13. Kael
KAEL
The trees break to reveal a two-story, bona fide haunted house washed in moonlight.
It’s only two stories, but the corrugated triangular roof shoots up another two, making it look top-heavy, almost brushing the treetops.
My flashlight catches warped siding where the white “Inskip Inn” letters are half-eaten by peeling red paint and rot, like the building is sloughing off its own name.
“Nope.” I’ve heard enough. “Huh-uh.”
Ash walks straight past me toward the porch. “Come on. It’s freezing.”
“I didn’t even get to the ghost yet,” Jenny protests.
“Can you not?” I say. “Am I the only one who thinks sleeping in a building that’s already burned once is a bad omen right now?”
“Not a wildfire,” Jenny says, delighted.
“Legend has it an arsonist barred the doors one night and torched the place with a full house inside. Charlie, the ghost of John Stokes, is said to roam the inn, locking doors and stomping around in 1800s attire, looking for the culprit. The fire was so hot it destroyed everything except an old trunk of books and accounts. And John was deep in debt, so some people think the arsonist was a debt collector.”
“Seriously, there has to be another option,” I plead, eyes adjusting to all this tasteful moonlit horror. “Ash?”
He’s gone.
“Jenny, Ash is gone.”
“You think it’s Charlie?” she guffaws.
“This isn’t funny. Ash?” I whisper, sweeping my flashlight over boarded-up windows.
The silence thickens. My light jitters over the siding in my shaky grip. The whole bottom floor is boarded over with scrap wood. The rusting metal roof slopes up over a second story of broken windows and flayed crimson paint.
“I’m not joking,” I say, not quite loud enough for anyone but the ghost to hear.
My feet won’t move. I’m too far back for the light to really bite into the shadows. To find him, I’ll have to get closer to this hell house.
Crack.
Something crashes behind the inn. Adrenaline rips my feet free and I yelp, spinning toward the tree line. “Ash!”
“What was that?” Jenny asks, suddenly hushed.
“This place is cursed,” I breathe. “Something crashed inside.”
“Is Ash okay?”
“I think he’s fucking with me.” The forest pushes against my back, daring me to either run back into its black shadows or walk up to the cursed inn.
Rocky Balboa is in my hand on instinct. “This is fine,” I mutter to him, taking a wide arc around the side.
“Ash? Seriously, are you in there? This isn’t funny. ”
“What do you see?” Jenny whispers.
“One of the boards on the back door’s been pried off.” The darkness inside eats my flashlight’s beam. “Ash! Are you in there?”
“Charlie,” Jenny moans, dropping into a low, ghost-voice wail. “Ooooh—”
“You suck,” I tell her, my hand shaking as I stare into the gap.
I take one step closer. A shadow explodes out of the doorway and barrels toward me. I drop my phone and bolt for the trees.
Ash’s laughter pops the panic.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My voice shakes between breaths.
He’s doubled over, holding both phones, Jenny’s laugh echoing from his. “Oh, you should see him,” he says.
“Are you twelve?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone jump so high. He’s practically in the forest.”
“Awww. Sorry, Kael!” Jenny calls. “It’s kind of our thing.”
“You’re demented,” I say. I pat my pocket and panic spikes. Something else is missing. “Give me that.”
I snatch my phone from Ash, drop to my knees, and sweep the light across the ground. My heartbeat won’t slow until I find Rocky. I fling a stick aside and start sifting through pine needles, dirt, and pebbles that aren’t him.
“What are you doing?” Ash asks.
“I dropped something.”
He crouches beside me, knees bumping mine. Heat rolls off his body still buzzing from laughter.
“What kind of something?” he asks. “Your rock?”
“Just help me look.”
“Aren’t you cold? We can look in the morning.”
“I’m not going in there without him.” I hear how that sounds but don’t care.
“Come on, man. I’m sorry, but let’s go in.”
“Go on, then.” My voice spikes. “You seem to have no problem leaving me behind.”
“Jeez.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “It was a joke.”
A second beam joins mine, and Ash’s flashlight combs the needles while I pat the ground. Our shoulders bump as we crawl. Every time his light swings close, it feels like he’s shining it straight through me.
“Sorry, Kael,” Jenny says again.
“What’s it look like?” Ash asks.
“He’ll be the only rock with a face and a tie.”
Ash snickers.
My throat tightens. “It was my mom’s.”
His mouth opens, momentarily stunned before he recovers. “Your mom has a pet rock?”
“My mom’s dead.”
He’s got no quip for that.
A speck of black paint on a river rock larger than the others catches my eye.
I snatch it up, already knowing before I turn it over that it’s Rocky.
Then his big painted eyes and crooked little tie stare back at me, and some frantic knot in my chest loosens.
I slide him into my pocket and push to my feet.
Ash is still beside me, looking bewildered.
“Found him,” I say.
His expression begs for an explanation. The thought of giving it to him, of all people, is the only thing strong enough to push me toward this haunted nightmare.
“Guess we’re going in,” he says, falling into step. “I’ll call you back,” he tells Jenny.
“Aww, now I feel bad,” she says. “And the story doesn’t even make sense, Kael. Why would the ghost of John Stokes be named Charlie?”
I step over the threshold to find a horror movie starter kit. Dust coats everything from rotting furniture to warped floorboards and a busted chandelier. Cobwebs shroud every corner.
Ash sweeps his flashlight across the cavernous room. “It is technically shelter, but wow, it’s giving some creepy vibes.”
“Ooh, send pics!” Jenny cheers.
Ash ends the call.
“Sorry about the joke,” he says, standing beside me. “Kind of a dick move.”
It could be the dust or the dark, but I think it’s how his voice gets soft apologizing that makes me hyperaware of being here, with him, so far from anyone else.
And of how close he’s standing, and how that same joke five minutes ago would’ve pissed me off a lot more…
if I didn’t kind of like the way he lights up when I react.
At least he isn’t pushing to hear more about Rocky. Or Mom.
“Jenny’s way too excited about this,” I say.
Ash moves into the clutter, wiping a line through the grime on a bookshelf with his finger.
“She loves haunted stuff.” His voice sounds wrong in the dead interior, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“That makes one of us.”
His light snags on a jagged shadow stretching from the floor to ceiling.
“What the hell is that?” I whisper.
He steps closer, but even as his light throws broken shadows across the room, it’s his silhouette I can’t stop watching.
“Let’s hope it’s not Charlie,” he says.
The house creaks its answer somewhere above us.