u/spnsuperfan1

I’m reading Lana Ferguson’s The Mating Game and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s kind of like a Mate AU in that:

-Hunter and Tess have similar attributes to Koen and Serena.

-Hunter and Koen are both lovable stand offish brutes/assholes.

-Both Tess and Serena have just found out that they are something completely different than they thought they were and are navigating their new lives.

That being said, I still think The Mating Game is a great book and is definitely its own story- I just have intense pattern recognition and am a tad delusional. Either way if you like Mate you will definitely like this book- I know I do.

God damn it now I want to write a crossover fanfiction after I finish the book.

I 22F work full time as a state patrol dispatcher but am barely making enough to get by and need some WFH suggestions. Hopefully something that’s not too overbearing as my day job is stressful enough.

I have some writing skills and an adequate laptop I can work on.

If it is I feel like a dummy. I haven’t had the chance to read it yet and I just made a video rambling on for 30 minutes on my ranking of THL, LOTB, and LT.

I came across Nocturnehouse.co on TikTok and might be interested in submitting my manuscript to them but want to make sure it isn’t a scam first.

>!Bro up and reveals he’s known about werewolves the whole time, then dips and is never seen or talked about again. They fumbled him so hard, he had so much potential.!<

I kinda want to try car camping out this weekend but don’t know if that’s allowed.

The reflection in the mirror couldn’t help but smile as I wiped away stray specks of blood from the glass.

TW: Child abuse and mentions of SA

***

Whenever Spencer was gone and staying with his father, it felt like the nightmares got worse. Ramping up in frequency and intensity. Like the Shadow Man, as I’d come to call him, instinctively knew when I was alone and defenseless.

Many hours of rest were lost to sleep paralysis as the entity stalked me in my room- just standing there silently observing me. The terror that resulted from the near constant nightly visits plagued me, following me around in the waking world. It was ruining my life.

I was severely sleep deprived, forgetful, irritable, exhausted. My hair started to thin and fall out and I lost twenty-five pounds in the span of a month and a half. 

My job performance suffered. I started messing up all the time. Falling asleep at my desk while on calls with clients, yelling at my coworkers for typing too loud, small things like that quickly added up. When I’d get out of a mood, I’d apologize and explain the situation at home. Unfortunately, just like everybody else in my life, nobody believed me. There was fake sympathy, but I could tell by all the tight lipped smiles and judging eyes they all thought I was crazy too.

It got to the point where management and HR got involved. Since I’d been a good and loyal worker for the past fifteen years, my job forced me to take a brief leave of absence to rest and recuperate instead of outright terminating me. Everyone blamed it on the divorce, that it must’ve fractured my psyche- inducing a mental breakdown of sorts. I was informed that when I got back I’d be placed on a PIP- Performance Improvement Plan. If I couldn’t get my act together then, that was it for me and I’d get canned. Given the pink slip. Fired. That simply wasn’t an option, so begrudgingly, I did as instructed. But I wanted to be anywhere but that fucking house. 

Finances were tight so I couldn’t move, hence why I bought the damned thing in the first place. Obviously the realtor hadn’t disclosed the full history of the house- hindsight is now 20/20- but I couldn’t pass up the price and it was close to Spencer’s school. Not like there was anywhere else I could go anyway. There were no friends for me to turn to. My mother and the rest of the family lived on the other side of the country. Bridges had been burned with Rob and his family. But, more importantly, I didn’t want to leave since staying in the house was good when it came to court and keeping majority custody of Spencer. The illusion of home stability is everything to the government and was the sole reason why I didn’t just quit my job.

One early morning on my leave, after another sleepless night, my body was exhausted- my brain even more so. My neurons were on the fritz, firing off like millions of cannons, launching little steel balls every which way, keeping me awake. Needing rest, I figured I'd go out on a run- try to tire myself out enough to the point my brain couldn’t help but shut down. Intense flashes of the nightmares that night still lingered on the back of my eyelids every time I blinked. This only motivated me to run faster. 

“How’s my prediction coming along? Any closer to moving out of that old place?” Maggie joked, yelling from across the street, waving me over on my way back. Birds chirped a sweet tune, the sun about to crest the horizon- vanquishing the dreary light of dawn with it. “You look like shit,” she stated after getting a good look at me.

“Thanks. Feel like it too,” I chuckled, tucking a wiry wisp of hair behind my ear. Gerald waved at me from the seat next to his wife while taking a sip out of his mug. I waved back.

“Want some coffee?”

Despite it seeming like a bad idea to ingest caffeine in my current state, I accepted. With a nod and a smile, Maggie headed in to fix me a fresh cup. Feeling awkward just standing at the bottom of their porch, I made my way up and leaned against the wooden railing, rubbing my hands up and down my upper arms to generate some warmth in the cool morning air. 

Gerald just cleared his throat while downing another sip of coffee and picking up that day's newspaper to read through it, paying me no mind. His cold demeanor seemed to be a complete one-eighty from how our last interaction ended. He probably just woke up and was cranky, I reasoned. He did look pretty tired and worn out. 

Why did I care? And why did he seem so… familiar?

The sunrise basked the porch in a soft glowing light, illuminating the man. He wore an aged wife beater and gray basketball shorts underneath a blue and green striped robe. His hair seemed different from what I remembered, almost saltier, like there was dust or something in it. It was faint, but a stale smell wafted off him.

Maggie interrupted my thoughts when she came back out and handed me the much welcomed warm drink. It helped that the coffee tasted good. It reminded me of my favorite brand. Speaking of, I made a mental note to get more on my next grocery run. The new bag I bought seemingly disappeared overnight. As much as I’d love to blame this one on the ghost, admittedly, I had been consuming more of the stimulant than intended lately. 

After another sip or two, I practically chugged the rest of the mug. Unfortunately, I did not get the much needed energy boost I’d been hoping for. Nevertheless, I wiped my mouth off and set the cup down on the railing, giving Maggie and Gerald my thanks.

“Glad you liked it,” she said, sitting back down. “Gerald picked up a new brand for us to try. Bones Coffee, I think it’s called. Have you heard of it?”

“Frosted pumpkin roll,” I nodded, delighted, complimenting their choice in flavored bean water, “You guys have great taste.”

Maggie chuckled, waving it off, before leaning in conspiratorially, “So, seriously Kathy, any strange happenings going on in that house of yours you’d like to tell us about? Gerald and I are great listeners, aren’t we hun?”

“Mhm,” he agreed while flipping to the next page of the newspaper.

“Oh, I don’t-” I started to lie (not wanting the only two people who seemed to want to be friends with me thinking I was certifiable), nervously fiddling with my hair, when the sudden sound of glass crashing against the floor and shattering somewhere within their house rang out. Startled, I jumped and suppressed a shriek, my cheeks pinking up in embarrassment. 

Thankfully, my reaction went unnoticed by Maggie as she groaned with frustration, grumbling underneath her breath and excusing herself. Muttering something about, “That stupid cat!” as she drug her feet inside to go see what was wrong.

“You’re not hiding it very well,” Gerald stated bluntly, setting his paper down. He downed the rest of his coffee then stared at me. “That it's affecting you, the house I mean.”

I straightened up, crossing my hands into my chest, laughing breathlessly, “S-sorry?”

“My wife thinks it's all fun and games,” he said, gazing at my house down the road, “but there’s something not right about that place. It’s dangerous. They’re dangerous. Demons. Swarming all over, spreading their darkness and infecting those who inhabit that house with evil.”

“You think so?” I questioned, looking over at my house. It looked unsuspecting to the normal eye, but having lived there and with my experiences, the property did have a dark aura surrounding it. But demons, possession? That’s crazy! But then again, so is the premise of a haunted house, which is what I’d been preaching about for who knows how long. So maybe it wasn't that impossible after all.

“Definitely. You know that possessions go hand in hand with hauntings? Our preacher told us so. And the people I’ve seen leave that house, they’re changed and not in a good way. It’s scary. We’ve tried to get some of the previous tenants to come to church with us and get the house cleansed, but nobody ever does. By the time they were desperate enough to ask for our help again, it was already too late,” Gerald ended, eerily.

A chill crawled up my spine, an unsettling feeling overcoming me as a pit settled in my stomach. His face was stoic, his tone serious. There was just something about Gerald that compelled me to believe him.

“You should join us this Sunday,” he offered suddenly. “We’ll introduce you to our pastor. He’s a great guy and already has a basic run down of what’s going on. Knows a priest that can help with your ‘little’ problem.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I started, taking that as my cue to leave, “but I haven’t been to church in so long.” 

“Even more reason for you to come.”

A nervous chuckle left my mouth. Let’s just say my relationship with religion is complicated after an unpleasant experience in my youth.  “I-I’ll have to check my schedule," I told him, excusing myself. “I really should get back though. That was an intense run and I’ve already stunk up your porch enough.”

“Say, have you noticed anything like that?” Gerald asked, curiously, stopping me. “Weird behaviors with you or your boy, is it, that lives with you?”

I turned to face him, thinking back on it. I don’t know if it was the topic of conversation or the way Gerald said it that left me feeling so on edge, but something did stand out that I hadn’t taken note of until just then. “You know what? Now that you mention it…”

"There’s something wrong with Spencer. H-he’s not himself,” I whispered to my mother over the phone. I was sitting at the kitchen table, freaking out and on the verge of having a full on heart attack.

“Kathy, what are you on about?” She asked, groggily. A pang of guilt struck my chest, realizing I must’ve woken her up. There was a three hour time difference between us. That guilt was quickly overrun by anxiety and worry.

“Spencer, he’s not home yet. He was supposed to be back hours ago. All my texts and calls are going unanswered and he turned his location off. It’s the middle of the night! It’s not like him, he’s always home by the time I tell him. Why isn’t he home, mama?”

“I don’t understand, is he missing?”

I stifled a sob. “God, I hope not. I’m hoping he’s out with friends and lost track of the time and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

My mother sighed on the other end of the line. The click of her bedside lamp being turned on barely audible. “I'm sure he’ll be home any minute, hon. You gave me a couple frights back in the day, but you turned out just fine.”

A tense moment of silence passed as I choked on the words stuck in my throat. My mind roamed back to The Shadow Man. It was almost as if I could see him in my peripherals, taunting me. What if he had something to do with this? It had been pretty tame in the house lately, perhaps it was because he had been planning something? I shuddered to think about The Shadow Man possessing my only son.

“Do I need to come out there?” She asked, in a tired and raspy voice. “I’ve been meaning to come and visit. Maybe I can talk a little sense into him.”

“No, I can handle my own son- if he even is that anymore,” I snapped, toying with the idea.

“What makes you say that?” She questioned, incredulously. “Are you sure things are alright over there? T-this isn’t about the house again, is it?”

Reluctantly, I admitted there was a strong possibility. But before my mother could hang up, I frantically started to explain my reasoning, going down the rabbit hole of everything off I’d noticed with Spencer since moving in. Not only was this the latest he’d ever dared to stay out, but I strongly suspected he’d snuck out multiple other times as well. He started to back talk to me, worse than ever before. Spencer started blasting Death Metal and Screamo music from behind his locked bedroom door into the late hours of the night when he was home. I threw a fit when he came back the other day from his fathers with his hair cut shaggy and unkempt. Even worse, he wore thick mascara around his eyes and even painted his nails black. Oh, it was horrible! It’s like he’s a totally different person now, a person who hates his mother. And all he does is talk about what he’s doing with his dad and all the things he’s looking forward to when he goes back over there. It’s like Rob is controlling his mind or something, and Spence being here makes him more susceptible to it. Instead of being my little angel, he’s been acting like a little demon. 

“Sure he’s acting like a demon,” my mother laughed, “he’s a teenager for Pete’s sake! They’re all little devils. Hell, even you were one yourself, Kathy. Especially after-”

“Mom,” I stated plainly, cutting her off. I knew where she was going, but didn’t- couldn’t- go there. “I’m not joking, I’m telling you, this is different.”

“I-I’m going to hang up now, sweetie,” I could hear the disappointment in her voice as she sucked her tongue between her teeth. “I know things are tough for you right now with all that’s been going on and your job, so why don’t you give me a call back when you're in a better mood and get some good sleep? We can revisit this topic then. I’m sure Spencer is fine, but if he’s still not back by morning, let me know and I’ll be on the first flight over.”

“Mom-” I started, defensively, but the call ended before I could finish. Defeated, I pinched the bridge of my nose and slumped back in my chair. I rubbed my temples in search of relief from the small headache that had formed behind my eyes. 

My heart leapt in my chest when the front door unlocked a few minutes later. I sat up as the door opened and Spencer walked in. “And where have you been, young man?” I questioned as relief and anger surged through my veins.

“Uh, out,” he answered nonchalantly, hanging up his jacket. He wore a black and white striped long sleeve shirt under an oversized and torn up My Chemical Romance band T-shirt. His Converse high tops and baggy dark grey acid wash jeans were stained and caked in dirt. He reeked of trouble. 

“Out where?”

“With my friends.”

“Doing what? Drugs, having sex?!”

My son laughed dismissively with a scoff, “What? Mom-”

“No, Spencer, do you have any idea what time it is?!” I scolded, standing up and walking over to him. I pointed at the couch for him to sit down, which he did reluctantly. “I asked you to be home three hours ago! I was worried sick and about to call the police.”

“Chill, you’re overreacting. I’m fine,” he waved me off. I think he rolled his eyes at me, which had me seeing red.

“Fine! Fine? I had no idea where you were. You’re lucky you didn’t wake up in the bathtub of some stingy motel missing a kidney! I have half a mind to go over there and strangle you myself for being so disrespectful. What were you thinking? This behavior is not okay… This place, it’s changing you, Spencer.”

My son threw his hand up in the air, exasperated. “Of course you find a way to bring your stupid fucking haunting into this! That’s all you care about now!”

“Watch your mouth,” I snapped, glaring at him.

“And you know if this place really was haunted, I think that’s actually pretty cool,” he quipped, admitting, “but you’re so nutso, you ruin it. You ruin everything! Your marriage, my life! It sucks here and I feel safer at dad’s.”

I gasped, taking a step back and clutching my chest. Those words broke me. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I choked out a pained cry as I crumbled. “Are you saying I’m a terrible mother? Am I so despicable, Spencer? Am I really that awful?”  

“No, I didn’t mean that, Mom. Jeez, I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his shoulder, a glimpse of my Spencer shining through. But it was too late.

I straightened up, wiping my tears away and clearing my throat. Soft, but sternly I informed him, “You’re grounded until I say otherwise. Until you can get your act together, no phone, computer, tv, video games, hanging out with friends, nothing. You come home from school, do your homework, then your chores, and go to bed.”

“But-” he started to protest, but I shut it down.

“That’s final. Now give me your phone and go to your room.”

He grunted angrily, standing up and digging his phone out of his pocket. Instead of complying with my demands, Spencer threw his phone to the ground- his screen cracking audibly. Then he  stomped his feet, screaming at me as tears streamed down his face, “You’re the worst, I hate you! I really hate you! And know what? I wish you would just go and die already! Then you could join the ghosts you’re always talking about and I could live with Dad forever!”

That had to be a demon talking because there was no way my son would ever say such things to me. Never. As he pushed past me to his room, right before he slammed and locked his door, I swear to God I saw The Shadow Man standing behind him, his darkness gripping my son’s shoulders tightly, pulling him away from me. His eyes shone, looking at me pleadingly. Then the lights flickered and it was gone. Spencer was gone. All that stared back at me were dark, soulless angry eyes.

“You're not my son!” I yelled at the monster possessing my boy.

A sinister, evil laugh emitted from its throat as the door closed, “No, no I’m not!”

I sat in the resulting silence for a moment before I imploded, slamming my front door behind me so hard I cracked the frame as I stormed off. Once outside, even the breeze couldn’t calm the heated buzz in my blood. Like a woman on a mission, I marched over to Maggie and Gerald’s house, banging on their front door until someone answered.

“Kathy? What’s wrong?” Maggie asked, rubbing the residual sleep from her eyes, clutching her robe to her chest for warmth.

“I’m desperate,” I cried, sobbing so hard that snot poured out of my nose. I was so desperate I was willing to overcome my trauma. Knowing my son was possessed by a demon was worse than being molested by our pastor for years, being gaslit into thinking it was all my fault. I couldn’t bear the thought of my boy’s body being taken advantage of like that, like mine had. Feeling hopeless, like he wasn’t in control and his body wasn’t his. It was my job to protect him from experiencing the horrors that I went through and I was failing. 

I needed to save my baby before he was lost forever.

“Gerald said you could help, the church could help. T-the house, it has my son. I… I need an exorcist.”

***

Father Arnold came highly recommended by Maggie and Gerald’s pastor as the best exorcist around. He was tall but lithe, with short and well maintained brown hair. He was very official looking in his clerical collar and vestments when he showed up at my front door. His demeanor stiffened as he stepped through the threshold of the door after I invited him in.

“There is a presence here,” he tensed, setting a leather briefcase down on the coffee table. “I can feel it.”

I nodded my head, finally feeling vindicated after all this time. I wiped a tear from my eye as I recounted the events leading up to the previous night- how that thing threatened to kill me.

“Show me the boy,” he said, getting right down to business. I led him over to Spencer’s room, knocking lightly before opening the door. His room was dark, darker than it should be at eleven am. I tried his light, no luck. The bulb must’ve busted.

“What do you want?” He groaned, turning over in his bed.

“To help you, my child,” Father Arnold answered.

This stirred a reaction out of Spencer, who quickly sat up. “Mom? What is he talking about? What’s going on?”

“Come to the living room, Spence,” I said softly, trying my best to smile sweetly. “We just want to talk.”

I prayed I wouldn’t have to drag him out kicking and screaming, and something out there answered as Spence hesitantly followed us out into the living room. He sat down in the same spot I’d lectured him in last night, wearing one of his dad’s t-shirts and a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms. 

“Are you a God fearing man, Spencer, was it?” Father Arnold asked, clearing his throat. He opened his briefcase and carefully took out a bible, placing it in the middle of the table. He stared at the book then to Spencer, expectantly.

“M-mom?” He stuttered, looking at me, nervously.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” I reassured and soothed him, handing him a cup of tea Father Arnold instructed me to make using a vial of herbs he’d brought. It was supposed to calm him, he’d told me.

For the first time in a long while, Spencer did as asked without making a fuss or fighting back. He gulped the drink down in one swallow.

“Well?” The Father prompted.

Spencer slurred his speech as he tried to answer, “Uhhhsh-” the tranquilizer taking effect rather quickly.

“Don’t worry,” Father Arnold laid Spencer down on the couch as his eyeballs rolled to the back of his head, petting his hair gently, “if you weren’t before, you will be.”

After confirming that Spencer was unconscious, Father Arnold and I carefully carried him back into his room, where his arms and legs were bound tightly to the bed frame with fabric. I stifled a sob, looking at my son all tied up like that. The only reason I was able to make it through was by reminding myself that it wasn't Spencer lying on that bed, that this was for his own good. To save him. 

Once all the preparations were finished getting set up, Father Arnold tore the curtains open, flooding the room with bright light. This caused the thing in the bed to stir. It tugged at its restraints. Confused and coming to, it said “I- I can’t move. Mom, help I can’t move! What’s going on, what are you doing to me?” It started to cry, tugging at its restraints harder, jerking the bed frame against the wall, violently. 

“Sp- Spencer?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat. I held out my hand, taking a step forward.

Father Arnold waved me back. “Don’t listen to it. That’s not your son, it’s trying to lure you into a false sense of security.”

“What are you talking about?” He yelled, looking around, shielding his eyes from the bright light. “This is crazy!”

“Quiet demon,” Father Arnold scolded, “I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ, to come out of that boy!”

The thing wearing my son’s face laughed, as if this was all some big joke. “Mom, do you really think I’m possessed? Seriously?”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip, turning away.

Father Arnold glared at me. “Do not speak to it,” he demanded.

“It’s so convincing,” I whispered.

“That’s what makes them so dangerous.” The exorcist then dug a bottle of holy water out of his briefcase, flicking the liquid all over Spencer. “What is your name, demon? Who do you serve?” 

“Oh, for the love of- I. AM. NOT. POSSESSED!” It screeched, tugging harder and harder at its binds, trying to escape. The bedframe smacked against the wall so hard, cracks began to form in the plaster. It looked like it was in pain from the holy water searing its skin. I could’ve sworn I saw small whisps of smoke furl into the air.

“Be gone demon! I beseech thee!”

“HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! I’M BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL!”

“I think it’s best you leave now,” Father Arnold told me, motioning for me to leave the room. “There’s a lot of work ahead of us. It’s not something a mother should see.”

“O-okay,” I stammered, wiping tears from my cheeks. It was shattering me, hear him scream like that. “Just give me back my boy.”

“THEY’RE TORTURING ME!!!!!”

“And he said to them, ‘this kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer,” Father Arnold said, solemnly, quoting Mark 9:29.

Four days passed in agony as Father Arnold did his work, shouting tirelessly non stop, throwing holy water, and cleansing the air with sage and other holy herbs.

“Begone, Satan!” I’d hear him shout Matthew 4:10. “For it is written, “You shall worship the Lord your God and only him you should serve.”

Spencer's sobs would then fill the entire house.  

For the first couple of days we’d take breaks every couple of hours. I’d give Spencer water and food containing loads of blessed salt, help him go to the bathroom and shower. At first I wasn’t sure, but the exorcism seemed to be working. The demon grew weaker with each day. Its skin was sweaty and pale, its figure gaunt. After the middle of day two, it started to spit the water I fed it back out. The same with food. By day three it stopped eating, drinking, and using the bathroom entirely. It would cry occasionally, but eventually even stopped doing that, ceasing all forms of communication too. Father Arnold reassured me this was good, that the demon was close to coming out.

It all came to a head in the late morning of day four. I sat on the floor outside of Spencer’s room, clutching my rosary beads so tight, they left imprints on the skin of my palms. I couldn’t sleep, I only prayed. Prayer after prayer after prayer filtered through my mind, hoping my son would be okay. 

From inside the room, Father Arnold recited forcefully Mark 16:17, “And these signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will cast out demons…”

“P-please, stop. I don’t feel good,” It muttered softly, having spoken for the first time in over twenty-four hours. Then it broke out into an intense coughing fit. I ran in with a water bottle, the exorcist moving out of my way as I pressed the rim to his lips. Spencer opened his eyes, they were cloudy as he looked around, confused. I poured some leftover water on a rag and began to dab sweat from his forehead, stroking his hair as I did so. We were so close, I could feel it. The air was charged and electric. This was it, I was going to get my boy back.

“For he was saying to him, ‘Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!”” Father Arnold commanded grandly, pressing his palm to Spencer’s forehead. Upon his touch, Spencer started convulsing as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Help me hold him down,” the exorcist instructed, him holding down his shoulders, me his legs. “The demon is leaving, it has been cast back down to Hell!”

Spencer’s spit turned into frothy white foam as it spilled out of his mouth and onto his pillow. Shallow grunts escaped his throat as he seized for what seemed to be no end but was actually another three minutes. Then he started to come out of it, his body going stiff. “M-mama…” He gasped weakly, opening his eyes, looking at me. Then, slowly, he let out a deep breath. 

“Shhhhh, be free my child, be free,” Father Arnold said softly, giving Spencer a kiss on the forehead before closing his eyelids shut- irises a cold, glassy, and unforgiving shade of grey.

“Is- is he okay?” I asked, shakily, covering my mouth. 

“His soul rests in God’s hands, now.”

“Oh… Oh my god. Spencer, he- he’s not dead is he?” But deep down, I already knew the answer to that, but didn’t want it to be real. I didn’t want to face reality. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, clutching his cold little hand in mine as I cried, “NO, SPENCER, WHY! NO, WHY MY BOY, WHY!”  My body went numb as it felt like my heart broke into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry,” The father offered his condolences, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Then a bang sounded from my living room as the front door was kicked in. “What the fuck is going on in here?” A cop demanded to know, drawing his gun on the priest and I.

***

Apparently my mother had called the police to do a welfare check on us after I hadn’t called for a few days, worried about how our last conversation ended. To add to that, some neighbors were concerned after they saw a figure run away from the back of the house. Apparently there had been increased reports of a peeping-tom on the prowl in the surrounding area so the cops barged in, thinking that he might’ve done something to us. Instead they found the aftermath of Spencer’s exorcism.

His cause of death was severe dehydration and stress that led to his seizure and subsequent heart attack. The media had swarmed the house within the hour after that news came out.

I feel so terrible. But what makes me feel even worse, is that after taking Father Arnold and I into custody, they turned my house upside down as they conducted a full investigation. Terrifyingly, the police found evidence of someone recently living in my crawlspace and walls. There were pillows and blankets, food wrappers, bottles full of pee, some of Spencer’s clothes and dirty magazines, even my underwear down there. I was informed that when something like that happens, it’s a thing called phrogging and is defined as the act of secretly living in another person's home without their knowledge or permission. So everything: My kitchen being rearranged, the lights, the missing food, my nightmares, The Shadow Man- it was all from the phrog, a real person, fucking with me, driving me insane for their own amusement. 

That broke the internet. If it wasn’t already bad before, now random strangers online were gobbling the facts of my life up like candy.

And the phrog, they turned out to be someone a lot closer to home than I thought. As the police raided my house, some little girl’s dad caught Gerald down the street peeping into her window. When confronted, he acted confused- like he didn’t know what he was doing or why he was there. Still, the man pressed charges and he was arrested. On a hunch, after testing the DNA that had been left down there, forensics confirmed that it had been Gerald in my house all along. He says he had no idea, but according to Maggie in the past couple of years- right around the time the ‘hauntings’ started- he had developed a habit of disappearing for several hours at a time. She’d even wake up in the middle of the night without him by her side. Now she knows what he was up to.

I feel absolutely disgusted and violated, but it all makes so much sense now.

So, here I am writing this memoir of mine from prison. Maybe someone can learn a thing or two from my story and not end up here like I did. 

Unfortunately, Gerald’s fate was not as fulfilling as one would hope. He didn't go to jail on account of his doctors thinking he was suffering from early stage dementia- which caused his out of character and creepy behavior. Instead of being behind bars, Gerald gets to live free as long as his daughter is his primary caretaker and keeps a strict track record of his whereabouts and the medication he takes.  

As for Father Arnold and I, we were both charged with felony assault on a child causing death. You know most people say they don’t look good in orange, but I beg to differ. Though, I don’t think I’ll be sticking around here too much longer. My lawyers think I have a good shot pleading temporary insanity as a result of Gerald’s actions. I know I felt even crazier then than I do now- living with all my guilt. And as for Father Arnold, well, I couldn’t say the same for him. But I don’t really care what happens to him, he killed my son. 

While waiting for my hearing, Robert came to visit me only once in prison. The guards led me out of my cell and sat me at one of those phone booths with the bullet proof glass and chunky outdated phones. He was already sitting down when I got there. I got a good look as I plopped into my seat. He was clearly in mourning. Unruly stubble grew on his chin, thick bags clung to his eyes. He didn’t seem to be sleeping much, if at all. His eyes were bloodshot, dull and lifeless- missing the spark that used to make them feel alive. His white dress shirt was wrinkly, untucked, and full of beer stains. He looked like a mess, the worst state I’d ever seen him in.

I picked up the phone, pressing the receiver up to my ear, waiting for him to say something. Robert waited for a moment, unable to look me in the eyes. When he finally picked up the phone, his breath hitched before he spoke. All he could ask, while sniffling and wiping away a stray tear, was, “Why?”

“I thought Spencer was possessed. Rob, I swear…” I sniffled, trying to keep myself from wailing. “I fully believed with my whole heart that he, that my house, was haunted.”

TW: Child abuse and mentions of SA

***

Whenever Spencer was gone and staying with his father, it felt like the nightmares got worse. Ramping up in frequency and intensity. Like the Shadow Man, as I’d come to call him, instinctively knew when I was alone and defenseless.

Many hours of rest were lost to sleep paralysis as the entity stalked me in my room- just standing there silently observing me. The terror that resulted from the near constant nightly visits plagued me, following me around in the waking world. It was ruining my life.

I was severely sleep deprived, forgetful, irritable, exhausted. My hair started to thin and fall out and I lost twenty-five pounds in the span of a month and a half. 

My job performance suffered. I started messing up all the time. Falling asleep at my desk while on calls with clients, yelling at my coworkers for typing too loud, small things like that quickly added up. When I’d get out of a mood, I’d apologize and explain the situation at home. Unfortunately, just like everybody else in my life, nobody believed me. There was fake sympathy, but I could tell by all the tight lipped smiles and judging eyes they all thought I was crazy too.

It got to the point where management and HR got involved. Since I’d been a good and loyal worker for the past fifteen years, my job forced me to take a brief leave of absence to rest and recuperate instead of outright terminating me. Everyone blamed it on the divorce, that it must’ve fractured my psyche- inducing a mental breakdown of sorts. I was informed that when I got back I’d be placed on a PIP- Performance Improvement Plan. If I couldn’t get my act together then, that was it for me and I’d get canned. Given the pink slip. Fired. That simply wasn’t an option, so begrudgingly, I did as instructed. But I wanted to be anywhere but that fucking house. 

Finances were tight so I couldn’t move, hence why I bought the damned thing in the first place. Obviously the realtor hadn’t disclosed the full history of the house- hindsight is now 20/20- but I couldn’t pass up the price and it was close to Spencer’s school. Not like there was anywhere else I could go anyway. There were no friends for me to turn to. My mother and the rest of the family lived on the other side of the country. Bridges had been burned with Rob and his family. But, more importantly, I didn’t want to leave since staying in the house was good when it came to court and keeping majority custody of Spencer. The illusion of home stability is everything to the government and was the sole reason why I didn’t just quit my job.

One early morning on my leave, after another sleepless night, my body was exhausted- my brain even more so. My neurons were on the fritz, firing off like millions of cannons, launching little steel balls every which way, keeping me awake. Needing rest, I figured I'd go out on a run- try to tire myself out enough to the point my brain couldn’t help but shut down. Intense flashes of the nightmares that night still lingered on the back of my eyelids every time I blinked. This only motivated me to run faster. 

“How’s my prediction coming along? Any closer to moving out of that old place?” Maggie joked, yelling from across the street, waving me over on my way back. Birds chirped a sweet tune, the sun about to crest the horizon- vanquishing the dreary light of dawn with it. “You look like shit,” she stated after getting a good look at me.

“Thanks. Feel like it too,” I chuckled, tucking a wiry wisp of hair behind my ear. Gerald waved at me from the seat next to his wife while taking a sip out of his mug. I waved back.

“Want some coffee?”

Despite it seeming like a bad idea to ingest caffeine in my current state, I accepted. With a nod and a smile, Maggie headed in to fix me a fresh cup. Feeling awkward just standing at the bottom of their porch, I made my way up and leaned against the wooden railing, rubbing my hands up and down my upper arms to generate some warmth in the cool morning air. 

Gerald just cleared his throat while downing another sip of coffee and picking up that day's newspaper to read through it, paying me no mind. His cold demeanor seemed to be a complete one-eighty from how our last interaction ended. He probably just woke up and was cranky, I reasoned. He did look pretty tired and worn out. 

Why did I care? And why did he seem so… familiar?

The sunrise basked the porch in a soft glowing light, illuminating the man. He wore an aged wife beater and gray basketball shorts underneath a blue and green striped robe. His hair seemed different from what I remembered, almost saltier, like there was dust or something in it. It was faint, but a stale smell wafted off him.

Maggie interrupted my thoughts when she came back out and handed me the much welcomed warm drink. It helped that the coffee tasted good. It reminded me of my favorite brand. Speaking of, I made a mental note to get more on my next grocery run. The new bag I bought seemingly disappeared overnight. As much as I’d love to blame this one on the ghost, admittedly, I had been consuming more of the stimulant than intended lately. 

After another sip or two, I practically chugged the rest of the mug. Unfortunately, I did not get the much needed energy boost I’d been hoping for. Nevertheless, I wiped my mouth off and set the cup down on the railing, giving Maggie and Gerald my thanks.

“Glad you liked it,” she said, sitting back down. “Gerald picked up a new brand for us to try. Bones Coffee, I think it’s called. Have you heard of it?”

“Frosted pumpkin roll,” I nodded, delighted, complimenting their choice in flavored bean water, “You guys have great taste.”

Maggie chuckled, waving it off, before leaning in conspiratorially, “So, seriously Kathy, any strange happenings going on in that house of yours you’d like to tell us about? Gerald and I are great listeners, aren’t we hun?”

“Mhm,” he agreed while flipping to the next page of the newspaper.

“Oh, I don’t-” I started to lie (not wanting the only two people who seemed to want to be friends with me thinking I was certifiable), nervously fiddling with my hair, when the sudden sound of glass crashing against the floor and shattering somewhere within their house rang out. Startled, I jumped and suppressed a shriek, my cheeks pinking up in embarrassment. 

Thankfully, my reaction went unnoticed by Maggie as she groaned with frustration, grumbling underneath her breath and excusing herself. Muttering something about, “That stupid cat!” as she drug her feet inside to go see what was wrong.

“You’re not hiding it very well,” Gerald stated bluntly, setting his paper down. He downed the rest of his coffee then stared at me. “That it's affecting you, the house I mean.”

I straightened up, crossing my hands into my chest, laughing breathlessly, “S-sorry?”

“My wife thinks it's all fun and games,” he said, gazing at my house down the road, “but there’s something not right about that place. It’s dangerous. They’re dangerous. Demons. Swarming all over, spreading their darkness and infecting those who inhabit that house with evil.”

“You think so?” I questioned, looking over at my house. It looked unsuspecting to the normal eye, but having lived there and with my experiences, the property did have a dark aura surrounding it. But demons, possession? That’s crazy! But then again, so is the premise of a haunted house, which is what I’d been preaching about for who knows how long. So maybe it wasn't that impossible after all.

“Definitely. You know that possessions go hand in hand with hauntings? Our preacher told us so. And the people I’ve seen leave that house, they’re changed and not in a good way. It’s scary. We’ve tried to get some of the previous tenants to come to church with us and get the house cleansed, but nobody ever does. By the time they were desperate enough to ask for our help again, it was already too late,” Gerald ended, eerily.

A chill crawled up my spine, an unsettling feeling overcoming me as a pit settled in my stomach. His face was stoic, his tone serious. There was just something about Gerald that compelled me to believe him.

“You should join us this Sunday,” he offered suddenly. “We’ll introduce you to our pastor. He’s a great guy and already has a basic run down of what’s going on. Knows a priest that can help with your ‘little’ problem.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I started, taking that as my cue to leave, “but I haven’t been to church in so long.” 

“Even more reason for you to come.”

A nervous chuckle left my mouth. Let’s just say my relationship with religion is complicated after an unpleasant experience in my youth.  “I-I’ll have to check my schedule," I told him, excusing myself. “I really should get back though. That was an intense run and I’ve already stunk up your porch enough.”

“Say, have you noticed anything like that?” Gerald asked, curiously, stopping me. “Weird behaviors with you or your boy, is it, that lives with you?”

I turned to face him, thinking back on it. I don’t know if it was the topic of conversation or the way Gerald said it that left me feeling so on edge, but something did stand out that I hadn’t taken note of until just then. “You know what? Now that you mention it…”

"There’s something wrong with Spencer. H-he’s not himself,” I whispered to my mother over the phone. I was sitting at the kitchen table, freaking out and on the verge of having a full on heart attack.

“Kathy, what are you on about?” She asked, groggily. A pang of guilt struck my chest, realizing I must’ve woken her up. There was a three hour time difference between us. That guilt was quickly overrun by anxiety and worry.

“Spencer, he’s not home yet. He was supposed to be back hours ago. All my texts and calls are going unanswered and he turned his location off. It’s the middle of the night! It’s not like him, he’s always home by the time I tell him. Why isn’t he home, mama?”

“I don’t understand, is he missing?”

I stifled a sob. “God, I hope not. I’m hoping he’s out with friends and lost track of the time and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

My mother sighed on the other end of the line. The click of her bedside lamp being turned on barely audible. “I'm sure he’ll be home any minute, hon. You gave me a couple frights back in the day, but you turned out just fine.”

A tense moment of silence passed as I choked on the words stuck in my throat. My mind roamed back to The Shadow Man. It was almost as if I could see him in my peripherals, taunting me. What if he had something to do with this? It had been pretty tame in the house lately, perhaps it was because he had been planning something? I shuddered to think about The Shadow Man possessing my only son.

“Do I need to come out there?” She asked, in a tired and raspy voice. “I’ve been meaning to come and visit. Maybe I can talk a little sense into him.”

“No, I can handle my own son- if he even is that anymore,” I snapped, toying with the idea.

“What makes you say that?” She questioned, incredulously. “Are you sure things are alright over there? T-this isn’t about the house again, is it?”

Reluctantly, I admitted there was a strong possibility. But before my mother could hang up, I frantically started to explain my reasoning, going down the rabbit hole of everything off I’d noticed with Spencer since moving in. Not only was this the latest he’d ever dared to stay out, but I strongly suspected he’d snuck out multiple other times as well. He started to back talk to me, worse than ever before. Spencer started blasting Death Metal and Screamo music from behind his locked bedroom door into the late hours of the night when he was home. I threw a fit when he came back the other day from his fathers with his hair cut shaggy and unkempt. Even worse, he wore thick mascara around his eyes and even painted his nails black. Oh, it was horrible! It’s like he’s a totally different person now, a person who hates his mother. And all he does is talk about what he’s doing with his dad and all the things he’s looking forward to when he goes back over there. It’s like Rob is controlling his mind or something, and Spence being here makes him more susceptible to it. Instead of being my little angel, he’s been acting like a little demon. 

“Sure he’s acting like a demon,” my mother laughed, “he’s a teenager for Pete’s sake! They’re all little devils. Hell, even you were one yourself, Kathy. Especially after-”

“Mom,” I stated plainly, cutting her off. I knew where she was going, but didn’t- couldn’t- go there. “I’m not joking, I’m telling you, this is different.”

“I-I’m going to hang up now, sweetie,” I could hear the disappointment in her voice as she sucked her tongue between her teeth. “I know things are tough for you right now with all that’s been going on and your job, so why don’t you give me a call back when you're in a better mood and get some good sleep? We can revisit this topic then. I’m sure Spencer is fine, but if he’s still not back by morning, let me know and I’ll be on the first flight over.”

“Mom-” I started, defensively, but the call ended before I could finish. Defeated, I pinched the bridge of my nose and slumped back in my chair. I rubbed my temples in search of relief from the small headache that had formed behind my eyes. 

My heart leapt in my chest when the front door unlocked a few minutes later. I sat up as the door opened and Spencer walked in. “And where have you been, young man?” I questioned as relief and anger surged through my veins.

“Uh, out,” he answered nonchalantly, hanging up his jacket. He wore a black and white striped long sleeve shirt under an oversized and torn up My Chemical Romance band T-shirt. His Converse high tops and baggy dark grey acid wash jeans were stained and caked in dirt. He reeked of trouble. 

“Out where?”

“With my friends.”

“Doing what? Drugs, having sex?!”

My son laughed dismissively with a scoff, “What? Mom-”

“No, Spencer, do you have any idea what time it is?!” I scolded, standing up and walking over to him. I pointed at the couch for him to sit down, which he did reluctantly. “I asked you to be home three hours ago! I was worried sick and about to call the police.”

“Chill, you’re overreacting. I’m fine,” he waved me off. I think he rolled his eyes at me, which had me seeing red.

“Fine! Fine? I had no idea where you were. You’re lucky you didn’t wake up in the bathtub of some stingy motel missing a kidney! I have half a mind to go over there and strangle you myself for being so disrespectful. What were you thinking? This behavior is not okay… This place, it’s changing you, Spencer.”

My son threw his hand up in the air, exasperated. “Of course you find a way to bring your stupid fucking haunting into this! That’s all you care about now!”

“Watch your mouth,” I snapped, glaring at him.

“And you know if this place really was haunted, I think that’s actually pretty cool,” he quipped, admitting, “but you’re so nutso, you ruin it. You ruin everything! Your marriage, my life! It sucks here and I feel safer at dad’s.”

I gasped, taking a step back and clutching my chest. Those words broke me. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I choked out a pained cry as I crumbled. “Are you saying I’m a terrible mother? Am I so despicable, Spencer? Am I really that awful?”  

“No, I didn’t mean that, Mom. Jeez, I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his shoulder, a glimpse of my Spencer shining through. But it was too late.

I straightened up, wiping my tears away and clearing my throat. Soft, but sternly I informed him, “You’re grounded until I say otherwise. Until you can get your act together, no phone, computer, tv, video games, hanging out with friends, nothing. You come home from school, do your homework, then your chores, and go to bed.”

“But-” he started to protest, but I shut it down.

“That’s final. Now give me your phone and go to your room.”

He grunted angrily, standing up and digging his phone out of his pocket. Instead of complying with my demands, Spencer threw his phone to the ground- his screen cracking audibly. Then he  stomped his feet, screaming at me as tears streamed down his face, “You’re the worst, I hate you! I really hate you! And know what? I wish you would just go and die already! Then you could join the ghosts you’re always talking about and I could live with Dad forever!”

That had to be a demon talking because there was no way my son would ever say such things to me. Never. As he pushed past me to his room, right before he slammed and locked his door, I swear to God I saw The Shadow Man standing behind him, his darkness gripping my son’s shoulders tightly, pulling him away from me. His eyes shone, looking at me pleadingly. Then the lights flickered and it was gone. Spencer was gone. All that stared back at me were dark, soulless angry eyes.

“You're not my son!” I yelled at the monster possessing my boy.

A sinister, evil laugh emitted from its throat as the door closed, “No, no I’m not!”

I sat in the resulting silence for a moment before I imploded, slamming my front door behind me so hard I cracked the frame as I stormed off. Once outside, even the breeze couldn’t calm the heated buzz in my blood. Like a woman on a mission, I marched over to Maggie and Gerald’s house, banging on their front door until someone answered.

“Kathy? What’s wrong?” Maggie asked, rubbing the residual sleep from her eyes, clutching her robe to her chest for warmth.

“I’m desperate,” I cried, sobbing so hard that snot poured out of my nose. I was so desperate I was willing to overcome my trauma. Knowing my son was possessed by a demon was worse than being molested by our pastor for years, being gaslit into thinking it was all my fault. I couldn’t bear the thought of my boy’s body being taken advantage of like that, like mine had. Feeling hopeless, like he wasn’t in control and his body wasn’t his. It was my job to protect him from experiencing the horrors that I went through and I was failing. 

I needed to save my baby before he was lost forever.

“Gerald said you could help, the church could help. T-the house, it has my son. I… I need an exorcist.”

***

Father Arnold came highly recommended by Maggie and Gerald’s pastor as the best exorcist around. He was tall but lithe, with short and well maintained brown hair. He was very official looking in his clerical collar and vestments when he showed up at my front door. His demeanor stiffened as he stepped through the threshold of the door after I invited him in.

“There is a presence here,” he tensed, setting a leather briefcase down on the coffee table. “I can feel it.”

I nodded my head, finally feeling vindicated after all this time. I wiped a tear from my eye as I recounted the events leading up to the previous night- how that thing threatened to kill me.

“Show me the boy,” he said, getting right down to business. I led him over to Spencer’s room, knocking lightly before opening the door. His room was dark, darker than it should be at eleven am. I tried his light, no luck. The bulb must’ve busted.

“What do you want?” He groaned, turning over in his bed.

“To help you, my child,” Father Arnold answered.

This stirred a reaction out of Spencer, who quickly sat up. “Mom? What is he talking about? What’s going on?”

“Come to the living room, Spence,” I said softly, trying my best to smile sweetly. “We just want to talk.”

I prayed I wouldn’t have to drag him out kicking and screaming, and something out there answered as Spence hesitantly followed us out into the living room. He sat down in the same spot I’d lectured him in last night, wearing one of his dad’s t-shirts and a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms. 

“Are you a God fearing man, Spencer, was it?” Father Arnold asked, clearing his throat. He opened his briefcase and carefully took out a bible, placing it in the middle of the table. He stared at the book then to Spencer, expectantly.

“M-mom?” He stuttered, looking at me, nervously.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” I reassured and soothed him, handing him a cup of tea Father Arnold instructed me to make using a vial of herbs he’d brought. It was supposed to calm him, he’d told me.

For the first time in a long while, Spencer did as asked without making a fuss or fighting back. He gulped the drink down in one swallow.

“Well?” The Father prompted.

Spencer slurred his speech as he tried to answer, “Uhhhsh-” the tranquilizer taking effect rather quickly.

“Don’t worry,” Father Arnold laid Spencer down on the couch as his eyeballs rolled to the back of his head, petting his hair gently, “if you weren’t before, you will be.”

After confirming that Spencer was unconscious, Father Arnold and I carefully carried him back into his room, where his arms and legs were bound tightly to the bed frame with fabric. I stifled a sob, looking at my son all tied up like that. The only reason I was able to make it through was by reminding myself that it wasn't Spencer lying on that bed, that this was for his own good. To save him. 

Once all the preparations were finished getting set up, Father Arnold tore the curtains open, flooding the room with bright light. This caused the thing in the bed to stir. It tugged at its restraints. Confused and coming to, it said “I- I can’t move. Mom, help I can’t move! What’s going on, what are you doing to me?” It started to cry, tugging at its restraints harder, jerking the bed frame against the wall, violently. 

“Sp- Spencer?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat. I held out my hand, taking a step forward.

Father Arnold waved me back. “Don’t listen to it. That’s not your son, it’s trying to lure you into a false sense of security.”

“What are you talking about?” He yelled, looking around, shielding his eyes from the bright light. “This is crazy!”

“Quiet demon,” Father Arnold scolded, “I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ, to come out of that boy!”

The thing wearing my son’s face laughed, as if this was all some big joke. “Mom, do you really think I’m possessed? Seriously?”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip, turning away.

Father Arnold glared at me. “Do not speak to it,” he demanded.

“It’s so convincing,” I whispered.

“That’s what makes them so dangerous.” The exorcist then dug a bottle of holy water out of his briefcase, flicking the liquid all over Spencer. “What is your name, demon? Who do you serve?” 

“Oh, for the love of- I. AM. NOT. POSSESSED!” It screeched, tugging harder and harder at its binds, trying to escape. The bedframe smacked against the wall so hard, cracks began to form in the plaster. It looked like it was in pain from the holy water searing its skin. I could’ve sworn I saw small whisps of smoke furl into the air.

“Be gone demon! I beseech thee!”

“HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! I’M BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL!”

“I think it’s best you leave now,” Father Arnold told me, motioning for me to leave the room. “There’s a lot of work ahead of us. It’s not something a mother should see.”

“O-okay,” I stammered, wiping tears from my cheeks. It was shattering me, hear him scream like that. “Just give me back my boy.”

“THEY’RE TORTURING ME!!!!!”

“And he said to them, ‘this kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer,” Father Arnold said, solemnly, quoting Mark 9:29.

Four days passed in agony as Father Arnold did his work, shouting tirelessly non stop, throwing holy water, and cleansing the air with sage and other holy herbs.

“Begone, Satan!” I’d hear him shout Matthew 4:10. “For it is written, “You shall worship the Lord your God and only him you should serve.”

Spencer's sobs would then fill the entire house.  

For the first couple of days we’d take breaks every couple of hours. I’d give Spencer water and food containing loads of blessed salt, help him go to the bathroom and shower. At first I wasn’t sure, but the exorcism seemed to be working. The demon grew weaker with each day. Its skin was sweaty and pale, its figure gaunt. After the middle of day two, it started to spit the water I fed it back out. The same with food. By day three it stopped eating, drinking, and using the bathroom entirely. It would cry occasionally, but eventually even stopped doing that, ceasing all forms of communication too. Father Arnold reassured me this was good, that the demon was close to coming out.

It all came to a head in the late morning of day four. I sat on the floor outside of Spencer’s room, clutching my rosary beads so tight, they left imprints on the skin of my palms. I couldn’t sleep, I only prayed. Prayer after prayer after prayer filtered through my mind, hoping my son would be okay. 

From inside the room, Father Arnold recited forcefully Mark 16:17, “And these signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will cast out demons…”

“P-please, stop. I don’t feel good,” It muttered softly, having spoken for the first time in over twenty-four hours. Then it broke out into an intense coughing fit. I ran in with a water bottle, the exorcist moving out of my way as I pressed the rim to his lips. Spencer opened his eyes, they were cloudy as he looked around, confused. I poured some leftover water on a rag and began to dab sweat from his forehead, stroking his hair as I did so. We were so close, I could feel it. The air was charged and electric. This was it, I was going to get my boy back.

“For he was saying to him, ‘Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!”” Father Arnold commanded grandly, pressing his palm to Spencer’s forehead. Upon his touch, Spencer started convulsing as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Help me hold him down,” the exorcist instructed, him holding down his shoulders, me his legs. “The demon is leaving, it has been cast back down to Hell!”

Spencer’s spit turned into frothy white foam as it spilled out of his mouth and onto his pillow. Shallow grunts escaped his throat as he seized for what seemed to be no end but was actually another three minutes. Then he started to come out of it, his body going stiff. “M-mama…” He gasped weakly, opening his eyes, looking at me. Then, slowly, he let out a deep breath. 

“Shhhhh, be free my child, be free,” Father Arnold said softly, giving Spencer a kiss on the forehead before closing his eyelids shut- irises a cold, glassy, and unforgiving shade of grey.

“Is- is he okay?” I asked, shakily, covering my mouth. 

“His soul rests in God’s hands, now.”

“Oh… Oh my god. Spencer, he- he’s not dead is he?” But deep down, I already knew the answer to that, but didn’t want it to be real. I didn’t want to face reality. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, clutching his cold little hand in mine as I cried, “NO, SPENCER, WHY! NO, WHY MY BOY, WHY!”  My body went numb as it felt like my heart broke into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry,” The father offered his condolences, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Then a bang sounded from my living room as the front door was kicked in. “What the fuck is going on in here?” A cop demanded to know, drawing his gun on the priest and I.

***

Apparently my mother had called the police to do a welfare check on us after I hadn’t called for a few days, worried about how our last conversation ended. To add to that, some neighbors were concerned after they saw a figure run away from the back of the house. Apparently there had been increased reports of a peeping-tom on the prowl in the surrounding area so the cops barged in, thinking that he might’ve done something to us. Instead they found the aftermath of Spencer’s exorcism.

His cause of death was severe dehydration and stress that led to his seizure and subsequent heart attack. The media had swarmed the house within the hour after that news came out.

I feel so terrible. But what makes me feel even worse, is that after taking Father Arnold and I into custody, they turned my house upside down as they conducted a full investigation. Terrifyingly, the police found evidence of someone recently living in my crawlspace and walls. There were pillows and blankets, food wrappers, bottles full of pee, some of Spencer’s clothes and dirty magazines, even my underwear down there. I was informed that when something like that happens, it’s a thing called phrogging and is defined as the act of secretly living in another person's home without their knowledge or permission. So everything: My kitchen being rearranged, the lights, the missing food, my nightmares, The Shadow Man- it was all from the phrog, a real person, fucking with me, driving me insane for their own amusement. 

That broke the internet. If it wasn’t already bad before, now random strangers online were gobbling the facts of my life up like candy.

And the phrog, they turned out to be someone a lot closer to home than I thought. As the police raided my house, some little girl’s dad caught Gerald down the street peeping into her window. When confronted, he acted confused- like he didn’t know what he was doing or why he was there. Still, the man pressed charges and he was arrested. On a hunch, after testing the DNA that had been left down there, forensics confirmed that it had been Gerald in my house all along. He says he had no idea, but according to Maggie in the past couple of years- right around the time the ‘hauntings’ started- he had developed a habit of disappearing for several hours at a time. She’d even wake up in the middle of the night without him by her side. Now she knows what he was up to.

I feel absolutely disgusted and violated, but it all makes so much sense now.

So, here I am writing this memoir of mine from prison. Maybe someone can learn a thing or two from my story and not end up here like I did. 

Unfortunately, Gerald’s fate was not as fulfilling as one would hope. He didn't go to jail on account of his doctors thinking he was suffering from early stage dementia- which caused his out of character and creepy behavior. Instead of being behind bars, Gerald gets to live free as long as his daughter is his primary caretaker and keeps a strict track record of his whereabouts and the medication he takes.  

As for Father Arnold and I, we were both charged with felony assault on a child causing death. You know most people say they don’t look good in orange, but I beg to differ. Though, I don’t think I’ll be sticking around here too much longer. My lawyers think I have a good shot pleading temporary insanity as a result of Gerald’s actions. I know I felt even crazier then than I do now- living with all my guilt. And as for Father Arnold, well, I couldn’t say the same for him. But I don’t really care what happens to him, he killed my son. 

While waiting for my hearing, Robert came to visit me only once in prison. The guards led me out of my cell and sat me at one of those phone booths with the bullet proof glass and chunky outdated phones. He was already sitting down when I got there. I got a good look as I plopped into my seat. He was clearly in mourning. Unruly stubble grew on his chin, thick bags clung to his eyes. He didn’t seem to be sleeping much, if at all. His eyes were bloodshot, dull and lifeless- missing the spark that used to make them feel alive. His white dress shirt was wrinkly, untucked, and full of beer stains. He looked like a mess, the worst state I’d ever seen him in.

I picked up the phone, pressing the receiver up to my ear, waiting for him to say something. Robert waited for a moment, unable to look me in the eyes. When he finally picked up the phone, his breath hitched before he spoke. All he could ask, while sniffling and wiping away a stray tear, was, “Why?”

“I thought Spencer was possessed. Rob, I swear…” I sniffled, trying to keep myself from wailing. “I fully believed with my whole heart that he, that my house, was haunted.”

“Kathy, sweetie, you can’t be serious.”

I pulled the phone anyway from my face, not wanting my mother to hear the groan that escaped from my mouth. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head before placing the device back up to my ear, “Deadly.” 

“I’m only going to say this one time, Katherine,” she warned in that stern motherly tone she loved to use on me. “Your house is not haunted.”

“It totally is, Grandma,” my thirteen year old son, Spencer, shouted from the kitchen before padding away back to his room to devour the two sandwiches he’d just made for himself. 

“See?!”

“He was joking, sweetheart.”

Rather annoyed, I twirled a lock of my greying blonde hair. “Meh. Consensus is still out on that one, Ma. Anyway, I’m going to go. Gotta finish unpacking my ‘totally not haunted’ house and all.”

“I’m sure you’re just overthinking things. You’ll see, dear. The place will start to feel like home in no time. And you know… it’s still not too late to give Dr. Branson a call.”

She could practically hear me roll my eyes on the other end of the line.

“I know things have been stressful lately with the divorce-“

“Goodbye, Mother,” I said in a monotone voice before abruptly ending the call. 

A beat passed before I stood up from my seat on the couch and made my way into the kitchen to clean up the mess Spencer had left behind. I returned the loaf of bread to its rightful home in the breadbox, tossed some sliced cheese wrappers in the trash, put the mayo back in the fridge, and rinsed off the butter knife he had used. After drying the utensil with a towel, I wandered for a bit trying to familiarize myself with this kitchen’s layout and remember which drawer I had designated for the silverware. I found it, eventually- even made a mental note that it was the large drawer at the end of the marble countertop beside the oven. In my old kitchen, it was the drawer next to the sink on the right. Plus, we had granite countertops. 

Oh how I missed those countertops. 

*Ding!* A notification sounded from my back pocket, bringing me out of my thoughts. I took out my phone to find my mother had sent me a text message. The skin of my lips pressed together tightly to form a line as a non-committal, "Hmm," rumbled from deep within my throat. I read what she sent. It was Dr. Branson’s number. “Just in case."

A moment later that was followed up with another text that just contained three ghost emoji's.  

"What does she know anyway?" I grumbled to myself. It's not like she was the one living here. 

With a heavy sigh and palm-press to the forehead, I put my phone away. No lies had been spoken earlier, there really were many moving boxes still left to unpack despite my son and I moving in only a week ago. And ever since our arrival at my lovely new home (a weathered early 70s single story ranch) these strange occurrences keep happening- somehow always delaying my progress each time. 

Take the kitchen for example. My drawers and cabinets have been constantly rearranged no matter how many times I re-organize them. Nothing seems to be where I put it. The utensils, my good china, *nothing.* Every day it seems they end up in a new spot.

It got to the point where there was a piece of paper hanging off the fridge with an extremely detailed layout of the kitchen with each cabinet and drawer labeled with what went where- but even that didn’t last long. It disappeared shortly after I put it up and now it’s nowhere to be found. Believe me, I’ve looked. Eventually the frustration got tiring, so finishing the kitchen kept getting put on the back burner so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

And, I *know* it’s cliche, but I’ve even come home to all the cabinets open with my pots, pans, cups and other dishes spilled out all over the place. It genuinely looked like a scene out of *Paranormal Activity.*

It couldn’t have been a break in. All the doors and windows were locked shut and there were no signs of forced entry anywhere. Nothing seemed to be stolen. Besides, who would break in just to make a mess of the kitchen?

Spencer swore it was not him, and I’m half inclined to believe him. Yes, children like him are more likely to lash out in their teenage years, but he had been with me when I walked into that whole disaster. And I know my son, he's a good boy, he would never dare to do anything so rash. Especially if it was intended towards me. 

*Creak!*

My head spun towards the sound that came from somewhere deep in the house, eyes frantically scanning my surroundings. The house had been still, so the sudden noise startled me. I had been in the middle of positioning some old family photos on the mantle when I heard it. If I had to guess, it had to have come from a floorboard somewhere near the laundry room. 

The house wasn’t too big. It was a modest two bedroom two bath, under a thousand feet in square footage with thin walls. Meaning you could practically hear anything from anywhere. Despite the laundry room being in the back, all sound was amplified since we didn’t have much furniture. I had heard the noise loud and clear from the living room- which was farther away and on the complete opposite side. 

I tensed for a moment waiting to hear another creak, or anything really, but one never came.

“Spence?” I called out, thinking he could’ve just stepped out to put on a quick load of laundry.

A muffled, "Yeah, Mom?" sounded through his closed bedroom door.

"N-never mind," I told him, shaking my head and returning to my task. Not hearing any other suspicious sounds, I shrugged and tried my best to let it go. 

It could just be house noises, sure, but paired with the mysterious knocks and random footsteps I've heard at all hours of the day, something more preternatural seemed more likely. And again, I’ve questioned Spencer about it. He’s just as stumped as me. We both hear all kinds of things while the other isn’t around. There’s been a couple times where I hear footsteps and think that Spencer has come back from school early, only to discover there was nobody else in the house with me at all. It’s genuinely disturbing. I can feel a chill creeping up my spine just thinking about it again. 

That icy chill turned into mild annoyance when I went to start unpacking the linen closet. In doing so, I had to pass the bathroom. The light had been left on and even worse, the sink faucet was running at full force. I turned both off then took a minute to mourn my next water and electricity bill. Unfortunately, a point went to my mother for that one. 

When I finished with the linen closet, I knocked briefly before entering my child's room. Spencer was in the middle of an intense battle in the new video game his father had gotten him before we left.

"Yeah?" He asked, not taking his eyes off his computer screen.

"Make sure you turn the light off in the bathroom when you're done using it, please," I politely reminded while plucking stray pieces of laundry off his floor and into his hamper.

"Okay, sure I will," he responded despondently. With that, I pressed the power button on his computer, shutting his game off. That got a reaction out of him. "Hey!"

"And the sink faucet."  

He spun around in his chair to face me. "What are you talking about? I did!" 

I scoffed, "Tell that to my water bill."

"Mom, I turned it off,” he replied defensively, tossing his headset down on the desk. “I swear it’s that same faucet, dude. It's got to be a leak or something because I keep going in there and it's blasting on full force and I have to turn it off. One of these days I'm going to walk in and it's going to be flooded."

"So the faucet just, what,” I crossed my arms into my chest, shrugging, “turned itself on?"

"Yes," he answered earnestly with an exaggerated breath, slumping down in his seat.

"Next you're going to tell me that the ghost did it."

"Mom-" he groaned.

"Fine," I conceded, throwing my hands up in the air. "Just don't let it happen again, okay?"

"'Kay," Spencer adjusted himself in his chair after turning his computer back on and waited for the game to reboot. I ruffled his short onyx hair and kissed him on the forehead before grabbing the empty plate next to him on the desk. If I already had a ghost infestation, the last thing I needed was an ant one too.

I closed his door behind me, coming face to face with my own room. I paused for a moment, confused. I thought I had closed the door earlier. Unlike the bathroom, the lights were off. The silhouette of stacked boxes, my bed, and the nightstands looked eerie in the pitch black of the room. I started to feel uneasy. 

Now, I can deal with the noises, the lights, the faucets, coming home to find doors being open when they were closed before, and whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. But, what I'm struggling with most and what ties everything together is the nightmares. Or rather, \*the\* nightmare. Oh my God, it's the worst.

Ever since the move, I keep having this recurring dream. I'm laying on my bed in the dark of my room. I can't move or speak. There's the shadow of a man standing at the edge of my bed. A grown man, definitely not Spencer. He doesn't move or say anything. His overwhelming presence just looms over me. Threateningly and intimidatingly. Then I wake up.

Simple, yet effectively terrifying.

As my mind lingered in the memories, the shadowy silhouettes started to meld together the more I stared into the abyss. But, for a split second, it looked like that same being was standing in the corner of my room. I furiously blinked that thought away and hurriedly pulled the door closed, all while briefly debating on sleeping on the couch. 

As much as I didn't want it to- the shadow, the nightmare, it all just felt so... *real.* I was creeping myself out and didn't want to think about any of this haunted stuff anymore, so I hurried to deposit the plate in the sink and finish unpacking to distract myself. 

Suddenly, I paused, catching a glimpse of the counter as I entered the kitchen. Like a puppy, my head tilted curiously. I squinted my eyes at the peculiar sight. *I could’ve sworn I cleaned that up.*

Spencer's sandwich stuff. It was all out again. The bread, cheese and meat, everything. Perplexed, my gaze flickered to the dirty plate in my hand to the counter over and over again. My shoulders slumped in defeat as I set the plate down.

With an exhausted sigh, I went through the motions to clean up the sandwich mess again. The loaf of bread went in the breadbox. The sliced cheese wrappers went in the garbage, the mayo back in the fridge. 

And as I finished washing both the plate and butter knife, I couldn’t help but mumble mockingly, “Yeah, Kathy, your house isn’t haunted.”

\*\*\*

“I’ll be generous and give ‘em three months.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, pulling a headphone out of my ear. I’m assuming the neighbors a couple doors down- a group of old women knitting on their porch- hadn’t thought I could hear them as I passed by their yard while on a jog. 

“I’m honestly surprised they made it a week,” a younger woman who looked to be in her early to mid forties, like me, sneered, looking directly down on me.

My mouth fell agape as I gawked at the sheer audacity, only able to blink twice before an offended, “Excuse me?!” Slipped out of my mouth.

“Awww, we don’t mean nothing by it," who I assume the leader of the group tsked, waving it off. The woman set her ball of grey yarn down and stood up, patting the wrinkles out of her pink floral dress and adjusting her visor which was a similar shade to her hair (stark white) before walking up to lean on the railing, introducing herself, "I'm Maggie. This is my house."

"Kathy," I replied, curt, yet politely. 

Maggie pointed to the rude woman who had been sitting beside her. She continued to knit, making what looked like to be a matching lavender shawl for the dark purple dress she wore. As much as I hated to admit it, the colors went nicely with her long dark brown hair and green eyes. "That's my daughter, Kendall." After a rather harsh nudge from her mother, Kendall shot me the fakest mean girl smile possible. 

I returned the favor. 

The two other women who sat across from Kendall shot me weary smiles while waving nervously. Respectively, one wore a yellow dress with a white striped design while the other wore a mint green dress with a pleated bottom- which complimented her long white gloves. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were dressed in their Sunday best, having just gotten back from the local church service. "These two are my best friends, Shandra and Claire. They live in the subdivision adjacent to ours. The four of us meet out here every week after church to knit and catch up."

*Bingo.*

"Do you knit?" Claire asked, meekly.

I shook my head, replying flatly, "Nope."

Shandra eyed me, clad in a pair of black leggings and matching sports bra with white tennis shoes, up and down cautiously, "Do you go to church?"

I shrugged, "Not much anymore. I used to go pretty regularly when I was a kid though."

"What denomination?" Maggie grilled, staring at me intently with her cataract filled brown eyes.

"Catholic." The group nodded collectively, making non committal noises to each other, deeming the faith I was born into acceptable. "So what's wrong with my house, exactly?" I asked.

"There's something just *off* about it," Maggie answered cryptically.

"Don't be afraid to tell her, mother," Kendall chuckled under her breath.

"Your house is haunted, dearie," Shandra informed.

"An evil wickedness lives there," Claire added.

I took a tentative step forward, eager to hear more but afraid to show it, "Oh really? How so?"

The group of women proceed to take the next ten minutes taking turns and explaining to me the lengthy history of the previous tenants- none of which lived there long. Apparently one couple didn't even last a whole day, immediately packing their moving truck up not two hours after getting everything unloaded. The longest someone managed to stay there was a staggering six months in comparison. After becoming friendly with Maggie and her family, previous occupants would come to her complaining of weird happenings. Belongings being moved or going missing entirely, electrical problems and cold spots that professionals couldn't pinpoint the origin of, disembodied voices, footsteps, shadows... pretty much everything that had been happening to me- further confirming my suspicions.

I was about to voice that to the crowd when the front screen door flung open, an older gentleman carrying a tray full of bite sized sandwiches and a porcelain tea pot coming out to join us. He smiled and handed the refreshments to Maggie, who promptly kissed him on the cheek. The man was clearly her husband. Despite the summer heat, he wore a plaid suit. His hair was a similar shade to his wife's, short and balding, eyes an exact copy of Kendall's. "Oh, hello there," he greeted. "I'm Gerald."

"Gerald honey, this is Kathy," Maggie took the liberty of introducing me. "She just moved into \*that\* house."

"Ooh," he paused, registering that information while taking a good moment to look at my home down the street. "Brave girl, you are."

Disguising my scoff as a chuckle, I said, "Thanks."

"Would you like to stay for tea?" Maggie offered, kindly, after refilling everyone else's cups and plates- taking pity on me. 

I shook my head, declining. "Nah, maybe another time, I should get back to my run. Nice to meet you all."

"I-It was lovely meeting you Mrs. Bates!" Gerald yelled, eagerly waving me off.  "See you soon!"

I waved back, smiling hesitantly, picking up my pace.

\*\*\*

A deep, exhausted, groan bellowed from the depths of my throat as I slammed the door to the fridge shut. I'd just gotten home after a long day at work and the only thing I'd been looking forward to was a nice and hot meal, but I couldn't even have that.

"Spencer, this has got to stop," I chastised him after he came into the kitchen. "Groceries are expensive, you know."

He scrunched his eyebrows, confused, "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"All the food you’ve been eating," I reminded him, gesturing to the family sized box of Cheese-Its in his hand, raising my voice. "C’mon Spence, I get that you’re a growing boy, but this is too much. I just stocked up last night and half the fridge is already gone!"

"It’s not me," he swore up and down, defensively, setting the box down.

Frustration bubbled up in my gut as I stared at him, deadpan. "So you’re lying to me now too? Unbelievable!" I pinched the bridge of my nose- shaking my head disappointedly before throwing my hands in the air, "Who else could it have been, Spencer? It’s just the two of us here and I’ve been at work all day."

He broke eye contact with me, digging his heels into the ground, grumbling, "Maybe it’s your ghost stealing all our food."

"Har, Har," I fake laughed, rolling my eyes. Irritated beyond belief, I told him, "I’m serious. Just please be more mindful about how much you’re eating. This was supposed to last us two weeks."

Deciding to end the conversation there, I turned around and took a deep breath before opening the fridge to look for ingredients to make something at least half edible for us to eat.

"M-mom...?" He asked softly.

I turned to face him, "Yes, son?" 

My heart sank when I saw the pale look on his face. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket as he paused, staring down at the floor.

“I want to go to Dad's.”

"It isn't too late to change your mind," I suggested to Spencer, who sat beside me in the front passenger seat of my car, with a playful nudge as we pulled into the designated hand off spot. It was the parking lot of a McDonalds that was directly half way between mine and his fathers house. "Why don't I get you an ice cream cone and we can call it a day, huh?"

He didn't say anything, just shifted in his seat so he was looking as far out the window as possible, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. As soon as he spotted the silver mustang pulling up next to us, my son dashed out of the car like he couldn't get out, get away from me, fast enough.

"Dad!" Spencer cried, running up to his father. The two of them embraced in a tight hug, his father ruffling his hair. 

I'm not going to lie, a healthy amount of hurt and jealousy put my heart through the wringer seeing that. That was my son, the baby boy that I carried in my belly for nine months- gave \*birth\* to, and here he was choosing his father over me.

"Robert," I greeted, dryly- silently judging the red Aloha shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals that he wore. He looked like a beach bum.

He acknowledged me with a smug nod, "Katherine."

"Are you sure you don't want to grab some food, Spence?" I asked again, desperately pointing to the golden arches behind me, giving him one last out. 
He shot me a look before stepping behind his father. "Leave the kid alone," Rob said, rubbing Spencer's shoulder. "He needs some space."

"Well, maybe if my place wasn't so creepy he'd actually want to stay with me," I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair.

Rob hung his head down, dragging his hands down his face, “Oh my god, Kathy, your house isn’t haunted! It’s probably just the foundation settling or something.”

"Do not tell me what is happening in my house when you aren't the one living there, dealing with it everyday," I yelled, stabbing my finger into his chest. "Everybody loves telling *me* what's wrong with *my* house."

He sighed, exasperated, motioning his arms around me frantically, “You always do this. Kathy, y-you get these fantastical ideas in your head and you don’t let them go. Let it go. Just let it go!"

I huffed, crossing my hands into my chest, tilting my chin up, "We've been there a month already and I still don't know my way around the kitchen."

"You're crazy."

I gasped, clutching my chest, anger flaring through my veins. “I am *not* crazy!”

“No," Rob shifted his weight onto his other hip, scratching at his temple, "you’re just unstable.”

“Stop!" Spencer cried, pleading, pulling at the sleeve of Rob's shirt, "Stop fighting, please.”

"Look what you did, Kathy. You're freaking him out," Rob shouted, looking at me while pointing to our distraught son. 

"Me?!"

"Yes, you. Because everything is about you, Katherine. It always is."

That wasn't true and Rob knew it. I've always spent my life serving others in lieu of myself. For eight years I served him and only him. The last thirteen I've spent breaking my back working and raising Spencer while trying to save our failing marriage. If I wasn't taking care of someone then who was I? What was my purpose?

I took a step back, my breaths growing shallow and rapid as a heavy fog filled my lungs. My vision started to spin as dizziness set in. It took me a moment to realize my cheeks were wet, slick with tears. The sound of my sobs sounded far off and underwater as blood rushed through my ears.

"See?" Rob gestured, rolling his eyes. "Instead of taking accountability and addressing the problem, actually changing and fixing the problem, you act like this. It's pathetic."

My heart skipped a beat when Spencer took a step forward and pushed his father's hands down, defending me. "Stop it, Dad!"

I lost my balance and fell to my knees. My son rushed to my side, helping me up off the asphalt, giving me a hug similar to the one he'd given his father minutes earlier. "If it makes you feel better, I'll stay with you for the rest of the week until it's Dad's turn, okay? Just please, stop fighting," he begged.

"Aw, my boy," I sobbed into his hair, tenderly rubbing his back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry we're putting you through this," I pulled away, keeping my hands on his shoulders. "No, you should go with your father. I'll be okay by myself, I swear. Promise."

"O-Okay..." Spencer hesitated, giving me another hug. He then stormed off and took his seat in the mustang, slouching forward. He impatiently honked the horn, yelling out the window, "Let's go!"

"I'm coming," Rob snapped, glaring at me while making his way over to the vehicle he purchased while in the throes of a mid-life crisis. He looked like a fool, crouching down and squishing himself to get in a car that was too little for his tall frame. 

"Bye honey," I called out to Spencer. "I love you!"

"Bye, Mom, I love you too," he replied, pulling his phone out from his back pocket.

“You’ve got a *real* talent for making people feel bad for you, you know that, Kath?” Rob spat spitefully before closing the door and peeling out of the parking lot. 

Leaving me all by myself.

“Kathy, sweetie, you can’t be serious.”

I pulled the phone anyway from my face, not wanting my mother to hear the groan that escaped from my mouth. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head before placing the device back up to my ear, “Deadly.” 

“I’m only going to say this one time, Katherine,” she warned in that stern motherly tone she loved to use on me. “Your house is not haunted.”

“It totally is, Grandma,” my thirteen year old son, Spencer, shouted from the kitchen before padding away back to his room to devour the two sandwiches he’d just made for himself. 

“See?!”

“He was joking, sweetheart.”

Rather annoyed, I twirled a lock of my greying blonde hair. “Meh. Consensus is still out on that one, Ma. Anyway, I’m going to go. Gotta finish unpacking my ‘totally not haunted’ house and all.”

“I’m sure you’re just overthinking things. You’ll see, dear. The place will start to feel like home in no time. And you know… it’s still not too late to give Dr. Branson a call.”

She could practically hear me roll my eyes on the other end of the line.

“I know things have been stressful lately with the divorce-“

“Goodbye, Mother,” I said in a monotone voice before abruptly ending the call. 

A beat passed before I stood up from my seat on the couch and made my way into the kitchen to clean up the mess Spencer had left behind. I returned the loaf of bread to its rightful home in the breadbox, tossed some sliced cheese wrappers in the trash, put the mayo back in the fridge, and rinsed off the butter knife he had used. After drying the utensil with a towel, I wandered for a bit trying to familiarize myself with this kitchen’s layout and remember which drawer I had designated for the silverware. I found it, eventually- even made a mental note that it was the large drawer at the end of the marble countertop beside the oven. In my old kitchen, it was the drawer next to the sink on the right. Plus, we had granite countertops. 

Oh how I missed those countertops. 

Ding! A notification sounded from my back pocket, bringing me out of my thoughts. I took out my phone to find my mother had sent me a text message. The skin of my lips pressed together tightly to form a line as a non-committal, "Hmm," rumbled from deep within my throat. I read what she sent. It was Dr. Branson’s number. “Just in case."

A moment later that was followed up with another text that just contained three ghost emoji's.  

"What does she know anyway?" I grumbled to myself. It's not like she was the one living here. 

With a heavy sigh and palm-press to the forehead, I put my phone away. No lies had been spoken earlier, there really were many moving boxes still left to unpack despite my son and I moving in only a week ago. And ever since our arrival at my lovely new home (a weathered early 70s single story ranch) these strange occurrences keep happening- somehow always delaying my progress each time. 

Take the kitchen for example. My drawers and cabinets have been constantly rearranged no matter how many times I re-organize them. Nothing seems to be where I put it. The utensils, my good china, nothing. Every day it seems they end up in a new spot.

It got to the point where there was a piece of paper hanging off the fridge with an extremely detailed layout of the kitchen with each cabinet and drawer labeled with what went where- but even that didn’t last long. It disappeared shortly after I put it up and now it’s nowhere to be found. Believe me, I’ve looked. Eventually the frustration got tiring, so finishing the kitchen kept getting put on the back burner so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

And, I know it’s cliche, but I’ve even come home to all the cabinets open with my pots, pans, cups and other dishes spilled out all over the place. It genuinely looked like a scene out of Paranormal Activity.

It couldn’t have been a break in. All the doors and windows were locked shut and there were no signs of forced entry anywhere. Nothing seemed to be stolen. Besides, who would break in just to make a mess of the kitchen?

Spencer swore it was not him, and I’m half inclined to believe him. Yes, children like him are more likely to lash out in their teenage years, but he had been with me when I walked into that whole disaster. And I know my son, he's a good boy, he would never dare to do anything so rash. Especially if it was intended towards me. 

Creak!

My head spun towards the sound that came from somewhere deep in the house, eyes frantically scanning my surroundings. The house had been still, so the sudden noise startled me. I had been in the middle of positioning some old family photos on the mantle when I heard it. If I had to guess, it had to have come from a floorboard somewhere near the laundry room. 

The house wasn’t too big. It was a modest two bedroom two bath, under a thousand feet in square footage with thin walls. Meaning you could practically hear anything from anywhere. Despite the laundry room being in the back, all sound was amplified since we didn’t have much furniture. I had heard the noise loud and clear from the living room- which was farther away and on the complete opposite side. 

I tensed for a moment waiting to hear another creak, or anything really, but one never came.

“Spence?” I called out, thinking he could’ve just stepped out to put on a quick load of laundry.

A muffled, "Yeah, Mom?" sounded through his closed bedroom door.

"N-never mind," I told him, shaking my head and returning to my task. Not hearing any other suspicious sounds, I shrugged and tried my best to let it go. 

It could just be house noises, sure, but paired with the mysterious knocks and random footsteps I've heard at all hours of the day, something more preternatural seemed more likely. And again, I’ve questioned Spencer about it. He’s just as stumped as me. We both hear all kinds of things while the other isn’t around. There’s been a couple times where I hear footsteps and think that Spencer has come back from school early, only to discover there was nobody else in the house with me at all. It’s genuinely disturbing. I can feel a chill creeping up my spine just thinking about it again. 

That icy chill turned into mild annoyance when I went to start unpacking the linen closet. In doing so, I had to pass the bathroom. The light had been left on and even worse, the sink faucet was running at full force. I turned both off then took a minute to mourn my next water and electricity bill. Unfortunately, a point went to my mother for that one. 

When I finished with the linen closet, I knocked briefly before entering my child's room. Spencer was in the middle of an intense battle in the new video game his father had gotten him before we left.

"Yeah?" He asked, not taking his eyes off his computer screen.

"Make sure you turn the light off in the bathroom when you're done using it, please," I politely reminded while plucking stray pieces of laundry off his floor and into his hamper.

"Okay, sure I will," he responded despondently. With that, I pressed the power button on his computer, shutting his game off. That got a reaction out of him. "Hey!"

"And the sink faucet."  

He spun around in his chair to face me. "What are you talking about? I did!" 

I scoffed, "Tell that to my water bill."

"Mom, I turned it off,” he replied defensively, tossing his headset down on the desk. “I swear it’s that same faucet, dude. It's got to be a leak or something because I keep going in there and it's blasting on full force and I have to turn it off. One of these days I'm going to walk in and it's going to be flooded."

"So the faucet just, what,” I crossed my arms into my chest, shrugging, “turned itself on?"

"Yes," he answered earnestly with an exaggerated breath, slumping down in his seat.

"Next you're going to tell me that the ghost did it."

"Mom-" he groaned.

"Fine," I conceded, throwing my hands up in the air. "Just don't let it happen again, okay?"

"'Kay," Spencer adjusted himself in his chair after turning his computer back on and waited for the game to reboot. I ruffled his short onyx hair and kissed him on the forehead before grabbing the empty plate next to him on the desk. If I already had a ghost infestation, the last thing I needed was an ant one too.

I closed his door behind me, coming face to face with my own room. I paused for a moment, confused. I thought I had closed the door earlier. Unlike the bathroom, the lights were off. The silhouette of stacked boxes, my bed, and the nightstands looked eerie in the pitch black of the room. I started to feel uneasy. 

Now, I can deal with the noises, the lights, the faucets, coming home to find doors being open when they were closed before, and whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. But, what I'm struggling with most and what ties everything together is the nightmares. Or rather, *the* nightmare. Oh my God, it's the worst.

Ever since the move, I keep having this recurring dream. I'm laying on my bed in the dark of my room. I can't move or speak. There's the shadow of a man standing at the edge of my bed. A grown man, definitely not Spencer. He doesn't move or say anything. His overwhelming presence just looms over me. Threateningly and intimidatingly. Then I wake up.

Simple, yet effectively terrifying.

As my mind lingered in the memories, the shadowy silhouettes started to meld together the more I stared into the abyss. But, for a split second, it looked like that same being was standing in the corner of my room. I furiously blinked that thought away and hurriedly pulled the door closed, all while briefly debating on sleeping on the couch. 

As much as I didn't want it to- the shadow, the nightmare, it all just felt so... real. I was creeping myself out and didn't want to think about any of this haunted stuff anymore, so I hurried to deposit the plate in the sink and finish unpacking to distract myself. 

Suddenly, I paused, catching a glimpse of the counter as I entered the kitchen. Like a puppy, my head tilted curiously. I squinted my eyes at the peculiar sight. I could’ve sworn I cleaned that up.

Spencer's sandwich stuff. It was all out again. The bread, cheese and meat, everything. Perplexed, my gaze flickered to the dirty plate in my hand to the counter over and over again. My shoulders slumped in defeat as I set the plate down.

With an exhausted sigh, I went through the motions to clean up the sandwich mess again. The loaf of bread went in the breadbox. The sliced cheese wrappers went in the garbage, the mayo back in the fridge. 

And as I finished washing both the plate and butter knife, I couldn’t help but mumble mockingly, “Yeah, Kathy, your house isn’t haunted.”

***

“I’ll be generous and give ‘em three months.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, pulling a headphone out of my ear. I’m assuming the neighbors a couple doors down- a group of old women knitting on their porch- hadn’t thought I could hear them as I passed by their yard while on a jog. 

“I’m honestly surprised they made it a week,” a younger woman who looked to be in her early to mid forties, like me, sneered, looking directly down on me.

My mouth fell agape as I gawked at the sheer audacity, only able to blink twice before an offended, “Excuse me?!” Slipped out of my mouth.

“Awww, we don’t mean nothing by it," who I assume the leader of the group tsked, waving it off. The woman set her ball of grey yarn down and stood up, patting the wrinkles out of her pink floral dress and adjusting her visor which was a similar shade to her hair (stark white) before walking up to lean on the railing, introducing herself, "I'm Maggie. This is my house."

"Kathy," I replied, curt, yet politely. 

Maggie pointed to the rude woman who had been sitting beside her. She continued to knit, making what looked like to be a matching lavender shawl for the dark purple dress she wore. As much as I hated to admit it, the colors went nicely with her long dark brown hair and green eyes. "That's my daughter, Kendall." After a rather harsh nudge from her mother, Kendall shot me the fakest mean girl smile possible. 

I returned the favor. 

The two other women who sat across from Kendall shot me weary smiles while waving nervously. Respectively, one wore a yellow dress with a white striped design while the other wore a mint green dress with a pleated bottom- which complimented her long white gloves. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were dressed in their Sunday best, having just gotten back from the local church service. "These two are my best friends, Shandra and Claire. They live in the subdivision adjacent to ours. The four of us meet out here every week after church to knit and catch up."

Bingo.

"Do you knit?" Claire asked, meekly.

I shook my head, replying flatly, "Nope."

Shandra eyed me, clad in a pair of black leggings and matching sports bra with white tennis shoes, up and down cautiously, "Do you go to church?"

I shrugged, "Not much anymore. I used to go pretty regularly when I was a kid though."

"What denomination?" Maggie grilled, staring at me intently with her cataract filled brown eyes.

"Catholic." The group nodded collectively, making non committal noises to each other, deeming the faith I was born into acceptable. "So what's wrong with my house, exactly?" I asked.

"There's something just off about it," Maggie answered cryptically.

"Don't be afraid to tell her, mother," Kendall chuckled under her breath.

"Your house is haunted, dearie," Shandra informed.

"An evil wickedness lives there," Claire added.

I took a tentative step forward, eager to hear more but afraid to show it, "Oh really? How so?"

The group of women proceed to take the next ten minutes taking turns and explaining to me the lengthy history of the previous tenants- none of which lived there long. Apparently one couple didn't even last a whole day, immediately packing their moving truck up not two hours after getting everything unloaded. The longest someone managed to stay there was a staggering six months in comparison. After becoming friendly with Maggie and her family, previous occupants would come to her complaining of weird happenings. Belongings being moved or going missing entirely, electrical problems and cold spots that professionals couldn't pinpoint the origin of, disembodied voices, footsteps, shadows... pretty much everything that had been happening to me- further confirming my suspicions.

I was about to voice that to the crowd when the front screen door flung open, an older gentleman carrying a tray full of bite sized sandwiches and a porcelain tea pot coming out to join us. He smiled and handed the refreshments to Maggie, who promptly kissed him on the cheek. The man was clearly her husband. Despite the summer heat, he wore a plaid suit. His hair was a similar shade to his wife's, short and balding, eyes an exact copy of Kendall's. "Oh, hello there," he greeted. "I'm Gerald."

"Gerald honey, this is Kathy," Maggie took the liberty of introducing me. "She just moved into *that* house."

"Ooh," he paused, registering that information while taking a good moment to look at my home down the street. "Brave girl, you are."

Disguising my scoff as a chuckle, I said, "Thanks."

"Would you like to stay for tea?" Maggie offered, kindly, after refilling everyone else's cups and plates- taking pity on me. 

I shook my head, declining. "Nah, maybe another time, I should get back to my run. Nice to meet you all."

"I-It was lovely meeting you Mrs. Bates!" Gerald yelled, eagerly waving me off.  "See you soon!"

I waved back, smiling hesitantly, picking up my pace.

***

A deep, exhausted, groan bellowed from the depths of my throat as I slammed the door to the fridge shut. I'd just gotten home after a long day at work and the only thing I'd been looking forward to was a nice and hot meal, but I couldn't even have that.

"Spencer, this has got to stop," I chastised him after he came into the kitchen. "Groceries are expensive, you know."

He scrunched his eyebrows, confused, "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"All the food you’ve been eating," I reminded him, gesturing to the family sized box of Cheese-Its in his hand, raising my voice. "C’mon Spence, I get that you’re a growing boy, but this is too much. I just stocked up last night and half the fridge is already gone!"

"It’s not me," he swore up and down, defensively, setting the box down.

Frustration bubbled up in my gut as I stared at him, deadpan. "So you’re lying to me now too? Unbelievable!" I pinched the bridge of my nose- shaking my head disappointedly before throwing my hands in the air, "Who else could it have been, Spencer? It’s just the two of us here and I’ve been at work all day."

He broke eye contact with me, digging his heels into the ground, grumbling, "Maybe it’s your ghost stealing all our food."

"Har, Har," I fake laughed, rolling my eyes. Irritated beyond belief, I told him, "I’m serious. Just please be more mindful about how much you’re eating. This was supposed to last us two weeks."

Deciding to end the conversation there, I turned around and took a deep breath before opening the fridge to look for ingredients to make something at least half edible for us to eat.

"M-mom...?" He asked softly.

I turned to face him, "Yes, son?" 

My heart sank when I saw the pale look on his face. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket as he paused, staring down at the floor.

“I want to go to Dad's.”

"It isn't too late to change your mind," I suggested to Spencer, who sat beside me in the front passenger seat of my car, with a playful nudge as we pulled into the designated hand off spot. It was the parking lot of a McDonalds that was directly half way between mine and his fathers house. "Why don't I get you an ice cream cone and we can call it a day, huh?"

He didn't say anything, just shifted in his seat so he was looking as far out the window as possible, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. As soon as he spotted the silver mustang pulling up next to us, my son dashed out of the car like he couldn't get out, get away from me, fast enough.

"Dad!" Spencer cried, running up to his father. The two of them embraced in a tight hug, his father ruffling his hair. 

I'm not going to lie, a healthy amount of hurt and jealousy put my heart through the wringer seeing that. That was my son, the baby boy that I carried in my belly for nine months- gave birth to, and here he was choosing his father over me.

"Robert," I greeted, dryly- silently judging the red Aloha shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals that he wore. He looked like a beach bum.

He acknowledged me with a smug nod, "Katherine."

"Are you sure you don't want to grab some food, Spence?" I asked again, desperately pointing to the golden arches behind me, giving him one last out. 
He shot me a look before stepping behind his father. "Leave the kid alone," Rob said, rubbing Spencer's shoulder. "He needs some space."

"Well, maybe if my place wasn't so creepy he'd actually want to stay with me," I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair.

Rob hung his head down, dragging his hands down his face, “Oh my god, Kathy, your house isn’t haunted! It’s probably just the foundation settling or something.”

"Do not tell me what is happening in my house when you aren't the one living there, dealing with it everyday," I yelled, stabbing my finger into his chest. "Everybody loves telling me what's wrong with my house."

He sighed, exasperated, motioning his arms around me frantically, “You always do this. Kathy, y-you get these fantastical ideas in your head and you don’t let them go. Let it go. Just let it go!"

I huffed, crossing my hands into my chest, tilting my chin up, "We've been there a month already and I still don't know my way around the kitchen."

"You're crazy."

I gasped, clutching my chest, anger flaring through my veins. “I am not crazy!”

“No," Rob shifted his weight onto his other hip, scratching at his temple, "you’re just unstable.”

“Stop!" Spencer cried, pleading, pulling at the sleeve of Rob's shirt, "Stop fighting, please.”

"Look what you did, Kathy. You're freaking him out," Rob shouted, looking at me while pointing to our distraught son. 

"Me?!"

"Yes, you. Because everything is about you, Katherine. It always is."

That wasn't true and Rob knew it. I've always spent my life serving others in lieu of myself. For eight years I served him and only him. The last thirteen I've spent breaking my back working and raising Spencer while trying to save our failing marriage. If I wasn't taking care of someone then who was I? What was my purpose?

I took a step back, my breaths growing shallow and rapid as a heavy fog filled my lungs. My vision started to spin as dizziness set in. It took me a moment to realize my cheeks were wet, slick with tears. The sound of my sobs sounded far off and underwater as blood rushed through my ears.

"See?" Rob gestured, rolling his eyes. "Instead of taking accountability and addressing the problem, actually changing and fixing the problem, you act like this. It's pathetic."

My heart skipped a beat when Spencer took a step forward and pushed his father's hands down, defending me. "Stop it, Dad!"

I lost my balance and fell to my knees. My son rushed to my side, helping me up off the asphalt, giving me a hug similar to the one he'd given his father minutes earlier. "If it makes you feel better, I'll stay with you for the rest of the week until it's Dad's turn, okay? Just please, stop fighting," he begged.

"Aw, my boy," I sobbed into his hair, tenderly rubbing his back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry we're putting you through this," I pulled away, keeping my hands on his shoulders. "No, you should go with your father. I'll be okay by myself, I swear. Promise."

"O-Okay..." Spencer hesitated, giving me another hug. He then stormed off and took his seat in the mustang, slouching forward. He impatiently honked the horn, yelling out the window, "Let's go!"

"I'm coming," Rob snapped, glaring at me while making his way over to the vehicle he purchased while in the throes of a mid-life crisis. He looked like a fool, crouching down and squishing himself to get in a car that was too little for his tall frame. 

"Bye honey," I called out to Spencer. "I love you!"

"Bye, Mom, I love you too," he replied, pulling his phone out from his back pocket.

“You’ve got a real talent for making people feel bad for you, you know that, Kath?” Rob spat spitefully before closing the door and peeling out of the parking lot. 

Leaving me all by myself.