A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  At first she was too stiff. She had no way to know how long she'd been tied. There was some light showing at the crack under the one door she could see. It was impossible to tell if it came from a lamp, or sunlight through a window. As her eyes adjusted to the dim room, she saw piles of boxes lining the wall, jumbled shelves and a file cabinet bulging with papers. There was an old wooden desk littered with Styrofoam cups, file folders, and small boxes. The dust on the floor was thick, and though she could see that it had been disturbed recently, it was obvious the room hadn't been swept in a very long time.

  She arched slowly. She bent her legs and groped with cold, bloodless fingers. At first it seemed she'd fall just short. Then she remembered the beach cottage, watching Abe stretch before his run. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She let her legs relax and took a deep breath, then reached again, slowly. She fell short again, and her breath caught, just for a moment. Tears threatened at the corners of too-dry eyes, and a sob began worming its way free of her chest.

  She relaxed again. The breath calmed her slightly, and she stretched a third time. This time she felt the tip of one boot and almost cried out in gratitude. The outburst tightened her stomach muscles, and the boot slipped back out of reach. She took two slow breaths, stretched, and managed to work her fingers in among the laces of her boots. This time when she relaxed she held this grip, and when she stretched again, she felt the cord wrapped tightly around her ankles. She gripped it tightly and willed herself to relax. Touching it was not enough; she had to stretch a bit further.

  There wasn't much strength in her fingers. The cord on her wrists was tight, and as she stretched and worked her wrists her fingers lost circulation and throbbed. She knew she didn't have much time before they were stiff and worthless. Another breath, a last effort, and she slid her hands around the cord. At first all she felt was more strands, and she nearly panicked. Then she caught herself, slid her hands back the other way, and found where the ends had been tucked in. She felt the knot and nearly sobbed with relief as she felt how loose it was.

  Whoever had tied her had made their initial knot tight, but then they'd wrapped the cord a few more times and tied it again before tucking the ends in out of sight. This left the outer knot looser. Katrina tugged and worked at it, drawing one end free, then the other, and finally she felt the knot slip apart. She held one end between the nearly limp fingers of her left hand and pulled the other end out through the loops of the knot with her right. It was slow work, and each time she drew her wrist back to loosen the cord another inch, pain shot though her wrists, and she was certain she couldn't go on. Then she did.

  As she worked, she listened. She had no idea who had tied her, or where they had gone. Every thump of her arm on the floor sent her heart racing. She kept watch on the crack under the door in case shadows moved on the far side, and she listened carefully to every sound. There were no passing cars here. There were no kids passing on bicycles, or joggers to hear her if she called out. There were people who might hear her trying to escape, though. There was at least one person who knew where she was, and if he returned, she wanted to know about it.

  He'd seemed so harmless. A small, nondescript old man with dark hair that had turned almost completely gray. His eyes were bright, but she hadn't noticed until it was too late. When he opened the door, Katrina thought he looked like a million other men she'd met. Lonely, harmless, and in need of a shower. There was a scent that clung to him, and to the store, that itched at her senses. It was an earthy smell she'd instantly associated with mud. It should have been repellent, but instead it drew her thoughts inward. She knew the scent, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

  "Mr. Greene?" she'd asked.

  He nodded and invited her into the store, and that was the last thing she remembered until awakening on his floor, bound and alone. She hadn't had a chance to ask about Abe, or to introduce herself. Had he called her by name? She couldn't recall his exact words. All she remembered was concentrating on the scent and trying to place it.

  The first strand of cord came free and the outer wrap of the cord loosened. This didn't give her enough freedom to tug her ankles free, but it returned her circulation. Katrina relaxed her arms and her fingers throbbed at the sudden return of blood. She cried out softly, and then bit her lip to silence the sound. She felt her heartbeat in her hands, felt it thundering behind her ears and pounding in her chest. She closed her eyes again and tried to breathe. It took longer this time—too long. She opened her eyes, gritted her teeth, and arched her back again.

  It was easier to reach the cords this time, and she gripped them fiercely. The inner knot was on top of her ankles, close to her back. This made it harder to reach, but not impossible. She worked quickly, fighting the urge to panic. She knew she had only so much time to free herself, and that the time was running out. She didn't believe Silas Greene, or whoever the man had been, had left her to die in the back room of the store. They would be back, and she didn't intend to be here when they arrived.

  She thought of Abe, and the tears returned. Was he hurt? Had they gotten to him first? What exactly had drawn him back to this place—a place where something like abduction in a public store was simple to get away with? She wished she'd made him talk. She should have pounded on his chest and screamed at him until all the secrets broke free. She was sure he thought he was protecting her, but who was protecting him? More importantly, what exactly was it he needed protection from?

  The knot loosened slightly. She gripped one of the strands of cord, followed it carefully around the knot and tried to picture it in her mind. She could waste a lot of time pulling on the wrong bit of cord, and she wanted to be sure. She tugged again, and the knot loosened further. She fought the urge to kick.

  The knot slipped another notch and she held her breath. She focused on her fingers. The cord suddenly felt larger and easier to manage. The knot slipped just a bit more, and she dragged one end quickly through the loops that bound it. She tried to remain silent, but the effort of hurrying her motion brought little puffs of air to her lips and she moaned from the effort of maintaining the arched position. The cord dropped away and she straightened with a sudden burst of breath and sound. She coughed again as the motion raised another dust cloud and closed her eyes.

  The cord fell away from her ankles, and she relaxed. She pulled her knees up to her chest, worked her arms down and pulled her bound wrists around her feet and knees and up in front of her chest. They were stiff. Every movement shot pain through her arms and shoulders. Her fingers ached from the returned circulation. Katrina pushed on the floor clumsily with both hands and tried to rise. Her arm slipped, and she slumped back to the floor with a grunt. She'd spent all the strength she had fighting the knot; her arms did not want to support her weight.

  She took another deep breath and braced herself to try again. Before she could move, a clatter shattered the silence. Someone was on the porch out front, rattling the knob. Was it a customer? Police? Katrina reached for the bandanna tied across her lips. She had it in her hand when a key turned in the lock out front and the door swung open. She heard heavy footsteps, a grunt, and then the door swung closed with a bang. She lowered her hands to the floor and rolled on top of them, then drew her feet behind her and out of sight, knees bent. It wouldn't fool anyone for long, but it might give her a chance at escape if she were careful, and very lucky.

  The light from the crack beneath the door had grown dimmer as she worked at her bonds. Whoever had entered the outer room hadn't bothered to turn on the lights. She saw vague shadows pass across the room accompanied by the sound of heavy boots. Her mind raced. Was it Greene? The footsteps were very loud, and they seemed to belong to a much larger man, but she couldn't be sure that she wasn't magnifying the sound in her mind, or that her proximity to the floor didn't cause the steps to echo. She could barely hear him over the hammering of her heart, and she bit her lip behind the bandanna to keep from crying out.

  Tears stung her eyes agai
n. When the steps neared the door again, she tensed. As inconspicuously as she could, she positioned her palms flat on the floor, or as close to flat as she could get them in their binding. She pulled her knees slightly forward. She wasn't certain she could get to her feet, but if she could, she intended to run for the front of the store. She might be able to kick the door closed behind her and stumble to her car. She had no idea how she'd drive with her hands tied, and in a panicked moment she wondered where her keys were. Then she remembered she'd left them in the ignition, and her resolve strengthened.

  The footsteps stopped, then turned toward the door. Katrina pushed back against the wall, hoping it would lend her a little support when she made her move. The doorknob turned, and the door swung outward slowly. It creaked loudly. A tall form stepped into the room.

  It wasn't Greene—she saw that right away. This man was slightly taller and broader. He had shaggy dark hair and wore heavy leather work boots. He stopped in the doorway and scanned the shadowed office storeroom. He didn't know where she was. Katrina held her breath and willed her heart to beat more quietly.

  The man shuffled into the room and turned toward the desk. He took a step in that direction, looked over his shoulder, then turned to the wall. Katrina saw that he was reaching for the light switch, and chose that moment to move. She lurched back against the wall, curled her legs beneath her and pushed off the floor with her fingertips. The cord ground into her wrists, but she ignored the pain.

  The man cried out in surprise as she staggered past him toward the door and he tripped as he turned, making a wild grab that just missed yanking her back by her hair. In a second she was through the door and managed to kick out with her left leg and slam it closed. She ran clumsily toward the front door, nearly fell as her balance shifted, then righted herself and yanked the door open, holding the knob tightly between her bound hands.

  Outside it was nearly dark. She saw a glow off to her right, but she ignored it. She slammed the door and headed for her car, heaving great gulps of fresh air into her lungs through the bandana and ignoring the pain in her legs, arms and back. She heard a crash and a loud curse behind her, and then she had the car door open and slipped around it and inside. She yanked the door closed behind her and slammed her hand down on the lock. Frantically she twisted over to the passenger side and did the same. For the first time since owning the little car, she was thankful it was a two-door.

  At the same moment she pressed down on the passenger side lock and groped for the keys, her pursuer crashed out through the front door. His eyes were dark slits, and his lips were curled back in a crazed expression of fury. Katrina met that wild glare for just a second. Her bound hands banged painfully on the steering wheel as she reached desperately for the keys. She groped once, missed, then brought her fingers together and gripped the edges of the empty ignition slot. The tears she'd held in check burst free and she leaned, searching the floor and the seat.

  The man ran to the car and slammed his fists into the window. It shook, but held. Katrina backed away and pulled her hands up to shield her face. She pressed into the door behind her and held her face in her hands. She screamed, and then screamed again.

  The man didn't hit the window again. As her screams subsided into sobs that wracked her frame, Katrina opened her eyes and peered into the moonlit parking lot. The man stood just outside the driver's side door and stared at her. His rage had melted away to a dark calm. When he saw that she was looking, he smiled.

  He lifted his hand, and she saw her keys dangling from his tight-knuckled grip.

  Abe reached the bottom of the trail in less than half an hour. Running downhill was dangerous, especially in the failing light of late afternoon, but the smoke rising up over the trees and the scent of burning wood drew him on and down. He ran because it was comfortable. As long as he could remember, running had helped him clear his mind and sift through conflicting thoughts. It didn't matter what was burning, there was little he could do about it. If all the folk on the mountain gathered, they could build fire breaks and dig trenches. They could cart in barrels of water and pumps. There was no fire department up on the mountain. No trucks with sirens were likely to rush in and stop the blaze unless it burned completely out of control and started to eat away at the mountain. Wildfires were no rarity in California, and the citizens of San Valencez would see to it that firefighters kept the flames contained.

  There was nothing Abe could do about the fire, but he had to know. The flames had appeared in the distance as he'd spoken of burning. The coincidence was not lost on him, and he wondered if someone else had shared his thoughts. The smoke came from the direction of the white church, but there were other things in that direction. There were plenty of dry trees, for one thing. There were families who lived further in, past the church and well off the path.

  He rounded the last string of trees and stopped cold. In the distance he saw the tree line that marked the edge of the clearing. He saw the entrance to the trail that led back and away, into the trees and on to and past the white church.

  He saw his mother's cottage engulfed in flames.

  He started forward again, and his steps slowed to a steady march. His gaze never wavered from the crumbling, burning building. The clearing was filled with people. Some of them held shovels, or rakes, as if they'd come to respond to the blaze, but none of them fought the fire. The structure of the small home had mostly collapsed. The walls were caved in on two sides, and great chunks of the roof had dropped through into the interior. Another let go as Abe approached and hit the burning floor with a thud that sent sparks dancing into the darkening sky.

  Others lined the clearing. He saw them in the periphery of his site, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the burning home. He thought through the things he'd left behind. He thought of his mother's teapot and the old quilt he'd slept with as a boy. He thought of his father's clothing, folded and neat and stored in boxes lined with mothballs. He remembered the symbol carved into the door, thought of it etched in flame, and sank to his knees at the edge of the clearing.

  He turned slowly. Nearby, a clutch of watchers stood gathered together, staring at him. Beyond them, he caught a lone man, and beyond the man a couple, their arms wrapped tightly about one another's shoulders. All of them watched him. He turned the other direction and saw similar groups lined the trees all around. He saw Henry George, leaning on a tree. Henry turned toward the burning home and slouched lower against the tree. Two other men stood near him. They watched Abe and the burning home alternately. He was almost certain they were smiling.

  A little closer to him stood Ed Murphy. Ed had a woman under his arm, but Abe couldn't make out who she was, or if he knew her at all. Ed started to say something. Abe saw the man open his mouth, reach out, and then drop his hand. Ed's mouth closed at the same instant, and he reached up absently to tug his hat brim down tighter over his forehead.

  Abe lowered his head. He felt very conspicuous with all of their eyes on him, but he knew what he had to do. This was the moment many of them had waited for since the day he left. It was the moment in which they'd take his measure and find him wanting, or acceptable.

  He had no way to know how many of them bore the mark. It was easier to read in some than in others. A few, like Harry, lounged indolently and stared into the flames as if they wished they had sticks and marshmallows to do it up right. Others hung back, shot wary, furtive glances at the marked ones, and whispered quietly.

  Abraham pulled the pendant out from beneath his shirt and held it in his hands. The metal gleamed in the dancing firelight. He let it dangle from his fingers, and bowed his head. In a steady voice, he prayed. He didn't try to pray over the roar of the flames. He didn't pray to them, but despite them.

  He prayed for his mother. He thanked God for the mountain and its strength. He thanked God for his father, the wisdom he had grown up with, and for all the years of his life. He prayed for whoever had set the fire, using that moment to acknowledge that he knew his mother was dead
, and that he mourned her.

  He asked for the forgiveness of his past failings.

  When he rose, Abraham scanned the crowd again. They stared at him openly now, turned away from the flames. No one spoke. A few of them started forward, as if they intended to speak with him, or offer condolences. They stopped when they met his gaze. A few of them hung their heads. Others, like Henry George, glared in open hostility.

  Abe turned toward the forest trail that led to the white church. He stood that way for a long time, very still. He turned back slowly, gazed at the burning house a last time, and then turned back to the trail.

  He didn't see the trees. He didn't see the burning home, or the wooded trail. He saw a symbol burning in the air, the equal arms of a cross surrounded by letters so old the name of the language they represented had faded from memory. He saw that image surrounding a pair of cold, staring eyes. Abe closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists.

  He started back the way he'd come, but didn't take the turn toward the trail. Instead he turned toward the road to Greene's store and the telephone. He needed to call Katrina. He needed to figure out what he was going to do—why he was going to do it, and how. He needed to be as far away from the charred remnant of his past as possible. And so he ran.

  With the stars high in the sky and the acrid tang of smoke wafting across the mountain, caught in the night's breeze, Abraham ran down the mountain as fast as his legs would carry him. He didn't think about the church, or the fire. He thought about Katrina, her voice and her smile. It didn't matter if Greene were the Devil himself. Abe needed a phone.

  After the girl knocked him into the wall and ran out of the store, Angel's mind blanked. It happened more and more since he'd received the mark on his head—his anger boiled up and out of him like steam from a teakettle. He had no control over it, and wouldn't have exerted it if he had.

  He had been ready to smash his fists into the driver's side window again and again, to drag the woman out through the broken window and truss her up like a pig for the roast. His fist swung back and he willed it forward, but the blow never fell. He heard Silas' voice in his mind. He remembered the keys in his pocket. He smiled. All of this happened in the span of a moment, and his face, contorted in mindless rage a moment before, softened with the smile.