"The Other Family" by Michael Stone

The Other Family

by Michael Stone

Despite the Sinclairs moving into the Lexington House, it remains restless. Memories groan through its creaking bones during the witching hour as the family sleeps. It’s not old pipes, or the wind curling through its crumbling eaves. 

These sounds are different.

Hannah’s gut told her to find something inside the Atlanta city limits during the showing. Instead, she begged Jacob to buy this old plantation house with antebellum architecture.

Despite stories of unexplained deaths of previous occupants through the years, the allure of its Civil War history and dreams of their family enjoying Georgia’s countryside won them over. 

Plus, it was a steal.

“Honey,” Hannah whispers. 

Jacob continues snoring; he doesn’t even stir. 

Hannah taps Jacob’s shoulder, only eliciting a half-snort through his slumber. She resorts to poking him in the back combined with a forceful whisper. “Honey!”

Jacob lurches upright, coaxed out of deep sleep. He yelps something indistinct, then freezes. He stares through the dark, in the space between dreams and wakefulness. Only a faint band of moonlight sneaks through half-closed curtains. 

After a moment, Jacob gains his bearings. He turns to Hannah, realizing she’s woken him up in the middle of the night for the third straight day, the same number of days they’ve lived in the house.

He rubs his sleepy eyes. “What’s wrong this time?”

“Mandi is talking to someone in her room again.”

Jacob’s tense shoulders collapse from exhaustion and annoyance. He’s suddenly relieved the darkness masks the worry on her face. 

“Honey, we talked about this the last two nights,” he asserts. “We’re the only three in this house.”

“I heard… others.”

“Others?”

“Other people.”

Jesus, my wife is going insane.

“What did you hear exactly?” he asks.

“Someone talking to Mandi in her room, people walking in the hall, and crawling inside the walls,” Hannah says, lowering her voice so as not to alert the others.

“You were dreaming.”

“No, I haven’t slept. I’ve been listening.”

“Christ, Hannah. That explains it, you’re sleep deprived. Your brain is conjuring all kinds of sights and sounds that don’t exist.”

“Can you check on Mandi?”

Jacob throws up his arms in protest. “I know moving out here has been hard, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Hannah grasps Jacob’s arm, pulling herself close. “Just check on her, then the rest of the house… please?”

Something is different. Her scent jars him from the conversation. Aromas of dirt and thyme fill his nose.

“What’s that smell?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer. 

He massages his temples, laboring to understand his wife’s unease. Is it the unfamiliarity of the country, Mandi’s new school, or this old house? All of this is new to him too. It takes a few moments of contemplation, but he reluctantly agrees.

“This is the last time. I can’t keep checking every room, every day, in the middle of the night. I have work and Mandi has school.”

“I know,” she replies, loosening her grip.

He reaches to turn on the lamp, but the power is out.

“Again?” Jacob questions with frustration. “This is the third night in a row.”

Jacob reaches for his phone. It’s gone.

“Great, now I can’t find my damn phone,” he whispers to himself.

He climbs out of bed and saunters to his dresser. He’ll have to trace the walls and furniture like a blind man. Strangely, every night since they moved in, the power has gone out at three in the morning and doesn’t return until daybreak. 

He runs his hands across his dresser, Hannah’s vanity, and finally the pull-bell system a few inches from the bedroom door frame. He remembers the realtor boasting about the original communication system the Lexingtons built to summon their housemaids. Jacob said it was creepy, but Hannah thought the adornments of the 19th-century house were charming. She even ensured the system worked before they bought it. From their room they can pull a string that rings bells in the laundry room, kitchen, dining hall, bedrooms, and library—which is currently inaccessible because of construction.

Before Jacob can run his fingers to his bedroom door frame, he hears the pit-pattering of footsteps scurrying down the hall.

“Mandi… is that you?”

No response.

“Honey, it’s time for bed, not running around the house,” he scolds, staring through the darkness. His eyes adjust to the ambient light, faintly making out the shapes of the hallway furniture leading to Mandi’s room.

He walks briskly, his fingertips trailing the edges of the console table, grandfather clock, and then eventually to the doorway of Mandi’s room. 

Jacob opens her door to a breeze coming through her window, and Mandi sitting up in bed. He walks to her bedside, noticing the same aroma of the forest and earth that was coming off Hannah.

“Honey, we don’t run around the house at this hour.”

“That wasn’t me Daddy,” she replies. Her voice is slightly hoarse, like she’s getting a cold.

“Who was it then?”

She says nothing, only points to the wide-open window. The night air and gibbous moon find their way inside.

Jacob walks over and peers out. His heart lurches into a furious rhythm. A woman and a little girl are standing on the roof’s edge.

“Hey, who are you? You’re going to fall!”

They stand mute and stiff, like statues.

The girl’s pink pajamas and the woman’s nightgown are familiar. His blood runs cold. “Mandi… Hannah?” Jacob asks, confused.

The statues turn around. It is Hannah and Mandi.

“They’re in our beds, Daddy,” Mandi whimpers.

The hair on his neck bristles as terror slithers to every limb of his body. His eyes widen, now wondering who is in his wife’s and daughter’s beds.

He slowly turns.

A girl with blonde hair lumbers out of Mandi’s bed. She steps into the moonlight, revealing her sunken, half-rotted face. She stands at Mandi’s bedside wearing a pink dress with white lace, leering with a wide, menacing smile. 

“This is our house,” she mutters.

The ‘MASTER BEDROOM’ bell jingles.