Page 2 of Come A Little Closer

“But Carter⁠—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, or think about it, or worry about it,” I said firmly. “What’s important is that he and I are over. I left him. End of story. Do you want me to tell you some of the most gruesome details about this place’s history?” My tone lifted as I switched gears and let my eyes flick from here to there, peering into dark corners and cobweb-dusted windowsills. “It might make you feel better if you know the worst of it in advance.”

Her eyes widened, fear flickering in them. She glanced around like something might jump out at her. “Shit, Tal. We lost the group. We got separated from them somehow.”

I looked around and sighed when I realized she was right. “It’s okay. We just got distracted by well-meaning, but unnecessary questions. We’ll catch up to them. And if we don’t? You’re in luck. I can give a way spookier tour than our guide. First stop, the basement.”

Cathy gulped. “Absolutely not. Tal, seriously, no. My knees are literally shaking.”

Serves you right for pressing me about my past when I asked you to stop. I laughed to break the tension for my friend, squeezing her arm reassuringly. “I’m kidding, of course. This place doesn’t have a basement. It’s really more of a dungeon.”

With her arm clutched firmly, I dragged her down a dimly lit passage and into another, wondering if the guide had moved upstairs yet. I supposed it depended on how thorough the tour was. Half the rooms in this place had stories attached to them.

We took a few more turns, and it got darker and darker as we made our way into the depths of the house. The corridor we were in was windowless, and the walls were lined with old paintings, presumably of the notorious Rampart family who had owned this place for generations until the last of them had died, pruning the last branch of that notorious family tree.

“I don’t think the tour guide came down here,” Cathy said nervously.

I looked down at the floor and wrinkled my nose. “I sure hope not. These are new shoes.”

That finally got a laugh out of my roommate, banishing the shadows in her eyes, which had been my intention. “You are unbelievable, Tal.”

“You’re the one talking dirty about the tour guide,” I said innocently. “We’re not even on Bourbon Street and you’re already in the gutter.”

Her eyes twinkled in amusement. “I just want a fruity drink in a giant glass. Preferably in slushie form.” She jabbed her finger in my arm playfully. “The fact that I don’t have my hurricane yet and I’m in this shithole makes me the best roommate of all time.”

I bumped her shoulder with mine. “I love you too. But speaking of this shithole, did you know that when this place was put up for sale, three realtors quit?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m going to regret asking this, but why did they quit?”

I laughed. “Thank you for asking, Cathy. It’s because when they brought people to do viewings at night, they claimed to have encountered pissed-off ghosts.”

She scoffed but held my arm a little tighter. “They were probably just sucky realtors.”

“Probably, but also, I wasn’t joking before about the dungeon. Legend has it Colonel Rampart used it back in the day to torture slaves, prisoners, and even people accused of witchcraft.”

She shuddered. “I don’t know if you’re joking, but you’re scary good at telling messed-up stories. You should do, like, a podcast or something.”

I chuckled. “To be fair, it’s easy to make the Ramparts sound scary. This house is filled with history, quite a bit of it bad. Most of that family were not good people. No one mourned their passing from this earth. There’s even a rumor that one of the daughters was left to die in her bedroom, chained to her bed because she was bedeviled and her father refused to tarnish the family name by having people find out.”

“I’m sorry, bedeviled?” Cathy put her hands to her forehead and pointed her fingers like horns. “Was that old-time slang for horny?”

“Mental illness,” I whispered dramatically.

Her finger horns deflated like sad balloons. “Why, Tal? That’s so much less fun.”

“Her name was Annie. Apparently, she’s the most pissed-off ghost they’ve got here. I wonder if we’ll see her tonight.”

“Maybe you’ll see her.” Cathy shook her head. “I’m not the one who said her name, summoning her right to you. I swear. Use your brain, dude.”

Honestly, I couldn’t blame Annie for stomping around these halls, throwing the world’s longest tantrum. I knew all too well what it felt like to be smothered by your own family. Not as horribly as she had been, of course, but I could relate a bit.

“She won’t hurt us,” I promised. “She just wants to be heard.”

We crept down a dark hallway that seemed to grow narrower with every step. Cathy’s shoulders pulled in as if sensing the tightening of the space. “I’m never letting you plan our vacation activities again. I’m starting to think you’re bedeviled.”

Suddenly, a squawking noise rang in my ears. Cathy shrieked. Up ahead, through an open window, a crow took flight from a leafless branch, screeching again as it disappeared. Cathy stumbled back against me, and we both staggered back a few steps.

I bumped into something. Or rather, someone.