That started around Christmas. We tried to hang the photos again, but they fell two more times that week. We gave up after a couple of frames broke.”
Rich made a note.
“And when did you start to think it might be something supernatural?”
“The voices,” James said. Voices? That was a new one. Rich wrote it in the margin. “We hear them every night, usually around two, after an hour of heavy footsteps. We can never find the origin. We’ve even called the police once or twice, and they never find anything, either. It’s deeply unsettling, isn’t it, honey?”
Elise glared.
“What do the voices say?” Rich asked.
“They tell me to kill,” the wife said. Considering that she was still wearing the oven mitts, she managed to make that sound extremely menacing.
It couldn’t have been warmer than seventy degrees in the house, but Rich felt like he was going to sweat through his coat. He shrugged it off. “What else have you observed?”
“One of our mirrors shattered,” James said. “The one in the upstairs bathroom.”
“I’d like to look at it.”
The couple led him to the stairs, and Rich kept scanning the walls as they ascended. No photos on the second floor, either, but there were a lot of tiny holes in the drywall.
“And when did you two start having problems?” Rich asked, waving the pen between them.
James and Elise were two steps above him on the stairs, but at the question, the man stopped. “Pardon?” he asked as Elise continued to ascend.
Rich gave him a pitying smile. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I’ve seen this kind of activity in a dozen homes now. Breaking mirrors, falling pictures, footsteps. All of it began with marital strife.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” James said, joining his wife on the landing.
“Yeah,” Elise said. “Never been better. Honey.”
She slapped him on the butt.
James’s head whipped around, and he fixed a hard stare on her. The very first hint of a smirk showed at the corner of Elise’s lips.
There was something wrong here, but Rich just couldn’t figure out what. Were they afraid to admit they might be on the brink of divorce to a stranger? Maybe they just hadn’t admitted it to themselves yet.
The instant his foot touched the top of the stairs, pain spiked through his chest again, and he forgot everything else.
This time, the pain was blinding. Stars flashed in the corners of his vision, and he had to hang onto the banister to keep from slipping down the stairs. He was distantly aware of someone touching his shoulder, James and Elise speaking above him, cold ceramic underneath his hand. But all he could feel was the fist in his heart.
A deep voice rolled through him.
Kill them .
He blinked, and his vision cleared. The ringing in his skull faded.
Elise was staring at him again. It was her hand on his shoulder, oven mitt and all, and her hazel eyes pierced him like shards of glass. “You all right?” she asked.
Pushing her arm off, he stood. “Altitude,” Rich said, even though he knew that wasn’t any kind of explanation. Something rattled in his chest when he breathed. His heartbeat fluttered. “I’m sorry, but did one of you say something a second ago? Something about…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“No, sorry,” James said. “Maybe your investigation should wait. You seem under the weather.”
And lose next week’s rent? Not a chance.
“Let’s just look at the mirror so I can begin deducing what vengeful spirit is plaguing your life,” Rich said. He couldn’t seem to work up the usual amount of pomp for that declaration, but he didn’t care anymore. He needed to get his money from these people and get out before the wife stabbed him or something.
Elise slipped into what must have been the master bedroom, leaving James to show Rich the bathroom. The mirror wasn’t just shattered—it had been pulverized. Fragments covered the counter, filled the sink, sparkled on the
Rich made a note.
“And when did you start to think it might be something supernatural?”
“The voices,” James said. Voices? That was a new one. Rich wrote it in the margin. “We hear them every night, usually around two, after an hour of heavy footsteps. We can never find the origin. We’ve even called the police once or twice, and they never find anything, either. It’s deeply unsettling, isn’t it, honey?”
Elise glared.
“What do the voices say?” Rich asked.
“They tell me to kill,” the wife said. Considering that she was still wearing the oven mitts, she managed to make that sound extremely menacing.
It couldn’t have been warmer than seventy degrees in the house, but Rich felt like he was going to sweat through his coat. He shrugged it off. “What else have you observed?”
“One of our mirrors shattered,” James said. “The one in the upstairs bathroom.”
“I’d like to look at it.”
The couple led him to the stairs, and Rich kept scanning the walls as they ascended. No photos on the second floor, either, but there were a lot of tiny holes in the drywall.
“And when did you two start having problems?” Rich asked, waving the pen between them.
James and Elise were two steps above him on the stairs, but at the question, the man stopped. “Pardon?” he asked as Elise continued to ascend.
Rich gave him a pitying smile. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I’ve seen this kind of activity in a dozen homes now. Breaking mirrors, falling pictures, footsteps. All of it began with marital strife.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” James said, joining his wife on the landing.
“Yeah,” Elise said. “Never been better. Honey.”
She slapped him on the butt.
James’s head whipped around, and he fixed a hard stare on her. The very first hint of a smirk showed at the corner of Elise’s lips.
There was something wrong here, but Rich just couldn’t figure out what. Were they afraid to admit they might be on the brink of divorce to a stranger? Maybe they just hadn’t admitted it to themselves yet.
The instant his foot touched the top of the stairs, pain spiked through his chest again, and he forgot everything else.
This time, the pain was blinding. Stars flashed in the corners of his vision, and he had to hang onto the banister to keep from slipping down the stairs. He was distantly aware of someone touching his shoulder, James and Elise speaking above him, cold ceramic underneath his hand. But all he could feel was the fist in his heart.
A deep voice rolled through him.
Kill them .
He blinked, and his vision cleared. The ringing in his skull faded.
Elise was staring at him again. It was her hand on his shoulder, oven mitt and all, and her hazel eyes pierced him like shards of glass. “You all right?” she asked.
Pushing her arm off, he stood. “Altitude,” Rich said, even though he knew that wasn’t any kind of explanation. Something rattled in his chest when he breathed. His heartbeat fluttered. “I’m sorry, but did one of you say something a second ago? Something about…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“No, sorry,” James said. “Maybe your investigation should wait. You seem under the weather.”
And lose next week’s rent? Not a chance.
“Let’s just look at the mirror so I can begin deducing what vengeful spirit is plaguing your life,” Rich said. He couldn’t seem to work up the usual amount of pomp for that declaration, but he didn’t care anymore. He needed to get his money from these people and get out before the wife stabbed him or something.
Elise slipped into what must have been the master bedroom, leaving James to show Rich the bathroom. The mirror wasn’t just shattered—it had been pulverized. Fragments covered the counter, filled the sink, sparkled on the
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