Gravity, a young adult paranormal romance (17 page)

As I tried to make my way across the space to
the door in the pitch blackness, it felt like something was pushing
at me. Pushing me away from the exit. I waved my hands out
uselessly in front of me.

I turned back, and for the shortest of
seconds, I thought I saw Jenna's face flash before me. The image
disappeared before I could fully process it. I thought I heard
whispering again, from the vicinity of my closet. I felt along the
wall and found the light switch, which was still in the up
position. I flipped it several times, but the light was gone,
swallowed by whatever brought on the dark.  

I reached the door and grasped the metal knob
with both hands. The light in the hallway was on, but as I glanced
back, my room was still dark. No light could penetrate the empty
void of my once comfortable room.  

I rushed up the stairs, leaping two at a time,
and to the living room. Hugh and Claire were watching movies on the
couch. She was snuggled up to him and he had his arm around her
shoulders. I hated to break their companion time up, but I was
scared out of my wits.  

"There is something in my room," I said, chest
heaving as I tried to breath. A curious metallic taste filled my
mouth, parching it dry.

"What?" Hugh asked, standing up.

"Something in my room," I repeated, gulping as
I pointed to the staircase. "The lights went out. They won't come
back on."

Claire started to stand as well, but Hugh held
his hand out to prevent her from getting up.

"Just wait here, hon," Hugh said softly.
"Pause the movie and I'll be right back." 

He followed me back down the stairs and down
the hall to my room. I stopped, allowing him to walk in front of
me. I reached out and gripped his arm above the elbow, just in
case.

We arrived at the door to my room, which was
shut. I distinctly remembered leaving it open, when I stared at the
black, yawning maw. He turned the doorknob slowly. The lamp glowed
steadily on my desk, warm yellow light that seemed to mock me.
Flipping the light switch, which turned on the overhead lamp, for
good measure, he went inside.

I followed him in, looking up at the ceiling
and over at the desk in disbelief. I hadn't imagined it this time,
I couldn't have. The noise had been real, and the lights had
definitely turned off. Was it a wiring issue? Or just the possibly
faulty connections in my brain?  

Hugh poked around in my closet, looked beside
my bed and underneath, moving around the boxes, the same way I had
when I thought there was a midnight intruder.

Finding nothing, Hugh stood up and turned to
me.

"What exactly scared you so much?" he asked
quietly.  

"The lights went out," I said, disturbed to
find my voice still shaking. I pointed at the wall. "And I have
been hearing this banging noise, a couple of weeks ago and again
tonight."

He went over and rapped on the wall, listening
for any echo or response. When he heard nothing, he pulled back and
regarded me, as I stood clasping my hands under my chin. I bet I
looked just like a child, scared by imaginary monsters in the
night. The thought made me feel utterly foolish. 
 

"It's possible that an animal might have
burrowed its way inside, trying to escape the cold," he suggested.
"I'm sure it was nothing serious."

He gave me a familiar pat on the shoulder as
he trudged out of the room, leaving me behind to stare at the space
on the wall above my desk.

I knew better. Something was haunting
me.

Chapter 12

"Who would name a town "Hell" anyway?" asked
Alex Perkins, our class clown eight years running, the next day in
History. I had no idea how he would ever qualify for an Honors
class. He was a year older than the rest of us, supposedly because
he skipped Kindergarten but I figured he had been held back. He
made the dumbest jokes and was always the loudest one to laugh at
them. His parents had money, so he was considered part of the
popular crowd.

Ambrose had taken to sulking in the corner by
the back window. No one was willing to pay attention to his stories
of false bravado and bedding head cheerleader anymore.
 

Warwick looked excited to have a chance to
explain our town's history. He perched on his worn spot on the desk
and looked thoughtfully at the floor, as if gathering his
words.

"When George Reeves, the man who originally
settled here, was asked what to call the town, he said "Call it
Hell for all I care." At least, that's the charming anecdote they
like to tell at town meetings," he explained.  

"So what's the real story?" I heard Henry ask
behind me. I listened automatically at the sound of his familiar
voice.

"Depends on who you want to
trust," Warwick said. His voice had taken on the quality of someone
narrating a
Discovery Channel
special. "There are several theories supporting
the idea that Hell was settled on a spot of evil earth."

Several students around me giggled. He looked
up at them impatiently until they stopped. I couldn't tell if he
took what he said seriously or if it was just an act. A born
storyteller, he'd had told me a million wild, embellished tales
when I was kid, about far off places and unusual animals, which I
now knew were poppycock. I'd believed in jackalopes and unicorns
until I was ten. My younger self had always trusted him, even when
Jenna protested the things he said.  
   

"We have more than our fair share of haunted
houses," he offered as proof.

"Supposedly haunted," supplied Henry. I
imagined his eyes darkening. "Just because people say they're
haunting doesn't mean they are."   

Warwick continued as if he hadn't heard
him.

"Houses that are said to still be the home of
trapped spirits, spirits that have been seen by plenty of respected
citizens." The last sentence was said pointedly. He ticked the
locations off on his fingers. "The blue house on Court Street, the
old fire house, the orphanage..."

I perked up and raised my hand.

"You have a question, Ariel?" he
asked.

"Are you talking about the Dexter
Orphanage?"

"I believe that's the only one in town, so
yes," he said, smiling.

"Do you know anything about that one in
particular?" I asked.

"Nothing nice," he said, grinning wryly and
shifting his weight. "It was said to be owned by John Dexter the
third, a lifelong bachelor — spare us your commentary, Mr. Perkins
—

who decided to take in orphans after World War
One."

"The first few years went without remark,
although he made the children work in the farm behind the house to
help with money. The kids were seen working from sun up to sun
down, no breaks allowed. That wasn't very unusual for the time
period, but it was unnecessary since Dexter had inherited his
father's fortune when he died. But he apparently believed in
instilling a sturdy work ethic in very young people."

He picked up a dry erase marker and started
transferring it from hand to hand.

"But then rumors started that horrible things
were being done to the orphans in that house. That he was using
them for ritualistic sacrifices." It may have been my imagination,
but it seemed like the sky had clouded over outside the slender
windows. "Feeding their blood into the earth, to rekindle the
evil."

I shivered. "But why?"

"Something he read in a book, I believe," Mr.
Warwick said, clearing his throat. "That he could gain great power
from the rituals, power to rule the entire town." 

"And that is why we should never read. Only
bad things come from it," Alex joked.

"Hardly," Warwick said sardonically. He turned
back to me, his expression curious. "Why the particular interest in
the Dexter Orphanage, Ariel?"

I tried to play it off. "I just saw that they
were having the haunted house there this year." I didn't know how
to explain my dream.

He frowned. "That's a surprise. The house is
falling apart. Last I heard, the board was talking about
condemnation, but no one could determine who currently held the
deed to the property. Rickety floors, ceilings collapsing — it's
dangerous. They used to hold those haunted houses years ago to
raise money for donations, and there used to be séances there all
the time, but..."

"Séances?" I repeated, my breathing shallow.
 

"Oh, yes," he nodded. "Because of the
paranormal nature of the place, people would even go to Dexter to
dispel ghosts that were clinging to them, ghosts in their own
houses. Which brings me back to my original point..."

"Could it cleanse you if a ghost was attached
to you?" I interrupted again, not wanting him to move
on.

"That's what many people believed," he
replied.

"If ghosts existed, which they don't," I heard
Henry mutter from behind me. I blushed, feeling like he was talking
to me. Others in the class laughed, whether at the story or my
insistence I didn't know, and didn't much care.

"Alright guys, time to get to work," Mr.
Warwick said, back in teacher mode as he headed towards the
blackboard.  

After that, I couldn't get the séance part out
of my head. Maybe it was possible to contact whatever was reaching
out to me. Whatever clung to me. Maybe on my birthday, when I
visited the orphanage, something had attached itself to me. I
shuffled through my comprehensive mental catalogue of scary movie
plots. I had to find a way to get rid of the spirit, or things
would only get worse. I was sure of that. 

Theo came over to my house that afternoon. In
her hands was a leather-covered binder brimming full of artwork.
She was already on her third sketchbook in class. She held the
binder as though she wouldn't let it go.  

"Hi, Theo," Hugh said warmly. They had
exchanged a few words before here and there, but this was the first
time they were actually going to have a conversation.

"Hi, Ariel's dad," she said back shyly, still
holding her portfolio like a shield against her heart.

"I call him Hugh, you can too," I assured her
quietly.

"Okay."

"Show him your drawings," I said, nudging her
forward gently. The thing I had learned about Theo was that even
though she was shy at first, if one could get her to open up, she
became very talkative. It was just getting that first little
fissure. Hugh pulled the chair next to him out for her to sit
down.

Theo laid the portfolio on the table, and
watching Hugh's face as he began leafing through it. She didn't
take her eyes off him, paying attention for any change in his
expression.  

"This is impressive work," he said finally,
holding up a sketch of different angles of hands done in colored
pencil. "Ariel told me your mom is the new art teacher at your
school."

"Yeah," Theo said, quickly brushing it off. "I
don't really show her all that much of my sketches. I don't turn in
my sketchbook anymore," she confided to me.   

"Well, I don't just give compliments for
someone's ego," Hugh told her. Except in my case, but I kept that
to myself as he continued, "You have a lot of natural talent,
especially at such a young age."

"I'll tell you what," he said finally. "How
about you put together a couple of pencil studies like this, and I
could find you a space on the wall at Erasmus?"

I thought Theo would have a heart attack. She
put a hand to her chest, eyes like glittering pools of green water.
"Seriously?"

Hugh nodded. "In fact, I'm going over there
right now to drop off some paperwork. Would you girls like to hitch
a ride with me?"

Theo nodded her head furiously, a big smile
plastered on her face. The pink plastic anchor around her neck
jiggled against her shirt. We piled into the Mazda, Theo and I in
the backseat. The sky outside was overcast again, as it had been
for a string of days.

As we drove, Hugh turned the local radio
station on, keeping the volume low. This time of year, there were
always a million advertisements for haunted houses.

"Named the scariest attraction in Hell two
years in a row," the announcer on the current ad said. "Hell's
Orphanage is back after a five year hiatus and ready to claim its
next victim..."

"Can you turn that up?" I asked, gripping the
back of the passenger seat.

"Discounted tickets are available online. Now
through Halloween, get your scare on at the old Dexter orphanage on
Canyon Road." The garbled voice finished up, replaced by an ad for
toothpaste.

"That was awfully cheesy for
Hell's scariest attraction," Hugh said. "'Get your scare
on'?
I'm
more
frightening than that."

"I don't know, I think it sounds interesting,"
I said, shrugging and sitting back in my seat, trying to act as
nonchalant about the whole thing as possible. I knew I was terrible
at pretending. "I haven't been to a haunted house in
years."