"Did you hear that?" Zeke whispers as he gazes upstairs. Someone was up there; that's the only explanation for what we're hearing.
"Footsteps? But the sheriff already cleared the house?" Fear creeps up my spine and settles in my chest. Maybe someone was hiding, and the deputies overlooked them.
"Stay here," Zeke murmurs. "I'll check upstairs." I nod and walk with him to the stairs. I didn't want him to go because the thought of being alone downstairs scares me, but the idea of going upstairs frightens me more.
"Be careful, Z," I breathe as he climbs. He holds a finger to his lips to quiet me; normally, that gesture would aggravate me, but not now. When he reaches the top, he flips on the light, and the heavy footsteps suddenly stop. He looks down at me and shrugs, unsure why.
I stand at the bottom of the stairs, listening. The only sound is his lighter footsteps moving from room to room. The longer I wait, the harder my heart pounds. As I hold on to the banister at the bottom of the stairs, a cold rush of air sweeps past me, making me rub my arms. That's weird. We didn't open any windows. Where did the draft come from?
Looking around, all I can see is the light coming from the living room. The rest of the house is in darkness. The house feels darker, more ominous. Out of nowhere, a woman's scream erupts from the direction of the bathroom. It's a blood-curdling sound of someone being hurt or tortured. The cries of agony frighten me so badly I jump, sucking in a breath. I move toward the sound, shaking uncontrollably.
"Hello?" I ask as if someone might answer back, but no one does. My voice trembles. "Is someone there?" No answer. I laugh nervously at myself — this is the part in a scary movie where I'd be yelling, Don't go check it out, you idiot. Run. Instead, I become the idiot and move closer. I guess horror movies have taught me nothing.
As I get closer, the bathroom door slams so loudly the frame rattles, and the screaming stops. For just a second, the house descends into silence. Which is worse, because I'm not sure what to expect now. Then boom, the bathroom door swings back open, the door handle hitting the wall and the screaming starts again — but it isn't a disembodied scream; it's me, screaming this time as I run toward the front door. My throat hurts from the sound ripping its way out. Then instincts take over, and I decide we are getting the hell out of here. I almost reach the front door when Zeke barrels down the stairs calling my name. I stop as soon as his voice breaks through my hysteria.
"Rocky! What happened? I heard you scream." He asks, concerned. He looked around the room, looking for any threats as he reaches the bottom and walks towards me.
"I'm okay. Just… really freaked out." Which is the truth. My frantic mind is thinking: If this kind of stuff keeps happening, how are we going to stay in the house? He looks me over, then pulls my trembling body into a hug. I cling to him. Before I can explain, loud knocking makes us both jump. It's the pizza delivery guy. We both let out a sigh of relief. It's just our dinner.
As we eat, Zeke says, "There was no one upstairs. All the windows were locked. Something strange is going on in this house."
"Trust me, I know. While you were up there, I heard a woman screaming. And when I went to check it out, the bathroom door slammed shut, and the scream stopped. Then out of nowhere the door pops back open and the handle slams into the wall." A chill runs down my back just talking about it. "Zeke… do you think this place is actually haunted?" I wasn't sure if he believed in the paranormal as I do. I mean, I have never experienced it, but that doesn't mean it's not real.
He immediately shakes his head. "No. Ghosts aren't real," he insists, though he doesn't sound convinced. I'm sure he said it more to convince himself than me. He was trying to make sense of something he couldn't explain. It had to be a paranormal event. There's no other explanation for the scream, the door, or the footsteps.
We finish dinner in silence, digesting the night. After we were done, I retrieve the box we found and place it between us. "Let's see what's in here." Inside are documents: birth certificates, a land deed, a will, and insurance papers. But what caught my eye was something at the bottom of the metal box. Underneath all of the paperwork are family photos. I pull them out and freeze. I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me. The oldest girl looks identical to my mother. I hand the photo to Zeke.
"Look at this. Doesn't she look like my mom?" I asked him, stunned by my discovery. Mostly, I just wanted him to confirm my suspicion. No one knew what mom my looked like better than Zeke and me.
"Yeah… her hair, her smile. Definitely similar." He confirmed.
"What is going on? I'm so confused." I put my head in my hands. "If we're staying in this house, I need to investigate the Catalano family and the property. Tomorrow, let's go to the library and look into the property and the previous family?" I was determined to figure this mystery out.
"Okay. And afterward we can grab supplies for the living room." Thank goodness he's on board.
The next morning, after breakfast, we headed to the library. It was a striking brick building that loomed above us. It had high arching windows that were made to let streams of natural light illuminate the interior. As we approached the entrance, we saw the grand double doors made of solid oak that were slightly hard to open because of how heavy they were. As soon as we walk through them, we notice the checkout desk to our left. A friendly librarian sat behind it, smiling at us. On the right, shelves with books of all genres were lined up, giving off a pleasant, musky scent that one can only associate with a library.
The librarian smiles. "Hello, how can I help you today?"
"We're looking for town archives that have any documents on land, property, old records, anything like that."
"All archives are in the basement. Birth or death certificates and land deeds are at the town hall," she replied. After thanking the librarian, she directed us to the elevators.
Hours later, after gathering as much information as we could, I decided to look up the sheriff and our creepy neighbors' names. I found an interesting article with the headline Local Man Busted in Drug Ring. It was Ted, our creepy neighbor. My first impression of him was correct: he was no good. What shocks me more is the photo of Sheriff Dawson leading him away in handcuffs. The article was dated five years before the Catalano family disappearance. Whether that is significant or not is yet to be seen.
The discovery had my mind racing with more questions. What else is Ted capable of? Could he be part of what happened to the family? The questions and possibilities were endless, but one thing was for sure: the investigation had just taken an unexpected turn.
I wave Zeke over. "Zeke, look at this. Ted was arrested for drugs five years before the family vanished." I point to the photo. "Sheriff Dawson was the one who brought him in — and he was just a deputy then."
Zeke's eyebrows lift. "I knew something was off about Ted, but I didn't know he had a record."
We print everything and head to the sheriff's office. As we walk in, a friendly deputy sitting at the front desk greets us. I explain what we were here for; the deputy has me fill out a form and then asks me to have a seat and wait because it will take a few moments to gather them.
As we wait, I see the sheriff emerge from a long corridor behind the front desk. At first, he doesn't notice us, but once he does, he heads in our direction. His face is void of emotion, making it hard for me to decipher his mood. Despite feeling uncomfortable and irritated around him, I offer the friendliest smile I can manage.
"Well now… what brings you two in today?" His voice was sickly sweet. It grated on my nerves because it was fake. I really didn't have time for his insincere attitude.
I force a polite smile. "I'm just here for the incident reports." He nods and seems satisfied with my answer. He bids us goodbye, then starts to walk away. As he does, the deputy calls my name and hands the reports to me. Before leaving, I ask, "Could you tell me how to get to the town hall?" The sheriff whips around and heads back towards us.
"Town hall? Why?" He asks. His tone catches me off guard. Why does he care, and what is it any of his business? Plus, as a resident of the town, I had a right to visit town hall if I wanted to without explaining myself. I didn't answer right away because I wasn't sure how much information to divulge. The more I interacted with the sheriff, the more I believed he knew something about the Catalano's' disappearance. "I asked, why do you need to visit town hall?" He asked again; his voice was gruff with annoyance.
I hesitate. "Just… property stuff. History, mostly." I watch his features as an emotion flashes in his eyes: it was too quick to discern what it was, but his mouth tightened.
His mouth tightens. "What exactly are you hoping to find?" It's clear my answer has hit a nerve. He doesn't want me snooping. I need to be careful with my answers. He is definitely on my list of suspects and not trustworthy. At this point, it's not clear whether the rest of the family is dead or just fled like my mom and Uncle Donovan. I give him a vague answer, not letting on my true objective: solving the Catalano family disappearance.
"Just curious about its history. That's all," I reply. He seems satisfied and walks away. It's the weirdest interaction we have had with him.
We leave quickly. As we reach the truck, I feel eyes on me. I look up — Sheriff Dawson is watching us from the window, talking angrily on the phone. I feel safe as soon as we are in Zeke's truck. After picking up supplies, we head home and climb to the attic. The stairs creak under our feet. Pushing the door open, it reveals a spacious room with a slanted ceiling.
The room is windowless and dimly lit. Dust particles float in the air. Boxes line the walls on both sides, and a few old trunks sit at the back of the room. Thick dust and cobwebs decorate the corners. I am eager to go through the boxes to see what they can tell me about the family.
"Wow… there's a ton of stuff up here," I say. My eyes scan the room to see if anything stands out.
"Where do you want to start?" Zeke asks as he looks at the boxes, wiping dust off the top of them.
"You take that side. I'll start over here," I tell him and gesture to the opposite side of where I'm looking.
I walk toward the boxes and a floorboard creaks. I look down and notice it's lifted slightly, revealing something beneath it. I lean down and see it's a plastic bag. My curiosity wins. I reach down to pry it open. The overwhelming feeling that I have to know what's inside of it takes over.