Meyer House
written by: Gabriella Balcom
Phineas rolled his eyes as the faint scratching sound slowly traveled from behind him to his right, growing louder as it moved. Then it went back in the direction from which it had come. “That’s lame,” he muttered, not bothering to turn around and look for the source. He glanced at his wristwatch, realized it was later than he’d thought, and frowned, quickly striding out of his room.
“The Meyer family moved from Pennsylvania to Texas in 1847,” the tour guide shared a few minutes later. “George Meyer was a wealthy merchant, and he and his wife, Portia, had two daughters, Karina and Tabitha. The Meyers built this home in 1848. The following year, sixteen-year-old Karina fell in love with the housekeeper’s son, Alistair. He was eighteen. They met in secret and wanted to get married, but Karina’s parents refused. They wouldn’t even consider it. They wanted her to marry someone from a higher socioeconomic class, so they planned a match between her and the son of a successful financier they knew.”
“Did Karina and Alistair run away together?” a woman to Phineas’ right asked. A dreamy expression crossed her face. “Oh, I hope so. I love happy endings.”
“According to lore, that’s exactly what they’d planned to do,” the man replied. “But Karina’s parents found out and were determined to prevent it from happening. Her father locked her in her room and nailed slats of wood over the outside of her window, so she couldn’t get out that way either. He fired Alistair’s mother and kicked her and her son out of the house. They were escorted out of town by a constable, who threatened them with incarceration if they ever returned. When Karina learned her beloved was gone, she hung herself in her bedroom.”
“That’s the one we’re staying in, isn’t it?” another woman asked, voice squeaking. She bit her lip while waiting for a reply.
“Yes, it is,” the guide confirmed.
The woman’s husband told the other guests, “We asked which rooms were the most haunted when we called to make reservations. That’s why we chose that specific one.”
“Throughout the years, Karina has been heard wailing and pounding on the door, calling for Alistair, and begging her parents to let her out,” the guide continued. “Some visitors have reported seeing her going up and down the stairs and hallways. Others have seen her body hanging from the light fixture in the room. A few have witnessed her arguing with an older man, possibly her father. It’s believed that…”
Several in the group voiced sympathy or understanding, and expressed how they, too, hoped to see and hear the ghost.
“Well, you’re in luck,” the guide assured them. “You picked the perfect time to visit.”
“Because this is the day before Halloween?” a woman asked.
“Yes. We never know exactly when Katrina will be seen. Sometimes it’s one day after another. Other times, she doesn’t show up for weeks. But she always appears on Halloween.”
Phineas almost scoffed but clamped his lips together, stopping himself in time. It wouldn’t do to give away the reason for his presence; people would find out soon enough.
“Shh. I want to hear this,” he told a loud talker after the guide started his spiel again.
According to him, a little girl had drowned in a tub in one room and an entire family had been murdered in a second. One man whose stock crashed had climbed onto the room of the house and leaped to his death, while another had drowned in the nearby pond.
The stories were interesting, and based on actual events according to the research Phineas had done before coming to investigate. But he was certain the “haunted” parts were nothing but sheer drivel — exaggerations and lies spread for one reason alone: to ramp up the Meyer House’s reputation as one of the most haunted places in Texas.
Once the tour ended, he had a quick lunch before returning to his room, where he planned to take a short nap before doing a bit of exploration. He pulled off a shoe, but flinched when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Glancing that direction, he grimaced as a roach scurried from underneath the dresser, making its way across the room. Phineas jumped up, stomped on the floor, and the thing vanished. Eyebrows raised, he wondered if he’d imagined the bug, but reasoned it must’ve skittered into a gap between the floorboards.
Warm air blew on the back of Phineas’ neck and he whirled around. Seeing no vent or opening behind him, he examined both the wall and floor, found no hole of any kind, and narrowed his eyes.
A blast of air, icy-cold this time, hit the side of his face. He blinked rapidly as more blew into his eyes. Something cool touched his arm, even though nothing was there.
“Not bad,” he murmured grudgingly. “It seems you have a few decent tricks up your sleeves, but I’ll work out how you do them and expose the scam.” All thoughts of napping gone, he jotted down notes about what he’d just experienced, along with possible explanations for how each thing had been staged.
Distant screams brought him surging to his feet. Fuzzy-headed, he opened his eyes as wide as he could, but had trouble keeping them open. It dawned on him he must’ve dozed off. He shook his head to help clear the cobwebs from his mind, and charged out the door and down the hall, almost bumping into the woman who’d rented Karina’s room. Her face was flushed, chest heaving as she babbled incoherently. Her husband hurried down the hall toward them, expression reflecting he had no idea what was going on.
Once she calmed down enough to form proper words, she was able to reveal what had sent her into such a panic. “I took a bath,” she shared. “When I came out, she was standing at the door with her back to me — Karina, I mean. She was crying and crying like her heart was broken. I said, ‘I’m so sorry, you poor dear,’ and she turned around like she heard me. But then she changed from a sweet, sad girl into a rotting corpse and came straight at me. I almost had a heart attack on the spot. I thought she was going to kill me or something.”
Phineas got the woman’s permission to look around her room, and concluded the images she’d seen had probably been projected from a vent up high on the wall. Since everyone was outside talking and not paying him any attention, he took the opportunity to stand on a chair, and used his pocketknife to remove the cover. But all he found was thick dust with no evidence of a projector or even that the vent had been disturbed in years.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, except for one of the couples reporting a strange chill in a corner of their room, despite the rest being warmer. Phineas went to his room around eleven and was asleep by midnight.
***
Chest growing tighter by the second, Phineas struggled to breathe. Something was around his neck, cutting off his air supply. He clawed at what felt like a cord or rope, tried to loosen the thing, but it merely tightened more. He wasn’t in bed anymore, but dangled from the ceiling fan above it, spinning round and round.
“How could you leave me, Alistair?” a female voice whispered, ragged with anguish and tears.
Phineas opened his eyes and sat up, gasping for air. He looked around wildly and it took a few moments before he realized he was in bed. Although he knew he’d been dreaming, it took a while for his head to stop racing. The rope around his neck had felt so real, just as real as hanging and being unable to breathe.
Had the power of suggestion caused everything he’d experienced? Maybe there was a darker explanation. The room included meals in the cost and he theorized the food or his drinks could have been laced with a hallucinogenic drug. That would certainly explain everything. Being drugged plus the powerful stories he’d heard no doubt caused him to hallucinate about them.
“You may fool me once,” Phineas groused. “Maybe even twice. But no more. I’m not eating here at the house anymore.”
He waited until 2:45 AM, hoping everyone was asleep, before quietly leaving his room and heading for the basement. It was one of the few places the visitors had been told was off-limits; the staff had claimed the central heat and air system was having problems. He found the door locked. A sign on it proclaimed “KEEP OUT,” but he was able to pick the lock.
It didn’t take Phineas long to conclude he’d wasted his time. The basement was empty except for the heat and air system and a few boxes of towels, soaps, toilet paper, and other supplies. He found no sound equipment, cameras, projectors, or anything to prove the staff were behind the ‘paranormal’ experiences.
That left the attic.
Phineas gritted his teeth once he’d gotten there and looked around, however. Despite him finding electronics, they were just old TVs, a microwave, and a couple ancient fans — nothing even remotely like a sophisticated set-up to fool people into thinking the place was haunted.
Disgruntled, he slipped back to his room without making a sound. He gasped when he looked down and saw a spider on his chest, knocked it off, and stomped it into the floorboards. He glared at the pulverized body before sighing, shoulders drooping. His editor would stomp all over him if he returned without a story, or if he concluded the allegedly paranormal events were real.
An idea popped into his head and he perked up. If drugs were being added to visitors’ meals, maybe they’d be kept in the kitchen. And, he could sneak a look in the manager’s office; it might hold some type of records which could help him.
Phineas was surprised to find the office wasn’t locked. Scant files were in an old filing cabinet, and he leafed through them, but found nothing useful. His search of the kitchen was equally disappointing. He was unable to find any drugs anywhere.
Rubbing his forehead, he glanced around the kitchen, wondering if he’d missed something. His racked his brain. Could the innocent labels on the containers like salt and pepper conceal other ingredients? But when he sampled the ingredients, they were exactly what the labels claimed.
A scratching sound came from his left, similar to what he’d heard in his room the day he’d arrived. He perked up, smiling faintly. He crept toward the noise but took an involuntary step backward when it suddenly came from all directions at once. The scratching grew more frantic, a low growling accompanying it, and he retreated more and more, finally bumping into the wall.
Something shoved him violently from behind, almost making him lose his balance. He managed to stay on his feet and couldn’t keep from grinning. Now he understood what was going on. Some of the walls weren’t solid. Confident about his conclusion, he turned and examined the wall. But no matter how high or low he reached, he couldn’t find any joint lines, secret compartments, or soft places. The wall seemed to be completely solid and normal in every way.
Phineas felt like yelling; he was so infuriated he could’ve chewed nails. Miserable frauds. He didn’t know how they’d pulled their shenanigans, but he’d figure it out if it was the last thing he did.
“Lastlastlastlastlastlastlastlastlast,” voices around him whispered, but it didn’t dawn on him that they’d plucked the word from his mind.
“Shut up,” he retorted, certain there were microphones hidden here and there throughout the house. Had the staff discovered that he was employed by a newspaper? Even if they knew what he was doing there, it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t backing down. Not now, not ever. He’d come to debunk the alleged paranormal activities, and debunk them he would. If anything, he was more determined now than ever.
A man’s head materialized across the room but was gone without seconds, after which a doll appeared. It flew straight at Phineas. He raised his arms to cover his face, but the head passed by his shoulder. He lowered his hands as a woman in white stepped out of the wall beside him. Lips trembling, he tried to find his voice, but discovered he couldn’t make a sound. She took two steps toward him, her ghostly eyes wide with terror, and reached out to him, but sank into the floor.
Hands reached out of the walls, vanishing almost immediately. Two extended down from the ceiling, attached to impossibly long arms that stretched out toward him.
Phineas backed away but refused to run, certain he was on the verge of discovering something important. The Meyer House staff must’ve made tons of money by faking spooky events, and making the place appear haunted. They wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for any other reason. He was sure of it, and just needed to figure out how they were doing it.
Blood seeped from the fingers above him and trickled onto the floor. Impressed despite himself, Phineas snickered, and stooped to study what he was sure was another projected image. These special effects were wonderful, but fake, nonetheless.
However, when he touched the expanding red puddle, his fingers came away smeared in red. After taking a sniff, his breathing sped up. The substance smelled like coppery blood and his heart began beating faster. He took deep, slow breaths, but was still convinced it was all a set-up. He had to do something, but what? Then it came to him. Grabbing one of the dangling hands, he yanked. It resisted for a second or two before coming loose so abruptly he lost his balance. He landed on his bottom, the arm remaining in his hand.
He stood and turned it this way and that as he examined it. Amazingly, it felt as solid and real as his own but stunk like rotting flesh. Maggots oozed from the skin, wriggling onto him, and he couldn’t hold back a shriek. He dropped the arm and it vanished before it hit the floor.
Something he couldn’t see grabbed his left shoulder, and he had to fight to get loose.
Phineas couldn’t stay calm, despite his former determination to find the answers. Sheer terror welled up inside him and he panicked. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Fleeing the kitchen, he ran down the hall toward the front door as fast as he could, but hands shot out of the walls on either side of him. He managed to evade the first few, but more seized him by his left arm and shirt, dragging him to them. More and more grabbed at him and when he couldn’t get loose, he screamed for help, crying out and begging for someone — anyone — to save him. But the hands were relentless. Phineas was still screaming when they pulled him into a wall, and then everything went silent.
Voices rang out from all directions as the other guests and employees of Meyer House came out of their rooms to see what was going on. The manager looked as if he’d awakened from a dead sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning more than once. Some of his staff looked equally exhausted.
Moments later, Phineas stepped out of a wall a few feet behind them, his face expressionless. Nobody noticed, and he joined the crowd in the foyer.
“Who was yelling?” a male guest demanded loudly, his voice carrying above the panicked chatter.
“I don’t know,” the manager replied, eyes troubled as he glanced around them. “If everyone could please step outside, my staff and I will have a look around.”
“No way,” the man replied. “Whoever that was sounded like he was being murdered.”
“I think we should stick together,” a woman suggested.
“All right.” The manager shrugged. “We’ll look together. But let me do a quick head count first.” He did, but no one was missing. “Follow me,” he said afterward.
He, the staff, and the guests trooped from room to room, but found nothing amiss.
***
One week later
“His employer said he didn’t return to work,” Officer Bellamy stated. “And he was supposed to a few days ago.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Jon, the manager of Meyer House, said. “Phineas Wayne paid for a week, then left.” He retrieved the old ledger from the foyer and flipped through pages, then handed the book to Bellamy and pointed to an entry. “I keep electronic records, too, but this is a book I leave out for guests. They can list their names and addresses to be added to our mailing list, or write comments. The day Phineas checked out, he wrote this and dated it.”
Bellamy read the entry, which was complimentary, snapped a picture with his phone, and returned the ledger to Jon. “Did he mention plans to go somewhere else?”
“Not that I recall, but quite a few people come through here. You’re welcome to talk to my staff if you want. They might remember something I don’t.”
At the police station later, Officer Bellamy leaned back in his chair. “As far as I can tell, no one had any cause to hurt the man. His editor said he went to Meyer House to prove the hauntings were fake, but no one there knew that. Even if they did, he’d talked to his editor a couple times and hadn’t found anything to back up his suspicions about the place.”
“I’ve checked with the surrounding businesses,” his partner, Officer Yurtz replied. “Two of them have cameras and surveillance. I got one set of recordings and the other set will be delivered soon.”
“Well, let’s look at one you have.”
Four hours later
“Look.” Bellamy pointed at the screen. “There he is, leaving Meyer House.”
“You sure?” Yurtz asked. He rewound the tape, leaning in for a closer look. “Ah, I see him now. You’re right. He was facing the camera when he talked to the cab driver. This matches up with the other surveillance we watched.”
“But get a load of his eyes,” Bellamy commented, chuckling. “They look like they’re yellow and glowing.”
“That’s neat. A trick of the light, I think.”
“Well, his editor was wrong, thinking the Meyer House folks did away with him. We can see for ourselves he was healthy and leaving on his own accord.”
“I guess he made other plans without telling his boss. Maybe he couldn’t face that he didn’t find anything.”
Bellamy nodded. “We’ll check with the cab driver to see where he was dropped off, even though it’s a waste of time.”
“A total waste.” Yurtz snorted. “I’m sure he’s fine, wherever he is.”
The End
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