Seven Feet Under: 7 Twisted Tales From America's Deep South by Matthew Weber

Author:Matthew Weber [Weber, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sinister Grin Press
Published: 2016-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

THE END

To Kill a Guy Twice

"So you've actually seen the ghost? No kidding?"

"No kidding," Jimmy Miller said to his new friend and neighbor Eric Hyde, who was carving his initials into the treehouse wall. "I wish like heck I hadn't."

The rumble of thunder, at first a distant murmur, grew to a booming quake like a giant boulder rolling overhead.

"Why? Were you scared?"

Although it was uncool for a fourteen-year-old to admit being frightened, Jimmy still said, "Yeah, I was scared. You'd have been, too."

They’d climbed into Eric's plywood shack an hour ago to play cards and read comics. Then a heavy rain fell, and they decided to wait out the downpour rather than shimmy down the rope ladder and get soaked on the thirty-yard dash to the house. While twiddling away the time, Eric asked the crucial question: You ever seen the ghost of Caleb Wilder?

Jimmy's parents had purchased the old house across the street for what his father described as a "steal." The family had to relocate from Georgia when he'd been transferred by his job. They planned to remodel the old two-story home, structurally sound but cosmetically dated, and put down roots in Trapper Valley, a seemingly quiet suburb just north of Birmingham, Alabama.

Not until after moving in did Jimmy learn why the house had remained unoccupied at such an inviting price: The locals believed it to be haunted.

Eric sheathed the survival knife he'd been using to etch his mark in the wood. "What did it look like?"

Jimmy told him that initially the ghost appeared as only a shape, a shadow that should not have been where it was. He had crept into the kitchen late one Friday night, his first week in the house. His parents had retired to their bedroom; he'd fallen asleep watching a Friday the 13th sequel and awoke in the wee hours with a hunger. He snagged a plastic-wrapped cupcake from the pantry and opened the refrigerator, its white light spilling into the darkness. As he rummaged for the milk, he felt a looming presence behind him.

He spun with jug in hand and scoured the room. The single bright bulb illuminated the kitchen, but the living area on the far side of a partition countertop remained murky. Shipping crates and various cardboard boxes were stacked throughout, but he saw no one or no thing watching him.

Until it moved.

Jimmy's breath caught in his throat. The dull glare of moonlight bled through a window, and along its edge he saw motion. A black flash breached the distinct gray square outlining the glass and then retreated back into the dark corner of the room.

Jimmy’s first thought: burglar. His second: the ghost. His fingers tightened on the cold, sweaty handle of the milk container. He took a cautious step toward the window, craning his neck so his feet remained near the staircase, should he need to flee up to his parents’ room and scream for their help. As he left the fridge light behind, the darkness gained contrast. Two more steps and he made out a figure in the corner.

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