by James Hunt
Maggie nodded, the woman’s one good eye staring at Sarah. And the longer they maintained eye contact, the colder Sarah became.
“You must save us,” Maggie said, her voice a crackling whisper. “He feeds on us every day.” The first signs of fear broke along Maggie’s battered face, and the one good eye produced a single tear that quickly froze to her cheek like an icicle.
“I-I can’t,” Sarah said, desperation clinging to her voice like the sweat and grime that covered her skin. But then she remembered the deputy. “The police. I told the police.” The fact that there was someone on the outside that could help fanned the flames of hope.
“The police can’t save us.” Maggie stared at Sarah then pointed at her.
Sarah’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “I told you I can’t—” And just when Sarah was about to scream more, the restraints around her wrists and ankles dropped to the floor. Her back and knees popped as she stood. She rubbed the red marks the rope had burned into her skin, frowning in disbelief. “How did you—”
Maggie was suddenly in front of her again, teleporting in the blink of an eye. Sarah turned away, unable to stomach the gore and the stench of the woman who had granted her freedom. But Maggie grabbed Sarah by the shoulders and spun her around, sending a shock like fire and ice speeding through her veins.
Maggie distorted her face with mixed expressions of fear and anger. “It’s always hungry! It always wants to eat!”
“What are you talking—”
“Find the orb! Break the curse! Set us free!”
A breeze blasted Sarah’s back, and she clamped her hands over her ears as Maggie screamed. The eardrum-shattering cry brought Sarah to her knees. She shivered on the concrete floor, and the side of her face ached, the pain transforming into a splitting headache. Just when she didn’t think she could take any more, the noise and the wind ended just as quickly as they had started.
Sarah slowly lifted her head, breathing heavily, and lowered her hands from her ears. Something warm formed on her upper lip, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. A red blood smear appeared when she examined the liquid. She stared at it for a moment and then checked to see if her nose was still bleeding but found it had stopped.
She scanned the room, searching for Maggie, but found that she was gone.
So what had Sarah seen? A ghost? She knew she hadn’t imagined it, but if what she had seen was real, she thought she might be losing her mind.
Slowly, Sarah got her feet under her and then hobbled toward the door. The knob was as cold as ice, but she barely felt the difference since her own skin was nearly frozen over.
The door buckled as she tugged on the knob, but any attempt at turning it left or right only ended with stiff resistance. It was locked.
Sarah was one step closer to escape but somehow just as far away as she had been when she was tied to that chair. She knew she didn’t have the build to knock the door down. She’d break her arm before that happened. She turned around, pressing her back against the door, knowing it was just a matter of time before Dennis returned, making the help she had received pointless.
Tears in her eyes, Sarah lifted her head, finding the crumpled-up balls of paper that Dennis had dumped from the box. But then she looked toward the wall near the door, finding more junk in the corner.
Sarah crawled over to the piles of junk like a desert wanderer stumbling upon an oasis. She ripped open the top of the first box she came across, thrusting her hands inside and finding nothing but old rags. She dumped them out onto the floor and moved onto the next box.
Rusted silverware and a few old pots rattled inside. Sarah set aside one of the rusted forks, thinking it could come in handy. She considered trying to smash the doorknob with one of the pots, but she knew that breaking it would just keep her locked inside, though it’d make it harder for Dennis to get back in.
Every box that she came across was an opportunity for escape, but as she neared the end of her search, that hope again started to dwindle. But as she searched her last box, she heard the heavy clank of metal inside. And when she opened the top, her heart beat faster.
Sarah grabbed the rusted handle of the toolbox inside and flipped the latch, the hinges squeaking as she opened the top. A hammer, nails, wrench, and screwdriver rested inside. The tools were old, and when Sarah picked up the screwdriver, she found the handle to be smooth old wood. She gently ran her fingers over the sharp tip and then looked to the exit.
The door was built to swing inward, the hinges on her side of the room. Sarah hurried to the door and jammed the rusted screwdriver into the bottom of the bolt in the hinges, trying to work them out.
Like the movement in her chair, the progress was slow, and it was noisier. Every whack of the rusted metal spear sparked a thud that ran through the room and most likely out into whatever hall or part of the house she was trapped inside.
But when no one came down the hallway and burst down the door, she kept going, slowly working the brass pegs from their holes to create a crack big enough for her to squeeze through. It wouldn’t need to be big. She was small. And as that plug worked its way through the halfway mark, Sarah forwent the screw driver and pulled on the rusted brass.
The pegs were stubborn, and Sarah picked and prodded until her fingers bled, the red streaks crawling down her forearm as she finally removed the first hinge from its holder.
Hands shaking, she dropped it to the floor and then moved to the next. She fell into a rhythm, ignoring the pain and focusing on the task.
Sarah pried the middle peg from its hinge and then tried to wedge the door open. The crack to her freedom had widened another two inches, but it still wasn’t wide enough to squeeze through. She pulled back, getting scratches along her stomach, back, and shoulder as her shirt ripped.
She reached for the screwdriver, jamming it up at the highest hinge. Even with her arm all the way extended, she couldn’t reach. She quickly brought the chair over, using it to reach all the way to the top hinge.
Exhaustion skewed her aim, and Sarah only hit the bottom of the hinge every third try. The blood from her fingers crawled down her forearm in veiny lines. The pain in her body was screaming for her to stop, but the urge to survive, the spark of finding freedom, pushed her past the pain.
Sarah repeatedly smacked the end of the screwdriver with her palm, the cold accentuating the pain with every hit.
She hammered out the last few inches of the brass peg. Finally, it sprang from the hinge, and Sarah had her hands in the crack of open space before the brass peg even hit the floor.
Sarah pushed the door open as far as it would go, then thrust her head through the tight space.
Sarah harnessed her remaining strength and jumped, her legs smacking against the door and the frame as she landed hard on the hallway floor.
“You have to hurry.” Maggie stood over her in the hallway, pointing toward a door that Sarah prayed was to freedom. “He’ll be back soon.”
Sarah pushed herself to her feet and was consumed by the thought of freedom, but as she stared down at her nearly naked body, she thought of her backpack, and her clothes, and then she remembered her photograph.
Sarah spun around, staring at the mangled woman in the hall. “My bag. Where is my bag?”
Maggie pointed up. “The fifth floor in the room I showed you.”
“Shit.” Sarah wiped the snot dripping from her nose, smearing some blood from her hand and onto her upper lip. She couldn’t stop shaking. She saw the screwdriver that she’d dropped to the floor. She picked it up then headed for the door at the end of the hall.
With the mixture of cold and adrenaline, Sarah wasn’t sure how much noise she was making on her ascent, but she made it to the fifth floor without incident.
She burst through the door, running toward the room at the end of the hall, the door open like it had been before, and then found her backpack on the bed. Still gripping the screwdriver, Sarah slung the pack over her shoulders, and then pivo
ted toward the exit.
The door slammed shut, and Sarah flung her body against it, tugging at the doorknob that refused to open.
And then the room darkened, as if all light had been sucked from inside. The temperature plummeted, and her entire body broke out in gooseflesh from the frigid, painful cold. Her bones ached, and her muscles seized up.
“Sarah.”
Slowly, she turned toward the voice, which spoke her name in a throaty hiss, that originated from the darkest corner on the opposite side of the room.
The figure had no shape, no physical form, but Sarah knew it was there. She thought of the spirit that Maggie had spoken of, and how it was hungry.
The darkness spread across the room, the voice reaching deep into her thoughts. She examined the screwdriver in her hand, and she suddenly remembered all of the pain from her time in the foster care system.
The lonely nights in foster homes, the abuse from foster parents, the pranks from other kids, the loss, the fear, the pain, all of it assimilated into one motivating thought that was front and center in her mind, and the only way to get it out was to ram the screwdriver in and fish it out.
Sarah smiled. It would be easy. One quick thrust through the eye and it would all be over.
No more cold. No more pain. No more nightmares.
She gripped the wooden handle with both hands and positioned it over her eye, aiming it directly over all of those bad thoughts. Her smiled widened.
“Sarah, no!”
Sarah’s paralysis broke. She turned away from the screwdriver, and she saw Maggie paralyzed in the darkness, her skin slowly icing over.
“Go,” Maggie whispered. Then her voice jumped in pitchy screams, the ice continuing to crawl over her entire body. “GO!”
The shrill cry triggered Sarah into action, and she crammed the screwdriver into the hinge. Maggie’s shrieks and cries of pain grew louder, and the room shook.
She turned around and screamed as she found Maggie had turned to nothing but ice—and then her frozen figure dropped to the floor, shattering into a thousand shards that spread over the floorboards.
The door opened, but Sarah only made it one step before a hot pain struck her heel, and she turned to find the dark void wrapped around her ankle. Color drained from her porcelain skin, which then turned an icy blue.
With what remained of her strength, Sarah yanked her leg free and then scrambled on all fours until she gained enough momentum to push herself up and into a sprint.
Sarah turned around, finding that pitch black creeping toward her, turning the walls and the floor and the ceiling black, void of any light. She hurried down the stairs, the floorboards creaking and groaning with every step.
Moonlight guided her path, and while she still felt cold and sick, she didn’t stop running.
At the bottom of the staircase, Sarah shoulder-checked the door open and ran down the first-floor hallway and toward the foyer. Toward freedom.
Still gripping the screwdriver, she hobbled forward, exhaustion creeping its cold fingers around her body.
The exaltation and relief of escape was so close that Sarah started to sob. But when she turned the corner, she froze, quickly hiding the screwdriver behind her leg so Dennis couldn’t see it.
Dennis stood in front of the double doors, the features of his face darkened, though Sarah could still tell that he wasn’t smiling. “He was hungry tonight.” He stepped to the side, exposing the glass in the doors and the freedom that rested on the other side.
Sarah watched him strike a match and then light a candle on the table. The flame flickered, illuminating the grimace on his face. He turned toward her, the light shifting the shadows beneath his eyes, nose, and mouth. The fire made him look hollow, as if he was only a skull.
“You’re one of the more willful people we’ve had come through,” Dennis said, and then he smiled. “I’ve always liked a woman who made it hard.”
“People will find out what you did,” Sarah said, unable to keep her voice from trembling. “You can’t keep killing people.”
“I don’t kill people,” Dennis said, taking slow steps toward Sarah, the candle still in his hand. “Surely you saw it.”
Sarah didn’t retreat, and she readjusted her grip on the screwdriver behind her back. She shook her head. “I don’t know what the hell I saw.”
“You saw the face of a god,” Dennis said, his voice an awed whisper. “You saw an eternal being that will take human form again, and when he does, he will reshape this world in his image, and those that have been faithful to him will be rewarded.”
“Count me out,” Sarah said.
Dennis erased the amusement from his face. “I can’t let you leave.”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
Dennis stopped, only a few feet separating the two of them in the foyer. Nothing but the flickering flame moved, illuminating their stoic silence. Sarah had to be quick whenever Dennis made his move. She’d only get one shot at getting out of this alive, and she intended to do it any way she could.
Dennis finally lunged, his massive fist reaching for her throat, but Sarah darted left then launched forward herself, leading with the rusted screwdriver, and jammed it into Dennis’s arm.
“GAAH!”
The candle crashed to the floor as Dennis reached for the wound and the rusted tool standing straight up on its own. But Sarah never turned around to see what happened next.
She slammed into the double doors, finding them locked, then sprinted up the grand staircase. Dennis’s scream followed her up the stairs, but she never stopped moving her feet.
The moment she reached the second floor, she pivoted toward the closest door, which she slammed shut and jammed with a nearby chair. Dennis’s footsteps grew louder outside in the hall as Sarah scanned the room, looking for an exit and finding only windows.
Dennis pounded on the other side of the door. “Open up, Sarah!” And then there was the jangling of the keys that he always had on his person. “There isn’t anywhere for you to go.”
A second chair sat in the middle of the room, and Sarah picked it up. Once she had it in her hands, she hurried toward the window, heaving all of the weight and strength that she had left into the chair.
One of the legs cracked into the glass just as the lock on the door broke. She ripped the chair free and then heaved it again, this time shattering the window panes and sending the chair through the open window.
Sarah approached the exit, turning briefly to look behind her to find Dennis heaving his weight behind the door in his attempt to break down the barricade that Sarah had erected.
Toes sticking over the window ledge, Sarah glanced down at the concrete below. She inched toward the outer walls, looking for any grips or crevices that could help guide her path down, but they were few and far between.
The door broke, and Dennis burst inside, stomping toward Sarah. She quickly lowered herself from the window, fingers hanging off the edge as she tried to lower herself to another ledge.
“NO!” Dennis appeared above, reaching down for her hand, but Sarah shimmied out of reach, the movement costing her grip as she dangled from one arm. “You don’t understand what you could become! You don’t understand what you can do!”
Sarah quickly reached for the worn head of a nearby gargoyle and carefully placed her free hand around the smooth, weathered surface.
She glanced back up to the window and found Dennis gone. Bushes lined the ground below, and knowing she was running out of time Sarah let go, dropping fast and landing hard into the shrubs.
Legs and ass aching from the fall, Sarah forced herself up and sprinted away, her heels smacking against the pavement of the walkway.
The front doors of the house groaned and opened. Dennis screamed, his voice echoing through the night air.
“You can’t leave! STOP!”
Despite her fatigue and her attire, Sarah ran straight through the middle of the street. And when she no longer heard Dennis’s voice, sh
e finally turned around.
The mansion on the hill was still there, still looming over the town. And now Sarah could finally see it, the true essence of what that house was to the town. It was a sickness, a plague that had dried everything up, claiming the lives of anyone who stayed with a fate worse than death.
Headlights flashed ahead, accompanied by blue and red lights, and Sarah lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness.
Car brakes squealed, and then a door opened. “Hey, are you all right?”
Sarah lowered her hand, her eyes slowly adjusting to the sharp contrast of light, and she saw the deputy she had spoken to earlier was reaching into the backseat and then walking toward her.
“We have to go.” Sarah met him halfway and then grabbed hold of his arms, feeling her own legs finally giving way. She half collapsed, but Dell scooped her up in his arms as if she was a child.
“Christ, you’re freezing.” Dell carried her to the back of the car and laid her down on the seat.
The warmth from the heater and the blanket Dell had draped over her helped ease the pain, but it made her sleepy, and she started to drift off as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Just hang on,” Dell said. “I’ll get you some help.”
Sarah’s eyelids fluttered, and she drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness. “They’re killing them… They’re… Killing…”
“Hey! Stay with me!”
10
The dreams came all at once, and they were vivid. Too vivid. Sarah was back in the basement, but she was only there as a bystander. She saw herself in the chair, and she saw her interaction with Dennis and Maggie.
All of the same feelings returned, the rush of adrenaline, the fear, the anger, but she was watching it all unfold from outside her body, and she stayed in the corner, unable to speak or intervene. She started to think that she wasn’t supposed to.
Suddenly, Sarah was transported to the bedroom on the fifth floor.
The cold returned, and the terror was the same, but this time, the room didn’t darken. This time, she saw a figure appear where she hadn’t seen one before. And it wasn’t the devil or some evil deity. It was a man. His hair was long, thick, and black, and his hands were pale white, almost the color of the ice she had watched Maggie transform into. He was dressed in old clothes from another era, probably more than one hundred years ago. And suddenly Sarah realized who it was. It was Allister Bell.