Ghostly: A Collection of Haunting Stories

Ghostly

A collection of haunting stories

By Christin Haws

Copyright2016 Christin Haws

Smashwords edition

This is a work of fiction.

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Table of Contents

The Haunting of the Woodlow Boys

Playing Chicken

No Headlights

What You Don’t See

Spillway

House Down the Road

Short Hallway

Seaweed Man

The Wind Chime Tree

A Ride in the Country

Electronic Looking Glass

Cabintown Road

Elevator

Voice

About the Author

Home

The Haunting of the Woodlow Boys

I

The cabin stood in the middle of the woods, a lonely place made lonelier because it hadn’t been used in years. Once a summer retreat and a Christmas getaway, the life in the place slowly drained out of it as the lives that used to fill it slowly stopped showing up to the family functions. Now the cabin, still in good repair, just in a desperate need of a cleaning and clearing out, was to be sold. The Woodlow family decided it was time to let it go.

Neil and Kathleen Woodlow had three children, Jessica, Jared, and Justin, and it was the younger two, the boys, that they were sending up to the cabin for the week to clean the place up so it could be sold.

Jared Woodlow woke up the morning they were supposed to leave with a headache, but then, he usually did. Those headaches, though, were of the hangover variety. The one he woke up with this morning, and every morning for the past two weeks, was caused by being stone cold sober for too many days in a row.

He gave a thought to lying in bed until his mother came up to check on him, nudge him, and cajole him to get up, but he decided he might as well just get it all over with on his own. Throwing the covers off of himself, Jared sat up with a groan, swinging his bare legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for several minutes in nothing but his shorts waiting for the throbbing in his head to settle down. Sobriety had made sleeping difficult and Jared often found himself waking up with night sweats he thought only menopausal women were allowed to have. If he slept with any clothes on at all, he woke up feeling like he was trying to sleep in a pond. He would have slept nude if he wasn’t at his parents’ house.

The room was too bright in a morning sort of way and Jared squinted against the glare of it. The light hurt, not quite in the hangover way, but it made him think of that, and he missed it in way because he knew how to fix that kind of hurt.

Sobriety was like an eternal hangover with no hair of the dog remedy.

Voices in the hallway forced Jared out of bed, at least to put on pants before his mother came to his door to do her cheerful knock before barging in on him before he could say a word.

Stumbling to his packed bag in the corner of the room (Jared was already packed for the cabin because he’d never unpacked when he arrived at his parents’ house after getting out of rehab the week prior), Jared pulled the jeans he’d been wearing the day before off of the top of the bag and struggled to put them on without going back to the bed to sit down. He found himself leaning against the door for balance as he did what most folks do, put his pants on one leg at a time.

Here the voices were much louder and Jared could make out that one was his mother and the other was his little brother Justin, who really wasn’t at all little anymore, but that eight years between them would always feel like a lifetime to Jared and as a result, Justin would always be a baby, an inexperienced kid. Pressing his ear to the door now, his jeans hanging open and loose on his hips, Jared listened to the conversation that was less conversation and more a list of instructions a parent gives a babysitter before a night out.

You really have to watch him, Little, his mother was saying. There’s no alcohol at the cabin, but that doesn’t mean he won’t leave to get some. Don’t let him go anywhere alone. Don’t let him have the keys to the car. Hide them if you have to.

I know, Mom, Justin said, sounding exasperated. I can handle Big.

Big and Little. Nicknames bestowed upon them by their sister Jessica because despite the age difference between them, Jared and Justin looked remarkably alike. The nicknames had stuck, at least with family and some friends, to the extent that Jared was pretty sure that some of his more distant relatives didn’t know his real name.

As a rule, Big had always taken care of Little. Jessica was three years older than Jared, so when Justin did come along, she was out of the house and away at college by the time he was seven. It was up to Big to teach Little the ways of the world.

And now their mother was schooling Little on how to take care of Big.

Jared turned away from the door, zipping and buttoning his jeans, and went in search of a shirt. He couldn’t listen to any more of this conversation, a conversation that had no doubt been repeated multiple times over the last week when it was decided that Jared and Justin should go out to the cabin to clean it up for the sale, a conversation he couldn’t be privileged to because he was the one being handle. He knew what this was because it had happened before, the last time they’d made him go to rehab, a 72-hour stint that’s effect lasted a little more than a week. The whole point of sending him and Justin up to the cabin wasn’t to clean up; that sneaky witch Betsy Chasdick would have bought the place if it had been filled to the top with garbage, she’d been coveting it so long. No, like his mother said, the object here was to keep Jared sober for another week, do whatever it took to make this round of rehab stick.

He smirked at the thought.

Drunks didn’t work like that.

Jared found a suitable t-shirt in his bag, a faded green one that had seen its peak in college, and put on a blue flannel over it. Once he’d put on his socks and shoes, Jared made a half-hearted attempt to make the bed before zipping up his duffle bag and hoisting it over his shoulder, heading downstairs for breakfast and his morning lecture, which was sure to be followed by a goodbye lecture later.

The hallway was clear when he opened the bedroom door and he didn’t see anyone else until he reached the kitchen. His mother, father, and brother were already sitting at the table. A place had been set for him. Too bright, too cheerful smiles (from his mother and brother, anyway; his father barely glanced at him) met him as he walked into the room.

How’d you sleep? his mother asked, sounding overly perky.

Jared kept his sigh to himself. That’s how they’d all been since he got out of the dry out. They were either really, really perky and happy, doing anything to keep the mood up because if Jared was happy he won’t feel the need to drink; or, they were overly concerned, so sympathetic, talking softly, conveying their feelings and asking Jared about his feelings because if Jared talked about his emotions, then maybe he could exercise the demons that made him drink.

Bless them all, they were trying, but they just didn’t understand.

Fine, Jared said with a shrug and he set his duffle bag down just inside of the kitchen doorway.

Do you want some coffee? his mother asked, jumping to her feet. She bustled over to the kitchen counter, while his father and brother busied themselves with eating. I made eggs and bacon and toast for breakfast. Let me fix you a plate, sweetie.

Just coffee and toast is fine, Mom, Jared said, sitting down at his spot at the table.

His mother turned to him and frowned and Jared braced himself for the incoming wave of concern.

Big, you really should eat more than that, she said. It’s important for you to maintain your health right now.

Jared bit down on the scathing, sarcastic retort that instantly hopped on his tongue and instead said, I’ve never been a big breakfast eater, Mom. You know that.

I know, she fussed. I just don’t want you wasting away.

I’m not, Jared said, maybe a bit more harshly that he should have because whatever warm ambiance there might have been in the room quickly vanished.

Without a word, Jared’s mother set a cup of black coffee and a plate of toast, two pieces with nothing on them, on the table in front of him.

After about ten minutes of chewing in silence, Jared’s father made the first noise, his chair scraping along the tile as he pushed away from the table and stood up, taking his empty plate and empty coffee cup to the counter. He deposited his plate into the sink and refilled his coffee cup before turning around to look at his sons over his wife’s head.

Shouldn’t you boys be on your way? he asked in that dad-casual way that was more of a command than a question. It’s an hour drive to the cabin. You don’t want to waste daylight.

Yeah, I guess so, Justin said, pushing away from the table and carrying his empty plate and orange juice glass (he didn’t drink coffee; Little shunned all things caffeine) to the sink.

Jared looked down at his half-drunk coffee and his plate that still contained a whole piece of toast. He looked over at the clock on the stove. It was eight forty-five.

Yeah, he said, standing up. Don’t want to waste that daylight.

He poured out his coffee and placed his uneaten piece of toast on the stack still left on the counter. Jared had no idea why his mother made so much toast this morning. Something to do when she wasn’t reminding Justin how to handle his sober drunk of a big brother, he supposed. The thought made him snort. Blind leading the blind there.

Jared grabbed his bag from where it sat near the kitchen doorway and walked straight through the large house to the front door. He stopped on the porch and waited for his brother to catch up. Looking through the door, he could see his mother holding Justin tightly by one arm as they walked slowly through the house, his mother’s mouth moving a mile a minute with last minute reminders and instructions, his father trailing along in their wake. Jared turned his back to them.

When the front door opened behind him and Jared turned like he hadn’t seen a thing.

Now, you boys be on your best behavior, his mother said. No girls and no parties.

She was teasing, but the joke fell flat, hitting the porch like a never-inflated balloon.

You’re there to work, his father said in full dad-mode. That cabin needs to be cleaned up by the end of the week, so don’t fuck around. Betsy Chasdick is doing us a favor by taking it off our hands at our asking price. The least we can do is make sure she gets a cabin free of garbage.

Don’t worry about it, Justin said. We’ll get everything cleaned up. He looked at his brother. Right, Big?

Yeah, no problem, Jared replied flatly. We should go. He looked at his father. We’re wasting daylight.

His father just glared at him.

Okay, be safe, his mother said and grabbed Justin for a hug. Call us if you need anything. She let go of Justin and grabbed Jared, giving him a tight squeeze. We’ll see you guys on Saturday.

Or sooner, Justin said with a wink and Jared followed his little brother off of the porch and to his car.

They loaded their bags into the backseat and got in, Justin behind the wheel. Jared hadn’t had his license in years due to DUIs, not that it had stopped him from driving, but he was sober for now and that meant strictly legal.

They pulled out of the driveway, their parents watching them go from the front porch, their dad frowning and their mother waving at them until they were out of sight.

II

They drove to the cabin in silence, an hour’s worth of nothing but the radio. Little drove with both hands on the wheel, minding the speed limit, looking out for the unlikely cop on the two lane road, sneaking glimpses at his brother in the passenger seat.

Big sat slumped there, leaning on the door, watching first the town and then the woods pass by the window. No doubt that he was nothing more than a sullen grump who resented this week of cabin cleaning, which was so far from the brother than Little had grown up with.

Little could remember trips he and Big had taken to the cabin years before, when Big’s drinking was a social sort of thing, or at least that’s what Little thought, and his mood didn’t depend on his buzz. They’d drive together down this same road, usually Big driving because Big was older and he’d been driving longer. The trips usually took place during the summer, especially during Memorial Day and Fourth of July week, or during the winter for Christmas and New Year’s get-togethers. Little couldn’t remember going to the cabin in the fall, like they were doing now, with the weird October weather that was warm during the day and cold at night, the leaves starting to spark their colors as the sunsets got earlier and earlier. He could only remember the summer and holiday trips, the trips before the booze took over, and those trips were the best. Big and Little riding together, blasting the radio, singing along, joking and laughing.

Now Big couldn’t hold a conversation with anyone for more than a few sentences, not because he was too drunk to do it (which had been his existence for the last several years), but because he was too pissed about being sober to want to do it. He blamed everyone for the current state of his life and wasn’t shy about it. Big never once blamed any of them for why he drank. He only blamed them for his sobriety.

It should have pissed Little off, but instead, it made him sad.

It made him sad because Big didn’t use to be this way. Big used to be fun and happy and helpful. He used to take his share of the load without complaint and own up to his mistakes with very little hesitation. He used to be able to meet life head on and with vigor. The bitter shell of a human sitting in the passenger seat of this car looked like his brother, but it wasn’t. And Little longed to get his brother back.

Part of the reason that he agreed to cleaning the cabin wasn’t just out of duty to his mother to keep an eye on his brother, and it wasn’t just because he loved his brother and wanted to keep him sober. The biggest part of the reason was that Little hoped that if he could get Big alone, get him away from Mom and her constant vigilance, and away from Dad and his constant disapproval, that maybe, just maybe, Little could coax Big, the real Big, back to the surface. Because Little knew that he was still in there, somewhere, underneath all of the bitterness and resentment and booze. He was in there, waiting to be found, waiting to laugh and live again. Little knew that if it were just the two of them, just like the old days, that he’d find that Big again and bring him back to life.

Little hadn’t told anyone this. His parents would just be condescending about it. Their goal, whether or not they’d ever outright admit it, was to keep Big from being anymore of an embarrassment to the family. They had money, they had social status, and Big was acting, in their eyes, like the spoiled brats of those other rich families that had new money and no class or old money and no discipline. And Little hadn’t told their sister Jessica because Jessica would scoff at it. She was fed up with Big a long time ago. Besides, she was too busy being the perfect wife and mother, which was a lot of pressure in its own way, especially since Mom kept pointing out that she hadn’t lost the baby weight from her youngest (most likely because she’d never lost any of the weight from the first two boys) and he was almost three now. She really couldn’t be expected to shoulder the burden of Big, too.

After so many years of Big taking care of Little, it was Little’s turn to repay the favor.

The two-lane road wound through the woods and Little drove it with little trouble or other traffic. Side roads started to sprout through the threes and after two miles of spotting the first one, Little hung a right. This little country lane trundled on for about a mile before offering up another little side road, this one to the left and marked as a private drive. It was the road to the Woodlow family cabin.

Soon to be a Betsy Chasdick acquisition and Little was reminded of that as he pulled up to the cabin and saw her silver sedan sitting in front of it. A plump woman with a neat bob and a big smile waved at them as they pulled up.

For the first time since they’d gotten into the car, Big sat up straight.

What’s she doing here? he asked.

I don’t know, Little said as he pulled the car a little off to the left side of the drive where he usually parked.

She just can’t wait to tear this place down, can she? Big asked, his voice filled with enough venom to kill a hundred men. She’s wanted to tear this place down for years. She’s a destroyer.

Come on, Big, Little said as he shut off the car. It’s not like that.

I don’t know why we’re bothering to clean the place because you know she’s just going to tear it down and put up some modern monstrosity. Little was about to reply, but Big looked at him, looked daggers at him, and said, Oh, wait. Yes I do.

Little flinched, wounded by the implication, and he turned away from his brother, taking the keys out of the ignition and opening the door.

Don’t be an ass, Big, he said, mostly to the steering wheel. Don’t make a big deal about it. It’s not a big deal.

Before Big could reply, Little got out of the car. He walked around to the trunk and opened it as Big got out of the passenger side and opened the rear passenger door to retrieve his bag. In the trunk were cleaning supplies and some groceries for the week, not enough for the whole week, though. They’d probably have to make a food run at some point during the time they were there, but this was enough to get them started.

Betsy Chasdick started to cross the drive and Little hurried to meet her, thinking that might be the best way to prevent Big from being a jerk to her. She really was a nice lady.

Hi, Justin, she said with a big smile, which Justin returned. She looked over Justin’s shoulder at Big, who was grabbing a couple of sack from the trunk. Hi, Jared!

Hey, Betsy, Jared said with no real emotion, barely looking at her. He grabbed a third sack and then carried his load, much like the jackass he tended to be, to the front door of the cabin.

What can we do for you, Miss Chasdick? Little asked, trying to get whatever business she had out of the way so Little could get her out of here. I’m kind of surprised to see you out here so early on a Sunday morning.

It was a little after ten. Most people like Betsy Chasdick would still be in church.

I called your mother this this morning to see when you boys would be up and she told me that you’d just left. I thought it was perfect timing. I could run out here and meet you and then get to late services.

Mystery solved, Little thought.

I know you guys are going to be up here all week cleaning before the sale and I really do appreciate that. Her smile somehow got bigger, but never quite reached her eyes. I thought to show you how much I appreciate you boys doing this that I’d make you some dinners since you’ll be stuck here all week.

Oh, Miss Chasdick, you didn’t have to do that.

It was nothing! she said and turned away from him. Little followed her to her car. In the backseat were two tote bags, each carrying two casserole dishes. Betsy Chasdick pulled them out of the backseat and handed them over to Little. There! You guys should be well fed for most of the week anyway. I’ll stop by on Thursday to check on you guys. All right? Your mother said you’d be here until Saturday, but I don’t think it will take you two strong boys that long to clean out this little cabin, do you?

I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.

Well, I’m sure you guys will make short work of it. Betsy Chasdick patted Little’s arm. Enjoy those casseroles.

We will. Thanks, Miss Chasdick, Little said with a smile. The weight of the bags made him wonder if they’d be able to eat it all. Big didn’t eat nearly as much, nearly enough, anymore. We really appreciate it.

No trouble at all, she said, shutting the car door and moving to open the driver’s door. She turned to Little and lowered her voice. How is Jared doing? Your mom told me that he’s been having…trouble. Are you two going to be all right out here all alone?

Yeah, we’ll be fine, Little said, and he wondered if that was a lie or not. Big is doing okay. This is just what he needs, you know? Time away with his little brother, doing something constructive.

Betsy Chasdick smiled at him and patted his arm again.

You are a good little brother, Justin, she said and it almost sounded sincere. Little was starting to think that maybe Big’s cynicism was affecting him more than Little’s positive attitude was affecting Big. If you need anything, I’m just down the road. You should still have the number in the cabin, right?

Yeah, Little said. It’s probably on the wall in the kitchen where it’s been since I was eight.

She laughed. Probably. Do you have phone service out here?

Little shook his head. No. But we have cell phones. The service can be dodgy, I know, but mine is usually really good.

Good. I’ll see you boys later.

Little stepped back as Betsy Chasdick got into the car and started it up. She waved as she pulled away from the cabin, backing up and swinging the car around before driving down the private lane. Little watched her until her car was out of sight, the bags growing heavier as he stood there.

It wasn’t until she was gone that Big reappeared from inside the cabin, coming out to Little’s car to get the rest of the bags from the trunk.

Is she gone? he asked as he came out.

Yeah, Little said and he cleared his throat, turning to his brother. He held up the two tote bags that felt like they were filled with cement now. She made us some dinners to help get us through the week.

Big stopped at Little’s open trunk and looked at his brother.

They’re probably poisoned, Big said with a sneer.

Oh, stop it, Little said, lowering the bags. His arms ached to put them down. Stop being such an asshole.

I am an asshole.

No, you’re not, Little snapped. You just want to be.

Little turned and carried the tote bags into the cabin.

The smell of must and disuse hit him hard, like being slapped in the face with an old, forgotten glove found at the bottom of a closet in a haunted house. It was a sad smell considering how many of his memories of this place had been scented with pine needles, wood smoke, turkey dinners, barbecues, bug spray, and suntan lotion.

He walked through the living room, past the couch and chairs covered with formerly white cloths, past the fire place