The Dead Friends Society, page 7
Wes wanted to believe Eli, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around what a parallel universe even meant. It was too Twilight Zone and, as far as he could tell, didn’t have anything to do with the fact they were all murdered hours earlier.
Wes's eyes drifted over to a half-full red solo cup on the coffee table. He imagined the taste of the cold beer he’d chugged from countless cups just like it, and Wes was hit with an existential sledgehammer. Having the front door of the house portal him back into the foyer had been terrifying enough, but the sensation of it, the utter lack of control, made his skin feel like it was made of eels. Wes reached out for the solo cup, ready to chug whatever was left inside it.
But he couldn’t pick it up. He couldn’t even make it wobble. Two inches of beer sat at the bottom of it, still as a frozen lake.
Eli leaned over him to watch and Wes felt like a lab specimen as he struggled with the cup, applying more and more pressure to it, trying to lift it from the table. But it wouldn’t budge. It was as if the cup weighed tons. He finally gave up and growled at Eli for help. “Explain this, Bill Nye.”
Eli tried picking it up but couldn't get it to budge, either. Wes felt vindicated as Eli stood back, just as dumbfounded as he was. Eli looked around the first floor of the house. Cops were everywhere now, taking notes, photos, and leaving little flags with numbers on them all around, marking the crime scene. Wes could tell the perpetual motion machine that was his brother’s brain was grinding its gears. Eli’s eyes went wide. “Holy crap, what if it’s like Toy Story?” he asked.
“What the fuck is Toy Story?”
“Oh my god, how have you not seen Toy Story yet? It’s the future of animation. You have no idea. It was created by this company called—”
“Just get to the goddamned point, Eli.” Wes couldn’t stand to hear Eli rant about movies.
Drew and Rose glanced over at Wes, and he could feel the distrust radiating off them like waves of heat, like he was some junkie ranting on a street corner. He knew they didn’t like him, but he didn’t care, not now. They locked eyes briefly, and then Drew and Rose turned away, disappearing around the corner into the kitchen.
Eli kept rambling. “Okay, well, the movie is about toys that come to life when people aren’t around. When they’re not being observed, they can do their own thing. Like us.” Eli gestured to the cops on the first floor. Nobody was looking at them, but they were easily in the eyelines of everyone around. “I had no problem moving stuff and opening doors until they showed up. I’ll bet a thousand bucks that as soon as they can’t see us…” Eli dashed over to a closet on the far end of the living room. He checked his eye lines. There were no cops looking. He took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle, and twisted.
The closet door opened just as easily as it would have when they were alive. Wes hopped up, eager to try out Eli’s theory, but as he started to cross the room another cop stepped into the foyer. Wes could feel all the other officers stand a bit taller in this man’s presence. The crime scene photographer taking pictures of Eli’s corpse gave the man a solemn nod and called him Righetti. Wes moved closer, eavesdropping.
There was something magnetic about Detective Righetti. Wes guessed he was in his early sixties, maybe even older, with leathered skin, nicotine stains on his mustache, and a pissed off look in his eyes. While the rest of the police force were in uniform, Righetti donned a long, tan raincoat. He surveyed Eli’s fucked up corpse, totally unphased. Wes got the impression this guy had seen so many crime scenes that even a dude with his head smashed open barely registered as shocking.
A younger cop named Andso sidled up to Righetti. “Is it him? Is it The Fireman again?” Andso asked, without ever looking directly at the dead body. Wes's eyes lit up. Righetti didn’t hesitate to answer. He turned to the naive officer. “Twenty years ago I was standing right where you are. I saw it all happen, and I promise you we killed that man. I don’t know who did this, but I guarantee you it wasn’t the same guy.”
“You think it’s a copycat?” Andso asked.
Righetti leaned over, inspecting Eli’s corpse. He winced, finally showing some emotion. “All I’m saying is it wasn’t him.”
Wes shouted at Righetti, demanding answers, but the grizzled old man had no idea he was even there. Wes kicked the wall in frustration, but this time, with no eyes directly on him, his foot managed to connect with it. The wall shook. Not as hard as it should have had Wes not been a fucking ghost, but it was still enough to shake the nail holding up Rose’s evil eye charm — and enough to make Wes feel not so impotent after all. The circle of glass came loose and fell to the floor, shattering, shards of it scattering like roaches in every direction.
“Holy shit!” Wes shouted.
Righetti and Andso both spun around, confused to find no one behind them. Righetti reached down to pick up the largest fragment. He rolled the blue glass over in his hands and looked around the first floor. Wes could practically feel Righetti looking through him. But he knew no matter how long Righetti stared, he’d never see him. Wes started to suspect no matter how hard he kicked, no matter how much he tried, nobody would ever see him again. The idea scared him more than he’d ever admit.
Chapter 10
Rose could never watch horror movies or read scary stories growing up. She was too deep an empath, so even though she knew the movies weren’t real, the connection to the characters often became so strong that even a tame scare would haunt her for days. Once at a slumber party at Janet Berg’s house, the group had decided to rent Little Monsters, a comedy about a shy kid who discovers a world of monsters living under his bed. The rest of the girls thought it was hilarious. Rose didn’t. There’s a moment in it where the young boy discovers he’s slowly turning into a monster himself. She had been so scared for the boy that the very idea of him transforming into a monster disturbed Rose’s sleep for months. She’d lay in bed awake, staring into the darkness wondering what it would be like to lose control of your body like that.
And yet staring at the corpse of her best friend Drew, Rose felt nothing. In fact, the absence of feeling was starting to worry her. All her fears while alive were driven by the same question: What happens when you die? What happens when you no longer exist? What does it feel like to fade from the universe? To no longer be yourself? Rose’s parents died when she was nine. When Rose was forced to go live with her aunt, all anyone would say was that her parents — a doctor and a lawyer who led very different lifestyles than Rose’s hippie aunt — died in a car crash. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she’d learn it was not only a drunk driving accident, but that her own father had been the drunk driver.
Now Rose knew the answer to what happened when you died. You don’t. At least, she didn’t feel “dead.” Her best friend may be splayed out on the floor of the basement, but she was also standing right next to her. That contradiction was oddly comforting. Of course, Rose also had a whole other host of expectations for what the afterlife would look like, and while she wasn’t a St. Peter at the Pearly Gates type of believer, she certainly never in a thousand years would have imagined the afterlife would consist of being trapped in a house with the mutilated bodies of you and your closest friends.
Drew grabbed Rose’s hand and forced her to look away from the corpse. “Rose, I’m right here. That’s not me anymore. This is me.” Drew touched her chest in demonstration. Rose breathed deeply and nodded her head. She knew Drew was right. It still wasn’t easy to look at, but as long as she reminded herself that the real Drew was by her side, she’d be okay.
A flash went off, drawing their attention away from the corpse and to the officer taking photos. He’d finished with Drew’s corpse and was examining the basement door. He shook his head and quipped to himself, “Girl almost made it.”
“Fuck you. I’d like to see you do better you fucking asshole,” Drew said. Rose smirked. She didn’t like to curse herself, but it was a not-so-secret secret that she loved when Drew did.
Drew stared at the basement door. It had been closed when she’d awoken but was now ajar a few inches. A slight breeze was passing through the room and Drew wondered if the officer had opened it just to let some fresh air in. When it mattered most, she literally couldn’t open the door to save her life, but this man opened it just so he’d be a little less sweaty. The thought of it made her irrationally mad.
Drew watched Rose slide her hand between the open part of the door and the outside. It had that same shimmer as the front door. Rose’s fingertips flirted with touching it. The boundary was a mystery, and Rose seemed upset at herself for not having any answer. Rose always had an answer for everything. The fact that she didn’t was worrying. “I don’t like it, Drew. I don’t like it at all.”
Drew thought that was a stupid thing to say. I don’t fucking like it either, Rose. Why would I? Why would anyone? This all fucking sucks. But Drew knew better than to needle Rose now. She knew the limits of her own sarcasm.
Rose retreated from the door, but Drew didn’t follow her. She fixated on the pliers jammed into the door’s locking mechanism. A flood of emotion and memory came rushing back as she was reminded of her choice to go back upstairs for Rose. What if she hadn’t? Would she really have gotten away? Or would The Fireman have just killed her on the lawn instead? It didn’t matter though, going back was the right thing to do.
A gust of wind swept through the basement door, widening it farther, taunting Drew mercilessly, showing her the way out, but denying her an exit. Her gut told her this door was a portal just like the one upstairs, but she had to know for sure. This time she slipped off one of her sneakers. She didn’t hesitate, she tossed it through the open basement door. Once more, the universe folded its invisible hands around the shoe, plucking it out of the air. Drew spun on her heels to catch sight of the shoe as it re-appeared in the basement.
But it never did.
Drew frowned, disappointed. She waited another moment, but still nothing. The subtle fear of having to go through the afterlife with only one shoe started to sink in. Rose, on the other hand, didn’t notice. She was hyper focused on the basement wall.
“Was this always here?” Rose asked, pointing at the wall opposite Eli’s computer. Drew squinted and could see a small, inky black splotch on the wall. Not huge, about three inches or so in diameter at its widest point. The spot was so dark that it was almost hard for Drew to process. Freshmen year, one of Drew’s first professors referenced an artist who only ever worked with a special kind of black paint that they had invented themselves. It was said to swallow all light around it. Drew hadn’t seen any of the artist’s work, so she couldn’t be sure, but all she could think about was how this three-inch hole in the wall was swallowing what precious little light there was in the room.
“I think I would have remembered this,” Drew said as she reached out to touch the spot. Rose grabbed her hand in a panic. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to—” But before Drew could explain why she’d felt compelled to try and touch the thing, someone upstairs yelled “Holy shit!” And then something inexplicable happened, right before their eyes.
A second black spot grew on the wall. Drew and Rose both noticed it at the same time. Rose didn’t have to ask, they both knew it wasn’t there before. Drew stared at the two rotten holes. They seemed to quiver in front of her eyes, a slight pulsating, as if they were alive, as if Greywood House itself was breathing.
Chapter 11
Eli was pacing in the foyer, holding a sneaker in his hand, when Drew and Rose returned. Drew’s eyes lit up at the shoe. “Let me guess, the basement door is a no-go, too?” Drew shook her head as she slipped the shoe back on. But before she could say more, Rose noticed the shattered glass in Righetti’s hand.
“What happened to my mati?” Rose asked.
Eli barely knew where to begin. He was sure Drew would at least know the gist of Toy Story, so he launched into the same spiel he’d given Wes. Drew was far more accepting of his parallel universe theory. Rose? Not so much. She agreed they were subject to a new set of rules in this reality but refused to call it a parallel universe. Eli sensed that wasn’t anywhere in her grab bag of flower child beliefs, but appreciated Rose was somewhat receptive to new info. One thing he hated about most religious people was their refusal to even entertain any information that didn’t fit their spoon-fed view of the world. It was something he’d argued with his grandma about all the time, but he’d given up trying to dissuade her of some of her more outlandish beliefs. It was easier to live and let live in their family.
It was one reason he was so eager to move into Mrs. Denns’s house. It was his first time living outside of his childhood home. He didn’t even ask for details when Drew floated him the idea. He was in. But as he walked circles around his own dead body, weaving in and out of cops as they moved about the room, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should have asked Drew a question or two about Greywood House before moving his whole life into its basement. Then again, if Drew knew there was any chance of a mass murder happening, she would have raised at least a teeny, tiny red flag, so logically she must not have known. But maybe Drew and her mom just didn’t think of the right questions to ask? Maybe neither of them ever bothered to look into the house’s history? Real estate agents lied in listings all the time. Maybe the Denns’s just needed to have just dug a little deeper. Too late now though.
Wes waved his arms, interrupting all the parallel universe, Toy Story talk. Eli hated it when Wes did that. He could never politely say “Excuse me.” Everything had to be a big performance with him. It was one reason Wes was so good on stage, but Eli found it deeply obnoxious when he wouldn’t drop his ‘I’m king shit, pay attention to me’ act off stage.
“Look, considering we can’t leave even if we wanted to, I’m pretty sure we’re going to have plenty of time to figure out your precious little Toy Story rules or whatever the fuck you want to call them. What matters more is that this pig right here,” Wes said, pointing at Righetti as if he were a neon sign, “this fucking squealer knew about The Fireman.”
“What? They know who killed us?” Drew asked.
“Not quite,” Eli said, trying to temper their expectations. “We heard them talking about some Fireman from like twenty years ago. The old guy called our Fireman a copycat killer.”
Rose shivered. “Do they know where he is? Are they going to stop him from killing again?”
Eli and the rest fell silent. He’d been too busy focusing on them being goddamned Caspers to think about other people. Eli instinctively looked out the window, half expecting to see The Fireman standing in the trees like Michael Myers. Don’t serial killers return to the scene of the crime? He scanned the edge of the woods and a mental rolodex of movies flooded him with images from countless slashers. He imagined the night before and The Fireman stalking the windows, staring into the house while they all moved about clueless to the fact he was about to break in. Wait, if the doors were locked, how did he get in?
But Eli’s attention was pulled to a commotion brewing at the entrance of the driveway. His heart sank at the sight of Mrs. Denns struggling to get past officers holding the growing crowd back. He turned to the others bracing for a big reaction, but he was the only one who noticed. For a second, he thought about not saying anything. He hated being the bearer of bad news. Wes always made him be the one to tell dad any time they broke a plate or a glass or some cheap tool. A bent screwdriver that couldn’t have cost more than five bucks had once sent their dad into a rage. Wes had thankfully drawn the brunt of that beating, but ever since then, Eli felt a deep pit of anxiety in his stomach whenever bad news was about to be delivered.
But nobody else was looking. Eli sighed. “Drew? I think you need to see this.”
Drew followed his gaze and gasped. Rose and Wes finally took notice as well. Mrs. Denns fought past officers, screaming out. “My daughter lives in there! Let me see my daughter!”
Drew ran from the window to the front door but stopped short of crossing the threshold. She knew what would happen if she went through the portal and as fun as tossing objects through might have been, she wasn’t about to do that with her entire body.
Eli had only met Mrs. Denns a few times but heard plenty about her from Drew venting at work. She was always pissed at her mom over one thing or another, but it wasn’t like Eli’s family. There wasn’t an unspoken undercurrent of genuine loathing to their arguments. Eli couldn’t help but wonder if the old man regretted having him and Wes. He never got that vibe from Drew’s mom, though. If anything, their fights always seemed to be coming from a place of Mrs. Denns caring too much.
Now here she was, storming up the driveway like a badass, shoving aside cops, fighting to see her daughter. Eli wondered if his parents would even show up, let alone fight their way inside. He doubted it. Eli watched silently as Drew shouted for her mom. But none of the living could hear her. As Mrs. Denns hit the porch steps, she caught the attention of Detective Righetti. Eli could tell this was a guy who spent an entire career delivering bad news to people. He was about to do it again.
Detective Righetti closed the front door right in Drew’s face. She slid over to the foyer windows to watch him try and diffuse the situation. “Ma’am, ma’am, please wait here.”
“But my daughter and her friends live here,” pleaded Mrs. Denns. “What happened? Are they okay? Is Drew okay?”
Righetti placed his hands on her shoulders. “Ma’am, you can’t go in there right now.”
Drew’s voice cracked as she cried out “Mom! I’m right here!” She kept pounding on the windows as hard as she could. Eli could see the glass vibrate ever so slightly, and once again wondered about the science of it all. If this was a parallel universe, how much did it have in common with the living world? Was it really as simple as one layer stacked on top of the other? And if so, wouldn’t that mean there should be ghosts all over the place? Were there people all over the world trapped where they died? Or was there something special about them? About Greywood House?
