The sight added to the cold slap his father had delivered him in the night, and it cemented Noel's convictions. He turned away from Walter and listened to the sound of the howling wind outside that was now warden over his prison. But he wouldn't let himself succumb to that fate like his father had. He was leaving.
As soon as he set this intention, the house groaned, as if it could hear his thoughts. Noel's mind raced, thinking about how he was going to escape, all the while peering around him with frantic eyes for anyone who may not want him to leave. The hallway from the living room to the front door seemed to stretch ten times longer than it was supposed to be. Every door, every piece of furniture and every shadow seemed to hide something that was waiting for him. He passed them all slowly, holding his breath and trying to move silently. The door ahead grew larger in his sight. He glanced over his shoulder to see nothing but a well-lit cottage. But he knew that every floorboard—every strip of wallpaper—was watching him.
Step by step, the front door grew bigger and bigger. He arrived at the entrance. The door handle longed for his touch.
He reached out for it.
And when his hand fell upon it, all cold and uninviting, a cold hand fell on his shoulder.
Noel turned to see Emily standing behind him. His worry washed off his face and the bad feeling in his gut turned to warmth. "Emily!" he said, delighted.
"I guess you're leaving now, huh?"
"Yeah," Noel said. "You're coming with me, right?"
"You know I can't."
His face turned glum. "There has to be a way!"
"Noel..."
"What?"
"I'm going to miss you." She hugged him. Her embrace was cold, but comforting.
"I... I'm going to miss you too," he said. He wiped a tear out of his eye.
"Do you remember what you have to do?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Well then I guess this is goodbye."
"I don't want it to be," Noel replied. "I don't really have any friends anymore. I know we just met, but... I like you."
Emily frowned. "I know what you mean. I haven't had anyone else my age to play with for a very long time. Not since my brother was, well... You'd better go before..."
"Before what?"
"Nothing," she said, taking a step away from him.
Noel looked at the door and heard the wind howling behind it. "I'm scared."
"I know. Just remember what you have to do."
"Okay," he said. He took a deep breath. Through the fright, there was a sense of elation that he would actually be escaping this nightmare. But as he looked at Emily and saw the smile on her face, he saw that it was forced. There was something off about her this morning that he couldn't put his finger on.
Footsteps came behind them.
They both turned to see Walter walk into the dining room, holding a drink. He stopped at the table, steadying himself on the back of a chair so he didn't fall over, then he looked at Noel. As soon as their gazes locked, he averted his. He didn't look at Emily.
"I, uh... can make you breakfast if you want," Walter said. His words were slow and clumsy.
Noel had reached out for his coat, but now his arm fell to his side. "Um... no, that's okay," he said, almost too surprised by his sudden appearance to get the words out.
Walter stared out the window absentmindedly, watching the snow cake on the grooves of the window frame in front of him. He watched the winds swirl and the snow pile up like a man staring into the void of his own oblivion. He turned his head away. "Okay, then," he said.
Noel and Emily watched him bring his drink into the living room and set it down on the small table as he sank into the armchair next to it. The front and back doors—Noel's two means of escape—were both in his peripheral vision.
Noel turned to Emily who looked just as surprised as he was. "What do I do?" he asked.
She thought for a moment. "You need a distraction."
"Like what?"
The gears turned in her head. "Hold on." She disappeared up the staircase to the second floor.
"Where are you going?" Noel called after her in a low voice.
He waited anxiously, and then she returned. She produced a pill bottle and pulled the top off. "Here," she said, taking out a small white tablet and offering it to him.
"What's this?" he asked, taking it in his hand.
"There was still an old bottle of my mom's sleeping pills in the bedroom. They're the ones she used to... well, just put this in his drink."
"Will it kill him?" he asked frightfully.
"Not if you use just one. It'll put him to sleep."
Noel looked at his father. Walter sat like a toad in the armchair, his body slumped into a round and bulbous shape. But his eyes were open, staring endlessly somewhere in front of him.
"How can I give it to him?" Noel asked.
Emily shrugged. "Get creative."
Noel held the pill and stared at his quarry, keeping his body turned so it wouldn't be so obvious he was staring. An idea came to him. "Okay," he said.
He walked down the hallway toward his father. When he entered the living room, Walter turned his head. They shared a brief and awkward glance before both looking away. Noel mumbled something under his breath, pretending to walk by. He surreptitiously hooked the rim of the glass with his fingers and pulled it off the table. It thumped onto the thin rug below, splitting lengthwise in two and staining the fabric with alcohol.
"Sorry!" Noel said, looking ashamed.
Walter didn't react much. He simply looked down at the mess without words.
"I'll get you a new one!" Noel said, turning for the den.
"You don't have to," Walter slurred.
"It's okay," Noel said quickly, not stopping.
There was a bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar top. He went behind the bar, searching for glasses. A shelf to the right by his feet held three. He grabbed the whiskey and hid low behind the bar so his father couldn't see him. His hands were shaking, but he kept himself together and poured the liquid until the glass was half-full. Then he dropped the pill into it. The alcohol fizzed. Noel glanced over his shoulder.
He stirred the concoction with his finger until the pill was fully dissolved and any scummy layer on the surface was worked into the drink. He wiped his finger on his pants.
Taking a deep breath, Noel stood up and returned to the living room. "Here," he said, stepping around the mess on the floor and setting the drink down on the table.
"Thanks," Walter said quietly. He looked at it for a moment then turned his gaze to the wall in front of him.
Noel hoped he would drink from it, and he backed away, not wanting to appear suspicious. He returned to the kitchen where Emily waited and he pulled himself onto a stool at the island.
"Did you do it?" she asked.
He nodded without a word. He glanced over, watching his father carefully.
Walter sat with his hands in his lap for the longest time. But then he looked over at the drink and considered it. His right hand worked over to it and picked it up. He tilted it, eyeing the drink inside.
Noel's heart seized.
Walter stared at it, swirling it around. There was a strange look on his face. He glanced at Noel.
Noel turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. He waited for his name to be called.
But it never came.
When he opened his eyes and found the courage to look back, he saw his father bring the glass up to his lips and drink. Walter winced and set the glass down next to him, seemingly unaware of its contents.
Noel breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at Emily. "I did it."
She nodded. "As soon as he goes to sleep, you have to leave."
"Okay."
"Noel?"
"What?"
She wrapped her arms around him. "Goodbye," she said.
He was surprised by her cold touch, but then he wrapped his arms around her too. "Bye," he replied.
She let go and he
ld him by the shoulders. A brief smile touched her lips, then she turned and walked away.
Noel turned his head, but she was gone.
"Emily?"
There was something off-putting behind her eyes in his last glimpse of her that he'd spotted earlier. But he still couldn't put his finger on it. He glanced around, a heavy feeling of sadness in the pit of his stomach that he really would be leaving her behind and that that might have been the last time he saw her.
There was a box of crackers on the countertop in front of him and he pulled two crackers out. He looked at his father who took another swig of his whiskey. Noel waited nervously, nibbling on the corner of the first cracker. He was aware of the exact location of his coat hanging on the peg on the wall behind him and of his boots sitting right underneath. In his mind he rehearsed getting off the stool, putting them on, grabbing the car keys that he knew were in the pocket of his father's coat next to his, then leaving out the door.
The minutes ticked away on the imaginary clock in his head. His mental time was warped, stretching out like molasses. The longer it took for his father to fall asleep, and the more glances he stole out the corner of his eye of him, the more the pressure built up in him and he thought his plan would collapse into total catastrophe. Doubts filled his mind like the chemicals filling Walter's bloodstream. He began to realize how absurd his plan was and how ridiculous it was for him to run away at all. His inaction paralyzed him. But he kept repeating the same routine in his head: get off the stool, put on boots and coat, grab the keys, door.
There was a thump in the living room.
Walter's head was tilted back against the chair and his arm was draped over the side. His knuckles must have rapped the table as he passed out.
Noel stared at him awhile, making sure he was out.
He was out cold.
With his father unconscious, Noel took a deep breath. He got down off the stool.
check
He put on his coat and yanked on his boots.
check
He fished his hand in his father's coat and felt the keys to the sedan. He pulled them out.
check
Now the door.
He stared at it. But he hesitated. He couldn't help but feel like he was missing something. Emily had disappeared. He didn't want to leave her behind. There was something strange behind her eyes; what was it? He couldn't actually leave, could he?
Walter moved and Noel spun around to see him unconsciously adjust himself in his slumber.
Noel swallowed. It was now or never.
He walked forward and reached for the door.
Escape
Opening the door was like opening the airlock of a spaceship. A powerful gale rushed in his face and made him stagger back. Noel clutched the doorknob for dear life and leaned forward into the wind. The flurry battered him and he squinted to see through the white haze. A pile of snow over two feet high tumbled into the entrance of the cottage. Noel frowned. It was much too high for him to get through. Based on the continued direction of the storm's wind, it looked like the front of the cottage got the brunt of it.
He shut the door and turned around, eyeing the back door in the living room. He felt silly having to traipse through the house when he had finally worked up the courage to escape, but it seemed like it was his only option. That meant he had to sneak past his father.
Walter was still slumped in the chair, starting to lean forward a little. His arm was still draped over the side and there was no sign that he would be waking up anytime soon.
Still, Noel crept along the floor, trying to stay quiet. He winced at the groans of the floorboards beneath him, and then the house groaned around him. He knew he didn't have much time.
He kept his eyes on the back of his father's head as he walked to the door leading to the back porch. He stopped when his outstretched fingers felt its icy glass insert. He gazed outside. The glass was caked in snow and frost, and it was difficult to discern the minute differences in the stark white landscape, but it looked like the snow hadn't piled up as high in the back. It looked like he could get out here.
Noel pulled on the door. It was frozen shut. He used both hands and pulled harder. The seal of ice cracked, then with a rattle, it opened. The howling wind came into the living room, bringing a cold chill with it. It wasn't as intense as it was from the front, but it was enough to make Noel look over his shoulder at his father, mortified that he would wake up.
But Walter sat still, slumped forward. No sign of life.
Noel's face froze quickly. His nose began to run as he pulled the door open enough for him to get through. Back here the snow was only a foot high. He stepped through the gap in the door and his foot sank into the snow, eventually finding the porch somewhere below. He stepped out with the other foot and turned to shut the door.
A pair of eyes stared at him.
The fright disoriented him. His gaze shot to the back of his father's head, which hadn't moved. Searching, he found the eyes in the reflection of a picture hung on the wall in front of Walter.
Walter was awake. He was still slumped in the chair, every other part of him asleep, but his eyes were open and he looked at Noel. Noel could tell that he was aware of what was happening. He knew his son was abandoning him. There was pain and sadness in those eyes. And then they shut. Walter went back to sleep.
Noel's throat clenched. He stood paralyzed just outside the door, his hand freezing as it gripped the handle. Tears rolled down his face. He felt horrible, but he knew he couldn't let it get to him. He'd made this decision over a long period of time and he had to stick to it. He shut the door and turned and faced the storm.
It was still coming in strong and he shielded his face with his arm as he made his way around the side of the cottage. The tall ladder was still propped up against it, and the unfinished string of lights hung from the rain gutter to the ground where Walter had given up after falling off the ladder and injuring himself.
The lake spanned in the distance. It looked like a lonely gray moon suspended in a white outer space. A thin top layer of ice had just formed over the surface.
Noel worked his way through the snow, tiring himself out quickly from how high it was. Now that he was out in the field, the snow was almost up to his waist.
The door to the shed opened, the old wood grinding against itself.
Noel turned his head to see something huge and terrifying emerge. A tall, wide frame ducked out from under the door and stepped into the snowy field. At first he thought it was a monster or a mountain, but then he remembered where he'd seen it before.
The butcher in the kitchen. The one Barry had told him about. The one that murdered his family by chopping them into pieces. And there was something in his hand. Harvey held it up then slashed it by his side. A thin streak of red painted the snow next to him. A hatchet.
Harvey's gaze turned to him.
Noel whimpered. The car was just past a large bank of snow ahead. The distances between Noel and the car and Noel and Harvey were equal.
He ran. Scrambling through the snow drifts, he struggled to make it to the car. He wanted to scream for help, but he knew that would do no good. His brain told him not to look at Harvey, but his eyes couldn't help it.
Harvey strode through the snow as easily as if he were walking through a park in summer. The hatchet hung next to him, ready to dismantle another victim.
There was something grotesque about his appearance that was only hinted at in Noel's periphery: it looked like his body was riddled with bullet holes, the front of his clothes torn apart where the policemen's rounds drilled into him. But yet he came for Noel, unstopped even by death.
Harvey closed in. The car was getting closer. It was impossible to tell what would happen first. Noel only knew that he was getting more tired each time he lifted his knee high to get over the snow in front of him.
The blood on Harvey's hatchet dripped onto the snow like a child playing with a bag of red corn syrup at recess.
/> Noel reached the front of the cottage and made a line for the car. A large snow bank that marked the start of the hill heading into the woods obscured view of the car from the shed. Noel started to skirt around it, and now his back was to Harvey. Now without stopping and turning around it was impossible to tell how close the murderer was.
Somewhere in the howling snowstorm he thought he heard laughter. Deep and low.
Noel clutched the car keys, his thumb finding the unlock button. He pressed it and saw the orange lights flash twice through sheets of blinding white. Hot blood pumped through his body and all his limbs, but his face was so frozen it was about to fall off. He disappeared around the snow bank. The car was only ten paces in front of him. Ten long, snow-filled paces.
When he reached it, he went for the back door, wrenching it open into the snow. He clambered in and shut it behind him, then he sank to the floor as flat as he could between the front and back seats. He knew he wouldn't have enough time to figure out how to start the car and drive before Harvey got to him; all he could do was hide.
He waited on the cold floor of the car with his eyes squeezed tight as the wind raged above him, carrying the tune of death. He waited for the sound of the door being wrenched open behind him. Or maybe it would be the hatchet coming through the roof before Harvey peeled it open like a sardine can. Maybe the window would burst and he'd feel the sharp rain of fragmented glass.
Noel shook. He wheezed. He cried as the snot fell from his nose. But he stayed quiet.
But what was he doing? He had foolishly made an attempt to escape from the house by himself. A six-year-old. This was the height of foolishness, and now lying with his face pressed against the cold floor mats in the back of the car, cutting grooves into his cheek, his mind had sobered and realized the error of his ways.
There was no way he could leave. The ghosts wouldn't let him; he hadn't seen Harvey in the shed, but maybe Harvey had been watching him the whole time. Probably they all had. Now he would be snowed in and freeze to death in this icy tomb before long.
But his instincts kicked in. He couldn't stop now. He was so close to freedom. All he had to do was start the car and drive away. If it would drive at all...
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 32