Gina Ranalli - House of Fallen Trees

“I don’t know,” she replied, impressed with how steady her voice sounded as the house creaked and groaned around them. “But obviously it all has something to do with the Captain who built this place.”

Saul smiled weakly again. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that. But what does it have to do with Sean? And even more importantly, what does it have to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. “What makes you think it has anything to do with me?”

“Because the house wasn’t like this until you got here. That’s what Rory was trying to say in his not-so-elegant way.”

Karen folded her arms over her chest.

When he realized she wasn’t going to reply, Saul asked, “You’ve been having hallucinations, haven’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about what happened in the basement? Because that wasn’t a hallucination.”

“Yes, it was, Karen. You know it was. Rory and I went down there, remember? No caskets, no coffins, no candles. Just a bunch of junk.”

“Junk and fleas,” she corrected.

He pointed a brown finger at her. “Exactly. The fleas.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently.

“You hallucinated coffins, I hallucinated flea bites. Or something. I’m not totally sure what that itching attack was about, but I think it had something to do with the fleas.”

Karen was getting tired of standing and walked slowly to the lounger to sit down. “You’re saying you think the allergic reaction was just in your mind?”

“Yes. Like the coffins were in yours.”

She didn’t bother to argue with him about it anymore. “So, what’s your point?”

He leaned forward on the couch, his face suddenly animated. “You’ve had other hallucinations.”

Knowing he must have heard the commotion in her room just before she’d come downstairs, she did her best to keep her expression blank. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I’ve had others too.”

Skeptically, she asked, “What kind of hallucinations?”

Saul’s face darkened slightly, and Karen was unsure what that meant. Was he embarrassed?

Shifting on the sofa, he clasped his hands together, rested his elbows on his thighs. “First, let me ask you a question,” he said.

She waited while Saul seemed to grow even more uncomfortable. At last he said, “Forget the question. I’ll just tell you what I know.” After clearing his throat, he said, “You and I have made love every night since we got here.”

Blinking, Karen was certain she must have heard him incorrectly. Perhaps the alcohol was affecting her more than she’d assumed.

“Excuse me?”

Saul’s smile was sheepish as he shook a finger at her. “Now, see, I knew you were going to react this way.”

“I’m reacting this way because you’re full of shit.”

“No,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m not. That’s my point. You and I go at it like fucking rabbits every night, but then the next day, I see you and you act like it never happened.”

“That’s because it didn’t happen,” she said, feeling angrier than she wanted to.

“To you it never happened,” he said. “It didn’t take me long to figure that out. No woman could be so casual and distant about it the morning after, if you know what I mean.”

She tried not to think about the egotism in that statement and said, “So, you’re saying the house made you think you were fucking me?”

Smiling again, he said, “Well, I thought it was a little more romantic than that but essentially, yes.”

She sat back in the lounger, unsure of how she should feel right now. Violated? Flattered? And then there was the very real possibility he was just making all this up, fucking with her for whatever twisted reason he may have. Maybe to get a confession out of her. Could he possibly think she was really behind all these odd events?

Of course, she thought. Just listen to the house right now. How could anyone be pulling this kind of hoax? Hidden speakers?

She supposed it was possible. Maybe he was the one perpetrating the hoax and accusing her to get the attention off himself?

Fuck! She was so confused. All around her, the house groaned like an old pirate ship sailing some vast black sea and here she was trying to figure out if she was being accused of something. Now that she was really thinking about it, she knew she had bigger things to worry about.

This was no hoax and if what Saul was saying was true, then she no longer had to worry about her sanity. Right?

Right ?

The rasping of water against wood grew louder and both she and Saul looked around. When the sound subsided a moment later, he said, “I need me grog.” He walked off, heading towards the kitchen and was already out of sight before Karen even got the joke. Once she did, she jumped up and went after him, finding him pulling a beer out of the fridge. “Want one?” he asked without turning around.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was thinking the Jack Daniels wasn’t agreeing with me.”

He chuckled, closing the refrigerator door with his hip while twisting the cap off the brown bottle. “A little seasick, were ya? Maybe you puked over the edge—” He stopped speaking abruptly, all the color draining from his face. “Oh my God.”

Karen frowned. “What?”

Saul practically threw the beer onto the counter top and hurried over to the back door. With his hand on the knob, he turned to look at her. “Why didn’t we think of this before?”

“What?” she repeated. And then she knew. Her jaw dropped. “Don’t open the door!” she cried, rushing over to him.

“We have to know,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, we don’t. And even if…if it’s true, it’ll just be another hallucination.”

“ I have to know.”

Karen grabbed his arm. “Please don’t, Saul. I don’t think I could stand it. Not after everything else that’s happened tonight.”

“What else?” he asked, facing her full-on.

She hesitated. “I’ll tell you if you don’t open that door. Not yet.” She could see him debating as his eyes studied hers.

Finally, his hand came off the doorknob and he said, “I guess I am pretty thirsty for that beer and I have a feeling that if I look out there, I probably won’t be in the mood to do any drinking.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe I’ll join you after all.”

They sat down at the table, each with a cold Miller Lite. Karen drank the first one fast, begging the powers that be to help dull her senses as fast as possible. She didn’t want to know what was outside, nor did she want to see Saul’s face when she told him about the old man upstairs and the mini-movie the laptop had showed her.

She told the story quickly, not looking up, pulling the soggy label off the beer with her thumbnail. By the time she was finished, the house seemed to have ceased its groaning and Saul evidently had forgotten his need to see what was beyond these walls.

He surprised her by saying, “We have to get out of here. Tomorrow. Hike back down to the truck and get the fuck out of here. Hell, I doubt I’ll ever come near this place again. Fallen Trees can kiss my ass goodbye forever.”

Karen killed the beer remaining in her bottle. “What about Rory?”

“We’ll have to get him to come with us.”

“Well, yeah, but where is he now?”

Saul shrugged. “Sleeping I guess.”

“He didn’t hear the house having its little identity crisis? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“He takes Trazodone.” Saul sipped his beer. “Helps him sleep since…uh, since Sean vanished.”