“What?” Jake asked, joining him. “Did you find something?”
“I saw something. When we walked in.”
“What?”
“It was like a vision. It took me over for a few moments. I saw what happened in this room, years ago. At least, I think it was years ago. There was a bed here. This spot…that was blood.”
“OK,” Jake replied. “Anything else?”
Ron stood, facing his friend. “It was pretty gruesome.”
“I’m an adult, I can handle it.”
Ron related what he saw to Jake, trying to explain to him the feelings he was experiencing as it happened, the panic at losing control, the sense of being unable to help. When he told Jake about the planing, his friend began to look sick, as though he was about to throw up.
Before Ron could finish, Jake ran to a corner of the room and began to heave, but nothing came up.
“Sorry, you said you wanted to know.”
“That’s so fucking sick,” Jake said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Christ.”
“He stood right here,” Ron said, next to the stain, “and held up the pieces of skin he’d cut from her foot.”
“Fuck, stop!” Jake replied, still bent over in the corner. “I get it!”
The memory of the scene made Ron shiver. It was the kind of thing that would live on in nightmares for the rest of his life, and he knew it.
“That’s it for the house,” Jake said, standing up. “This is the last room. No Volger. Abe’s theory was wrong.”
Ron left the spot, walking for the door. “Yeah, I’m ready to leave. Don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”
Using a set of stairs near the end of the west wing, they quickly found themselves at the glass doors where they’d broken in. Ron checked his watch; they’d been inside for an hour.
Seems like weeks, he thought.
They stepped out; the morning sun had been replaced with clouds, giving the courtyard a dull, grey look.
“Gotta say, I’m glad to be out of there,” Jake mused, his spirits lifting a little. “I’d be fine never going in again.”
“Me either,” Ron replied numbly, feeling defeated. They’d come trying to finish something, and the only thing they accomplished was to pry open the mystery a little more.
Jake was leading them around the house; Ron presumed to the truck. As they rounded the end of the west wing, Ron stopped, looking back. The edge of one of the other buildings on the property was sticking out behind the view of the east wing; just a few inches of one of the structures, almost hidden.
Might be the stable, he thought.
“You wanted that horsey!”
He started to turn back, to follow Jake to the truck, but stopped. “You wanted that horsey!” The man had clearly said it, as he sliced the skin from her foot. Horsey. Stables.
“Jake,” Ron called.
His friend stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
“We didn’t check those other buildings.”
Jake walked back to where Ron was standing. Ron pointed past the east wing. “You remember? We saw them when we were on the other side.”
“Oh, yeah…barn? Stable?”
“I’m guessing.”
“You think what we’re looking for might be in there?”
“Well, we came all the way here. I’d hate to think we packed it in before we checked everything.”
Jake nodded. “Sure.” Jake took off, headed toward the other end of the house. Ron followed, trudging through the weeds.
When they reached the east side, they found a path that had once led from the back of the house to the other buildings; it was overgrown, and the machete came back into use. Jake swung at the blackberry branches, slowly cutting his way through.
When they reached the stable, two sliding doors on its front had been chained together, secured by a padlock. Jake led them around the side of the building, clearing a path until they came to a door in the rear of the structure. It, too, was locked.
“No window to break to get in,” Jake said.
“Wood looks deteriorated,” Ron said. “Think we could kick it in?”
Jake placed the tip of the machete into the door jam and wedged it, sliding the blade down. When he pulled back on its handle for leverage, a piece of the door broke free. He lowered the blade and tried it again; the section with the handle completely fell away, and the door slid open a few inches.
“That was easy,” Ron said as they walked in.
Spider webs were everywhere. They moved through the structure, swatting at the webbing, sending dust that had accumulated on the fine threads flying through the air, causing them to sneeze. There were four stalls on each side; Ron looked through one side, while Jake took the other. It didn’t take long to scan each one.
“Nothing,” Ron said, joining his friend near the middle.
“Me either,” Jake replied. “I think this is a bust…wait, maybe…” Jake walked to a door that was tucked between the two middle stalls on one side. He opened it, exposing a short walkway beyond. “There’s more.”
Ron joined him, and they entered the new space. It only ran fifteen feet, studded with alcoves. There was a door on the left, which Jake walked to. “I’ll check this.”
“I’ll get the rest,” Ron replied, walking farther down to the alcoves. He heard a rustling behind him, and then a faint screech that sounded like the wail of a wounded dog. He turned, convinced Jake had found something, and ran back to the door.
Jake was standing just inside, peering into the dark. “You heard that?”
“I did.” The small room was dark, and whatever Jake had identified was at the back of it, in the shadows. Jake’s flashlight scanned the far wall, illuminating a lump on the ground.
The corpse of a seal.
It did look like a corpse; white bones reflected the light, and it was lying still.
Chains had been secured to the wall behind it, and disappeared into the pile of bones.
They stepped closer. Ron saw that, despite the bones, much of the animal was still there; some kind of head and torso still contained flesh. Its legs were hidden under it.
“Looks dead,” Jake said. “That’s probably why it smells so bad in here, that thing decomposing, stinking up…”
“I’m not sure it’s dead,” Ron replied, cutting him off.
“Not dead?”
“I think you should find that strobe.”
The head of the creature twitched slightly, as though it was waking up. Jake, his flashlight locked on the creature, seemed frozen by the movement. The head rose from the rest of the body; it was quickly apparent that it wasn’t any kind of animal they’d ever seen before.
“Come on, Jake, the strobe,” Ron urged. His friend dropped the machete and fumbled with the backpack, unzipping sections, searching.
The neck stretched up a couple of feet, and the head on its end tilted down. It was triangular, almost like a praying mantis, but dark in color, sprouting patches of black hair. Nestled on top were two round, black protrusions.
Eyes, Ron thought.
The strobe suddenly went off, pointed in the wrong direction. Jake gained control of the device and aimed it at the creature. The neck extended a little more, raising the head and moving it toward the flashing light.
“Is it working?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know. Abe said to give it at least a minute.”
They waited, each second seeming like an eternity. The flashing effect of the strobe made looking at the creature difficult, but Ron stared at it regardless, trying to understand what he was seeing. It looked like a strange blend of animal and insect, but it didn’t comport with any animal or insect that he knew. The oddity of its size and shape bewildered him, and he struggled to understand it. A huge shadow version of the nightmarish creature was cast upon the wall behind it, looming over the room, looking as though it could engulf them all.
“Can you test it, see if it’s mesmerized?” Jake asked.
/> “How?”
“I don’t know, poke at it? The machete is on the ground.”
Ron knelt and reached for it, gaining confidence from how heavy it felt. The creature now seemed frozen, its neck stretched and locked in position, staring at the strobe.
“Walk a little that way,” Ron said. “See if it follows you.”
Jake took a couple of steps to the right. The neck of the creature swiveled, moving its head, tracking the strobe. “Seems like it,” Jake said. “Might be working.”
Ron approached the head from the side. It was a little larger than a basketball with flattened edges. While the back two corners seemed to hold the eyes, the third corner looked like a small mouth. Insect-like mandibles extended from its cheeks, wiping over the mouth’s surface slowly, like it was preparing to eat something.
“You have to pull one out,” Jake said. “Abe said to cut it off by the stalk.”
“Move in closer,” Ron replied. “Get that thing right in its face.”
Jake took a step, inching the device toward the creature.
“Closer,” Ron urged. “Get right up on it. I want that thing transfixed before I touch it.”
Jake took two more steps, positioning the strobe about a foot from the creature’s mouth.
Ron stepped closer and extended his hand; it looked odd in the flashing light, jumping and frozen for a moment, rather than a smooth movement. He reached out but didn’t touch the head, stopping when he positioned it over one of the eyes.
“Just do it!” Jake said.
“Fuck,” Ron muttered in reply, looking at the odd, foreign shape of the creature’s head, wondering if the strobe would really keep it sedate, or if, by touching it, it would react. “How am I supposed to do this?”
“You gotta get your fingers into the eye socket and pull,” Jake said. “Pull enough out that you can slice it without cutting the eyeball itself.”
The smooth, dark surface of the creature’s eye was like a tiny dome rising out of the bony head, no more than two inches in width. He reached toward it, pausing just before his fingertips touched its surface. When they made contact, he was shocked by how cold it felt. Quickly he plunged his fingers down between the eye and the socket, feeling the bone and cartilage of the creature’s skull against the back of his hand.
“Fuck!” he yelled, his fingers pressing against the squishy surface of the eye, slipping and sliding, trying to gain purchase underneath. The head shifted slightly and the mouth moved towards him. He pressed harder; he could feel sinews and gunk collecting under his fingernails as they descended below the rim of the socket. Once all five fingers were in place, he lifted, shifting the position of his fingers as he felt the squishy ball between them try to slide one way or the other, resisting his pull.
The head turned even more, and Ron saw the tiny mandibles next to the creature’s mouth move rapidly, clicking and extending, swinging out from the sides.
“Keep that strobe on it!” he yelled at Jake.
He tugged on the eye, feeling it give in little half-inch bursts, slowly extricating. He couldn’t tell how much he’d managed to pull out without bending a little, and he wasn’t going to go anywhere near the mandibles.
“Is that enough?” he yelled to Jake. “Can I cut it now? I can’t see how much is out!”
“More,” Jake replied. “A couple more inches.”
Ron tugged, feeling the eye slide hard to one side, trying to escape the little cage his fingers had made. He tightened his grip and tugged again, hoping he didn’t squeeze too hard and rupture it. It gave way in a series of quick lurches, then suddenly slipped completely free, trailing a long strand of nerves and connective tissue.
“You’re good!” Jake yelled.
Ron brought up the machete with his left hand and cut at the dangling cord. It resisted, and he had to add pressure until the sharp edge sliced through and the cord fell down upon the creature’s head, dripping a light brown liquid. Part of it retracted back into the socket, but most of the severed end remained, seeping.
“Don’t turn that thing off until we’re out of here,” Ron said while backing up, working his way out of the room and through the stable.
Jake backed up too, the strobe still positioned squarely at the creature’s head. Even when they’d cleared the corner, he kept it going, just in case it found a way to follow them. “Goodbye, Ezra!” he said. “Or whatever half of Ezra you are!” Once they reached the outside, both men kept walking until they reached a spot thirty feet from the building.
A brown substance was dripping from the tendrils of stalk attached to the eye; Ron held it away from his body, not wanting any to land on him, letting it drip upon the ground. “I’m gonna need that container,” he said.
Jake switched off the strobe and slipped it into the backpack, then removed a plastic container and lifted off its lid. He held it out for Ron, who dropped the eye into it, and Jake sealed it over, snapping the lid back in place.
Ron held out one hand, covered in slime, wanting desperately to wash it off. In the other, he was still holding the machete. Some of the dark substance was streaked along the blade.
“You look kinda badass, standing there,” Jake said.
“I feel fucking gross. I want this shit off my hand.”
Jake turned back to the door of the stable. “Do you think it can move? Will it come after us?”
“It was chained up,” he replied, heading for the truck. “But we’re not staying to find out if the chains hold.”
- - -
Ron placed the tiny bottle on his coffee table. “Stuff tastes horrible!” His hand landed on the plastic container on his lap; the severed eye was inside.
“I thought you said it tasted like cherries,” Jake replied.
“The last one did. This one tastes like turpentine. Fucking burns. What I don’t understand is how I…”
Before he could finish, he found himself drifting away from his body, coming to rest a few feet from Jake. What I don’t understand is how I can carry this eyeball with me…he finished and looked down; the eyeball was there, his right hand gripping it by the stalk. He glanced to where his body was sitting, and saw the plastic container in his lap. Its clear sides exposed the contents; it was empty.
Oh, I guess that’s how…
Something to ask Abe about, after this is all over.
Feeling bold, he decided to drift diagonally through the floor of the room, angling for the area where he knew the stairwell to the basement resided. As he passed through the inside of the house, he thought back to the first time he’d done this; it was only a day ago, but it seemed like an eternity. I didn’t know what I was doing, then, he thought. Now I do.
Arriving in the crawlspace, he searched for the horizontal bar he’d seen before. It was there, hanging in the air, easy to miss if you didn’t know what to look for. He slipped into it, and was soon descending to the basement.
The legs of the ghosts appeared first; they were still meandering about like zombified, caged animals, awaiting release by their keeper, Ezra. He knew the dark figure would be here, somewhere. He raised his hand, aiming the severed eye into the room, hoping it would be simple, that Ezra would be surprised and not even realize he was watching himself, doomed.
Separation tension, Ron thought, taking each step slowly, the entirety of the basement coming into view. Energy from separation tension. Once it sees itself, Abe said the tension would unravel. As long as…
He stepped off the stairs, now at the same level as the ghosts. Several were shuffling just inches in front of him. One stopped to look; after pausing, it lowered its head and continued to pace, apparently unimpressed.
Where is he? Ron thought, brandishing the severed eye, pointing it in every direction, searching for Ezra. He’s in here somewhere, he’s…
Suddenly his arm involuntarily extended upward, as though it had been lassoed and pulled up by a rope. He gripped the eye stalk tightly, not wanting to drop it, and tried to lower his arm…b
ut could not.
It felt like the receding wave once again, like the force that had moved him across the floor in the young girl’s bedroom. It was something he couldn’t control.
“Where is it?” came the voice from behind him.
“Where is what?” he answered, immediately regretting it; something tight wrapped around his neck and began to squeeze, making him feel as if his head was about to pop.
“Tell me,” the voice insisted.
He recognized it from weeks before, in Terrell’s bedroom. It was Ezra.
Ron tried twisting his wrist. If he could turn the eye around to face Ezra behind him, it might achieve his goal. While he was unable to lower his arm, it did feel as though it moved a tiny bit as he tried to turn it.
“Tell me!” Ezra insisted. Ron felt a coldness at his back, as though a solid sheet of ice was pressed up against him.
If I can just turn it a little more, he thought, focusing all the energy he had into his arm, forcing it to twist, to reorient the way the eyeball was pointing. Whatever was around his neck tightened even more, and he realized he was completely unable to breathe.
But you’re not in your body, he thought. How can that be? Breathing shouldn’t matter.
The sensation of suffocation was overwhelming. He considered ignoring it, on the chance that it was some kind of trick. His physical body was upstairs; whatever had him by the throat, it couldn’t really touch him, couldn’t really cut off oxygen.
Then why am I about to pass out? he wondered. Why do I feel as though my lungs are about to burst? That I have to breathe?
“Where’s what?” he croaked weakly.
“My half,” Ezra replied. “Where? Last time I was there, they had moved it.”
If I tell him, Ron thought, this eye thing might fail…he’ll make his way to it and reunite. Abe said that was the only way it could survive. He twisted his arm harder, feeling it rotate another half inch, hoping at least the edge of the eye might soon face Ezra, and start the unraveling before Ezra forced or tricked him into revealing the location.
“I don’t know where,” Ron replied, twisting again, feeling another lurch of movement. Was it enough?
“If you don’t know where,” Ezra replied, “then where did you get what you have in your hand?”
The Coldwater Haunting Page 31