The *** House

The one month time frame that I had allotted for Violet gradually stretched out into several. I had sessions with Ben every other day, and I was growing to like him more and more all the time. He believed that part of the cause was some kind of suppressed, traumatizing memory of my childhood, but I was coming up blank every time he breached the subject. Maybe I was just broken.

Tate swore that I was switching over to what I now referred to as “my dark side” much less often. I didn’t know if he was being sincere, or if he was simply trying to stop me from finding a reason to leave. Either way, his encouragement seemed to help.

Violet and I spent a lot more time together as well. She would leave messages with Ben, asking me to go up to her room when my sessions were finished. She hadn’t dared to venture down when Tate was around since that one day when she’d convinced me to try therapy.

Tate did seem truly grateful to her for the things that she’d said to me, but I couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t telling me everything. He acted almost a bit envious when I would come back downstairs after playing cards in Violet’s room for a couple of hours. I think that he was secretly jealous that he hadn’t been the one to find a logical reason for me to stay. Or maybe he was just upset that he couldn’t always be everything that I needed. I didn’t want him to feel that way, but I didn’t know how to change what he was thinking, either.

Winter came again, and the Harmons made a big show of continuing their Christmas celebrations even after death. They brought a tree up from the basement and decorated it together, laughing and smiling all the while. Tate and I stayed far enough away that they couldn’t see us.

“I used to love doing things like that,” I admitted longingly. “It was one of the few times that we were a real family. Of course, in the last few years, Jason was off at school and the tradition just kind of stopped.”

“We never really did stuff like that. My mother was usually too drunk and wallowing in her own self-pity for that. Addie always wanted to do that, so usually her and I would decorate and stuff. Beau was always chained up somewhere; he never really got to be involved. It was a shame, really.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I was interrupted by a jingling of keys in the front door. I darted into the study, even though it was pointless. I would never really get used to the notion that I could be invisible any time I wanted. Tate followed me, his eyebrows low over his eyes.

The door opened with a sorrowful moan; it didn’t get used often anymore, and Marcy hadn’t been here in months to keep up with the ailments of the house. It was a good thing for her that Moira still hadn't found a better use of her time than relentlessly cleaning. The realtor entered, already boasting the grandeur of the property.

“And notice the real Tiffany glass fixtures! They’re still from the original owner of the house. They were installed in the 1920’s. Isn’t it amazing how beautiful they still are?” Her small eyes were alight as she described the one aspect of the house that was still in its original state.

The prospective buyer was a fairly young couple. A heavyset woman cradled a pink-wrapped bundle in her arms, occasionally casting loving glances down into the folds of cloth. Her husband was several feet taller than her, and he had a strong build and an angular face. He was scrupulously inspecting every detail that Marcy pointed out, while his wife attended to her infant.

“And just wait until you see the kitchen!” Marcy gushed, beckoning them forward with a quick wave of her hand.

I glanced back into the living room to see that the tree was still up, but the Harmons were gone. I turned back to Tate with a helpless stare. “If they buy this house, how many ghosts will be after that baby?”

Tate frowned. I could see that he didn’t want to admit just how high the number was. “At least four,” he said finally.

I hurried after the small group that was touring the house. “How can we stop them?” I asked, knowing that Tate was following close behind me.

“We can’t do much of anything while Marcy is here. But if they buy it, we can scare them off.”

The group was moving through the house quickly. The woman made a delighted comment about the way that Marcy had made the house appear so festive, and Marcy pretended that she had put the tree up herself. She paused for just a moment, looking confused and pale, before she pressed on and led them upstairs.

“I can’t say that I’m loving all of this old furniture,” the man admitted as they peeked into Violet’s room.

“Well, once you own the house you are free to do whatever you want with it,” Marcy said cheerfully. “If you feel like carting it all off to the dump, it certainly wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”

As they proceeded into the master bedroom, the man asked the burning question that every person asked in this house. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I beg your pardon?” Marcy smiled sweetly.

“The price is just so low; there has to be some reason for it. Is it termites?”

“Oh goodness, no! Structurally, this house is as sound as the day it was built. Past owners have put a lot of work into it and ensured that it was still in great shape. It’s just that, almost a year ago, there was an incident. A teenaged girl was mugged and wandered onto the property. She passed away from her injuries on the front lawn.”

“Is that why the previous owners left?”

“Not at all,” Marcy smiled again. “The previous owners simply couldn’t get used to the personality of the house. It’s quite old, you know. Creaks and groans at night are to be expected. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for a building with as much history as this one. That’s another reason for the low price, you see. They wanted a quick sale so they can renovate their new home. They bought a newer house, but even they had to admit that this one was much more beautiful.”

The man nodded, appearing satiated by her explanation. “Well, unless there’s something that I’m missing, this place looks perfect. And we definitely won't get more for our money anywhere else. We could raise an entire family here, Nancy. Did you notice that one room is already set up for a nursery?”

The woman looked up from her baby. “Yes, but we’ll need new furniture in there. Do you honestly think that that old crib will be up to today’s safety standards? I want my little Harper to be perfectly safe all the time.”

Tate and I exchanged a look. That baby was not going to be safe in this house. I stepped aside as the tour group headed past me and back down the staircase. “I want to help get rid of them.”

“You don’t even know if they want to buy it yet,” Tate said, looking just a bit unsure of my determined demeanour.

“Well if they do, I’ll be waiting.”

Ben poked his head out of the master bedroom. Apparently, he’d been eavesdropping on the conversation that Tate and I had been having. “Do you want to have a regular session today, Ainsley? Or would you rather help us figure out some new and exciting ways to scare off unsuspecting buyers?”

“Is there a way to do both?”

Ben smiled at my enthusiasm. “Meet me down in the study as soon as these people leave.”

“Can I sit in on this?” Tate asked. His voice was distant, as if he were mentally preparing for us to shoot him down before he had even asked his question.

I looked up at Ben. I didn’t want him to say no, but I would understand if he did. Tate wanted to help, but it was completely rational for Ben to never want to speak to him again. Ben stared at Tate with dead eyes for a long moment, and Tate seemed to shrink under his gaze. Finally, Ben frowned.

“If you’re going to help us to frighten those people away, you can join in on the planning. But you can’t be there for her session. That’s just not acceptable for a client to have to deal with another person during therapy.”

Both Tate and I nodded our agreement. That was fair. Besides, Ben often asked about my relationship with Tate, and it would be even stranger if he were there with me. It wasn't that Ben was being unprofessional, though. He was only asking questions that directly related to each of my flare-ups. I headed down toward the study with Tate trailing slightly behind. I watched as the couple exchanged phone numbers with Marcy, stating that they were very interested and would likely place an offer that evening. I shuddered, then ducked into the room that had become my home. Tate curled up on the couch, while I paced directly in front of him.

"You're making me dizzy," he teased, watching me switch directions yet again.

I ignored him and continued walking until Ben entered the room. Tate skulked off, his head hanging low. I didn't know what he did while I was in my sessions, but I knew that I was probably better off not knowing.

"So, from what everyone else has said, you haven't had any incidents at all since we last spoke," Ben smiled brightly as he made himself comfortable in a high-backed chair.

"We spoke ten minutes ago," I pointed out as I lowered myself onto the couch. I settled into the warm spot that Tate had left behind.

"I meant our last session," Ben corrected himself. "We're a day late, you know. You lasted three days instead of just the usual two."

I shrugged, feeling slightly off-put by his praise. "It's not like I deserve a cookie or something. I just haven't seen anyone other than you, Tate, and Violet."

"You look tired," he notes. "Have you been sleeping properly?"

I didn't want to admit that lately Tate and I had been a little busier than usual after dark. I may have been dead, but I was still a hormonal teenager. And what was the harm if he took my mind off of things for a little while? Instead of telling Ben the truth, I shrugged. "No worse than before. Just an occasional nightmare here and there. I think it would help if I didn't just lose myself in the other persona, you know? Even if I wasn't in control, if I could see or feel what I was doing, then maybe it wouldn't scare me so badly. There wouldn't be so much mystery involved."

"That's one of the amazing things about the human mind, isn't it? It prevents you from ever knowing the realities that you might not be able to handle."

Less than a week later, the moving truck arrived. I felt a surge of panic inside of me. If they moved all of their things in, and threw out the furniture that we were still using, what would be left when we successfully scared them away? I stood close to Tate in the foyer, watching two overweight men try to balance a crimson sofa between their bodies.

"That one goes in the living room!" The woman, Nancy, called out to them from where she stood, looking down over the railing from the second floor.

One of the moving men glanced from one side to the other, trying to remember which direction the room she meant was in. The other man grunted under the weight of the furniture and heaved it in the appropriate direction. Tate laced his fingers with mine as they passed us by.

"Tonight is the night," Tate said in a hushed tone. For the first time, I knew without even thinking about it that he was being overcautious. These people couldn't hear us any more than they could see us. Maybe he was just acting this way for my benefit. "They'll be gone as quickly as they came."

I nodded numbly, watching as Nancy's husband shoved the sofa that I had slept on for almost a year against a wall to make room for the foosball table that was waiting at the back of the moving truck. The toy seemed childish to me, and the notion actually bothered me. I was supposed to still be a kid. Any other high school senior would have been thrilled to find a foosball table in their home. I, on the other hand, wanted it to be gone. I wanted my sofa-bed to be back in its appropriate spot. I frowned as I realized that my fear of change was making me sound a lot like Nora. Maybe soon my dark side would be attacking this side of me.

"Are you ready to put on a great show?" I asked, forcing the very corners of my dry lips upwards in a half-assed smile.

"I have a feeling that you're more than ready."

I nodded again, though there was more power to it than before. "I'm so ready."

He gently put an arm around my waist and led me toward the basement. "Let's get everything set up, then."