by Emma Beaven
The other Rose grasped her wrist violently, nearly knocking her down.
“Or did Daddy give it to you?”
“Rose, stop,” Maggie said, her hands fluttering uselessly at her sides.
“I didn’t take anything!” Rose backed up, looking imploringly at Maggie. “Please …?”
“Stupid cow!”
Rose blinked, stretching out her hand before she realized what she was doing. The other Rose sneered and slammed the door. Giggling ensued outside the room as Rose looked wildly around her, trying to find a place to run, a place to which she could escape.
The hallway grew dark, the sky filling with endless black clouds. Rose shuffled toward the stairs leading to the third floor when she saw the door beside the stairs begin to open. In the thin stream of light that trickled from the opening, she could see the sleeve of a dressing gown.
She knew who it was before she stepped out. After all, her father’s room had always been there. As the door opened wider, she saw his figure outlined in the doorway. Rose searched his face as he looked back, his eyes cold and emotionless. He had never looked at her with a gaze like that before, and Rose knew instantly that he didn’t see her, didn’t see his daughter Rose.
Her throat contracted as he beckoned her. She shut her eyes, a hand closing on her wrist, the grip so tight her fingers began to go numb. From far away, the light, airy sound of giggling drifted over her, a hint of malice threaded through the otherwise innocuous noise.
A scream built deep within Rose’s chest as the hand dragged her roughly from the relative safety of the hallway.
“No, I can’t do it. I won’t!”
She was back suddenly. Back in the parlor, the thick rug cushioning her feet. Mr. and Mrs. Hill were still staring hard at the patterns in the rug, their feet shifting uncomfortably. Henry, his eyes filled with despair, sat slumped in one of the pale brown wing chairs, his shoulders bowed heavily. Only Sarah looked alert, mirth bouncing in her virtually colorless eyes.
“Are you ready?”
Rose shuddered, the feel of her father’s eyes still weighing on her shoulders. “I can’t.”
“What?” Sarah snapped angrily. “Don’t be a fool. This is your only chance at redemption.”
“I won’t, Sarah. I won’t!” Rose collapsed, sobbing. “If I have to stay here, then so be it!”
“Fine,” Sarah said softly. “But tell me, does your skin itch now?”
Rose snapped her head up, the itch already building in her arms and thighs and the back of her head. She tried to squelch it, but the more she tried to ignore it, the worse it got.
“Go on,” Sarah said. “Scratch it.”
Rose’s fingers moved to the back of her head.
“For you, for all of you, it’s hard to wear that skin once you’ve come here, once you’ve passed from the living.” Sarah laughed. “And Rose?”
Rose rubbed fiercely at the dry scabs.
“The others. The ones in town, the ones you meet on the road.” Sarah gestured out to the drive. “They can smell it on you.”
“Shut up!” Rose clapped her hands over her ears. “This isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real!”
Sarah sniffed. “They all smell it on you. What’s under your skin.”
“It’s all right, Rose. Stay with us.” Henry had risen from his chair, his arm extended.
Rose swallowed, her eyes fixed on Sarah.
“Don’t do it, Rose!” Sarah reached a cracked hand out to her. “It’s only for a little while. To pay your debt. Then you’ll be free.” She gestured at the strange company standing about her. “They’ll take you into their hallways forever.”
“I want to go home,” Rose sobbed.
Sarah nodded vigorously, causing her head to bob obscenely once more.
“Stay with us. We understand you. We love you.” Henry reached out his own frail hand. “We’ll keep your soul safe.”
Rose recoiled as the macabre group closed around her. Overhead, a rustling and a smattering of footsteps creaked across the boards of the ceiling.
Sarah sneered. “Neither God nor the Devil has a place for you.”
“I… I’ll stay with Henry.”
“Fine!” Sarah snapped. She pointed at the ceiling. “Enjoy your housemates. It’ll be naught but cold comfort. You’ll be stuck forever. For eternity in between.”
With that, she whirled on her heel and retreated from the room, giving Rose one last, milky-eyed glare. Rose shuddered and collapsed on the ground, wishing she could cry. Henry and the Hills moved forward, encircling her.
“I knew you’d stay,” Henry said. “I knew it when I first came to get you.”
“You already knew?” Rose asked softly.
“Of course.”
“Come, Rose,” said Ann. “I’ll take you to your room.”
“Wait!” Henry dropped down beside her and grasped her hand. “Sit up, my dear. You can be happy now! She won’t come ’round anymore. She’s gone, and you’ll stay with us.”
Rose let out a dry sob.
“Come.” Henry pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll be happy here together, now that we know you’ll stay. Your father will be in Hell, but you’ll stay here, at the border. Safe.”
“I want to go home.”
“You are home. And you’re safe! I’ll take you to your room so you can rest.”
“I… I don’t want to go upstairs.”
“Not yet, certainly,” Henry said. “Come, I’ll get you some wine.”
Rose allowed herself to be led into her bedroom. The bed had been made and the pillows fluffed. Through the cracked window, a cool breeze caressed her itchy skin. Soon Henry appeared with the wine, a smile lighting his face. “I came a long way to get you. The hallways run very, very deep. Your silence was… loud.” He paused, his eyes roving over her. “Do not think that I do not care for you. We have so much in common.”
She cautiously matched his smile, her body slowly relaxing. “You did not marry me for love, though, did you?”
Henry stroked her matted hair gently as he handed over the wine. “I needed you to come here, to the house. Quickly. Before she got to you.”
“It’s not so bad, I guess.” Her smile widened. “And you want me here?”
“Of course.”
Rose lay back, letting the warmth of the wine run through her. “There was no reason to go back, then. I don’t know why I thought—”
“Everyone thinks they should. This place, once you get used to it, isn’t so bad.”
Rose set her wine down tentatively. “Used to what?”
“Upstairs. And this.” He raked his fingers across his arm. “This damn skin.”
Henry rubbed at his steadily flaking skin. As Rose watched, his fingers sank deeper, rending the flesh. The veins that had been so apparent beneath Henry’s skin turned from blue to green.
Her mouth slowly fell open, her breath becoming ragged as she watched the dry cracks and furrows split his flesh.
“I can’t stand it,” he said. “Once the blood drains fully, it will become easier for you.”
Henry stepped closer as a huge gash appeared in his left cheek, slowly spreading down to connect with the corner of his mouth. Beneath, greenish-gray vines with sharp briars sprouted from the tattered flesh.
The lips, as they tore, left a gaping maw, which opened once into what was supposed to be a smile.
He ran a hand down the top portion of his spine, and fissures appeared through what was left of his clothing.
Several thumps, sounding more like knocks, came from above. Rose tried to scream as Henry reached out for her, enfolding her in a hug.
“When I came to get you, I knew you would stay. Forever. It is safe here, between Heaven and Hell. I knew it was better when they first brought me here.”
“But the people upstairs—”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “The servants satiate them, for a time, at least. It’s some respite for them.”
&
nbsp; “This is Hell!” Rose wailed.
“It’s the in-between.” Henry gazed up at the ceiling. “But they will not let us rest. And now they’re locked in there, as well.”
Rose put her hands over her face. “I didn’t mean it! What was I supposed to do?”
Henry smiled and placed a scale-covered hand against the side of her face.
“Nothing.” His fingerlike claws dug into her cheek. “But let me help you with all this flesh.”
About the Author
Thanks for reading WHERE THE BRIARS SLEEP. I do hope you enjoyed my story. I appreciate your help in spreading the word, including telling a friend. Before you go, it would mean so much to me if you would take a few minutes to write a review and share how you feel about my story so others may find my work. Reviews really do help readers find books. Please leave a review on your favorite book site.
Visit my website for my current booklist: www.emmabeaven.wordpress.com
Emma Beaven grew up in a reputedly haunted house in Solomons Island, Maryland. She has been an avid reader and writer of horror since she was a little girl and discovered Andersen’s Fairy Tales. She studied English Literature at the University of Maryland, College Park, and has worked at the Enoch Pratt Free Library for fifteen years as the manager of the Maryland Interlibrary Loan department. Currently she is working on another horror novel as well as various short stories.
Acknowledgments
I would like to acknowledge Kelly White, who I had the pleasure to work with at the library, as this book would not have been published without her help. She pushed me to go forward and gave me the courage to submit my work.
I would also like to thank my agent, Kim Childress, who handled the things I could not bring myself to do. Finally, I would like to make a special acknowledgement to my friend Violet Gray, who always believed in me as a horror writer.
About the Publisher
As Hot Tree Publishing’s first imprint branch, Tangled Tree Publishing aims to bring darker, twisted, more tangled reads to its readers. Established in 2015, they have seen rousing success as a rising publishing house in the industry motivated by their enthusiasm and keen eye for talent. Driving them is their passion for the written word of all genres, but with Tangled Tree Publishing, they’re embarking on a whole new adventure with words of mystery, suspense, crime, and thrillers.
Join the growing Hot Tree Group family of authors, promoters, editors, and readers. Become a part of not just a company but an actual family by submitting your manuscript to Tangled Tree Publishing. Know that they will put your interests and book first, and that your voice and brand will always be at the forefront of everything they do.
For more details, head to
www.tangledtreepublishing.com
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