Julia
I swear there’s somebody watching me.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle to life as a deep sense of unease slinks across my skin. It’s not a new feeling, not here in this huge house on the edge of the swamp, but it still hits me hard every time, drawing the air from my lungs and sending hot fear careening through my veins.
But when I whip around to glance at the doorway of the bedroom, there’s nobody there.
There never is.
“Julia?” My best friend’s voice filters through my phone’s speakers, grounding me back in reality. “Are you still there?” Nina asks, concern leaking into her normally peppy tone.
“Mhm,” I hum, my eyes still fixed on the empty threshold.
“You sound so distracted,” Nina continues. “I thought you said you were bored out of your mind?”
“Oh, I am,” I confirm. “There’s nothing at all to do in Hahnville, unless you like quilting blankets for alligators or whatever it is the women do out here.”
Nina tries and fails to hold back a snort. “So it’s safe to say you haven’t made any new friends? At least you have Jake all to yourself out there. That must be quite the change from New York.”
Any eeriness I felt earlier is overtaken by exasperation as soon as she mention’s my husband’s name. “It would be great, if he was actually home for more than a day or two at a time.”
Nina pauses for a moment before she responds. All of her teasing cheerfulness is gone when she probes, “Jules, you don’t think he’s… you know, seeing somebody again?”
My gaze flickers to the ensuite bathroom door. Jake had gone in there a few minutes before, saying he had to take a shower before leaving for yet another business trip. The burble of running water filters out into the bedroom, but I don’t trust it to mask the sound of our conversation entirely.
Not wanting to risk it, I creep out of the bedroom and into the hallway. “Don’t even start this again, Nina,” I warn in a low voice.
“He’s gone all the time,” Nina points out. “And from what you describe, your sex life is about as exciting as waiting in line at the DMV.”
I head down the stairs toward the kitchen as I argue, “Yes, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s cheating. He just works hard. Jake sunk a ton of money into this house, and it had to come from somewhere. Besides, you wouldn’t believe how much they’re charging us to remove that ghastly cemetery from the swamp.”
As I hoped, Nina latches on to this new piece of information. “Finally!” she exclaims. “Those pictures you sent made it look like you were living in Dracula’s fucking castle. Good riddance!”
I emerge into the kitchen and make a beeline for the fancy espresso machine on the counter. I had it imported straight from Italy and never once regretted the hassle of getting it through customs. Prepping the grounds, I reply, “Honestly, it’s so creepy. Just the thought of all of those bodies rotting away in practically my backyard, it makes my skin crawl.”
“I mean, who would actually want to be buried out there?”
“The people from the historical society said it’s an ancestral graveyard,” I explain. “I guess that before us, the property was owned by a single family. Whenever they died, they’d just bury them in the swamp.”
“Gross,” Nina replies. “That feels like a perfect way to be haunted by your great-great-grandma forever.”
Whatever presence I’ve been feeling out here, something tells me it’s not somebody’s elderly grandparent. But I’m certainly not going to tell Nina about the weird stuff that’s been going on in the house since we moved in. While she is my best friend, she’s not exactly known for her discretion. If I said something to her about it now, half of our social circle would think that I’m hysterical over some spooky graveyard by this time tomorrow.
And that’s why I feel the need to reply sternly, “Nina, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
I can practically hear her roll her eyes over the phone as I gather up my freshly brewed latte and start toward the living room. “Haunted or not, it’s still fucking weird,” she insists, and I can’t help but agree with her.
Just as I step out into the hallway and open my mouth to reply, a colossal bang echoes through the kitchen behind me. A startled cry stutters in my throat as I jump at the sudden sound. Hot coffee sloshes over the side of the mug I’m holding, splattering onto the pristine hardwood floor.
“What the fuck was that?” Nina asks sharply. “Jules? Jules, are you okay?”
Am I?
I turn around to face the kitchen doorway and decide that I am definitely not okay.
Seconds before, the room had been neat and tidy, everything in order.
But now, every single cabinet door is standing open, swaying slightly on their hinges as though rocked by some spectral breeze.
“I… I’m fine,” I choke out, unable to tear my gaze from the unexplainable scene as adrenaline hurtles through my veins.
“What the hell happened?”
“Something fell,” I lie, eyeing the cabinets with a mix of fear and suspicion. “And I spilled my coffee. I’ve got to go and get this cleaned up.”
I can tell that Nina doesn’t quite buy my story, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, we exchange our goodbyes and end the call. Placing my phone and the half empty mug on the kitchen counter, I run my hand over the cabinet doors, swinging them shut until the last one closes with a gentle click. I glare at them for a moment, daring them to open again, but they remain innocently motionless under my watchful stare.
Finally, when my eyes start to water, and I begin to feel stupid at letting a breeze and some cabinets rattle me so badly, I turn away. Gathering up a fistful of paper towels, I turn my attention to the spill.
Coffee pools on the hardwood, flowing between the cracks in muddy little rivers. It’s a tragic scene. I drop the paper towels on top of the liquid and use the sole of my designer heel to push it around. I’m just bending down to retrieve the sodden paper when Jake appears at the other end of the hallway.
“Great view, honey,” he grins. “What are you doing?”
“I spilled something,” I explain, unable to keep the fear from seeping into my voice. “I made myself a cup of coffee, but when I went to leave the room, all of the cabinets flew open. Isn’t that weird?”
Jake laughs and shakes his head, dismissing my unease. “Julia, we’ve talked about this. This is a new house, and it’s built on soft ground. Everything is just settling.”
“It’s creepy,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I hate it here, Jake. I really do. Stuff like this happens all the time, and I always feel like I’m being watched, like something doesn’t want me here.”
Jake sighs dramatically, as though I’m making a huge deal out of nothing. “It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, Julia. You’re lonely and bored, and your brain is messing with you.”
“I’m only lonely and bored because you’re never here,” I shoot back.
“Honey, you know I’d rather be here with you,” he soothes, trying to reassure me. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “But I’m so close to closing on this huge deal, and I’m meeting with investors this week to get this thing off the ground. Once I get it in the bag, I’ll be all yours.”
He guides me toward the front door, where his duffel bag and briefcase are waiting. Once he releases me in favor of his luggage, I follow him as he opens the door and steps out into the sweltering summer heat.
As the afternoon humidity chases away the coolness of the house’s air conditioning from my skin, I’m reminded of yet another reason why I despise living here. It’s practically tropical. The heat curls around the trunks of the cypress trees that line the shaded drive in a greenish haze. The sky is heavy with purplish, brooding clouds that look ready to burst. I really hope it doesn’t storm tonight, not when I’m home alone.
One of Jake’s bright red sports cars is parked outside behind the contractor’s trucks, pitting the vehicles in stark contrast. I watch as my husband tosses his bags into the back seat before he returns to where I linger on the doorstop.
“You’ll be fine, Julia,” he assures me. “I’ll only be gone for a little while.”
“I know,” I sigh. As much as he gets on my nerves sometimes, I really don’t want Jake to leave me here, but there isn’t much I can do about that.
“Bye, honey.” He leans in, and my heart thunders as I expect him to catch my lips in a heated kiss, but he simply presses his mouth chastely against mine before pulling away.
Disappointment wells in my chest as Jake retreats to the car, opens the driver’s side door, and slips behind the wheel. Seconds later, he’s revving down the driveway, and then he’s gone.
Solitude settles over me as I stand in the doorway. I’m about to go back inside when voices drift over from the side of the house, growing closer. Two men appear, carrying a mossy, gray chunk of stone between them. As they approach, I realize with heightening apprehension that it’s a grav marker..
“Howdy, ma’am,” one worker greets me as he catches sight of me standing there.
“Hi,” I offer back. “Any problems out there?”
“No, Mrs. Carter,” the second guy replies. “We’ve just got another stone up. Want to take a look?”
I don’t particularly want to, but morbid curiosity compels me to nod. The men tilt the stone so that I can see the inscription. The whole thing is overrun by lichen and the edges of the letters are softened by time, but I can decipher enough of the date to realize that whoever this grave belonged to had only been alive for six years.
“A child?” I gasp. I don’t know why I should be so surprised. It used to be common for kids to die young from things like fevers or consumption. But when a second set of men round the corner of the house with a decaying wooden box held between them, a second wave of shock hits me. The coffin, for that’s what it surely is, is so small.
“You never get used to it,” the first of the contractors calls from where he and his colleague are loading the gravestone onto the bed of the nearest truck.
“Do you do this a lot? Moving graves, I mean,” I ask, grateful to drag my attention away from the tiny coffin.
“It ain’t our first rodeo, ma’am,” he explains. “There’s all sorts of protocols to follow, so there are only a few companies that’ll do it. But we’re making good progress here. Look, here’s the first stone we pulled up today.”
He and his partner hold up another grave marker, this one flat and not nearly as faded.
“Hezekiah James,” I read.
And as I say the name out loud, I’m once again sure that I can feel eyes on me.
Only this time, I don’t turn around to look.
*Note: I'm aware that I've been using Jack/Jake interchangeably. Since it was originally Jake, I'll be using that from now on. Thank you!