Haunted Secrets: Tales of Carl Hesselschwerdt Vol. 1

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Someone was at the door.

It was very late, the wee hours of the morning when the city was as dead as the house itself. Carl never slept, of course, but he would spend many nights simply standing in one place and waiting. Waiting for Shane, waiting for morning, waiting for whatever came next. And now, it seemed he was done waiting again.

The sound would have meant nothing in any other home. A click, metallic and muffled and distant. It was a sound the living chalked up to the house settling, or the wind, or their cat. But it was not a sound that plagued the house on Berkley Street.

Carl drifted soundlessly down through the floors and walls toward the entrance. The front door.

The sound came again. A scrape and a click. No one else had arrived to investigate, not that he was surprised. The Davis sisters would be off on their own somewhere, and Thaddeus was not the sort to be curious enough about such things. Eloise must have been off on one of her little trips outside. There was only Carl. And the house itself.

The tumblers in the lock rolled, and Carl watched the door unlock. He stayed back in the shadows, curious that some people were still bold enough to break into the house.

Being dead, Carl no longer looked at the world the way he had when he was alive. But he had lived with Shane for a very long time now. And he had observed the way the living lived their lives. He had not fully forgotten what it meant to be that way. He had not forgotten what it meant to be cautious or even afraid.

Even to him, there was a palpable air about the house. It was one of foreboding; one that suggested to anyone with even a small bit of common sense that this house was not a house to disturb. And yet, it was happening.

Carl would never dare suggest everyone in the world was smart enough to read the signs in front of their faces. Some people were just ignorant. Or arrogant. Some even had a death wish. He wondered which one was about to come through the door.

The intruder finished their work, and the door clicked open. A clear night sky was lit by the moon and a cascade of silver light backlit three men. Carl remained in the shadows, watching from a wall where no light would penetrate.

The audacity of such a break-in set him on edge. What were these men hoping to accomplish? A simple robbery, no doubt. No one who knew Shane Ryan or the house would do what they were doing. These were fools who had seen a big, old house and assumed there would be precious riches hidden within.

“Downstairs,” one man said.

“Up,” another man said.

The man who had picked the lock and was now putting away his burglar’s tools nodded. That meant he was left to handle the first floor. He would be the one Carl would kill first. He was presumptuous and had earned it.

All three wore masks, knitted black stocking caps favored by skiers and winter hikers. They obscured all but the eyes and mouth. Carl would have preferred to see their faces.

“Why don’t I stick with you?” the upstairs man suggested. The first man scowled in his mask.

“You said you were cool,” he scoffed.

“I am! I’m cool, it’s just… you don’t get a vibe from this place?”

“Ha. Bro’s scared of the house. You think it’s haunted, Deetz?”

“I’m not. It’s a big house is all I’m saying. How do we know it’s empty?”

They spoke in hissed whispers, a weak attempt not to be heard.

“I told you, man. This dude leaves for days, weeks at a time sometimes. He left a day ago, his car ain’t back, and he doesn’t live with anyone. Dude’s a weird recluse or something.”

“How’s he a recluse if he leaves the house?” the downstairs man asked.

“Shut up, man. Just hit the basement, Wint. Deetz, go up. Work your way back to me.”

Wint did as he was told and headed deeper into the house as though he had an idea where he might be going. Deetz headed for the stairs, and the leader closed the door behind them. They turned on their flashlights and swept the beams through the darkened space.

Carl stepped back, sinking into a wall. Deetz paused his beam where Carl had been.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?” the leader asked. “It’s a wall.”

“Thought there was…” Deetz didn’t finish the thought.

“Just go upstairs, man. Do your job.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. Somewhere above them, the wood of the house groaned. The two men paused, listening and perhaps fearful it was footsteps on stairs. It was not those things, of course. The house was awake and welcoming the intruders, like a spider’s web welcoming flies.

The hallways shifted upstairs. Rooms moved about. The house was ready for the three men. Carl would finish them first, though. It was the least he could do. When Shane was away, he had to protect their home. Then let the house take care of the mess. Shane didn’t need to worry about anything.

Floorboards creaked toward the back of the house and Carl followed the sound, leaving the two men in the front. He found the man called Wint searching for the entrance to the cellar. He was getting closer to the pantry and would likely soon find what he was looking for.

Carl didn’t want to let the burglar find the trapdoor to the cellar. Nor did he want to wait for the house to do something. The burglar moved slowly, trying to keep the sound to a minimum as he used his flashlight to scan for signs of whatever treasures he thought he might purloin.

Wint found the pantry. The sounds of the other men were cut off fully now, their hushed whispers muffled by layers of wood. The burglar scanned shelves and Carl drifted up behind him.