Haunted Secrets: Tales of the Anderson House Vol. 3

The House Across the Street

He scrutinized the front of the house, noting the high, narrow windows and corner towers. The place looked like a mansion in an old horror movie. It had a reputation for being haunted, but any house that looked like it would get a spooky reputation. Louis had always been skeptical about that kind of thing. 

Someone moved at a third-floor window, and Louis felt a little thrill of excitement. He recalled that the house belonged to the Ryan family, but he had not had any dealings with them. In fact, he wasn’t clear how many people lived there. He occasionally saw a bald, tough-looking man leaving or arriving in an old, beat-up sedan. Sometimes, there were visitors. He adjusted the focus of the glasses and concentrated on the window.

The figure appeared again. This time, he made them out more clearly. A woman, he thought, in a white dress with long sleeves. She was still out of focus, though. Louis was frustrated that he couldn’t get a clear look at her face. It was fanciful, perhaps, but he felt she might be beautiful. There was something about the way she stood peering out of the window that suggested a romantic heroine.

“Silly old fool,” he chuckled. “Imagining all kinds of things.”

***

That night, before bed, he studied the Anderson House. It took nearly ten minutes for the white-clad figure to appear. This time, she was at a window directly above the front door. Louis got the impression that she was staring straight across the street at him, but that was absurd. Nobody with normal eyesight could make him out at that distance. Or could they? 

She raised one arm and waved.

***

It was nearly eleven before Louis worked up the courage to cross the street. He took the opera glasses with him. He had the vague thought that they might helpfully react to the Anderson House. As he made his way up the drive, he kept a lookout for watchers, mortal or otherwise. But there was no sign of life, not even a hint of birdsong. 

He paused in front of the front door. Waiting, hoping, listening. 

The door swung open. 

“Lynda?” he whispered.

He saw movement in the gloom within the foyer. The woman in white danced gracefully across his field of view with her arms raised. A playful parody of a ballerina. 

“Lynda!”

Louis ran into the house. The dancing woman had disappeared. But no, now she was somehow at the top of the stairs, beckoning gracefully. The poor light made it difficult for Louis to make out her face. He raised the opera glasses, but before he could focus on her, the woman had turned her head away. Louis raced to the staircase and began to climb, his heart pounding. 

“Lynda, is that you?”

He reached the second floor and looked around, leaning against the banister to catch his breath. There was nobody in sight, but a door was open at the end of a corridor to his right. He set off, wheezing a little, and feeling every minute of his sixty-eight years. But he’d only gone a few paces when the door swung closed. He stopped, frustrated, now sure that he was being played with.

“Please, if it is you, just talk to me,” he cried. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Stifled laughter came from behind him. He spun around to see the woman in white standing at the entrance of the left-hand corridor. But now she was close enough for him to make out her features.