Ficlets

Who ya gonna call?

I manage to coax Callie back inside. She perches herself on a chair in the lounge room, her backpack still on – in case she needs to make a hasty exit.

I do laps in front of the TV wracking my brain for what to say. C’mon Coop. Time to be the big man…

“I think we should call the police.” Callie chews a strawberry-blonde wad of hair. “And say what? My basement smells rancid and the house is making funny noises?”
“I don’t know!” Callie leaps to her feet. “We’ve got to do something! Let’s just go! You can stay somewhere for the night.” I shake my head.
“Mum and Joe trust me. I’m minding the twins… I can’t go and hang at Josh’s with two screaming babies…”
“Fine.”

We’re at an impasse. I know Callie wants to go. Or run screaming from the place might be more accurate… but I’ve got to stay. And then it hits me, like a strike of white-hot lightning.

“The journal,” I blurt it out loud.
“What?”
“Joe’s grandfather built this place, right? Joe said he kept a journal – it’s upstairs in the library!”

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