Imp

by Andrew Neiderman

  The periods of hallucination and hysteria had begun to merge in Faith. She had taken to crawling around the floor of the room and stopping randomly at a spot. There she would sit and sing and talk to herself until the urge to move came on her again. She wouldn’t cry out or call. Her mouth had become so dry, that her lips cracked and her tongue felt hard and brittle like old leaves.

  In her nervousness she had pulled and tugged on her clothing and hair. Her blouse was torn at the collar and unbuttoned, some of the buttons having been ripped off. Her hair, wild and disheveled, puffed out around her head as if filled with static electricity. The palms of her hands and her knees were raw from the crawling. When she sat back against the wall, she held her hands on her lap, as though they were on fire, keeping the fingers opened and bent, the palms up. She stared forward, her eyes glassy and empty, her face bland. She looked like someone beyond pain, now in a stage of numbness and on the border of unconsciousness.

  Occasionally, her hands would drop to the floor. When that happened, she would form her small, soft fists and pound with slow, methodical up and down motions devoid of much enthusiasm. It was this sound that Eddie Morris had first heard. The house carried it through its structure, amplifying it slightly in the ceiling beams.

  Even so, she didn’t hear Eddie’s footsteps or realize he was just outside the door. He stopped and listened again. This time he heard her shuffling about and moaning, so he directed his light on the door. He went to it and knocked.

  To her it was like thunder. She stopped her movements and sat back. He knocked again and called. She stood up and leaned against the wall to steady herself. Before she went to the door, she cupped her hands and brushed back her hair.

  “Hello?”

  “Daddy?” she said.

  Eddie heard her and tried the handle. He saw that the door was locked and the key was gone. He rattled the knob and knocked once more. She turned the knob from the inside.

  “It’s the police,” he said. “Can you open this door?”

  “I’m locked in here, Daddy. I’ve got to get out to tell Mary about the baby. Hurry.”

  “It’s the police, Officer Morris,” Eddie said, pressing his face to the door. “I’m going to force this door open. Step back.” He waited a moment and again tried to open one of The Oaks doors by slamming his shoulder against it. Like the front door, it barely budged. “Dammit. Hold on,” he said and turned about to look for something to pry it open.

  He remembered seeing some tools in the kitchen, so he hurried back downstairs and got a hammer and a long screwdriver. When he returned, he listened again before he started and heard some soft sobbing. “Hold on,” he called and worked the screwdriver in between the door and the jamb near the lock. He pounded it with his hammer and then began to pry and pull. The tooth of the lock came undone and the door flew open.

  The sight stopped him cold. Faith hadn’t realized how many times she had scratched her face. She looked like a caged animal that had turned on itself. Her torn clothing, the wild hair, the crazed look in her eyes, and the terrible odors in the room all made him step back.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t know,” Faith said in a loud whisper. “We’ve got to tell her.”

  “Look,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but there’s been an accident in the basement.”

  “Yes.” She nodded her head quickly. “In the basement … he’s been getting out.”

  “Huh? Do you know something about what happened down there?”

  “We’ve got to tell Mary,” she said, pronouncing each word very distinctly. “Now.”

  “OK. Just take it easy. Come on,” he said, “let’s get you into the bathroom first where you can clean up. All right?” He went to reach for her and she screamed. She embraced herself and cringed. His arm froze in the air. For a few seconds he didn’t move a muscle. “Take it easy,” he said. She pressed herself back against the wall and glared at him. “Jeez,” he muttered. “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you. Relax. I’ll get you help. Don’t you want to come out and get a drink or something? How long have you been in here?” he asked her and recalled Bobby O’Neil telling him Faith wasn’t in school today. “Huh?” She shook her head.

  “Your name’s Faith, right?” he said smiling. “I’m Eddie Morris. You know my wife. She’s one of your teachers—Mrs. Morris.” She simply stared at him. “Is there someone you’d like me to call? Someone who can come to stay with you?”

  “Where’s Mary?”

  “Mary? Mary’s … er … Mary got hurt in the basement. That’s why you should come out.”

  “Hurt? He hurt her? He hurt her, too? Oh, God …” She brought her hands to her cheeks.

  “Who? Who hurt her? Did you see someone hurt her or threaten her?”

  “The Devil,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “He is the Devil. She was right. I’ve got to tell her before it’s too late.”

  She moved around the room, edging toward the door, eyeing him closely as she did so.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, stepping back to make her feel more secure. The moment he did so, she ran by him out the door and down the corridor to the stairway. He took another look around the room, at the boarded windows and the bed with the Bible on it, and shook his head. “This is really something,” he muttered and went out to see where the crazed teenager had gone.

  By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, she was on her way to the basement. He heard her pounding down the old wooden steps. He wondered if he should call in to tell the chief to bring Myra Goodman up with him so there would be a woman to help out. But then he thought, Myra wasn’t working tonight; that’s why the chief answered the phone himself.

  He followed Faith into the basement, deciding it wasn’t good to leave her alone down there, even for a few moments. She was already in an hysterical state. Who knew what this sight would do to her? Why was she locked in that room, anyway? he wondered as he went down to her.

  He found her kneeling by Mary’s body, holding her hand and talking to her.

  “You were right. You were right all along,” she said. “Now we’ve got to go and find him. He’s out there. Come on, Mary. Come on.” She waited a moment and then said, “Mother … you were right. Mother …”

  He knelt beside her, afraid to touch her for fear of how she would react. She looked at him and then she looked back at Mary. Through the hole in the fieldstone wall, he could hear the siren of the ambulance in the distance.

  “She’s been hurt badly,” he said as softly as he could. “Looks like she took a bad fall. She was standing on this dresser, I think. I imagine she was trying to get to something up there,” he said and gestured toward the ceiling. Faith followed his gesture and then stood up quickly, glaring at the ceiling. She backed up and held her arms extended as though to protect herself.

  “MAYBE HE’S UP THERE!” she screamed. “HE’S UP THERE!”

  “What? Who?” Eddie stood up quickly and ran the light over the ceiling. “What’s up there? Tell me.”

  “The baby,” she said.

  “Baby? What baby? How could a baby be up there?” he asked incredulously, but directed the beam into the dark corners anyway.

  “He crawls. He climbs. He calls to me through the floor,” she said in that loud whispering voice. “He blows through the boards and touches my hand. He touches my hand!”

  “There was a baby down here?” Eddie looked at the box and the raggedy blanket. “Living down here? Whose baby?”

  “Mary!” Faith said, kneeling beside the body again. She took Mary’s hand. “Get up. You’ve got to get up!”

  “She’s not going to get up, Honey,” Eddie said gently. “Please, talk to me. What baby?”

  His kind tone, his soft expression, and his height and size reminded her of her father when she was young. She wished she could be that young again and there could be some sunlight on the house. She closed
her eyes and waited for the magic. It could come. If you wanted it hard enough, it could come.

  “Daddy,” she whispered.

  “I’m listening,” he said. If she wanted to call him Daddy, that was all right. As long as it led to her explaining things. “What baby are you talking about, Faith? Whose baby was down here?”

  “Mary’s baby,” she said, looking down at her mother. “My … broth … brother.”

  “What? Your mother had a baby? How old is the baby? Was it a boy?” he added quickly.

  “Yes.”

  “How many years old is he?”

  “He’s a little more than four,” she said. She spoke like someone under hypnosis.

  “And she kept him …” Eddie looked around again. Then he looked at the hole in the wall. “He got out? He’s been getting out. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s it,” he said. “Incredible. Why did she do this? Has he always been kept down here? My God, he has, hasn’t he?” he said before she could respond.

  He heard the ambulance pulling up to The Oaks.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he said, reaching out for her this time. “You need some medical treatment, Honey. Come on.”

  “I’m afraid,” she said.

  “No. Don’t be. I’ll go up with you. Come on.”

  “Promise?”

  “Sure.”

  “And take me for rides again and be with us …”

  “I will.” He brought her to her feet. She looked down at Mary sadly and shook her head.

  “Mary’s asleep. Mary’s with God,” she said and then she smiled. Even though it was a good smile, it gave him the chills to see it. “That’s all she ever wanted anyway,” she said.

  He led her away and up the stairs, turning back only once to look at the box and the hole in the fieldstone wall.

  He told the paramedics to take care of her first. There wasn’t much for them to do with Mary Oaks. He waited out front for Sam Cobler to arrive and then he took him through the old house and the mystery it had hidden.

  SEVENTEEN

  The barking dogs woke him. He hadn’t really slept much during the night and he had dozed off only minutes before he heard them. Although they were far off and held on leashes, he thought they were dangerously close. He had lost his sense of perspective. Things that were solid looked liquid. Colors merged and faded. His hands and his feet seemed far away and growing farther and farther.

  He forced himself into a standing position. Somewhere in the back of his brain, the last vestiges of sensible thoughts were emerging. He didn’t like where he was; he didn’t like the sounds coming from his right, and he was very uncomfortable.

  He grunted and moved forward, feeling as though he were floating. The bottom part of his body was numb. He had to look down to be sure he was touching the ground. He could see the house, and he had enough consciousness left to know that he wanted to go to it. Despite his eagerness, he moved like one treading water. Gradually, he quickened his pace until he almost charged out of the bush. As he hurried along, he heard a strange, high-pitched cry and realized it was coming from him.

  The dogs, chasing his scent, followed his earlier zigzagged journey and led Eddie Morris and two other patrolmen off to the left. He heard the barking diminish and felt a little safer, but he didn’t slow down. When he reached the house, he went to all fours and crawled to the opening. There was a police car parked in the front and two policemen standing beside it, but he didn’t see it or them and they didn’t hear or see him.

  Breathing hard now, he struggled to get himself through the hole. He missed his footing on the stones, as he lowered himself through, and slid all the way to the basement floor, scraping his legs and stomach. He lay there for a few minutes, gasping and clawing the floor. Athough he felt pain, he didn’t cry. His throat was much too constricted and the heaviness in his chest made it difficult to do much more than inhale and exhale.

  He didn’t think of Mary anymore. Indeed, he didn’t even remember that he had left her lying there, not far from where he himself lay now. Something triggered his memory, finally, and he turned and headed for the box. When he got there, he was disappointed that his blanket was gone, but he was much too tired and too weak to do anything about it. Instead, he slipped in and curled up as comfortably as he could.

  Another memory returned and he embraced himself. He felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. It was good to close them and close out as much light as possible. Something nudged at him and he opened his eyes again to discover that he was jerking his legs up against his stomach. This convulsion frightened him, so he started to do his hum. He couldn’t control the volume and length of it, but it gave him some pleasure and some sense of security.

  The convulsions grew more intense. It became impossible to hold the embrace on himself. His arms began moving on their own and his head started to bob spasmodically. He bit his tongue a few times and tasted the blood. His eyes rolled and he foamed at the mouth, nearly choking on his own sputum.

  Then, just as suddenly as the convulsions had begun, they stopped. He felt a warm glow come over him and he settled into himself. He felt as though he were shrinking. The sides of the box grew larger, taller. He struggled to stop it, but he continued to diminish. The only thing that would slow it down was closing his eyes.

  When he did so, a sound struggled to emerge from deep within. It wasn’t a familiar sound. At least, he couldn’t recall making it often. But when it came, he welcomed it. It made him extend his arms into the air above him. He wanted something very much. It was the touch of something, something like himself, something warm and secure, something that would end his fear.

  But when he opened his eyes, he saw that there was nothing there. He brought his hands back to his body in disappointment and stroked himself softly. He tried for the hum, but even that was gone now. Gradually, his arms settled beside him on the bottom of the box. His closed eyes wouldn’t open and he felt a great, all-pervasive fatigue. He whimpered once and then surrendered to it.

  He didn’t think of death and dying; he thought of something very cold crawling over his body. When it reached his face, he turned to it and, like a baby seeking its mother’s breast, he moved his lips and swallowed.

  They found him with his eyes sewn closed, his lips pursed, and his arms holding his twisted little body.

  EPILOGUE

  Cy Baum stepped out on his front porch and took a deep breath. Hilda was right. It had cooled down and gone back to being a normal spring. Perhaps the summer wouldn’t be as unbearable as he had first thought.

  He looked up at the night sky. It was mostly overcast, although he didn’t think it was going to rain. He would take the walk after all, he thought, and started down the front steps.

  Arnie had called and he had told him about the destruction of the bats. Then Hilda got on and told him about the Oaks baby. Cy didn’t want her to tell him, but Hilda said they’d find out, because it would be in all the newspapers anyway. She was probably right. He was just afraid that somehow this would all be translated into his seeing his grandchildren less and less.

  The farm, the land, the whole area had taken on a new meaning because of what had happened. Even he felt it. He wondered if this feeling would pass. Would the trees and the forest ever be as beautiful? Could they take short walks in the woods? How would he and Hilda feel sitting out here nights this summer? Would the darkness be threatening?

  Just as he reached the road, he heard Hilda open the front door behind him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just for my usual walk.”

  “Be careful,” she said. “Are you dressed warm enough?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She lingered in the doorway. In the distance the roof of The Oaks was visible just over the tops of trees. He thought about it, dark and brooding. Years from now, the Oaks girl might come back to it. Or perhaps she would be unable to return. Perhaps it housed too many unpleasant memories for her.

  He heard Hilda close the
door. He took a few more steps into the darkness and then he stopped.

  He always believed that the dead left something of themselves behind. His father and his father’s father were in this land, in his house, and in him. What part of Mary Oaks was left in that house? More importantly, what part was left in her daughter?

  Maybe she would come back. Maybe she would have to, because she was drawn to it by things she could never understand or control. What really makes us the way we are? he wondered.

  Eddie Morris told him it looked pathetic in the box.

  Pathetic and frightening, he said. Like something gone wild in Nature. Like something of ourselves that we would like to forget.

  He heard a screech owl in the darkness. It sounded too much like a child. He felt the cool breeze wrap itself around him and he decided to turn back to the house, back to the light and the warmth.

  It was too late to take a long walk in the darkness. He would leave that for another time.

  Behind him, The Oaks remained draped in the shadows of the night. Someone had slapped a thin board up against the hole in the foundation. It rattled against the stone as though something inside were trying to get out.

  Then the breeze changed direction and the rattling stopped.

  All was quiet, as though everything in Nature paused to take a breath before going on again.

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