbreaker, silvery-blond hair under a cap, and a tight, worried frown on her face. She clutched her arms tensely over her chest as Rachel and I got out. “It’s his car. I looked inside—stuck my head in. I didn’t see anything.”

I closed my door while Rachel reached into the back seat. Staring at the house, I tried to keep my heartbeat steady. 

The house seemed to shiver in the darkness as a cold breeze whispered through the thick weeds and tall dirty grass. No hint of light glowed through the broken door or empty windows. 

“What do we do?” Ashley asked. She glanced at the house, then looked back at me. “I mean—we can’t just stand here all night.”

“No.” I took a deep breath, hoping I looked braver than I felt. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

“We, you mean.” Rachel slung a backpack over one shoulder. “Come on, kemo sabe.”

I wished I could convince her to stay outside. But I was more afraid of that argument than whatever was waiting inside the house. I stepped forward, trying to keep my legs from shaking, and stumbled up the rotting wooden steps to the front door.

Rachel stood behind me as I turned my flashlight on. “It’s Saturday  night. You take me on the crappiest dates.”

“And yet you’re still with me.” I scanned the beam across the front room. 

“Maybe a psych degree will solve that.” She turned on her own flashlight.

Nothing new or different from the last time. The couch and table, the bare windows. The kitchen beyond. 

“Any vibes?” I asked.

Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Just like before. Stronger now. And—” Her body jerked. I grabbed her shoulder.

Her eyes opened. “Upstairs.”

I swallowed, wishing I was home watching Stranger Things instead of living it in real life, and headed toward the hall. 

I aimed my flashlight up but saw nothing at the top of the stairway. I climbed slowly to the top step, took a breath, and turned my beam toward the main bedroom.

 The door was half open. Faint light glowed inside. I could see the form of a man standing in the center of the room.

A candle flickered on the floor, just outside the circle. Inside stood Andy Jeffords, his back to the door, arms at his sides, oblivious to us or anything beyond the circle.

Movement behind us. I turned, startled, but it was Ashley Jeffords, her face sweaty with anxiety. She hadn’t been able to stay behind. I suppose I couldn’t blame her.

“Andy?” She waved an arm. “Andy!”

Jeffords didn’t respond. His body was twitching, jerking, fingers shaking, legs trembling. How long had he been here like this?

She tried to push her way between us into the bedroom, but Rachel clamped a hand over her shoulder. “Wait,” she whispered. “Let us do it.”

“It’s—weird in there,” I said, remembering the strange impulse pulling me toward the circle before. “We’ve got a plan.”

Ashley looked at her husband, then at me. Then she nodded, fighting to stay calm. I knew the feeling.

Rachel dropped her backpack on the floor, unzipped it, and pulled out a coil of rope. Ashley watched, her eyes darting between us and Jeffords, as Rachel tied the rope over one of my shoulders, knotting it under my opposite arm. The knot was strong and tight. I hoped it wouldn’t cut off my circulation or crack a rib.

Then she handed me a pair of handcuffs. Ashley’s eyes got wide. “What are you going to do?”

“In case he doesn’t want to come out on his own,” Rachel said. “Don’t worry, we know how to use them.”

I frowned. Not the time to discuss our personal life. But this wasn’t the time to worry about it either. 

“Go, boy. Fetch” Rachel patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who, me?” I bit my lower lip, then turned and took a step through the door.

Jeffords didn’t seem to notice me, or anything. The frayed rope still hung from the rafter next to his head, but at least he hadn’t tried to reach for it—or tie a new noose next to it. Holding my breath, I took another step toward the circle on the floor.

There was nothing to worry about, I realized. I just wanted to see what it was like inside. Why wouldn’t Rachel let me see last time? Jeffords was fine. All I had to do was take one more step—

The candle flickered next to my foot. Then everything went black around me. 

It lasted just for an instant. Now, suddenly, I was surrounded by flames, swirling in fury, fire darting out for my skin, roaring in my ears.

The heat burned, growing harsher every second. I couldn’t back away—my feet felt welded to the floor. Laughter whispered in my ears, inside my brain. Sweat rolled down my skin, inside my shirt, down into my boxers. I couldn’t move—

Except I could move. Forward, not back. Forward. I saw Jeffords. He still faced away from me, unaware of my presence. I wanted to join him. He needed me. 

I stepped toward him, my feet heavy as bricks. The flames stung me but didn’t burn my skin. The heat made me feel like I was melting inside. But I took another step. I wanted to be here. I needed to keep going.

I reached out for Jeffords’ shoulder. He turned his head to me, his eyes blank. I remembered that I’d never met him, never looked into his face, never spoken to him. Just followed him after looking at a few pictures. I wondered what he was like, what TV shows he watched, what he did for fun, if he loved his wife . . .

Something tugged at my mind. Jeffords. Andy Jeffords. The circle. Ashley. His wife. My job. Rachel. Rachel—

A flash in my mind cleared my head for just an instant, and I remembered what I was doing here, and what I was supposed to do. I reached out for Jeffords, caught his arm, and dug into my back pocket. What now? I just wanted to stay here. Let the fire consume me. Join with it. Take it inside me. It didn’t hurt. It wanted me. It wanted everyone—

My hands fumbled and shook, but I managed to clip one cuff around Jeffords’ wrist. He didn’t seem to feel it. His face was still empty, as if he wasn’t even aware of me. Maybe it was better that way. We were alone, all alone, just us and the whispering laughter and the flames crackling around our bodies. We could stay here forever. For always.

I clamped the other cuff on my own wrist. Why? Oh, yeah . . .

Something pulled at me. Around my chest. I looked down and saw the rope. Rachel. Why was she trying to get me out of here? I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay. Damn it.

I staggered back and fell, flat on my butt, Jeffords tumbling down next to me, the handcuff digging into my wrist. A fleeting memory surged in my brain, and I grabbed for his arms, holding him tight as the rope dragged us across the floor.

Jeffords tried to fight, but he could only squirm weakly in my arms. I wanted to kick my heels into the floor to stay planted where I was, but the force pulling us was too strong. No, damn it, no! No!

Then the flames were gone.

I blinked and looked up. Rachel was kneeling beside me, her eyes tight, one hand on my shoulder. “Tom? Hello? Anyone home? Tom!”

“Hi.” I tried lifting my head, but a shooting zap of pain in my shoulder changed my mind. “J-Jeffords?”

“He’s right here.” She placed a hand on the top of my head. “How do you feel?”

“You checking me for fever? My shoulder hurts. You pulled too hard.”

“Making sure you’re not possessed.” She kissed my cheek. “It’s all you in there.”

“For better or worse.” I turned my head to see Jeffords lying next to me, his wife cradling his head. “Let’s get out of here. Can he walk?”

“You sure you can?” Rachel helped me up. They’d closed the bedroom door. But I could still feel the force beyond. The whispers lingered in my ears. 

I was wobbly, but very motivated to get away from that door and out of the house. Rachel and Ashley got Jeffords to his feet and helped him down the steps. Outside, Rachel pushed me into the car and jumped behind the wheel.

Ashley leaned against the driver’s door. “Why don’t you come back to our place? We’ve got a guest room. You can spend the night. Or at least until you feel okay.”

“Sounds good.” Rachel started the car. 

I looked at the house as she turned around. With our headlights on it glowed like the embers of a campfire, crumbling but defiant. I bit my lip and refused to reach for my seatbelt to unbuckle myself and leap from the car and race back inside. I closed my eyes and leaned back, breathing hard. 

“You okay?” Rachel’s voice was quiet. Soothing.

“Just get me out of here,” I muttered.

 

Jeffords made it into the house with his wife’s help, but he was only half conscious when she sat him down in the kitchen. Their house had three stories and a kitchen with an island as big as my bed. She brought water for her husband, beer for me and Rachel, and poured herself a glass of wine, then made sandwiches. 

            Jeffords drank the water but didn’t eat. He blinked at me, looked Rachel over, and asked, “Who’s this, Lee?”

            “Tom Jurgen,” I said. “My friend Rachel. How are you feeling?”

            “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine. Just tired.”

            Ashley rubbed his arm. “Want to go to bed?”

            He nodded. “Yeah. They staying?”

            “They saved your life. Or something.” She helped him stand.

            He stared at me. “Really?”

            “Mostly Rachel.” I patted her arm.

            “And Ashley.” She poked my shoulder, making me wince. “You guys aren’t exactly featherweights.” 

            After getting Jeffords upstairs, Ashley showed us to a bedroom in the basement. “Our kids are all grown, but they visit sometimes. Not enough, but you know about kids.” She pointed to a door. “Bathroom’s there. The sheets and towels are fresh. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Then she leaned against the doorway. “And thank you.”

            I smiled. “Thanks for the room.”

            “She was talking to me, I think,” Rachel said. 

            Ashley laughed. “Both of you. Sleep well.”

The sky the next morning was cloudy and gray, threatening rain. Ashley made coffee and toasted some bagels. She looked tired, but relieved. “He slept all night. He’s better now. Taking a shower and—oh hi, Andy!”

            Andy Jeffords walked slowly in sweatpants and a T-shirt, but his eyes were alert and he wasn’t wobbling anymore. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sank down onto a stool to look Rachel and me over, as if trying to remember who we were.

            “You were following me?” he asked me.

            I nodded. “The good news is you weren’t having an affair. The bad news is . . .” I paused. “How much do you remember?”

            Jeffords sipped his coffee. I’d only ever seen him from surveillance distance. This was my first good look at him. Up close, he was a heavyset man with gray hair thinning on the top and curly down the sides of his head. His blue eyes were tired. 

            “Last night?” He rubbed his eyes. “Just—standing there. Voices. Light and fire. I kept thinking—I had to stay there. Forever. I didn’t know why. Something just, uh, wanted me, I guess.”

            He shook his head, clearing it. “Then I was here. Last night, this morning. I don’t know.”

            “What about before?” Ashley asked.  “Before last night.”

            Jeffords looked at her. His eyes lost focus, and for a moment I was afraid that whatever had gotten inside our heads last night was reaching into him again. Then he blinked. “My grandfather died.”

            I looked at Ashley. “Raymond?” she asked Jeffords.

            He nodded. “Just a week or so ago, I think. I got the email. I hadn’t seen him for a long time. He was in assisted living, with dementia. They had to keep him sedated most of the time.” He crossed his arms, head down. “He built that house.”

            Wait a minute—I was getting it now. “Raymond Evans?” 

            “Yeah.” He drank some coffee. “He was always strange. I didn’t see him much, my mom kept me away from him. She said he read weird books, and he was always trying out some kind of experiments that made her scared. A lot of the animals around the place disappeared, she said. Anyway, he disappeared for a long time, popped up somewhere in Wisconsin living in a tent, and eventually they got out into a facility up there.”

            He looked down at his coffee. “I tried not to think about him. Especially after those murders out there, I tried to forget everything about him. Then that email came, and—I started thinking about him again. And the house. I—I wanted to see it. Just once. But I guess I went more than once. I don’t—I don’t really remember.”

            His head drooped and he closed his eyes. His wife moved behind him, rubbing his shoulders silently.

            Jeffords stood up. “I’m going back to bed. I don’t feel great.”

            Ashley followed him upstairs. Rachel and I ate silently, thinking by ourselves. Maybe she was thinking about school. I was trying to work out the connections in my head.

She returned just a few minutes later, confused. “What’s going on?”

Rachel and I looked at each other. I answered, ”As far as I can figure, Andy’s grandfather was the first one to live in the house, with his family. They disappeared, and no one could find them. After that, there were rumors about one of the owners holding wild late night parties that could have been a black mass. Then there were the Vantek murders.”

I took a sip of coffee. “I think Raymond somehow summoned a demon. Or maybe it was already planted there, and it found him. It stayed there after the family left, causing problems for anyone who lived there. Eventually it made Arthur Vantek kill his family. Raymond Evans must have had some connection to it, even after all this time. It drew your husband to the house after Evans died. What it wanted, with your husband and then with me, I don’t know. Maybe—victims. People to kill. Like Vantek. In the meantime, it just wanted to suck people in.” 

I shuddered. “It tried to drag me in too—gave me visions of, well, hell. Literally, hell. I don’t know what would have happened if we’d stayed there.”

Rachel put a hand on my arm. “Glad you’re out.”

“But what now?” Ashley Jeffords looked frantic. “Will he keep going back? Am I going to have to tie him up every night?”

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Mimi Turner. Had she seen us last night? “Just a moment—Tom Jurgen speaking.”

“Tom Jurgen? Mimi Turner, out on Scout Road? Just wanted to let you know that there’s smoke up the road, and lots of fire trucks. I think that house is burning down.”

 

The flames were real this time. Dirty gray smoke rose from a gash on the top of the house where the roof had fallen in, and fire danced inside where one wall had crumbled to the earth. The air smelled like burning trash.

            Three trucks were pulled up in front of the house, shooting chemicals across the walls and over the lawn. Firefighters in plastic coats and oxygen masks circled the structure, spraying fire extinguishers at the walls and the foundation, trying to keep the blaze contained. The house was doomed, and they weren’t trying to save it.

            We sat by the side of the road, near the path up to the house, blocked by one of the fire trucks. After a few minutes a firefighter walked over to the car and motioned for me to lower my window.

            “Your property?” He had a hardworn face and stained teeth. He peered into the car, checking out Rachel and glancing into the back seat.

“No, sir,” I said. “Just passing by, saw the fire. Everything okay?”

“Well, keep on going. Everything’s fine.” He stepped back and waved us forward.

I didn’t want him wondering if we’d set the fire. And there was nothing here for us to do anyway. I started the car and headed on.

A half mile down I saw the red car.

It sat on the other side of the road, watching the flames. I hit the brake, veered over, and stopped behind it. “Is that him?” Rachel asked. “What’s-his-name, Edwin something?”

“Let’s find out.” I opened my door.

I tried not to look threatening walking toward the car—slow steps, hands open. The door swung open as I approached, and a man stepped out. He was short, a little pudgy, balding, in jeans and a windbreaker. His face was cautious. “Hello?”

“Edwin Tanner?” I stopped six feet away, Rachel behind me.

He looked us over. “Yeah.”

“Your father built that house down the road.”

Tanner sighed. “That’s right.”

“Did you set the fire?”

He tensed. “What if I did?”

I looked past him at the smoke rising in the cloudy sky. “Then I’d say you did a good thing.”

 

 

“There was always something wrong with Raymond.” Tanner was sitting with us in a coffee shop in the small town west of where the house was burning. “I was just a kid, but I could see it. My dad—he didn’t want Roxy to marry him, but I guess he thought if he gave them a house, someplace to live, not far away but not too close, he could control him.”

            “Wrong how?” Rachel asked, drinking tea for a change.

            “His eyes.” Tanner pointed to his face. “They were—they weren’t quite there. Like he was never looking straight at you, you know? And then Roxy hinted at some things—funny people visiting, weird noises after she went to bed, Ray trying to get her to do things she didn’t like. She finally took the kids and left. Left him alone in that house.”

            “But you knew something was going on there,” I said. “How?”

            “I visited a few times when it was empty.” Tanner looked out the window of the shop as rain started to fall outside. “I could feel—something. I was scared, but I figured it was okay as long as no one was there. Then it sold, and it got sold again, but nobody stayed there long. And then there was Arthur Vantek.” He shuddered. 

            “Did you get an email that Raymond died?” I asked.

            “Yeah. A week or so ago. I hoped it was over. But I went out to take another look, and I could tell it was still there. I was too afraid to go inside. I saw that guy there, and I tried to warn him, but he looked like he didn’t even hear me.”

            Andy Jeffords. “Were you there last night?”

            Tanner hesitated. “Yeah. Was that you? I saw a couple of cars leave. I was too scared to go inside on my own. At night.” He swallowed. “So I went home, and early this morning I took one of the tanks for my propane grill and peeled off all the stickers as best as I could, and opened it up and dumped some gasoline around it, and—threw a book of matches inside. Lighted up. Then I ran, and—whoom.” He chuckled quietly. “It was pretty awesome.”

            “I hope you didn’t sit there waiting for the fire trucks to show up,” Rachel said. “They’re probably checking our license plates out right now. You know, firebugs like to watch their work, or that’s what they say.”

            “Nah, I went home.” He shrugged. “I just drove by a few minutes ago to make sure it was burning good. I was about to leave when you showed up.”

            I figured they’d probably be able to trace the propane tank back to Tanner, but I didn’t say that. I just sipped some coffee.

            “You think that killed it?” He looked out the window again. “Whatever it was?”

            Evil never really dies. I’d learned that long ago. But again, I didn’t want to say that to Tanner either. No sense spooking him more than he was already. “I hope so,” I said, looking out at the rain.

            I paid and we left. In the car I called Ashley Jeffords. Andy was still sleeping, but she told me she’d let him know about the house. “I hope this is the end of it.”

            “Me too.” I hung up and looked at Rachel. “Is it? The end?”

            She shrugged. “Who knows? I’m still hoping for another season of Stranger Things.”

            I laughed. “Here’s hoping.” I started the car to head for home.

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