The House of the Haunted

First published in A-Z of Horror, by Red Cape Publishing, 2023. 

Every resident of the House had been haunted. They had all seen a ghost and the experience drove them to madness or terror or just something bad enough to get noticed by their loved ones. Most of them had come straight from the hospital. Few psychiatric facilities were equipped for patients like them and when they were accepted, heavy medication was often the first resort. In the House, medication was considered a partial solution at best. Instead, the doctor’s emphasized therapy and group work. They believed their patients couldn’t move on with their lives until they learned to accept one core truth: that ghosts aren’t real. 

 Reese and Hunter had come from the same hospital, picked out at nearly the same time. When they first met, Reese told Hunter that he hadn’t read the paper before he signed it. He heard the words “somewhere else”, and he’d written his name before he even knew the pen was in his hand. It could have been prison for all he knew, and it would have been better than the hospital. The House wasn’t freedom, but at least there they were able to think straight. 

Petra was the only one who’d come straight to the House without a previous committal. She said the judge told her it was either the House or six months in prison. The other residents assumed it was bullshit, but they didn’t argue with her. Coming straight in had kept her tough, while the rest of them were pushovers, ready to agree to anything they thought would keep them safe, unhaunted, and relatively unmedicated. Hunter told himself it was why he’d agreed to Petra’s pact in the first place, but part of him doubted it. If he was being honest, he just wanted what she promised them all. Someone who believed. 


#


It was Sunday group and Petra had shown up in black lipstick, heavy eyeliner, and combat boots drowning in straps. An outfit the other residents would later refer to as battle-goth. In contrast, everyone else wore sweatpants, save the two doctors in their standard dress shirt or blouse and chinos. Sundays were a mixed blessing in the House. They were shorter than normal with the possibility of a trip off-premises, but they were intense. Four hours of group work shored up by two hours in one-on-ones. 

It was Petra’s third day, and the doctors hadn’t gone easy on her. They’d spent the first two hours of group probing into her past and tearing apart any weaknesses in her story. Whenever they encountered doubt or guilt, they honed in, twisting the knife as they buried it deeper into her psyche. Hunter watched all this silently, his guilt growing. He knew this focus on Petra was intentional. They wanted to make an example of her to reinforce the need for cooperation amongst the senior residents. He’d seen it done in the hospital, but never in the House. He assumed it was the outfit. The doctors were averse to what they called excessive morbidity. To them, a goth outfit or penchant for horror novels reflected centering your haunting as a core pillar of your personality. 

After the third hour, Petra looked rough. Mascara-stained tears carved black lines down her face and made shiny splotches on her cutoffs. The arms of her fishnet top were frayed and split from where she’d been picking at them. 

Dr. Dan folded his hands in his lap as if in prayer. 

“When we ask those around us to believe in what only we have seen, we force them to choose between their trust in us and what they know to be reality. And through that choice, they can either deny their trust in us or deny their reality. If they choose to deny their reality, they become vulnerable to the same afflictions affecting us. What we must learn to do is share our experiences without expecting or demanding belief,” Dr. Dan said.  He turned to Petra. “Petra, have you ever asked someone to deny their own reality?”

Hunter groaned. They all had to answer this question as part of their induction, but everyone else had answered it privately with as much time as they needed. The doctors said the point of the exercise was personal introspection and responsibility, it didn’t matter who heard or what they thought of the answer, it was simply about reflecting on the impact you’ve had on others. 

As far as Hunter could tell, Dr. Dan wasn’t a vicious man, he wanted to help and had a clear understanding of how he could. This was the first time Hunter had ever seen him be cruel. Petra was exhausted and in no condition to be put on the spot like this. Hunter could feel the shame rippling off her as she bit back tears, but Dr. Dan just leaned back and waited for an answer.

“All my friends, I guess,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“The ones you were living with?” he asked.

 She nodded. A few black tears fell to the floor.

“Even though you knew it would harm them?” 

She paused. “No, I didn’t know that.” 

Dan shifted in his chair and tapped his pen on the side of his notebook. It was something he did to let everyone know they should be paying attention. It was unnecessary. Even after three hours of sitting in bolted, hard-backed chairs all the residents were dead-focused on the conversation. 

“But it was harming you. So, by asking them to believe, you invited them into the same pain and fear you were experiencing,” he said. 

“I was afraid they were in danger. I was trying to-” 

“You were trying to validate your delusion. If you wanted to keep them safe you would have left and gotten help.” 

“I didn’t know-”

“You asked them to abandon their reality to validate your own.” Dr. Dan shot back. “Out of fear, you tried to force them to believe what-” 

“I didn’t force anyone to believe anything. I warned them. I warned them about what I’d seen. I warned them that we were in danger because they were in danger and they still fucking are. There was something in that house, ghost or not, and I will never regret telling anyone!” 

Petra was breathing heavily through gritted teeth. The room was silent. Hunter fought back the urge to clap. He had been in the House for four weeks. He’d seen easy groups and hard ones, but he’d never seen anyone stand their ground like that. By the time everyone else had gotten to the House, their spirit was broken. They were still afraid, they still believed, but they never had enough hope to admit it. Petra was wounded, but she had never given up hope that someone would believe her and help her confront what had been following her. Petra wasn’t broken yet, and he loved her for it. 

Dr. Dan was silent for a long time. Finally, he announced the end of group and asked Dr. Ella to take Petra for a one-on-one. All other sessions were canceled.


#


That night, in hushed tones by the TV, Petra formed the pact. There was little ceremony to it. 

 “We believe each other no matter what happens. We never tell the others their story isn’t real, no matter what,” she said. 

No one questioned her. They nodded and stuck their hands together like a high school football team before a game. They held them there for a moment and pulled them apart again. It wasn’t hard to agree. The promise of belief was intoxicating. Afterward, Hunter sat quietly in the dark, crying tears of joy as the TV played. For the first time since his hauntings began, he felt like he wasn’t alone. 


#


The pact changed little at first, but when Grace and Rithi cycled out and new residents came in, it took on real meaning. Reese had suggested they bring the new people in, but Petra disagreed, she said the pact was a moment in time and couldn’t be replicated. Whoever was there was there. Reese accused her of being theatrical, but she didn’t budge. The pact would not grow. 

It took only two group sessions for Hunter to see that Petra had been right. With new additions, those in the pact became a group within a group. They stood together and were stronger for it. In every hard session, they found a sympathetic glance or supportive voice. After one-on-ones, they would whisper “I believe you” as they passed each other in the halls. Hunter began to hope that everything would be okay, that he would leave the House in a few weeks, and that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 


#


Hunter sat on the floor of the common room watching a show about Brazilian cuisine. Abbie and Reese were sprawled out on the sectional behind, barely awake and Jacob, the newest resident, was cross-legged on the ottoman, reading a newspaper. Morning hadn’t fully sunk in yet and half the House was still asleep. There was no noise beyond the soft murmur of the TV, and everything glowed with weak early-morning light. 

Then the screaming came. 

Hunter reached the stairs in seconds, the others only a few steps behind him. He had heard screaming before. The hospital had had its fair share and he had added to the chorus more than once. But the shock of this scream still cut through him, forcing sweat and tears out as he pounded up the steps. 

The door nearly flew off its hinges as he slammed into it and stumbled into Petra’s room. It was empty. He doubled back and tried to follow the sound of the screaming. It seemed impossible that this would be difficult, but the enormous, neo-gothic House was a maze of acoustics. 

He reached the open door to the bathroom and froze. The others piled up behind him, leering at the scene before them. Katie cowered fully clothed in the shower with the water turned on, while Petra screamed at the bathroom mirror. She held a pair of cosmetic scissors, the pointed end turned out like an icepick. The four outside the bathroom stared, as frozen as Katie.

“Petra?” Abbie ventured at last.

Petra stopped screaming. She slowly moved the scissors toward the glass like she was about to carve her face out of it. The House erupted with the sound of slamming doors and the second floor shook as the doctors raced up the stairs. 

“Petra, put down the scissors,” Hunter said. 

She didn’t respond. 

“Petra, please,” he took a step toward her. He knew he had to get the scissors away from her. If the doctors saw her with them, it was all over for Petra at the House. Potentially violent patients didn’t get cushy stays in new-age rehab Houses, they got locked rooms and mandatory meds. 

Petra turned on her heels, scissors poised over Hunter’s heart. She plunged them down as he grabbed for them, but he was quicker. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and lifted the scissors out in one easy motion, stuffing them into his bathrobe pocket. He flashed Katie a look and joined the others on the landing. 

This was the scene they presented to the doctors: four confused residents watching one who stood in the bathroom, fist raised as if she was about to make an invisible phone call, and another crouched in the shower, seemingly oblivious to her soaked clothing. 

They had no idea what they were looking at, but it wasn’t a violent, deranged Petra. Hunter patted himself on the back for that, now acutely aware of the thin gash that streaked his palm. The doctors shut down sessions for the day and concentrated everything on Petra and Katie. 


#


Katie told the doctors about the scissors immediately and Dr. Ella gave Hunter two stitches for the gash on his hand. But to Hunter’s surprise, no punishments came. Petra wasn’t condemned to a psych ward as he’d expected, she just received a few additional sessions, as did Katie. But the event in the bathroom changed something in Petra. Her hauntings were back and unrelenting. Nowhere was that clearer than in group. In most sessions, it took less than fifteen minutes for Petra to say something like:

“I saw something again. Here.”

Then the session would halt and pivot to her as it had to. Even if Dr. Dan had wanted to avoid the topic for that day, it would have been impossible. Five patients who have seen ghosts can’t hear that one has been wandering around their premises without a serious shift in their attention. 

Then Dan would ask her to explain what she had seen and one of any number of things would happen because she claimed to see one of any number of ghosts. 

“I saw twin boys whispering.” (Reese)

“It was a man in a trench coat without a face.” (Katie)

“It was a gaseous cloud, like a storm without any weather.” (Abbie)

“A dark figure with yellow glowing eyes.” (Jacob) 

“An old woman in a red sweater, with curly hair and no eyes.” (Hunter)

Sometimes it would be a sighting from a resident who’d cycled out already, or an obvious pluck from a movie, but generally, the ghost she saw belonged to one of the other residents. She was stealing their hauntings. 

“He was in the corner of my room, so I ran out as fast as I could. He followed me to the bathroom, so I grabbed the scissors. I was gonna try and fight him off, but-”

“That’s bullshit,” Katie said. 

“Katie...” Dan said.

Katie shook her head. “There’s no way she saw him and there’s no way she got out of the room so easily. He always blocks exits. He always makes you wait!” Katie said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Like Hunter, Katie was a victim of repeat sightings. Also like him, she was incredibly pedantic when it came to her haunting, so he was empathetic to her pain. Disregarding the details of her haunting felt sacrilegious.

“Plus, scissors? What the hell are you gonna do against him with scissors? The man has no face!” She screamed. 

“I-I wasn’t really thinking I guess,” Petra said.

This was the pattern of the first few cases, with the offended resident arguing her claim in much the same manner. Usually, Petra would clam up as if she were the victim and then Dan would try to explore her experience if the other resident would allow it. Otherwise, he was forced to table it and try to keep the offended party calm. 

Katie and Jacob exploded the first time she claimed to have seen their ghost. Hunter felt this was over the top considering how generic they were. A dark figure with yellow eyes and a faceless man in a trench coat? Half the patients he’d met being treated for narcotics had seen the same things. 

It was different with Reese and Abbie. They were a part of the pact and had promised Petra their belief. Abbie looked heartbroken whenever Petra spoke about her ghost, but she never did anything to stop it. Reese kept his feelings contained the first two times Petra claimed to have seen his ghost, but the third changed everything. Reese wasn’t a single-sighting case, but he wasn’t chronic either. He had seen his ghost exactly two times. Petra claimed to have seen it a third. 

Reese collapsed as soon as Petra began her story. He started to cry and moan as if cornered by the same ghost he was mourning.  

Petra stopped when she felt all attention shift from her to Reese. 

“Reese,” Dr. Dan said. “Is something wrong?”

Reese whimpered and his whole body shook. “Yes,” he sniffed. “It’s all wrong.”

“Explain what you mean,” Dr. Dan said. 

“Why are you letting her say this shit? You know what it’s doing to us.”

“Reese,” Dr. Dan said. “This is group time. It’s everyone’s opportunity to share their experiences and receive feedback.”

Reese scoffed. “These aren’t her experiences. She’s taking from us, and I don’t…-” He turned to Petra and looked her dead in the eyes. “I don’t believe you,” he said. 

Petra gasped. Tears flowed immediately and she snapped the threads of her fishnets one after the other. She flinched from Reese’s gaze and scanned the faces of those around her. They were all blank, save one. Hunter did his best to smile under the glares of those around them and mouthed “I believe you.”


#


Seven weeks after they’d formed the pact, Hunter and Petra were its two remaining members. Hunter was set to leave in a week, but due to what the doctors called “little progress and a poor attitude” Petra was looking at another 11 weeks in the House.

After Hunter left, Petra would be alone with residents who knew her only as a liar and an attention seeker. He loved Petra for the belief she had given him, but he could hardly blame his housemates for their opinion of her. He had felt the sting of her ghost appropriation half a dozen times and knew how painful it could be. But he also knew that this was her way of dealing with her experience and she needed someone in her corner. He tried his best to be that person for her his final week in the House, but it was Petra. She never made things easy. 

That final week, the old woman in the red sweater visited Petra another six times. She only came when Petra was alone and kept a distance of five to ten feet, exactly as she had with Hunter. Petra told these stories in group with pinpoint accuracy. Every detail was as Hunter had always experienced it. The old woman came when she was alone, when she was tired, and when she felt like she didn’t have a friend in the world. Petra even mentioned that the warmth left her body moving from the feet up. Hunter had never even told a doctor that. 

But then, the ghost did something she had never done before. She touched Petra. Lightly on the shoulder, just before disappearing. Petra shared it in group the following day, Hunter’s last day in the House. 

Hunter reeled. It was what he had been dreading for three years. Even after months without seeing her, the idea could still get stuck in his head and make his skin crawl for hours. She had never touched him, never even come within arms’ reach. Dr. Dan had said it was a barrier his mind had constructed and would never allow to be breached. He called it Hunter’s private rebellion. Petra’s rebellion had failed. 

He wasn’t sure he ever believed Petra had seen their ghosts, but he wasn’t sure they believed they’d seen them either. Hunter believed in her experience. Even as Petra faced a revolving door of ghosts, he hadn’t believed for a second she was making it up for attention. He was sure she believed she had seen them. But then she said his ghost had touched her and that all changed. 

Group ended and Hunter rushed to his room before Petra could speak to him. He avoided her eyes throughout dinner, even as he felt them bore into the side of his head. She knew what had happened. He could feel her ready herself for this final betrayal, but he wasn’t going to give in. It was his last night in the House, and he wouldn’t turn his back on her. 


#


Hunter knew Petra would be waiting in his room, but he still jumped when he turned the light on and found her sitting on his bed. She looked terrible. She wore an approximation of battle-goth, but the outfit looked like it was melting off of her. Her hair was disheveled, and her makeup had been destroyed by tears. Her top was covered in dripped mascara and her fishnets were the most shredded he had ever seen them. 

“Petra?”  

“We need to talk,” she said.

Hunter nodded, still avoiding her eyes. She slid off the bed, and grabbed his hand, leading him out through the fire escape and up to the roof. The House was old, and though every effort had been made to modernize it, its bones remained the same. Nowhere was this more evident than the widow’s walk. It had a guardrail that seemed designed to impale rather than enclose and the roof dipped off severely even before the guardrail began. The roof was strictly off-limits, but Petra and Hunter snuck out there a few times a week. This was their first time coming at night.

Petra led him to the edge of the roof where a chunk of the guardrail had fallen off and they dangled their legs out into the night air. 

“Did I do something wrong?” she said. Tiny sobs racked her and escaped as pitiful squeaks.

“No,” he said. “Maybe. It’s hard to say.”

She sniffed. “I didn’t steal your ghost, you know.” 

“I know,” he said. And he did know that. If it was a real ghost, it could easily have visited both of them. Or if it wasn’t real, hearing about his experience could have influenced her hallucinations. There was no reason to be jealous or protective. It was entirely explainable. But it still hurt like hell.

“They all broke their word as soon as it got a little tough, but I didn’t think you would.” He felt her turn to look at him in the dark. They were close enough that he could hear the rustle of her clothes and feel the tremor of her body through the roof, but he didn’t turn to meet her eyes. 

“I thought the pact meant something to you. I thought I meant something to you.” Her voice broke and a vision of her pitching forward off the roof flashed across Hunter’s mind. He grabbed her hand without looking. He could feel the chipped nail polish and the spots where her nails had dug into her palm. 

“It does,” he said. “You do.” He willed himself to look at her and tell her that nothing had changed, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t stand to face her for the lie he knew was coming. 

“You don’t believe me, Hunter.”

“Yes, I do,” he said.

“You don’t believe me, Hunter,” she said again.

“Yes, I do,” he croaked.

“No, you don’t,” she said, her voice firmer. “Say it.”

He began to cry. Shame crowded out his brain. He had failed her, and they both knew it. 

“I d-o-”

Say it,” she said. Her voice was like iron. 

“I-” 

“Say it!”

He sobbed. He couldn’t lie to her anymore. He couldn’t do anything but give in. 

“No,” he said. “I don’t believe you.”

He felt as if he’d just pulled a trigger. Blood rushed to his head and his ears rang with a high, clear note so loud he thought he might drown in the noise of it. Then the ringing faded into a staccato thump that grew harder and stronger. He suddenly realized it was laughter. She was laughing. It was high-pitched, croaky, and absolutely venomous. 

“Oh, Hunter. I almost hoped it would be harder than that.” The fear and desperation in her voice was gone. All that remained was the iron and venom. It wasn’t Petra’s voice. It wasn’t anything like hers. 

He felt her hand change beneath his fingers. The nail polish disappeared, and the smooth skin stretched and folded in on itself, suddenly waxy and papery. 

“But don’t worry,” she said. “I believe you.”

He turned and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the red sweater. And then he looked up. To where Petra should have been. To where her eyes should have been. 


END