THE HOUSE ON BAXTER STREET
By Randy Romero
Every
small town in America has its own ghost story or infamous urban legend.
The
jilted lover who was stood up on prom night and died in a tragic accident, her broken-hearted
spirit forever doomed to roam those dark, lonely roads.
The
hitchhiker who was murdered and vanishes into thin air when you stop to offer
them a ride.
The
escaped mental patient with a hook for a hand. The monster or demon who hides
under a bridge or inside a tunnel, waiting for any unfortunate souls to enter
its domain. The uninhabitable haunted house with its dark, unimaginable
history, and its restless spirits roaming the hallways.
Fairview’s
local ghost story was The House on Baxter Street.
An
innocuous looking, two-story, Cape Cod style house with bay windows that faced
the street on both floors.
It
had been abandoned since before Billy Caputo was born. Craig Caputo loved to
frighten his son and daughter about the house. Ellie hated hearing those
stories. But Billy, a horror movie fanatic with a keen interest in the
paranormal, relished his dad’s memories.
He
enjoyed the mystery behind it.
What
had led to the McFarlane family–Tim McFarlane, wife Terri, sons Tim Jr. and
Buddy–packing up and leaving without so much as a wave goodbye? Why did they
just up and abandon their own property? Why did they leave all their furniture
and many of their earthly possessions behind?
Tim
McFarlane hadn’t even given notice at the local power plant. He just stopped
showing up for work and after a few days, they sent the cops to his house to do
a wellness check. That’s when they found out the family had split town and left
most of their stuff behind.
It
was cold that morning, even for December. The temperature outside was
twenty-seven degrees and dropping rapidly. The weatherman had snow in his
forecast, but Craig didn’t put much stock into what he had to say.
“I
wish I could get paid to be wrong seventy-five percent of the time like the
weatherman,” Craig said while reading the newspaper at the breakfast table.
“You’re
a man and you’re my husband,” Shelia said. “You’re wrong one hundred
percent of the time.”
“True,
but I’m not getting paid for it,” he said.
Ellie
came down to breakfast first. She wore ripped blue jeans and a red flannel hoodie;
the buttons open to reveal a Nirvana shirt with a yellow smiley face with the
eyes crossed out. A gift from her boyfriend. Her father doubted if either one
of them even knew who Kurt Cobain was.
Ellie
was fifteen, and her brother was only twelve.
“The
nineties called,” her mom said. “They want their outfit back.”
“Of
course, they called,” Ellie said. “They couldn’t text back then.” It wasn’t
hard to see where and who Ellie got her sarcastic wit from.
“Burn,”
Craig said.
“Burn?
Geez, the nineties wants that reference back too,” Shelia said.
“Oh,
like you’re all that and a bag of chips,” Craig said.
“Did
people really used to talk like that in the nineties?” Ellie asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Shelia said.
“The
nineties? Isn’t that when the McFarlane family moved away?” Billy Caputo asked,
joining the conversation.
“That’s
correct,” his father said.
“Ugh,
not that story again,” Ellie groaned.
“I’m
actually in agreement with her,” their mom said. “I can live without hearing it
again.”
“We’ll
talk more about it after school,” his dad told him. “Now hurry up and eat your
breakfast so you don’t miss the bus.”
***
Twelve-year-old kids can be
troublemakers.
Billy and his friends
were no different. Especially Kevin Keller. His dad wasn’t thrilled by the idea
of Billy hanging out with him. That was one of the reasons Billy never
mentioned him or invited him over. Kevin didn’t take any offense to it. He knew
his reputation.
“Have your parents ever
talked about the house on my street?” Billy asked his friends one day during
their lunch period. High school was a new experience for them. But as freshmen,
they were allowed to leave the school grounds for lunch. They sat in the back
of a nearby pizzeria, Billy more focused on the house than his food. Pat Reilly
spoke up first.
“You mean that creepy
house across the street?” Pat asked. “Yeah. My mom says it’s haunted. But my
dad says that’s a bunch of bullshit. But he doesn’t believe in ghosts or
spirits or anything paranormal. Thinks it’s fake.”
“And you think it’s
real?” Kevin asked.
“Hell yeah. I mean
wouldn’t you want to be a ghost when you die? Ghosts live rent free. You don’t
have to go to school or work. You get to haunt and scare people. Being a ghost
sounds like the life.”
“Have your parents ever
said anything about it?” Billy asked Kevin.
“Not my mom. But my dad
says nobody will live there. He says they can’t sell it. My brother says
there’s a demon living in the basement, but I know he’s just trying to scare
me.”
“Or warn you,” Pat said.
“Very funny. Why are you
asking about that old house anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just
curious, I suppose. It’s been empty forever.”
“Could be the perfect
hangout spot,” Kevin said.
“Are you suggesting we
break in there?” Billy asked.
“Why not? Who’s going to
know if it’s abandoned? You go right in through the backdoor or find a window
to the basement to jimmy open.”
“No thanks, I’ll pass,”
Pat said.
“Wussy.”
“I’m going to have to
pass on that too,” Billy said, remembering why his dad wasn’t crazy about him
hanging around Kevin.
“Well, if you change your
mind let me know.”
They finished their lunch
and headed back towards Fairview High, the house on Baxter Street looming over
Billy’s thoughts the entire walk back.
***
Billy’s eyes fluttered as
the light shone through his window. He woke up tired, confused, disoriented.
His heavy eyes moved towards his alarm clock. 3:13 AM.
He rolled out of bed and
shuffled to the window to close his blinds.
That was when he realized
the bright light was emanating from an upstairs window across the street.
“What
the hell?” Billy muttered.
The
house had been abandoned for nearly thirty years. The power had been cut off a
long, long time ago. And yet, he stared out his window at the glowing fixtures
in the adjacent house. The light seemed to beckon him.
That
was when he remembered Kevin Keller’s offer.
Kevin
lived a few blocks away. And like most kids nowadays, they both had their own
cell phones. Billy’s phone was mainly for emergency purposes. But like most
kids, he had a habit of abusing the privilege.
He
sent Kevin a text and hoped he was awake. He got a response in less than a
minute.
It
just said: On my way.
Billy
snuck out through the garage and met Kevin across the street. They made sure
the coast was clear before they walked around the side of the house and hopped
the fence. No basement windows, but there was a backdoor.
“Watch
the magic,” Kevin said, preparing to pick the lock.
But
he didn’t even get that far. The knob was loose, so he tried the door.
Unlocked.
“Ta-da,”
he said.
“Wow,”
Billy said, feigning admiration. “I’m so glad I text you for that.”
“After
you,” Kevin said.
Billy
took a deep breath and stepped inside. Kevin followed.
The
floor creaked with every step they took. The house was almost beyond repair.
Broken
fixtures. Rotting furniture. Holes in the ceiling. Stains on the floor. Dust
and debris.
In
the living room was a white couch devoured by black mold. The smell of mold and
mildew permeated the air. But another stronger smell cut through it. The stench
of rot and decay.
Billy
assumed an animal must’ve died behind the walls or got stuck inside the
chimney.
Paint
bubbled from the walls and ceilings. Threadbare carpets that dated back to the eighties.
Mustard yellow wallpaper in the living room and wooden panels in the basement.
The
windows were frosted over inside from the lack of working heat. No running
water either.
Billy ascended the
staircase, Kevin trudging behind him, but they stopped at the landing. They froze
in place as a tall shadow fell over the hall. It was stationary for a moment, then
seemed to drift across the hallway.
The shadow moved on its
own, with seemingly no entity present to guide it. No figure stood in the
hallway. No man or woman could be seen at the top of the stairs. The rogue
shadow descended the staircase, gliding towards them. Billy gasped, shut his
eyes, and–
***
–Woke up in his bed.
His pajamas were drenched
in sweat. At least he hoped it was sweat. It took him a moment to realize it
was all a dream. He had no idea what time it was until he glanced at his alarm
clock.
3:13 AM.
He’d only been asleep for
a few hours.
“Just a nightmare,” he
whispered to himself. It served him right for getting caught up in those silly
ghost stories and letting his dad spook him.
But just as he rested his
head on the pillow again, a light caught his eye from across the street.
The light in the upstairs bedroom seemed to call his name, summoning him. He couldn’t resist.
Should I go look? He
wondered. But he’d already made his decision, sealed his own fate. He just
didn’t know it yet.
