Steve glanced up from the children to the other end of the sofa. Lauren sat upright. She had been wringing her hands constantly and kept biting her lip until she had drawn blood. It was driving him crazy.
“Okay, kids, time for bed.” He got up and for once, there were no moans. He scooped Lucy from the floor. “Stay there,” he said to Lauren as he carried Lucy through to her room. She never stirred, and he tucked her into bed, making sure that Bunkie, toweled off but still a little damp, was in her arms.
He checked on Chase before returning to the living room. Lauren had opened a bottle of wine. She passed him a glass.
The dark red liquid made him feel queasy. It looked like blood. He raised the glass to the light and swirled it around, checking for surprises before taking a long swig. The wine felt good. It was a strong red, and it warmed him as it traveled lower.
He slumped down at the opposite end to Lauren and turned to his wife. “Do you know what’s going on?” He could see she was confused, and he felt an overwhelming urge to hold her. He started to shift across the sofa but stopped short.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes were wide, vulnerable, and confused, and he could see the fear she fought to hold back.
“Your clothes, your hair. You look so different. Was that you, or ... Val?”
She ran a hand through her now long, curly hair. Steve knew the gesture well; it was a desperate move, as she tried to understand what had happened.
“It felt so real at the time, but now it’s just crazy. I have felt funny ever since we got here.” She looked away as a tear burst over her eyelids and slid down her face.
The silence stretched. Steve could feel a lump in his throat as he tried to articulate what he had seen. “Me too. I keep seeing things.”
Lauren looked up at him, hope in her eyes. “Awful things?”
“Yes. I thought I saw Lucy covered in blood, but it wasn’t her.” He was almost sobbing too. It was someone’s baby, someone’s precious child that had had her life ripped away in the cruelest manner he could imagine. A shudder ran down his spine at the remembered image.
“Sometimes I think it’s me, those people, in my ... what, my visions? Steve what is happening? You know me. I would never hurt you or the pumpkins. Am I going mad like my mum?”
“If you are, so am I.” He reached out and took her hand.
The silence stretched between them and he watched as Lauren tried to articulate the mad things she had been feeling. “I feel like him,” she said at last.
“Who?” That thought confused Steve; he had expected her to feel like the woman from the paper. The one who looked just like her.
“Eric. It’s hard to explain. I feel like him, yet I want to protect you all. He was trying to protect her, I think. He knew he was wrong, but he just kept doing it. He couldn’t stop.”
Frustration made Steve’s head throb and he was scared. Everything was spinning out of control again. “Lauren, you’re not making any sense. Who is Eric?”
She pulled her hands away and rubbed them through her hair. He could see it was driving her crazy too. She had told him of lost time and glimpses of terrible things and the fear of what she was doing. “I don’t know. I sit down, and ... it’s as if I’m somewhere else, someone else.” She looked at Steve.
It was crazy, but he believed her. She had been someone else. He had seen it with his own eyes, but surely it had to be a symptom of his illness, or something. None of this was possible.
She rushed on, the words spilling from her like water from a jug. “Eric hurt me, the other me, and now I ... she wants to hurt him back. It consumes her.”
His heart pounded, and his ears filled with blood. It was just stress, for both of them. “Honey, there’s no Eric, just us and the pumpkins.”
“I understand,” she said. “Let’s go home, and things will change. I want to spend more time with them. Suddenly I see Chase growing up before my eyes. Steve, please take me home.”
He nodded, but he needed the Sim card to get them away from here, and no way was he taking the kids back up the pass. “I need the Sim card.” Anger was growing inside him like a swarm of bees after their hive had been kicked. It swarmed around and around and settled in his stomach like a bucketful of desperation. “You must have taken it. And the food, the insects, the first pie? And what was in tonight’s pie?”
“I didn’t make a pie today.”
He got up and walked out of the room, returning with a pie and a small knife.
She stared in shock. “The thing is, I sit down and it seems like minutes, and then you’re back.”
Steve shoved the pie toward her. “You don’t remember making this?”
“No. I had hardly sat down when you came home. It was like five minutes.”
“It was dark when we came back.”
She struggled with the logic. “No ... Well, yes, it was, but how?”
He shook his head and cut into the pie. He removed a piece of the golden crust. It smelled delicious, and his stomach rumbled. It looked fine. Maybe he could have some. He had done toasties for the kids, but had run out of bread before he had any.
He poked the pie with a knife and a mouse’s foot flipped out of the meat. His face turned to thunder, and he wanted to throw the damn thing at the fire. He walked to the kitchen and dumped it into the bin.
Lauren came in behind him. He waved the knife at her. “The children come first. You don’t go near them without me.”
She nodded. “I think you should tie me up again.”
For a second, he thought about it, thought about saying no, but then he nodded back. “I think you’re right.”
Chapter 32
Steve lay on the bed fully clothed, listening, waiting. He had tied Lauren to the headboard and watched her settle down. They had said little, both embarrassed, both scared. He had made sure the ropes were loose and that she had plenty of movement, but still, guilt churned his stomach and made rest impossible.
Her eyes full of guilt or accusation, she had smiled a wan smile and turned away from him.
Then he had listened for some time, with a tension in his shoulders and an ache in his chest, but eventually her breathing had slowed down and become even, until she was asleep at last. Occasionally she twitched, as if Val chased her down into her dreams.
Shaking his head to clear the thought, Steve took a long, slow breath. He needed to be steady. At last, he knew what he had to do, but he had waited to be sure that she slept, as this would be easier with her out of the way.
The room was dark. Just a little moonlight filtered through the curtains, but his eyes had adjusted a long time ago, and he could see clearly. For long moments he stared across at her. Her eyes were closed, and her facial muscles relaxed. He was sure she slept and hoped that he would be able to do so later, when it was over. In the darkness, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed was even and slow. It was time.
Swinging his legs from the bed, Steve crept across the room. He found the door and opened it; with a last look back at the indistinct form on the bed, he crept out.
Slowly, quietly, he navigated the dark corridor. He stopped at the kitchen door and looked out onto the deck. Was he delaying? The chair seemed to be in a spotlight, as if the moon shone for it alone. It rocked eerily but when Steve glanced up, the treetops were all still. There was no wind tonight.
Breath held, he walked out of the cabin and into the night chill. Like a physical force, the cold stole that breath and pushed him back. He squared his shoulders and leaned into it, and then it was gone, leaving him to stumble forward. The air was still, preternaturally quiet. There was no wind, no crickets, and even the owls that always hunted here, were silent, or gone, he thought.
Before his nerve failed, he grabbed hold of the chair. It was cold, and the wooden arms were pitted with deep ridges that felt rough to the touch. As he gripped them tightly, a splinter slid into his palm, and he pulled back, sucking the shard out. He stared at the chair. At the enemy. Par
t of him wanted to laugh, but the damn thing felt evil. It felt wrong.
Before his nerve left him, he grabbed it again and bent over to lift it. The damned thing wouldn’t budge. Pulling hard, he applied more pressure, but it could have been nailed to the deck for all the movement he got. He pulled and pushed, putting all his weight into shifting the monstrosity, but nothing happened. Sweat was running down his back, and he panted heavily. Frustrated, he let go and stood upright.
The chair looked smug.
Anger surged in him like a bear teased with a cattle prod, and he kicked out viciously.
The chair slid away from him and stopped.
It felt good to lash out at the thing. He took a step forward.
It turned to face him, scraping the deck as it swiveled around on the wood, and then it started to rock slowly, backward and forward.
Steve could do nothing but stare. How could it do that?
Wind pushed him back, and the stench of corruption and decay coated his throat. He swallowed; it would not beat him.
The chair shimmered. He blinked, and a faint impression of Val sat before him, a translucent figure of almost black mist. She smiled in that smug, hateful way that set his nerves on edge.
“No,” he screamed, and kicked the runner. The mist disappeared, and the chair spun away from him.
He rushed forward and grabbed it before it settled. It took all his strength, but he heaved and strained and lifted it from the deck. It felt slimy and bloody as he carried it. He pushed the thought from his mind, pushed the revulsion away, and rushed around the back of the cabin to a chopping block with an ax embedded in it.
He threw the chair down and dusted his hands and clothes. He could almost imagine blood and flesh clinging to him. Pulling the ax from the block, he raised it above his head.
The chair rocked, taunting him, teasing him. He swung the ax down with all his weight and the full force of his back. It hit the chair’s seat and stopped dead. The impact jarred up his arms and sent shockwaves into his spine. It was like he had hit concrete, yet the chair stood unblemished.
With a scream, he yanked the ax back above his head. With an animal expression on his face, he slammed the ax with all his weight. It bounced, but he was frenzied now and smashed it again and again. He slashed and pushed, even turned the ax over and used it like a hammer, but nothing affected the chair.
At last, he stopped. Sweat dripped from him, and a deep tiredness seemed to chill him to the bone.
The chair rocked slowly in the moonlight. Steve threw the ax at it and screamed out his frustration once more.
Picking up the rocker, he ran to the edge of a steep drop-off behind the cabin. He tossed the chair over the edge and watched, satisfied, as it rolled and plunged down the slope. It went through bushes and crashed into a tree to bounce back and lie on its side.
Steve took a deep breath and walked back to the cabin. It was gone. They were safe.
Silhouetted by the moonlight, the chair sat upright and rocked gently, moving imperceptibly back toward the cabin.
Steve crept into the bedroom. He felt better than he had in days. It was finally over. He slipped off his boots and lay on the bed. He thought about undressing but decided just to lie there for a while.
Lauren had her back to him; her breathing was slow and easy. She had not moved.
Having closed his eyes, he expected it to take ages for him to drop off, but he was instantly asleep.
As Steve started to snore, Lauren’s eyes popped open; they were icy blue, cold, and cruel. She moved her hands. In her left was a large steel kitchen knife. Its blade seemed to find the light and magnify it. In her right was a lock of Lucy’s hair. She sniffed the hair and hugged her treasure close, giggling as she closed her eyes.
Chapter 33
Steve’s eyes opened, and he blinked at the bright light before closing them again and snuggling back into the pillow. Slowly, he became aware of the day, but sleep had a tight hold and coaxed him back for just a few more minutes. He sighed with contentment and listened. No children, so he could have a bit longer. As he stretched, he realized that his shoulders ached, and so did his calves.
He rolled over, and his jeans tugged his legs and held him still. Had he slept in his clothes? Then he remembered, and his eyes sprang open—Lauren was gone. He sat upright, instantly alert, and ran a hand through his hair. He listened, straining his ears to pick up any danger, any problem, but the cabin was quiet. Where was she?
He got off the bed, alert for any sound, any movement, but his mind was still groggy, and he tried to focus. How had she escaped the ropes? He cursed himself for being soft; he should have tied her tighter. Panic slapped him like cold water to the face. Where was she, and where were the kids?
Think. It was light. They should be up by now. He should hear Lucy laughing and Chase would be telling her off, but there was nothing. Where are they?
In two steps he crossed the room and made his way to the kitchen. He could see out onto the deck. Lauren sat in the chair, rocking. A sharp pain in his chest stopped him in his tracks. He wanted to drop to his knees, to rest, to sleep, but he had to get through this, he had to be strong.
He walked forward, ignoring the pain. He would get her out of the rocker, and this time burn the bloody thing. Something stopped him; he watched as she rocked back and forth, back and forth.
Muscles tensed, he waited for the nightmare images, but nothing happened. She rocked in the autumn sunshine, back and forth. Move, damn it! He turned away from the image and saw his black rucksack on the table. He grabbed the bag and shoved supplies into it. Chocolate bars, water, crisps, Power Bars, he grabbed anything he could carry.
He had one eye on Lauren—no, it was the other woman, her hair was shorter, and she wore a flowery skirt, much too old-fashioned for Lauren, yet she appeared normal, relaxed.
He was torn between running to her and the kids. He wavered at the table, the pack clutched in his fist, just watching as she rocked back and forth. What should he do? He remembered the vision, the raven pecking into the eye of that darling little girl, the glutinous mess hanging from its vicious beak. He headed to Lucy’s room.
As he opened the door, she was just coming awake. I guess we were all exhausted. Her hair was all mussed up, and a yawn filled her face. Seeing him, she smiled.
The scene was so cute, so normal, that love filled him with warmth and a strength he didn’t believe he had. They would make it out of here. “Okay, pumpkin, let’s get you dressed.”
“I’m tired, Daddy. Me and Bunkie are gonna sleep in.” She waved the tatty blue ears from under the covers.
Steve moved to her, dropping the pack onto the deep carpet next to the bed. “I know, but you wanted to walk outta here.”
She threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, bounding up and down. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Steve shushed her. “Keep quiet and get dressed. I’ll be back in a mo.” He sneaked out of the door.
Steve came back through the door with a very serious-looking Chase. Lucy sat on the bed swinging her legs. She had her pink rucksack ready and Bunkie sat beside her.
“All ready?” Steve asked.
“What about Mummy?” Lucy’s lip pouted.
“She’s not coming.” Steve felt fear and shame as he ushered the kids toward the window.
Outside the front of the cabin, Val rocked in the chair, backward and forward, a slow, gentle, relaxing, rhythm. Her eyes were closed, and something wooden lay on her lap. A vicious smile crossed her face and her eyes opened.
In Lucy’s room, Steve had the window open and was about to climb through.
“This is silly,” Lucy said, a little too loudly for Steve’s liking.
He paused. He had to get her to cooperate.
“It’s an adventure.” Chase guided her to the window.
Lucy squealed with delight.
Steve winced at the sound; they had to get away clear.
“I love adventures,” she said. “But my leg
s are tired.”
“Mine too, honey, but after today we can rest for a week.” He climbed out of the window and onto the deck. It was a warm morning, and the sun was shining. At least the weather would not hinder their escape. He checked around. It seemed quiet.
“Hand the bags out first.”
Chase passed out three rucksacks. Steve stashed them on the deck. Every nerve in his body was alert; he could feel the breeze on his back, hear the birds in the trees, and he wanted so much for them to hurry up.
“Now, Lucy, climb out and I will catch you.”
Lucy came through the window, her legs kicking in the air. Steve hauled her up high and swung her down to the ground. She was laughing with delight. “We need to be quiet,” he said.
At the front of the cabin, the empty chair rocked silently, alone on the deck.
Chase came through the window next and landed lightly to join the others. Steve glanced around nervously. They had taken too long and were making too much noise. He shushed them again and handed out the packs.
“Where’s Bunkie?” Lucy sobbed, seeing that her favorite tatty rabbit was not in her pack.
“We’ll come back for him,” Steve said, “Now hurry.”
Lucy looked as if she would cry, and Steve wondered about going back in, but they had to move.
From behind them, Val’s coarse, deep voice sounded. “Going somewhere, honey?”
Steve wheeled around to see her behind them. A wooden ax held in her right hand, she dragged it as she walked toward them.
Fear spidered up his spine and froze his legs. He pushed the kids behind him. He could feel Lucy resist, but out of the corner of his eye he watched Chase pull her close and then put himself between his sister and danger.
Steve was spurred on by the boy’s courage.
“Lauren, keep out of my way. We’re just going for a walk.”
Daddy Won't Kill You- The Haunting in the Woods Page 14