Tanner
There’s something wrong with this place.
The surety of the thought reverberates through my bones as I stand beneath the glare of the mid-morning sun, my eyes sweeping the hazy scene as though I’m seeing it all for the very first time.
“You okay, boss?” Jose’s voice jolts me from the stupor I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into. His tone is laced with concern and makes me wonder just how long I’d been staring off into the distance.
“I’m fine,” I snap before wincing at my own gruffness. “Sorry,” I add quickly. “Rough night.”
Jose nods at my apology. “I figured as much. You’re usually the first one here. It was weird being the only guy on site this morning. Honestly, this place gives me the fucking creeps.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter.
My thoughts turn to yesterday’s conversation with Bailey. It was a relief. I had let everything spill out, from the vandalism to the thoughts that didn’t quite feel like my own. In turn, she told me about the figure she’d seen in the marsh and her rising unease about this place.
I promised her that I would wrap this project up as soon as I could. In a few more weeks, the house will be done, and I can pass off the fetid marsh and all of its ghosts onto the new owners. Let them deal with whatever haunts this damn swamp.
“Anyway,” Jose continues, once again drawing me back to reality, “I had the guys start on installing the sheetrock this morning. They’re making real good progress. Should be finishing up the kitchen and that little hallway soon.”
“The hallway?” I repeat, realizing the implications.
“Yeah, why?”
“That’s where those studs are, the ones we put too far apart. Not sure how we managed to leave that big gap in the walI. I was going to fix it this morning before y’all got here.”
“Shit, boss, I didn’t realize! They might not have gotten to that part yet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I huff, waving him away. “It’s my fault for being late.”
What’s one more problem on this godforsaken site? I swear, this place is fucking cursed. The sooner we’re done here, the better.
Frustration builds in me as I peel away from Jose’s side and start toward the house. I hope they haven’t gotten to that section of sheetrock yet. If they have, I’ll have to tear that part down and redo the whole thing.
My anger doesn’t mix well with the heat. It’s still several hours before noon and the air is already moist and cloying. Sweat beads on my forehead. It’s much too humid, and by the time I reach the front of the building, my shirt is clinging uncomfortably to my back. Though the swamp remains hidden by the hulking structure, the heavy stench of it curls through the shimmering heat. The scent is so strong that I can practically taste it with every breath I draw in.
It’s as if the very air here is poison.
A shiver skitters down my spine despite the temperature. All at once, I feel the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Unseen eyes bore into the base of my skull, but when I turn, there’s nobody in the driveway except for Jose, who’s staring down at the screen of his cell phone.
“Get a fucking grip,” I hiss to myself.
Steeling myself, I step into the house. My ears pick up the sounds of my crew talking and laughing over the sounds of power tools. I navigate easily through the maze of half-finished walls, following the ruckus until I find myself standing in the skeleton of what will soon be the kitchen and the short hallway right outside it that leads to a different living space.
“Boss,” the nearest guy nods in greeting. He’s got a sheet of drywall on a table and is measuring it with a measuring tape. Several of the other guys look up and acknowledge me in a similar manner.
Jose was right. They are doing good work, and the kitchen is almost completely finished. Unfortunately for me, they’ve done such a great job that they already fitted a sheet of drywall over the oddly spaced studs in the hall.
Inwardly, I curse. Outwardly, I thank the crew for their hard work and diligence. No use taking it out on them, not when they’ve already put up with so many missing tools and drained batteries. I’ll take care of that section of framing later, I decide.
For a while, I get lost in my work. We finish the kitchen within the hour and move on to the dining room. There’s no working AC or HVAC yet, and the manual labor has my muscles burning and sweat dripping down my brow. The air seems to grow heavier, and by the time we break for lunch in the early afternoon, it’s evident that a storm’s rolling in.
The rain holds off until the early evening. Bruise-colored clouds gather overhead and blot out the sun, though that does little to abate the heat of the day. As the rest of the crew packs up for the night, I return to the kitchen and start measuring the sheetrock I have to remove to get to the studs underneath to add the missing timber.
Just after I hear the last of the guys leave, the first peal of thunder booms in the distance. The whole foundation seems to reverberate with the rumble, and for one wild moment, I imagine the entire unfinished house caving in around me.
At that moment, a loud ringing noise erupts from the pocket of my jeans making me lose my breath.
I fish out my cell phone. The screen tells me it’s Bailey calling. I answer midway through the third ring.
“Hey babe,” I say.
“Hey,” Bailey replies, her voice sounding oddly far away. I’m actually surprised I have enough bars to even hear her. Usually cell service doesn’t carry this far, especially with a storm like this one.
“You okay?” I ask.
She’s quiet for a moment, and then answers, “I guess. That was…a lot yesterday. I think I’m just really overwhelmed.” I’m not sure what to say to that, so I wait until she speaks again. “I think we should leave town, Tanner.”
“Leave?” I repeat. A tendril of dread blooms in the pit of my stomach. “We can’t leave,” I insist.
“Not permanently,” Bailey backtracks. “Just for a night. Let’s get a hotel room in the city on Saturday and hit the clubs. I just want us to get away from Hahnville for a bit, clear our heads. I need a distraction. Please?”
A frustrated sigh escapes my lips before I can stop myself. “I can’t,” I snap. “I have work to do here.” I can almost picture the tears welling in her eyes as Bailey falls silent at my clipped tone. I sigh again, this time in shame. “Look babe, I’m sorry. I have to stay late to fix a fuckup today, and I just want get this whole job behind us.”
“So you’ll go?” she asks in a voice laced with hope.
“Sure,” I say through gritted teeth. I can’t deny her, not after I was so gruff with her. It might be a good thing to get out of town for a bit, to get away from this house. But then why did the thought of leaving make me feel sick to my stomach? “I’ll book us a room,” I assure her. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replies before ending the call.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and pick up the saw I’ll use to cut into the sheetrock. Around me, the house settles against the storm. Sheets of rain tear down from the skies, pummeling the roof in a way that sounds almost like footsteps.
As lightning flashes, I hear another sound struggling for dominance against the roiling of the storm. For a moment I think it’s somebody talking, but then I realize it’s singing.
Folks, I’m goin’ down to St. James Infirmary…
I strain to hear the next line, but it’s lost in a peal of thunder.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I put the saw down on the table and head toward the sound.
She’ll never find another sweet man like me….
I track it through a few rooms, but the melody seems just out of reach. Finally, I find myself at the back door of the house, squinting through the portal into the back yard. The grass here was singed in the fire and never bounced back, but the marsh remained untouched.
“Who’s there?” I call into the darkness, but the rain sweeps my voice away.
When I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches…
Bailey mentioned that she thought somebody might be living in the swamp. Could she be right? Even as I struggle to see through the rain and the fading light, I swear I can see a figure standing among the graves of the sinking cemetery.
“Hey!” I shout. “You’re trespassing!”
The figure doesn’t move.
Anger surges through me. Whoever, or whatever, this is, this thing has been terrorizing my girl, my crew, and me. A wave of adrenaline propels me forward, and I rush out into the rain.
I’m across the dead lawn in seconds, and before I realize it, I’m knee deep in the thick soup of the swamp. Rancid water oozes into my work boots as I drag myself through the muck toward the gravestones.
The figure waits, watching me struggle against the sludge. It feels like an eternity passes before I finally make it to the edge of the cemetery. I’m out of breath and covered in mud, but I’m ready to swing at whoever this is. I’m close enough that I can tell it’s a man, but it's too dark and rainy to see much more than that.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand, my voice barely audible over the storm.
The figure cocks his head but doesn’t reply.
I storm over to him and reach out to grab his arm, but as soon as my hand makes contact with what should be solid flesh, the figure dissolves in my grasp in a torrent of putrid mud. The ooze splashes down around me with a sickening slurp.
For a moment, I stand there in pure shock.
Then the fear kicks in, and before I can even make a conscious decision, my feet are carrying me back the way I came. In a daze, I clear the marsh and stumble across the lawn toward the back door.
“What the fuck? What the fuck?” I chant as I fling myself inside the structure. “What the fuck was that?”
I don’t stop until I reach the kitchen and the safety of the work lights. Gasping for breath, I collapse against the doorframe.
I think for a moment that I’m okay now. Everything in here is familiar, just how I left it.
But then dread floods through me once again as I scan the room. My eyes catch on the far wall, which should be covered in fresh sheetrock.
The section over the misplaced studs is destroyed. It’s just a mess of jagged edges and dusty fragments now. It’s as though something had been enraged and clawed into it.
Or maybe something clawed its way out.
Either way, I’m not going to stay to find out.