Deadly Decision Read Free

senility begins, with flights of imagination replacing rational thought?
    I chose my words carefully. “Think about it, honey. If the souls of people don’t linger after death, then the apparitions we hear stories about are something else . Most haunted house sightings are the results of over-active imaginations...but some have to be true.”
    “This house is not haunted. God led Ted and me here. Why would He bring us to a house full of ghosts?”
    I didn’t know. However, I did know that seeing the apparitions was intentional. What connection they had to my nightmares I still didn’t know. Maybe none.
    “We’ll have to tell Ted,” Trina said. “He’s upstairs. He thought you might want some time alone with me.”
    Her footsteps made patting sounds as she went down the hall and up the staircase.
    All houses make noises, but I listened for strange sounds, anything unusual, out of place. I regretted that I was sitting facing into the room. One of the things Trina had shared with me from a self-defense course she had taken in high school was never put your back to the door. I had always counted on my bulk to keep me safe, but how do you fight something you can’t even touch?
    Where were the apparitions now? Did they leave when I glanced at Trina? Or were they hiding, waiting…
    Footsteps behind me. Nasal breathing.
    I stiffened. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I sat perfectly still in a dead man’s recliner, the ever-present scent of his liniment invading my nose.
    While I held my breath, grateful Trina was gone but at the same time sorry not to have a witness, a young man, early to mid-20s, and slightly built, rounded my chair. Limp blonde hair hung over the collar of his coveralls.
    His eyes widened when he saw me.
    Was he real or an apparition like the boys? The smell of motor oil and grease mixed with the liniment, creating a pungent swamp scent.
    I stared at the man/apparition as he focused unblinking eyes on my face.
    More footsteps, this time familiar. Trina and Ted walked into the room. I barely breathed, focusing on the young man, wondering if he would disappear.
    “Oh, Mitch, you’ve met my dad.”
    I exhaled. So he’s real.
    “Mitch is an auto mechanic,” Trina explained. “He used to live here. He helped Mr. Barnett.”
    “You come for the rest of your things?” Ted asked.
    Mitch’s surprised expression shifted to one of fearful confusion, almost like he thought I was a ghost. Strange that thought should come to me. Wonder if he has been in the attic?
    “Shouldn’t take me long,” Mitch mumbled. After another searching look in my direction, he shuffled out of the room.
    “Mitch really is a nice guy,” Trina said. “A little strange maybe. He came with the house.”
    “What do you mean, ‘He came with the house?’” What more trouble could come with this place?
    “Shortly after Mr. Barnett died, little Jimmy disappeared. Things were just hectic and—”
    “Wait a minute.” My heart missed a beat. “A kid disappeared?”
    “Mrs. Roberts’s grandson. She’s raising him. His parents were killed in a car accident about five years ago.” Trina lowered her voice to a whisper. “About two weeks ago he just didn’t come home from school.” Tears filmed her eyes, and she reached for her husband’s hand. “Ted and I met him a few times before we moved in. Cute boy, very polite. Mrs. Roberts is heartbroken. The whole town is searching for him. Posters with his pictures are hanging everywhere.”
    Ted slid an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’ve been praying that God will protect Jimmy and bring him home.”
    I scowled. After two weeks, kids didn’t usually show up alive, and God doesn’t always answer prayer.
    “Anyway,” Trina said, “back to Mitch. With the police looking everywhere, and you can imagine how upset Mrs. Roberts was, she just let Mitch keep on living here.”
    “Mrs. Roberts is the, um, lady renting you the house?”
    “Right. Mr. Barnett