Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “Rosie,” Liam shouts, “help me! She’s hurting me! She’s going to kill me!”

  “Liam!” I frantically try to pull away from Adam, but he will not relent. Hot tears stream down my cheeks as I stare at Liam’s frightened face.

  Abruptly, Liam is torn away from the doorway, thrown back into the darkness, screaming. “Roooooosie!”

  “No!” I shriek as the blood red doors slam closed. “Liam!”

  Time is running out, dear Rosie.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Yes

  “You felt her calling you, didn’t you?”

  I nod slowly, hugging my knees and resting my forehead on them. I still can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see Liam’s terrified face.

  “When I first felt it,” Adam says, “I didn’t know what it was. For the longest time I just had this sense that I was forgetting something, but I didn’t know what. You know the feeling?”

  We’re sitting next to each other on Adam’s bed, leaning against a glossy Slayer poster on the wall, shoulders nearly touching. The walk back from Wolfhowl Mountain was silent and anxious. I lift my head, my eyes straying back to the window. The blackness beyond is graying. Dawn is on her way.

  “One night it was so strong I couldn’t sleep,” Adam continues. “Laid awake a long time. It was this nagging feeling and I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I did something about it, so I got up and went for a walk.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  Adam shrugs. “It’s not like anyone was going to miss me. And, come on, this is Port Braseham. It’s not like I’m going to get mugged or kidnapped. I just thought I was going to stroll around the block, maybe down to the wharf, clear my head… and then there She was.” Adam’s voice becomes a quiet, almost reverent whisper, and his eyes go far away. “I’d never been so close to Her before. She was always this mysterious presence on the mountain, but now here She was right in front of me, real and powerful… The red doors were so beautiful, so bright, even in the dark.

  “An overwhelming sense of peace came over me as I stood there that first time. I can’t even explain to you how wonderful, how commanding it was. All of my problems were gone, all of the bad memories vaporized just by standing in front of Her. And the closer I got, the better I felt. I wanted to go inside. I needed to go inside.

  “And then the doors opened. Everything was shattered. The darkness closed back in on me. All the bad things washed over me like a wave and I felt myself drowning in the knowledge of how awful the world is, how frightening life is. But there was also this sense that the calm and peace I wanted was inside Her doors. All I had to do was go in… But I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Adam turns to me, his face still dark in the light of dawn. “Because I looked into the darkness behind Her doors and I knew there was no peace waiting there. There was only the blackness of death. To go inside was to die. I looked into that darkness and I heard my own screams in my ears, as if I were really screaming, like I was dying right then. I looked into that darkness and I saw my death. And I wasn’t ready to die.”

  “When was that?” I ask quietly. “When did you go up there for the first time?”

  “I was ten.”

  It seems impossible that Adam’s been dealing with this his whole life. How can he be so strong? What must it be like, to have that weight on you every day? I’ve only been here a few months and I’m almost ready to give up. I’m starting to think death would be a relief. I don’t want Liam to die, and I don’t want to die, but what choice is there? What’s left for us? At least death would be peaceful.

  It’s easy, Rose. It’s so very easy. Just come home…

  “Why do you stay?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know your grandmother’s plan.” Adam nods. “Then why stay? Why don’t you leave Port Braseham? Leave Her behind you and just run away?”

  “She won’t let me,” he says simply. “I’ve tried to run before, but the farther away I get, the stronger Her call is. The same thing happened to Gram. That’s why we’re here to begin with. It’s stay here and be miserable, or run and be driven crazy by that nagging sensation that I’ve left something behind. At least if I stay here, everything’s familiar.”

  I almost laugh. “Do you –” I start, but find myself unable to continue.

  “Do I what?” Adam urges me, “It’s okay. You can ask.”

  “Do you… Do you think your grandmother’s plan would work? Sacrificing yourself… Would it work?”

  Adam looks down, suddenly very intent on picking at his cuticles. I don’t think he’s going to answer me, but then he sits up and looks into my eyes with a profound sadness.

  “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I think it would work.”

  And then, very clearly, I understand why Adam’s so sullen and withdrawn.

  A phone rings. Neither of us moves, or even seems to register the continued, persistent tinkling. Five rings. Ten. Fifteen –

  “Rose?”

  Laura stands in Adam’s doorway. She has a floral print robe wrapped tightly around her. In her hand is a small cordless phone. “It’s for you,” she says quietly, as if the early morning hour forbids the use of normal volume.

  My limbs feel heavy as I crawl off the bed, Adam’s eyes fixed on my back. I stumble over a shoe on my way, and when Laura thrusts the phone forward, I recoil, as if I know bad news awaits me. I slowly reach out and let my fingers curl around the smooth plastic casing. Laura retreats the second she lets go of the phone. I wonder if she’s afraid too.

  Bringing the phone to my ear, I hear a frantic voice on the other end.

  “Rose? Rose! It’s Letta.”

  “Hey, Letta.”

  Adam watches me as I listen to Letta. He watches my muscles stiffen, sees my grip on the phone tighten and my knuckles whiten. An icy dread creeps through his veins.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Thanks.” I hang up without saying goodbye. My face is carefully blank.

  “Well?” Adam asks in a hoarse voice.

  “Eileen’s dead.”

  Adam nods in silent acceptance. “How?”

  “She hung herself,” I say in a daze, “in her sister’s room.”

  Several moments go by, Adam sitting quietly on his bed, me standing motionless inside the doorway.

  “Are you okay?” he finally asks.

  “Yes,” I say, my voice suddenly resolute as I look him in the eyes. “Because now I know what to do.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  December 24

  Weeks. It’s taken weeks to get to this point. When Adam asked me about my plan, I was vague, trying to erase my certainty from that night in his room. I’m afraid if I tell him what I’ve planned, he’ll stop me. But it’s become increasingly difficult to put him off.

  Letta and Beckan have tried to visit several times, but everything’s become so difficult. As Christmas creeps closer, I find myself hiding, trying to live like I’m the last human on Earth while I plot Her end.

  Adam and I still take our nightly walks. Since our first walk together, we’ve visited Her every night after Enit and Laura go to bed. The call gets stronger each night, and I obey it, hoping to see Liam again, but She won’t allow it. Some nights I’m the one holding Adam back, dragging him away from Her, and other nights it’s Adam who drags me back home. We take turns begging the other not to enter the beckoning darkness behind the doors. Her power is nearly all consuming now. And that’s why I have to act tonight.

  I’m standing in the cold, thirteenth straight day of sheeting rain. The ground is fully saturated and the icy rain slides down the hillside like a river, covering my sneakers and soaking my socks. I stare at Her red doors as the lightning illuminates them, beacons in the night. I wait almost an hour. Standing straight. Tall. Still.

  I have to be sure.

  I noticed a pattern in Her as Adam and I approached each night. Sometimes Her energy is so palpable I can feel it weighing down the air around me
like humidity. Other nights it’s fainter, almost as if Her energy has slid beneath Her surface. It’s some kind of inert state, something akin to sleep. And I know the only way I even have a shot at success is to try when She’s asleep.

  Tonight, I knew. I knew as soon as the sun slunk beneath the horizon tonight would be the night. I’ve planned so carefully. I can’t allow anyone to stop me. Not now. My plans even involved my first real crime – shoplifting some sleeping pills from the pharmacy.

  I’ve played the good houseguest for the last few weeks. I act like I’m recovering, or at least managing. I’ve worked my way into the Sullivan family, become closer to Adam, to Laura. Only Enit keeps her distance, eyeing me suspiciously every chance she gets. Two weeks ago, I started helping Laura make dinner. It’s all part of my plan – becoming the most polite version of myself I’ve ever been. I became a little more helpful each day, until Laura loosened up. That’s how I was able to slip the crushed pills into their drinks. It took longer than I thought for them to kick in. My nerves were frayed. I wanted to scream out what I’d done, beg their forgiveness and run away from it all, but finally, finally they fell asleep, surely suspicious, but unable to do anything about it.

  And now, here I am. In the dark. In the rain.

  Listening.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  When I’m sure She’s asleep, I head toward the O’Dwyre cabin, walking with purpose, the tools in my backpack weighing down my shoulders. I’m surprised to find a light on and smoke rolling out of the chimney this late. I hear the drone of a television inside as I sneak around the back in search of the utility lines. I’ve had to research many of the things in my plan tonight, including how to disconnect phone lines, which I do quickly with the aid of a small flashlight and a pocketknife I took from Adam’s room. I can’t have anyone calling nine-one-one when the fire starts. That’ll spoil everything.

  I feel a pang of sadness deep in my gut as I walk away from the cabin. I try to conjure up a picture of Beckan’s soul-deep eyes, or the sound of his voice, but it’s all so hazy. When was the last time I actually laid eyes on him? Two weeks? Three? I can’t be sure. I’ve forgotten how it felt sitting next to him in the small cab of his pickup. I miss him.

  No, Rose! I chastise myself when my feet hesitate in their march up the hill. Don’t let him get in the way of The Plan. It’s essential everything go right tonight, or it’ll all be for nothing. No more distractions.

  I approach the side of the house facing the O’Dwyre cabin. Lightning illuminates the damaged porch, half repaired before the awful night Mother –

  A clap of thunder focuses me. I skirt the edge of the property, keeping in the line of trees leading up to cliff. I come close enough to hear the turbulent waves throwing themselves on the rocks. I see the roiling black mass in the distance, a soupy River Styx that makes my stomach flip. I hop like a gazelle across the gap in the trees where I’d seen Liam’s tiny body fall over the edge so long ago.

  I creep up to the far side of the house, where my bedroom window looks out on the wild forest. Staring into the darkness, I think I see the large, glowing orbs of wolf eyes, hear a small whine. A warning.

  I approach a small rectangular window looking into Her basement, moving painfully slow. I retrieve a crowbar from my backpack and begin prying at the edges of the window, which as I’d hoped, is crumbling with decay and rot. It comes out of its socket easily and I toss it to the side.

  Gently, I lift off my backpack and maneuver it through the tiny window. I hang it from my fingertips until it stops swaying and then let it fall to the floor. It lands with a dull thud. I wait, listening, before making my final, fateful decision.

  Resolute, I make the sign of the cross and dip my feet into the black abyss of the basement. I work my body through the window slowly, trying not to drown in the torrential downpour or get myself stuck in the narrow opening. There’s one full, heart-pounding minute where I think I’m stuck at the shoulders, drowning my face in mud while I struggle, before I finally slip loose and fall to the concrete floor.

  I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I can barely perceive the bottom of the staircase. Sitting in the blackness, the heavy tattoo of rain and roars of thunder echoing in the cool dank of the basement gives me the unsettling sensation of being buried alive. I paw the floor for my backpack. Finding it, I pull out a homemade torch, which I put together after some Internet searches using some scrap wood from Beckan’s porch repairs, and some old gasoline-soaked t-shirts from the O’Sullivan’s garage.

  Then, I pull out the matches.

  I hold a match close to my face, nearly touching it to my nose. I stare at the telltale red bauble at the end. If people really do have their lives flash before their eyes at the moment just before death, this is when I should see the fleeting faces of my father, my mother, and Liam swimming before me. But I see nothing. No matter. It ends tonight.

  Calmly, I strike the match against a slab of cinder block. It erupts into a bright blue flame. The flickering flame stables, turns reddish yellow, and I hold the yellowy dance of light to the torch in my other hand.

  Fire.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Fire

  I blink rapidly at the sudden burst of flame. It’s several minutes before the phantom flashes fade and the darkness sets back in. Holding my torch high, I get my bearings and head straight for the little door under the stairs.

  Again, I’ve carefully planned every move. The door, which likes to stick, is too much of a risk. I don’t want to wake Her up prying the rotten wood apart. Instead, I kneel down before the door and pull a screwdriver from my backpack. Unscrewing the rusted hinges with one hand while holding the torch in the other is hard, slow work, but I can be patient. The end will come soon enough.

  When the last screw finally loosens, I gently pull the door away from the frame and rest it against the wall. The interior of the dirt room is a black pit. I step over the threshold carefully – for She keeps special watch on Her room of trinkets. From my bag, I retrieve one of several water bottles I’ve filled with gasoline and sprinkle it around the room. The toys – rocking horse, alphabet blocks, rusty tricycle, teddy bears – all go up with a satisfying foom.

  Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home

  Your house is on fire and your children are gone.

  I smile. The old nursery rhyme’s been stuck in my head ever since I first formed my plan. The catchy little rhyme describes my situation perfectly. By sunrise, She’ll be swallowed by flames and Her children will be gone. For good.

  I stand motionless in the doorway, watching the flames consume Her things. It’s only when the rising smoke makes me cough that I head upstairs. As I ascend to the first floor, I pull another bottle of gasoline from my bag and let it dribble on the steps, like Gretel leaving breadcrumbs along her path.

  The house feels different on the first floor. I feel different. There’s no comfort here, no warmth, no love. A cold, oppressive hopelessness presses down from all sides. The air is thick with mold and dampness, as if no one has ever lived here. In fact, as I gaze around, I can see a terrible difference all around me.

  Destruction.

  The velvety wallpaper and carpet on the stairs is peeling and rotten. The chandelier has fallen and made a shattered kaleidoscope on the floor. The couch is in pieces on the living room floor. The TV splintered and crooked on its perch. Picture frames are broken. The dining room furniture Eamonn carved with his own hands is broken in the middle, as if someone sawed through it and went to the chairs, china cabinet, and mantle with an axe. The kitchen cabinets have exploded, their shiny contents strewn across the floor. In the drawing room, the few remaining unpacked Delaney boxes are scattered, their contents strewn across the floor. Only one thing from my old life is undisturbed, as if it’s been placed specifically for me: my parents’ wedding photo on the ornate mantle piece. I drift toward it like a magnet. I hold the cool pearl frame in my hands and stare into my father’s eyes.<
br />
  The growl erupts from deep within. My eyes burn with rage. I forget my careful, quiet plan and release the scream. I feel wild and uncontrolled. I throw my backpack to the ground, tear another bottle of gasoline from its depths and sling it around the room, covering the boxes and curtains liberally. Touching my torch to the floor, everything seems to blaze with fire at the same time. A flash of heat rolls over me, so hot it sears off some of my arm hair. I watch the rapidly spreading flames with satisfaction. I wait until the fire starts to eat at the shared wall of the living room before turning away.

  Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home

  Your house is on fire and your children are gone.

  The floorboards begin vibrating so slightly that, at first, I think it’s the energy from the fire. But as it grows louder and stronger, I recognize the same headless growl that preceded the last “earthquake.” She’s awake.

  I race up the closest staircase, screaming out to Liam as I sprint for his room. “Liam! Liam, it’s Rose! Where are you?”

  My only answer is the white noise roar of the flames. Sinews of smoke drift up through the cracks in the floorboards. Her growl becomes louder and louder, until the wolf-like cry erupts from every room, every wall, every beam of wood with ear-bursting volume.

  Nooooooooooo!

  I cover my ears, falling to my knees as the floor shakes with Her wrath. I close my eyes and crouch against the wall as a burst of flames seems to come from everywhere at once. The flash is scorching hot on my skin. When I open my eyes, they’re filled with blue-orange flames on all sides. The fire has engulfed the entire first floor and crawled up both staircases.

  “Liam!” I scream, panicking. I jerk my head, staring intently at his door through the smoke. Did I hear him? I turn an ear and wait.

  “Rosie! I’m in here!”

  I crawl on my hands and knees to Liam’s bedroom, slipping in through the cracked door. Getting to my feet, I frantically search for him. His room hasn’t been destroyed like the rest of the house and it’s almost pristine. I throw everything out of order. I look under the bed, under the covers, in the closet.