The Haunting of Bell Mansion

by James Hunt

  But the only thing that concerned him for the moment was the fact that Sarah was still out there, and it was his job to bring her back. He was glad the woman had not specified whether she preferred her dead or alive.

  22

  Darkness washed over Dell quickly. Blind and disoriented, he lost all sense of time. He floated aimlessly, unable to determine for how long. Eventually his feet scraped a hard surface, and the sensation of gravity returned. But when the world around him finally came into view, he wished for that darkness to return.

  The foreign landscape that stretched to the horizon was a far cry from the Bell house he had just been inside. Walls, ceilings, floors, and furniture had been replaced with rock and ash and floating embers. No water, no grass, or trees, nothing but red and black, jagged rocks. It was like standing on the inside of a volcano.

  The air was thick with smoke, and an unforgiving heat baked his skin. Every breath was a struggle, but each inhale provided enough oxygen to wheeze until the next breath came. If there was a hell, then Dell Parker was positive that he’d found it.

  “That was a brave thing you did.”

  Dell spun around, startled enough to fall backwards onto the hard rocks. “Gah!” A sharp pain ran from his tailbone and up his spine to the base of his skull, where it lingered.

  Dell leaned forward, shoving his head between his knees to ease the pain, but it did nothing. Like the darkness that covered him, the pain was content on making him wait, pushing him to the point of collapse before finally offering a reprieve.

  “I wish I could say that you get used to this place, but that’s just not true.”

  Dell looked up and found an old man standing nearby. He pushed himself to his feet. He cradled his lower back and then grimaced. He gave the old timer the once over, shaking his head. The old man wore clothes from another era, and his thick white beard concealed most of his face. “Who are you?”

  “Allister Bell,” he said.

  Dell narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Allister Bell died over a century ago,” Dell answered. “And if you’re dead, then—” Dell examined his body, looking for bullet holes or knife wounds, any sign of his demise.

  “You’re not dead,” Allister Bell said, walking over and placing a heavy hand on Dell’s shoulder. “At least not yet.”

  But Dell shrugged Allister’s hand off his shoulder. “No.” He took quick, shallow breaths, and his heartrate accelerated. “No, I can’t— This isn’t real.” He retreated from Allister, spinning around in circles to get his bearings. “This isn’t—”

  And then Dell heard it, and he felt it. A heavy bass thudded through his chest. The vibration started from his core and spread outward to his limbs and toes and fingertips.

  The beats grew stronger, and then suddenly they weren’t coming from inside of him anymore. Dell looked to the horizon where a high-rise of boulders and rocks blocked the commotion beyond it.

  “They’re ready to leave,” Allister said, appearing alongside Dell. “They’ve been in a frenzy lately, and it’s only going to get worse. For everyone.”

  A heavy gong silenced the world and cracked the molten sky above, bringing a rain of fire and ash, and if Allister hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him away, he would have been smothered by the rain of molten rock.

  The uneven ground cracked and shook beneath Dell’s feet as Allister pulled him toward the ridge of rocks where those drums echoed beyond.

  Eventually the hell rain from the sky ended, and the quaking of the ground subsided, and Allister flung Dell against the side of the high ridge. He shut his eyes as he collapsed to his side, hacking and coughing. His innards had caught fire, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that he was coughing streams of black smoke.

  Dell shook his head, unable to shake the panic washing over him. “How is this possible?”

  “Listen to me,” Allister said, taking hold of Dell’s hand. “Look over the ridge. And be quiet, and careful.”

  After a moment, Dell acquiesced, but as he crawled forward, Allister shuffled backward, remaining hidden beneath the cover of the rocks. Dell watched the deep lines of fear carve out Allister’s expression. It was the type of fear that was a product of decades of neglect and suffering, someone who had grown to fear the rod.

  Despite the sheer horror that Dell saw on the old man’s face, Dell couldn’t stop himself from peeking over the ridge. He needed to see it. He needed to know where he was, and what in the hell was going on.

  The drums returned, the bass vibrating through Dell’s body as he flattened his stomach against the rocks, then slowly crawled toward the top. He only went as far as it took for his eyes to see, and when he saw, he understood Allister’s fear.

  Beings of fire and rock swarmed the valley below, spewing lava and acidic smoke and gas from their bodies. They had no eyes, but carved into their heads were large mouths filled with jagged and razor-sharp teeth.

  Their craze was magnified by the hastening pace of the drums. They turned on one another, killing and tearing apart rocks with their claws and teeth, spilling their molten innards on the ground, which they drank from thirstily.

  But for every demon that was killed, two more took its place, and the violence spread to the horizon. There were millions of them. Hundreds of millions.

  Slowly, Dell lowered himself back behind the ridge and turned around to find the old man staring at him with a knowing glance.

  “It’s the devil’s army,” Allister said, moving his eyes about as if even speaking the name would cause Satan to appear like a version of Bloody Mary. “They were created to destroy; to transform life into death.”

  Dell examined the barren landscape, the rocks and the fire and ash. He tried to envision Redford or Bell like this, the beautiful Maine wilderness destroyed, the life sucked from the world and replaced with only death.

  “How do we stop it?” Dell asked.

  Allister smiled sadly. He shook his head. “My dear boy. I’ve been here for a long time, and until you showed up, those things remained with the dark lord behind the gates of hell.” He returned his gaze to Dell. “You were the last soul that the dark lord required. You were the key. And yet…” Allister touched Dell’s shoulder, as if he was still unsure if Dell was real, or only a figment of his imagination.

  And then Dell remembered the curse, the witch, and Sarah. “Six-six-six.” He looked to Allister. “There are others down here, aren’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  Dell jumped again, scrambling to his left and away from the redhead that had appeared out of nowhere. She wore a white gown that was dirtied from streaks of black and grey, and the gown blended seamlessly with her pale skin. The only color on her was the fire red of her hair, which matched the same brilliance of the embers that surrounded them.

  “I’m Mary Bell.” The redhead smiled, breaking the sadness that had seemed to overpower the rest of her features. She extended her hand, and Dell took it warily. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Mary Bell?” Dell asked. “You’re Iris’s daughter. And Kegan’s mother.”

  Mary nodded. “We all saw what you did to save Sarah, and that might give us a fighting chance.”

  “Us?” Dell asked.

  They appeared from thin air. Hundreds of them, each of them dressed in the same clothes that they died in, and Dell was surprised to discover many of them in maid’s uniforms, which meant that Sarah was right. The Bells had been luring women into the house to kill them.

  Dell stood, his eyes peeling away from the hundreds of people that surrounded him, and turned his attention back to Allister and Mary, who stood side by side. “So we’re dead?”

  Allister frowned. “Well, that’s what’s so strange. We’re dead.” He gestured to the circled ghosts. “But you’re not.”

  Dell blinked, his brain growing foggy with confusion. “How is that possible?” He pointed back toward Satan’s army in the valley. “Those are—”

  “Demons, yes,” Allister said. “But as I mentione
d before, we’re not in hell. It’s possible that this… purgatory, is able to consume living tissue.”

  “So what does that mean?” Dell asked.

  Allister and Mary both slowly lowered their eyes.

  “What are all of you—GAH!” Dell’s ankle gave out and he collapsed to the rocks. He reached for the hem of his jeans and pulled up the pant leg and then widened his eyes in terror.

  Icy scales appeared just above his shoe and slowly crawled up his leg. He reached down and touched one, and it multiplied under his finger. He quickly retracted his hand and rolled down his jeans.

  Suddenly, Dell’s body sickened. And it wasn’t just a physical pain. The poison spreading up his leg and coursing through his veins also affected his mind, exposing the darkest corners and unearthing the worst memories of his mind.

  He saw his father leaving, and he relived the ridicule from his classmates, the embarrassments of his youth. The images flashed in his mind like a vile highlight reel, the moments passing quickly and slowly at the same time, forced to relive his shame.

  It was an endless pit that he was cast into, and Dell thought he would fall forever. But it was the touch of a gentle hand against his cheek that pulled him from the darkness, and when he looked toward the light, he saw only one face: Sarah.

  The darkness faded, and when Dell came to, he realized he was holding Mary Bell’s cheek, and she was holding his. Dell quickly let go and retreated, embarrassed.

  “You saved her,” Mary said.

  “Sarah’s alive?” Dell asked.

  “Yes,” Allister answered. “You took her place. And now she has a chance to end this.”

  Dell frowned. “How?”

  “The orb,” Allister answered. “It is the key to opening the portal and unleashing the armies of hell onto Earth.” He looked to the horizon and the valley of demons that surrounded them. “When the gate reopens, the dark lord will use the energy from our souls to propel his army onto Earth. That’s why we were collected. That is our purpose.”

  Dell deflated, unable to comprehend the insanity of his situation. He kept waiting to wake from the dream, but the images that surrounded him did not fade. He was stuck between hell and Earth, surrounded by the dead and demons, and on his way to becoming one himself before vanishing into nothing as hell was released upon the mortal world.

  23

  Dawn pierced the horizon, the first rays of light breaking through the barren trees. Winter’s breath had stripped them of vegetation, transforming them into sticks that stretched toward the early grey blue of morning.

  Sarah had sprinted into the woods, churning her legs as fast as they would carry her while her heels smacked the uneven earth covered in dead grass and leaves. Her muscles and lungs burned, but she didn’t slow down. She didn’t stop. Because while she had escaped the clutches of the Bell family, she still felt the shadow of their reach clawing at the back of her neck.

  Eventually the cold, exhaustion, and fatigue overrode the fear propelling her forward, and Sarah slowed, then collapsed to her hands and knees, dropping the sack she’d carried from Pat’s house. She sucked wind, her lungs burning with every breath.

  It was the first time she’d stopped since leaving Pat’s place. No, she thought. There never was a Pat, just a witch who managed to trick her. Whatever idea of Pat she thought existed, she had to push from her mind.

  Sarah tilted her head up, catching the silhouettes of a few trees that blocked the sun struggling to gain momentum over the mountains. There was no wind, no rustling of dead leaves, no chirp of birds or animals, nothing but silence and Sarah and the still earth beneath her.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead, smearing some of the dirt across her skin, and then shifted to her side, sitting on her hip. She was trembling and freezing. Sarah frantically reached for her pant leg and rolled up her jeans, finding the pale flesh of her legs. Not icy scales, her own skin.

  Sarah carefully ran her fingertips along her skin. She laughed, choking on the excitement, then quickly examined the other leg, finding it bare of any frosted blue scales as well. She checked her arms and hands and lifted the shirt to examine her stomach. They were gone. She was cured.

  Sarah collapsed on her back. Tears of joy leaked from her face, but she wiped them away, knowing that if she was alive, it was only because of what Dell had done.

  Sarah turned to look at the sack on the ground. She stared at it, hesitant to once again open Pandora’s box. But it was the only lead she had, and Sarah wasn’t sure how much time she had to figure it all out.

  Sarah grabbed the bag and dumped its contents onto the cold soil, then opened the first page of the notebook the witch had put together. She flipped through the pages, having already looked through most of the articles, but found nothing useful. She tossed the notebook aside and then reached for the letters.

  After straining to re-read the faded ink of the Bell family letters, Sarah found nothing that was useful to her situation or anything that she didn’t already know. But then she remembered what the redhead had told her, about the orb being the key. But even if she was able to retrieve the orb, Sarah had no way of knowing how to destroy it.

  And then Sarah’s eyes fell to the mysterious book that she had lifted from Pat’s house. It was an old book, the spine and cover weathered, the pages along the side browned from age. She reached for the book hesitantly, struggling to lift its weight and set it in her lap.

  Sarah ran her fingers over the cover, tracing the title with her fingers, which spelled Codex Gigas. Slowly, she opened to the first page and grunted in frustration when she saw it was written in a foreign language. She flipped through a few more pages and confirmed that the entire book was unreadable.

  Frustrated, Sarah tossed the book aside and then hugged herself, rubbing her arms to try and stay warm. Since she found the book among the witch’s things, Sarah figured it might contain something useful, but if she couldn’t read anything inside, then it wouldn’t do her any good.

  What she needed was someone she could talk to, someone she could trust, but the first person that she’d chosen to trust when she came to Bell ended up being the very thing that was trying to kill her, and the second person she trusted was gone.

  She sat in the dirt, staring at the book she’d stolen, and then reached for it again. She opened the cover and turned to the table of contents. It looked as though each of the chapters were a name instead of a number.

  She scrolled down the page, the words unfamiliar, but then stopped. She squinted at the name, reciting it. “Ecclesiastes.”

  It was a name she recognized. Most of the orphanages that Sarah had lived in growing up were extremely religious, and every Sunday she was forced to go to church. She didn’t much care for the sermons, but she did like the fact that they served donut holes after the service. She’d stuff as many as she could in her pocket and snack on them the rest of the day.

  Ecclesiastes was a book in the bible, but why the hell a witch would have something like this, Sarah had no idea. But it brought another thought to mind. If she was going to try and fight the devil, then she might benefit from a little holy intervention.

  Bell didn’t have a church, at least not anymore after it was burned down, but she remembered seeing one when she was passing through Redford. It was as good a place to start as any, and seeing how she didn’t have any other leads, it was her best option.

  Sarah shut the book and then scooped it off the ground. She shoved it back inside the bag along with the letters and the notebook and then turned south toward Redford.

  Brent Alvarez lingered in the back of the squad car after the woman disappeared, still in shock over how she’d vanished into thin air, just like the handcuffs that had been around his wrists. He wiggled his fingers, smiling at his freedom.

  Brent reached for the door handle of the cop car, and then laughed when it opened and he stepped out into the cold.

  The difference in temperature between the back of the squad car and outside
was minimal. But he didn’t complain about the cold. He’d lived in New York City his entire life, but the cold had eaten through his leather jacket and jeans after being stuck in the back of the fucking cruiser for the past few hours. And the more irritated he became, the more he wanted to shove the barrel of his pistol down that podunk cop’s throat.

  Brent reached into the front compartment of the dash and grabbed his wallet and badge that Dell had confiscated upon his arrest, along with the revolver. He flicked the barrel open and found it empty, remembering that he’d fired all of his shots in the forest.

  Brent popped the trunk and searched the back, but the only thing he found were a few road flares, a spare Kevlar jacket, and a box of twelve-gauge shotgun shells. He angrily tossed the box back inside and then slammed the trunk shut. “Shit.”

  There were more bullets for the .38 special in the glove box of his GTO, though his precious car was currently flipped upside down in a ditch off the highway heading south. He could head there and check it out, but he wasn’t sure if the troopers hadn’t already arrived to confiscate it.

  Hands on his hips, Brent glanced around the town until his eyes landed on the tavern. He was willing to bet the old bastard had a shotgun or rifle stashed beneath the bar and decided to go inside and check it out.

  No longer concerned about keeping up with appearances, Brent smashed the front door window with his elbow, littering the inside with glass. He reached for the lock, gave it a twist, and granted himself entry.

  The place reeked of stale booze and dirty dish rags, and Brent wrinkled his nose in defiance as he headed for the bar, feeling beneath the cash register, but to his surprise, he found nothing but counter. “You’re kidding me.” Brent ducked underneath and checked all along the inside of the bar, but there was no firearm to be found. “Dammit!” He pounded his fist against the bar and then reached for a bottle of tequila.