Intercom

A Story by Rachel

Psychic medium Maggie and lawyer Peter move into a great new house, but they don't know about the house's dark history... Copyright 2015, all content belongs to me.

Intercom

March, 2014

Let me begin by saying that my wife Maggie has always been fascinated with the supernatural. During the winter of 2014, after we got married, we moved into a new house in the suburbs of River Vale, New Jersey. The house was a sprawling mansion, built in 1905. It was four stories high: a basement, ground floor, upstairs level, and attic. The backyard was huge. There was nothing eerie at all about the house to me, but when Maggie saw it, she thought otherwise. We pulled into the gravel driveway in our Honda, and Maggie was already analyzing the house. “Oh, Peter, it’s great!” she said, “There are probably so many spirits living in it!” Maggie was kind of odd, in the best way. She worked as a psychic medium, previously working in our small apartment in New York. Now she would be working in this house. She made a decent amount; you’d be surprised how many people took these types of things seriously. If someone thought that their house was haunted by a spirit, Maggie would go over and communicate with the spirit to see what it wanted. I, on the other hand, was just a lawyer. I just got offered a job in River Vale, which is why we moved here.

Maggie ran around the house exploring as the movers put our furniture in the house. “Oh look! The house has an intercom!” she cried. Sure enough, in the kitchen, there was a small white box with a small knob for volume and to turn it on and off. Maggie also discovered three more in the basement, the master bedroom and the attic. We decided to use them and left them on. The house was all we dreamed it would be, and Maggie and I were thrilled.

Fast forward to about a month later. We were all settled into the house and it was great. I was home alone, working in my office in the attic. The attic was a large, open area with wooden floors and one of those hanging light bulbs that you turn on by pulling a string. I had set up a table for me to work on and use as a desk. The attic also had a small storage space that pulls out from the wall, but I haven’t opened it yet, we stored everything in the basement for now.

Anyway, I was working on a particularly difficult case and Maggie was out grocery shopping. The house was pretty quiet, save for the creaks and groans any old house would make. I was typing on my computer when the intercom crackled. I jumped. It had been so quiet up until now that I didn’t expect it. I got up, and pressed the TALK button on the intercom. “Mags? You home?” The crackling got louder, and then, to my surprise, a voice came out. A voice that was definitely not Maggie’s. “We are watching you. We see you. We are coming,” the voice said.

The voice was a woman’s voice, a faint whisper, but the crackling had stopped and the words were clear. I jumped back, nearly falling. What the hell was that? There’s only one explanation, someone was in the house, and it wasn’t Maggie. I grabbed my phone and called Maggie, trying to be a silent as I could. I listened to the phone ringing and crept down the stairs to lock the attic door. “Peter? I am on my way home, is everything okay?” Maggie asked when she picked up. “No, listen to me Mags, don’t come home, there’s someone in the house, speaking on the intercom.” Maggie gasped. “I knew there was something in this house!” she said. “No, hun, there’s someone, a person, in the house. I have to hang up and call the cops.” I did. “911, what’s your emergency?” a tinny voice said from the other line. “I think there’s an intruder in my house. I heard a voice over the intercom and I’m alone in the house.” I gave my address and hung up. The creepy thing was I couldn’t tell which intercom it was coming from. It could be from anywhere.

I sat down at the table, scared. The intercom crackled again. “S**t,” I muttered. The voice, the woman’s whisper, emanated from the speakers again. “You can’t escape us. We are all around you. We are watching, we are waiting, we are coming.” I sat in terrified silence for the next few minutes. After a while, I jumped at the sound of sirens. The police. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs and into the kitchen, letting the grim looking policeman in through the side door along with Maggie, who had just come home. I told them the whole story. “Were you threatened? Did you see anyone in the house?” the cop asked. “No, just heard the voice. It said ‘we are watching, you can’t escape us’. It seemed like there are more than one, but I don’t know where it’s coming from.” “Well, there is no disturbances in the house,” the cop said, after looking around. Maggie looked pale and terrified. “I have a bad feeling,” she said, “maybe it’s not a person or people. Maybe it’s spirits.”

“My wife is a physic medium,” I said. “Let me try to communicate with them,” Maggie said. “I’ll stay here, just in case,” the cop said. Maggie went upstairs to get her equipment, the cop following behind her. She came downstairs with an Ouija board and some candles. She placed the piece on the board, and began. “Is there a spirit who wishes to communicate with us?” Nothing happened. “If so, please help us understand what you want.” Suddenly, the piece swung to YES. “I knew it,” Maggie said. “What do you want?” The piece swung. I-N-T-E-R-C-O-M. “Intercom?” Maggie asked. “What do you want with us? Why are you here?” M-A-G-G-I-E. The board spelled out Maggie. The candles fizzled out suddenly, making us jump. The board was silent now. It looked like it was done. I was chilled to the bone. What did they want with my wife? Who were they?

“I could stay in the car outside over night if you’d like?” the cop said. Maggie shook her head. Brave woman. “It’s okay,” she said, “They won’t take me.” She shivered. “We have to move out,” I said, “these things are not going to leave us alone.” Maggie and I agreed that we’d start making arrangements to move right away.

That night, I opened my laptop while lying in bed and Googled our address and town. What I found shocked me. The realtor hadn’t told us about this. WOMAN KILLED IN RIVER VALE HOUSE the headline screamed. I read the article, and found out that a woman had indeed been found dead in the house from falling down the stairs. I clicked back and found another article about how when this house had been built in 1905, the woman who lived in the house named Margaret Peabody had been pushed down the stairs by her vengeful husband Richard after he had found out she had been seeing another man. I clicked back to the original article. It was from 1989.

“Mica Lewinson reports having heard threatening voices over the intercom before his wife was found at the bottom of the stairs. Sources believe that he pushed his wife, and Mr. Lewinson is now under psychological evaluation.” Another article dated from 2003 said the same. A woman was killed in the house by falling down the stairs. This woman didn’t have a husband, and had lived alone.

“Maggie!” I called to my wife, who was in the kitchen drinking tea. “You’ve got to see this, come up here!” I heard Maggie rushing up the stairs, but then the intercom in my room crackled. “It’s time. We are here. No escape,” the eerie whisper said. “Maggie, wait!” I yelled, “don’t come upstairs!” It was too late, there was a terrible thump and I heard Maggie scream. By the time I got to the stairs, she was already at the bottom, her head tilted at a terrible angle. Sobbing, I grabbed the phone. “My wife! She fell down the stairs, she-she’s not moving. Please help!”

Two Weeks Later

I sat in my cold and silent house. Maggie was gone. The policeman didn’t believe me when I told him about the intercom. Even when I showed him the articles, which made him even more suspicious of me. He told me I have to go to court to testify. I miss Maggie more and more each day. The whispered voices stopped now. The spirit of Margaret Peabody got Maggie. I guess she wanted all the women who lived in the house to suffer like she did. Well, she did it. I laughed bitterly. What was left to do now? I was going to be found guilty.

I had my second psychological evaluation today. They said it was all in my head, but I know they are wrong. I didn’t kill Maggie. I didn’t do it. Maggie knows it, she told me the other day. Yeah, you heard me. I was sitting on the couch, when the intercom crackled. But this time I wasn’t scared. I knew it was her, my wife. She believes me, I know it. She tells me she’s unhappy where she is, that she misses me every day. But at least we can talk through the intercom. Hey, you believe me, right? Right?