Marty was in the center. She was floating in the air a couple of feet off the ground, facing away, her body leaning weirdly to the left. Her hair should have been hanging down, but it wasn’t. In the blink of an eye she spun around to face them. Her features were twisted, making her look like someone else.
Terror raced down Jake’s spine as he heard his mother gasp in horror. “Marty!” she cried, but before she could enter the room, the door slammed closed.
He could smell the bitter odor of the melted glove. He watched as his father turned to the doctor, who was still holding his hand in the air.
“Well?” his father demanded.
The doctor’s mouth was open, frozen by the spectacle he’d witnessed. Slowly he closed it and turned to Jake’s parents. “Bring her in again.”
That night his parents drugged her food like before, and moved her back to the facility. Marty seemed completely normal once she was there, just like the previous visit, but the doctor kept her longer this time, saying he wanted to observe her reaction to different types of medication. His parents seemed happy to let the doctor experiment, desperate to find a solution.
Jake had come into his sister’s empty bedroom several times since then. The first time was the morning after she left. Her room was still a mess, but later that day his mother cleaned it up, putting things away and straightening everything. Since then, the room hadn’t changed.
They’re medicating her, Jake thought, but it won’t matter. Nothing’s wrong with Marty. What’s wrong is in this room. It’s still here, waiting.
Even as he sat on the bed, he could feel impressions entering his mind, a sense that things weren’t fair, that what he wanted was paramount and should be paramount for others. Injustice felt like the tip of a chisel cracking its way into his body, wanting him to become more assertive and stand up for himself, to learn how to insist upon his own way, and make sure he got what he wanted, no matter what.
It felt manipulative and foreign, and he knew it was exactly what had happened to his sister. She was fine at Southbrook, but if his parents brought her back to this room, she wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t be either, if he spent more time there.
He stood up. “Whatever you are, you need to leave. My sister isn’t coming back, and if she does, I’ll make sure she doesn’t stay in this room. There’s no one here for you to infect.”
He waited silently, wondering if he’d receive some reply. Aside from a shiver that passed over his arms, causing his skin to form goose bumps, no reply came.
Chapter Fifteen
“What happened to her?” Ron asked.
“She stayed in Southbrook for a year,” Jake replied, still lying on the couch. “I hate to think how much crap they pumped into her during that time.”
“And after the year?”
“She came home. Now she’s a lawyer in Virginia. Has two kids.”
“What about that room?”
“Don’t know. We moved to a new house while she was in Southbrook. Whatever was in the room stayed there. I presume it’s haunting whoever lives there now. Or, maybe not. I don’t know. I was happy to leave it behind.”
“And your sister was fine in the new house?”
“Yes. So, fast forward a few years. I told this story to a woman I met in college. She seemed to know what it was. She said there are these dark things that live in some houses.”
“Ghosts?”
“Eh, kinda. More like vagrant squatters…ghosts that came there from somewhere else. You know, a normal ghost is the spirit of someone who died there, or used to live there, that kind of thing. These dark ones are from some other place.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t say. But she did say that what I described seemed like them. I told her I thought it might be the devil, and she said I might be right…which is why, I suppose, I called that thing you’ve got upstairs the devil.”
“How would she know? Did she have experience with them?”
“She sounded like she knew what she was talking about.”
Ron scoffed.
“You’re missing the point!” Jake continued.
“You’re saying what you saw upstairs looked like what you saw in your sister’s room?”
“I never exactly saw anything in my sister’s room except for the weird darkness. It was more like…a vibe.”
“A vibe,” Ron repeated skeptically.
“And my college friend said it can infect people in different ways. The one in my sister’s room turned her into a monster; a monster who could do terrible things to get what she wanted. My college friend knew one who infected someone and drove them mad about money; made them obsess about it. She said it fucked up their life. And Terrell…it stuck him on the ceiling, Ron. And he didn’t even realize it was happening. Normal ghosts might make noises and knock things off shelves and scare the shit out of you, but they can’t infect you. Not like these dark things. They’re different.”
Ron paused, considering what Jake was saying.
“I’m telling you,” Jake continued, “you’ve got something like that upstairs. It may not be the devil, I may not be right about that, but it’s bad. Way bad.”
“Suppose I lose my senses and say you’re right. What am I supposed to do about it? Freedom and Terrell ran away from it. According to Terrell, no one with the gift can even help, not without putting themselves at risk.”
“I don’t know, man. We solved it by moving.”
Ron’s first reaction was to reiterate to his friend that moving wasn’t an option. There was no money to buy another place; everything was tied up here. The only realistic way forward was to find a way to fix everything first. That’s all the house needs, he reminded himself. It’s been mistreated; it just needs attention, and it’ll be fine.
But with all the mounting problems, a nagging corner of his mind agreed that the idea of abandoning it all did sound appealing. For a moment he allowed the idea sink in, accepting it, letting all else fall away. He wondered what would happen if he just packed up everything and left. He’d have to sell the house somehow, of course, down the road…and he couldn’t sell it in its current condition, so he’d have to…
“I think I’m gonna head to the motel,” Jake said, rising from the couch. “It’s dark out. Day’s over.”
Ron looked out the window. Jake was right; dusk was ending. He abandoned his line of thinking, knowing that he couldn’t just throw in the towel; his pocketbook couldn’t withstand it. He felt a little ashamed for even considering it.
“Alright,” he replied. “You good enough to drive?”
“I’m fine,” Jake answered, headed to the door. “You sure you’re gonna be alright alone, again?”
“Have been so far.”
“Alright. See you tomorrow, then.”
Ron watched him leave, grateful that he was still willing to return the next day.
Particularly in light of what he went through with his sister.
- - -
Ron was in the middle of microwaving a meal when he heard knocking at the front door. He left the kitchen and walked through the house. More knocking came, reverberating through the front hallway.
“Hi, Ron!” Tom said, smiling as the door opened. He raised his hand to show the six pack of beer that he’d brought.
I completely forgot about him, Ron thought, remembering the man’s promise earlier that day. “Come in!”
“Can’t stay long, the wife said an hour tops,” Tom replied, entering. He handed the six pack to Ron, who carried it into the kitchen.
“Have a seat,” Ron said, removing two bottles and leaving the rest in the fridge. He handed one to Tom, and the two sat down in the living room, Ron in the same chair where he’d sat during Jake’s story, and Tom in the same spot where Jake had been.
Tom twisted the bottle’s cap and took a swig. “You settling in?”
“Still a lot of work to do,” Ron replied, taking a drink.
“Looks like it. House has needed wor
k on the outside for years now. It’ll be nice to drive by and see it all fixed up.”
Drive by? Ron wondered. It’s a dead end.
“Where is your house, again?” Ron asked, feeling a little lightheaded. “Past the ravine?”
“Yes.”
“You must come at it from a different road,” Ron said. “My driveway is the end of the road from the east.”
“Yes,” Tom replied. “I use the road from the west. It was an old logging road; there are a lot of them, all over the mountain.”
“Hey, let me ask you a question,” Ron said, the lightheadedness growing, making it a little hard to think straight. “Do you have a well?”
“Sure.”
“How deep is it?”
“I don’t know, four or five hundred feet, I think.”
“Huh. Lots of water flow?”
“Never been a problem.”
Ron remembered taking mushrooms in his twenties, long before he met Elenore. They caused all kinds of hallucinations and produced a buzz that floated through his system, making him feel alternatively euphoric and sick. The sensations passing through his body as he watched and listened to Tom felt almost the same; at times, things seemed heightened and sharpened. Seconds later, he wondered if he needed to find a bathroom. Then things sharpened again.
Tom chuckled. “In some ways I envy you. A new house, all this possibility. So much ahead of you.”
Ron thought about replying, but his thoughts became convoluted as he tried to form a response. He hoped that Tom didn’t notice what was happening. If I can get him to leave, I can sleep off whatever this is, he thought. “You know, I’m not feeling well. I wonder if I could take a rain check on tonight.”
“I know what you mean,” Tom replied, smiling. “It’s a lot to take in, the enormity of the place, the scope of all the work. You’ve got acres of history here. It’s overwhelming, I’m sure.”
Maybe if I insist, Ron thought, feeling the sudden need to vomit. The urge passed, and he swallowed, tasting something vaguely like copper. Maybe he didn’t hear what I said. Maybe I didn’t actually say it.
“Despite all that,” Tom continued, “you’re really quite lucky. Most of the time, he doesn’t ask to see them. You must be special.”
“He?” Ron managed to squeak out.
“Upstairs,” Tom replied. “A couple more minutes, and I’m going to take you to him.”
Ron watched as Tom leaned forward and raised his arm, holding it to the side of his head. Tom’s hand was missing; in its place was a twisting ball with filaments trailing from its sides, like a bundle of string coming undone.
“What do you see?” Tom asked, as though he was having a vision exam.
Ron wasn’t sure how to reply. He knew something was very wrong; whatever Tom was doing in his house, it wasn’t why he’d allowed him in. They weren’t going to chat about McLean and the history of the mountain. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to object, to ask the man what was going on. The sensations he felt soothed him and made his concerns seem inconsequential, that he should play along and not resist. Just go with it, he thought. It’s OK. He stared at the strange object at the end of Tom’s appendage, a little confused by the bizarre image, but unable to do more than answer Tom’s question.
“String?” Ron offered.
Tom lowered his arm. “A couple more minutes.”
Ron concentrated, hoping he could regain control, but it was like when he tried to force a dream; thoughts were going in too many directions. He attempted to focus on one specific thing so he could ask Tom a question that still seemed important.
“You don’t live beyond the ravine, do you?” Each word was an effort. He wasn’t sure what he verbalized made any sense.
“No,” Tom replied.
“Where do you live?”
“Here,” Tom answered, smiling.
“Why…why…” Ron tried, the words not coming.
Tom raised his arm again. “How about now?”
Ron saw a spinning orb at the end of Tom’s wrist. It was shiny, reflecting the light from the room, and looked like it was made of silver.
“Metal,” Ron answered, surprised that he was able to say the word. “Ball.”
“Very good,” Tom replied, lowering his arm and standing up. “Let’s go.”
In the back of his brain, Ron knew he should be resisting, should be refusing to answer or to follow Tom’s commands, but all of his senses seemed to think things were OK, that following along was perfectly fine. He felt himself rise from the chair, unable to override the buzz that was guiding his movements. Tom turned and walked to the stairs, and he followed.
“So glad you ripped out the carpet here,” Tom said as they ascended. “The color was horrible.”
“They smelled,” Ron replied, again surprised that the thought successfully emerged as spoken words. It was almost as though he was using a different voice, employing an entirely different route to speak than he normally would.
“The smell never bothered me,” Tom said, leading him up. “But then, I can’t smell like I used to. One of the first things to go, I’m afraid.”
As they reached the landing, it suddenly occurred to Ron that he was being led to that room, the one Terrell slept in; the one with the dark entity that Jake said was the devil. He knew he should be feeling some kind of defense, some sense of danger triggered by the need for self-preservation, but the sensations running through him neutralized his fight or flight reaction, making him feel perfectly fine.
“Do you intend to put in new?” Tom asked.
“New what?”
“New carpet?”
“Yeah,” Ron replied, taking step after step, following Tom. “Can’t leave them wood, like this.”
“No, I suppose not, not with a wife and child coming. What color?”
“Color?”
“The carpet? I think red would be stunning, myself. Would really set things off.”
“I don’t know yet,” Ron replied. “I thought I’d let Elenore decide.”
“Be careful giving your family too much leeway,” Tom replied, reaching the top and heading for the bedroom. “It’s best that you make the decisions, and that they know who’s in charge.” He came to a stop in front of the door. “Ah, here we are.” He opened it and stood aside. “Please, go in.”
The room was completely black, and it made Ron remember the story Jake had told earlier in the evening. His legs seemed to move on their own, unafraid, carrying him into the darkness. Once he was inside, the door shut behind him, eliminating all light.
His eyes began to adjust. There was movement in front of him, something darker than the darkness that filled the room. It shifted and approached him.
“I am Ezra.” A rancid warmth accompanied the words.
Ron felt the fuzziness of the mushroom effect dissipate a little; clarity returned, but without fear.
“Ron,” he replied. “Ron Costa.”
“You’re in terrible danger, Mr. Costa.”
The stench from Ezra was overwhelming. Ron turned to look around him. The room was pitch black; no illumination came in under the door or from the windows. He stretched his eyes wide, hoping to let in maximum light. His ears picked up a slight shift in Ezra’s location; he was moving as he spoke.
“You’ve heard it at night, I expect,” Ezra continued. “Walking up the stairs. You can hear the thump of its steps as your head is on the pillow, trying to sleep.”
Ron knew exactly what the voice in the darkness was talking about. He heard it almost every night when he was lying down; the faint sound of feet ascending on the wooden steps. “That’s you, coming up the stairs?” he asked.
“Not me. Them. They walk it every night, searching for you. It will get worse. You won’t be able to sleep. You won’t be able to stand it.”
“I don’t know, I’m a pretty good sleeper. I’ve managed to sleep through all the other crap.”
“But eventually they will find you. When they enter your
room, they will surround your bed while you sleep. They are horrible, and their presence, so close to your body, will cause nightmares. Maybe you’ve already felt their influence, and dreamt terrible things. It will eat into you. You will sense it, but be unable to stop it. You’ll be terrified. Every time you hear those steps on the stairs, know that they are getting closer.”
“You’re trying to get me to leave. I’m not leaving.”
“They will destroy you. If you bring your family here, they will destroy them. If you value your life, or theirs, you must leave. This house, this land…it’s…gone. Lost. You can’t hope to understand it or combat it; it’s beyond your ability. Forces far greater than you have tried and failed. There’s a sickness here, an infection. It’s in the ground, and it cannot be removed.”
“What sickness?”
Ron felt a chill go up his spine; it felt as though an icy finger had been placed at the base of his back, and slowly slid upwards. When it reached his neck, more fingers solidified, wrapping around his throat, freezing his skin, pressing inward. Breath suddenly stopped; he struggled to inhale.
“Do you feel that? Death as cold as the frozen snow, an end to everything you’ve ever planned. Your wife, a widow…your son, an orphan. The extinguishment of all hope.”
He gulped, moving, shifting, hoping to dislodge whatever was holding him, reaching to his throat in an attempt to grab at the fingers cutting off his air. Nothing was there; there were no fingers to grasp, and when he moved to the side, the asphyxiation moved with him, undeterred.
“Inevitable as the sunset, snuffed out like a waning candle. It’s hard to imagine not existing. Yet, it’s just moments away. And there’s worse.”
He felt cold fingers at his mouth, prying it open. He resisted, but the muscles in his jaw were uncontrollable. As his lips parted, something wide and slimy entered, sliding quickly into him past his throat. He choked as it moved inside, twisting, spreading an icy numbness throughout his torso, making him feel as though his lungs were freezing solid. Trying to gasp, he grabbed at his chest, sensing his heart slowing.
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