A gurgling sound of pain is followed by my release into the room. On my hands and knees, I crawl away from the window toward the hallway. But my escape abruptly ends as I reach Silas’s boots. I look up at his hideous, laughing face. He places his shoe to my forehead and pushes me backward.
As I fall, I slowly look up, wondering if, once I’m on the floor, I’ll ever leave this position. My eyes meet Silas’s black holes as a wicked smile stretches over his bloodied lips, and the hat falls from his head, revealing a tumble of black waves tipped with individual snakeheads. His skin smooths, his cackle elevates, and his form turns to Whitney. She stands, glowering at me before she turns and raises her eyes to Annalen.
“Come on down, sweetie!” she gurgles. “Come down now.”
Without warning, Annalen drops like a stone, and her scream rings out in chorus with my own as I scramble to catch her. She hits the ground with a thud. I sweep her into my arms, but her body is limp, and her head lolls back.
“Get her out of here!” Gen’s voice.
I wrench my head around to see her standing by the steps.
“Run! Go out the way you came!”
I rise, but Whitney stands in my way, and her form seems taller, broader than ever before. Her legs are wrapped in thick snakeskin, and her blouse is segmented like the underbelly of a serpent.
The words return to me suddenly like a clarion call from long ago. “In that day, the Lord will punish with his sword—his fierce, great and powerful sword—Leviathan the gliding serpent, Leviathan the coiling serpent; he will slay the monster of the sea.”
Twisting around, I hold up the bloodied dagger in front of the demon disguised as Whitney. “You know what this is. You saw it in my house, and you were afraid of it—I realize that now. When I told you the legend, you shied away. Were you one of those seven demons, Leviathan?”
Whitney’s smile fades, and I advance toward her, holding the dagger aloft.
“Leviathan. Liar, abuser, murderer. You killed my friends. You tried to take my children.”
Whitney convulses, her shoulders hunching, her cheeks puffing outward. Seconds later, black bile bursts from her mouth, drenching the front of me in a tar-like ooze that smells worse than sewage and burns like acid. With a scream, her mouth drops into a leer that looks too much like Silas’s and then quickly morphs into Steel’s sneer. The skylight opens, and a cold wind rushes through, followed by a blast of frigid water that flows between us.
In that moment, I raise the dagger and drive the stake into the demon’s chest. It shrieks with an inhuman, ear-splitting sound of a dying monster—a demon returning to a cave of sulfur and fire.
A few feet away from me, Annalen grasps the banister and attempts to rise. My own legs barely hold me as I fall into her, and we move as one down the staircase. Near the bottom, a sea of water awaits us, littered with floating furniture and debris.
“Come on!” I urge her, and we plunge into the freezing cold. Her head dips below the surface, and I struggle to lift her while continuing to swim toward the end of the portal.
Another head rises from the waters next to me. Agnes. She holds Annalen above the raging waves as we press toward the door. Just as we reach it, the panel swings out, and water gushes from the opening, drawing the three of us toward it, catching us in the rapids of a river.
Silver light pours in as the water flows out, and the three of us pass through the glow as we’re expectorated into the black of night. Annalen and I roll onto a sodden ground of mud and small rivers on the flooded property. Staggering to my feet and pulling Annalen to hers, I scour the land for Agnes, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
Loud creaks behind me echo across the field and its adjoining construction site. I look up at the house. Like a ship in the process of capsizing, the wood collapses and the frame gives way, the edges crumbling as the house folds in on itself. Within seconds, the entire structure sinks into the ground. As the roof disappears, sucked into the mud, the earth closes over it, and the thought strikes me that we might be sucked in along with it.
“Let’s go!” I grab Annalen’s hand, and we sprint toward the fence line.
Silhouettes wait for us on the other side—Hyo, Paris, Julie, Jax, Mickey, and Father Forrest are all there—jumping up and down, screaming for us to hurry, to keep running. And we do. We run like it’s a marathon for our lives. When we catch up to them, they race with us, and we don’t stop until we reach the house’s deck.
There, I turn, gasping for breath, holding myself up by the railing. The earth continues to sink, giving way and devouring everything in its path—the fence, the trees, the very ground itself.
I let go of the railing and back away. “It’s going to take the house too.”
But as the shed is consumed by the hungry earth, the spread of the sinkhole ends. The wet droplets raining down on our heads stop falling, and the ground closes up with a patch of green grass—as though no shed ever stood on that spot. The earth has eaten its fill.
Silence falls. Only the sounds of our gasps and pants linger.
“I told you,” Hyo says. “Too many holes in the ground.”
As Annalen and Paris fall against me, burying their faces into my filthy clothing, I glance up at Steel’s house.
All of the windows are dark.
62
The Community Times
Monday, December 2
Sinkhole on Virginia Residential Property Halts Construction Indefinitely
Experts claim that a sinkhole has caused massive damage to a residential site previously under construction. Owner and developer Eli Chewning expressed his dismay at the catastrophic incident that has all but brought his project to a halt.
“I knew we had problems, but I had no idea how big those holes were,” he says. “I’m just glad we hadn’t completed any houses there yet.”
According to the Department of Conservation, sinkholes can be formed by acidic surface water that spreads and dissolves limestone. They can also develop through collapsing sediment of old landfills, decaying organic material, and other means.
Tuesday, December 3
Remains of Four Bodies Found in Sinkhole Aftermath
The unprecedented sinkhole that took out a large portion of a Virginia construction site has also unearthed the remains of three children and one adult. A preliminary forensic report suggests that the children’s remains may be over two decades old and will take time to identify. The adult’s remains have been confirmed as that of Agnes Frankenson, an Amber Mills resident missing since late last week.
The three children are believed to have been missing since the 90s, possible victims of the convicted child molester Silas Crouter, murdered in prison three years ago. Until recently, his house was located approximately twenty-five yards from the site where the bodies were found. The house was another casualty of last week’s sinkhole incident.
THE SUN IS ON ITS WAY down, and a gray cast colors the sky. Annalen and Gretchen help me carry boxes to the van. Tonight, we will sleep in our new home.
Next door, Bob Philips stakes a For Sale sign in the yard. I pause on my way back into the house and give him a wave.
He raises his hand, signaling me to wait, and jogs across the yard toward me.
“It’s Claire, isn’t it?” He pants, clutching at his chest.
“Yes. Bob, right?”
He nods, rubs a hand over his balding head. Then he motions to the For Sale sign in my yard. “Looks like we had the same idea.”
I wrap my arms around myself, blocking out the wind. “Yeah, I bought a little house near Gainesville further out in the country. The girls want a dog, and my youngest wants a pony.” I roll my eyes and huff out a laugh.
Bob continues to nod. “I wanted to ask you about the guy who was living here.” He jerks his thumb toward the house. “Someone—a private investigator—called me, told me there was a squatter. I never knew. The house was supposed to be empty.”
My smile fades. “Mm-hm. We all thought Ste
el—the guy—was renting the place.”
Still breathing hard, Bob shakes his head. “Did you know him at all?”
“A little.” I twist my mouth to keep from saying the things I want to say. “He was . . . a very strange entity.”
Annalen carries my fairy garden toward the SUV. I wait for her to pass, place the planter box inside, and return to the house. She’s almost back to her old self again. She still won’t talk about what happened while she was under possession, and I’m okay with that. I know well enough that healing takes time—sometimes years—and even then, those of us who have suffered unthinkable abuse don’t always talk about it.
There are hours, days, when I wish I never remembered what happened to me. And there isn’t one second that I don’t wish I never met the neighbor next door.
Bob looks up at the windows of the house. “Any idea what happened to him?”
I shrug. “Not really, but I think he went back to wherever he came from.”
“I mean, it’s bizarre—first of all, how he got into the house. But he left everything. His truck, his clothes, and a basement full of weird artifacts and junk.” He flaps his arms. “I called the number painted on the side of the truck for PSN Home Improvement, but it’s been disconnected. And there’s no listing for it on the web or anything.”
My mouth twitches. “I think it’s a defunct company.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Some of the stuff he left in the house looks valuable. I’ve called a service to get the truck, but I don’t know what to do with the rest of it.”
“Whoever he was, he was living in your house illegally,” I say quickly. “You should just call a junk removal service. Have them destroy those things.”
He cocks his head to the side and sighs. “I guess this is what I get for not taking more time to know my neighbors. If I’d made a few friends here, someone probably would have told me I had a home invader.”
We need to get going. I look down at my watch. There are still a few bruises on my arm, but they’ve mostly faded now.
“Mommy!” Gretchen skips out of the house. “Hallie wants to know if I can stay over at her house tomorrow night?”
“No, honey. Some other night. Once we get settled. Then she can come over too if she wants. And hurry up with the rest of your toys because we’ve got to get all of this stuff to the new place before dark.”
Her shoulders slump as she trudges back into the house. “O-kay.”
Bob starts to back away. “Well, sorry to hold you up. Good luck selling your house.”
I smile. “Good luck to you too.” I hesitate for a moment, considering the shelves of artifacts in Bob’s basement. Just because the demon is gone doesn’t mean those items couldn’t still be dangerous. As I’ve learned, evil is persistent. “Hey, I meant what I said about the junk in the house. Get rid of everything. That guy was into some weird hobbies. All of that stuff is cursed. And actually...” I pull out my phone. “I know some people who can help you. If nothing else, they’ll know how to dispose of the objects properly.”
His forehead creases with confusion, but he shrugs. “Okay.”
I give him Julie’s and Jax’s number. Now that I’ve met evil face to face, I feel an obligation to warn others and at least try to prevent them from falling victim to the same.
Bart pulls into the driveway behind my SUV and steps out. “Sorry, I’m late. I had to drop Ronnie off at her mother’s. Now I’m at your full disposal for the rest of the day.” He smiles. “So, where do you want me to start?”
I shield my eyes against the sun. “The dining room still has a ton of boxes. I guess as many as you can pack into the car.”
I watch him advance into the house. In the foyer, he gives each of the girls a high-five. The last few weeks, Bart has been a great friend. I know he’d like to be more, but I’m finally enjoying life on my own.
From across the street, Dawn whistles. “Hey, are we still doing lunch next week?”
“Yes. I’ll call you Monday. We’ll set something up.”
She pulls her coat around her and hurries back inside.
I feel a scratch of sadness as I glance over at the Painter’s house. It sold after several weeks on the market. Trey finally reduced the price by $10,000 since all the potential buyers complained that the house felt “creepy.”
The Frankensons’ place remains empty. Supposedly, it has gone into the bank’s hands since the family left no will. The yard has turned into an overgrown swamp, although occasionally Linda’s husband mows it.
I talk to Hyo daily, and she and Paris have become the best of friends. Paris asks to see her every afternoon and goes over after school to eat Hyo’s Hwangnam-ppang pastry filled with red bean paste. After Hyo carried her from the portal that night, the bond between the older woman and my six-year-old is strong. Paris will miss seeing her daily, but Linda has promised to bring Hyo to the new house once a week.
“Mommy, I found this outside in the yard.” Paris holds up a mud-encrusted dagger. “Isn’t this the knife from the wall?”
The dagger is missing its leather sheath, but otherwise, it’s completely intact. I thought it was lost in the sinkholes.
“You’re kidding? You found that in the yard?”
She nods. “Right where the shed used to be.”
I use an old towel to wipe it clean. Then I wrap it with extra tissue paper and place it in the box with the other valuables.
Tears well into my eyes, sudden and overwhelming. I wipe at them with the back of my hand. Most of the tears are for what I’ve lost and what I’ve gained. Some of them are for the lies I’ve told and believed and for finally understanding the truth. Many of the tears are for that seven-year-old girl who wandered into a field looking for an escape.
As I was packing a box a few days ago, I found an old diary at the bottom of a desk drawer that I had penned when I was around Annalen’s age.
Something bad happened to me when I was little. I don’t remember what it was, and I don’t know why it makes me angry, but I think it had to do with the field and the swing set and the old house there. I don’t want to think about it. And I’ll never tell Mom and Dad about it. They would be angry at me. But sometimes, I just wish I was someone else. I wish I had another name. I wish I lived another life. Maybe one day, I will.
My days of using other names and pretending I live a different life are over. I’m finally who and where I’m supposed to be.
As the girls climb into the SUV, I close up the house. In a few days, there will be a lockbox on the handle. I saunter down the driveway and call out to Bart as he gets into his car. “We’ll see you at the new place.”
He signals an OK. “I’ll pick up some pizzas on the way.”
“Thanks!”
As I swing into the driver’s seat, I look over at Annalen and give her a smile. Then I glance into the rearview mirror at the three girls in the back and shift the SUV into reverse.
The white truck parked in Bob’s driveway attempts to torment me one last time, and I feel a little stab in the pit of my stomach. I’ve tried not to look at it the last few weeks. I’ve tried not to look at the house at all, terrified that one night I’ll see Steel standing in the window.
Just as I start to move out, a rollback truck momentarily blocks me. I glimpse the side as it backs partially into Bob’s driveway. Lighthouse Towing.
“Mommy, what are we waiting for?”
I smile as I release the brake and the SUV rolls out of the driveway. “Nothing, Paris. We’re not waiting for anything. Our new life starts right now.”
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. —Ephesians 6:12
Author’s Note
Writing this novel in the middle of a pandemic was hard enough. But that paled in comparison to the sudden and very unexpected death of my beloved father. When I found out he’d had a hear
t attack while on vacation in Florida, I started making travel plans. My sisters flew down immediately to be with my stepmother, but I waited because no one was allowed in to see him, and we were all expecting a treatment plan leading to a full recovery. Unfortunately, he never regained consciousness, and in the end, I didn’t get to see him before he passed.
The loss has been excruciating for my family and me. Still, I managed to complete the book and send it to publication. My dad probably wouldn’t have liked this novel because he hated scary stuff, which is why I didn’t dedicate it to him. Even so, the novels I write in the future will be inspired by him in some way.
My dad was far too young to go—he was only 72. He owned an auto sales business for thirty years with one employee who had been with him almost that whole time. My dad loved to be in constant motion. He was always working, always striving for one goal or another. He loved his family, he loved animals, and he loved life. More than anything, my dad loved Jesus, and he shared his faith openly. He was the best man I’ve ever known (and nothing at all like Steel Nolan). Integrity, honesty, and loyalty were the principles he lived by every day.
At the time that I’m writing this, my dad has been gone one month to the day, and I already miss him so much.
Hug your loved ones while you can, hold them close, and never miss a chance to tell them how much you love them.
Thank you, dear readers, for your support and readership. I hope I can continue to bring you unique stories with interesting characters for many years.
All my love, London xx
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The Neighbor: A terrifying tale of supernatural suspense Page 31