A Ghost in Your Garden Part 2
Jul. 25th, 2014 04:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraLost my tongue in the sanctuary
"Heaven spare me!"
Hands raised above my head
Sent my brain to the seminary
Never seen again...
Jensen is halfway through the third wall when the doorbell rings. He’s a mess, paper bits in his hair and sweat and dust coating him, but he goes to answer it.
The woman standing on his stoop looks confused, her dress is ornate and incredibly old-fashioned, and she blinks several times before her eyes focus on him.
“Excuse me. Do you live here now?”
He doesn’t have to try to not be sarcastic, her expression is so pitiable that Jensen never even questions being polite.
“Yes ma’am. I moved in a little bit ago. Can I help you? Do you need me to call someone?”
She shakes her head, blonde hair brushing her eyes briefly before settling back onto the sides of her face.
“I was wondering if. You see I used to live here and-”
Jensen can read between the lines, and he doesn’t make her ask for more.
“Yeah sure, come on in. Do you want some tea?”
She shakes her head again and then enters into the grand foyer and looks around.
For a moment Jensen thinks she’s upset, angry instead of saddened or confused, and then her eyes light on the grandfather clock Jensen had Chris and Aldis help him carry down. Her fingers move out, slow and fluid, and Jensen watches her like they’re both in some sort of dream.
“Here it is. Hello. Hello friend.”
Jensen watches her as she leans forward and presses her face against the wood.
“This was my favorite piece. I had it commissioned for my son. It was to be an heirloom that he would give to his children and so on and so on. For hundreds of years.” She nuzzles the clock, eyes closed and hands stroking it. “He never passed it on of course.”
“Ma’am? Did your son…did he pass away?”
Her lips twist into a small and bitter smile, fingers curling on the wood and feet shuffling along the floor so she can press more firmly against it. The entire length of her body is there now.
“My baby. My sweet little boy. I was going to join him but I’m afraid I got stuck. Funny how the way out is sometimes a prison.”
Jensen opens his mouth to ask what that means, if she’s maybe an escaped patient from somewhere, and then he sees the trickle of blood sliding out from underneath her hair and staining the collar of her cream dress.
“Oh shit. Ma’am you’re bleeding. Let me get some- I’ll be right back!”
He dials 911 as he moves, stiff leg slowing him only a little in his panic, and when Jensen reaches the bathroom the operator is already on with him. He gives her an account of the problem, his name, and then finds the first aid kit as she asks for his address.
When he gives that there’s an awkward silence, and then the voice that comes back is no longer soothing but accusatory.
“Sir, are you aware that prank calling 911 and abusing emergency services is a crime that carries a hefty fine and potential jail time? You’re a little old to be making crank calls.”
Jensen’s hand freezes on the first aid kit, and he hears the confusion dimming his anger.
“What are you talking about? I have a serious emergency. There’s a woman in my house and she-“
“Is she blonde?”
He swallows, eyes moving to the doorway and the empty and silent hall beyond.
“Yes?”
“Pretty, hair in a bun, old timey dress? Talks about her son?”
He doesn’t answer, and apparently that is answer enough.
“Yeah, congratulations, you are my fifth caller in my time here ‘bout this nonsense. I’m glad you learned a little bit about city history, but I have a serious job to do. Get a life loser.”
Jensen wonders dimly if it’s less satisfying for her knowing that she can’t loudly hang up on him since he’s calling from a cell phone. Then he remembers the bleeding woman in his foyer. The one the 911 operator correctly described with no way of doing so.
His hands shake as he pushes up, first aid kit forgotten, and he slowly makes his way back out into the hall and towards the entranceway. Except when Jensen arrives there’s no one there. The front door is still closed, and Jensen opens it thinking he’ll see her wandering blankly down the street. But there’s no one there. Jensen goes through the entire house, checking in rooms and looking through closets, but nothing is moved and no is hiding.
There’s no sign of her anywhere.
----
“What are you implying Jensen?”
“I’m not implying anything Matt I am outright telling you that she disappeared.”
Matt’s voice drops a level or tow of volume, becomes condescending and comforting, and Jensen considers punching him in his smug professionally arguing face.
“Jensen, honey, she probably ducked around the house or down the street. Nothing supernatural about it she just got out of sight before you looked out the door.”
“Then what about the operator? What about her knowing everything I was going to say before I said it?”
Matt rolls his eyes and pushes his plate away.
“A repeat prank. Maybe the lady is crazy, or maybe she knows that the house is supposedly haunted and she’s got a bad sense of humor.”
“She was bleeding Matt.”
“Blood packs. They’re easy to get Jensen. Look, honey, I know it scared you but there’s no such thing as ghosts. You used to know that.”
Jensen bites back his knee-jerk responses regarding the many ways things have changed in the last few years and simply stands up from the table and drops his plate in the sink without bothering to rinse it.
“Jensen. Come on you can’t really-“
“I’m going to start running the sander on the ballroom floor. Chris and Aldis are coming over tomorrow to help.”
Matt doesn’t bother to try to stop him, and Jensen is viciously glad. He pops his headphones in, picks a random playlist, and lets the music take over as the sander starts up underneath his hands. He promised Chris and Aldis he would wait for them, it takes quite a bit of power and strength to control the machine, but this is constructive deconstruction and Jensen needs the catharsis of it right now.
He’s too into the zone to notice anything until the hand touches his shoulder, and Jensen leaps out of his skin before shutting the machine off and turning around.
Wide multi-colored eyes stare at him, lips tilted in a half-grin that is tentative and unsure, and Jensen takes a second to remember Jared’s name. When it comes to him he also remembers to pull his headphones out so he’s not shouting when he talks.
“You scared me.”
Jared grins fully at that, dimples appearing, and gestures to the floor.
“Your partner let me in. Said you were busy but I wanted to stop by and see if you needed a hand with anything. You know, neighbor business.”
There’s something about the smile on Jared’s face, the open honesty there, that strikes Jensen wrong in that moment. Maybe it’s because he’s never been the absolute best at making new friends, so scared he’d get it wrong he just avoids the possibility entirely, or maybe it’s that this stranger in his weird slacks and loose shirt is more supportive and understanding than his boyfriend.
“Neighbor business? What, coming over to poke around in cabinets and be nosy?”
Jared quirks an eyebrow, rolls back onto his heels for a second before settling entirely on the floor, and then he plucks the safety glasses off Jensen’s face and puts them on himself. His long hair gets pulled back into a loose, little ponytail, and he nudges Jensen none too gently from the handles of the sander and takes over the machine.
“Anything special I should know?”
He stares blankly at Jared for a long moment before shaking his head, and then Jared is running the machine, a delighted smile on his face, and Jensen watches him for a long time before plucking up a broom and sweeping the areas he’s already gotten.
They work separately but well, Jared following the motions that he either saw Jensen using or working on experience Jensen doesn’t know about. After a long time of nothing but the rumble of the machine and the scrape of the broom Jared flicks the machine off and rubs dust and sweat off his forehead.
“That thing is heavier than you’d expect it to be.”
Jensen looks at him for a moment, weighs his options, and then gives in to the smile he feels building. Jared smiles in return, open and honest, and it doesn’t rub him the wrong way like it did the last time. Something has broken, some intangible barrier that usually stands between Jensen and strangers, and he takes a deep breath before wiping at his own dusty and sweaty face.
“You want a beer man? Only fair to pay you for your services.”
The guy carefully places the safety glasses on the sander before pushing a stray lock of hair out his face and turning back fully to Jensen.
“I’d love a beer. It’s been ages.”
----
A beer becomes five, and Jensen is feeling a good buzz as he stares out at the yard with his feet up on the porch railing and Jared lounging beside him. They’ve discussed plans Jensen has for the house the entire time, and Jared’s feedback is naïve but excited.
It’s the buzz. It has to be the buzz because he’s already been treated like an idiot twice tonight.
“I met a ghost today.”
There’s a loud thunk as Jared’s foot slips off the railing and hits the porch. His head is turned to Jensen, he can see Jared’s shocked gaze out of the corner of his eye, and Jensen tries to stay neutral. If Jared starts to mock him he can play it off as a joke.
“Which one?”
And that, that, was not even vaguely in the neighborhood of what Jensen was expecting. He gives up and looks at Jared fully, takes in the combination of expressions he can’t fully read, and then tries to formulate an answer.
“What the fuck do you mean which one?”
Jared’s eyes skitter, land on the yard for half a second, fly up to the porch ceiling, and then come back to Jensen’s face. When they land there is nothing but surprise. Jensen wonders what the other expression was. The one he couldn’t identify.
“There’s more than one.”
Up until this point Jensen has really only experienced Jared’s entirely too friendly and honest demeanor. It’s weird to see this. This sudden evasiveness that makes no sense at all.
“You need to start making sense right now.”
Big hands shift, a beer bottle hides Jared’s face for a second, and when it comes down he looks a little guilty, and a lot more like himself. A puppy dog again instead of something wary and unsure.
“Well, I mean it’s all local legend, but there’s been a lot of…deaths here. So, the stories are about multiple ghosts.”
Jensen swallows reflexively. Yesterday he didn’t believe in ghosts. Today he is being told he lives in a house with more than one.
And he’s pretty sure he already believes it.
It’s not like Jensen has never seen horror movies before. He knows the rules. There’s always the ridiculous holdout, the new homeowners’ refusal to believe what they can see, and that usually ends up in some side character dying.
And since the only people that visit are Chris, Aldis, and Jared that doesn’t seem like a safe bet.
“How many deaths?”
Jared shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“I don’t know the exact answer to that. Was it a bad ghost? Was it scary?”
“You are entirely too ok with this. Knowing there are stories and hearing someone tell you they saw a ghost are two totally different things. You should be leveling a finger at me and calling me a lunatic.”
An eyebrow raised again, the disbelieving smile pulling out the same dimples.
“Why would I call you a lunatic? I believe in ghosts. Are you gonna call me a lunatic?”
There’s a long silence, Jensen mulling over possible responses, and then finally he gives up and simply drops his head into his hands.
“She was a woman. Blonde. Pretty. Told me she used to live here and then fondled my grandfather clock before her head started bleeding. I called 911 and the operator accused me of prank-calling.”
A big hand settles on his shoulder, cool and firm, and then Jared’s voice is soft and comforting.
“Samantha. Samantha Smith. That’s her name.”
Responses fly into his mouth and die on his tongue. Was her name is the most prevalent, but it seems neither relevant nor helpful.
“And she’s a regular sighting?”
“She’s pretty popular yeah. Died in 1912. Lost her son before that happened though. She’s- everybody always says she’s very sad.”
And did she seem sad? Yes. Sad and confused. Jensen thinks of the implications of that. Of a woman dying over a hundred years ago and being forever trapped in a house unaware of the passing of time and split from the one thing she wanted.
No wonder she’s sad.
He has to ask though, because he’s stepped firmly into the Twilight Zone and it’s time to know more.
“Is she dangerous?”
Jared, who is either the most laid-back human being on the planet or attempting to win an award for world’s strangest conversationalist, laughs.
“Samantha? No. No not dangerous at all. Sad. She’s sad, but she’s not dangerous.”
He sits back, considers for the time it takes to have a little more beer, and then fumbles out his hidden cigarette pack and lights up. He needs it for this conversation, and it’s not like he’ll touch Matt before he has time to shower and throw his clothes in the laundry.
“I don’t know how to feel about this. I mean on the one hand I am really grateful that you’re saying I’m not going insane. On the other hand I really wish you were telling me I was insane like Matt.”
Jensen doesn’t look over to see Jared’s reaction, but he hears the disgust in the tone.
“Matt sounds like an idiot.”
And he’s gratified, he really is, and he kind of wants to laugh, but a line has to be drawn.
“Jared I like you, and I’d like us to get along as neighbors, but you’re going to have to watch it on that one. Matt is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together a long time.”
What does he really expect? Jensen doesn’t know. It’s not what happens. Jared stands up and stretches before emptying his beer and dropping it in the recycling container.
“Sorry man. My bad.”
And with that his strange neighbor disappears into the twilight.
----
Jensen considers his options. He really does.
He’s always made fun of people that figure out they’re in a situation like this and then stay. Who would willingly put themselves in danger like that?
For a man that makes his living off the housing market Jensen cannot believe how incredibly judgmental and short-sighted he was. Their finances can’t stand the short sale they’d have to do, the incredible amount of money he’s already invested in materials to fix it up. Plus, how will he ever talk Matt into it? Their relationship is strained enough without them going bankrupt over what Matt sees as Jensen’s descent into madness.
On that note, how is he going to handle Matt? His boyfriend doesn’t believe in ghosts, and it’s not like Jensen is dumb enough to risk a Ouija board or a séance. Even if they did call something there’s two outcomes, one he knows from the silver screen and the other from a long and storied history with the man in question.
If he parades mystics and cardboard windows into the afterlife in front of Matt he’ll get committed. There’s no question about it. Matt might take pity on him and just push him into more therapy and drugs, but either way Jensen will spend his days drooling on Lithium, and he’s had enough psychoactive drugs to know he doesn’t want that. There’s a reason he flushes his current medications.
Trying to argue Matt into it won’t work either, because as Jensen has learned arguing with an attorney is akin to ramming your head into a wall. Either Matt will realize the error of his ways on his own, or he’ll die believing his original position. Too many screaming matches have taught Jensen that the best course of action is wait out the fight and let Matt see where the blame lies on his own.
So that option is out. And even if it would work Jensen knows that when the believer character in the movie contacts the dead things get worse. Right now all he’s had is a moving plate and a sad dead lady. Is that so bad? Really? Jared would have told him if the ghosts were violent. Jensen is pretty sure of that. Which means that as long as he can handle a little bit of weirdness he’s ok. He doesn’t have to really worry about what will happen beyond simply keeping his sanity and not letting the ghosts scare him into some screaming joke.
Maybe it’s not the best plan, but it is a plan. And if there’s a little bit of stubbornness that Jensen isn’t willing to actively recognize, so what? Sure, maybe he’s just being every idiot in every movie, planting his foot and peeing on a piece of property as he screams that it’s his house now, but it is his house now. He paid for it, and by all rights he owns it and everything in it.
Including the ghosts.
So, Jensen decides that since his partner won’t be in this with him he needs allies, and just having Jared won’t do it. Not just because Jensen hasn’t seen his odd neighbor for two days and isn’t entirely sure he didn’t piss the guy off so bad he won’t come back. Jensen needs support, and he knows where to get it.
The same place he always has.
Chris sits quietly across the table from him in the dining room while Aldis bounces in his seat. Jensen has all the wallpaper off and the walls spackled and sanded. All that’s left is to paint now. Ostensibly that’s why his friends have come over. In real life he was planning to deliver the news to them and deal with it if they laughed uproariously or sympathetically suggested he’s still not fully recovered.
But honestly, Jensen doesn’t expect either of those reactions, and his buddies don’t let him down.
“I knew it, man. I knew it the moment we walked in. That’s why that dummy scared me so bad, it wasn’t me being a pansy. I knew it. Didn’t I say it Chris? Didn’t I tell you this looked like the kind of place that would just be full of haints?”
“What are you an eighty-year-old Southern woman? Haints? Since when do you say haints?” Chris’s expression hasn’t changed from the even and considering one he’s had through Jensen’s entire rehashing of the encounter with Samantha, but his fingers have begun to tap gently on the walnut table top.
“Haints man, it’s the word my granny used. It’s appropriate. And you’re just grumpy because I was right. Again.”
Chris waves that off and turns his gaze fully on Jensen.
“What does Matt say?”
Jensen can’t help the scowl. He lectured Jared for his commentary, but there’s a complicated history between Matt and Jensen’s best friends, and he knows that if Chris belittles Matt’s reaction he won’t be able to argue with it.
“He says I’m not right yet. That maybe I need to do more time with Dr. Kripke and the medication.”
There’s a long silence, and then Aldis jumps in before Chris can find the right words. It happens a fair amount.
“Jensen, you still ain’t told him you stopped taking those things?”
A part of him wants to deny. To suggest that the problems he had with the pills were well-received by Matt and that just like Chris and Aldis his boyfriend told him he was better without them. More himself. But he’s never been very good at lying to either of them.
“No. He still thinks I need them.”
They share a glance that Jensen can only half-read, a side-effect of the amount of time they’ve spent together. Jensen misses that feeling of solidarity with his partner.
“Ok Jen, ok. We got your back. What do you need?”
He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. Jensen honestly didn’t realize until that moment how heavy it weighed on him. How bad it was to be here and not have back-up. And Jared, he rationally reminds himself, hardly counts.
“I don’t know. I know in the movies it’s a bad idea to talk to them. Wasn’t that the whole premise of that handycam film? That talking to it gave it power?”
“Paranormal Activity and that wasn’t-“
“Yeah it was. And I think we’ll take a page from their book and not mess with that until we know what’s happening. I’m assuming you don’t want Matt to know you’re looking into this?”
Aldis is shooting miffed looks at Chris but he lets Jensen respond instead of trying to finish off whatever point he was starting to make.
“No. I’d rather he didn’t.”
Chris shifts, but he got one over on Aldis a moment before and that means Aldis has to dominate their half of the conversation or the rest of the night. Or until Chris does it again.
“Well then lucky us, your pretty boy is too busy at the office most of the time to even imagine what’s going on in his own home.”
It’s not meant to be a dig on Jensen, but it comes out that way and Aldis winces as soon as it’s escaped his mouth. Everyone in the room knows what he’s alluding too, and everyone is too good to say it out loud. Chris reaches out and affectionately slaps Aldis’s shoulder, just at the edge of rough, and then leans forward towards Jensen’s side of the table.
“So we start where every good Ghost Hunters episode starts. With research. And since you ain’t fond of leaving the house or strangers you start here. Get that guy you’re talking about to tell you what he knows. Aldis and I will hit up county records and the library and when then we’ll pool what we got and sift through till we get the general idea of the truth.”
Jensen shifts once and then looks out the window.
“I’m not sure if…I might have run Jared off. I got a little prickly when he insulted Matt.”
Chris slaps his hand over Aldis’s mouth and smiles the grin that originally made Jensen hire him.
“Then bat your pretty lashes Jenny boy. Who’s ever been able to resist that?”
---
Jensen realizes the next day that he has absolutely no idea which house is Jared’s. He woke up to a note from Matt saying he was going to be in a planning session for their next court date tonight until late and would be eating at the office. Now he’s standing on the porch with his coffee and staring at the surrounding houses, as if looking at their exteriors will give away which one he needs.
The coffee is halfway to his mouth when the bang goes off, and Jensen jumps almost a foot and spills hot coffee down his front and over his mouth and chin. Cursing he pulls the shirt from his skin and turns around to head into the house. It’s not until he steps through the doorway into the cool and dark foyer that it occurs to him that it is a fifty-fifty shot that what he heard was a thing falling, or a ghost.
And he went inside.
For a second Jensen is paralyzed by the enormity of his stupidity, and then he starts moving. Chris was only half-joking, but Jensen has seen an episode or two of Ghost Hunters and he vaguely remembers them saying that the first rule is to be firm. He adds polite because he can’t remember that part but it sounds like a good idea.
“Hello? If you are messing up my house please stop.”
There’s another bang from above him, and Jensen stands totally still with his mostly empty cup clutched in his hand and coffee cooling and staining his shirt. He makes up his mind on a whim and crosses the floor to the stairs. Jensen puts the cup down and climbs the stairs slowly, muscles tight with tension and prepared for flight if that is necessary.
If the hallway is any indication there’s nothing wrong. A window opened and the ridiculous wind he didn’t feel on the front porch knocked over boxes. That’s totally logical. It makes all the sense.
Jensen is going to die a cheesy horror movie death. Matt’s the protagonist. Of course he is. He was always the more charismatic one. Why wouldn’t he be the star of the film?
The door creaks, of course it does, and Jensen has one wild thought about oiling the hinges before he’s faced with an empty room. The adrenaline dump is massive, and oddly comes with disappointment. There’s nothing here. He’s safe.
A hand grabs his shoulder.
-----
“I’m so, so sorry Jared. I’m really sorry.”
Jared holds the ice steady over his eye and studies Jensen with the one not covered.
“It’s fine. It was a glancing blow. It’s fine. I don’t even think it’s gonna bruise man. That’s what I get for sneaking up on you.”
He feels terrible about it, but Jared appearing is still fortuitous. Now he doesn’t have to go door to door asking about Jared.
“You know, funny thing, I was actually about to go to your house when I heard the banging.”
Jared raises the uncovered eyebrow and then grins big and full.
“Hey, that’s great man. I thought you were still mad at me.”
That takes him a second.
“Mad at you? I thought you’d be angry I snapped at you.”
A big hand full of ice flaps and Jensen sees that as of this moment there’s no swelling or bruising. He’s glad. Although he really thought he hit Jared harder than that. Then again, it’s been years since Jensen has had to hit someone, so who really knows?
“Was nothing. You were standing up for your partner, as you should. I thought maybe you’d need some more renovation help.”
Jensen hesitates, it’s not what he wants, but he could use the help and the distraction of working with his hands will ease whatever information Jared is capable of giving him.
“Actually yeah. I need to put a second coat up in the dining room. You any good with a paintbrush?”
The smile he gets in response is so big it threatens to split Jared’s face, and the dimples become little craters.
“I’m an expert.”
His assertion is proven shortly afterward. Jared’s brush strokes are even and perfect, and Jensen takes the roller and lets Jared handle all the careful trim work.
“You do this for a living?”
“Well, not this specifically, but I do wield a brush. I’m an artist.”
Jensen can’t help the smile that the pride in Jared’s voice brings. He’s met a fair number of artists before that talk about it like it’s a curse or a punishment. Jared couldn’t seem happier to be an artist.
“You must do pretty well for yourself. Anything I’ve seen?”
“Nope. I’m the best kind of an artist. I’m an investment opportunity.”
He laughs, waits until he’s gotten a hold of himself again to meet Jared’s eye and lift his eyebrow.
“You mean you’re looking for a patron?”
“No. Not at all. I don’t need extra money, I get by. No I mean if you buy my stuff now it’ll be worth millions after my death is publicized.”
Laughing again, more than he has since the accident, and Jensen has to place his hand against his side to stop the rising cramp that he can feel from the underused muscles. Jared’s smiling and nodding, but it’s obvious that he’s at least a little serious.
“Well you should show me your work. I’d love to make millions.”
Jared’s smile turns a little wistful, kind of sweet, and he finishes a stroke and then rests the brush down on the paint can.
“One day I’ll show you Jensen. So what’s next after you paint in here?”
It’s kind of a sudden change, and also the perfect segue into the real reason he was going to look for Jared. Beyond laughter and free labor.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some things about the house’s history. You know, general knowledge stuff.”
The smile loses its wistful quality and becomes strong and warm.
“You gonna befriend some ghosts Jensen?”
“I just might.”
-----
They’re on the bench this time, and Jensen wonders why Jared would pick the less comfortable seating position. The view is beautiful, he’ll admit that, but the iron digs wrong in places and the grand old tree’s shade is the only thing that keeps him from direct, powerful Texas sunshine.
“It’s an old Southern tradition to name houses-“
“Actually people do that all over depending on-“
Jared’s look is mock reproachful, and Jensen shuts up.
“You wanna tell this story? I didn’t think so. So, the town was settled in 1844, and Oak Tree was built in 1855.”
“Oak Tree?”
Jared gestures to the tree beside them and lifts an eyebrow.
“What did you think they all had unique and grand names? Sometimes it’s just observational.”
He’s shaking his head before he can stop himself, because apparently Jensen is the worst sort of audience.
“This house was built in 1913. Sera told me about it when she sold it to me.”
“This house was finished in 1913. In 1855 a man named Jeffrey Dean Morgan built a smaller house around a fireplace of imported Italian brick as a gift to his wife. A grand fireplace for the promise of a grand homestead.”
Jensen thinks of the old brick he touched on his first visit. Of the tiles he ordered to put around and over some of it. He scraps that plan mentally now that he knows what the brick means.
“Except he didn’t finish the house. He died in the tornado in 1856 and the only thing left standing was the fireplace. The widow Morgan buried Mr. Morgan, and the property reverted to his brother. He let the land sit unused for years before selling it to a nephew named Mark Pellegrino. Pellegrino built the actual house and settled into it. When he died childless of a heart attack he passed it down to a family friend.”
He’s picking up the pattern without Jared pointing it out. Still, Jensen waits because maybe his mind is just too morbid for this conversation. Maybe he’s making connections where they don’t exist.
“After that it went up on the general market and has had a number of owners. Some of whom died here. Or moved after they lost a loved one. Oak Tree has broken a number of hearts.”
Jensen sits very still looking out at the trees before he finds his voice.
“How long have you lived near here?”
Jared shrugs, everything about him forced casual. The subject is melancholy, but there’s something almost personal about Jared’s story-telling.
“Seems like a hundred years, but that’s how small towns work. They stretch time out until you think you’re going insane.”
“You know so much about the place.”
“My momma always used to say you know the most about a town by its ghost stories. I guess I just applied that to the neighborhood.”
“Anybody else’s house haunted? Maybe I can join a support group. Talk to people who know the best way to keep your shit from getting moved.”
Jared squints for a second before shaking his head.
“Nope. Nobody else I know in this area. Is it that bad, Jensen?”
“You ever seen a ghost?”
There’s a long pause, and then Jared shakes his head.
“Not a single time in my life.”
Jensen wants to ask about that, because it has the sad note again, but he leaves it alone. He doesn’t know Jared all that well, and their conversations already have a tendency to lunacy. Instead he looks back out at the little copse of trees.
“These people died Jared. They died in this house, and they all had a reason for it. I’m not safe and neither is Matt. It’s pretty bad.”
Jared turns then, takes Jensen’s hand, and he’s so earnest it’s almost painful to look at.
“I won’t let you die Jensen. You’re safe here.”
Masterpost
Next Part
Previous Part
"Heaven spare me!"
Hands raised above my head
Sent my brain to the seminary
Never seen again...
Jensen is halfway through the third wall when the doorbell rings. He’s a mess, paper bits in his hair and sweat and dust coating him, but he goes to answer it.
The woman standing on his stoop looks confused, her dress is ornate and incredibly old-fashioned, and she blinks several times before her eyes focus on him.
“Excuse me. Do you live here now?”
He doesn’t have to try to not be sarcastic, her expression is so pitiable that Jensen never even questions being polite.
“Yes ma’am. I moved in a little bit ago. Can I help you? Do you need me to call someone?”
She shakes her head, blonde hair brushing her eyes briefly before settling back onto the sides of her face.
“I was wondering if. You see I used to live here and-”
Jensen can read between the lines, and he doesn’t make her ask for more.
“Yeah sure, come on in. Do you want some tea?”
She shakes her head again and then enters into the grand foyer and looks around.
For a moment Jensen thinks she’s upset, angry instead of saddened or confused, and then her eyes light on the grandfather clock Jensen had Chris and Aldis help him carry down. Her fingers move out, slow and fluid, and Jensen watches her like they’re both in some sort of dream.
“Here it is. Hello. Hello friend.”
Jensen watches her as she leans forward and presses her face against the wood.
“This was my favorite piece. I had it commissioned for my son. It was to be an heirloom that he would give to his children and so on and so on. For hundreds of years.” She nuzzles the clock, eyes closed and hands stroking it. “He never passed it on of course.”
“Ma’am? Did your son…did he pass away?”
Her lips twist into a small and bitter smile, fingers curling on the wood and feet shuffling along the floor so she can press more firmly against it. The entire length of her body is there now.
“My baby. My sweet little boy. I was going to join him but I’m afraid I got stuck. Funny how the way out is sometimes a prison.”
Jensen opens his mouth to ask what that means, if she’s maybe an escaped patient from somewhere, and then he sees the trickle of blood sliding out from underneath her hair and staining the collar of her cream dress.
“Oh shit. Ma’am you’re bleeding. Let me get some- I’ll be right back!”
He dials 911 as he moves, stiff leg slowing him only a little in his panic, and when Jensen reaches the bathroom the operator is already on with him. He gives her an account of the problem, his name, and then finds the first aid kit as she asks for his address.
When he gives that there’s an awkward silence, and then the voice that comes back is no longer soothing but accusatory.
“Sir, are you aware that prank calling 911 and abusing emergency services is a crime that carries a hefty fine and potential jail time? You’re a little old to be making crank calls.”
Jensen’s hand freezes on the first aid kit, and he hears the confusion dimming his anger.
“What are you talking about? I have a serious emergency. There’s a woman in my house and she-“
“Is she blonde?”
He swallows, eyes moving to the doorway and the empty and silent hall beyond.
“Yes?”
“Pretty, hair in a bun, old timey dress? Talks about her son?”
He doesn’t answer, and apparently that is answer enough.
“Yeah, congratulations, you are my fifth caller in my time here ‘bout this nonsense. I’m glad you learned a little bit about city history, but I have a serious job to do. Get a life loser.”
Jensen wonders dimly if it’s less satisfying for her knowing that she can’t loudly hang up on him since he’s calling from a cell phone. Then he remembers the bleeding woman in his foyer. The one the 911 operator correctly described with no way of doing so.
His hands shake as he pushes up, first aid kit forgotten, and he slowly makes his way back out into the hall and towards the entranceway. Except when Jensen arrives there’s no one there. The front door is still closed, and Jensen opens it thinking he’ll see her wandering blankly down the street. But there’s no one there. Jensen goes through the entire house, checking in rooms and looking through closets, but nothing is moved and no is hiding.
There’s no sign of her anywhere.
----
“What are you implying Jensen?”
“I’m not implying anything Matt I am outright telling you that she disappeared.”
Matt’s voice drops a level or tow of volume, becomes condescending and comforting, and Jensen considers punching him in his smug professionally arguing face.
“Jensen, honey, she probably ducked around the house or down the street. Nothing supernatural about it she just got out of sight before you looked out the door.”
“Then what about the operator? What about her knowing everything I was going to say before I said it?”
Matt rolls his eyes and pushes his plate away.
“A repeat prank. Maybe the lady is crazy, or maybe she knows that the house is supposedly haunted and she’s got a bad sense of humor.”
“She was bleeding Matt.”
“Blood packs. They’re easy to get Jensen. Look, honey, I know it scared you but there’s no such thing as ghosts. You used to know that.”
Jensen bites back his knee-jerk responses regarding the many ways things have changed in the last few years and simply stands up from the table and drops his plate in the sink without bothering to rinse it.
“Jensen. Come on you can’t really-“
“I’m going to start running the sander on the ballroom floor. Chris and Aldis are coming over tomorrow to help.”
Matt doesn’t bother to try to stop him, and Jensen is viciously glad. He pops his headphones in, picks a random playlist, and lets the music take over as the sander starts up underneath his hands. He promised Chris and Aldis he would wait for them, it takes quite a bit of power and strength to control the machine, but this is constructive deconstruction and Jensen needs the catharsis of it right now.
He’s too into the zone to notice anything until the hand touches his shoulder, and Jensen leaps out of his skin before shutting the machine off and turning around.
Wide multi-colored eyes stare at him, lips tilted in a half-grin that is tentative and unsure, and Jensen takes a second to remember Jared’s name. When it comes to him he also remembers to pull his headphones out so he’s not shouting when he talks.
“You scared me.”
Jared grins fully at that, dimples appearing, and gestures to the floor.
“Your partner let me in. Said you were busy but I wanted to stop by and see if you needed a hand with anything. You know, neighbor business.”
There’s something about the smile on Jared’s face, the open honesty there, that strikes Jensen wrong in that moment. Maybe it’s because he’s never been the absolute best at making new friends, so scared he’d get it wrong he just avoids the possibility entirely, or maybe it’s that this stranger in his weird slacks and loose shirt is more supportive and understanding than his boyfriend.
“Neighbor business? What, coming over to poke around in cabinets and be nosy?”
Jared quirks an eyebrow, rolls back onto his heels for a second before settling entirely on the floor, and then he plucks the safety glasses off Jensen’s face and puts them on himself. His long hair gets pulled back into a loose, little ponytail, and he nudges Jensen none too gently from the handles of the sander and takes over the machine.
“Anything special I should know?”
He stares blankly at Jared for a long moment before shaking his head, and then Jared is running the machine, a delighted smile on his face, and Jensen watches him for a long time before plucking up a broom and sweeping the areas he’s already gotten.
They work separately but well, Jared following the motions that he either saw Jensen using or working on experience Jensen doesn’t know about. After a long time of nothing but the rumble of the machine and the scrape of the broom Jared flicks the machine off and rubs dust and sweat off his forehead.
“That thing is heavier than you’d expect it to be.”
Jensen looks at him for a moment, weighs his options, and then gives in to the smile he feels building. Jared smiles in return, open and honest, and it doesn’t rub him the wrong way like it did the last time. Something has broken, some intangible barrier that usually stands between Jensen and strangers, and he takes a deep breath before wiping at his own dusty and sweaty face.
“You want a beer man? Only fair to pay you for your services.”
The guy carefully places the safety glasses on the sander before pushing a stray lock of hair out his face and turning back fully to Jensen.
“I’d love a beer. It’s been ages.”
----
A beer becomes five, and Jensen is feeling a good buzz as he stares out at the yard with his feet up on the porch railing and Jared lounging beside him. They’ve discussed plans Jensen has for the house the entire time, and Jared’s feedback is naïve but excited.
It’s the buzz. It has to be the buzz because he’s already been treated like an idiot twice tonight.
“I met a ghost today.”
There’s a loud thunk as Jared’s foot slips off the railing and hits the porch. His head is turned to Jensen, he can see Jared’s shocked gaze out of the corner of his eye, and Jensen tries to stay neutral. If Jared starts to mock him he can play it off as a joke.
“Which one?”
And that, that, was not even vaguely in the neighborhood of what Jensen was expecting. He gives up and looks at Jared fully, takes in the combination of expressions he can’t fully read, and then tries to formulate an answer.
“What the fuck do you mean which one?”
Jared’s eyes skitter, land on the yard for half a second, fly up to the porch ceiling, and then come back to Jensen’s face. When they land there is nothing but surprise. Jensen wonders what the other expression was. The one he couldn’t identify.
“There’s more than one.”
Up until this point Jensen has really only experienced Jared’s entirely too friendly and honest demeanor. It’s weird to see this. This sudden evasiveness that makes no sense at all.
“You need to start making sense right now.”
Big hands shift, a beer bottle hides Jared’s face for a second, and when it comes down he looks a little guilty, and a lot more like himself. A puppy dog again instead of something wary and unsure.
“Well, I mean it’s all local legend, but there’s been a lot of…deaths here. So, the stories are about multiple ghosts.”
Jensen swallows reflexively. Yesterday he didn’t believe in ghosts. Today he is being told he lives in a house with more than one.
And he’s pretty sure he already believes it.
It’s not like Jensen has never seen horror movies before. He knows the rules. There’s always the ridiculous holdout, the new homeowners’ refusal to believe what they can see, and that usually ends up in some side character dying.
And since the only people that visit are Chris, Aldis, and Jared that doesn’t seem like a safe bet.
“How many deaths?”
Jared shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“I don’t know the exact answer to that. Was it a bad ghost? Was it scary?”
“You are entirely too ok with this. Knowing there are stories and hearing someone tell you they saw a ghost are two totally different things. You should be leveling a finger at me and calling me a lunatic.”
An eyebrow raised again, the disbelieving smile pulling out the same dimples.
“Why would I call you a lunatic? I believe in ghosts. Are you gonna call me a lunatic?”
There’s a long silence, Jensen mulling over possible responses, and then finally he gives up and simply drops his head into his hands.
“She was a woman. Blonde. Pretty. Told me she used to live here and then fondled my grandfather clock before her head started bleeding. I called 911 and the operator accused me of prank-calling.”
A big hand settles on his shoulder, cool and firm, and then Jared’s voice is soft and comforting.
“Samantha. Samantha Smith. That’s her name.”
Responses fly into his mouth and die on his tongue. Was her name is the most prevalent, but it seems neither relevant nor helpful.
“And she’s a regular sighting?”
“She’s pretty popular yeah. Died in 1912. Lost her son before that happened though. She’s- everybody always says she’s very sad.”
And did she seem sad? Yes. Sad and confused. Jensen thinks of the implications of that. Of a woman dying over a hundred years ago and being forever trapped in a house unaware of the passing of time and split from the one thing she wanted.
No wonder she’s sad.
He has to ask though, because he’s stepped firmly into the Twilight Zone and it’s time to know more.
“Is she dangerous?”
Jared, who is either the most laid-back human being on the planet or attempting to win an award for world’s strangest conversationalist, laughs.
“Samantha? No. No not dangerous at all. Sad. She’s sad, but she’s not dangerous.”
He sits back, considers for the time it takes to have a little more beer, and then fumbles out his hidden cigarette pack and lights up. He needs it for this conversation, and it’s not like he’ll touch Matt before he has time to shower and throw his clothes in the laundry.
“I don’t know how to feel about this. I mean on the one hand I am really grateful that you’re saying I’m not going insane. On the other hand I really wish you were telling me I was insane like Matt.”
Jensen doesn’t look over to see Jared’s reaction, but he hears the disgust in the tone.
“Matt sounds like an idiot.”
And he’s gratified, he really is, and he kind of wants to laugh, but a line has to be drawn.
“Jared I like you, and I’d like us to get along as neighbors, but you’re going to have to watch it on that one. Matt is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together a long time.”
What does he really expect? Jensen doesn’t know. It’s not what happens. Jared stands up and stretches before emptying his beer and dropping it in the recycling container.
“Sorry man. My bad.”
And with that his strange neighbor disappears into the twilight.
----
Jensen considers his options. He really does.
He’s always made fun of people that figure out they’re in a situation like this and then stay. Who would willingly put themselves in danger like that?
For a man that makes his living off the housing market Jensen cannot believe how incredibly judgmental and short-sighted he was. Their finances can’t stand the short sale they’d have to do, the incredible amount of money he’s already invested in materials to fix it up. Plus, how will he ever talk Matt into it? Their relationship is strained enough without them going bankrupt over what Matt sees as Jensen’s descent into madness.
On that note, how is he going to handle Matt? His boyfriend doesn’t believe in ghosts, and it’s not like Jensen is dumb enough to risk a Ouija board or a séance. Even if they did call something there’s two outcomes, one he knows from the silver screen and the other from a long and storied history with the man in question.
If he parades mystics and cardboard windows into the afterlife in front of Matt he’ll get committed. There’s no question about it. Matt might take pity on him and just push him into more therapy and drugs, but either way Jensen will spend his days drooling on Lithium, and he’s had enough psychoactive drugs to know he doesn’t want that. There’s a reason he flushes his current medications.
Trying to argue Matt into it won’t work either, because as Jensen has learned arguing with an attorney is akin to ramming your head into a wall. Either Matt will realize the error of his ways on his own, or he’ll die believing his original position. Too many screaming matches have taught Jensen that the best course of action is wait out the fight and let Matt see where the blame lies on his own.
So that option is out. And even if it would work Jensen knows that when the believer character in the movie contacts the dead things get worse. Right now all he’s had is a moving plate and a sad dead lady. Is that so bad? Really? Jared would have told him if the ghosts were violent. Jensen is pretty sure of that. Which means that as long as he can handle a little bit of weirdness he’s ok. He doesn’t have to really worry about what will happen beyond simply keeping his sanity and not letting the ghosts scare him into some screaming joke.
Maybe it’s not the best plan, but it is a plan. And if there’s a little bit of stubbornness that Jensen isn’t willing to actively recognize, so what? Sure, maybe he’s just being every idiot in every movie, planting his foot and peeing on a piece of property as he screams that it’s his house now, but it is his house now. He paid for it, and by all rights he owns it and everything in it.
Including the ghosts.
So, Jensen decides that since his partner won’t be in this with him he needs allies, and just having Jared won’t do it. Not just because Jensen hasn’t seen his odd neighbor for two days and isn’t entirely sure he didn’t piss the guy off so bad he won’t come back. Jensen needs support, and he knows where to get it.
The same place he always has.
Chris sits quietly across the table from him in the dining room while Aldis bounces in his seat. Jensen has all the wallpaper off and the walls spackled and sanded. All that’s left is to paint now. Ostensibly that’s why his friends have come over. In real life he was planning to deliver the news to them and deal with it if they laughed uproariously or sympathetically suggested he’s still not fully recovered.
But honestly, Jensen doesn’t expect either of those reactions, and his buddies don’t let him down.
“I knew it, man. I knew it the moment we walked in. That’s why that dummy scared me so bad, it wasn’t me being a pansy. I knew it. Didn’t I say it Chris? Didn’t I tell you this looked like the kind of place that would just be full of haints?”
“What are you an eighty-year-old Southern woman? Haints? Since when do you say haints?” Chris’s expression hasn’t changed from the even and considering one he’s had through Jensen’s entire rehashing of the encounter with Samantha, but his fingers have begun to tap gently on the walnut table top.
“Haints man, it’s the word my granny used. It’s appropriate. And you’re just grumpy because I was right. Again.”
Chris waves that off and turns his gaze fully on Jensen.
“What does Matt say?”
Jensen can’t help the scowl. He lectured Jared for his commentary, but there’s a complicated history between Matt and Jensen’s best friends, and he knows that if Chris belittles Matt’s reaction he won’t be able to argue with it.
“He says I’m not right yet. That maybe I need to do more time with Dr. Kripke and the medication.”
There’s a long silence, and then Aldis jumps in before Chris can find the right words. It happens a fair amount.
“Jensen, you still ain’t told him you stopped taking those things?”
A part of him wants to deny. To suggest that the problems he had with the pills were well-received by Matt and that just like Chris and Aldis his boyfriend told him he was better without them. More himself. But he’s never been very good at lying to either of them.
“No. He still thinks I need them.”
They share a glance that Jensen can only half-read, a side-effect of the amount of time they’ve spent together. Jensen misses that feeling of solidarity with his partner.
“Ok Jen, ok. We got your back. What do you need?”
He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. Jensen honestly didn’t realize until that moment how heavy it weighed on him. How bad it was to be here and not have back-up. And Jared, he rationally reminds himself, hardly counts.
“I don’t know. I know in the movies it’s a bad idea to talk to them. Wasn’t that the whole premise of that handycam film? That talking to it gave it power?”
“Paranormal Activity and that wasn’t-“
“Yeah it was. And I think we’ll take a page from their book and not mess with that until we know what’s happening. I’m assuming you don’t want Matt to know you’re looking into this?”
Aldis is shooting miffed looks at Chris but he lets Jensen respond instead of trying to finish off whatever point he was starting to make.
“No. I’d rather he didn’t.”
Chris shifts, but he got one over on Aldis a moment before and that means Aldis has to dominate their half of the conversation or the rest of the night. Or until Chris does it again.
“Well then lucky us, your pretty boy is too busy at the office most of the time to even imagine what’s going on in his own home.”
It’s not meant to be a dig on Jensen, but it comes out that way and Aldis winces as soon as it’s escaped his mouth. Everyone in the room knows what he’s alluding too, and everyone is too good to say it out loud. Chris reaches out and affectionately slaps Aldis’s shoulder, just at the edge of rough, and then leans forward towards Jensen’s side of the table.
“So we start where every good Ghost Hunters episode starts. With research. And since you ain’t fond of leaving the house or strangers you start here. Get that guy you’re talking about to tell you what he knows. Aldis and I will hit up county records and the library and when then we’ll pool what we got and sift through till we get the general idea of the truth.”
Jensen shifts once and then looks out the window.
“I’m not sure if…I might have run Jared off. I got a little prickly when he insulted Matt.”
Chris slaps his hand over Aldis’s mouth and smiles the grin that originally made Jensen hire him.
“Then bat your pretty lashes Jenny boy. Who’s ever been able to resist that?”
---
Jensen realizes the next day that he has absolutely no idea which house is Jared’s. He woke up to a note from Matt saying he was going to be in a planning session for their next court date tonight until late and would be eating at the office. Now he’s standing on the porch with his coffee and staring at the surrounding houses, as if looking at their exteriors will give away which one he needs.
The coffee is halfway to his mouth when the bang goes off, and Jensen jumps almost a foot and spills hot coffee down his front and over his mouth and chin. Cursing he pulls the shirt from his skin and turns around to head into the house. It’s not until he steps through the doorway into the cool and dark foyer that it occurs to him that it is a fifty-fifty shot that what he heard was a thing falling, or a ghost.
And he went inside.
For a second Jensen is paralyzed by the enormity of his stupidity, and then he starts moving. Chris was only half-joking, but Jensen has seen an episode or two of Ghost Hunters and he vaguely remembers them saying that the first rule is to be firm. He adds polite because he can’t remember that part but it sounds like a good idea.
“Hello? If you are messing up my house please stop.”
There’s another bang from above him, and Jensen stands totally still with his mostly empty cup clutched in his hand and coffee cooling and staining his shirt. He makes up his mind on a whim and crosses the floor to the stairs. Jensen puts the cup down and climbs the stairs slowly, muscles tight with tension and prepared for flight if that is necessary.
If the hallway is any indication there’s nothing wrong. A window opened and the ridiculous wind he didn’t feel on the front porch knocked over boxes. That’s totally logical. It makes all the sense.
Jensen is going to die a cheesy horror movie death. Matt’s the protagonist. Of course he is. He was always the more charismatic one. Why wouldn’t he be the star of the film?
The door creaks, of course it does, and Jensen has one wild thought about oiling the hinges before he’s faced with an empty room. The adrenaline dump is massive, and oddly comes with disappointment. There’s nothing here. He’s safe.
A hand grabs his shoulder.
-----
“I’m so, so sorry Jared. I’m really sorry.”
Jared holds the ice steady over his eye and studies Jensen with the one not covered.
“It’s fine. It was a glancing blow. It’s fine. I don’t even think it’s gonna bruise man. That’s what I get for sneaking up on you.”
He feels terrible about it, but Jared appearing is still fortuitous. Now he doesn’t have to go door to door asking about Jared.
“You know, funny thing, I was actually about to go to your house when I heard the banging.”
Jared raises the uncovered eyebrow and then grins big and full.
“Hey, that’s great man. I thought you were still mad at me.”
That takes him a second.
“Mad at you? I thought you’d be angry I snapped at you.”
A big hand full of ice flaps and Jensen sees that as of this moment there’s no swelling or bruising. He’s glad. Although he really thought he hit Jared harder than that. Then again, it’s been years since Jensen has had to hit someone, so who really knows?
“Was nothing. You were standing up for your partner, as you should. I thought maybe you’d need some more renovation help.”
Jensen hesitates, it’s not what he wants, but he could use the help and the distraction of working with his hands will ease whatever information Jared is capable of giving him.
“Actually yeah. I need to put a second coat up in the dining room. You any good with a paintbrush?”
The smile he gets in response is so big it threatens to split Jared’s face, and the dimples become little craters.
“I’m an expert.”
His assertion is proven shortly afterward. Jared’s brush strokes are even and perfect, and Jensen takes the roller and lets Jared handle all the careful trim work.
“You do this for a living?”
“Well, not this specifically, but I do wield a brush. I’m an artist.”
Jensen can’t help the smile that the pride in Jared’s voice brings. He’s met a fair number of artists before that talk about it like it’s a curse or a punishment. Jared couldn’t seem happier to be an artist.
“You must do pretty well for yourself. Anything I’ve seen?”
“Nope. I’m the best kind of an artist. I’m an investment opportunity.”
He laughs, waits until he’s gotten a hold of himself again to meet Jared’s eye and lift his eyebrow.
“You mean you’re looking for a patron?”
“No. Not at all. I don’t need extra money, I get by. No I mean if you buy my stuff now it’ll be worth millions after my death is publicized.”
Laughing again, more than he has since the accident, and Jensen has to place his hand against his side to stop the rising cramp that he can feel from the underused muscles. Jared’s smiling and nodding, but it’s obvious that he’s at least a little serious.
“Well you should show me your work. I’d love to make millions.”
Jared’s smile turns a little wistful, kind of sweet, and he finishes a stroke and then rests the brush down on the paint can.
“One day I’ll show you Jensen. So what’s next after you paint in here?”
It’s kind of a sudden change, and also the perfect segue into the real reason he was going to look for Jared. Beyond laughter and free labor.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some things about the house’s history. You know, general knowledge stuff.”
The smile loses its wistful quality and becomes strong and warm.
“You gonna befriend some ghosts Jensen?”
“I just might.”
-----
They’re on the bench this time, and Jensen wonders why Jared would pick the less comfortable seating position. The view is beautiful, he’ll admit that, but the iron digs wrong in places and the grand old tree’s shade is the only thing that keeps him from direct, powerful Texas sunshine.
“It’s an old Southern tradition to name houses-“
“Actually people do that all over depending on-“
Jared’s look is mock reproachful, and Jensen shuts up.
“You wanna tell this story? I didn’t think so. So, the town was settled in 1844, and Oak Tree was built in 1855.”
“Oak Tree?”
Jared gestures to the tree beside them and lifts an eyebrow.
“What did you think they all had unique and grand names? Sometimes it’s just observational.”
He’s shaking his head before he can stop himself, because apparently Jensen is the worst sort of audience.
“This house was built in 1913. Sera told me about it when she sold it to me.”
“This house was finished in 1913. In 1855 a man named Jeffrey Dean Morgan built a smaller house around a fireplace of imported Italian brick as a gift to his wife. A grand fireplace for the promise of a grand homestead.”
Jensen thinks of the old brick he touched on his first visit. Of the tiles he ordered to put around and over some of it. He scraps that plan mentally now that he knows what the brick means.
“Except he didn’t finish the house. He died in the tornado in 1856 and the only thing left standing was the fireplace. The widow Morgan buried Mr. Morgan, and the property reverted to his brother. He let the land sit unused for years before selling it to a nephew named Mark Pellegrino. Pellegrino built the actual house and settled into it. When he died childless of a heart attack he passed it down to a family friend.”
He’s picking up the pattern without Jared pointing it out. Still, Jensen waits because maybe his mind is just too morbid for this conversation. Maybe he’s making connections where they don’t exist.
“After that it went up on the general market and has had a number of owners. Some of whom died here. Or moved after they lost a loved one. Oak Tree has broken a number of hearts.”
Jensen sits very still looking out at the trees before he finds his voice.
“How long have you lived near here?”
Jared shrugs, everything about him forced casual. The subject is melancholy, but there’s something almost personal about Jared’s story-telling.
“Seems like a hundred years, but that’s how small towns work. They stretch time out until you think you’re going insane.”
“You know so much about the place.”
“My momma always used to say you know the most about a town by its ghost stories. I guess I just applied that to the neighborhood.”
“Anybody else’s house haunted? Maybe I can join a support group. Talk to people who know the best way to keep your shit from getting moved.”
Jared squints for a second before shaking his head.
“Nope. Nobody else I know in this area. Is it that bad, Jensen?”
“You ever seen a ghost?”
There’s a long pause, and then Jared shakes his head.
“Not a single time in my life.”
Jensen wants to ask about that, because it has the sad note again, but he leaves it alone. He doesn’t know Jared all that well, and their conversations already have a tendency to lunacy. Instead he looks back out at the little copse of trees.
“These people died Jared. They died in this house, and they all had a reason for it. I’m not safe and neither is Matt. It’s pretty bad.”
Jared turns then, takes Jensen’s hand, and he’s so earnest it’s almost painful to look at.
“I won’t let you die Jensen. You’re safe here.”
Masterpost
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