Ghost House Revenge
Read Ghost House Revenge Online
Authors: Clare McNally
by
Clare McNally
Copyright © 1981 by Clare McNally. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Don Congdon Associates, Inc.;
the agency can be reached at
[email protected]
PROLOGUE
Summer, 1975
The little girl clung to her father’s hand, feeling a warmth that made her happy and
secure. It was a beautiful afternoon to be seven years old, and Alicen Miller was
very happy. Her father smiled down at her, seeing the anticipation in her brown eyes.
She was such a cheerful little girl!
They were standing on a corner, a block away from their apartment building, watching
the cars that sped down the highway. Alicen and Derek were looking for one car in
particular, a blue sedan that belonged to Alicen’s mother, Elaine. She had spent the
last week in Maryland, attending the funeral of her only relative, Alicen’s great-aunt.
Both Derek and Alicen missed her terribly.
“Now, listen,” Derek said. “Mommy might still be very sad, losing her aunt like that.
After all, your great-aunt practically raised her. Now all she has are you and me.”
“I’ll be extra-special nice to her,” the little girl said in a sing-song tone.
Just then, they spotted Elaine’s car. Alicen jumped up and
down, waving excitedly. Derek raised his arm to wave, too, but he never completed
the gesture.
There was another car behind Elaine’s, about thirty yards away. It was weaving erratically
across the highway and coming up on Elaine’s car—fast, too fast.
Desperately, Derek tried to signal her off the road. Reading his gestures, Elaine
looked up into her rear-view mirror and saw the car behind her. Quickly she tried
to turn out of its path, but it was too late. There was a loud crash, a screech of
tires, and a scream.
Elaine’s car flew over a road divider, tumbling down a deep embankment. Derek felt
his legs pull him forward. His arms stretched out as if he could grab his wife and
save her.
“Elaine!”
This couldn’t really be happening. . . .
Derek’s legs gave way from under him as Elaine’s car went up in flames, and he fell
to the sidewalk. His mouth dropped open, and his palms pressed hard against the warm
sidewalk as he gazed at the inferno. He vaguely heard sirens, barely registered the
sight of fire trucks and water-gushing hoses. He was too busy watching the fire and
praying.
Please let it be a mistake. Please don’t let it be Elaine.
He pulled himself up onto his feet, his legs as heavy as tree trunks. Derek hardly
felt the sidewalk underneath him as he walked toward the car. He heard humming in
his ears—was it the whispers of the curious bystanders or the shouts of the paramedics?
Or maybe it was the hacksaw they were using to get Elaine’s door open.
That’s not my wife
, he thought.
Two hoses at last managed to still the flames enough for firemen to get inside the
car and pull out Elaine. Or what was left of her. What had once been a beautiful woman
was now a blackened mass. Not a woman. Not his Elaine.
Then he noticed the blackened hand. On one finger was a diamond ring—the ring Derek
had given Elaine the day he had asked her to marry him.
He threw back his head and screamed. And then he felt a small, cool hand in his. He
looked down and to his horror saw his little daughter standing at his side, staring
at the flame-engulfed car.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered.
He grabbed Alicen into his arms and turned her away from the sight hugging her tightly
as if to protect her. If only someone would protect him . . .
He heard laughter. Sweet, childish laughter that rose above the sirens and screams.
It was Alicen’s laughter.
“Oh, daddy,” she said, “I made a mistake. Mommy isn’t coming home today at all. She’s
coming home later on.”
She’s in shock, Derek thought. Thank God she’s being spared from all this. Thank God
we both don’t have to suffer.
“Mommy will come home when she’s ready,” Alicen said. “When she wants to see me again,
mommy will come for me.”
When the noon sun struck the mansion at the top of Starbine Court Road, its whiteness
seemed to glow like a holy vestment, and anyone seeing it might have thought: “There
is a good, beautiful old house.” And on this April Saturday, it seemed everything
was
good about the 185-year-old structure. Nothing set it apart from dozens of other
Long Island mansions. Its large front porch faced the town of Belle Bay. Magenta azalea
bushes ran from either side of the wooden steps to the rounded towers at its sides.
These towers, added over a hundred years after the original Colonial mansion was built,
made the house all the more breathtaking.
But those who had the powers to see beyond pretty flowers and inviting front porches
would have known the house harbored a terrifying evil and that those who lived within
its walls faced unspeakable dangers.
For now, though, all was well. Behind the house, two children were working on a corner
of the back yard, which stretched for an acre to the thick woodlands that surrounded
the house on three sides. Kyle and Gina VanBuren tugged hard at weeds and dug up rocks
in preparation for a spring garden. Kyle found a fat grub and dangled it in front
of his sister’s nose.
“Daddy, make him stop!” Gina cried, her mouth turning down in a grimace.
Their father looked up from the legal papers he was reading. Kyle was giggling, but
he had put the worm down again. Gary smiled at him.
“You’re a rip, Kyle,” he said. “Be nice to your sister.”
Gina decided the incident had been funny after all and started to laugh. Both children
rolled around merrily on the newly cut grass. Gary grinned at them, forgetting his
work long enough to watch them play. He felt a surge of love for his two oldest children
and decided that in the long run it had been a good idea to move from the city into
this house. They would have to put last year out of their minds. It was over, and
now it was time to enjoy their new home.
Gary looked up at the house. Although the front was somewhat gingerbready, the back
was more true to the original Colonial style. His eyes roamed proudly across the back
of the house. Suddenly they stopped at one particular window, which stood out because
of its modern construction. The odd window brought back memories that made Gary shudder,
and he forced them out of his mind. He quickly raised his eyes higher.
The weather vane at the peak of the roof needed straightening, he thought. Someone
would have to come and fix the whole roof. The shingles were all curling up at the
edges. Gary sighed to think that less than a year ago, he could have been the one
to climb up there and do the job. But that was impossible now. He couldn’t even climb
stairs.
Gary looked down at his legs, muscular after so many painful hours of exercise, and
yet useless. His fingers wrapped around the arms of his wheelchair. He’d been confined
to it for four torturous months, ever since an—
intruder—
had pushed him out of that hated upstairs window. That November night, when he had
become a cripple, had been so horrible that he and his family never talked of it.
He shivered, then pushed the accident from his mind and went back to his paper work.
Gary refused to let the wheelchair hinder him. Maybe he couldn’t go to his office
in the city, but he wasn’t about to give up on the law practice he had had for fifteen
years. He had arranged with his partner to have all paper work sent to the house.
Clients were handled over the phone and were invited to the house to discuss divorce
settlements in his upstairs office. But he still longed to get back to his Manhattan
office.
Well, Gary thought, sighing, that was impossible right now. As part of his rehabilitation
program, he had to go to
physical therapy sessions four days a week at a distant medical center. Gary worked
himself hard and amazed the doctors by his progress. His bones were mended by now,
and
they
said he would soon be able to walk on crutches. Nothing would make him happier.
“Daddy,” Gina said, interrupting his thoughts, “would you hold the bag open for us?”
“Sure,” Gary said.
He closed his briefcase. Lad, the Weimaraner puppy at his feet, jumped up from his
nap, and Gary patted the puppy’s smooth, silver-brown head, then unlatched the brake
of his chair. He wheeled himself toward the children. “When’s Mom coming home, anyway?”
Kyle asked, obviously hungry for lunch.
“In a while,” Gary said, looking at his watch. “It’s just noon now.”
Gina had something else on her mind as she filled the plastic bag with debris. “Daddy,
the school glee club is singing next Wednesday afternoon,” she said. “Can you come?”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Gary said. “I have therapy that day. I can’t miss it.”
“It’s okay,” Gina mumbled, though it was clear she was disappointed. A moment later
she looked up and asked, “Do you mind going to the hospital so much?”
“I’d much rather jog on the beach,” Gary said, playfully flicking the long dark braid
that hung down his thirteen-year-old’s back. “But therapy helps me, and the sooner
I get out of this wheelchair the better.”
Having finished cleaning up the debris, Kyle put a twist tie on the bag and carried
it to the barn. Gary couldn’t help smiling to see the grim expression on his son’s
face. Though he was barely nine, Kyle was already a go-getter who considered no job
too big. God bless my kids, Gary thought. They make it so much easier.
As Kyle turned back to the house, he saw someone move past the bay window of the dining
room. She stopped, and through the lace curtains Kyle made out her blond hair. He
waved. She did not wave back.
“Mom’s home!” he cried, racing toward the house. Lad ran after him, barking and wagging
his tail.
Gary, wondering why he hadn’t heard his wife’s car, wheeled himself around the side
of the house. The driveway was empty. For a few moments he stared in confusion at
the strip of gravel.
“Hi, honey!” someone cried.
Gary jumped a little when an arm wrapped around him from behind and a kiss landed
on top of his head. He turned so abruptly that his wife, Melanie, backed away from
him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” Gary said. “I was lost in thought. Where’s the car?”
“You wouldn’t believe the trouble it’s been giving me. It stalled three times this
morning, and then it died completely down on Houston Street. Nancy and I had to walk
up the hill.
“I’m glad you were dose to home,” Gary said.
“Well,” Melanie said, shrugging it off, “the station wagon’s an old car. It was bound
to start giving us trouble some time.”
“We’ll have the garage check her over,” Gary said. “Tell them to do a complete overhaul.
I don’t want my wife driving a dangerous car.”
With that, he reached out and slid his hand around Melanie’s small waist, pulling
her onto his lap. Before she could protest, his fingers weaved through her hair and
squeezed the back of her neck. He brought her face to his and kissed her warmly.
“Love you,” he said.
“I love you, Gary,” Melanie replied. “Now, let me up. I’m much to heavy for you.”
Gary snarled playfully but let her go. He wouldn’t admit that under the weight of
her body pain had shot through his legs. No less a man because of his wheelchair,
Gary winked up at his wife.
“Never mind, Romeo,” Melanie said, turning him around. She pushed the chair toward
the ramp. “I know that look in your eyes, but I’ve got three hungry kids in the house
and a car full of groceries down the road.”
In the kitchen Melanie poured Gary a glass of beer, then steered Kyle and Gina out
to help fetch the abandoned groceries. Gary grinned at his five year old, Nancy, who
sat on the floor playing imaginary games with a stuffed yellow rabbit. “You’ve got
a mustache, daddy,” she said, pointing a chubby finger.
Gary erased the offending stripe of foam with the back of his hand. Then he opened
his arms, and Nancy ran to him.
