Gridlocked Guesthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1) (2 page)

Rachel and Ricky sat in matching armchairs at one end of the room, like the king and the queen. John sat on the floor, and Beezer sat on a little wooden stool he had found.

Rachel began, as everyone knew she would. "For the next two days, we will live here, in the guesthouse where the Jamisons were murdered. We will not go in the basement; all of you know this, but it bears repeating."

Ricky continued, "We managed to get thirteen of us here, and I'm not sure you all know each other yet, but it's a friendly group and I'm sure we'll all have met by morning."

John piped up, "If we make it till morning!" Everyone let out an excited chuckle.

Rachel glared at John. "I'm sure you all know the story. In late May 1972, there were four children and two adults in this house. We know that the lady of the house, Amelia, died in the library. She was mutilated in many ways, but the most striking thing to remember is the word written on her. Presumably, she wrote it herself with her own blood as she died. The word was 'grid.' We are here to hopefully get her to tell us what she meant by that word." She paused melodramatically, leaning back into her chair with her fingertips pressed together. Her attempt to cherish the moment was immediately ended as Ricky took over.

"Amelia wasn't the only death. We are also here to find out what happened, if we can. If they will tell us." Ricky calmly gestured to the spirits that hopefully were in the room. "Richard died in the master bedroom. He appeared to have frozen to death slowly; he had been coated in ice. He didn't have any words written on him--except that his death was utterly impossible. He could not have frozen to death in this house in May. It wasn't even cold enough outside for him to have frozen. He'd have to have been locked in a freezer. And yet, when the cops finally broke into the house, they said they could see the cold steam billowing under the door. They thought it was copious amounts of dry ice, but upon opening the bedroom, they found Richard frozen, the room frozen, and no clear evidence of how the room got so damn cold."

Rachel broke back in loudly, clearly wanting the attention back on her. "But the twins were a different story. They died tied with a set of double-dutch jump ropes." She calmly motioned tying a rope around their throats. "They were thirteen. A boy and a girl. Delilah and Trevor. Their hands and feet were bound; they did not hang themselves. Their sister Lillian has never been found. I'd like to remind you again at this point that we cannot go into the basement."

Ricky grinned and said, "There is one more. Oliver. He was four at the time of the incident. His death is one of the most insane ones that have occurred on this side of the Rocky Mountains. He had been peeled like a banana."

The room was quiet, but it seemed to somehow grow quieter.

Rachel, with her smug little face, said, "Well, any questions?" You'd never guess who piped up.

Beezer, who had seemed to be bored through this whole thing, finally said, "So, does this party have rules or do we just start exploring? Or what?"

There was a vague snicker passed through the group as Rachel's face fell. "It's not fun if we don't pretend it's real. We've got cocktails in ten minutes, then we'll feast on pulled pork sandwiches at ten, and start the séance at midnight."

"I guess I have a question," Beth said, raising her hand slightly and then plopping it back on her lap. "What's with the goats?"

Everyone turned and looked at Jenny. "Oh, um," she said, a hint of embarrassment rising in her throat. "This is Cletus and Carson; they are twin goats. And they'll add to the atmosphere. They can do this--"

And with that, she suddenly stood up as if to run and stomped her feet loudly. Both goats stood suddenly and let out a little "baa" as they fell over stiff as death.

Beezer let out a guffaw. "Fainting goats? They'll get ya every time. God, that's funny."

A surprised giggle rumbled around the room. "How long will they stay like that?"

"Not too long." A moment later, they started wiggling again. Jenny continued, "I'm sure they'll faint plenty these next few days, so let's not try to make it unreasonably often- it's a little hard on these guys." She reached down and petted both goats gently. They were pretty small critters. Tiffany got off the couch with Ben, Beth, and Mike. She plopped herself between both goats at Jenny's feet and started petting them.

"Well, now that we've got this done, we can start cocktails." Rachel rose and stepped into the kitchen.

CHAPTER FOUR

Beth slipped into the kitchen to help Rachel. "Do you know everyone here?" she asked.

Rachel unwrapped a large block of ice, carefully setting it in the punch bowl. The ice was dotted with fruit and ice cream. "Pour that champagne in the bowl, okay?" Rachel turned and grabbed some vodka, dumping it in the bowl as they worked.

"Is there somebody here you don't know?" Rachel said dismissively as she opened the fridge.

"I don't know anyone besides you and Ricky," Beth said, fumbling with the top of the champagne bottle. She wasn't quite sure how to open these things.

Rachel pointed. "On the loveseat, Lucy and Rafael. They've been dating a while and can't keep their hands to themselves. Beezer is on the wooden stool. His name is John Beezer, but we all call him Beezer." Rachel turned around with her arms full of Tupperware containers. "Oh, give me that; you turn on the crockpot."

Beth halfheartedly smiled and set the champagne bottle down, turned the crockpot up, and helped to set up the fruit. "Sorry."

Rachel shouted to the other room, "Hey, Tiffany, can you give us a hand? It's gonna take forever."

The skinny blond girl from the other room walked in. Her pants were low and her bare midriff was so thin it was amazing she could hold anything up at all with those barely existent hips. She calmly set out glasses and started stirring the champagne and strawberry punch. Beth seemed like a clumsy mess next to Tiffany. She fumbled with the crockpot, wondering why it didn't turn on. Finally, she realized it wasn't plugged in. She picked up the pot full of delicious smelling pork and hesitantly stood, still holding it.

Tiffany finally looked up from her idle stirring and slow filling of gorgeous champagne glasses. "Um, whatcha doing?"

"I can't find a..." She couldn't find the word. Plug. No, that was the pronged cord part. The... inserty thing. The... frightened face on the wall. Wallface. "Um." She tried to come up with the word. Face plate? No, the...

"You need an outlet?" Tiffany held back an obvious laugh. "Okay, did you try right behind you on the counter?"

Turning red, Beth fumbled behind her and set the crockpot back where it started. She slowly plugged it in, hoping her skin would relax before she had to turn around. Beth just couldn't get it together at a party. She took too long, and Tiffany started talking again.

"You ever been to one of these before?" Tiffany said, glancing up at Beth before carefully pouring another glass of punch. She was almost done and hadn't spilled a drop yet.

Beth felt like an idiot. "Done what?"

"A murder weekend," Tiffany said. "Didn't Rachel tell you what we were doing?" There was a solid hint of confusion in her tone.

"I... yes, I mean, the party. Yes. I thought you meant plug in a crockpot." And once she said it, she was sure she sounded like an idiot. "I mean, I thought you said, have you ever done that before, plugged in a crockpot. I just thought you were making fun of me. I..." Her words were breathless and Tiffany let out a sudden roar of laughter.

"You are hilariously nervous." She pointed the ladle at her. "That's gonna make for a mighty fun weekend. You're definitely getting two cups of this." She handed the girl a full glass of champagne punch and Beth sipped it immediately, trying to hide her second round of flushing.

Rachel clapped her hands brightly together. "Let's go liquor up the men." She grabbed a tray from Tiffany, and the girl followed behind her with a second tray. Beth carried nothing but her own cup as she timidly walked back to the room. Before she stepped into the safe room, she caught a glimpse of the twins hanging and dangling. She turned her head quickly and looked at the chandelier. Nothing there. Damn nerves.

CHAPTER FIVE

"So what's with Tiffany? I thought she was dating John still, but it seems like she's giving him the cold shoulder." Beezer stared at the skinny blond chick while she handed out glasses of punch. Her perfect smooth stomach was shown off by her tight little crop top.

"Why the hell do you think I'd know?" Mike said, "I'm not an expert in who Tiffany is currently dating. Besides, do you really think she'd wanna date John and then date you John?"

"I'll have her screaming 'Beezer' before she remembers John is my first name." Both men let out a quiet chuckle before they looked up and Tiffany was standing awkwardly close, holding out two glasses of punch.

"I wouldn't scream 'Beezer' even if you paid me."

She was grinning comically before Beezer retorted, "I bet that wouldn't be the first time you were paid."

She shoved him roughly as she walked past, his drink sloshing onto his jeans. "Bitch, can't you take a joke?"

She didn't reply, but her hips seemed to swing smugly. I hate to say it, but Beezer would not be getting laid any time soon. A few moments later, Rachel clapped her hands together like she normally did when she wanted to be the center of attention.

It was time to start dinner. There were exactly ten chairs at the dining room table, so the twins Mikaela and Zane stood and ate their pulled pork sandwiches loitering around the table like a couple of idiots, if you ask me.

You might be thinking to yourself, but there are thirteen of them! And yes, that would be accurate. But the two lovebirds, Lucy and Rafael, shared a seat as though they literally couldn't be disconnected.

Dinner was quiet and serious, but there was no pronouncement or murders, despite everyone's expectation that one of them would drop dead any minute.

Wasn't that how these types of murder weekends go? Thirteen come in alive, and only one survives if you can't solve the mystery fast enough.

Either way, that wasn't how this weekend was set to go. Beezer said, "Anyone else shocked Rachel isn't talking?"

The group let out a chuckle but then went back to the silence. There was something about the guesthouse that made everyone feel a bit timid to talk. Maybe the ominous stories of the deaths of the Jamison family. Maybe it was just that this particular group wasn't particularly friendly yet. Beth, for one, had gotten too nervous to continue to try to talk, simply staring at the other guests eating nervously and wondering if they were watching her.

They all waited, in their odd, quiet murmurs, whispering funny thoughts to one another until Rachel finally started clearing the table. Lucy jumped up to help and soon most of the ladies were lifting plates from the men as if it was their lot in life to clean tables while men spout about how much better they are. Beezer even had the gall to push his plate forward into the table, forcing Lucy to positively beg him to hand it to her. Some people might not be so offended by such a slight, but I certainly noticed it.

I pay better attention than most, which was why I decided to write down what happened those two long nights at the guesthouse. Without my words, you'd only have heard what the papers said and most certainly they have gotten it all wrong.

Sometimes I think that reporters try to dry out the story and wring from it all interesting details and truth. It might not seem important that the ladies did the cleaning and the men did the sitting on their asses, but I assure you, it set the tone for me for the night.

Ricky and Rachel stood and clapped their hands in excitement. Ricky was almost as excited as Rachel, which might seem like a feat to you, and it truly was. Two very enthusiastic young leaders of the group started the process of setting the candles around the table.

Beezer made owl noises and a few fake screams before Mike finally smacked him in the chest and told him to knock it off. Jenny put her two adorable little goats on the table and they both stood there bleating uncomfortably. Surely they didn't understand why they'd be standing on a dining room table full of candles any more than the rest of us understood it.

Lucy sat herself back with her boyfriend. Zane begged Beth to let him sit with her, and Beth nervously agreed. He took the entire seat, picking up the girl and setting her on his lap. She was pink as a tomato for the entire séance. I'm not sure if she'd ever sat on a man that long before.

Mikaela managed to squeeze in with Tiffany. Rachael sat at the foot of the table, as expected, with Ricky at the head. All eyes were on him as he lifted a glass into the air. At some point whilst clearing, the ladies managed to fill everyone's glasses with yet another round of booze. As if they needed more.

And so it began. The haunting.

"Everyone lift your glasses and recite with me. We will find out what happened with the Jamisons, so help me God."

Everyone did as told and repeated in unison, "We will find out what happened to the Jamisons, so help me God."

As if God was here.

"We shall find out the truth or die trying."

And again, like little robots, they repeated, "We shall find out the truth or die trying."

If you note my disdain for the whole affair, you are, in fact, correct. I think talking in unison makes people weak and unwilling to think for themselves. It's a horrid practice and you should pay close attention; unison talking is the devil's work because despite what I said about God earlier, I do believe the devil pays attention to this place.