The Elm House Read online

  The names he couldn’t google up or turned up dead ends, Brad scratched their names off with one or multiple lines. Most of those who lived prior to the Elm house had recently vanished without a trace, or they either (maybe, possibly a wild guess) changed their names. There were a couple of them who had social media accounts. But when Brad looked at their accounts, they seemed to not be very active. He felt defeated and was about to close his laptop. A sound notification came from the laptop’s speaker. He glanced at the screen and saw some unknown friend message him.

  “333 Elm Road, your new home, right?”

  Brad typed back.

  “Yeah, who is this?”

  “Someone… someone who lived there, decade ago. We can talk, yeah? Maybe at a place somewhere.”

  Brad’s stomach punched him for some odd reason. Who was this person?

  Don’t ever talk to strangers. If a stranger asks you for the time, you need to run, Brad remembered his parents telling him when he was around Jesse’s age.

  “Who is this? Don’t say ‘someone’ either.”

  Brad waited until the person on the other end finished typing.

  “I’m related to my great-great grandma: Eveline Gardner.”

  Brad looked over at the list of scratched out names. His eyes frantically scan each line. Eveline… Eveline… Eveline…. Ah! Ha! There you are… Eveline Gardner.

  “Your name, please.”

  Brad typed feverously and annoyed from the poking around the bush.

  “Casandra Davis.”

  “That wasn’t too hard, right?”

  Brad typed faster than he normally would.

  “There’s a local sandwich shop on Cook St and Bank Ave. We should eat there around noon, today.”

  “Okay… how would I know it’s you?”

  “I’ll be hard to miss. LOL!”

  LOL? I have a really bad feeling about this, Brad thought.

  If a stranger asks you for the time, you need to run—run like the wind, Brad, and don’t look back.

  Brad gathered Colin and Timmy before meeting Casandra Davis at the Subman shop on the corner of Cook Street and Bank Ave. Subman Shop, “Best Gawd Dawg Sandwiches—Guaranteed” motto printed in bolden black letters on the store’s side window, was the town’s local corner sandwich shop. It seemed favored by the town’s younger crowd than the older crowd. But the store has seen its days. Inside the store; the ceiling tiles collected mildew (brown splat in parts of the tile), and some sections of the paint seemed to peel away and attempt to escape from the wall. Yes, the store seemed to struggle with its daily maintenance and upkeep, a sure-fire sign the business was going downhill. Inside the store, it seemed vacant—not one soul sat at the tables nor stood in line for their sandwiches—and completely empty like a ghost town.

  “My parents owned it,” a voice called out from behind.

  Brad turned to see a woman, maybe in her early thirties, with long curls in her hair. She didn’t seem scary or frightening.

  “Owned… what?”

  The woman smiled and reached out her hand towards Brad.

  “I’m Casandra,” she said.

  Brad shook her hand and nodded. There hasn’t seemed a reason to be alarmed. She seemed alright.

  Casandra looked up at the corner’s store sign and sighed.

  “Good memories, here. Good memories.” She appeared lost in time almost, Brad assumed. It seemed like she remembering the time her parents owned the sandwich shop. It seemed that something jerked her awareness from her memory and back into the present.

  “Well, I suppose… I’ll give you boys a ride to my house.”

  If a stranger offers you a ride or candy, you must run. Run, Brad, run like the wind and never turn back.

  It’s three against one. She can’t overpower us. Or can she? Can she? She seems friendly.

  Brad, stop being stupid and listen carefully. The friendliest ones are the most dangerous ones. Psychopaths prey on the innocent use charm to lure their victims into their net. Don’t be an idiot and naïve.

  I’m not being naïve! She doesn’t look dangerous. There is no crooked smile on her face, nor she doesn’t seem to have ill intent.

  Well, fine, Brad, since you’re so eager to have your photo on a milk jug… go with that stranger.

  Brad nodded then paused. Prey on their weakness, the psychopaths will do. They’ll try to lure them into their net.

  “I… I think… I forgot something at home.”

  “Boys, trust me. You’ll return back home. You can trust me, yes?” Casandra nodded, smiling from ear to ear. Her pearly whites shown in a friendly gesture. “It’s fine, you’ll be safe.”

  A vehicle slowly parked onto the curb. The car’s door swung open then slammed shut.

  “Casandra, you need to head back.” A man grabbed her by her shoulders. This man was a police officer. His partner stood next to him.

  “Boys, go home.” The officer’s partner told them.

  Casandra screamed and shouted.

  “I don’t want to go back there… please! No! I don’t want to go back! Please! I have a message for Brad. A message… a very important message!” Casandra struggled against the police officer as he placed handcuffs on her wrists.

  “The house is evil, Brad. It will consume you, and anyone you love. The house, Brad, is evil.”

  “Com’on, Casandra, in the car.”

  “The house… consumes, and forces families to rip themselves apart. Brad, you and your family must move. It’ll grow stronger, the longer you stay.” Casandra finally was thrown in the back of the police vehicle. The back-side door slammed in her screaming and shouting face. Her eyes seemed to beg for Brad to listen to her insanity.

  “Wait…officer. Can I talk to her for one second?” asked Brad.

  “One second,” the officer said, opening the back-side door and took guard.

  “Brad, listen…” Casandra said, trailing off to some weird thought then snapped back. “The house—”

  “I know the house is evil. Who is Eveline Garner?”

  Her eyes danced about as she was deeply thinking or remembering something. It seemed like she finally had remembered something and smiled.

  “She murdered her children and husband,” she crackled. “God told her to do it.” She nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “God instructed her to kill them,” she hysterically laughed. “God… yes… God instructed her to kill them. They were rotten within, spoiling away.”

  “That’s enough, Casandra… time to go back.” The officer said, shutting the back-side door on her then entering shotgun in the patrol car. Moments later, the patrol car drove off.

  If a stranger offers you a ride or candy, you must run. Run, Brad, run like the wind and never look back.

  The three boys stood there—terrified of their encounter. Their encounter with Casandra Davis; the local nutjob from Old Willows Brooke Asylum.

  The house is evil. It consumes.

  God told her to kill her children and husband.

  They were rotten within, spoiling away.

  God instructed her to kill her children and husband.

  The house is evil.

  Chills raced along Brad’s spine as he remembered Casandra’s crazed warnings. Maybe her crazed ramblings meant something, Brad thought. The house did have its weirdness to it. There are moments that aren’t readily explained away with logic. For instance, the attic door creaking open then slamming shut. My sister having a full-blown conversation with herself in the attic. Ms. White’s voice heard in my ear inside the attic. The house has its quirks. It does seem to want something from my family.

  A scream echoed loudly throughout the kitchen.

  Brad darted out of his room, down the second-floor hallway, down the steps.

  Thud-thud-thud-thud!

  His feet made on the wooden stairway towards the first-floor hallway. He swung around the corner and bee-lined it down towards the kitchen. He busted into the kitchen and skidded a bit as the kitchen fl
oor was recently mopped. Brad went up in the air then came crashing down on the tiled floor. His back throbbed with an ache as he slowly got up.

  Brad’s mother covered her laughing mouth but couldn’t hide her giggling eyes.

  “My sweetheart,” she cooed, helping her son up onto his feet.

  “What’s the rush?”

  Brad placed his hand on his lower back. He’s surprised he didn’t break his tailbone. The pain was on his lower right side near his spine was but near his right kidney.

  “I heard you scream,” he said.

  “A mouse darted in front of me,” she told Brad, turning around to finish mopping. “I believe he ran out into the garage. I was coming in the garage when that furry little creature whooshed right past me. Boy, I tell you, darling… my heart was inside my throat.” She chuckled to herself. “How’s your back?”

  “It’ll get better.”

  “Hold on one second,” she said, placing the mop back into the bucket. She headed into the hallway, opened a closet door (opposite side to the stairs that head up to the second floor) and pulled out Icy-Hot cream and disposable latex gloves. She came into the kitchen and instructed Brad to lift his shirt a bit. She slid her hands into the latex gloves, applied some cream onto the glove and rubbed it thoroughly into Brad’s lower-right of his back.

  “Come… and pray with me.”

  Brad flinched and looked at his startled mother.

  “What?” he asked.

  She blinked rapidly and appeared to be puzzled.

  “Everything alright?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows. She looked over at the lower-right of his back. “Did I hurt you?”

  Brad shook his head.

  Maybe, I’m hearing things. Yeah… I’m most likely hearing things.

  He could feel a draft of air tickle his ear.

  “Come… pray… please… come.”

  Brad flinched his head again. His heart already in his throat.

  It’s in my head.

  “Are you okay?” His mother asked, sounding very concerned.

  “It’s just cold. The Icy-Hot cream… I wasn’t expecting it.”

  Brad couldn’t actually tell his mother that he was hearing voices—now could he? She’ll consider tossing him inside a psyche floor for a bit… or laugh it off and call him silly.

  “There,” she said, smiling, pulling down his shirt.

  “Feel better?”

  Brad moved his lower back some, nodded then gasped. For a moment, he didn’t know why he became so tense and startled. But once he realized why, Brad had a good chuckle to himself.

  It was the mouse that his mother screamed about. The mouse was backed into the corner, wiggling its nose and staring at Brad. It appeared to be scared, alright, and rightfully so. The mouse was inside someone else’s house and was an intruder. An intruder some would kill instantly with a trap or tacky paper. One could only imagine the suffering a mouse would endure—glued down to one of those tacky papers. It certainly wasn’t less humane—that was for damn sure. A one-swift crushing blow to the mouse’s vertebrae should be more humane than those glue traps. Those spring-loaded traps, they had to be—an instant kill for the mouse.

  Brad knelt down and held out his hand.

  “Any bread or anything?” he asked his mother.

  “I could hit him with a broom?”

  “No. We’re not killing the mouse. I’m going to bring him outside… or make him into a pet.”

  “Boy, wouldn’t your father be proud. He would take one look at that creature and snuff him out with his boot.”

  “Mom! Get some type of food for the scared little mouse.”

  “If he bites you, we’re going to rush you to the hospital. You would probably get rabies.” She headed over to the fridge. Surprisingly, the mouse didn’t budge—not one damn bit. The mouse’s attention was somehow fixated on Brad. Almost like the mouse had some odd connection with him. Or… the mouse could be having a heart attack from the sight of a giant holding out his hand.

  Brad’s mother returned with a slice of American cheese. American cheese made by a local meat store—Eckert’s Meat Market. They had fresh meat sliced and prepared right in front of the customer. Now, Eckert’s Meat Market does have the best Gawd Dawg Meat—Guaranteed! Who knows how long other sliced and prepared meat had been stored or what not in grocery stores or super retail stores?

  She handed over the slice of American cheese and watched Brad.

  He tore a slight piece of cheese and held it out to the mouse. The mouse’s nose wiggled as it inhaled the aroma of the cheese. It seemed to like it, too, as the mouse slowly crept towards Brad’s hand. The mouse was coming closer and closer… a couple centimeters near the cheese between Brad’s fingers. The mouse stood on his hind legs, grabbed the broken apart American cheese and ate it. Boy, did the mouse eat the American cheese. Little fella was hungry as the mouse ate the cheese.

  “I hate to be a tease, buddy, but you’re going back outside.” Brad picked the mouse up by its tail.

  Squeak! Squeak!

  The mouse made as he flailed about in mid-air. Brad’s heart melted.

  “Fine… don’t bite me, though.” Brad said to the mouse. He realized how silly he was for talking to a mouse. A mouse that could just bite him and run off, and he’ll have to get rabies shot. Yup, he’ll have to get a rabies shot—alright. But Brad trusted the mouse, oddly enough. He placed the mouse into his hand, cupped both hands around the mouse and used his thumb to gently pet the mouse’s head. The mouse became relaxed.

  “Do we have anything to keep him?”

  Mother sighed and rolled her eyes. She nodded.

  “Yes, we do. I’ll get Eddie’s cage. God, how long has Jesse held onto the blasted cage for.” She headed into the garage.

  “What do I name you?” he asked to the mouse. The mouse seemed to becoming very sleepy and cozy as Brad stroked its head with his thumb. Its eyes slowly closed, opened half-way then closed again. The mouse’s breathing slowed down.

  “I’ll figure out what to call you.” Brad smiled.

  He sure did make a friend alright. A tiny friend that startled his mother to bits. It dawned to him what to name him. His new little friend’s name would be—Furball.

  Jesse’s old hamster cage was cleaned out thoroughly and placed on Brad’s dresser. He moved his soccer trophies a bit to have room for his new companion. Luckily, Jesse (somehow) still had the water bottle, little bowl, metallic wheel, bedding (made out of Aspen shavings) to place inside the cage. The cage wasn’t too big but not too small, either. It was appropriately about three and half inches shorter than a foot wide and two feet in height. Boy, did Furball love his cage. Furball tried the wheel first, jumped off the wheel and sniffed around. He moseyed over to the water bottle, stuck out his tongue and sipped away at the tiny water droplets that hung from the bottle. Furball’s excitement cracked Brad up, a bit, as he watched Furball explore his surroundings. Furball dug into his fresh new food, too, with enthusiasm (it appeared). His five-star meal for the day was chopped up carrots, pieces of chopped apple and celery.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying your food, little guy.” Brad turned to head downstairs to the dining room to eat dinner.

  Jesse seemed energetic as always, kicking her legs up and down at the table, giggling away as she ate. The bags underneath her eyes seemed to diminish, Brad saw. So, it’s apparent that Jesse had possibly better shut eye than most nights. Jesse’s skin had a healthy radiant glow and didn’t appear to give any hint that she awakened out of coffin. It seemed to Brad that he had less to worry about. But he couldn’t shake off one thing though. The shrilling pleas of Casandra’s warnings about the house, ran rapid inside Brad’s mind.

  The house is evil.

  God instructed her to kill her children and husband.

  The longer you stay; the stronger the house becomes.

  It consumes you and everyone you love.

  “You two are in for a treat tomorrow night.” Brad’s
father smiled.

  “Movie night?” Jesse asked, raising her eyebrows and wearing her contagious smile on her face. Her little baby teeth exposed.

  “No, we’re getting you two a babysitter. It’s about time that your mother and I busted a groove in town.”

  “Bust a who?” asked Brad. Babysitter? Why? “Why a babysitter?”

  Mother laughed, covering her mouth. Father joined shortly and nodded.

  “Bust a groove means to dance. Go out and dance.”

  “Ah,” Brad said. “Can’t you guys just say—date night?”

  “Sure,” father replied. “Why not.”

  Some reason or another, father’s face shifted and changed. It seemed contorted and hiss back a snarl.

  “If it pleases your simpleton little brain of yours,” he said, eyes flaring bright red with a devilish grin across his face.

  Brad blinked his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” father asked, leaning over slightly towards him.

  Brad nodded slowly.

  “I must’ve daydreamed or something…”

  Brad couldn’t come up with an explanation of what he’d saw. Not to his father, Brad couldn’t explain—for damn sure. He eyed balled his mother but noticed no contorted or sinister face. He even eye balled his sister, yet he didn’t see any sinister change in her face. They seemed to be laughing amongst each other and happy.

  The room did, however, become a bit dim.

  Father, mother and Jesse slowly cranked their neck towards Brad. Their faces shifted and rippled into distortion as they wore a malicious grin across their faces. Their eyes burned bright red like fire embers.

  “What’s the matter, Brad?” they said in unison.

  “Afraid we’re going to kill you in your sleep?”

  “Terrified to step foot in the attic?”

  “Horrified to sleep at night?”

  “Come, Brad, pray with us… Come, pray with us!”

  They kicked back their heads and crackled manically.

  Brad’s eyes fluttered as he felt dizzy. It appeared almost like in slow motion. He felt weightless. Everything around him had blurred, Brad saw. Then—