Lis had looked all over the country for true haunted houses. So far she had been disappointed. Most were just “rumored to be haunted” not actually documented. This one was. It was even made a historical site, so the poor couple couldn’t demolish it. The fact that this house could kill her pleased Lis.  She had been trying for quite some time to die.

           “Come on, Pumpkin,” she said to her large orange fur ball of a cat.  “We’ve got a new home.”  Lis drove out of town to the house. At first glance, it didn’t look foreboding. It had manicured lawns thanks to a weekly lawn care service and automated sprinklers. Vinyl siding had replaced the old worn wood and paint, and new windows sparkled in the sunlight. The newspaper clipping said the house bled at night, and every morning a local window washer cleaned the windows.  She would see.

           Two large regal trees stood on either side of the driveway entrance.

           “At night you’re supposed to hear the skeletons dance in the trees,” she told Pumpkin as she turned into the drive. “I think the article said something about men were left there to hang until their bodies rotted and the birds ate their flesh. There used to be a pond or something under the trees that the bodies vanished into. There’s also supposed to be a graveyard out back full of babies.  The story goes that the first occupant was a cattleman back in the early 1800’s. He had eighteen wives.”

Pumpkin yawned and circled to curl up on her jacket in the passenger’s seat unimpressed. Lis continued, “He wanted an heir to pass down his legacy to. Little girls weren’t good enough, so each time a wife birthed a girl – whack! – he killed the baby and tossed her out back.  His wives finally turned on him and cut him into little pieces.  They scattered the pieces around the yard. I guess kids still like to come and hunt for them around Halloween.”

           Pumpkin sat up to clean himself.

           “Think this place is creepy enough for us, boy? I sure hope so.”

           Lis spent what was left of the day unpacking. She didn’t have much: two small bags and all Pumpkin’s things in the largest suitcase.  “Cat travels with more junk than I do,” Lis muttered as she assembled the scratching post/play area/cat condo. Once she finished setting up the basics for the cat, she headed into the bedroom. To add to her good fortune, the house had come fully furnished, complete with stories of horror about each table, couch, and chair. Lis ran her fingers over the worn patchwork quilt. If luck was with her, someone had died in the bed.

           A knock at the door had her whirling around and set her heart to thumping like a scared rabbit until she looked at the clock and realized it was too early. Sundown was still two hours away.

           Lis composed herself and returned to the main room to open the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”

           “Ma’am.” The cowboy tipped his hat then straightened to reveal a strong face, bronzed by the sun with icy blue eyes. He towered over her 5’6” frame by at least a foot; solid built, but thin. A dark brown duster covered him down to his ankles and his brown-blond hair was hidden under a black Stetson save for what was pulled back in a ponytail longer than hers and hung down his back.

           “Can I help you?” she asked again.

           “I’m Flint Whittaker, ma’am. I live over on the Whittaker spread just north of here.” He nodded in the direction and Lis forced herself to acknowledge where it was. She was enthralled by his slow drawl and could listen to him speak all day.

           Aware that she stared like a lovesick schoolgirl, she introduced herself. “I’m Lis Lemke. I just moved in.” Stupid. That was obvious.

           His lips twitched, but a smile never formed as he nodded. “Yep, heard the place got rented. You sure you want to be here? Place is haunted you know.”

           Lis smiled, charmed that this stranger felt the need to warn her. “Yes, I know. I’m perfectly aware of the house and its history. I’ve done the research and read the stories.”

           Flint shook his head. “Reading stories and staying here are two different things.  You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

           It was sweet, really, this grimy cowboy trying to play knight in shining duster. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Whittaker. I’m perfectly capable of carrying for myself.” Or she had been. After tonight, if she wasn’t dead, she might be able to again. “I thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. Really.” Lis began to close the door.

           The cowboy shook his head and placed a booted foot against the door to stop it. “Fool woman. If you’re going to be stupid about this, least I can do is help you out.” He invited himself in. Lis stared slack-jawed. Her fantasy dissolved until he no longer stood as her knight in shining armor, but a low down thieving outlaw.

           “Listen, pal.” She slammed the door and the windows rattled. Something in the house moaned. “I’m not some damsel in need of rescue. I know exactly what I’m doing and don’t need some dirty, old cowboy to save me. Get out!” She pointed to the door.

           Flint remained unfazed. “You got spunk, I’ll give you that, but I can’t leave, ma’am.”

           “Why you arrogant ….” She stalked up to him and the house rumbled, making her lose her footing and fall into Flint.

           He’s solid, was her first thought followed quickly by, Jason’ll kill me when he finds out. Before she remembered Jason would kill her regardless.

           “Sorry.” Lis pushed away, and couldn’t help but turn toward the window. Just under two hours until dark, but there was nothing saying Jason would wait that long. It terrified her as nothing else could.

           “You’re shaking. You sure you’re all right?” Flint asked from right behind her. Lis jumped. For a big guy he sure moved quiet.

           “Yeah. You really need to go.” There was no way she could drag him into this. She turned to the door but Flint made himself at home on the loveseat.

           “Sit down, Lis,” he drawled.

           Someone ought to bottle that voice; they would make a fortune.  With legs like rubber she crossed to one of the recliners and sat kitty corner from him.

           “You’re not going to leave, are you?” she said, resigned to it.

           “Nope. ‘Fraid I can’t.  Why you really here, Lis? Who’s haunting you?”

           Her head came up. She looked away from his stark gaze and picked at the frayed gold fabric on the arm of the chair. “Why would you think something’s haunting me?”

           “’Cause only the truly haunted seek this place.”

           “So what’s your excuse?”

           “You read the story of the cattleman who wanted a son and killed all his daughters?”

           She nodded.

           “I’m one of his descendents.”

           Lis shook her head. “Not possible. He had no sons and not one daughter lived.”

           Flint did smile now, kindly, like she was a child who didn’t grasp an easy lesson.  “Turns out he had a few kids who survived. Once the wives decided to kill him, they worked to get pregnant. Eight children were born after he died. One of them was my great-grandfather. The couple who own this house here? They’re kin, descended from one of the kids, too. Her, I think, if I remember right.”

           “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

           “No, I guess it don’t. Just accept that I am.”

           “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t need you or want you here.”  She couldn’t figure out how to make him see reason other than being rude.

           “You can’t survive without me.”

           Lis laughed. “What makes you think I want to?”

           “As far as I know, I’m the only one who’s stayed here and lived to tell about it.”

           Lis leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. “Tell me about it.”

           Flint leaned forward too, accepting the challenge.  “When I was thirteen a bunch of friends and me dared to stay the night.”

           “What happened?”

           “The next morning all my pals were dead.”

           “What happened from the time you arrived to when you left?”  She wanted details.

           Flint eyed her a moment and she feared he wouldn’t tell her.  With a sigh, he took off his hat and placed it on the coffee table between them.  “We came in just before dark wanting to get our bearings and set up our sleeping bags. We toured the house but found nothing of interest. No dead bodies, nothing. So we waited around ‘til midnight eating Twinkles and playing cards.” He stared, a challenge in his own gaze.

           “Midnight, right, the witching hour.” She wished she could shrug it off, but knew from experience it was nothing to laugh at.

           He nodded. “As midnight neared the house woke. It grew cold; the clocks stopped. Everything was quiet and then the wind started. Them windows shook like a rattler, but not a branch moved outside. The walls ran with blood, the windows blackened. Whether you believe it or not, this place is evil.”  The steady look in his eyes told her that he didn’t mind. “It crawled toward us, dark and wrong. No way else to say it. That’s just how it was. Scared the beejeebas out of us kids. We thought about leaving, but no one dared say it first. Didn’t want to look yeller.  So we huddled together and waited. The house was dark, pitch-black, and the screams started.” Flint got a far-off look in his eyes even as he locked his blue gaze with hers. “Them screams’ll never leave me. The sound of my friends being ripped limb from limb. Their insides turned out. Hours upon hours they were tortured. I huddled against a wall wondering when it’d be my turn.

           “When morning came, the windows cleared and I got my first look at the carnage.” He paused but never broke the gaze.

           “How bad?” Lis almost felt bad about asking, but she had to know, and she saw no remorse in his eyes.

           “They had to replace the carpet and nothing could clean the floorboards underneath.”

           “I think I remember reading about that. It happened twenty years ago, give or take.”

           “Twenty-two,” he confirmed.

           Something nagged at her.  The article told of six boys who spent the night in the house. Only one survived. “They blamed you. Accused you of killing those boys. Bad blood and all.” Her heart pounded as she recalled the article. Had she allowed a killer in? Would he torture her, too? Would he keep Jason away?

           “I did my time. When I saw you move in, I couldn’t stay away without warning you.”

           Something in his tone told her he lied, but she couldn’t be sure. “Well, thanks for that. You can go now.” She rose and turned to the door only to freeze. Night had fallen as they talked. Lis glanced at the great grandfather clock as it ticked away time.  Quarter to nine.  How could that have happened?

           A knock at the door made her jump and Lis backed up until she ran into Flint. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Strong hands that could snap her neck.

           “You’re shaking again,” he said quietly.

           The knocking continued.

           “Going to answer that?”

           Lis shook her head. If she didn’t answer, he couldn’t get her.

           “Lis,” Flint turned her to face him. “Who’s out there? Who’s got you shook up?”

           “Nobody,” she said, forcing some bravado and arrogance into her tone that she didn’t feel. “You’re the only one shaking me up right now.” 

           He dropped his hands and took a step to move around her. Lis grabbed his arm. ”Don’t answer that. Please, if we ignore him he’ll go away in a couple hours.”

           That blue gaze intensified and he drew her back to the loveseat where he pulled her down to sit beside him. “All right, I told my sorted past. What’s your story?”

           “You don’t want to hear some sob story.”

           He continued to stare and Jason banged on the door calling her name. Lis gestured weakly at the door. “My fiancé. He’s clinically insane. Actually, he’s clinically dead. Jason’s a ghost and not the friendly Casper kind, but a vengeful spirit who’s bent on taking me with him.  If Jason kills me, I’ll end up like him. If someone else kills me, I’ll just die.” She hoped so anyways. “Did you really kill your friends?”

           Flint just stared at her.

           “Would you want to add one more to your list?” she asked, hopefully.

           “You want me to kill you? Ma’am, I can’t do that.”

           “Then what good are you?” She jumped up to pace. “I can’t do it myself. I’ve tried. I jumped out of a fifth story window. Threw myself in front of a speeding bus. Slit my wrists, my throat.” She showed him the scars. “Nothing kills me. I know it is Jason’s doing. He swore to love me forever and somehow he’s managed to tie us together. I can’t get rid of him. I thought by coming here that maybe the house could do what I can’t.”  Or you could, she added silently.

           “Let him in.”

           “What? Did you not hear me? He’ll kill me and make me like him. No way. Forget it.”

           “I’ll protect you,” he said with that easy drawl and Lis found herself believing him.

           Flint had her wait until it was closer to midnight. In the meantime, she made them a light dinner and fed Pumpkin. Around 11:30pm Flint nodded to the door where Jason still banged.

           “I don’t want to do this,” she admitted. Trapped between a murderer and a ghost. What a night this was going to be. Lis opened the door.

           “Hey there, beautiful,” Jason said, leaning in the doorway. His dark hair was matted down with blood where he had fallen and cracked his head open.

           “Go away, Jason, you’re not wanted here.” She hated how her voice trembled. His grin widened.

           “Let me in, honey. Let’s stop this game.”

           Lis shook her head, but Flint had come up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sure, come on in.”

           Jason narrowed his hazel eyes and looked Flint up and down. “And who are you?”

           “Flint Whittaker.” He massaged Lis’s shoulders, not offering a hand. His tone turned cold and she shivered. Flint maneuvered her under his arm and away from the door while Jason sauntered in. The door slammed shut behind him and locked with an ominous click.

           “Who is he, Lis?” Jason approached, black T-shirt and jeans molded onto his body. Some hair fell over one eye. Lis gripped her hands together in order not to brush it back for him. If she touched him, she was his.

           Lis stepped back into Flint’s embrace. Sometimes the evil you knew wasn’t safer than that which you didn’t. His arms came around her and rested lightly at her waist. “H-his family owns this house.”

           With an amused smirk, Jason eyed the room. “Nice place. Another one of your haunted houses, Lis? Come on, baby, when are you going to admit there are no such things as haunted houses? Nothing is going to separate us. We belong together.” He gave her that cocky, devastating smile that always made her weak in the knees.

           Flint tightened his grip and pulled her back against him. “She won’t be going anywhere with you.”

           Lis glanced at the clock. Five minutes. How she wished the clock would chime. 

As the men glared at one another, each staking their claim on her, the room grew cold until the temperature made their breaths’ fog.  Lis shivered as the windows blackened. Red stains marred the walls and Pumpkin hissed, dashing under the sofa.

           “What’s going on here? What is this? Lis, what are you playing at?” Jason stared in wide-eyes horror as the walls ran red with blood.

           “She’s not doing anything, Jason. It’s the house,” Flint said. A fog crawled over the floor and the lights flickered until they went out, leaving the three in darkness.

           “Good-bye, Jason,” Lis said, stepping away from Flint. Could the man kill a ghost? Would he kill her in his madness?

           “You can’t hide from me,” Jason said, snarling. “You belong to me, Lis.”

           “Not to you, she don’t.” Flint’s easy drawl snaked through the fog, wrapping around her like a security blanket. “She came to me.”

           Jason began to scream. The sound tore through the silence and ripped at Lis. She covered her ears.

           “Jason? Jason!”

           He continued to scream; his pitched shrieks bounced off the walls surrounding her. 

           “Flint?” Lis reached out in front of her, trying to place the tall man. Where had he gone? She stumbled over something and braced her arms to catch herself when fingers brushed her arm.

           “Shh,” Flint said, directing her to sit down. She sensed him move away toward Jason’s endless screams. They cut off abruptly.

           A strangled cry rose form the other side of the room followed by a snap and ripping sound that Lis didn’t want to dwell on.

           “Flint? Jason?”

           Lis feared to move from the spot Flint put her in. The fog circled around her consuming her with each breath she took. Her throat constricted, her lungs collapsed. Vision blurred and Lis lay down. Finally, she would be free from Jason.   

           “No!” Flint growled from somewhere in the fog. “You can’t have this one. She’s mine. She came to me.” His fingers brushed her hand and walked up her arms until he was holding her.

           “Flint,” she whispered. She had to know. “Jason?”

           “The ghost’s gone. He won’t be bothering you again. The house took him.”

           She could die happy now. Relieved she lay in his arms as the house stole her life. 

           “Stay with me, Lis. The house won’t touch me, but I need you to fight. Say you want to live.”

           Did she? Lis was surprised to find a small part of her didn’t want to die. Not now that the threat was gone.  Lis tried to speak, but had no air, so she nodded instead. She stiffened as something razor-sharp tore her from thigh to ankle.  The scent of her blood perfumed the air. She couldn’t find the air to scream, so she dug her fingers into Flint’s arm.

           “Leave her alone, I said! I claim her ... You can’t have her. This one’s mine. You said I could have one and I chose this one ... It don’t matter when the deal was made. You got your life tonight, leave her alone or I swear I’ll tear this house apart board by board until there ain’t nothing left but a large hole.”

           Lis’s mind closed off thick with fog. The house wouldn’t let her go. Nice of him to try though. She only wished she had been able to thank him properly. Pressure on her chest released and made it a little easier to breath, but the sharp razor cuts continued up and down her arms, across her belly and back, on the soles of her feet. Hands closed over her throat, cold and phantom – the fog itself – and squeezed until the gray haze turned black and Lis passed out to Flint’s shouts and curses.

***

Cool fingers brushed back the damp hair from her face. Warm hands washed the blood from her body. Lis struggled to move, but couldn’t find the strength.  She opened one eye with difficulty, then the other. She lay in the tub, red tinged water up to her neck. Sunlight streamed in through the window and the bathroom door stood open with Flint in the doorway.

           “You’re awake.”

           “I’m alive?”

           “Yeah. You mind?”

           Did she? She vaguely recalled wanting to live as the house squeezed the life from her. Lis shook her head and pain shot through her shoulders and down her spine.

           “Here now, don’t do that. You’ll just hurt yourself.” He came into the room and knelt by the tub. Gentle fingers massaged her neck and shoulders and Lis relaxed.

           “How?”

           “I made a deal with the house,” he said as if it was as simple as that.

           “What kind of deal?”

           The tall cowboy sat back against the cabinet under the sink regarding her with those cool blue eyes.  As of yet she had seen nothing that fazed him. Stone cold killer, this one.  She wished it would bother her.

           “I’m not going to like your answer am I?”

           “Probably not,” he said.

           She stared back at him, noting the little lines around his eyes and the gauntness of his cheeks. She didn’t remember those being there before. “What was the deal, Flint?”

           “I wanted you, so the house gave you to me.”

           “Wanted me for what?” Had she gotten rid of one psycho only to acquire another? And if she had, why didn’t it bother her?

           “For my own.”

           “And if I don’t want to be yours?”

           Flint shrugged. “Then you go back to where you came from.” 

           “What happens to you if I leave?” she asked again.

           “Probably nothing.” He shifted and opened a door of the cabinet to pull out a towel. Lis hesitated a moment, then rose out of the water and let him help dry her off.

           “All right then, why me?”

           “You came to the house without fear. Even when it tried to take your life, it didn’t scare you.”

           Lis followed Flint into the bedroom where he had turned down the bed. Pumpkin lay curled up on the comforter and let out a rumbling purr when Lis lay down next to him. Flint tucked her in and she didn’t object when he lay down beside her.  She was content to lie in his arms.

           “If I agree, what happens?” Jason had wanted to kill her so they could be together. Flint had fought to keep her alive. That had to count for something.

           “Would you object to living here? The old folks’ll sell if I ask it.”

           She stared, wide-eyed. “Live here? And go through that every night?” He was insane! “I’m not strong enough for that.”

           “The house won’t hurt us now that it’s claimed us.”

           “Claimed us?” Lis closed her eyes, wanting to just listen to his voice.

           “Mmmm. Get some sleep. No need to decide now,”  Flint said and Lis took his advice.

           A banging on the front door woke her some time later.

           “Open up! Open up, Whittaker, we know yer in there,” a voice boomed from outside.

           Lis found herself alone in bed. She glanced at the clock. 8pm. She had slept the whole day away. Lis got up and dressed.

           “Flint?” He sat on the sofa, a wicked looking hunting knife twirling in his hands as he stared at the door. “What is it, Flint?”

           “Cops. Vigilantes. Pissed off people.” His voice was so dead it scared her.

           Lis crossed the room. “Can I help you?” she asked, opening the door.

On the other side stood a sheriff, the old couple who had rented her the house, and an older cowboy who could only be Flint’s father.

           “You’re alive!” the old woman shrieked.

           “Why wouldn’t I be?”

           “Well, well, it’s just that . . .”

           “Ma’am, I’m looking for my son. Neighbor said he was seen ‘round here last night. He really needs to come home,” the cowboy said.

           “Flint?” she called behind her. He came and stood with her, slipped an arm around her waist and Lis leaned back into him. He held the knife loose at his side. The four people at the door froze; the sheriff’s hand dropped to his holstered gun.

           Lis turned to the old couple. “Was there something you needed? Did I forget to sign a page of the agreement?”

           “No, uh, no. It’s just -” she looked to her husband who stared at Flint.

           Something orange streaked from the house.  “Pumpkin!” Lis called, shocked as the sheriff pulled his gun. Pumpkin was out of sight before the sheriff took aim. “You were going to shoot my cat!” She stared at the man, appalled.

           He put away the gun and met her gaze with his own steely, unapologetic one. “Can’t be too careful of what comes outta this house.”

           “Flint, you need to come home,” his father said, as if talking to a five-year-old boy not thirty-something-year-old man.

           Lis had a sinking feeling that if Flint left the house, she’d never see him again. She wasn’t ready to let him go. Flint’s fingers dug into her sides. He didn’t want to leave. The floor rumbled under her feet and she glanced at Flint. The house didn’t want them to leave.

           “Miss Lemke, would you come with me, please?” the sheriff said holding out his hand. She knew the smartest thing to do was leave with the sheriff and let them take Flint back to wherever he came from.  But she’d never been one to do the smart thing.

           “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sheriff,” she said and placed a hand on the wall by the door. All right, house, I’ll agree to whatever your terms are just so long as you let us live in peace. And don’t try and harm my cat, either.  Knowing she had probably made a deal with the devil himself, Lis relaxed.  Everything would work out for the best.

           “You have no idea what you got yourself into. This man’s a murderer several times over. The folks here shoulda never rented the place,” the sheriff said. “He thinks he lives here.”

           “He’s never been convicted or jailed for these so-called murders,” Flint’s father said, turning on the sheriff.  “Bob, you know as well as I that his mind’s never been right since he watched those kids die.”

“We’ll buy it,” Lis said. Four pairs of eyes turned to her. “Name your price.” What possessed her to do that?

The house rumbled and shook. Is this what she had agreed to? To be stuck in the house for the rest of her life? Now wait a minute!

           The curtains zinged shut darkening the house, and the outside lights blazed on.  The floor bucked again, sending Flint and Lis sprawling backwards. The door slammed shut and locked.

           “You better explain to this tinderbox that I refuse to stay here as a prisoner.”

           “Agreed.” He rolled to his feet then helped her up.

           “Now what?” she asked.

           “Don’t know. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

           They didn’t have to wait long.

           “Do you smell smoke?” Lis asked, looking up from the magazine she read.  “You did say you knew how to cook, right?”

           Flint poked his head out of the kitchen. “I can cook just fine. It’s none of my doing. Did you turn on the heater?”

           “No, didn’t touch it.” The smell was stronger now and a crash from the bedroom had them run to investigate.  As they stood in the doorway watching in horror, the broken window repaired itself. Flames had already engulfed the bed where a bottle with a rag sticking out laid. Smoke filled each corner of the room. Outside the window stood a figure, its features obscured by the smoke and flames.

           “No.” Lis ran for the front door. It wouldn’t open. “Flint!”

           “It won’t let us out,” he drawled, and seemed none too concerned.

           “The house is going to kill us after all.” Lis slid to the floor and inhaled the smoky air.  If she was going to die, she wanted to do so by her choice.

           “I don’t think so.”

           “What do you mean you don’t think so? It’s locked us in!”

           “The house won’t hurt us. It won’t allow anything to harm us.” He sat on the couch to face her.

           “How? We’re going to burn alive.”

           “The house owns us, Lis. We’re as good as dead. Only when it decides, will it take us.”

           “And here I thought you said if I didn’t want to stay I could go.”  She couldn’t help the tears that pooled in her eyes and clogged her throat.

           “You can. I won’t force you to remain here, but the house’ll always call you back.”

           Lis coughed as the air grew thicker with smoke. It seared her lungs and made her eyes water.  “Then why doesn’t it put out the fire?”

           Flint shrugged.

           They remained that way, him on the couch, and she on the floor as the house burned down around them.

***

           Morning dawned bright and cheery with robins and sparrows greeting the day. The neighbors returned to study their handy work.