2015
"We heard a lot of noises on the first night," Taylor tells the crew behind the camera. "We heard them the entire time we lived there, but the first night was the worst. Even during the daytime, the dead man in the attic was pacing right above my room. He wasn't very nice."
"What'd he look like," Sidney asks, notebook in hand. Taylor wrinkles her nose as she pretends at trying to remember. Of course she remembers what the guy looks like, she still sees him in her dreams sometimes.
"Like one of those stuffy guys in that Pride and Prejudice movie my mommy liked. Sounded kinda like Mister Darcy too, except…" Taylor frowns and meets the man's stare head-on, curiosity burning in her eyes. "He wore a wig that looked like a messed-up ice cream cone." A surprised laugh has her looking up at her daddy, able to make out a shadow of what he used to look like when he was actually happy. "What?"
"Was it Mott, Princess," he questions with that faint smile that she never sees anymore. Taylor gives a curt nod of her head, happy to see her father's smile again. After an entire year, she's just glad she's seeing him out of his pajamas and out of court. "He was the original owner of the house I think, some fancy guy from England with money that would make the Royal family look broke."
"Whoever he is, he's grumpy and has bad hair." Nicolás muffles another laugh and hugs his daughter closer to him, smiling down at her fondly. "I told him he needed to leave us alone, that it wasn't his house no more, but he kept yelling for us to get out." And reading poetry, she remembers. He's like a chocolate truffle, hard on the outside and gooey on the inside.
"Yeah, Mott was an asshole of epic proportions."
2014
Taylor is the first one inside the house the next morning, her little backpack in her arms as she runs into the kitchen. It's bigger than the one she left behind and there are a lot of cabinets for her to hide in until Aunt Shel fills them with pans and bowls bigger than Taylor's head.
"Can we paint today," she asks when her uncle comes inside.
"Only if you go help Shelby with your stuffed animals, Tay." Matt sets his box of dishes down on the counter with a sigh, tapping the top once. Taylor knows what's in the box because her uncle taught her the words yesterday, going slow until she could read plates and bowls for herself.
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!" She gives him a salute before running back outside.
"Hey, no running inside, Taylor!" She slows down until she's just out of sight, looking over her shoulder to make sure her uncle can't see her before continuing her sprint back outside to the moving van they'd drove in from town. Shelby is busy organizing boxes in the U-Haul with the heaviest in the back and the lightest in the front.
"Uncle Matt said to come help." She clambers up into the van, barely able to make it since she doesn't have a step-stool.
"How about you take your box of stuffed animals up to your room," Aunt Shel suggests with a smile. She's real pretty, the exact match of Taylor's mommy except for the nose, Shelby's is pert and cute while Mommy's had been a little too small for her face. Taylor beams up at her aunt, taking the kid-sized box from her and jumping down onto the porch before skipping inside.
"I'm helping, Uncle Matt!"
"Good job, Tay," he calls from the kitchen. A loud crash sounds a second later, followed by Matt cursing and Taylor giggling. She starts up the stairs with the box carefully balanced in her arms, her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she focuses on not toppling backwards. The box is small, but it's full and heavy, and her legs are just short enough to make going up the stairs awkward.
Once on the second-floor landing she moves to the big door on her right, letting the box drop to the floor so she can turn the doorknob. Her hand barely touches the cold brass when she hears creaking overhead. Taylor tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling as the sound grows louder and heavier. It's like when her daddy would pace in his bedroom all night, the steps louder the sleepier he got. He did it a lot when Mommy was sick, trying to stay awake in case she needed his help.
She moves away from her bedroom door and towards the stairs that lead into the attic, muscle memory sending her to check on her parents before she stutter-stops and remembers where she is. This isn't California and her daddy isn't pacing upstairs, the attic should be empty right now.
"Hello," she calls, a hand on the railing. The pacing doesn't stop or even slow down, Taylor making her slow way up until she can peek into the room. It's empty, like she knows it should be, sunlight flooding the room and making all the shadows flee into the corners. She's just about to turn and go back downstairs when she gets the feeling, the one that makes her toes tingle and the hairs on her neck stand on end. "I know you're there."
"Leave," a voice hisses, distorted and accented. She's once more thinking of the pirates movie, this accent more like the Navy guy with the white wig and the sad green eyes. "Get out of my house!" Taylor frowns, resting her hands on her hips like she's seen her mommy do when Daddy does something really dumb.
"Hate to burst your bubble, Mister, but this isn't your house anymore."
"My house!"
"Knock it off!" She stamps her foot, glaring at the dark corner directly across from her. She can't see much beyond an outline, but she can see that he's tall and has funny hair. A wig, she thinks with a nod, like Pirates. "This is our house now and you need to behave." The man hisses again, but he disappears a moment later, the feeling going with him. Taylor allows herself to relax, taking one last look around the room to make sure it was empty before moving back down the stairs.
"There you are," Aunt Shel smiles. "What were you doing up there?"
"Showing someone who's in charge." She snorts, bumping Taylor's door open and disappearing inside with two boxes. Taylor follows her with her own box, depositing it on her bed. Uncle Matt had come out before the others had woke up so he could set up their beds without worrying about Taylor getting in the way.
"What do you mean?" Taylor pauses and looks at her aunt, remembering what her mommy had told her a few days ago. They don't understand, they don't see the dead things like I do. Mommy couldn't see them either, but she knew Taylor wasn't lying.
"I was playin'." Shelby gives a little shrug and starts putting clothes on hangers and hanging them up in the closet.
Taylor opens her own box and starts removing the stuffed animals, lying them on her bed in three piles; bunnies would go together, teddy bears in another pile, and fish in another. It doesn't take her long to have her animals sorted out, tossing the box off to the side before arranging them on the little bookcase set up against the wall near the door. She doesn't have very many books since she can't read yet, so the available shelves are always filled with her animals.
"That's looking really good, Tay."
"Thanks." She doesn't move away from the shelves until everything is organized the way it had been in her old house. There's more creaking overhead and the two share a look, Shelby gesturing for Taylor to come over to her. She doesn't hesitate, crossing the room so that she can wrap her arms around Shelby's waist.
"You know what? You stay here and finishing unboxing your clothes and I'll go check out those noises." It's the same noises Taylor had heard earlier and she knows the dead man is up there, pacing around in the dark places. Taylor tightens her hold on her aunt, unsure if the dead man will hurt her or not since Shelby doesn't know how to talk to him.
"Stay with me, please."
"Honey, I'm sure it's only a squirrel or something. Just stay here for me." Taylor tries to hang onto her, but her aunt is stronger and able to pry Taylor's arms from around her waist. "I'll be right back, I promise." Taylor watches with a frown as Shelby leaves the room, able to make out her light footsteps and the creaking of steps even with the louder footsteps overhead.
She waits in tense silence as both sets of footsteps completely stop, breath caught in her throat. She can feel the fear building in the pit of her stomach, curling like the smoke from the cigars her daddy liked to smoke with his friends. She feels like she's going to be sick, her palms growing sweaty as she grasps the doorframe of her closet, eyes on the door.
What if something's happened and Aunt Shel can't scream? What if the dead man is bad and wants to hurt everyone here? Slowly, she shuffles across the room to the bedroom door, peeking her head around just in time for Shelby to try to walk through, both of them jumping back with twin cries of fear.
"Taylor," Shelby gasps with a hand over her chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Did you see something up there," Taylor demands, looking beyond her aunt at the steps.
"No, I guess it was just the house settling. You know, these old houses make funky noises and it'll take us a while to get used to them."
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right."
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