The Face in the House

25

Malcolm couldn't believe it had actually worked.

"Hold this end while I hang this side up," Teddy said, handing him one side of the curtain. She got up on a chair to fasten the curtain to the wall.

They were in the living room preparing for the next seance, curtaining the room off from the rest of the house.

To Malcolm, getting the phone call had been surreal. He had just set up the website and the social media profiles for the seance parlor, and in a matter of days they had booked an appointment with some students from the neighboring college town. He hadn't expected anything to happen, especially not so soon. Teddy, on the other hand, seemed utterly unsurprised. 'Tis the season, she had told him, People are dying for a good scare right now.

He wished she would stop talking like that.

Still, he had to admit he admired the girl for her passion, her energy for the business. She was hyper-focused, always planning, always coming up with new ideas to improve the experience, make it scarier, make it more immersive, make it worth more money. She talked about it ceaselessly, which should've been annoying, but the way her eyes lit up, the way she described her ideas, it was captivating. It made him wish he could be on the other side again, a curious customer ready to experience the paranormal.

It also made him feel special to be on the inside, a part of the show. A part of Theodora White's story.

"Have you guys ever wondered about all the cars passing by?" Owen said, suddenly.

He was standing by the window, mere feet from where he and Teddy were standing, but still Malcolm had somehow forgotten his brother was there. He had this feeling about Owen more often than he would admit, ever since he was brought back. It wasn't that Owen was different, per se — he was definitely still his brother in every meaningful way — but there was something about him now that just seemed to blend into the background.

"No, what do you mean?" Teddy asked. She stepped off the chair and walked over to the window beside Owen.

"I don't know, it's just weird," Owen said. "We're in the middle of nowhere, but I keep seeing cars pass us by . . ."

Just then a car went by, heading west. It seemed to slow down when it came upon the house, as if the driver was looking for something. When it passed out of view, it seemed to pick up speed again.

"I wonder where they're going," Teddy said.

"The nearest town is the other way," Malcolm said. "He must be lost—"

"Here comes another one," Teddy said.

They watched as another car drove by, slowed down slightly as it went by the house, then drove out of sight.

"That's what I'm saying," Owen said. "It's just weird."

They watched two more cars come and go, just as the others had before them. Malcolm felt a chill creep up his spine, a sudden need to hold onto his shoulders. It was as if people were driving out, looking for something, drawn to something . . . He wondered: did these people know what they were doing? Did they know about the magic that lived on this road? Did they come to find it, to glimpse it, to feel it?

Or was it just a feeling, a gravitational pull, leading people to Thornewood Road? Perhaps they just thought they were going for a drive, or avoiding the interstate in favor of the "scenic route." There was no way to be sure, but he remembered how Owen had gripped the steering wheel as they drove. He had wanted to back out, to call off the trip, to turn around and go home. And yet, he continued to drive, never looking back. Had it been more than curiosity that led them to this house?