Smoky Mountain Specter

It happened again. 

Andy knew as soon as she pulled into the driveway. 

The screen door was shut, but the kitchen door had been left open. 

"She was here," Andy muttered.

"It appears so," said her grandma. Honey. Everyone called her Honey. She was too young to be called Mamaw when her first grandbaby was born. "She left flowers."

A big old bouquet took up one end of the kitchen table. Andy could see it from the car. 

"She shouldn't be going in the house," Andy snapped. Then a wave of guilt spread through her like hot coals. Honey didn't deserve to be snapped at. It wasn't her fault. 

"I'm sorry," Andy said. "I'm just scared."

"You don't need to be afraid of your mama," said Honey. "She loves you." 

Yeah, that's what you think, thought Andy. She didn't have the heart to explain it again. She still remembered the last time that she and Honey had this conversation. 

My mom—

Andy was trying not to call her "mom." Trying to refer to her by her God-given name. Martha. She didn't deserve the title of mom. But she sure as hell deserved a dumb old name like Martha. 

Martha can't come inside because she'll steal your checkbook again. 

Also, Martha's last words to Andy had been, "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" But Andy really wasn't going to say that to Honey. 

Honey looked so sad. It broke Andy's heart. No, she couldn't have that conversation again. 

Andy put the car in park and helped Honey inside. She tried not to be too obvious as she threw glances over her shoulder. Martha's car wasn't in the driveway, but that doesn't mean she wasn't somewhere nearby. She could still be in the house for all Andy knew.

She could still be in the house. 

The thought froze her in her tracks. 

Andy turned the TV on to Honey's favorite channel, the game show one.

Perfect. Honey's favorite show was on. The one with all the briefcases. It stressed Andy out. There was always so much money on the line. But Honey loved it. If she was on the show, she'd go all the way. Andy knew it. 

Honey's eyes were already glued to the screen.

"Which one would you choose, Andy? I'd choose briefcase 22," Honey said. She always chose 22. It was Jimbo's lucky number, back when he was alive. It had been over 20 years since he died, but Honey still talked about him every day. Andy wanted love like that. 

"22 sounds good. Can we share it?" Andy asked.

"Only if we can use our winnings to go somewhere with a good beach and drinks that come with those little umbrellas." 

"Deal," said Andy, and she snuck out of the room while the host with the shiny bald head transfixed her grandmother. 

Honey lived in a hundred-year-old two-story yellow house in Mossy Creek, Tennessee. If you've never heard of it, it's because most people haven't. Few visit, and no one ever leaves. Andy had been one of the few to escape. She lived in New York City for a full decade. A full decade before—

She didn't want to think about it. She needed to pay attention. What if Martha was still here? What if she was still hiding? She had guns, and—

Meow. Little Harry rubbed up against Andy's leg.

"Hi, little one." She scratched him behind the ears. At least she had one piece of her old life with her. One fuzzy, purring, adorable piece. "Martha isn't still here, is she?" 

That's when Andy noticed Harry's food bowl, clean and sitting on the bottom stair. She normally fed him upstairs, in her room.

"She's been upstairs," Andy muttered. "She's been in my room."

Martha should know better. The judge had only granted them a 6-month restraining order, which Andy resented. How was anything supposed to change in only 6 months?

But they had four months left. And Andy already had more than enough evidence to call the police. She would've done it already, but she was afraid she'd give Honey a heart attack. 

"One step at a time," Andy reminded herself between deep breaths as she inched up the stairs. "Everything is going to be okay." 

When she reached the top of the stairs, she saw that her door was closed. 

"It's okay," she reminded herself. "It's just a closed door. It doesn't mean anything."

Actually, it meant a lot. It meant that someone had been there and closed the door that Andy left open. Honey didn't go upstairs anymore, and besides, Andy had been with her for the last several hours, seeing the eye doctor and going to lunch. They had fun today. Now, Andy felt like an idiot, laughing with her grandmother over spinach artichoke dip while Martha marched around the house like she owned the place. 

The wave of rage was enough to motivate Andy to shove open the door, fists clenched and ready to fight. 

The windows were open, and the ceiling fan and the box fan that Andy used as a white noise machine at night were blasting at their highest intensity. 

"What the hell?" Andy muttered. She was too confused to be angry at first. Then, she noticed her drawers, all wide open, her clothes ruffled through. 

Martha had gone through her things.

She must have thought that Andy was keeping Honey's bank account information in here. But Andy knew better than to do that. They were in a—

Andy half ran, half tumbled down the stairs and nearly sent herself flying through the wall at the bottom. She whipped around the corner into the front room, where Honey kept antique furniture and photos. 

Andy's favorite piece was a Queen Anne's writing desk that had belonged to Honey's mom. Honey said she always loved it, always asked her mama if she could have it one day. Now, she did. Now, she kept her bank account information in the inner right hand drawer.

Now, the drawer was empty. 

Andy couldn't stop the tears from overflowing. 

She sank to the floor. Pulled out her phone. Tapped on the app that connected to the security cameras she'd installed. Hit rewind.

She watched in reverse as she and Honey came inside, not twenty minutes ago. She watched herself un-throw a terrified glance over her shoulder. She watched the car back out of the driveway through the kitchen window.

And not ten minutes before that, she watched Martha's car pull into the frame, Martha, clutching a bag full of something, walk backwards into the house, Martha removing a big gaudy bouquet of flowers from the kitchen table. 

If you're stealing all that money, I guess leaving flowers is the polite thing to do, thought Andy. 

She rewound all the way to Martha's arrival at the house. 

"12:32 pm" was stamped across the screen when Martha first walked through the door. 

How did she know we'd be gone? Andy wondered. 

The two of them were usually at the house. Honey was too embarrassed to go anywhere. The story had made the local newspaper, and everyone knew who Honey was. Their lunch today was a rare exception, but it's only because they were already out for the—

"Eye exam," Andy whispered. This wasn't the first time Martha had snuck into the house while they were away. This time, they were out for a follow-up with the eye doctor. Last time, they'd been seeing the optometrist for Honey's regular eye exam. 

She pulled out her phone to make a call. 

"Hi, this is Honey—sorry. This is Anna Jennings' granddaughter. We just had an appointment."

"Oh yes! We love Mrs. Jennings. Is everything okay?" the receptionist said. 

"This is awkward," Andy said. Where was she going to begin? "We've been having problems with a family member stealing from her. She came by the house while we were gone. Is there any way you can tell me who is on my grandmother's HIPAA forms?"

"Yes, but if she would like to make any changes, she will have to do that herself," the receptionist said. 

"I understand," said Andy, even though the thought made her grimace. She'd already taken Honey to the bank to open new accounts, accounts that Martha couldn't access, more than once. Most of the time, Honey seemed much younger than her 90 years, but on those days, she looked like she'd lived every day of a whole century. 

"There's a Martha Johnson," said the receptionist. 

"That's her," Andy sighed. Every step of the way, Andy seemed to overlook something. No matter what she did to protect Honey, Martha was somehow a step ahead. 

"You send out text updates for appointments, right?" Andy asked. 

"That's correct."

"Can you tell me the number that you have on file?"

"Yes." Andy knew within the first few numbers that it was Martha. Having to listen to the rest of the 10 digits was just cruel. 

"Yeah, we're gonna need to change that," said Andy. 

Her next call was to a locksmith. If a restraining order didn't keep Martha out of the house, Andy could at least make it harder for her to break in. 

When Andy went back to the living room, Honey was still on the couch, absorbed in her game shows. 

"I'm going for a run," Andy said. 

"Okay, baby. Be safe!" Honey called without looking up from the TV. 

But Andy felt much safer on the trails than in the house.

Besides, if she put all her rage into running as fast as she could on the path around the quarry, maybe she wouldn't have any left to kick herself with.