Page 6 of Destined Chaos
I realized the mistake as the words flew out of my mouth. Calling the contractor crazy had been how I lost the last contractor.
“I know what I heard.” Mr. Gambit pointed an accusatory finger at the door. “Footsteps, doors slamming, and threatening whispers in my ear to get out before I die.” He dropped his hands to his side. “I could have ignored all that…but those hands on my back that shoved me down the stairs…” He shook his head. “Nope, you don’t need a contractor, you need an exorcist, and you shouldn’t stay here either, if you know what’s good for you.”
He glanced once at the familiar house keys in his hands. “Consider our contract null and void. I’ve left your money on the kitchen counter. Good luck.”
Mr. Gambit dropped the keys into my palm and hurried to the other side of the work van. The truck revved its engine, leaving dust plumes in its wake as it drove away.
“Just perfect,” I whispered, staring up at the house, clenching the keys tight in my fist. This was the sixth contractor in six months that had left me high and dry. I would never be able to sell the place if I couldn’t bring it up to code to pass an inspection.
The sharp talons from my past refused to set me free.
Maybe I was going about this all wrong. A contractor was one thing, but one that could handle ghosts was another. Maybe I could find a contractor that doubled as a ghost hunter. Someone like that wouldn’t mind living with the dead. I glanced back up at the house and yelled, “You scare the next one away, and I’m burning this house down to the ground. Just try me.”
My voice carried through the trees, and if the wind was just right, it might have been heard by the neighbors down the mountain.
The Slaughter name had a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. The quicker I left this part of my life behind, the better off everyone would be. After the first contractor had left scared in the middle of the night, I’d disclosed that information to the others that came after in an attempt to weed out the scaredy cats. Apparently, I forgot to mentioned the stairs were a hotspot.
I smoothed the frizz in my hair and grabbed the bag from the trunk along with my sleeping bag and pillow. I walked up the dreaded steps, entering the empty space again.
The cold air caressed my cheek like a welcome home kiss.
The house felt different without furniture inside. Empty like a shell. Nowhere for any ghosts to hide.
But they were still here. I could feel it in my soul. The only question was, would they let me have one night of peaceful sleep before they tried to kill me again?
I took one last trip out to my car and grabbed the five-pound bag of salt, along with supplies for my morning drink.
Taking the things to the kitchen, I walked back into the den and lit candles around the four corners. A chill skirted my spine as I saged the entire area, starting to put my barriers into place. If they were going to come after me again, this time I’d be ready.
I spread a thick line of salt in front of all the doors and windows in the room before drawing a circle around my sleeping bag large enough for me to sleep.
Chirp.
I froze in place and waited for whatever surprise came next.
Chirp.
The tension in my shoulders deflated. I knew that familiar sound. It was just a smoke alarm somewhere nearby with a battery that was about to die. “Just perfect.”
This house had scared me as a little girl. Now it just pissed me off.
I lay down and slipped inside the sleeping bag, punching my pillow to make it just right. I closed my eyes to the sound of a little girl’s laughter until even that faded away. I was left to listen to every groan and creak, wishing exhaustion would pull me into sleep.
Sleep was little to none. Sometime in the middle of the night the smoke alarm finally gave out from going off every ten minutes and the sound changed to something so much worse.
Footsteps from someone or something pacing above, combined with the scratches from within the walls. If I stayed longer than a night, I’d need to buy some earplugs.
3
Hugh Bennett
I sat back with linked fingers resting on top of my head and my feet propped up on the empty scarred wooden desk. The flight log was sitting on top of the clipboard and flight manifest. This rusty old airplane hangar was in need of an upgrade, but spending money on that would have to wait. More important things needed my focus. The time was almost near to make my move. I’d waited decades for this, and no way was I about to let it slip through my fingers.
“It’s your move, Hugh,” Emmett said, pushing off the cooler he’d been using as a seat. He grabbed a soda out and sat back down before popping the top and taking a sip.
Out of all my Bennett siblings, Emmett was closest in age but opposite in every other way. Where I took my time debating things and thinking them through, Emmett was the type of person to jump in feet first. And most of the time, he came out smelling like roses. I still didn’t know how exactly he managed that, but it was our love for flying that made us close as brothers and business partners.
We all had abilities. With one look at any property I could feel the bones and structure to know if it was a sound investment. House flippers paid me handsomely for the service to check out places before they ever went to auction.
