Vintage: A Ghost Story (12 page)

“Baby, baby, bye,
Close your little eye!”

The soft voice, distinctively that of a young girl singing, chilled me to the bone. I spun about but the figure on the bed remained deathly still.

“When the dark begins to creep Tiny-wees must go to sleep.”

 

The doll’s mouth opened and closed in time with each verse.

 

“Lammy, lammy, lie, I am seven, I;”

 

I backed away until I hit the door. My hand found the knob but it would not turn.

 

“Little boys must sleep and wait If they want their bed-time late.”

I kicked back with my foot against the door. My heart raced, but I could not look away from the doll. One of its tiny plastic arms began to move back and forth, pawing at the air.

“Trace!” I screamed. “Trace!”

 

The doll’s eyelids flicked open. It stared directly at me.

“Fidgy, fidgy, fie,
There’s no need to cry!
Soon you’ll never dress in white, Never sleep, though it’s always night.”

The girl on the bed sat up. I could see the marks on her neck, dark traces against china-white skin where hands had choked her. “No more, Donnie. Please, no more.” Her voice sounded exactly like the doll’s.

The door behind me suddenly opened and I fell backward, hitting the carpeted floor of the hallway. Above me I could see Taylor and Trace’s face in the welcome glow of the lighter. Both looked concerned.

“What the hell happened to you?” Taylor asked.

I rose up on my elbows. The room I had just been in looked utterly different. I faced a home office. “I don’t know.”
Taylor offered me a hand up. “Whatever made the sounds stopped, I think it must have been a tree branch hitting the roof.”
He glanced back down the hallway. “The rest of the rooms are empty.”
“No Samantha.” Trace sighed. She looked half-asleep.
There was no point in telling a somnambulistic Trace that I had seen Samantha. I closed the door to the office and rested my hand against the wood. The last thing she said was far more frightening than the doll’s song. I didn’t think that a friend had been the one that raped her. Or killed her.
The lights came back on, making us all blink and shade our eyes.
“Guess they found the problem,” Taylor said.
Maybe.
Kim met us at the bottom of the steps. She stank of strong tobacco and drank straight from a bottle of dark rum. “Playing hide-and-go-seek?”
“Where’s Maggie and Liz?” I asked. I hoped they had enough play with the Ouija board for one evening.
She nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Arguing.” She rolled her eyes. “Lame.” When we headed that way, she yelled out, “Do they still call it a cat fight if two dykes are going at it?”
Through the swinging door that led into the kitchen I overheard Maggie gripe, “It was just a kiss—”
“No. You’re always doing that, reaching for me,” complained Liz. “God, I can’t turn around without you being right next to me.”
We came in to find Maggie slouched against the refrigerator door, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m your girlfriend. We’re supposed to—” She stopped when she saw us. Her face was flushed.
Liz was across the room from her, dipping a baby carrot into an open jar of salad dressing. “I’m tired of being smothered. I didn’t even ask you to come tonight.”
Maggie flipped Liz the finger. “Fuck you, these are my friends too. Hell, I introduced you to them.”
“Uhh, I see the lights are on.” I stammered.
“Genius. Now I see why you don’t go to school.” Liz snapped.
Ouch. “Okay, guess the party’s over.” I turned right around and left.
Trace followed, pouting. “Aww, no.”
“It’s okay.” I saw Taylor standing behind her. “You stay.”
“Want me to drive you?” She began looking about the room. I figured she was trying to find her purse.
“You’re not driving after what you drank,” Taylor said. “Do you want me to drive you?”
At the door I waved aside the request. “I’ll be fine.” A lie. I didn’t really want to go home. Josh might be waiting for me there. Might be. But I couldn’t stand to watch the girls have a relationship meltdown.
When Maggie stomped by and threw on her leather jacket by the front door, I saw my chance. Before she could grab the doorknob I moved to her side with my duster in hand.
She looked up at me with red eyes. “You leaving, too?”
“Yeah.”
“C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.” She slammed the front door behind her.
Her jeep was parked in the driveway. She swept some magazines off the passenger seat. “Get in, it’s cold out.” She turned the key too hard and the engine grinded. On the next attempt, the motor roared to life and she maneuvered the stick shift into gear and backed out fast without even checking to see if any cars were coming.
“Where do you live again?”
“Off of Crestview. But let’s just drive around a while, ’kay?” I was in no huge rush to get back.
“Gotcha.”
Maggie gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make her fingers white. She made every turn fast, squealing the tires.
“Want to talk?”
“’Bout?” She glanced at me a second then looked back at the road.
“You and Liz obviously had a fight.”
“That’s all we’ve been doing lately.” She leaned her head against her left hand.
I wasn’t sure what to say but my remaining quiet must have begged her to say more.
“We’ve barely kissed in weeks. I don’t know what she even wants anymore.” Maggie barked a bitter laugh. “I don’t think she knows. The bit about buying that lingerie at the shop for Halloween was a line of bullshit. I thought,” she wiped an eye that started tearing. “I thought that if she saw me wearing it, something elegant, she’d want to… well… we’d…”
Inwardly, I added this moment to my top-ten list of awkward situations. The last thing I should be doing was giving out relationship advice. Me, the little goth boy being stalked by a dead jock.
Both of us were silent while we drove around town. Everything was still and quiet with few other cars about. Finally, the dashboard clock ap proached my curfew and I asked Maggie to take me home. She nodded and in a few minutes pulled onto my street.
“I hope it works out. I mean, when I see you guys together, I think to myself, ‘That’s what I want.’”
As she stopped in front of my aunt’s house she favored me with a faulty grin. “Thanks.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I should be thanking you for the ride. You want to come in? I think we still have some awful cocoa mix left over.”
That made her laugh. “No, I’m thinking I might ride around a while, clear my head.”
“I’m envious about the tongue piercing.” Actually the truth. I stepped out onto the curb.
“Heh, the only reason I got it was ’cause I thought she’d like it.” She gave me a little wave and then drove off.
I watched the lights from the jeep get smaller and smaller until I realized how vulnerable I felt standing all by myself in front of the house. I dashed up to the porch and felt relieved only when I was through the front door.
Flicking off the light my aunt had left on for me, I headed to my bedroom when I felt a presence. The fine hairs on the back of my neck rose. In my mind’s eye I could see him, standing there behind me, reaching out one hand toward me. I froze. Josh. I may have whispered his name or simply thought it. Did it matter?
“Where were you?” I never knew such a soft voice could be so accusing.
“With my friends.” I whispered, afraid to wake my aunt. I refused to turn around.
His fingers chilled my shoulder, making me weak. In a rush, I remem bered how he made me feel last night. Like an addict, I wanted his touch again.
“I’m your friend. You don’t need anyone else.” If Josh could breathe, I would have felt it softly against my cheek.
“Please. Not tonight.” My voice trembled. I hated how he made me so afraid of giving in.
“You would rather be with them?”
I tried to focus on being back in the tub and worrying over whether I’d ever get warm again. It made it easier to say, “Josh, just go.” I started walking away down the hall.
Up ahead, from the darkness of my room, two eyes glowed blue. “No.”
He moved so quickly, stepping out before I could turn and run. Out of instinct, I lifted up a hand, to fend him off. My fingers met his chest, sinking through the letter jacket he wore.

I’m sitting on the floor of a landing. Across from me, leaning against the wallpa per, a red-haired girl twirls a curly lock in her fingers and smiles knowingly. Why it takes me a moment to recognize her, I don’t know. She’s infamous though. Arlene the school slut.

She leans forward and takes from my hand the half-full can of Blackdram beer I hadn’t realized I’m holding. She brings the metal cone top to her shiny pink lips. A slight trickle escapes while she drinks and she giggles and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I turn away feeling uneasy. I can hear music playing downstairs.

“Josh.” She nudges my penny loafer with her foot. “I’m wearing the school colors.”
I look at her. Her fuzzy sweater is white with pale blue trim and the slim skirt just a shade darker. “No you’re not.”
Again that giggle; it sets my teeth on edge like a dentist’s drill.
“Yes I am,” she says softly and begins lifting up the edge of her skirt. Her eyelids lower. “Underneath.”
Oh God, I think. I have to get out of there. I rise up, a bit unsteady. I must have had more than just a few sips of beer.
“Here, let me help you.” She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me toward her. Before I can stop her, her lips are pressing against mine. I can smell her lipstick, taste it as she forces her tongue into my mouth. Sickly sweet and making me gag.
Bile rising, I push her off me and rush toward the first door in sight, hoping it’s the bathroom. Luck’s with me, and I could almost sigh in thanks to see the toilet if I wasn’t nauseous.
“Josh, are you okay?” Arlene knocks on the door a few times while I’m throwing up.
After flushing, I move to the sink, turning the faucets and splashing water on my face. When I look up, I cry out. The face in the mirror. It isn’t my own. Some scrawny kid with dark hair and girlish features stares out at me.
“Josh, you’re scaring me.”
I turn around at Arlene’s shout. When I look back all I see is my dripping face, looking pale and slightly wild-eyed. Maybe the beer has skunked on me.
“It’s okay,” I call out to her. “I just need to be alone a moment.”
She doesn’t answer. I cup a handful of cool water and rinse out the bad taste in my mouth. I dry myself with one of the hand towels. Then open up the medicine cabinet. My eyes fall on the bottle of Old Spice. Gary’s father’s. That’s right, I remember the gathering is at Gary Mitchell’s house while his folks are away for the weekend.
I uncap the bottle and take a deep sniff. Such a wonderful smell. I close my eyes and think of Gary’s father back at a summer barbeque, wearing a T-shirt that showed off the man’s muscles and the hint of graying chest hair.
Roddy would look as good when he was forty. Roddy. I never stop thinking of him. I should be downstairs next to him, not that jerk, Colin. My only reason for being up here with Arlene was a plan to make Roddy jealous. He doesn’t seem to care.
With my fingers clutching the cologne, I smash the bottle into the mirror. The act, so brief, does not help. If anything, it leaves me wound even tighter. I look down at the shards of glass in the sink. My reflection lies shattered. One blue eye stares back at me in over a dozen places.
Arlene isn’t waiting for me outside the bathroom. I take the steps down two at a time. I’ll talk to Roddy, get him to see what a mistake he was making, what he was risking losing. Me. He should be wanting me.
Down in the rec room the Everly Brothers are singing off a 45.

Bye bye love, bye bye sweet caress, / hello emptiness / I feel like I could di-ie

“No.” Josh gasped. He disappeared and a moment later re-appeared way down the hall, his gaze on the ground.
My heart raced. I sought to cling to his memories, eager to know what frightened him so, but our contact had been too brief.
“I won’t lose you.” Josh began to fade. “Not again.”
I kept hearing those words and his voice even after he had vanished.

Chapter 8
F
RIDAY

At the shop, nothing went right. My mind wasn’t on straightening up. I waited for Trace to call me; I felt sure she would. But the phone remained quiet. Finally, at around four, I couldn’t stand being all alone and anxious anymore. I closed up, telling myself that no one would have come by anyway and that if Malvern found out, I’d say I didn’t feel well. I hated doing it, but I couldn’t stay there. I needed to do something about what had happened last night. Trace would understand.

Her car wasn’t parked outside her house but Second Mike’s bike leaned against the porch steps. A wonderful smell drifted from nearby, burning leaves on the breeze, my favorite scent of autumn.

I rang the doorbell. No one answered even after I pushed twice more. The windows were dark. Laughter, trailing from around back, reached me. The smell intensified as I walked around.

115

The Vaughn backyard looked like an abandoned archaeological dig. Remnants of old toys and playthings were scattered about. A battered slide. A leaking sandbox. Closer to the house, a picnic table and benches. Second Mike stood in front of the open barbeque grill his father had bought last month. In one hand he held up a clump of brown leaves. When he saw me, he smiled and dropped them onto the coals. Gray smoke rose up, tinting the air around him.

“Grab some,” he called out and headed over to the nearest pile by a fallen rake.
I went over to him.
“So who’d you come over for? My sister?”
“Maybe.” I reached down and grabbed a small branch. I poked him lightly in the side with it. “Maybe not.” I wasn’t really lying. Still, I had to wonder how I could let myself sweat Second Mike. Wasn’t it wrong to be so into your best friend’s little brother? But his quirkiness intrigued me, made me want to know him better.
He paused to look up at me. “Oh?”
“Where’s she at anyway?”
Mike seemed disappointed that I asked. He shrugged his thin shoulders and went back to picking up more leaves. “The supermarket.”
A small leaf, the edges curled, was stuck on the back of his T-shirt below the neckline. I reached for it, plucking it off. He turned around and watched as I crumpled it in my hand. “The yellow ones are especially dangerous.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t laugh and left me feeling totally self-conscious. What was I doing, standing there? I realized I so wanted him to just kiss me again, yet I couldn’t bring myself to make a move.
He dropped another handful into the open grill. We both watched as the leaves quickly caught fire, becoming incandescent orange before turning ash gray.
“Burning them is illegal.”
“So?” He wiped his hands on his shirt.
I grinned. “Maybe I should turn you in?” I couldn’t believe I was flirting or that it seemed so easy, as if instinctual.
He surprised me by suddenly lunging, pushing and knocking me over. I landed in the pile, hearing their crackle beneath me. “Arrest me then.” He held out both arms to me, wrists upturned.
I paused, unsure what I should do next. Was this flirting back or just roughhousing?
I dared to reach up and grab an arm, pulling him down on top of me. He landed on my chest. His face, only inches from my own, seemed caught in a moment of delight before softening to uncertainty.
With a hand still on his arm, I could feel his pulse quickening beneath my touch. My mouth dried up as we stared at each other. I wondered what he was thinking. I would have given anything to know.
Second Mike scooted forward, sliding over me. With my other hand I reached up and brushed my fingers through his short hair, marveling at the soft texture. He allowed my fingers to roam. His lips parted slightly and his eyes closed.
I hesitated only a moment to wonder how I had ever deserved his interest. Then I rose up and kissed him, my tongue slipping effortlessly into his warm mouth. I felt more, then heard his gasp and panicked a moment, worried that I had done wrong. But he never pulled away, instead pushing himself down upon me.
We lie there together, holding each other, barely breathing as we kissed. I kept my eyes open, taking in the sight of him so close. Deliriously count ing the freckles on his forehead, all seven, I was thankful I could see nothing else but him.
I never heard her footsteps; Mike had done too thorough a job of clearing the lawn of leaves. But the thud and something appearing suddenly beside my head shocked me. Mike too jumped, breaking our kiss and falling off me.
I turned and saw a very full grocery bag lying next to me. Trace stood be hind it, staring down at us. Her face looked drawn.
Our words tumbled together, Mike and I both trying to explain, as we disentangled ourselves. My face burnt red. Trace bit her lip as she picked up the bag and brought it over to the picnic table. Mike looked at me nervously a moment before following after her.
“I didn’t expect you. We’re having a little sister-brother picnic.” She lifted up a wrapped package of meat and let it drop to the table while looking right at me. “Seems you’re more than welcome to stay. Why don’t you go inside and get some plates?”
I opened my mouth, hoping that something brilliant would come out and explain away everything she had seen. But I only stuttered out a syllable before she said “plates” again and pointed toward the house.
I gave Second Mike a sympathetic shrug and headed for the back door. Inside, the house was dim. As I moved into the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. I looked around but saw nothing; the entire house seemed hushed, expectant. When I went over to the cabinets I felt watched and the muscles in my back tensed, stiffening my shoulders. I grabbed some plates and turned around and found myself face to face with Mike.
Surprised, I jumped a little, the plates rattling unsteadily in my hand. I almost relaxed, almost gave him a smile and reached out to touch him when I realized it wasn’t Second Mike standing in front of me. The resemblance was uncanny; if I had been spending so much time of late paying attention to Mike’s features I would never have noticed the difference. This boy’s face was smaller, younger, and the hair a bit darker. He wore clothes I had seen Mike wear, but in better shape; the jeans looked almost new.
I took a step back, feeling my backbone strike the edge of the countertop. First Mike—it could only be him, his ghost— did not move. He just stared at me.
As I stood there, I could sense the sadness surrounding First Mike’s spirit with an almost tangible aura. A little red bubble formed from one nostril on the slight nose. Mesmerized, I watched it grow little by little until it popped, silently. Then a rivulet of blood began, leaving a bright, crimson trail over the lips and chin. I watched the drops fall and leave little splatter marks on the linoleum. The ghost remained as motionless as a marble statue.
I ran. By the time I had reached the backyard, my mind had reached new heights of paranoia; how many times had I mistaken what-I-thought-was Second Mike in the house for his dead brother? Once or twice? Countless times? Again, I worried how long had I been seeing ghosts and not realizing it? Months?
Trace and Mike stared at me wide-eyed. I had trouble looking at Second Mike. I kept on expecting him to shift, to change into his older brother.
I saw him,” I gasped. “Inside.”
“Who? Josh?” I could hear the fear in her voice.
“No. Your brother.” I found myself laughing suddenly, though the joke was on me. “You always said the place was haunted. Why didn’t we check it out? See who was home?”
“Calm down.” Trace held my face in both her hands. “Mike, I’ll be right back. Stay with him.”
I watched her go in. I think I called out, “Why not invite him over? Make it a sister-brother-brother picnic.” I didn’t like the hysterical note in my own voice.
Mike rubbed my back and stayed close. I closed my eyes and the plates I held slipped and would have fallen if Mike didn’t catch them.
“Sorry,” I said, embarrassed at him seeing me like that. My sense of shame seemed to calm me down.
“Would have been easy to clean up.”
“No, for freaking out like this.” I sat down on the bench. What was taking Trace so long?
He remained quiet a moment. “Did you really see him?”
I nodded.
“What was he like?” He sat on the table top facing me.
This had to be rough on him, also. I wanted to shield him, keep him safe and unaware of such things as ghosts. “You’re cuter,” I said, weakly trying to make light of the situation. He blushed.
Trace came back out then. “Nothing in there.”
“Was there any blood on the floor?”
She hadn’t expected that question. “Not a drop.”
I rubbed my face, feeling unsteady. “He was there.”
“So he really is dead.” She stared at the house. “I guess we all knew, but no one liked to talk about it.” She reached for her purse. Her hand shook. “Mike, mind getting the bottle that’s in the trunk?” She tossed him the keys. He caught them and nodded.
“Are you okay?” I asked as Mike dashed off around front.
“No. I—I don’t know what to think. I want an explanation of what I saw.”
“Maybe we can help him—”
She held up a hand, stopping me. “No, that bit with you and Second Mike. Not right now. I don’t want him to come back to an argument. Just think about it.”
An apology came to my lips too late. I should never have hidden something so sensitive from her. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mike returning with the liquor bottle.
“Remember,” she said to me softly. “He means more to me than any friendship.” She smiled at Mike when he handed her the half empty bottle of gin. “I know I need a drink.”
I was more numb than tipsy when I left them. It had been an awkward picnic. I didn’t know who or where to look. If my eyes spent too much time lingering on Mike, I felt caught in the act of further wrongdoing. If I looked at Trace, I could see the disappointment and worry in her own eyes. Even the house seemed threatening to gaze at. So I kept quiet mostly, pushing the food around on my plate, until the sky had darkened. My goodbye to both seemed measly; I knew I should have done more: at least a hug with Mike and just finding the right words to say to Trace. But I couldn’t; I felt helpless.
On the walk home, I kept thinking how sad his spirit was. Are all ghosts miserable in their undeath? Never knowing peace, always lurking about, often unseen and unheard, year after year? Did Josh want me not out of love but more out of a desperate need to keep from being lonely? I remembered that fear.
If only there was some way to free them. Maybe a séance was necessary. If I managed to talk to First Mike’s ghost, find out why he haunted the house, that might be the first step.
At home, I dialed the only person I knew who owned a Ouija board.
Liz picked up the phone on the third ring. “You’re not still angry, are you? Or are we going to have to play Sorry for a while?”
Inwardly I groaned. It was never wise to come near either Liz or Maggie when they were fighting. “Liz, it’s me.”
She quickly recovered from her surprise. “This is a first. You’ve never called me before.”
“Yeah, sorry ’bout that. Listen, can I stop by and borrow that Ouija board?”
“Now’s not so good—”
“C’mon, I’m desperate.”
No sound from the other end and for a moment I worried that somehow I lost her. “Why do you need the board?”
What could I say that didn’t sound insane? But then, this was Liz, the girl who liked to dope her guests, who once thought that a mix of self-hypnosis tapes and masturbation would lead to a better O.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll speak to a ghost.”
Liz chuckled. I breathed easier. “Anyone I know?”
“Trace’s older brother.” I regretted saying it instantly. My insanity was one thing, but revealing Trace’s involvement in even a distant way was wrong.
“Oh.” Again some silence. “What are you wearing?”
“What was that?”
“How are you dressed? Old clothes or new?”
“Umm, new. Black T-shirt and dyed-red jeans.”
“Hmmm, okay. Come over.”
I hung up feeling as confused as if I had drunk three of those damn Jim Joneses.