A Girl Named Alice
J. M. Strother

“Every word of it is true,” Jack insisted.

“Stop it. You're creeping me out. Besides, there's no such thing as ghosts,” Alice insisted.

“Then how am I creeping you out?”

“It's not the haunted part. That's just nonsense. It's what he did when he was alive. What a monster.”

Jack Hampton had just told Alice O'Neal the background story of the house she had bought. It was neighborhood legend, ask anyone. Old man Riley abducted not one, but two teenage girls at different times, murdered them, and buried them in the basement. “He hung himself in the attic years later, and left a note telling the police what he had done. It was in all the papers. You can check it out at the library if you want,” he claimed. According to Jack, old man Riley still haunted the place, waiting to catch another young woman at unawares.

Alice now regretted calling Jack. He had seemed nice enough when she moved in. Of all the new neighbors he had been the most friendly. He helped her unload her car and when the movers arrived with the heavy stuff he graciously took his leave so as not to get in the way, but not before telling her that she could give him a call anytime if she needed anything. It was the fastest pick-up line anyone had ever used on her, but not altogether unwelcome. Jack was kind of cute. And single. Instead of throwing away his phone number she had placed it on the refrigerator, and promptly forgotten it. Until tonight.

Weird things had happened in her new house right from the start. She had shrugged them off. Until tonight. Tonight she needed comfort.

On the very first night in her new house her cat had suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, arched her back, and hissed viciously down the hallway. Alice flicked on the hallway light only to find an empty corridor, yet Mia stood there hissing like crazy. When she stooped to sooth her, Mia bolted at her touch and disappeared. She remained hidden for two days before finally making an appearance.

A few days later Mia let out a yowl, came dashing into the bedroom, and shot under the bed. Alice tried to coax her out, but Mia remained dug in, eyes wide, claws firmly sunk into the carpeting. About an hour later Mia finally came out and jumped up into bed, as if nothing had happened, while Alice lay there reading. Both incidents, while unsettling, were easily attributable to the foibles of cats.

Then the strangest thing of all happened. She woke up to the sound of breaking glass. Mia stood on the bed, back arched, staring at the closed bedroom door. Without hesitation Alice called the police and reported the sound of breaking glass. She then went to the closed bedroom door and braced herself against it, least someone out in the hall try to get in. She only opened it when she heard the police knock at the front door.

They found a broken glass on the kitchen floor. “Cat probably knocked it over,” one of the cops said.

“No. Mia was in bed with me. My door was closed. She couldn't have done it. Besides, I put all the dishes away after dinner. I always do.” She pointed to the glass faced cabinetry behind which seven sparkling glasses from an set of eight dutifully stood. “Someone had to be in the house.”

The cop shook his head. “Well, no sign of a forced entry,” he said. “And you had both the doors firmly locked. Did you change the locks when you moved in?”

She had.

Again, the cop shrugged, but he and his partner carefully inspected the house before declaring the all clear. “Sorry, ma'am. Must have been the cat. Either that or ghosts.” They both gave sort of half laughs at that and told her not to hesitate to call if anything else unusual happened. With that, they took their leave.

So she had called Jack.

Now she looked at the clock on the DVD player and saw it was ten past three. “Oh, God. I'm sorry. It's so late. We both have to go to work tomorrow.”

“I can stay,” he offered. “On the couch!” he quickly added at her shocked look. “If you're scared.”

“No, that's okay,” Alice answered. She was starting to get a little scared, but not of ghosts. Now she just wanted Jack to leave.

“Okay. But call me if you need anything.” He rose, hesitated at the door a moment, and then left without another word. She closed the door and bolted it behind him, then went into the kitchen and threw his phone number in the trash.

When she was doing the laundry the next day she noticed two rectangular patches of newer concrete in one corner of the basement floor. She shuddered, then cursed Jack softly under her breath. “He was just trying to scare me,” she told herself. But that afternoon she went to the library.

She was horrified to find that everything Jack said was the truth. BASEMENT OF DEATH, read one headline. LOCAL MAN KILLS TWO – HIMSELF, read another. There were two weeks of grisly stories detailing the suicide of Bertram Riley, aged 57, and the discovery of the remains of two females, estimated to be between the ages of 12 and 20 years of age.

Within a week one of the bodies was identified from dental records. RILEY VICTIM LOCAL GIRL. The story identified the girl as twelve year old Alice Bailey, who had disappeared on her way home from school 20 years before. Alice shuddered when she read the name.

Then, several months later there was a follow up article – REMAINS IDENTFIED. The other victim was a 15 year old runaway from nearby St. Clemens.

A girl named Alice.

 
~jon
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