Hanging House by Dean Rasmussen

Author:Dean Rasmussen [Rasmussen, Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951120177
Publisher: Dark Venture Press
Published: 2021-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

20

“My God, Frankie, is that you?” Emmie cried. She couldn’t get up, or she might lose him.

No sound from the spirit, but Frankie’s arms kept reaching out toward her. She tried to grab hold of his hands, but instead she swiped through his spirit form. Another puff of cold air chilled her skin. He wasn’t solid flesh, as ghosts sometimes were, or a barely visible cloud like a traditional spirit; Frankie wavered somewhere between the two. His form faded and then solidified.

A barrier stood between them, churning; it was like gazing through melting glass. His mouth hung open, forming intelligible, silent words. His wide eyes stared at her, and he gargled out noises that chilled her blood. Not a single word came out clearly, as if he were talking through a layer of water.

Emmie tried to make sense of the vision and struggled to understand what Frankie was saying. She intensified her focus on him, but now she sensed other spirits approaching.

She knew one thing—if she was seeing him, he hadn’t died in an accident. And he would never have killed himself. Emmie squeezed the tarot card between her fingers as she voiced the only horrible possibility.

“Frankie, who did this to you? Who killed you?”

His mouth opened and closed, and the watery gargling came through.

More spirits entered Emmie’s awareness. The channel she’d opened to confront the Hanging Girl needed to close soon or more would crowd in around her, begging for help. It would become unbearable. But she wouldn’t close it now, with Frankie in front of her.

“Frankie, can you move toward me?” Emmie pleaded.

Frankie’s spirit floated closer as she intensified her concentration on him, but another spirit appeared alongside him. A lost boy a little older than Frankie, wearing the decades-old school uniform. His body was more transparent than Frankie’s, but the physical violence on him was clear. She avoided looking directly at the other boy, instead increasing her focus on Frankie.

The door at the top of the basement stairs opened and slammed shut. Emmie dropped the tarot card. Footsteps stomped down the stairs. She shivered. Distinct footsteps from a barefoot teenage girl. The Hanging Girl.

Emmie’s eyes teared up as she tried to grasp Frankie. For a moment he solidified, and her skin bristled at the sensation of his energy passing through her. He still looked the same after all these years. His sweet face stared at her longingly. His small frame and frail posture reminded her of the way she had found his body near the edge of the lake.

“Who did this to you?” she insisted.

Frankie continued to communicate, opening and closing his mouth, but only watery gurgles came through.

The Hanging Girl reached the bottom of the stairs. The hair on the back of Emmie’s neck stood. Only a few feet away now. The girl’s feet slapped against the cold concrete floor, moving toward her. She wouldn’t look away from Frankie. The Hanging Girl’s strained, forced whisper moved in closer to her ear.

Emmie’s body chilled as an icy pressure tingled her shoulder.

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