The Haunted

The music switched off. Or was turned so low that she could no longer hear it.

“Thank you!” she called out.

Seconds later, the back door opened, and Julian came walking through the kitchen. “Were you calling me?” he asked.

Claire jumped, startled. She glanced up the stairs, then over at her husband.

He looked as confused as she felt. “What?” he asked.

“You weren’t upstairs?”

“No, I was in the garage, looking for a box of old instruction manuals that I can’t seem to find.”

“I heard music. From upstairs.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I heard it.”

“What kind of music?”

“The Men They Couldn’t Hang.”

“I was listening to one of their records earlier this morning.”

“Did you turn off the record player? Maybe it could’ve—”

“No, it couldn’t. Besides, I put the record away. It’s not even on the turntable.”

She looked again at the stairwell, her mouth suddenly dry. “Then someone’s upstairs. Because they just turned it on a few minutes ago, and then switched it off when I yelled to turn it down.”

“No one’s upstairs,” Julian said.

“I know what I heard.”

“We’ll check it out.” Moving carefully, walking quietly, Julian led the way upstairs. The door to his office was open, the room empty. A quick check of the other upstairs rooms revealed that they were empty as well.

They went back into Julian’s office, and he strode directly over to his stereo. “Huh,” he said, glancing down at the record on the turntable.

Claire looked down at the round blue-sky MCA label in the center of the black vinyl album, reading the words. The Men They Couldn’t Hang. How Green Is the Valley.

She didn’t like the unsettling feeling creeping up on her. “How could this happen?”

“I don’t know.” He seemed genuinely puzzled, though not as worried as she thought he should be. “I know I put that record away.”

“Then how did it get here?”

He shook his head, confused. “I have no idea. Maybe I just thought I put it away. Or maybe I … forgot.”

“But how did it—”

“I don’t know. I guess I could have left it on before I went outside. There could be a problem with the sound, which is why it got loud and soft. …”

“Yeah,” she agreed quickly. “That’s probably it.” But she heard the hopefulness in her own voice and realized even as she latched onto that explanation how vague it was and how many questions it still left unresolved.

She took a deep breath. “You didn’t by any chance bring the laundry basket out into the kitchen, did you?” she asked.

“No,” he said, frowning. “Why?”

She shook her head slowly, still staring at the record as a chill caressed the back of her neck. “No reason,” she said. “No reason.”

Five

Megan frowned at her iPhone, trying to make sense of the Twitter message on-screen. There was nothing she hated more than those abbreviations made from various combinations of numbers, letters and punctuation marks. Such shorthand had probably been convenient once upon a time, but now using that sort of code was little more than a measure of hipness. Trends these days changed so quickly that she had a hard time keeping up, and when she encountered something unfamiliar, she was afraid to ask what it meant for fear that her friends would laugh at her.

She wondered whether that was what was going on here.

MPD L2? 8LIF (XXXQ) DDF: 3907!

She read the message again, just as confused the second time. She could not even tell who it was from, and finally she exited the screen, deciding to ignore it.

Sighing heavily, Megan shifted on her bed and stared out the window at the wood shake roof of the single- story house next door. The driveway was empty, and she assumed that the people who lived there weren’t home. But, then again, they never seemed to be home. As far as she could tell, the entire neighborhood was filled with old people and shut-ins. The place was like a morgue, and the only time anyone came out was in the late afternoon, when couples walked their dogs or fitness fanatics jogged.

She hadn’t seen anyone here her own age.

She wished that her family hadn’t moved. All of her friends now lived farther away, and seeing them was not just inconvenient; it was downright difficult. That would change once school started, but this summer she felt more isolated and alone than she ever had in her life.

It was James’s fault. If that little punk hadn’t been such a pansy, they could’ve stayed in their old house and she could be at Kate’s right now, watching a movie or … or … doing something.

In two years, she’d have her driver’s license, and none of this would matter so much. But until then …

Her iPhone beeped, and Megan picked it up off the bedspread next to her, hoping it was a message from one of her friends.

I C U

She frowned. There was no sender name, no address.

That was weird.

The phone beeped again as another message came in.

I C U Megan

That was not just weird. It was creepy. Instinctively, she looked around. No one could possibly be watching her here, but she felt as though she was being spied upon, and she had a sudden need to make sure no one could see her. Carefully, she peered out the window again, checking the side yard of the house next door. Spotting no one, she shut the shade and moved to the other window, overlooking the front yard. Staying back in the shadows, so as not to be visible, she scanned the street, the sidewalk, their front yard, the yard across the street.

Nothing.

She shut that shade, too.

Turning around, Megan looked through her open doorway into the hall. It seemed more shadowy than it should, particularly for the middle of the afternoon. “Dad?” she called.

“What?” His reassuring voice answered her from across the hall, and she relaxed, the tension in her muscles dissipating.

“Nothing!” she said gratefully. She turned back toward the center of the room. With the shades drawn, it was as dark as it could get during the daytime, and she was about to turn on the light when the iPhone beeped in her hand.

She looked down at it.

IL C U 2NITE

In one movement, she switched off the phone and threw it on the bed, crying out as she did so and shaking her hands as though to rid them of slime.

“Everything all right in there?” her dad called.

Staring at the phone on the bedspread, Megan thought about telling him, wanted to tell him, but she knew how he got, and she knew what he’d do. He’d take away her phone, which, as far as she was concerned, would punish her, not protect her.