Click.
I blinked at the sudden lack of light. What the heck? Were they on some kind of timer? The open basement door spilled a bit of illumination. I headed for the stairs, only to squeak as the door slammed shut.
Pure darkness reigned. I couldn’t even see the hand I waved in front of me. I swear if I’d touched something, I would have uttered the scream of all screams.
I could hear the cooling tick of the bulbs and nothing else. I didn’t like it one bit.
“Darryl?” Was he playing a prank on me? He’d better not be. I pulled my phone out and it lit for a moment, long enough for me to see it say “low battery,” before shutting down.
Just my freaking luck. The pressing blackness all around stifled me and roused a bone-chilling fear.
I took a shuffling step in what I thought might be the direction of the stairs, and immediately slammed my shin into furniture.
“Ow. Damn. Fuck.” The rare expletive slipped from my lips. Feeling around, I grasped the contour of a chair and sat down, rubbing my leg. “Stupid basement. Should have gone upstairs where it’s nice and sunny,” I grumbled.
“Stupid.”
The ghostly echo froze me.
“Hello?”
It took a second before it repeated. “Hello.”
Definitely not an echo.
“Darryl, that better not be you.” The man was obviously trying to scare me. First his story about his house being haunted then pulling this childish prank.
“Darryl.” The voice sang the name. “Darryl. Darryl. Darryl.”
What if he hadn’t lied and his house truly did have poltergeists? I’d never asked if they could hurt people.
My breathing came quicker. “Who is that? What do you want?”
“Who. Who. Who.”
The word came from everywhere, left, then right, and finally in front of me on a ghostly waft of air.
“Stop it.”
“Make me.” The cold breath of the words hit my nape, and I was out of the chair like a shot.
“Stay away.” I stumbled amidst the furniture, banging and scraping.
Even through the noise I made, I heard it singing and giggling, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”
“I’m not a witch.” I hollered the words. A witch wouldn’t be scared. She’d have a spell to fight the nasty voice and light the wretched basement.
“The only thing worse than a witch is a liar.” The frozen syllables blew into my face, and my teeth chattered.
“Who are you? What do you want? Show yourself, coward.” I shook like a leaf in a storm on the inside, and yet my voice never once faltered. I sounded strong. Confident.
The voice mocked me. “Are you afraid of the dark?”
“No.” A lie but I wouldn’t admit to being weak. “So you can stop this, right now. Whatever joke you’re playing with Darryl, it’s over.”
“It will never be over because if you fail then there is always the child.”
3
The words chilled me to the bone. “Leave Winnie out of this,” I yelled. “You hear me? Leave Winnie alone!”
“Who are you talking to?” Darryl’s voice echoed around the basement, and I blinked.
I opened and shut my eyes again just to make sure. The lights were on. I appeared alone. Darryl had paused halfway down the stairs, Herbie at his heels.
“There was…” I opened my mouth to spout the crazy, to tell him about the taunting voice in the dark, except, with the light on, I could see pretty much the entire basement again. Lots of junk and furniture and no one else. Could someone be hiding down here? Yes. Was it likely?
I already knew the answer and had a feeling this was going to be another one of my episodes. Like the one where I was convinced I had a walk-in closet, yet one day it disappeared and I suddenly had a reading nook and a wardrobe. Or the dishes that kept changing in my cupboard.
Trish said it was magic. I said brain tumor. Had to be. I wondered how long I had to live. Not long enough to outlive my embarrassment of acting nuts in front of Darryl, I’d wager.
“Let me guess,” he said. “The damned lights went out on you.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Been having some problems lately. I think mice have chewed some of the wires. I keep meaning to get an electrician in.”
“You really should,” I agreed. “It didn’t help you shut the door.”
“It must have been a draft, either way, I am sorry. I know it can get freaky down here when it’s dark,” Darryl confessed.
It oddly made me feel better. “You should keep a flashlight around just in case.”
“I should have ignored the doorbell and stayed with you.”
The right thing to say, and I had no reply. Didn’t know how to act either. How could I be so awkward at my age?
“I should get back to the shop.” I did my best to look casual walking to the stairs. I was proud of the fact I didn’t run.
“Speaking of the shop, what do you think of the stuff? Think we can sell it?”
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. There was a temptation to tell him no. What if the antiques in his basement were haunted and he brought that voice to my store?
A businesswoman didn’t turn down a good deal. Besides, ghosts weren’t real.
“I think you’ve got a lot of nice treasures.”
“So you’ll take some of it?”
“I’ll take pretty much all of it, just not all at once. When you get a chance, let’s start with a few of the tables and chairs, along with some of those boxes. If they sell, then you can keep bringing in stuff.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He rubbed his hands. “I’ll load the truck up in the morning and bring it to the store.”
“Perfect. I’ll catalogue them, and then we can figure out prices.”
“Maybe over dinner.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking nervous.
The sudden invite caught me unaware. “Um, yeah, sure.” In my forties with the suaveness of a dumbstruck teen.
Then it occurred to me, would we eat at the diner where the whole town would gawk at us? Okay, maybe not everyone, but enough people for the gossip chain to go nuts.
“Friday night?”
I almost said yes, and then I remembered. “I can’t on Friday. I’m supposed to have girls’ night at my place.”
Most guys wouldn’t have resisted the temptation to say something dirty like, “Sounds like my kind of party,” or “Can I join?”
Darryl wasn’t one of those guys. “Maybe we can do something a different night then?”
“Saturday?” I eagerly offered.
He grimaced. “I wish I could, but I’m expected somewhere already. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
And that quickly, my chance at a date evaporated into the maybe-soon zone. Was it wrong that the horny middle-aged me almost suggested changing girls’ night? I clamped my lips tight and petted the dog, who rolled his big head and eyed me with brown eyes that almost had a rusty feel to them.
Exiting his house into the fresh air, I quickly forget the childish terror of the dark. My overactive imagination really needed to calm down or soon I’d not be able to separate my false perception from reality.