The Elm House Read online

  That’s just fantastic, Brad though. Forget about the Ghost Busters, call in the priests.

  “Yeah, we’ll play,” Brad said.

  Yay! I’m always dying to get possessed. Hey, little Timmy, how you holding up? You got some great distance on that pea soup, over there. Wow, look at that! The wall went from light blue to completely chunky green. Way to go, little Timmy.

  #

  Brad and his friends sat down on the floor in his bedroom. The Ouija board laid out on the floor with the plastic white planchette rested on top of the board. The ceiling light turned on.

  “So… what do we do?” Brad asked, already regretting his decision to play with the Ouija board.

  Good day for an exorcism, Brad thought as he remembered the line from The Exorcist. Mighty fine damn day to get possessed, it sure is, he amusedly thought. Nice chunky green walls, tonight boys.

  “We lightly touch the planchette, ask questions and let the board do all the work.” Timmy smiled from ear to ear.

  “Alright,” Brad said. “There’s no 1-800-POSSESS hotline number that I could call… in case, if anyone does get possessed.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Colin chimed in. “People don’t get possessed from a board. Only movies, they do.”

  Right… movies, yeah. But in horror movies, there’s always a dumbass that always does the complete opposite from anything rational. Oh, I don’t know… like playing with a damn Ouija board. We know who’s going to be puking pea soup, tonight.

  “It’s just for fun,” Timmy said.

  Fun, yeah… say that to Tiffany when she stabbed her eye out with the kitchen knife. I’m sure she was having a blast being possessed. And shit, she didn’t even play with the Ouija board. We don’t even own one, for God’s sake.

  “Yeah, right…” Brad said, sighing. “Alright, let’s begin and get this over with.”

  “Brad’s scared, aren’t you?” Colin teased him.

  “Scared? Yeah… well… getting possessed can’t be fun, at all.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Colin said, sounding reassuring, but Brad didn’t feel reassured.

  Brad could already feel his stomach screaming “don’t do this, dummy!” at him.

  “If you say, so.”

  Colin and Timmy laughed, and then Brad laughed too.

  But Brad couldn’t fight off his nagging intuition. It appeared to him that his intuition was warning him of some unforeseeable consequences that laid ahead. Something bad was going to happen, he pessimistically thought.

  “Alright… ready?” Timmy asked, placing his two fingers on top of the planchette. Colin placed his two fingers on the lower right corner of the planchette. And Brad placed his two fingers on the lower left corner of the planchette.

  Brad took a deep breath. This should be fun.

  “Clear your mind,” Timmy said. “Make sure your fingers are barely touching the planchette. And relax and remember… it’s just a board game.”

  Board game… a board game that allows spirits to come through and potentially possess the living. Right… just a, family fun, board game.

  “Brad, how about you ask a question,” Timmy said.

  Brad breathed in then out, relaxing every muscle inside his body.

  “Are there any ghosts here?” he asked.

  The planchette didn’t move.

  “Maybe say spirits? They don’t know they’re dead,” Timmy said.

  The planchette began to move. It moved slowly but surely from the center to the board to the top left. It didn’t seem impatient. The movement of the planchette seemed smooth. The planchette’s acrylic eyeglass hovered over—yes.

  “Can you tell us your name?” Timmy asked.

  The planchette moved slowly, like a snail crossing the road, towards a letter on the board. It reached the letter, E, and it began moving towards the next letter. Once the board has finished spelling out—Eveline—it stopped.

  Brad remembered asking Casandra who Eveline Gardner was. The day, she was hauled away in the patrol vehicle and brought back to Old Willows Brooke asylum.

  Does Timmy and Colin remember me asking who Eveline Gardner was? If they do, they’re (unknowingly) moving the planchette. Or maybe it’s my subconscious mind. I feel a bit silly, now. It’s just a spooky board game that people scare themselves silly.

  “Why is my family in danger?” he asked.

  The planchette stayed silent, for a moment or so. It began spelling out quite quicker than usual. It appeared to come across as an urgent message.

  The planchette spelled out: Archon is coming.

  Archon? Who’s Archon? What is Archon?

  “Who’s Archon?” Timmy asked.

  The planchette moved briskly through the letters printed on the board.

  “Archon, The Ancient One,” the planchette spelled out.

  “The Ancient One?” Timmy said, sounding curious and almost intrigued.

  Brad could feel goosebumps forming on his forearms. He seemed to shutter, a bit. The room became icy cold as if the boys were in a freezer. Cold vapors glistened from their lips. It wasn’t just Brad that noticed that he was cold, but his friends noticed it too. Colin and Timmy both shivered.

  “Jesus, it’s cold in here.” Collin shivered.

  Someone’s footsteps could be heard just outside of Brad’s bedroom and in the hallway.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Their footsteps seemed to be quick. It appeared as if someone briskly ran towards the attic door.

  Brad and his friends stared at his bedroom door. Their eyes were widened as they witnessed Brad’s doorknob began to slowly turn open. The door’s latch made a click as it unlatched. Brad’s bedroom door rushed open.

  Brad and his two friends screamed with fright. Brad sighed.

  “Boys, what are you doing?” John asked.

  “Scaring ourselves silly,” Colin said.

  Brad could hear the sound of his own heart beat inside his chest.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  As Brad’s heart began to pound fast against his rib cage. His heart began to slowly and gradually beat slower with each breath.

  John spotted the Ouija board then shook his head.

  “I don’t want you boys to play around with that board,” he said. “Whoever brought that board in this house needs to put it away. How about you boys watch a scary movie or something.”

  “Sorry,” Timmy said. “I brought it just for fun.”

  “There’s nothing fun about that board,” John said, giving Timmy a stern look.

  “I understand, sorry,” Timmy said, moving the board to the words: “Goodbye”.

  “It’s okay, Tim. Just know, it’s called ‘The Devil’s Board’ for a reason. There’s nothing good that can come out of that board.”

  Timmy nodded, packing the board back into the board game box. He got up and placed it back inside his school’s backpack.

  “I won’t bring it over again,” Timmy said.

  “Good,” John said, giving Timmy a proudful nod then headed back downstairs.

  Yay, my dad for the rescue. The board was creeping me out, anyways. Archon? The Ancient One?

  “What horror movie do you guys want to watch?” Brad asked his friends.

  They shrugged.

  “Whatever is scary,” Colin said.

  Brad was neatly snug inside his bed on a chilly November night. The beginning of November became chillier as winter drew closer. Brad tossed and turned, restlessly, in his bed. Finally, he sat upright. Milk would calm down his restlessness. If it was one thing that could pacify someone’s restlessness, milk would be the cure. The cure to subdue troubled thoughts and even upset stomachs. But he didn’t have an upset stomach. He had a troubled dream. Troubled dreams, Brad had for nights about the boy, Matt Gardner, showing him where his bones laid.

  He stood out of bed then halted in his tracks. His eyes widened as chills rushed up and down his spine. The boy, Matt Gardner, stood only inches away from him. He wore the same news
boy hat as Brad dreamt about, long ago. But Brad thought he put his soul to rest after he found his bones. Matt stood there looking up at Brad, and Brad wanted to scream. He wanted to scream but couldn’t. Matt raised his finger to his lips and made a “shhh,” sound then beckoned Brad to follow him.

  Am I dreaming? This is another one of those whacky dreams, isn’t it?

  Matt slowly shook his head.

  “No, you’re not,” Matt said. His voice sounded like the wind coming out of his lips. He beckoned Brad to follow him. “Come with me,” he said, vanishing out and into the hallway.

  Brad entered the hallway and looked left then right down the hall. But where is Matt? Brad questioned. Then he saw the illuminating glow from Matt’s ghost-skin, the semi-transparent body of a ghost, running down the stairs. He seemed to run down the stairs with ease and style. There was no thump as his ghost-boot made contact with the hardwood step. Matt zipped down those steps, fluidly.

  And Brad followed, Matt, outside. But he didn’t follow him near the Elm tree like last time. Brad followed him out in the backyard. There was an old withered away toolshed, near the house’s chain-linked fence. Brad’s father was contemplating to tear it down and rebuild another one. The hinges appeared to have rust caked onto them. The metal latch, too, seemed to have better days.

  Matt’s pointed his ghost finger at the toolshed. When he moved his arm up to point at the toolshed, it seemed that he was trying to keep his original form. His semi-translucent ghost-skin rippled and waved in the air with each movement that Matt made.

  “In there,” he said. The sound of wind forced out of his lips, but Brad could hear what Matt said. Matt’s voice sounded crystal clear and real, too. Almost like an alive, flesh and bones, child stood there and spoke to him. Only exception, Matt was dead—approximately about ninety or so years, dead.

  “What’s in there?” Brad asked, feeling a chill brush along his back.

  Matt began to open his mouth. But again, he vanished like ashes. Before he vanished, Matt let out a high pitch scream. A scream so loud, Brad’s ears ached a bit.

  Brad pinched his forearm, hard.

  Yup, I’m awake alright.

  Brad’s feet felt the moist and coldness from the grass. He stood outside underneath a full moon and starry night.

  What am I doing outside?

  He decided to head back inside the house, but his intuition argued with him.

  Open the toolshed, moron.

  No, I’m cold.

  Com’on and open the toolshed. Afraid of spiders?

  No, I’m not. I’m cold. What am I going to find in there anyways?

  Obviously, the boy wanted to show you something.

  I’ll do it another time.

  Are you serious? The boy wanted you to do something for him. Maybe… help his sister. Who knows! You’re going to waltz up in that house? What about helping the deceased move on from this place? Why is Matt even here, still? Haven’t you thought about that?

  Okay… time out… now I’m starting sound like—damn Jan from The Brady Bunch.

  Brad pushed away his intuition aside and headed back in the house, up to his bedroom and back to sleep.

  This has to be one of those dreams. One of those dreams, where I think I’m awake, but I’m not. I wasn’t really outside. But the pinch of my arm—felt pretty damn real to me. Now, I’m sounding like I’m going crazy.

  But, Brad’s not crazy…not by a long shot.

  Jesse turned onto her side, pulling her blanket over her shoulder. What an angel, Jesse appeared to be as she slept. Christmas was one month away, and Jesse begged her parents for a new giant stuffed teddy bear. She didn’t fancy doll houses nor dolls. Most of all, Jesse enjoyed drawing—just like her mother. One day, she hoped that she’ll be a great artist. Practice makes perfect, Jesse knew with certainty.

  She could imagine herself inside her mind’s eye, walking around a gallery exhibit, staring at her own painting hung firmly against the exhibit’s wall. Her signature on the lower left bottom of her painting. The painting had various of green hues painted in thin strokes for a grassy field. A circular gradient—almost radiating—yellow hues for the sun. White sponge marks for clouds. A red farm house in the distance by a large pine tree. A young girl in a pink dress swung from a swing set attached to another tree near the house. A black Labrador retriever chasing after a butterfly. Further in the distance, storm clouds seemed to be rolling in. A woman stood at the front door of the farm house, calling out to the young girl. A young boy in the painting, wearing a newsboy hat, stood near the young girl on the swing set, laughing as the dog chased the butterfly. The young boy’s cheeks glowing red as his hands were placed over his stomach.

  Jesse could see her dream as an artist, just like her mother, alright. Anytime, she was able to grab a sneak peek at her mother’s paintings; she absorbed the various of texture palettes like a sponge. And she’ll return to her tiny desk and draw and draw her heart out. Sometimes, she’ll draw whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, Jesse’s drawings scared her. She didn’t know why she drew some of them, but they seemed to flow out of her mind to her hand and onto paper. As of now, Jesse knew that she had to practice more to become great like her mother. They say the best artists fill the canvas with their emotions or from the subconscious mind. The storm rolling in towards the red farm house, could be possibly what lays ahead for Jesse. Maybe, the forefront of her mind viewed everything happy, but the back of her mind had disturbing imagery playing over into a loop. Jesse had fears, like everyone else does. But each night, almost, they seemed to worsen. The fears seemed small at first then grew larger. She knew what they meant—the nightmares. The nightmares, she had the first night that her family moved inside the Elm house. She, too, knew there was something wrong about the house. Jesse knew better not to speak of such things with her father. She could speak with Brad, but they seem to come and go—forcing her to say mean things. Jesse didn’t like speaking ill towards Brad, but she couldn’t resist them. They’re too strong for her child mind to resist. They—Archon, Eveline, Matt—come through her and used her like a puppet. Tiffany could be heard sometimes inside Jesse’s mind. Mostly, Tiffany pled Jesse to convince her parents to move out of the Elm house. But Jesse’s a child, and she holds no power on convincing her parents to move. So, she’s left with trying to communicate the best way that she can to Brad. And her drawings as a way to vent out any dark clouds that rumble inside the back of her mind.

  She pulled her blanket over her shoulder again.

  “Stop it,” she said, softly. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Lazy bones,” a voice spoke in the shadows of the room. The voice sounded deep and raspy like sandpaper across one’s face. It was harsh, the voice tone was. Sometimes the voice would rumble a low growl at the end of its words. “On your feet.”

  “I’m trying to sleep,” Jesse said.

  Inside Jesse’s mind, she could hear a loud foot stomp towards her tiny bed. The stomp could be felt, traveling throughout her bedframe and into her body. It was heavy, the footstep was. Almost like it weighed thousands of pounds.

  “Get up, Lazy bones,” the voice said, growling a bit at the end of the sentence.

  “Leave me alone,” she said, pleading—almost.

  Her blanket was flung onto the floor.

  “Get up, Lazy bones.”

  “I’ll call my mommy and daddy!”

  The voice laughed. Jesse could see bright ember glowing eyes flare up and illuminate partially its face. It seemed to crack a grin, almost.

  “Please, do!” the voice said, laughing.

  “I want to sleep,” she said.

  The thing’s face shot right into Jesse’s face. Its eyes burned like Hell’s gate. Its breath smelled like rotten flesh. The smell when a deceased person is long overdue, sitting there, rotting away, desperately wanting to be found by someone—to bury them into their six-foot new home.

  “Archon, let her be,” Eveline called out.

 
Archon whipped his head towards Eveline as she stood near the bedroom door. He let out a heavy growl.

  “Go do something useful,” he said. His head turned back towards Jesse. “I’m not done, playing with this one.” He traveled his long finger across Jesse’s cheek. “The price you’ll pay for your disobedience, child.”

  Jesse tried to scream, but her lips seemed glued shut. Glued shut, like Tiffany’s lips were glued shut. Her eyes widened as she shook her head ferociously.

  No, please, Jesse cried inside her mind.

  Then… obey, Archon spoke inside her mind, telepathically.

  It hurts, too much, Jesse thoughtfully whined.

  Good, it should. Then you’ll know to obey.

  The bedroom lights flickered.

  Archon quickly turned towards Eveline.

  “What are you doing?” he asked her.

  Tiffany, banged her fist against the wall. Her eye socket gouged out, of course. Blood still stained nicely on her shirt.

  “You two need to stop,” Archon shouted.

  The bedroom door swung open.

  “What’s going on?” John asked.

  The lights remained on. The room became quiet again. Jesse was able to speak again.

  “I had a bad dream,” she said. Jesse hated lying to her father, but she had no other choice.

  John sighed.

  “Do you want to sleep with us tonight?” he asked. He beckoned her towards him. “Com’on,” he said.

  She got up, brought her one-eyed teddy bear (Mr. Winkles) with her as she headed in her parent’s bedroom.