The Haunted

But they didn’t, and he kept on. As the bottom of the hole grew deeper, narrower, he started thinking about what it would be like to tunnel into the earth headfirst, not using the shovel but using his mouth, eating his way through the soil, carving out a smooth passageway with his body. Although he made no conscious decision to do so, James scraped out an alcove that slanted away from the main body of the hole, then tossed the shovel onto the ground above. Dropping to his knees, he placed his head into the recessed cavity. The dirt smelled good, fresh, sweet.

“What are you doing?”

James jumped at the sound of the voice, bumping his head on the roof of the alcove, causing a light sprinkle of dirt to rain about him. He noticed all of a sudden what an awkward position he was in, and he had to wiggle around, squirming backward and doing a twisted push-up in order to get himself into a squatting position in the center of the hole. He looked up to see Robbie peering down at him. His friend looked confused, disgusted, frightened.

“What is going on?” Robbie demanded.

James hopped up guiltily, dusting the soil from his hair as he pulled himself out of the hole. He tried to smile, but his friend didn’t smile back.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” James said, trying to convince himself as much as Robbie. He brushed the dirt from his shoulders. “Nothing.”

Eleven

Claire was in her office when Pam Lowry walked across the street from Cool Kids Clothing, carrying a sack lunch. The two of them sometimes ate together when business was slow, but although today’s heat had depressed foot traffic downtown, Claire was actually pretty busy. There was a lot of research to do, a lot of paperwork to fill out. Still, she had to eat, and she was grateful for the company. She’d spent the morning alone on her computer, typing, without so much as a single phone call to interrupt her, and it had given her a newfound respect for Julian. She didn’t know how he coped with that sort of routine every single day, although he was by nature a far less social and far more solitary person than she could ever be.

“Hi,” Pam said, walking into the office. “Busy?”

“No,” Claire lied.

“I needed to see another human being. I’ve had exactly one person come into the shop so far today, and that was a guy asking if he could use my phone.” Pam sat down in her usual spot in the client chair across from Claire’s desk and opened her lunch sack, withdrawing a wrapped sandwich.

“And I don’t even have an air conditioner like you do, just an old fan.”

Claire glanced over at the humming window unit struggling to cool the office. “Oh, yeah. We’re state-of-the- art here.”

“Be grateful for what you have.”

Claire got up and went to the square minifridge against the back wall, took out one of the Lean Cuisines she’d stored there and popped it into the microwave atop the counter.

“So,” Pam said, biting into her sandwich, “do you have any juicy gossip? Any big divorces I should know about? Adulterous affairs?”

“I couldn’t tell you even if I knew.”

“You always say that.”

“Sorry.”

“I have one.” Pam paused. “David.”

Claire turned away from the microwave. “David Molina?”

The other woman nodded.

Claire glanced out the window and across the street. The paperback rack was on the sidewalk out front, but the bookstore door was closed, presumably to keep out the heat. “What did you hear?”

“It’s not what I heard. It’s what I saw. Or what I noticed.” Pam took a sip from her Diet Snapple bottle. “A fairly attractive, very buxom blond woman has been spending a lot of time at the bookstore the past week or so. She’s there every other day, at least. And she always comes around lunchtime. She stays around an hour, and as far as I can tell, she’s never bought a book. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it.”

“I try not to look over there too often,” Claire admitted. “David always seems a little too—”

“Flirty?”

“Intense,” Claire said. “Anything beyond ‘hello’ gets a little uncomfortable for me.”

“Me, too.” Pam turned around. “Oh, the door’s closed. She’s probably in there now.”

“He’s married, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah. With three kids.”

Claire offered up a wan smile. “Well, if his wife ever needs a lawyer …”

The microwave rang, and she took out her lunch, carrying it back to her desk. She returned to the fridge for a Mountain Dew before settling down in her chair.

“So,” Pam asked, “when’s the housewarming party? It’s been, what, a month? How long are you going to wait?”

Things had been so hectic, what with work and settling in and the kids being off from school, that Claire hadn’t even thought of having a housewarming party.

Pam must have read as much in her expression. “Come on! You have to do it!” she said. “We all want to see your new place.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Besides, you’ll get free gifts. Kitchen supplies and alcohol. It’s a win-win.”

Claire laughed. A party did sound like fun, and for the next twenty minutes, they discussed the prospect, bouncing ideas off each other until Claire was so enthusiastic that she had no choice but to announce that she’d do it. She set a tentative date of next Saturday for the party, but told Pam not to say anything to anyone else until she talked to Julian and everything was finalized.

Through the window behind Pam, the door to David’s shop opened, and a top-heavy blonde Claire would not have pegged as a reader walked out of the bookstore onto the sidewalk, smiling happily. Seeing where Claire was looking, Pam turned around. “That’s her,” she confirmed. “A little out of David’s league, isn’t she?”

They looked at each other. And laughed.

That night, both of the kids were gone—James to Robbie’s house and Megan to Zoe’s—and for the first time in a very long while, Claire and Julian had an evening to themselves. They could have gone to a movie, could have gone out to eat, but domesticity had made them lazy, and they decided to stay in, eat leftovers and watch HBO, which was showing a big movie from last fall that they’d missed in theaters.

The movie was good but not as great as the hype and box-office receipts would have suggested, and afterward Julian turned off the lights and closed up the house while she went into the bedroom. She hadn’t done laundry for a while and this morning had found herself without fresh underwear, so she’d continued to wear yesterday’s panties. It made her feel dirty, which made her feel sexy, and she took off her clothes and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Julian.

Their sex life had definitely gotten better since they’d moved to the new house. She wasn’t quite sure why, although she’d read somewhere that a new environment often acted as an aphrodisiac. While that probably was the reason, emotionally it didn’t feel quite right. There’d been an electricity to their encounters since moving here, an almost newlywedlike hunger and excitement that being in a new location could neither explain nor account for.

Seconds later, Julian walked through the door and stopped, surprised that she was naked, though he’d no doubt assumed they’d be having sex tonight.

She spread her legs wide. “Taste it,” she ordered. “Taste my dirty pussy.”