Page 2 of Haunted

“Oh, it’s just some kid,” she says into the phone. “He’s come around saying we need to evacuate just to scare people. Now I’ve got Elliott worked up on top of everything else.” She turns away from me.

I don’t know what to say. I pull open the screen door and go inside without knocking.

“No! Elliott! We do not throw things. Ow! Elliott, remember our calm words!” Parker is sing-songing from somewhere deep in the house. Lunch is still on the dining table, half-eaten. Both times I’ve been in this house, Elliott has ended up screaming—the first time because I sat in his chair at that table. His chunky fourteen-year-old body has outgrown a mind that hasn’t moved on from early childhood.

The electricity blinks once and is gone.

“Parker?” I shout into the living room. The fug of cigarette smoke hits me hard. A soft breeze brings in the smell of burning wood and that alarms me even more.

Parker opens the door at the end of the hall. His face is white from tension, his blue eyes wide.

“Lance? Oh, thank God. Please, can you help me with my grandmother? I just need to pacify Elliott enough so I can grab his things.” The words come out rapidly, and for once he forgets his habitual shyness around me. He puts his hand on my forearm and looks at me like I’ve thrown him a rope. I instantly feel about six inches taller and five times stronger. He turns back to the room. “Grandma?” He’s made his voice gentle, like you do with a small child, but I can hear the exasperation ringing through. “This is my friend, Lance. He’s going to help get us out of here.”

The old woman peers at me dimly and then gives me a bright smile. Every time I’ve been here before, she has had to be reintroduced and reminded why I was there. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she says. She’s the picture of gracious Southern manners. “And what class are you in together?”

“English,” I say, because we’ve been in classes together since the ninth grade now and this is just the first one I can think of. “Parker, they’re closing the roads. I don’t think we can go back the way I came. The fire’s moving too fast.”

Parker turns to his grandmother. “Let’s get you into the car, Grandma, okay?”

She looks puzzled. “Oh, but I can’t go out without fixing my hair first.”

“You look wonderful,” Parker says, taking her by the elbow.

Parker’s grandmother regards me with gentle confusion. She keeps glancing at the doorway to the next room, where I can hear the rhythmic creak of bedsprings.

“Come with me, ma’am,” I say. “Let’s get you settled in the car.”

I guide her toward the door, but as we pass Elliott’s room I see him on his bed, rocking hard, arms wrapped around a stuffed snail. He looks at me mistrustfully.

“Hey Elliott,” I say carefully. “Tell you what. If you can get into the car before I get your grandma there, you get pizza.”

He stops rocking. “Pizza?”

“Whatever you want on it.”

“Sardines?”

Yuck. “Even sardines.”

“I’ll be super-fast,” he promises, grabs his stuffed snail, and bolts past me.

“Oh!” his grandmother says, looking at me as if for the first time. “What a nice young man. Who are your people, dear?”

“The Broussards, ma’am. Clear across town. Let’s get you to the car.”

I guide her out to the driveway. Elliott is already in the back seat of his mother’s sedan, seatbelt on, telling no one in particular about his pizza toppings. I get his grandmother settled next to him. She pats his hand and says, “That sounds lovely, dear,” even though I’m pretty sure she has no idea what he’s talking about.

Two down. I head back inside for Parker.

Mrs. Bishop is in the kitchen, off the phone now, opening cupboards. There’s a goddamned silver teapot in her hand and she pulls down a tarnished serving platter onto the counter.

“Mrs. Bishop, we need to leave. Right now. There’s no more time.”

“Parker!” she shouts, ignoring me completely. “Grandma’s wedding china!” It comes out like an order. “It’s in the bottom of my closet.”

Parker pulls up short. “I still need to get Grandma’s clothes packed up.”

He’s been dumping drawers full of his grandmother’s underwear into a garbage bag. I stop him. Fuck her wedding china. Jesus Christ, this must have been what Pompeii was like. I point to the first door in the hallway. “Parker, this is your room, right? I’m going to pack for you. You have two minutes to finish whatever you’re doing in there. After that I swear to Christ I’m dragging you out by the hair if you’re not ready to go. What do you need?”