The Red House

He also looked familiar. Goosebumps rose across Robbie's arms. It was the guy standing outside the window. Same age and everything.

Hassan adjusted his glasses which continued to slip down his nose, "Uh, varsity running back, looks like his name is Dale Renfroe."

*Dale Renfroe.*

The goosebumps blossomed into a full shiver, a wave of cold ran through him.

*Dale.* Frank's voice was distant, and echoed like he was speaking from an empty church's pulpit.

The yearbook flew out of Hassan's hands, and shot across the table. The pages began to flutter back and forth in a wind that wasn't there. Another third of the book through, the wind subsided and the book stopped, sitting open. The library lights flickered, but thankfully didn't go out.

"Fuck!" Hassan pushed back from the table in surprise, grabbing ahold of Robbie's shoulder. After a second he realized, and withdrew his fingers giving an awkward laugh, "that was creepy as hell."

Robbie wasn't sure what to say, so just got up and walked over to the yearbook. It was a full page spread of the Mason High Bobcats walking out onto the field for the homecoming game. While most of the players were looking forward, Dale had his eyes angled up to the stands. The young man's gaze was locked on Frank hanging awkwardly over the railing, gazing down beatifically. "Huh." He could no longer feel Frank.

Hassan stood up and joined Robbie, "Oh... oh wow. That's..." he looked up at Robbie, "You aren't playing a trick on me right? This isn't something Dr. Karroway put you up to for extra credit."

Robbie shook his head.

"OK. Because this all just got seriously fucking weird."

"Well... maybe it was just... a weird coincidence, or something. Probably just happened to fall under a vent or something."

Hassan's expression was flat, "Mhmm, the yearbook with the dead guy who lived in a haunted house just flew out of my hands, slid across the table, and then went shuffling through the pages until it found a picture of said dead guy, getting eye-banged by the football player I just mentioned." He was practically shouting by the end, and began to shiver, "I feel like I'm going crazy."

Robbie wrapped Hassan in a hug, and gave him a squeeze, "Hey, its ok. You're not going crazy. I saw it too."

Hassan took a deep breath, and awkwardly extricated himself from Robbie's arms and sat back down at the table. He adjusted his glasses, "OK. Assuming this isn't an elaborate joke, which if its, please stop, what exactly are we looking at here?"

Hesitantly Robbie grabbed the yearbook, pulled it over and gave it one last flip through, before returning to the page with Frank and Dale, "there's no 'in memoriam' page. No obituary. No news articles. Basically he was here one day, and gone the next."

"The deaths of seventeen and eighteen year olds don't usually go unremarked upon. Could he have shipped off to Vietnam or something?"

Robbie shook his head, "I think the timing for that doesn't work." He pulled out his phone for a quick search, "the last draftees called into service was end of 1972. And..." the Google gods favored him, "he's not listed on the war memorial list either."

"Maybe he died in a way that nobody wanted to talk about, like a drug overdose or suicide? I mean, that tracks with the whole haunted house thing right? Tragic death," Hassan looked back down at the picture, "Tragic love?" he blinked and adjusted his glasses, "Just before all this... happened, you said you recognized the other guy, Dale."

Frank didn't stir this time at his name, "Well... this is going to sound crazy..."

"I think we left crazy a few minutes back."

"OK... I think I saw that guy, Dale, through a window at the Red House."

"You mean like a ghost? An actual ghost in the house?"

"No, he was standing outside, I was inside. I was working on the house when everything started flashing, and I saw him through the window."

"And you recognized him? He's gotta be in his sixties now."

"No, that's the thing, he looked like he did in the pictures."

Hassan took off his glasses and ran a hand through his curly black hair, "OK, so this Renfroe guy, he's the ghost?"

"I don't know, maybe?" Maybe that's why Frank had such a strong reaction? "But what about Frank?"

"True, that still doesn't explain why Franklin just disappeared from the record," hold on, I have an idea. Hassan went back over to the computers, and began clicking at speed, "OK no obit for Renfroe either," he went back to chewing his lip, "Nothing in the news except some old football team stories in the local papers. And... he's not showing up in the White Pages for Rosewood, or the rest of the surrounding county. But, there is a Beverly Renfroe, formerly Beverly Laurentz," Hassan pulled up a separate window, "Well she's a little younger, Mason High class of 1979, maybe a sister or sister in law? Maybe she can tell us what happened to Franklin and Dale?"

"She's local?"

"Yeah still lives in Rosewood."

"Wanna go?"

"Now? Like right now? It's getting close to ten."

"Yeah. Why not?"

Hassan rolled his eyes, "Yes, hello Ms. Renfoe, we're just two strange men, knocking on your door in the middle of the night, we'll be lucky if she doesn't call the police or shoot us.

Robbie bit his lip, "I mean it can't be that bad. It's not even ten on a Saturday night."

"You clearly get out more than I do," he stuck out a tongue, "if I wasn't working tonight, I'd be home on the couch drinking tea and reading a book next to Maxwell."

"Oh, is he your--"

"Cat." Hassan interrupted with a grin, "Big orange tabby. He's kind of dumb, but I love his adorable ginger..." Hassan blinked, and cleared his throat, "anyway. Yes-uh-I doubt Beverly Renfroe would be willing to see us."

The feeling of Frank returned, he was silent, but Robbie could feel his rising desperation,"All the same. I think its worth a try."

Hassan pulled up his glasses, and his eyes narrowed, "There's something you're not telling me."

"Well..."

"Listen, I've already accepted the premise that you've seen a ghost. And I definitely believe something weird is going on, so you might as well fess up."

"So... in most of the stories, tonight, October twelfth, is supposed to be important, and I may have seen another ghost tonight...."

"May have?"

"OK, I swear I'm not crazy. Also, if nothing happens, I'm going to look like a colossal idiot," Robbie took a deep breath, "OK Frank, I get the feeling you're supposed to meet Dale tonight. If you can uh... do something... we may be able to convince the cute librarian I haven't lost my mind, and we can try to figure out where."

At the mention of meeting Dale tonight, Robbie felt a swirl of energy in his chest, then his entire body shook like he'd grabbed a live wire.

"Oh my god, what's happening to your eyes?"

The lights began to flicker wildly in their area of the library, the computer screens began to flash, the two closed yearbooks popped open and all three began to flutter in the wind that wasn't there, turning to various pages. After a few seconds it all subsided, and Robbie gasped, like he'd just emerged from a lake in December. He stood there huffing and puffing for a while before he was able to speak again.

"Does that convince you?"

Hassan nodded. He looked over to the three open yearbooks, and shivered. All three books were open to pictures of Dale.

The pair had decided to take Hassan's car, it wasn't big on legroom, but Robbie's truck was a complete mess.

"So you were upstairs, and you saw the ghost of Frank Talridge, but he didn't know his own name?"

"Yeah, he just kept talking about a need to meet someone. Well at least when he wasn't being a moody teenager."

"You talked to him in the library, so I'm guessing he followed you from the house," Hassan looked toward his rearview mirror, and spoke up, "Uh, hello Frank? Are you in the back seat?"

"No, he's with me."

"Like on your lap?"

"No, more like inside of me."

Hassan chewed his cheek for a moment, "Huh. Lucky ghost."

Robbie's face grew warm again, his cheeks were probably so flush, it'd be hard to see his freckles, what Becca called 'going full cherry.' "Uh, not sure how to respond to that one."

Hassan snorted, "Oh please, if you're going to call me the 'cute librarian,' then turn about is fair play. And don't think I didn't catch the puppy dog look you gave me when I mentioned Maxwell."

Robbie grinned, "sorry, it's weird, but I think some of Franks... uh... teenage energy is rubbing off on me."

"I am trying hard not to make a joke here, I swear." Hassan's dimples were on full display, "Can he communicate when he's inside of you? I mean, besides the standard spectral lights show."

"Standard?"

"I told you I was into horror fiction and what not. The flashing lights, the ethereal wind, and even the moving objects, all classic poltergeist tropes."

"You aren't wrong, and to answer your question, I can hear him speaking sometimes, and I can feel his emotions."

"Well if he adheres to most of the lore, ghosts are pretty heavily tied to emotions, and unfinished business. Do you have any comment on that one Frank?"

"Uh, for some reason, after he gets really emotional, it becomes harder to feel him."

"Hmm, I've definitely heard of some thing like that, but I'd have to think on what that could be. OK. Looks like we're here."

Here was a mid-60's white rancher with a porch that could use some TLC. Otherwise, the house was in good repair, and the lawn freshly mowed. The lights were all on, and a silver sedan was parked in the driveway.
"So, are you planning on telling her about seeing her brother's ghost, or something?"

"Her brother may still be alive for all I know." Robbie bit his lip, trying to figure out a way to make this seem less awkward, suddenly there was a heavy pressure in his chest, "I know what I'm going to say, come on."

"May I help you?" a late middle-aged woman dressed in sweats and a slightly wary expression opened the door about three inches.

"Hey, sorry to uh stop by like this, but I'm doing some renovations for a house in town, and I found some old letters, film, and stuff in a closet, a whole box actually. They were written by a guy named Dale Renfroe. I tried Googling him, but I got this address instead, didn't have a phone number listed though. If you were related, and could like pass 'em on to him, I know a lot of people like old keepsakes from their high school days," Robbies words came tumbling out his mouth.

The woman stood there for a long moment, the door opened a few inches more, "I'm sorry sir, but Dale died."

"Oh. I'm really sorry to hear that."

"It was a more than thirty years ago. I was barely in my twenties," she cleared her throat, "I'm his sister by the way. You said you found the letters in an old house?"

"Yeah, the big red house on the corner of Rosemary and Cypress. The letters were to a guy named Frank."

"Frank... Talridge?"

"I think so. Couldn't find him with Google, do you know him?"

"He and Dale hung out a lot in high school. I always thought it was a little strange, what with Dale being on the football team, and Frank being a little nerdy fellow. Poor kid died just after his eighteenth birthday."

"Oh that sounds tragic, what happened?"

"You know, nobody really gave a straight answer on that. His family kept it pretty quiet, I'd heard it was a suicide. Threw himself off Sumner bridge, I think. God, that was what, seventy four? And Dale was absolutely torn up about it, didn't even finish the season," her eyes grew watery, "he left town right after highschool and moved to New York. He died in '83, wasn't even thirty. Momma and Daddy didn't even get a chance to go to his funeral, said he got ill, but never said much past that."

Robbie caught a knowing glance from Hassan, that made his throat catch, "Uh thanks, Ms. Talridge. If you'd like the box, I can bring it by next week."

She nodded, openly crying now, "I'd like that a lot."

The pair bid her an awkward goodnight.

When they got in the car, Hassan gave Robbie a hard look, "What the fuck was that? If you knew about the box... or did you make that all up?"

Robbie shook his head, the box was located in a false panel behind the broom closet on the second floor. He had been less than a foot away from it when he was futzing with the wires, before, he shuddered, "No. I didn't know about the box until I was talking about it. But, I'm sure its real. Otherwise..."

Hassan put a hand on Robbie's arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, "you're not going crazy."

Robbie offered a weak smile, "Now if only we didn't have to keep telling each other that."

Despite being only a mile or so from the Red House, Sumner bridge was still on the outskirts of town. The stone bridge was barely two cars wide, and the two orange streetlights on either side, didn't reach the darkness of the river below. Hassan pulled the car off the side of the road where a cop car sometimes sat, and the pair got out.

"So what do you think is going to happen here?"

Robbie shrugged, "Not really sure, but maybe we can get some answers at least. I think Frank deserves at least that," he took a few steps onto the bridge, when a wave of searing cold blossomed in his chest. It spread down his spine and into his limbs, shaking his body into shivers.

Frank stepped forward, exiting Robbie like an open door. He strode across the bridge, his face red with tears, "Frank," Robbie whispered, but the ghost paid him no heed.

The young man collapsed against the bridge's parapet, and began to sob openly. He stood there for a few long moments, looking out into darkness, or something else Robbie couldn't see. When the ghost went to wipe his face, Robbie noticed he clutched a letter and a white rose in his hand.

"Whatcha cryin about Frankie?" a voice dripping with malice called out from the darkness.

Frank stood ramrod straight, his eyes wide and his mouth a stern line across his face. He gazed into the darkness beyond the streetlight, "leave me alone John."

"What's a matter? Frank the fairy got stood up by his date?" It was a different voice, the same mocking tones.

Three boys stepped into the halogen-orange light. All three were dressed in the browns and oranges of 1970s suburbia, the largest of them wearing a varsity jacket, the red 'M' a bloody wound over his chest.

"You boys, stop this at once!" Hassan shouted. But nobody seemed to react, he and Robbie were reduced to watching it play out like theatre. Tragedy.

"Frankie-fudge-packer, lookin' for a big strong man," the third boy crooned.

Frank squared his shoulders and stared up at them, smaller than even the shortest of the three, "I said, leave me alone."

"Whatcha gonna do Frankie? Try to kiss us?" the second boy, started making kissy faces at the third which, which produced a gale of laughter between them. John and Frank weren't laughing.

"Better run home rich boy, don't want nobody else to see you crying. What would your daddy say?" John sneered.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Frank took a deep breath and glared up at John, his blue eyes almost glowing, "I said no. I'm waiting for someone."

"Aww looks like he really is waiting for a date. Brought'em a rose and--" the third boy fell silent with John's raised hand.

"Your family may think they're hot shit living in their big red house. But to me you'll always be a little faggot. Now, scram fag."

"No," Frank's lip curled, "I might be a fag, but at least I'm not piece of shit loser, who barely made the football--"

John's balled fist, ended Frank's response with a wheeze. Robbie gasped, the air driven from his lungs.

"I'll teach you to talk back to me you--" John swung wild for Frank's chin, and sent him sprawling. Stars exploded before Robbie's eyes, and the pain dropped him to his knees.

"Robbie?" Hassan turned away from the bridge to stare at him.

Robbie opened his mouth, and felt blood run down his chin. John landed a savage kick to Frank's midsection, before he was joined by the other two boys who began to rain blows down on him.

Pain pounded into Robbie's arm, his chest, his back. He collapsed, and his head began to ring.

"Robbie!"

John landed a solid kick to Frank's head, pushing his neck into a strange angle. The world started to go hazy.

"Holy fuck, I think you killed him!"

"Shit we gotta get out of here."

Through squinting eyes, Robbie looked up to see John picking Frank's limp body from the road. As he walked him over to the edge of the bridge, Robbie could see another figure, standing in the shadows at the other end of the bridge. Dale Renfroe looked on, his face a frozen mask of horror. As, John hoisted Frank up over the parapet, Dale ran off into the night.

"Please don't leave me."

Everything went dark.

"Robbie! Robbie! Come on, please wake up."

Robbie opened his eyes, the street lamps stung like needles. "Hassan," his voice was barely a whisper.

"Oh thank god," tears were running down Hassan's face, "I watched them kill him. Just fucking kill him, and then you..." somehow Robbie found the strength to reach up and pull Hassan close.

"Where's Frank?"

Hassan shook his head into Robbie's shoulder, "They all just disappeared when you collapsed. I saw Dale, in the shadows, he ran."

"I know. Can you help me stand up?"

With a little wobbling, the pair stood up. The bridge was as empty as when they arrived.

"Can you take me back to the car?"

When they got to Hassan's car, Robbie practically collapsed into the front passenger seat. Hassan was gasping. Despite his height, Robbie had at least sixty pounds of muscle on the librarian.

"I," speaking was still difficult, "think we need to go to the Red House."

"Are you insane? You just coughed up blood and passed out. And now you want to go confront the... thing who did it?"

"I think this is the only way to help him and end this."

"Help him, even after--"

Robbie stared at him, "None of us deserve what happened to him. We have to do something."

Hassan growled, "OK. But on one condition."

"What?"

"Take off your shirt."

"I'm sorry?"

"Take off your shirt, I want to check if you have any broken ribs. If anything that happened was permanent, then this whole ghost nonsense can fuck right off, and I'm taking you to a hospital."

Robbie nodded, and took of his shirt, the process was slow and painful. It hurt even more as it went over his head. With gentle fingers, Hassan began pressing into Robbie's side. At one point, Robbie gasped, "Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're an asshole for getting me wrapped up in this," despite his words, Hassan had a weak smile on his face, "it doesn't feel like anything is broken. There are some red marks which might bruise, but its difficult to tell since..."

"Since I'm pretty pink and freckley already?"

Hassan chuckled, "I was going to say because you've got a lot more chest hair than I expected. But that's true too. Normally I would think that a guy whose-uh-as well defined as you would shave."

Robbie shrugged, "I've heard that from guys at the gym. It always seemed like a lot of work to spend a week feeling itchy."

Hassan put his hand on Robbie's thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze, "can you feel this?"

"Uh yep."

Hassan grabbed Robbie's bicep and softly felt the muscles, "and this?"

"Mhmm." Robbie, felt his pants getting a bit tight.

"Well it doesn't seem like you've had any spinal damage. You can walk and you have sensation in your extremities. Though... one of the side effects of spinal damage is an erection," Hassan pursed his lips, and there was an amused glint in his eyes, "but that usually only comes with significant damage."

"Has anyone told you, that you have an extremely morbid method of flirting?"

"Yes, an old boyfriend, and he thought it was adorable."