15. Kristin
KRISTIN
The baby monitor sat beside my open laptop, its soft light blinking calmly, as if it hadn’t carried a stranger’s whisper earlier. My head still throbbed from the fall, but my thoughts felt clearer than they had in days. The kind of sharpness that comes after panic burns itself off.
Something was happening in this house, in this town, and I was done pretending it was nothing.
Patrick didn’t believe me—not fully—so I needed proof.
Something solid. Something that couldn’t be waved away as exhaustion or a bad fall or how I’d been back in Chicago.
I needed facts, evidence, something that would make sense of the fear that had taken up permanent residence in my body.
I thought of the rhyme Patrick’s students had sung:
“Tillington locks its borders tight.
New folks vanish overnight.
The Nightmare House keeps every name,
and all who enter leave the same.”
If those teenagers knew enough to make up a creepy song about our house, there had to be something out there. A news story, a local legend, or a pattern no one bothered to explain to outsiders.
I opened a browser and typed our address into the search bar. For a moment, nothing happened. Then one article appeared. I clicked it.
LINCOLN COUNTY GAZETTE—AUGUST 14, 2008:
Local Couple Found Dead in Balagan Road Home; Authorities Rule It a Murder-Suicide
The bodies of Wesley Preston (28) and Caroline Preston (25) were discovered late Tuesday evening in their residence on 1897 Balagan Road.
According to Sheriff Ron Kohler Jr., the cause of death was determined to be a murder-suicide.
Caroline Preston was found hanging from an exposed rafter beam in the living room, while her husband, Wesley, was found in the unfinished basement, having suffered fatal blunt-force trauma from the backside of a splitting maul located at the scene.
Family members of both parties dispute the ruling, claiming the couple were happily married and had no history of violence. They allege foul play, though no evidence supporting this claim has been found. The Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department stands by its conclusion.
I froze.
The open-concept layout gave me a clear line of sight into the great room where the rafter stretched across the ceiling.
I’d passed underneath it many times while making coffee or prepping dinner.
It was harmless, structural, just a part of the house.
Now it creaked, a long, slow, splintering groan.
It sounded strained, like something was pulling it downward.
My fingers curled around the edge of the counter.
For a split second, I saw her. A woman hanging from the beam, swinging gently.
Her head tilted at a terrible angle. Her hair floated as if caught in a breeze the kitchen didn’t have.
The image vanished as quickly as it came, and I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it or if the house was offering context.
I dropped my gaze to the counter and forced myself to breathe the way I’d learned to: slow, deliberate, controlled. This was the part where I reminded myself not to jump to conclusions. Not to let my mind run too far ahead of the evidence.
Then I thought of the splitting maul, the one I’d found in the basement, its metal stained with something dark brown and old. My stomach clenched.
When the nausea passed, I clicked back to the search results. Two more articles had surfaced, almost as if the first one had unlocked them. I opened the next.
LINCOLN COUNTY GAZETTE—MARCH 3, 1985:
Tragic Accident on Balagan Road: Family of Five Found in Frozen Pond
The bodies of Thomas Bishop (38); his wife, Marjorie (36); and their children, Landon (11), Sarah (9), and Beth (4), were recovered early Sunday morning beneath the ice of the pond located behind their Balagan Road residence.
Authorities have ruled the deaths accidental, citing thin spring ice and evidence the family may have ventured onto the frozen surface when it was no longer safe.
The case has shaken the small community, though Sheriff Ron Kohler insists there’s no sign of foul play.
My throat tightened. Outside the kitchen window, the pond sat still and white, its surface deceptively smooth. I imagined what lay beneath it—faces turning upward, mouths opening, hands striking the ice, the ones I’d seen in my dream. Dream, I reminded myself. But the word felt thin.
I clicked the third link.
ARCHIVED NEWSPAPER CLIPPING—DECEMBER 1965:
Carpenter Family Missing: Home Found Intact
Authorities remain baffled after the disappearance of the Carpenter family: James Carpenter (41), Evelyn Carpenter (38), Edward Carpenter (16), and Lila Carpenter (7).
The family vanished sometime last week. All personal belongings, including wallets, suitcases, children’s toys, and even a half-eaten casserole, were found inside the residence. No signs of struggle or forced entry have been reported by Lincoln County Sheriff Ron Kohler.
Search efforts continue, though hope diminishes with each passing day.
Henry stirred on the monitor. I went completely still until his breathing evened out.
Then I kept searching. More links appeared, including an archived forum and a paranormal discussion board. There were pages and pages devoted to our address. I clicked the earliest thread.
—Forum: Haunted Homes & Cursed Land
Thread:
Has anybody heard about the house on Balagan Road? What’s up with it?
Posted: 2012
User: LakesideLore
Everybody within a 20 mile radius of Tillington knows that house is cursed. Started with the Thorn family back in ’47. Husband, wife, little girl. All murdered. No one was ever charged cuz the whole town covered for the Buckners. Property-line dispute turned deadly. Ugly stuff.
User: WhisperingElm
The Carpenters vanished in the ’60s.
User: FogAndFeathers
Bishops drowned in the pond in the ’80s. Accidental my ass.
User: MaulTalk
Prestons in ’08. The way they “found” them was messed up.
User: KnotInThePines
Everyone who lives in that house either disappears or dies. Every. Single. Family.
User: BriarHex
Locals call it the Nightmare House.
Looks like a dream, ends in a nightmare.
User: DeerRunner88
That house should be bulldozed or burned down.
User: TilCoHigh
My new history teacher Mr. Dalton just moved in with his family. RIP.
User: BuckshotBlue
Oh damn. They’re toast.
User: PineNeedler
We should start a GoFundMe for their funerals.
User: RootRot
Bet they won’t last a month.
User: jvneigh
I give them a week.
My jaw was slack. They weren’t speculating. They weren’t warning. They were waiting. A hot, furious energy surged through me—part anger, part vindication. I wasn’t imagining this. They all knew. The town. The neighbors. Even the kids. Everyone knew. Except us.