The Elm House

  THE ELM HOUSE

  A Horror Novel

  Paul C Skertich

  © 2019 Paul C Skertich

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  This novel is dedicated to the wonderful people who strongly encouraged me to write and had a helping hand to strengthen my writing skills. And lastly, the books I’ve read to shape and hone my writing abilities.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 1

  Brad Herrick sensed it after he’d entered their new home. The air had a thickness to it, but not everyone could notice. A few can if they attuned themselves to it. Their ability to recognize the shifts and transformations of vibrations around them. But they need to chill-out their minds and let their third eye see.

  All around the house, the energy breathed heavy.

  Like lungs expanding and contracting to breathe life inside an organism.

  The house on Elm road breathed the same way, and on its exhale emerged a foul stench. And it smelled like evil.

  But only Brad could sense something putrid about the new house. His parents were too blind to the house’s energy, until later on. Until the perfect time struck, it would rear its ugly head, to reveal itself. Only then, Brad’s parents would accept the horror inside their new home. But if Brad runs out of time to convince his parents to abandon their “lovely” home, the Herrick family would awake to their souls trapped—forever—joining the previous owners.

  However, Brad’s not a sensitive. But personally, he doesn’t have to be one. The house reeked of a foul energy vibe, stalking the hallways and every room. Maybe he’s slightly (intuitively) aware of the energy from understanding Chi. Well, here’s the thing, any person could possibly sense energy. If they listened (internally and grounded themselves) carefully, they could sense the energy swirl about and vibrate all around them too.

  A very sensitive person could sense the energy within the Elm house. They would feel a punch to their gut, and their heads would pound. The sensation around a sensitive’s third eye would throb and ache, similar to a jack-hammering migraine. Then their hairs on the back of their neck would stand tall. The sensitive would know that evil is lurking about. Starving eyes stalking them—carefully, predatory like—and waiting to pounce at any moment.

  Brad didn’t over exaggerate this, gut wrenching and hair raising, fear that rose in the pit of his stomach. There was something, indeed, that was truly evil—camouflaged in every shadow—within the house. It would consume any family member and become stronger, but it would become hungrier as it grew.

  Brad plopped a heavy cardboard box onto his bedroom floor. He sat down on his twin mattress. Soccer trophies rested on top of his dresser. Karate medals pinned against the blue pale wall. A round soccer ball rug neatly placed in the center of his room. His digital alarm clock sat next to his bed on the nightstand with two drawers.

  He let out a heavy sigh. The idea of moving into another town, home, and becoming a new kid on the block in school wasn’t ideal. He wasn’t the most popular in his previous school, and Brad never wanted to be one anyways. Sure, his heart skipped a beat for soccer but being in the center of the limelight wasn’t on his priority list. What was, though, on the forefront of his mind was respect from his peers.

  Certainly, everyone wants respect, and even high school kids fight for respect. Those high school kids come in every different shape and size, fighting over recognition and dominance like savage wild animals. They would group themselves into sects (social groups, so to speak) and dwell in social colonies, sanctioning off any unwanted social foreigners.

  But the thought of re-integrating himself with a fresh and ripe crowd sickened Brad. I don’t want to go, tomorrow, he thought. Almost whining at the thought of it.

  “Brad,” Brad’s mother called out.

  “I’m coming!” He stood up and briskly walked to the second-floor hallway. He stopped at the head of the stairs, and he turned his attention to his left. Brad sensed prying eyes that tickled the back of his neck. On his arm, goosebumps raised. A slight brush of frosty air blew across Brad’s face. The hairs on his arms stood erected and alert. Brad’s heart quickened, and his stomach churned. Brad could’ve imagined it but wasn’t entirely sure. When someone’s in uncharted territory, their mind surges with adrenaline (the fight or flight response). Their mind is preoccupied with frantically placing pieces together in their new environment. Or it could just be that Brad’s fifteen with an acute imagination. There’s no way in hell that just happened, Brad thought.

  He stood there like a deer caught in headlights, watching the attic door open as it squeaked from its old hinges. It has to be Jesse, trying to scare me shitless.

  “Jesse, better get out of the attic!” He marched towards the attic door. He swung the attic door open. A whoosh of musky aroma slammed against Brad’s face. The pungency, wet-moldy smell of a basement, bothered his nostrils.

  “Jesse!”

  He turned around and looked unimpressed at his sister. Jesse’s eyebrows raised high, and her eyes radiated with full of innocence. Brad realized that his sister wasn’t trying to prank him. She wasn’t in the attic, Brad thought, then who was?

  “What?” she asked.

  Brad shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, shutting the attic door closed. He headed past her and downstairs to see what his mother wanted.

  His mother was busy, placing plates and cups inside the cupboard above the granite countertop. There was a double bowl kitchen sink, and a window that viewed the backyard. A dish rack was placed next to the sink. A Mr. Coffee twelve cup machine tucked neatly in the corner near the stove. The double door refrigerator nicely flushed against the wall at the end of the counter near the sink. A round breakfast table placed in the center of the room. Although for a Victorian home built around the 1920s, it had undergone a lot of renovations. Not all parts of the house were renovated; it had radiators made out of cast-iron, an ancient fuse box placed in the basement, still old plumbing pipes that ran throughout the house’s skeletal frame, and very piss-poor insulation. The amount of cheddar to make this house into a modernized home would be too painstaking to bear. However, it was a home—a home, indeed—with some quirks dormant within its old bones.

  “What is it?” Brad asked his mother.

  “Almost done unpacking everything?”

  He shook his head. “No, not yet,” he said. Brad imagined it would possibly take a day or so to unpack all his belongings and sort out what was needed and not.

  “Well, get most of it done soon. You have school in the morning,” Brad’s mother said, glancing over her shoulder and flashing a smile.

  Great, a new school, Brad despairingly thought. He didn’t have trouble making friends, but the bullies—like in every school and every workplace—bothered him.

  Inside his memory bank, Brad recalled the surmountable nightmarish times that he’d experienced at Mount Everson High School. One of them being, the jocks decided it was cool to jam him inside his locker and lock pad it shut. The echoes of their delightful laughter could be heard through the thin alum
inum locker door. Their hands pounding hard against the door as they jeered. Moments later, their laughter dissipated as they headed to their classrooms. Brad’s hands pounded against the interior of the locker, and his breaths quickened with sharpness.

  His heart pounded out of his chest. It felt like he was buried alive in a six-foot grave, yet his cries didn’t bother waking up the living. Until finally, a snap and a twist then a clunk could be heard loudly outside the locker door. Someone opened the locker door and stared at Brad, frowning with disapproval. Mr. Janowski, the school’s janitor, lend out his hand and helped Brad out of his locker.

  “Kids these days. Nothing but trouble, they are.” Mr. Janowski frowned as he shook his head. The bread crumbs from his lunch break clung tightly onto his mustache, and the soda stain buried deep within the collar of his uniform.

  Brad snapped back to reality as he stood in the kitchen. His little trip of memory lane regurgitated back the horrible emotions that he felt long ago. So much, he found himself digging his nails deeply into his forearm before realizing that his skin cells bellowed.

  It’s funny how a person’s brain attempts it’s damndest to protect them, yet the old experiences resurface and wash over them with a tidal wave of fear. Almost like the time, they’d almost drowned in their neighbor’s pool. Instantly, the person becomes afraid of swimming in water. Such a faulty little subroutine created by the human brain, yet at times it sometimes does help to protect a person.

  However, Brad would have to face the music of heading into a new school by morning, so he’d better grow some pair of balls by then. It could be completely not like Mount Everson, he optimistically thought. With a reassuring exhale, he turned around about to start back up to his room.

  “Everything alright, hon?” asked his mother.

  Brad nodded and replied that everything was alright. Before he reached the foot of stairs, his mother told him to be ready for dinner soon.

  “Okay,” he said, heading up the stairs and into his bedroom. Brad reached for his bedroom’s door handle, and he felt the hairs on his neck crawl. Almost like the same prying eyes that watched him from somewhere in the hallway. He turned around. It was then, his entire skin leaped from his bones. He didn’t hallucinate nor imagined it. It was impossible for his eyes to ignore. The truth right in front of his nose. Yet Brad’s mind flooded with all possibly explanations of how it could be possible. There was no way, not even for a blitz moment, that the attic door creaked open again. Brad shut the attic door again, but he noticed it didn’t have a key for it. It was one of those old keyholes that they’ve used back in the day. Something’s wrong about this house, he grimly thought. Something was wrong about the house, but Brad wouldn’t know about it until later on.

  He tossed and turned in bed that very first night. A lot of thoughts turned around inside Brad’s weary mind. The anticipation of school tomorrow was glued to his frontal lobe which, possibly, could’ve been responsible for what his eyes witnessed.

  Mary, Brad’s mother, made the most delicious spaghetti and meatballs the first night at dinner.

  Brad leaned back into the dining room chair, rubbed his stomach and grinned. Gas rose from his stomach and upward his esophagus. Then he triumphantly belched. Jesse had a good laugh. To the point, she snorted like a pig. Jesse’s cheeks grew red, and her eyes would twinkle like stars when she’d laughed hard.

  “Okay, Jesse, settle down,” Mary said, cracking a wide-open smile. Her head turned to Brad.

  “What do you say?”

  “Excuse me,” Brad said, feeling the urge to giggle from his sister’s contagious laughter.

  John, Brad’s father, leaned back in his chair, patted his stuffed stomach and groaned. “What a meal,” he said. His hand held his wife’s hand as his eyes shined affection towards her.

  “How are you feeling about your new job, dear?” Mary asked him. Her thumb caressed the top of his hand. Her eyes shined with passion and love.

  “Good.”

  Brad remembered a time when his father would bring him into the garage at a young age, showing him how a vehicle runs. John educated how pistons rotated to intake the gas then compresses the gas until sparks combusted the gas, shoving the piston down as the rest of the other pistons would follow suit His father explained how the alternator would charge the car battery as the engine ran. Brad learned a lot from his father, but he never fancied cars like his father did. He witnessed his father whistle at a car magazine like a man would whistle looking at a hot centerfold in a Playboy magazine. Brad recalled how his father looked forward of opening his own auto repair shop one day. Never give up your dreams.

  “Kinda like Brad loves soccer?” Jesse asked father, shaking the table as she kicked her legs up and down.

  “Yup,” John replied, nodding his head. He glanced over at Brad. Which, unsurprisingly, Brad was gulping down a freshly poured cup of Pepsi.

  “You’re going to try out for your new school’s soccer team, right?” John asked.

  Brad thought about it for a brief moment, nodded his head. Soccer came natural to him. He tried other sports such as basketball, football, and baseball. His heart wasn’t so thrilled about them, but soccer made his heart dance and jive. The triumphant sense of pride filled in his chest; when the clock is counting down, and he kicked the glorious winning goal—winning Brad’s team the championship. The moment they hoisted him on their shoulders and cheered Brad’s name as his arms raised high to the sky and fists clinched. That feeling—right there—is what Brad loves the most about soccer.

  “Yup,” he replied with a fat smile on his face.

  “Good,” John said, smiling proudly at his son. “How do you feel about school tomorrow? Are you ready?”

  Brad’s chest tightened and found himself feeling trapped in a very small room. Brad sensed the imaginary walls closing in on him, squeezing—sucking, the air out from his lungs. Then a moment or so, he felt the storm pass. Brad was able to breathe again, and his heart beat returned back to normal.

  He nodded his head. “Nervous, but okay.”

  After Brad blurted out how he felt about the new school, he realized the calmness and stillness that his chest felt had subsided. The storm had passed.

  But will I be okay? Brad thought.

  Mary glanced over at him. “And you’re almost done unpacking?” Her eyebrows raised.

  He nodded and replied that he was getting close.

  She patted his hand and gave an approved nod. “Good,” she said. “Finish unpacking after dishes.”

  Brad got up from his chair and told her that he would, gathered his dishes and headed to the kitchen sink. After Brad had completed the dishes, he headed back upstairs to his room. This time, he had expected something around the corner to happen. However, the second-floor hallway felt normal. The attic door was sealed shut from last time when Brad closed it. Not one bit of cold draft of wind against his neck. So, perhaps it was inside his mind, or it could be possibly dormant for a bit. Just maybe it yearned to leap out on the unexpected Brad. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he twisted his room’s door knob open and began to organize his unpacked belongings.

  Brad sorted out his belongings as much as he could and then plopped down onto his bed. His eyes stared at the ceiling. He turned his head, yawned and sat upright. It was getting awfully dark in the September night sky. The wind whistled, and the tree’s boney fingers clanged against his bedroom window. The moonlight full and bright under the naked cloudless sky. It was time for him to get some shuteye, so Brad headed down the stairs and into the living room to kiss his mother and father—goodnight.

  “See you in the morning,” Brad told his parents, vanishing into the hallway and up the stairs to his bedroom. He turned off his room’s ceiling light from the light switch mounted near his door and crawled inside his bed’s covers. He exhaled deeply then inhaled, slowly fading into dream land. Only hours later, he would be jarred awake.

  CHAPTER 2

  Hopefully it’s just my
mind playing tricks on me, Brad wished. It seemed real, but he possibly made up the entire frightmare experience. No, he couldn’t have. It was real, alright.

  Brad tossed and turned in his bed. His mind danced and raced around about school next day. The what-ifs taunted his cerebellum. It became bad enough as the Elm tree, just outside his bedroom window, scratched its elongated fingernails against the window plane. His eyes lids flung wide open and focused blankly at the moonlit ceiling. It’s just my nerves. It’s just my nerves, he thoughtfully repeated to himself to regain control of his mind’s loose footing. Yet, he wasn’t completely convinced it worked. His skin crawled with a sensation of tiny waves washing over his body. Brad’s forearm began to rise with tiny bumps. His heart pounded relentlessly. It’s just a new house, he thoughtfully tried to reassure his overworking mind.

  New school, new house, and new friends.

  But Brad’s mind was ever so relentless. He sighed, sat upright and took deep breaths to slow his pounding heart. His head quickly jerked to the side, and his eyes focused intensely on the corner of his room. He could’ve sworn something moved within the room. His weary eyes still adjusting to the room’s faint lighting. The incoming incandescent rays of the moon light had partially made portions of his room visible. It dawned to him, how silly his mind was, that it was only the tree’s shadow from outside. His nerves settled like a calm ocean. He shook his head, laughed at himself then plopped his head down on the bed’s pillow.

  Creak.

  Brad’s pupils enlarged, and his eyes widely opened.

  Thump-thump-thump. The sound of footsteps outside his bedroom along the hallway. The footsteps stopped for a second or so then quickened and loudly began again.

  Jessie, should’ve been in bed, Brad thought.

  Jessie at times had a habit of sleep walking at night. But she wouldn’t sleep walk like normal children do. Jessie would run around, chasing after an imaginary friend. Has she started this again? Brad thought. She hadn’t done this in a few months. Perhaps the new environment triggered Jesse to sleep-chase again.