Cold Stairs Page 3
person too, and even more surprised when he heard Ronnie agreed with Ryan. Jim was pretty scary over the phone, and Ryan was truly glad he hadn’t decided to tell him in person. After plenty of yelling, and pleading, and more yelling, Jim finally cooled down and agreed to check the place out. They agreed to all meet at the house after supper around nine. Ryan hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. He and Ronnie drove into town for supper; they had left everything in their fridge at the house. When they met Jim at the house they were relieved to see he had calmed down quite a bit. He had had a few hours to think about it, and approached the situation with a clear head. He was still closed-minded of course, but more importantly, he was calm.
“So what’s the plan?” Jim said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but even if there was sarcasm he didn’t mean it to be hurtful.
“I don’t know. Ronnie and I don’t feel comfortable in there. It’s… ” Ryan looked toward his feet, when he tried to say “haunted” his throat locked up.
“We’re not completely sure if it’s safe for you to go up there either.” Ronnie said to Jim as she took Ryan’s hand.
“Bull shit. I don’t doubt something happened to you two, but I doubt there is some sort of hell-bent, evil thing up there. Shit like that doesn’t exist; else I would have seen it before somewhere. I’m gonna go check it out. You two can stay here if you like.” Jim walked boldly to the front door. Ryan tossed him the key.
“Be safe dad. Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Well… If it is there, I’ll kick its ass.” Jim smiled. Neither Ryan nor Ronnie laughed.
Jim disappeared into the house, leaving the front door ajar. Ryan and Ronnie could hear his work boots clomping up the stairs. After a while they heard bits and pieces of Jim trying to taunt the house. “You – get the – here and face – a man!” or “Damn – if you exist – don’t you try – my ass!” Jim went on yelling for five minutes or so, they could see his shadow in the windows, pacing back and forth.
Suddenly the upstairs light went off, and Jim’s yelling ceased. There was a thud, and then another. Finally a series of thuds, each growing louder and big Jim suddenly rolled from the foyer right out the front door in a backwards somersault. He sat there on the lawn dumbfounded, staring into the dark, unlit foyer. Finally, he got up, brushed off his pants and looked Ryan in the eye.
“We’re tearing that son of a bitch down and burning it. We’ll find you a new house.”
“What happened? What did you see?” The front door was still open and Ryan stared into the darkness as he spoke.
Jim was about to speak when suddenly the front door slammed shut. All three of them jumped.
“I’ll be damned.” Jim was still a pale white, eyes wide. “Get in your car, I’ll follow you two out.”
As they pulled out of the drive Ryan looked back one more time. The lights flicked on upstairs, and he snapped his head forward and floored the throttle.
The next time Ryan saw the house was the last time Ryan ever saw the house. Engulfed in flames, the house seemed to be in a state of hellish anger. Jim leaned back against the side of his truck, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Ryan stood next to him, shoulders hunched, hands in his front pockets. Neither of them said anything the whole time. They watched with a reverent silence, but as the second floor collapsed into the burning frame Jim cracked a faint smile and took a long drag on his cig.
***
The Tucker family still owns that plot of land, grown over with unkempt weeds; it’s roped off with a chain-link fence and marked with yellow NO TRESPASSING signs. The gravel drive is still there, and through the weeds one can see charred bricks along the foundation.
Local children told me if you stand downwind of it you might catch a whiff of wood fire, and if you listen you can hear the faint of roar and popping of invisible flames.
***
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