Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  He wasn’t taking no for an answer, spinning frontward he persisted along Lucien Court. I lost sight of him as he vanished behind a giant oak tree. Unsure, I begged my legs to move. Everyone in the Hallows had been well aware of the history of the Lucien Baskerville Estate erected in 1895. Its property buckled into the railroad and Hallow Saints Cemetery was practically in its backyard.

  A cul-de-sac, named after the founder, Lucien Court sustained only three houses: The Lucien Estate and two ancient shingled colonial houses. The Estate had been abandoned after several new homebuyers had claimed inexplicable occurrences. Three years ago, the beige colonial situated on the east side of the Estate had burnt to the ground, more than likely squatters or kids. On the west side of the street, the unkempt green colonial was where I grew up—until Mom had been murdered there.

  Chapter 6

  Making an effort to control the shakes, I removed the flashlight from my pocket and pressed the button, it didn’t work. I smacked the cylinder tube into the palm of my hand, and thankful, it flickered on.

  My light floated over weedy grass and along the curb-less road. Imbued with reluctance, my feet grazed on the familiar broken sidewalk, recollecting every crevice and irregular concrete pad. “He-e-nry.”

  A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and the ominous sky was caving in. I needed to look for my cell phone before it rained. It wasn’t my desire to get stuck in a rainstorm, in particular on the Court. “Henry, where are you?” I walked in a hurry, meaning to grab him and get the hell out of there.

  It seemed instinctive for my body to stop and turn. A shroud of darkness engulfed my old homestead. Petrified and trapped in a mysterious spell, my legs had an inescapable gravitational pull to where I grew up. I toddled toward the porch like a zombie in motion and directed light on splattered crimson stains. It wasn’t possible, was it? A horrific reminder, blood had leached into the craggy wood.

  Like touching my sneaker on the stains was sinful, I sidestepped onto the porch. My vision was drawn to the suspended porch swing. A flash of memories: Mom tucking a blanket around me. Mom reading while rocking back and forth.

  The squared picture window now blanketed in dusty dirt. I pocketed the flashlight and skated over to the window. Employing the sleeve of my hoodie, I erased a grimy patch.

  I cupped my face like a pair of horse blinkers and plastered my nose to the cleaned patch. Too dark to see anything and, scooping out the flashlight, I affixed it to the glass. It didn’t make a dent in the dark.

  For sure I thought I saw something move. My breath fogged the pane and I swiped at the condensation and looked again. A tongue thrusting, open-mouthed face sneered at me from inside the house. I let loose a gut-wrangling scream.

  I backed away and hit the porch railing, falling to my knees.

  “It’s me.” The face yelled through the glass. “It’s me—Henry.”

  Within a minute Henry was leaning over me.

  “Chill, Leo,” he said through a chuckle. “Just a Halloween gag. What’s with the fainty crazed gig?”

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—” severely hyperventilating—“You gave me a fucking heart attack.” The world tipped upside down. Henry supported my elbows and carted me to the porch swing. “I think—” gasping —“I think I’m going to kill you.”

  I tingled like pins and needles were sticking into my face. “How’d you …get in…the house?”

  “I didn’t break in if that’s what you’re thinking,” he relayed. “The side door was open.”

  As far as I knew the house was supposed to be locked up tight. It’s been on the seller’s market for the past six months. Your average Joe normally didn’t like to purchase a home where an unsolved murder had transpired, go figure.

  “What’s gotten into you?” He swept the hair from the sides of my temples, rendering free my face which remained tingly. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  “How long have we known each other?” Not waiting for his answer. “Two months, Henry. You don’t really know me.”

  “I know that I like you. I know that I want to be with you.” His brow lowered, turning sober, he reached for my hand.

  Oh, no. I created a monster just by being nice; helping the new kid, and now it backfired. When did I acquire such compelling charm? If Henry persisted in hounding me, Becket would think we were an item. “I do like you.” I tried sounding earnest while putting the kibosh on the phony fixation he’d conceived. “Like a friend.”

  He grinned. “Friendship that’s growing.” He slanted into my body as his thumb stroked the top of my hand.

  I pulled my hand away and scrubbed off his touch. To eliminate my current predicament, I leapt to my feet sending him crashing to the ground. “You wanted to see the Lucien Estate.” I indicated the way with a hop over the two front steps and ran through weedy grass. I threw over my shoulder, “C’mon or are you a scaredy cat?”

  He whooped while pole vaulting over the porch railing, running after me.

  The Lucien Baskerville Estate spread over sixteen acres of land: A three-story Victorian structure resembled the classic haunted house. Weathered planks boarded a few of the first story windows where kids had thrown stones and rocks. I still recollected the day when cruising on my new two-wheeler bicycle, Hallow crewmen had hammered boards over the broken windows. The structure consisted of four gables, a hexagon turret and at its summit, centering the facade, a exceptional, circular stained glass window. Pillars and posts upheld a wraparound porch and the second and third story balconies. Sun-baked grime covered a galore of rectangular windows.

  “So what’s the story on this crib?”

  Henry and I lingered on the sidewalk staring at the lofty mansion, tall stalks of brown grassy weeds infested the property. I inspected the windows for signs of recent break-ins and located a broken window on the second level. “There’s lots of stories,” I related. “Probably most of them are fabricated bullshit.” We stood shoulder to shoulder and I turned to look at him. His eyes squinted behind his lenses, peering upward.

  “Holy-moly, this place rocks.” The breathy phrase plated around his head. “I see a fun-ass Halloween bash.” He strode over a bricked pathway toward the wraparound porch. “So, Leo, give me a history lesson.”

  The mansion encased with overgrown shrubbery and mutinous vines twined the main pillars, bleeding over the roofline. Scads of fronds dangled from gutters weaving intricate netting over the porch, and a rusty chain bolted the double-door entry. “I’ll give you the condensed version. It starts with Lucien Baskerville and his new bride Monique.” Weeds scraped at my jeans as I tracked in Henry’s footsteps. “Lucien started a cargo business and set up shop on Lake Erie. His investment paid off and had shipyards all around the Great Lakes.”

  Henry fought at disentangling vines that ate the side of the house and the door as I continued, “He met Monique at Port Sault Ste. Marie. Lucien thought she was nobility, a daughter of a wealthy land baron. She conceded to his proposal of marriage if he built her a beautiful home, supporting her in the lifestyle she was accustomed.” I spread my arms. “Here it is. After they married, Monique squandered Lucien’s fortune. He pleaded to his wealthy father-in-law for a loan. Monique’s father laughed in his face. And then Lucien ascertained that Monique had been sending funds and gifts to her family in Sault Ste. Marie, leaving him penniless. Her task complete, Monique had another wealthy suitor waiting in the wings.” I paused, waiting for Henry to look at me. “Her lover.”

  “Whoa, you have the tale memorized. Awesome.” Henry’s fingers circled the rusty chain and wrenched the links devoid of results. Flexing his arm and squeezing his biceps, he said in a Swedish accent, “I need to pump some iron. Let’s find another way in.” The porch creaked underfoot as we trekked further. He swerved back to me. “Okay, go on. Her lover…?”

  I tweaked my eyebrow and strived for a dastardly grin. “Before she left, Lucien had been drinking heavily and claimed to see ghostly people wanderi
ng aimlessly in the mansion. These ghosts informed him of Monique’s adultery. Nowadays a psychiatrist would’ve called him a schizophrenic, but he only saw these people at the mansion, nowhere else.”

  “Are you making this shit up?”

  “It’s a major part of Star Hallow’s history.” Feeling a chill, I tugged on the long sleeves of my hoodie. “Pretty much every kid who grew up in the Hallow has memorized the story. If you don’t believe me you can check out the book in the library.”

  “How’d you know Lucien was psychotic?”

  “It’s documented. And I’m adding flair just for you. Stop interrupting, okay.” I cleared my throat. “While Lucien had been gone on his many business trips attempting to recoup his floundering company, Monique could be found having relations with her new conquest. One day he surprised the staff and came home early. A servant confided to him of the mistress’s illicit affairs.

  “Lucien went berserk. He stomped into the study where his honored sword from the civil war decorated the wall. Removing it from the mount, he marched up the staircase.” I reached and grasped Henry’s arm for emphasis. “It’s said to this day people who’ve been in the mansion can still hear the clunk, clunk, clunk of the sword hitting each step as he walked.”

  His body shook as I released him. “Lucien surprised Monique and a man leapt from the bed only to be spliced in two.” Pretending I held a sword, my arm whooshed through the air. I stopped for a breather, actually frightening myself.

  Henry pried a wooden plank from one of the window frames, then fed his body through the aperture. “Hand me the flashlight,” he said, sticking his arm out of the gap.

  After handing over the light, I peeked in. A delicate shine rolled over ghostly shawled furniture in white sheets.

  “Come on in.”

  Chapter 7

  I crawled over the windowsill and a shard of glass ripped my jeans at the knee, gouging my skin. “Oh, darn.” I examined a dribble of blood and swabbed the fluid with my jeans.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine, just a scratch.” I glanced around, and trilled, “Cr-r-eee-py.”

  “Haven’t you ever been in this amazing place?” He wielded the flashlight beneath his chin knowing how sinister he’d appear and chortled like a hyena.

  “Stop it, Henry. This place doesn’t need any encouragement.”

  “So truth—you’ve never been in here?”

  “Truth,”—I lied—“Never.”

  “Our first adventure into creepsville. Cool.” Moving the light around the area, he sighed in disappointment. “Just looks like a typical home with lots of heaping crap.”

  “What’d you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Something out of a horror flick.”

  “Looks pretty gross to me.” Stationed in the corner had been an elegant, grand piano. My fingers swept the dust and raised the piano’s lid. I pinged the out-of-tune keys, tinkling echoed throughout the room. Henry disrobed a piece of furniture, peeling off a sheet. Dusty particles soared into the air catching the beam of light.

  “This couch looks ancient.” He ran his palm over the fabric raising tons of dust motes.

  “No one has lived here since the 1980s. My mom once told me that whenever people moved in here something bad always happened within five years.”

  “You’re kidding?” Henry’s indistinct face looked dark and elated. “You mean this mansion has been vacant that long?”

  “It’s prime property,” I said. “Those two houses on either side of the estate were originally built as servant’s quarters in early 1896. Over the years gullible out-of-towners wanted to transform the mansion into all sorts of excellent ideas. Buyers have been weirded-out by the—”

  Henry interrupted, “What idiots would actually believe that legend?” He spun around taking the light with him. I was swallowed in dark shadows. “This place is a goldmine. If I had the money I’d buy it.”

  Whether it’d been rehashing Lucien’s tale or traversing back to the scene of Mom’s murder, I felt a boding presence and didn’t like it. “Henry, we should leave. There’s something off with this place. Can’t you feel it?”

  “I love it!” Out of the blue he tore from of the room, taking my flashlight with him. Heavy thumping sounded as he herded up the winding staircase.

  “Don’t leave me.” Scuttling after him my skin itched like worms squiggled beneath my skin. “Henry!”

  “This way, Leo.” He streamed light onto the stairs.

  My palm cleaned the banister, scooping mounds of dirt. Achieving the second floor landing, I brushed my hands over my jeans and glared at him. “You dirt bag, you left me in the dark.”

  “I got excited. C’mere, let’s look around the old joint. Maybe we’ll see a headless body or something.”

  “Hilarious.” My hand darted out stealing the flashlight from him. “It’s my flashlight.” I sounded rather surly.

  “Damn, Leo. Don’t get so hot and bothered—unless—” Swiveling into me, Henry’s mouth engaged my lips in an off-centered kiss.

  I forced him off. “I’m not hot and bothered for you, Henry James.” I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth and noted his wounded pride.

  “Let’s start at the top of this shit heap.” He started a two-step lope up the second flight of stairs and was eaten by the gloom.

  “Henry, I want to leave,” I whined after him. “Remember we’re supposed to be looking for my phone.”

  A peculiar shushing fed through the walls; I didn’t like the sound of that. Alone and defenseless, I felt like a human bull’s eye. From somewhere deep within, I dredged up novel tenacity and sped up the stairs, stalling once to sneeze. My feet struck the third floor in hopes of finding Henry. “Come out come out wherever you are.” Fixed on the precipice of the landing, I listened for his footsteps. “Henry?”

  I heard lightweight scuttling and aimed the light toward the baseboard. Scurrying mice, nasty. Flashing the beam into a slender hallway it parted into a T at the end. I’d seen a stirring shadow. “Is that you, Henry?” It had been years and years since I undertook such daring exploration and never in the dark.

  I walked ever-so slow, depositing one trembling leg in front of the other. A clothesline of flimsy cobwebs adhered to my face and I swatted at them like a harebrained loon. I suppressed a cry. “Henry, I’m getting pissed. I want to leave.”

  A faraway tone hailed—“Up he-e-r-e…” I witnessed a draft of white vapor being sucked up the fourth flight of stairs. A ghost? At this juncture it felt like icy fingernails clawed up and down my vertebrae like a sure fire tip off.

  In the opposite direction came another voice, “Leo—Leo, this way.” Relieved at hearing Henry, I turned away from the fourth flight of stairs and the strange vapor. I walked into the hallway and stopped at the T. “Henry?” After an unwarranted decision, I banked to the right.

  Four six-paneled doors lined the walls. I twisted the first ornate knob and showered light into a mishmash of clutter. I then travelled down the hall to the adjoining door. The musty stink engaged my sinuses in a most unsavory way. Snuffling, holding back another sneeze, an ambiguous scent itched my nostrils. What was that smell? A sound like water dripping and splashing into a pot, perhaps the roof leaked. At least that’s what I thought when I shouldered open the door.

  Black, not even a hint of light. The revolting stench heated up the room; I thought an animal decided to die up here and rot. I plugged my nose to block the stink. Guiding my feet with the flashlight, my sneakers stepped into a gooey substance. I pried them up listening to the suctioning sound, the goo looked reddish-black. The source of the stench?

  My paranoia maxed out. I was going to leave Henry. Let him find his own way out. While revolving back toward the hall, the beam sliced through the room. On the fringe of fleeing, I caught sight of something. For support, bearing down on the doorknob with my left hand, I cast the light upward, toward the high ceiling.

  A bristly rope knotted around a chandelier. My light f
ollowed the line of rope and landed on a corpse. Not animal—human.

  “Henry?”

  Chapter 8

  Strangling on a scream, my bumbling legs didn’t register with my scattered brain. Sneakers swam in the goo and I fell on all fours. The rubber soles troughed to grip the floor, and when they did I zoomed like a missile. Superman had nothing on me as I flew faster than the speed of light. My feet surfed over three flights of stairs.

  Throaty laughter ricocheted from wall to wall like a ping-pong ball. “Leo. Leo. LEO!”

  Like hell—I wasn’t stopping. On autopilot my feet scrabbled to the main floor at warp speed. The front door had been bolted with chains so I hightailed it for the living room where we came in.

  Snatched from behind.

  Gurgles chased up my chest and I operated the flashlight like a battering ram.

  “Leo, stop—!” He barred my attack and one-handedly filched the flashlight from my hands. “Get it together, girl.”

  “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Fuming hotter than hellfire, I sucked breath through my teeth. “Is this your idea of a practical joke? You sick bastard.”

  “Calm down, Leo, please.” Henry barnacled my flaying arms to my sides. “I wanted you to see the ingenious of it all.”

  “By scaring me into an early grave? You shithead. Let me go.” I jostled from his grip. “Did you plan this whole charade? What was that up there?”

  “We can make money. You can buy that car you keep talking about.”

  “What’d you mean, how?” I said, seething.

  “I’ve been hanging out here. Coming up with bizarre ideas. I brought you here to show you what we could do with the place.”

  My head swam. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t breathe.” Once outside I cracked my mouth, filling my lungs. Even the pressurized atmosphere was better than the congested air flow in the Lucien mansion. I sighted isolated heat lightning in the sky; the predictable storm would be upon Star Hallow soon. “Hurry, I want to check out the railroad tracks for my phone before we get soaked.” Prior to him answering and not caring if he followed, I began a high-speed hike through the maze of vegetation behind the estate.