The Hadley House

By C.J. Spulak

The brown, bare trees swayed slowly in the October wind. In the waning afternoon sunlight, Jessa Fromm squinted through the spots of caked dust and bug guts on the dirty window and gazed out on a yard full of dying weeds and yellowing grass. She sprayed some Windex on the dirty glass and began to wipe. 

Jessa had reluctantly taken on a part-time cleaning job at the Lavender Funeral Home to earn some extra cash for the holidays. As the afternoon flew by, she kicked herself for having misjudged how much time she could spare on that day. She could just about hear the whining voices of her kids summoning her home to take them out trick-or-treating. She imagined Jillian, in her witch’s hat, helping her little brother slather black costume makeup around his eyes to transform into the scariest vampire. She smiled. Then, she thought of the god-awful mess that would inevitably be made when Mikey ran excitedly from room to room, rubbing his paint on every blanket, shirt, and couch cushion he could. All while their father sat preoccupied and oblivious in front of the television. 

Jessa moved faster.

Speed-cleaning the funeral home was not a, well, speedy task as it had been regularly collecting dust since the dawn of the 20th century when it was constructed for one of the little town’s founding fathers, a Dr. James Hadley, and his family. 

Dr. Hadley was one of the first immigrants (by way of Ellis Island) to settle the town of Oak River bringing with him other like-minded stakeholders who had signed papers and lined the pockets of more important people who had gone before and managed to edge out the natives. One of the first buildings in Oak River was his house, large enough to serve his family, but also to serve as the town’s hospital. At three stories tall, the Hadley house was wide enough to bed sick patrons, accommodate daily visits, and house all the supplies needed to do so.

Like Jessa, this house had occupied many jobs throughout the years. Starting as a hospital, it was alive day and night. As it approached its 130th birthday, it was utilized as a funeral home by the people of Oak River. Citizens volunteered their time to mow the lawn and sweep the sidewalks, but when no one raised their hand to make sure the main room was presentable for services, it was Jessa who had answered the ad in the Oak River Gazette. Most of the interior sat lonely and faded, covered in dust, fly corpses, and stale air. The wood floors creaked and groaned and called out for attention. The house’s sole purpose was reduced to one large sitting area on the main floor and an addition off the kitchen that included a tiny bathroom, added on years later when indoor plumbing became a necessity rather than a luxury. 

During its illustrious career, the house quite literally ushered souls back and forth over the threshold between life and death. Jessa was no skeptic and knew very well that even though she entered the house by herself, she was not alone. Halloween, after all, is when the veil is the thinnest, and not just for kids to run around for free candy. The hair on her arms stood up straight and her stomach was full of butterflies she could not explain. 

Pushing and pulling the vacuum over the decades old, rust-colored carpeting was always her favorite time. She could let the hum of the machine drown out her own thoughts and meditate while studying each piece of antique furniture that adorned the one room that the living still used. She would imagine the house’s past occupants, her imagination placing them in a chair by the window or at a doorway leading someplace else. The images were so vivid that, at times, she wondered if they were all figments of her own doing. Today, she lingered a little longer than needed in the main sitting area, gazing at the rows of chairs all lined up to mourn the dead. The vacuum felt extra heavy as it rattled with a seemingly unusual abundance of dirt. Looking down, she noticed dried crumbles of mud cascading across the carpet. Jessa rolled her eyes as she envisioned the last person to mow the yard stepping through mud and neglecting to wipe their shoes before entering the house. 

She used the toe of her shoe to help move it along a little and, after several more pulls, the rattling settled. She raised the handle of the vacuum. After it locked into place, she raised her eyes and stopped with a sharp gasp. Her hand flew up to her chest in surprise. Her heart slammed against her rib cage before her senses could catch up with what she was seeing. 

A tiny spider dangled from a strand of silk at her eye level. There, it wiggled back and forth in the breeze her alarmed breath had made. Jessa felt the adrenaline drain into her extremities and her fingers tingled.

“Lord,” she sighed, stepping around the hanging arachnid and resumed her vacuum. “Put me in an entire house full of dead people, I’m fine, but throw in a spider…” she chuckled.

Jessa switched off her vacuum and stood it in the corner. She paced across the matted, shag carpet to one of the pink padded chairs, grabbed a duster covered in yellow feathers, and began collecting the month’s worth of dust that gathered on the surface of the blond wood shelving. Carefully maneuvering around a display of antique knick-knacks, she lost herself in thought.

A sharp knock on the front door shook her from her daydream.

 “Now?” she glanced at the watch on her wrist. Time was running out and she knew her kids were waiting on pins and needles for her to get home. She moved to the front door and pulled it open, prepared to see another townsperson who had noticed her car parked in the driveway. A few orange leaves tumbled across the porch, but it was empty. Jessa paused, her mind flipping through multiple reasons that could explain the knock and settled on the most obvious for a day like today. Kids. Almost immediately, another rap came from a side door across the room. A door rarely used. Pressing the front door shut, she hurried to the next to swing it open on some trick-or-treaters, already eating their fill of sugar, before they ran away giggling. Cobwebs stretched and snapped as the hinges squeaked, but Jessa’s face fell into a frown when she caught no one red-handed on the cement stoop. She stuck her head out and looked around, sure she would catch the end of a witch’s cape as it disappeared around a corner. 

No cape. No running footsteps. No giggles. She stood stock still and held her breath. Slowly, adrenaline crept up her spine. There was nobody there. No one had knocked on either door. Jessa’s heart pounded in her ears. 

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck spiked, and she felt goosebumps travel across her shoulders. Jessa pulled herself into the present moment and heaved the door shut, determined to not give whatever or whomever any attention. This door was difficult to close all the way, and Jessa marveled at how easily it had opened in the first place. Throwing her weight against it, she got it wedged good enough and returned to her dusting. A clock on the mantel chimed loudly. She flinched. It was already 6 o’clock. 

Shaking her head, she began winding the orange vacuum cord around her arm until the plug twisted itself into the coil – the rubber burning her skin with the speed she moved. She hung the cord on its handle and pushed the Kirby vacuum into the kitchen, into its spot by the refrigerator. Gathering the rest of the supplies in both arms, she climbed the wooden steps to the second floor to store them in the old closet at the top of the stairs. Directly to her left was the attic door. 

The attic of the Hadley house had been a topic of conversations since its conception. Dr. Hadley had paid the builders to construct an extensive attic with a cathedral ceiling and a large picture window overlooking the main street. When Mrs. Hadley arrived from the East with the children, it would soon become a favorite spot for little Emily, who then convinced the good doctor to tie a rope swing in the middle of the attic. There, she would play and watch the towns goings-on until she outgrew the swing and joined them. Mrs. Hadley would spend much time listening for the subtle creaking back and forth of that swing while going about her domestic business.  The rest of the hallway consisted of five spacious bedrooms, ending at the end with the top of another set of stairs, ornate and carpeted. Jessa always scanned the hallway as if she expected to see the silhouette of someone moving from one room to the next in the dark. 

The brass knob of the closet wiggled in her grip as she entered the closet and extended her arm above her head to pull the string attached to the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Dim light flooded the small space, and she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. 

Creak, Creak, Creak

Jessa froze and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. The attic.

Creak, Creak, Creak

All she could picture was a little girl swinging back and forth on a swing. After what seemed like an eternity, she exhaled slowly, realizing she had been holding her breath the whole time. A racoon? A breeze? Forget this! Jessa crammed the items she was holding onto a random shelf, knocking over plastic spray bottles and aerosol cans in the process. Some hit the floor and rolled every which way. She flinched with the tremendous noise, but then – 

THUD

Loud and heavy footsteps galloped across the ceiling above her and did not stop until they came down the stairs, stopping right behind the attic door. 

Jessa felt the blood drain from her scalp as she watched the doorknob turn slowly. She stood frozen in terror as the door opened and there stood a large man, half-hidden in shadow. He and Jessa looked at one another for several long seconds. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, wooden object. When the pocketknife clicked open to reveal its blade, he smiled.

The Previous Night

He’d been walking for four-and-a-half days. The fact that the doorknob turned all the way filled him with a wicked relief, but did not, in fact, surprise him. Most small towns didn’t lock their doors. He’d watched this house for hours and hadn’t seen anyone or one light. He didn’t bother knocking half the county’s mud off his worn, brown boots before quickly, but heavily, treading on into the house. A momentary scan of the kitchen told him the house was indeed empty. 

The full moon cast enough light through the translucent lace curtains that he could move easily enough. When his senses were fully satisfied that there was no one home, he allowed himself a heavy sigh. Suddenly, he felt the strain of the last few months in his aching muscles. It was unusual for him to seek shelter inside and risk being seen, but tonight, of all nights, something told him to take the chance. He looked longingly at the overstuffed couch in the corner. Too easy. He knew better. 

After finding the kitchen sink and taking long, slow slurps from under the faucet, he let some water pool in his filthy palms and splashed it onto his face; tiny, dirty water droplets dotted the white porcelain sink.

He took off his denim jacket and swiped it over the counter, a haphazard attempt at erasing evidence. His heavy boots thudded on each wooden step as he climbed to the second floor in the pitch dark. When he found the top of the stairs, he relied on touch until he found a doorknob. Pulling it open, he could see the outlines of cupboards lining the room and shelves full of buckets and spray bottles. 

Nothing to lay on. He kept moving. Stepping back out into the hallway, he spotted a sliver of dim light along the floor to his left. The door groaned against the frame, and it took two good pulls before it came free, revealing another staircase, ascending toward a bare window, perfectly framing the full, bright moon.

The steps creaked under his weight and a smile played at the corners of his mouth when he reached the top and gazed out at a huge picture window. A single rope swing hanging the slanted rafters. His smile became true when he saw a pile of crumpled insulation laying to the side of the open attic. 

It didn’t take long for him to drift into dreams, staring at the rope swing, swearing he could see it move in the moonlight.

C.J. Spulak is an aspiring writer who lives in Norfolk, NE with her husband and daughter and works full-time in the social work field. Her passions involve reading, writing, genealogy research, and anything involving her family. She also enjoys lazy Saturday mornings, the color yellow, and the WWE.