A Haunting

Vanessa Sgroi

Knock

Dave Starsky rolled over and groaned.

Knock

What the hell?

He rolled over and looked blearily at the alarm clock next to his bed. The glowing hands showed that it was 11:58 p.m.

Man, who is knocking on my door at midnight ?

Knock

With a growl, Starsky kicked back the dark green sheet and blanket and rolled out of bed. He pulled on the pair of jeans he'd left draped over the chair in the corner but didn't bother buttoning or zipping them.

Knock

“All right already,” he yelled, “I'm coming!”

The dark-haired man shuffled through the apartment in the dark. At the door, he undid the safety chain and pulled the door open.

“Wha—”

There was no one standing on the other side.

Stepping into the hallway, Dave looked from side-to-side but saw no one.

Great—a practical joker at midnight . Just as the thought crossed his mind he remembered that it was Halloween.

Ah, now I get it. A Halloween prank. Lucky me.

Grumbling under his breath, Starsky re-entered his apartment and, after re-locking the door, he padded back to the bedroom. Ditching his jeans, he tumbled back into bed. Sleep claimed him quickly.

Knock

Coming awake once again, Starsky jumped out of bed.

Ah, man, not again.

This time he was quicker getting to the door in the hopes of catching the pranksters in action. But again, the hallway was empty when he opened the door.

“I'm a cop,” he yelled, “Next time I bring my gun!”

He stopped short of slamming the door and went back to bed.

<O><O>

Starsky. Star-skyyyyy.

Daaaaaavid.

This time it was the whispering of his name that pulled him from sleep. He lay quietly for a few seconds, certain it was all a figment of his imagination.

Daaavid Star-skyyy.

Starsky realized that he really was hearing the whispering, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. He rolled over and switched on the lamp sitting on the nightstand next to his bed, suffusing the room in a soft citrine glow.

The frantic whispering stopped.

After a few tense minutes, Dave turned out the light, rolled over, and got comfortable. But before he could even close his eyes, the agitated susurration began again. Only now it was louder.

Dave felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

Turning on the light, he reached for the phone.

“ ‘lo?” a sleepy voice responded after a few rings.

“Hutch, it's me.”

“Starsky,” Ken Hutchinson paused to yawn, “it's 12:20 in the morning! Whaddya want?”

“I know, I know. Listen, weird stuff is happening over here in my apartment.”

“Weird stuff? Like what?”

“Someone was knocking, but when I looked no one was there.”

“It's probably just some kids goofing off. You know—Halloween and all that.”

“I thought of that. But then there's the whispering.”

“Whispering?”

“Yeah, these really creepy voices whispering my name over and over again.”

“Starsk, you were probably just dreaming. What'd you eat before going to bed?”

“Uh . . . a fried bologna sandwich.”

“And what'd you have to drink with it—a beer?”

“No, actually I had a Yoo-hoo, but . . .”

“Well, there you go,” Hutch chuckled, “the combination brought on the crazy dream.”

Starsky looked around his perfectly normal looking bedroom and felt a little silly.

“Yeah, yeah—maybe you're right.”

“So shut off the lights and try to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, you too. G'night.”

Dave hung up the receiver and threw back the covers, intent on getting something to drink.

Searching through the refrigerator for something good to drink, Dave mentally rejected milk, orange juice, and beer before finally deciding on another chocolate Yoo-hoo. He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, draining half the bottle. Starsky sighed in satisfaction. Before he could raise the bottle to take another drink, the lights began to flicker.

Setting his drink down on the counter, Starsky walked to his spare bedroom to check the circuit breaker. Finding everything in perfect working order, he headed back toward the kitchen. To his relief, the flickering stopped. That relief was short-lived, however, when he reached for his drink and the bottle began to inch its way across the counter—all by itself.

I'm still dreaming. I must still be dreaming. I'll pinch myself and wake up still in bed.

“Ouch!” Starsky rubbed his arm where he'd pinched himself. To his dismay, he was still standing in his kitchen and the Yoo-hoo bottle was now zigzagging to and fro. Suddenly, the television in the living room turned on. Then off.

On.

Off.

On.

Off.

On.

Off.

On.

Starsky dived for the phone.

“ ‘lo?”

“Hutch! It's me. You gotta get over to my place.”

“Wha? Uhh, why?”

“More weird stuff's goin' down.”

“Starsk, I told you you were dreaming it, remember?”

“Hutch, I'm serious! Maybe somebody rigged my place or something. I dunno. Just get over here and help me look.”

“Starsky . . .”

“You owe me. Remember last week when I stayed late to file that report because you had a date?”

Fighting a yawn, Hutch muttered, “All right, fine. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

The white noise from the static-filled television suddenly became deafening.

“Hurry!”

<O><O>

When the knocking on the door came a short while later, Starsky opened the door slowly and sighed when he confirmed it was his partner.

Hutch looked at Starsky who stood gun in hand, clad only in his navy boxers. His dark, curly hair stuck out in every direction.

“Uh . . . do you always answer the door dressed only in your boxers?”

“Yeah, well,” Dave grumbled, “if this was happening in your apartment, you'd only be in your boxers too.”

“Starsk, that doesn't make any sense.”

“Nevermind—just get in here!” Dave grabbed his partner's arm and dragged him inside, then slammed the door.

Hutch winced. “Man, your neighbors are gonna love you.”

“Ha! Shows what you know. I'm the only one on the floor right now. 2A is vacant and the McGregor's in 2C across the hall are visiting the Grand Canyon for their anniversary.”

Ken looked around the apartment which appeared perfectly normal.

“So what's going on? Everything looks fine.”

“Give it a minute. I'm gonna go get dressed.”

“You're taking your gun with you?”

“Absolutely. My mama didn't raise no fools.”

Hutch grinned. “No, only Paul Muni types.”

While his partner was getting dressed in the other room, Hutch plunked down in the corner of the couch. He was tempted to close his eyes but didn't want to chance falling asleep.

Knock

Knock

“I'll get it,” he called.

Hutch heaved himself off the couch and stepped toward the door. As he did so, all the lights in the apartment repeatedly winked off and on, creating a disco-like feel. Marching forward, he flung the door open . . . and discovered an empty hallway just like his partner had said earlier.

Moments after he closed the door, the strobing lights stopped. Hutch turned around just in time to see Dave hurrying from the bedroom, pulling a red t-shirt on over his head.

“See! See what I mean!”

“Uh huh, I see. So what do you think is going on?”

“Well, either someone has rigged this place to drive me crazy or . . .”

“Or what? It's haunted? C'mon, partner, you know I don't believe in that kind of stuff.”

“I tell ya, Hutch. I didn't either—until about two hours ago.”

The sudden trumpeting blare of the radio sitting on the end table next to the couch interrupted their conversation. The sound issuing forth from the speaker, however, was not music. It was a guttural and rather menacing voice.

You will die.

Die. Die. Die.

Over the noise, Hutch yelled, “It's got to be a trick!” Grabbing the radio, he turned the knob left and right and shook it, but the voice continued.

You will die.

Hutch pulled the cord from the wall and still the voice threatened.

You will DIE.

Ken felt his first frisson of unease.

die diE DI—

The radio went silent mid-threat.

“Starsk, this has got to be a set up.”

Staring at the now-mute radio, the dark-haired man wasn't so sure but nodded anyway.

“Let's look around—maybe we'll find someth—”

Earsplitting ethereal screams filled the air.

They covered their ears and froze. A minute or two later, silence descended like a curtain.

Starsky looked at his partner and said, “Still think it's a set up?”

Hutch nodded but without much conviction. “Uh, yeah . . . listen, it could all be explained if someone wired this place for sound.”

The two men searched the living room from top to bottom but found no evidence to back up Hutch's theory. Deciding to split up and search the rest of the apartment, Dave indicated he'd search the kitchen and master bedroom, leaving his partner the bathroom and spare bedroom.

<O><O>

Starsky began his search in the kitchen. The cupboards yielded nothing but the expected food and dishes. Dropping to his knees, he was just preparing to look under the sink when he heard an oddish noise behind him. Turning, Dave felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Three decorative stone statues that normally stood in the corner were moving! Not just moving, they were walking! Slowly and ponderously, their stone legs thumped, bumped, and grated along the linoleum.

Yet, it wasn't until their agate eyes blinked and seemed to focus on him that he knew he'd had enough.

<O><O>

Meanwhile, Hutch was combing the bathroom for signs that someone human was tormenting his partner. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he closed his eyes and groaned in frustration. He slapped his hand against the wall and encountered something sticky and wet.

His eyes slammed open, and he stared at the wall in shock. A viscous red liquid oozed over the wall. In fact, it was oozing from the wall. From every wall. The red drops welled and ran in rivulets down the walls, rapidly pooling on the floor. Catching sight of the mirror to his left, Hutch watched wide-eyed as an unseen finger scrawled BOO! WE SEE YOU! across the shiny surface in the same red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood.

<O><O>

“HUTCH!”

“STARSKY!”

The alarmed shouts came simultaneously and both detectives sped into the living room.

Visibly shaken, Hutch announced, “That's it! I'm out of here!”

“You ain't the only one partner!” Dave strode hurriedly toward the door.

“Starsky, wait!”

“What? Why?”

“Don't you think you should put on some socks and shoes first?”

Dave looked down at his bare feet. Without a word, he disappeared into the bedroom. Moments later, he returned with socks and shoes in hand.

“C'mon, let's go.”

“Aren't you going to put them on?”

Looking around, Starsky muttered, “Yeah . . . in the car.” He pulled open the door and stepped into the hall.

“So what do you think—should we head to my place?”

“Nah, right now I'd rather go to the Tin Cup—that 24-Hour diner over on Rocket Street . I need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”

So intent were they on getting away, neither one heard the mirthful, and yet otherworldly, laughter that rang throughout the vacated apartment.

<O><O>

“Oh, Reginald, that was great fun!”

“Yes, my darling Meredyth, great fun indeed.” Reginald, a quite dapper-looking ghost echoed.

“Much better than spending Halloween over in 2A. It's ghastly boring to haunt vacant space.” Meredyth, an ever-graceful spirit, draped herself across a chair.

“Halloween certainly is all about haunting, isn't it my love? Our grandest day of the year.”

“Reggie, you did an outstanding job with that ‘blood' on the walls.”

“As did you, Meredyth. Making those stone statues walk! Brilliant! And your screaming was simply superb—as usual.”

“But, dearest, don't you think that the radio death message was a bit over the top?”

“Oh, that wasn't me, Meredyth my sweet. That was Mordecai from 2C. He is a malevolent chap, is he not?”

“I should have guessed, Reggie. That Mordecai is always trying to spoil our fun.”

“Yes, well, I forced him to return to 2C.”

“Do you think the occupant, this David Starsky, will come back?” fretted Meredyth.

“I should hope so. He is a police officer after all. Brave and all that, my dear. I doubt he'd let our fun scare him away.”

I do hope you're right. He's such a handsome and likeable gentleman, as is that blond friend of his. I would miss them terribly.”

“Meredyth, you always were a bit of a flirt. That hasn't changed.” The ghostly Reginald smiled.

“No, dear, that hasn't changed. Just remember, you're the only man . . . err . . . ghost with whom I really love to flirt.”

Hauntingly merry laughter filled apartment 2B .

“What say we return to our spectral dwelling in 2A, my beloved.”

“If we must.” Meredyth sighed. “You know, Reginald, I do have one regret about this night.”

“You do?”

“Decidedly so. I regret I'm not able to taste that drink Mr. Starsky is so fond of. You know—the one that's called . . . ‘Yoo-hoo'. It's just so very intriguing.”

He ruefully nodded his head. “Ah, ‘tis a bitter pill. Come along, my dear.”

The spirit couple slowly began to fade away and all grew quiet. At the last moment, before they disappeared completely, Starsky's unfinished bottle of Yoo-hoo rattled on the counter.

And then it too vanished.