The Empty Houses

By John Paulits

Dougie’s best friend Curly dies in an accident. Yet, Dougie keeps hearing Curly’s voice coming from the strangest places. When Dougie’s mom sees him talking to... nothing, she gets very worried. When Curly’s voice tells Dougie it wasn’t an accident that sent him off the second floor porch, Dougie promises to do what he can to bring the two men responsible to Justice—if only Curly’s twin sister didn’t have to be involved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jul 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781619503403

Book preview

Contents

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 5

Chapter 10

Chapter 15

Chapter 21

About the Author

The Empty Houses

by

John Paulits

All rights reserved

Copyright © May 27, 2019, John Paulits

Cover Art Copyright © 2019, Charlotte Holley

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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ISBN: 978-1-61950-340-3

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: July 15, 2019

Dedication

Charlotte and Denise, gypsies at heart

Chapter One

Dougie Logan knew it was absolutely the worst thing that had ever happened to him. And it didn’t even happen to him. It happened to his best friend Greg Curly. Curly died. Things like that shouldn’t happen when you’re eleven years old. But accidents occur when we least expect them, Dougie’s mother told him, and Curly’s accident was an awful one, playing somewhere he shouldn’t have been playing, in some old, empty houses scheduled to be torn down so new houses could be built. Dougie planned to meet Curly there after school on Friday, but his mother had sent him to the store—the farthest one from his house, of course, for corn oil! She couldn’t cook the dinner without corn oil, she said, so Dougie had no choice but to go buy it.

When Dougie finally reached the empty houses, police were everywhere. They said Curly must have fallen from a porch two stories up and hit his head on the cement of the driveway. Dougie wondered why Curly didn’t wait for him before going exploring like they always did. He couldn’t understand it. It made no sense. How could somebody he played with every day just go and die? Old people died, not young people, and now there would be a funeral.

Dougie’s mother asked him whether he wanted to go to the funeral or stay home. He had never seen a dead person before, so he didn’t know what it would be like. He didn’t think he’d like it very much, but it didn’t seem right to stay home. So, on a warm Thursday night after dinner, Dougie’s mother took his blue suit out of the closet. Wear this, she ordered, something he hated to do. He felt like such a dweeb in a tie and black shoes, his hair combed like on photo day in school, but his mother said it had to be.

Dougie sat in the backseat of his father’s car, and when the Quinn Funeral Home appeared, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. People parked, climbed out of their cars, and shook hands with other people. As his mother promised, they were dressed up. His father parked, and Dougie accompanied his parents up the graceful curve of stone steps leading into the funeral parlor. He stepped inside, amazed and frightened at how quietly the crowd of people in the vestibule acted. They stood around whispering, as if something terrible had happened. The image slapped Dougie hard. Something terrible had happened.

His parents paused in the vestibule for a moment before his mother took his hand and led him into a big room filled with rows of folding chairs, its walls covered with gigantic arrays of flowers. In the front of the room lay a long brown metal coffin, and there in the coffin—Curly. Suddenly, it seemed to Dougie as if somebody had put his mother’s big glass cake dish cover over him and shut out the rest of the world. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t smell. The crowd of people went unnoticed. He felt alone and very small. His legs didn’t work. His heart banged hard inside of him. His mouth felt like a hot and dry desert. Dougie tried to turn away, but couldn’t. Curly wore a suit, too, and had his hair combed in a way Dougie had never seen before. Otherwise, Curly looked okay. How could he be dead? Why didn’t he just get up out of there?

His mother tugged at his hand, and they moved into a line of people going up to Curly’s mom and dad and twin sister Gwen. Dougie panicked. Would he have to say something? His parents shook hands with Curly’s father, and he stared silently into Gwen’s frightened, empty eyes. To the left, his mother hugged Curly’s mother. When it came his turn to step in front of Mrs. Curly, she started crying and pulled him into a tight hug. His mother cried as he followed his parents to the coffin and knelt down with them on the cushioned kneeler. He stared at Curly, lying one foot away from him. Get up, Curly. Don’t be so stupid. What are you doing? This isn’t funny anymore. Get up! Get up! His parents rose and Dougie did, too. He took a seat on a wooden folding chair next to his father.

All at once his nose began to work. What a smell! Flowers. The smothery scent of flowers filled the room and people’s voices reached his ears again. The people ignored Curly and chatted like they’d just met in a supermarket aisle or something. How could they, with Curly lying there?

Dougie’s mind screamed again. Curly, cut it out. You look okay. Open your eyes. Get up. Stop it. Suddenly, a pain rose in his throat. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn’t look at Curly, the pain in his throat would go away. It didn’t. Two big tears rolled down his cheeks, and his father’s arm settled across his shoulders. Dougie kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see anything.

After a while his father leaned over to him and whispered, We can go now. You did very well, Doug.

Dougie opened his eyes and checked Curly one last time to see whether he had moved or opened his eyes—anything to put a stop to this horrible time in this terrible room. He hadn’t. Dougie followed quietly behind his parents, and his father led them to the car.

Back at home his mother said, That couldn’t have been easy for you, Dougie. How are you feeling?

I’m okay, said Dougie. He went upstairs to his room and undressed. He knew he’d never wear his blue suit again without thinking of Curly lying there so still. The pain in his throat had moved into his chest. It hurt a lot, like he’d swallowed a baseball. The pain made him breathe quickly. He knew what came next. He could feel it. He closed his bedroom door and threw himself on the bed. He pushed his face into his pillow and cried.

Chapter Two

When he recovered and washed his face, Dougie put on his old clothes and went downstairs and heard his parents talking in the kitchen. When his mother mentioned Curly’s name, he chose to avoid the kitchen and turn on the TV. He watched cartoons until his father stepped into the living room.

How’re you feeling?

Dougie shrugged and avoided his father’s look.

It’ll be easier when you get back into a routine tomorrow—school and stuff.

Dougie wanted to point out that his routine included Curly nearly every day, but his mother’s voice interrupted.

Hungry, Dougie? You didn’t eat much dinner.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone or even being with anyone.

No, I’m going up, he said, walking toward the stairs. When he reached his room, he noticed something on the top of his bureau. Curly’s library card. He and