Haunted

A/N: Sorry, I called Sally 'Sarah' in the
last chapter... was having a dumb moment...
I'll fix it later!

He followed the shrieks to the attic, went quietly
through the door and down the narrow corridor,
staring into the storage rooms. The cries were so
loud up here that he could no longer tell where
they were coming from - until he came upon a
room lined with toy chests and old playthings.
A children’s room, where the noise of indoor
play wouldn’t bother the adults in the house.
The room was oddly innocent looking, which
made what was happening in its sunlit center
all the more surreal.

His ghost was there, wide-eyed and struggling
with another. A dark shade of an older man,
with elegant old-fashioned clothes and neatly
combed grey hair, a smile on his face that
actually looked friendly. He looked for all
the world like someone’s grandfather - yet
his eyes were blazing with dark light and he
was surrounded by inky shadows that should
not have been able to exist in the bright sun.

And Caleb was fighting him.

Fighting an embrace that the man was trying
to pull him into, more screams coming from
his mouth. The other ghost wasn’t hurting him
- wasn’t even touching him with his hands yet,
only pulling him closer with tentacles made of
shadow - yet Caleb’s clothes were becoming
shredded, bruises were forming on his face and
arms and the part of his chest Eric could see
through the gaping shirt. His long dark waterfall
of hair was becoming a twisted snarl of tangles.
It was about to break Eric’s heart - but he filled
with fury instead.

“Stop it!” He shouted, running forward suddenly.
He didn’t know if that other ghost could see or
hear him or not, and he didn’t care. “Stop it, let
him go!”

Both ghosts froze in mid-struggle, both turned
to stare at him.

The old man snarled with rage and one of the
dark tentacles thrust itself at Eric.

“No!” He heard Caleb cry, but the thing just
passed harmlessly through him. He didn’t even
feel a breeze. The older ghost’s eyes widened
and he began to withdraw, trying to take Caleb
with him. The little ghost went back to struggling,
eyes pleading with Eric.

“I said, let him go!” Eric took a chance and
made a wild dash toward the spirit. The old
man jerked away from him, the tendrils of
darkness dropping their hold on Caleb as he
shrank back to the shadows. “Leave!” Eric
shouted again, still coming towards him, and
he faded into the wall.

Gone.

Eric snarled at the empty space where he had
been and turned back to Caleb. The small
ghost was sitting on the floor, his legs clearly
visible, clothes in tatters, staring up at him in
stunned surprise. Eric came closer, crouched
down about three feet away.

“Are... are you all right?” The big dark eyes
stared at him mutely, shock in their depths.
“You’re... you’re hurt... he hurt you...” Eric
slowly reach out a hand, wishing he could
stroke the tangled hair, soothe the fear in the
other boy’s eyes. Caleb shrank away from him.

“You made him go...” It was a soft whisper,
so low he barely heard it.

“Yeah. I don’t know how?” There was a
question in Eric’s voice but Caleb just shook
his head, mute again. He didn’t know, either.
He looked down at himself and shuddered. He
was a mess, barely even clothed - he braced
himself and closed his eyes, and Eric watched
in amazement as the dark grey hair seemed to
smooth itself out, the rips in the clothes pulling
back together and the bruises fading until his
little ghost looked like he had when he saw him
in the bay window - except that he was all shades
of grey, no color anywhere.

“Are you all right now?” he asked softly. After
a moment of staring blankly at him, Caleb nodded.
Eric opened his mouth to ask another question when
running footsteps came down the hall.

“Eric?! Where are you? Did you see anything?”
It was Sally’s voice.

Eric had jerked around when he heard her - when
he looked back, Caleb was gone again.

“Well, shit.” He said calmly.


*


“And you didn’t see anything?”

“What did you *expect* me to see?!” Eric’s voice
was muffled. Not surprising, since his forehead was
against the tabletop and his arms were folded around
his head.

His aunt glared at him. “You saw the ghost last night!
You apparently thought those noises were coming
from the attic! Eric, I swear, if you are holding out
on us...!”

“Sally!” Pete stepped in quickly. “You’re being
unreasonable. If Eric says he didn’t see anything,
then I believe him. Kiddo, you look tired. Why
don’t you go take a nap? That couch you slept
on didn’t look all that comfortable.”

Eric nodded, and left without speaking or looking
at Sally.

He heard them start arguing before he was even
out of the room.

A minute later and he flopped down on his bed,
sighing. He felt bad for lying to Pete - although
he wasn’t sure if the man *really* believed him.
Maybe he’d just been helping him out? He never
knew with Pete. He seemed to love Sally so much,
but he often blatantly took Eric’s side. Not the best
way to endear yourself to your wife. And he was
sure Pete wanted to know about the ghost.
Researching the paranormal had been a fixation
for him long before he met Sally, who did it
professionally.

Eric sighed again.

“Are you sad?” Asked a soft voice behind him.

He yelped and bolted upright, staring at the small
ghost standing in a corner of his room, big eyes
curious.

“You’re back! I’m sorry about Sally! Are you
all right?!” The ghost looked neat again, and
perfectly calm.

He even smiled, just barely.

Eric’s stomach did a flip-flop.

“I’m dead. It’s rather hard to say I’m all right.”

“Very true. But... that other guy... thing... he
didn’t hurt you again?”

Caleb made a quelling gesture. “Don’t talk
about him! He knows... he’ll come...”

“Can you tell me why? Um, why what happened,
happened? Without talking about him?”

The little ghost stared at him, drifting slightly closer.
“Why do you care?”

“I... I don’t know. I’m curious - and I’d like to
help you.”

“Really?”

The hope in the thin voice surprised Eric. He
leaned forward. “Yes, really. Is there a way
I can help you?”

“I - think so. But I can’t tell you what it is - not
without talking about...”

Eric held up a hand. “Okay. I get it. So this is
going to be tough. That’s ok, I think I was going
to be bored out of my skull this summer. Can you
give me a clue? About what I should do to help?”

Caleb wavered, going transparent for a second
and then back to clearly visible. “I don’t know...
I’ll think about it... I can’t stay... much longer...
not strong enough...”

“Don’t leave!” Eric’s own panic surprised him.
The thought of Caleb out of his sight set his heart
racing.

“Can’t... stay...” The thin voice was a faint
whisper now, and Caleb completely see-through.
“Be... back...”

“When?!”

“La...ter...”

“When is ‘later’? Caleb?!”

But the little ghost was gone.


*


Eric put the journal to good use, after all. He
made a list of what he should do while he was
waiting for ‘later’ to come around. It started with
‘Find out how much time Caleb needs between
appearances.’ He also listed sneaking some of
Sally’s research books - she’d demand to know
why he wanted them if he just asked - thoroughly
exploring the house and grounds, and seeing if he
could find out anything on the Internet about its
history.

It was getting too late to do the second two things,
and he couldn’t do the first until Caleb showed
again. So he turned to his newly set up computer
and logged on, typing in ‘Tripper’s Point’ and
‘Dark House’ into the local search engine.

The second phrase brought up some rather weird
sites, ghost and S&M sites and some really, really
strange blogs. The first one was more helpful,
bringing up a local history site with a page about
the history of the house and its builder. He found
out that there was a display in the little town
museum about the house, and he determined
to visit it the next day. He read over the general
facts of the building, dates and costs and
dimensions, without learning anything useful.
Apparently the historians who built the site
didn’t believe in the haunting or felt it would
give the town the wrong image - it wasn’t
mentioned at all. There was an old picture of
the house, but no people were in it.

The small site *did* have a search engine, and
he typed in the owner’s name. Hiram Tripper,
local bank owner, richest man in town, fine house
and lovely wife and three children, two boys and
a girl. No pictures, just a list of information. Eric
had read Sally’s notes on the house when she
wasn’t looking, curious after the clock incident,
and he wondered if the little girl was Lucy - nope,
apparently this girl grew up and married an Army
officer. He supposed she was too far back to be
‘Miss Grace’s’ aunt, anyway. He wished the
children’s names were listed so he could search
for them, and wondered if the display would have
more information.

He searched for the name Caleb and came up with
nothing. ‘Grace Tripper’ brought up pictures of a
young girl growing into a fragile old woman, parties
and beaus giving way to seances and wheelchairs.
Kinda sad, but still no real information. What was
with this site, did they want the world to think this
little town was perfect?!

He was definitely starting serious research tomorrow.

Museum, then library.

And how far back did the town newspaper go?


*


Caleb drifted, too drained to take on any form but
his Blank form. He watched his new fascination
while he sat in front of the little glowing box, tapping
on buttons like an old typewriter but there was no
paper.

Interesting, no one had ever brought anything like
this into the house before. It rather reminded him
of the television downstairs - *that* had kept him
enthralled for years. He was vaguely surprised
when he saw a picture of his house, looking like it
had when he was still living, flash onto the screen.

And he retreated to the attic for several minutes
when he saw Eric type in *that* name. But nothing
happened, so he came back.

And watched.

And drifted.

Waiting.

Could this boy really help him? If he could figure
out a way to let him know what was needed? It
didn’t seem likely, but what did he have to lose?
So long as they never summoned Him, it should
be safe. And he’d written that he was going to
explore the house and grounds - that would be
nice.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind if Caleb drifted along
with him?

There were lots of interesting clocks he could
show him...

Eric was writing in the little book again. Caleb
floated over to read his scrawled handwriting.

Visit museum?! There was a *museum* in his
town? How odd. He hadn’t heard much about
his town since he died, no one who lived here
having anything to say about it that caught his
interest. Just ‘I’m going to run to the store, need
anything?’ or ‘Give me the library books to take
back.’

There was a store and a library. Whee. So what.
There had been a store and a library when he’d
been alive to see them. No one had every mentioned
a museum. Hadn’t they thought he would be interested?

Oh, wait - most didn’t realize he was listening.

Eric was going to bed now, turning off the interesting
box and changing clothes. *That* was certainly
interesting, too, but Caleb still had a few morals,
and it wouldn’t be right to watch.

Not unless Eric let him.

He went downstairs to watch his clock.

Tick, tock.

.