Haunted Hair Nights Read online

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  Haunted Hair Nights

  Published by Orange Grove Press at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2016 by Nancy J. Cohen

  Cover Design by Boulevard Photografica

  Digital Layout by www.formatting4U.com

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  Chapter One

  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into helping your class plan a haunted house for Halloween,” Marla said, her gaze focused on the road. Dense trees lined the pothole-riddled street as she drove down a narrow two-lane drive barely lit by sparse streetlamps. Twilight had descended, and she didn’t relish returning this way in the dark. Who would live in this remote location west of Fort Lauderdale and nearly at the Everglades?

  Brianna glanced at her with an eager expression. “You’ll enjoy tonight, Marla. I’m counting on you to fix the mannequins’ hair so they look scary.”

  The high schooler had forsaken her usual ponytail to wear her dark brown hair in soft curls. Marla wondered if she were trying to impress someone in particular. Brianna hadn’t mentioned any boys to her and Dalton, but Marla had overheard her in conversation with friends. The name Andy popped up often.

  Dalton hadn’t noticed, thank goodness. Her husband had enough trouble accepting his fifteen-year-old daughter nearing college age. Worrying about the young men she might be attracting would send him into the stratosphere.

  “I’ll do my best,” Marla replied. “But as much as I like to experiment on the mannequin heads in my salon, I’m not sure how I can contribute to your class project.”

  “Any help will be appreciated.”

  Marla heard the petulant note in her stepdaughter’s voice. She’d been a reluctant volunteer. Parenting didn’t come naturally to her, and since marrying Dalton, she hadn’t rushed into school-related activities like other moms. Coming tonight was a big concession on her part, but she’d wanted to please her new family.

  And it was a good thing she had come, considering this place’s isolated location. “Who picked this site? Do you really think the parents from your school would drive their kids all the way out here?”

  “Mr. Ripari offered it to us. Although he’s never lived there, the house has been in his family since the 1940s.”

  “He’s your history teacher, right?”

  Brianna nodded. “This location is creepy. It’ll be perfect.”

  Oh, yeah, maybe if you’re in a slasher movie. Marla didn’t have a good feeling about their adventure. She wondered why Dalton, a homicide detective, had given his approval.

  A number of other cars were parked in a trampled grass lot to the side of the house. Bright lights beckoned to them from inside the two-story residence as Marla pulled into a vacant space. She shut down the ignition and waited for the headlights to switch off.

  As she emerged into the warm October air, she wondered if they’d get the promised cold front in time for Halloween. She stepped carefully toward the sprawling house, not wishing to encounter any fire ants in her low-heeled sandals. An enormous tree shaded this side of the place. Judging from its thick trunk, the thing must be hundreds of years old.

  “Look at that,” she said to Brianna, who made a game of identifying trees in nature parks with her dad. “Can you believe how far those branches spread?”

  “It’s a kapok tree,” Brianna replied in a superior tone. “It’s so cool that Mr. Ripari is letting us use this property for our fundraiser. The house looks downright spooky in this setting.”

  Marla admired the old Florida architecture as she climbed a short flight of creaky wooden steps onto a wraparound covered porch. The jalousie-type windows at this level were partially secured with crisscrossed boards, poor protection against hurricanes. This place would cost a fortune to bring up to code. Why did the history teacher keep the property if he couldn’t maintain it?

  Brianna scampered ahead and banged open the front door. Marla followed, a sea of faces glancing her way as she stepped inside. The teen called out a greeting to kids she knew and then seemed to recollect Marla’s presence. She turned to introduce her.

  Marla would never remember everyone’s names. A dozen people must have been present, all occupied with sorting through a ton of supplies. The gang of busy workers had materials strewn everywhere. Fake cobwebs, rubber spiders, bony skeletons, glow sticks, and other goods covered several work tables, while cartons cluttered the floor. Sheet-covered furniture lent an authenticity to the scene, as did grimy chandeliers.

  “Hi, I’m Bill Ripari,” said a broad-chested man with spiky black hair and eyeglasses. He wore a friendly smile and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  “Nice to meet you.” Marla shook his hand. “It’s generous of you to offer your property for the haunted house.”

  “Might as well get some use out of the old girl. She’s been deserted for years.”

  “Such a shame. I imagine this place was beautiful in its heyday.”

  He drew her aside and lowered his voice. “I’m hoping to preserve the house as a piece of our region’s history.”

  “You’ve applied to get it on the state’s register of historic homes?”

  “Actually, I’m in talks with a company that owns a popular theme park in Orlando. They’re looking for a property to the south.”

  “You mean to sell the estate then?”

  “Don’t worry; any offer has to come with the agreement to renovate this house authentic to the time period. I’d like to see it reopened as a living history museum.”

  “When was the original purchase?” she asked, realizing some of Dalton’s interest in history must have rubbed off on her.

  “My grandfather bought the territory in 1942. He built this house on an agricultural tract. In the late 1950s, he leased the acreage to folks who turned it into a pioneer theme park, with the caveat that the house be preserved. The park closed in 1964. At that time, my dad tore down the tourist attractions and converted the original house into a restaurant. It remained in business until he died. The place has been closed ever since then.”

  “And you hung onto it all this time?”

  “I knew the value of the land would increase. I own much of the woods out here as well as the house. It will be perfect for the Orlando company’s planned expansion, as long as they honor my wishes.”

  “It sounds like a good compromise, if they don’t tear down these woods in the process. And I’m not sure we need any thrill rides out this way. You can take an airboat in the Everglades for that experience.”

  He guffawed. “I like you, lady. I’m thinking more like a recreated village from the past.”

  “That would work.”

  “I think so.” The history teacher glanced at a tall, lanky fellow in a gray uniform who lugged a bucket along with a handful of Styrofoam. “Mr. Lynch, please don’t track that dirt in here. You’ll have to clean your shoes before
you go upstairs.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ripari.” The fellow gave a respectful nod and turned toward the rear.

  “Tom is our school janitor. He’s earning some extra money by helping us out,” Mr. Ripari explained. He patted his ample belly, his green sport shirt hanging over his pants. “Physical labor isn’t my thing. Since my repair skills are limited, I’m planning to hire Tom as a handyman in his spare time once this project is finished.”

  “Don’t monopolize the lady, Bill,” called one of the women volunteers. The blonde had a harried look on her face. “She can assist us over here.”

  “Sure,” Marla said with a wave in her direction. “How big is this place, anyway?”

  “The upper level has twelve rooms,” Mr. Ripari replied. “Down here, six sections had been converted into dining rooms for the restaurant, plus the kitchen. Unfortunately, most of the restaurant furnishings were sold, along with furniture from the earlier residence. It’s a shame, but this is all that’s left. More stuff is stored in the detached garage and in various corners throughout the house. I’d been hoping to sort through it all when I retired, but that won’t happen anytime soon.”

  “This would make a great retirement home with all its rooms,” Marla mused aloud. “But the restoration would cost a fortune, plus an elevator would have to be added.”

  “There’s a dumb waiter by the kitchen. That space could be converted, but this site is too far from civilization for an old age home. As a historic house museum and native Florida attraction, it would be perfect. Thanks for coming to help. Your daughter is a lovely girl, by the way. I enjoy having her in my class.” He nodded at Brianna, engaged in conversation with a young man.

  “Thank you. She’s not too keen on world history, but she likes reading about our state. My husband is more of a general history buff.”

  “Is that so? Too bad he couldn’t join us tonight. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do on the graveyard outside.”

  Marla wandered over to the teen. Brianna gave her a guilty flush at her arrival.

  “Marla, this is Andrew Lawrence. He and I are in math class together. Andy, meet my stepmom.”

  This must be the Andy whose name she’d heard Brianna mention. She examined the kid, who was cute even to someone of her age. He stood taller than Brianna, with a thick head of sandy hair and intelligent brown eyes. “Hello, Andrew. Have you worked on these haunted house projects before?”

  “No, ma’am. Brie talked me into volunteering. She can be persuasive.”

  “That’s for sure. Do you have plans for college? The time to apply will be here before you know it.”

  He gave a nervous chuckle. “I’d like to go to MIT.”

  “Oh, really? What will you study?”

  “I’m hoping to get into robotics. It’s a field that’s always fascinated me.”

  “That’s cool.” Marla glanced at Brianna, who was studiously examining the floor. “Brie would like to attend a school in the Boston area, too. She says she’s tired of Florida.”

  The blond woman interrupted their tête-a-tête. “Hi, I’m Hannah,” she said to Marla. “We could use your help if you’re not busy.”

  “Okay. Nice to meet you,” Marla told Andrew. She turned away, suddenly aware of how grown up Brianna looked with her hair down and a light application of makeup on her face. From the way Andy had been sneaking glances at her, he’d noticed also.

  “That’s my son Ricky over there.” Hannah pointed to a tall, gangly kid busy cutting a piece of white cloth. “So you’re Brianna’s mom?”

  “I’m her stepmother, actually. It’s a second marriage for her dad and me.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates you getting involved in school activities.”

  This is my first time, Marla almost said but didn’t. “I hope you’ll guide me. I have no concept of what a haunted house entails, other than decorations from the party store.”

  “It’ll be fabulous. Jules, can you bring up the layout design on your computer?” she asked a youth fixing a gruesome monster mask onto a long stick. He had a pasty complexion and owlish eyes as though he didn’t get out much.

  “Sure, our plan is awesome.” Jules toddled over to a laptop and accessed a screen showing the house’s two-story diagram. “This is where guests will enter through the front porch,” he told Marla. “We’ll have a mummy sitting on this bench here, a couple of cheesecloth ghosts, spider webs, and the graveyard out on the lawn. The windows are partially boarded up, which helps our cause, and our paper cutouts will add to the spooky atmosphere as people approach. Tickets will be on sale at a booth on the front porch.”

  Marla squinted at the screen. “How can you control where people walk when they come inside?”

  He shifted his feet back and forth, as though he couldn’t stand still. “We’ll be partitioning this space where you are now, so they’ll have to follow along a planned path. See this spot? It’s what we call a scare pocket.”

  “What’s that?” Marla stared at the diagram in confusion. This undertaking was a lot more complex than she’d expected.

  “It’s where an actor pops out and scares people. We’ve got some students from a local acting class to volunteer.” Jules proceeded to explain the route and the various decorations along the way. He spoke rapidly as though wired on caffeine, and accompanied his speech with jerky motions.

  She glanced at the stairway that guests would have to climb. “How do you know this place is safe? I mean, nobody has lived here for years. People could trip on the carpet, or one of your fake walls could fall down. Candles could tip over. Is there even air-conditioning?”

  “Yes, the house has wall units. It hasn’t been modernized with a central system, but those are enough to filter the air,” Hannah reassured her. “Besides, we won’t have any real candles. We’ve bought the fake ones with flickering flames. We’ll also have a fog machine, and dry ice is another technique we use to provide smoke.”

  “How so?” Marla had no clue about these things.

  Hannah gave her a patient smile, while Marla felt totally out of the loop. “You fill bowls, glassware, and jars with warm water. Right before we open the doors, we’ll add dry ice to get everything bubbling. Between black lights, glow sticks, fake candles, and lanterns, we’ll create the right atmosphere. It’s Mr. Lynch’s job to make sure there aren’t any wrinkles in the carpet, loose floorboards, or nails sticking out.”

  Marla lifted her eyebrows. She didn’t want to ask if they had liability insurance, but maybe Mr. Ripari’s homeowners’ policy covered the event. Or more likely, the school purchased extra coverage for sponsored activities like this one.

  “What are you working on?” she asked.

  Hannah dragged her toward a high-top table. “See these cardboard tubes? I’m cutting out eyes in them. We put glow sticks inside. Same deal for the monster shapes over there. We tape them to the windows so people can see them as they walk up to the house. My son is doing the cheesecloth ghosts for the graveyard.”

  Marla pointed to another woman, who appeared to be spraying an object with white paint. Newspapers lined the floor underneath her project. “What’s she doing?”

  “Vicki is spraying dolls with white paint. It looks hugely creepy when you sit them on the covered furniture or stand them in a corner and shine a light on them from below. We also have some plaster statues left over from the early days that we can use, as well as the mannequins we brought in.”

  “Brie said you wanted me to work on their hair?”

  “Yes, they’re over here.” She led Marla to a corner where the figures were stacked.

  Marla assessed them with her practiced eye. “I have a kit in my car. I’ll go get it and start working on these.”

  She went outside, retrieved her “backstage box” with hairdressing supplies, and reentered the house. “So have you worked on this school project before?” she asked Hannah as they toiled side-by-side in the large room. Marla teased the hair on a mannequin to give it a frightful
look. Too bad she didn’t have any spray-on hair color. That would have worked well under the right lighting. She’d have to remember to bring some next time.

  Hannah pursed her lips. “Yes, this event is our big fundraiser for the prom. It’s been in a different location each year, but if this one works out, maybe we can repeat it here again. However, I won’t sign on to help unless Mr. Ripari does better by my son.”

  Marla heard the bitter note in her voice but didn’t pry. “The history teacher said he might sell the property, so this could be the one and only time it’s available.”

  “Is that so? I didn’t think he could do that, not when his ownership is being challenged. But maybe he’s solved that problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hannah glanced over her shoulder before leaning forward. “Rumor says another family is claiming this property belongs to them. They’ve taken steps to delay a sale until they can present proof.”

  “That’s interesting. Who are they?”

  “Hannah, there you are,” a male voice boomed from the entry before the other parent could respond. A hefty guy entered carrying a bulging carton. “I’ve brought your box of plastic weapons.”

  “Doug, it’s about time you showed up. Marla, this is our esteemed football coach. Doug Garsen, meet Marla Vail. She’s Brianna’s mother.”

  “Hey, thanks for coming to help us out. Where do you want these?” he asked Hannah, waving a fake axe in the air as though to demonstrate its use.

  “Put them in the creature room. What’s that on your boots?”

  He glanced at the red stains on his footwear. “I spilled a container of fake blood. The stuff is wicked.” He set his carton down and grabbed a paper towel from a roll on a work table along with a spray bottle of cleaning fluid.

  “Go into the bathroom, will you? You’re ruining those newspapers.”

  After he clomped away, Marla went back to work. She tackled another mannequin, weaving the hair into snake-like coils. Others came and went through various rooms as she concentrated on her artistry. Brianna had disappeared somewhere upstairs.