Liam's Ghost Story

Liam's Ghost Story (Chapter 5)

Mr. Barnbies lived in an old brick house with a big wrap-around porch and high windows. The two story residence had big stone pillars holding the house up off the front porch and the heavy old scent of foreboding slowly seeped out of the pores of the structure and onto the street. Windows gaped darkly like hollowed out eye sockets, the eyes pulled from the house long ago to help it forget witnessing things that were better left in the past. Sagging and splitting, the wooden porch was the silent knowing leer of the house that accompanied the empty windows. Together, the features of the house kept all but the most determined away; door-to-door salesmen and even the most pious evangelicals found some excuse to pass by this place by, feeling better about the decision with every step that carried them past the path up to the broken knowing smile.

It was no warmer the day after his encounter with the dead girl. As if she pulled the warmth from the world, today was dreadfully cold and the wind blew from the lake, reminding everyone in Chicago who was really in charge around here. Snow had started falling again, large wet flakes that plopped down unenthusiastically. Everything already covered by snow just got more snow. Anything that was not already snow covered got wet and colder. The wind bit through anything it touched - metal, stone, wood, and cloth alike. Liam would have lied if he said he wasn't cold. Only his brutal training kept him from shivering, but the warmth that sustained him from within had dimmed somewhat since the encounter with the dead girl. He fought down the blackness that waited inside, the terrifying situation washing against his mind and threatening to drown his courage.

Standing at the edge of the yard, Liam leaned with crossed arms on the peeling paint of the white picket fence and looked at the grinning house with caution and curiosity. Rose vines crawled the fence at the border of the property and the rest of the world, and Liam knew that when they bloomed in the wet spring they would be blood red. Thorns bit into the fence and grasped for passers-by. Snow blew about the yard, rattling the dry fingers of the groping trees against the brick and wood of the house. Liam could not help but see the skeletal fingers in the branches stroking the face of the house, as if scratching its brow, trying to decide what it thought about this new interloper that waited at the threshold. The empty eyes gazed down on Liam and Liam gazed back from underneath his hood, unblinking.

His mind decided, his impressions made, he reached over and opened the gate. With a measured stride, his sandals firmly and deliberately crunched over the snow, leading him to the door of the old monster.

He would help the girl. A conversation with the watcher had helped him understand what he needed to know about spirits, and no one he knew understood spirits and shades as well as the watcher did. Between that and his trip to the library to find out about the fire, he felt well equipped to deal with this situation and set the spirit free.

Stepping on the porch, he knew the house finally acknowledged his presence. With a reluctance, it allowed him to walk upon its warped teeth, creaking in protest but biding its time. After all, one did not reach the age of the house without patience. And a meal worth waiting for was all the better for the wait.

Liam rapped on the stout wooden door with the back of his hand, and could hear the noise echo through the house. He did not have to wait long for an answer, a shuffling could be heard on the other side, and the little flower curtain twitched aside to reveal the wrinkled resentful face of a stooped old man. His eyes narrowed at catching site of Liam standing there in his hoodie on the porch, but he busied himself unlocking the door and opening it a crack.

"Can I help you?" The question was more of a demand than a polite request. It rolled out of a throat not accustomed to conversation, a reedy tremble the only indication of the age of the mouth it issued from.

"I believe you can, Mr. Barnbies." Liam stated matter of fact, inclining his head ever so slightly in what he hoped would be interpreted as deference. "I was hoping I could talk to you about a fire that occurred downtown in an old garment factory in the summer of '54."