“You do know how to make a girl feel better.”
“I try.”
She noticed that the young men all looked as if they’d just got out of bed, their hair ruffled, and they were dressed in t-shirts and shorts rather than the tatty jeans and long-sleeved shirts they normally wore while working on the house.
“Did you guys sleep in the house last night?”
“Yeah, there was a bad storm. It ripped our stuff to shreds.” He pointed at the campsite and the remains of four tents scattered across the soaking grass. Several of the airbeds had made a break for it. One of them was clinging to an overgrown topiary near the house.
“Oh my…” Freya’s hand rested on her lips.
“It was still raining until about two minutes ago. Then it stopped… just like that.” He snapped his fingers with a loud click.
“It stopped right before I arrived.”
“Maybe you brought the sun with you from Glasgow.”
“I didn’t know the sun lived there.” She tilted her head and curled one side of her mouth.
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” He chuckled softly, his hand never leaving hers, their eyes meeting for a moment.
“Freya?” Oliver’s voice broke the spell between them. She wasn’t sure why she did it, but she pulled her hand out of Logan’s grip.
“Hey, Ollie.”
“I didn’t think you’d be back until tonight. Or tomorrow even.” His hair was wet from what she suspected was a shower, and his face looked bright and fresh. “You missed one crazy storm last night.”
“I heard.” She nodded her head towards Logan. “It sounded intense. Maybe it’s a good idea to create a space for the guys to live in, seeing as their tents are pretty much ruined.” She pointed at the campsite, and Oliver’s eyes followed the direction of her finger.
“Oh my God, it’s worse than I thought.” He tangled his fingers in his wet brown curls. Freya could smell a hint of aftershave. “We can absolutely make space in the house. I know you didn’t want the boys to be in the same wing as us, but things seem to have been going very well, and with Bam gone…” Oliver glanced from Logan to Freya, “…there’s only Freya now.”
Freya rolled her eyes, but then she nodded. “I really don’t see the issue either. The guys have been very well behaved so far.”
In the distance, the four young men were picking their scattered belongings from the ground, all a little quiet and solemn. One of them, she thought his name was Mason, cupped his hands so that Terrence could have a leg up against one of the trees to rescue a dangling backpack. It was a sad sight.
“I guess we can try.”
“Good.”
Chapter 15
“Today I will get up,” Bam whispered, her voice no more than a raspy croak that garbled most of the pronunciation. She had spent the past forty-two hours in the cramped room with no food or drink, hallucinating from an intense fever. In her dreams, a dark figure sat on her chest, preventing her from moving, sucking the energy out of her.
For the first time in hours, she had a lucid moment, and she was shocked at the state of her body. Flaky dry tatters hung from her lips, and every breath hurt. Her skin hung like a loose sack around her bones.
“Can’t get away, Sis. You’re dying.”
“You can’t be here, Chuck… you can’t be.” Her tongue was thick and dry, and it stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Don’t worry, Bambi… I’m not here. This is only a projection. My soul is stuck in Angel Manor.”
“You can’t hurt me.”
“I can’t… not now. But you’re hurting yourself plenty.” Bam detected a hint of smug cruelty in her brother’s words. “You see, my dearest, I can’t leave Angel Manor… but neither can you. You are as stuck to that house as I am.”
“You’re wrong.” She turned on her side, all her organs groaning in protest. If only this room wasn’t so hot. “You’re stuck in that house, and I got away. I got away from you.” She cried but no tears came; she simply didn’t have any fluid left in her. Bam wanted to drink, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Something was holding her back, but she knew that if she didn’t break out of it, she would die.
“No, you didn’t get away. Only part of you left, Bambi. You bonded with the house, and it owns your soul now. It still has you, sis. That’s why you’re so sick.”
“How can it have my soul when I’m here?” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her tongue lolled from the corner of her mouth. If anyone had been present in the room, they wouldn’t have been able to understand her, but to Bam it felt as if she were having a lucid conversation. The muscles in her body cramped up with acidic pain flashes, her hands knotted into claws. Her once beautifully manicured nails were now broken and bitten down to the quick.
“You should have told Freya how you were really doing, sis. She could have saved you. She would have come to get you and brought you back. But you didn’t. And now the battery to your phone is dead, and you’re going to die in the next few hours.”
“I got away from that house.” The words were slow but determined.
“You didn’t get away from the house, sis. Something got away all right… but it wasn’t you.”
“Fuck you, Chuck. What do you mean, something got away?” Bambi coughed, her throat was so scratchy it felt as if she’d swallowed needles.
“When your body left the house, it took a part of the spell with you. It seems to have grown, Bambi dearest… and it wants you dead.” Chuck squatted next to the bed and cocked his head at her. She wanted to claw his eyes out.
“You’re full of shit. All I need to do is drink some water, and then I’ll be fine. The water is right over there.”
“It won’t matter. Can’t exist separated from your soul for too long. It knows it too.”
His taunting tone powered her with a sudden determination, and Bam gathered all her strength to push herself up from the bed. She made two failed attempts, where her arms simply refused to carry her weight, but the third time she managed to sit up straight.
“Third time’s a charm,” she muttered with an air of victory. Her hands sought support on the mattress, and she felt a cold clammy substance, filled with hard dry clumps, squelch under her fingers. I fucking shat myself, this has to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done.
Her knees buckled as she got to her feet, and she fell to the floor with a meaty thud. Every inch of her body hurt, as if her skin was just one big bruise that throbbed and ached. She crawled on all fours, the weight of her body bearing down heavily on the bones in her hands and knees, but she ignored the sharp pain. Slowly, she inched forward, the ghostly presence of her brother hovering just outside of her peripheral vision.
“I’m going to drink that water, and then I’m going to be fine… you’ll see.” Her elbows wobbled and she pushed herself forwards with her legs. Why didn’t I drink before? The water was right there… why did I wait so long? Could there really be something in here with me? Is this part of the spell Chuck spoke about? She tried to remember the past two days, but they were a blur. All she remembered were the dreams that had kept her in bed. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of the mattress because she was feeling so very ill. She drifted in and out of strange, vivid dreams about the house. The memories came flooding back to her. Angel Manor had been calling for her, demanding her return, but she had ignored it. Instead of answering the call, she had given in to the sickness and the fatigue. Bam hadn’t been lucid in days, and now realised it may be too late. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a dark shadow, but she wasn’t sure. She staggered on, putting one hand in front of the other, gripping onto the red carpet. The house had poisoned her spirit, had destroyed her body, and she had just accepted it. The sight of Chuck had broken her, and she hadn’t fought back. But I will now. I will fight you, you evil bastard, and I will get better. Just you wait and see. Fuck you, fuck the house, and fuck whatever else is in here with me. I’m going to survive this. I�
��m stronger than you.
Her elbows finally gave out when she reached the bathroom. The sink loomed high above her, seemingly unreachable from the tiled floor. Her eyes, hazy with delirium, glanced around the bathroom and spotted the tub. The tiles were so cold, they made her shiver as she hoisted herself up the three small white steps that led to the narrow half-bath. Once she reached the cool smooth rim, she tried to lower herself gently, but her hand slipped and she fell hard into the tub, landing on her elbow and hip with a sickening crunch. The pain was excruciating, and her hip pushed against the metal plug of the bath. With her last strength she opened the cold tap and let the water flow down. Her muscles screamed as she brought her face to the stream, the water pushed against her cheek and teeth with such force that she coughed and spat. Thick bilious liquid rose from her stomach and leaked from her mouth as she coughed, and she tried to roll on her side, but didn’t have the energy. The water poured over her face and throat and Bam struggled to look away. She felt a pool of cold water form around her body, sticking her clothes to her. The level rose slowly but steadily, pulling gently at her hair. Bam stared at the tap, and she understood that the tub was filling up, that she needed to turn the tap off, but when she attempted to do so an unseen force yanked it to the other side so that the water came out faster. Then the handle broke. The water poured down, hitting her in the face and chest. Bam pulled herself up to crawl away. She grabbed the side of the tub, her fingers sore with the strength of her grip. She inhaled deeply and concentrated.
Come on, you can do this. It’s just a fucking tub. Get it together, Bam. She pushed herself up. Carefully, she moved her limbs, positioning herself so she could stand. Her body was weak, but she managed to get to her feet. Relief washed through her, and Bam began to step over the edge of the bathtub when something pulled at her hair, knocking her head against the silver spout. Her skull banged against the metal with a dull thud, and bright red and white stars exploded before her eyes. Her head swam, the blow blurring her vision. Something heavy pushed down on her chest, and through her eyelashes she saw a shadowy figure squatting on her. Bam slapped at it, but her hands only hit air. The weight pushed against her head and hit it against the porcelain of the tub, dealing her already pained skull another blow. A moment of emptiness overwhelmed her and Bam understood that her brother had been right. She didn’t have a soul after all.
She should have returned to the house while she still could. The house owned her very essence, and she belonged to Angel Manor as much as Chuck did; as much as all the others did. She could almost see them now, the multitude of souls bound to the bricks and mortar, some brought by the living, others because they died there. With a trembling hand, she reached for the shadowy image again, and then the lights went out for good. Her frail body floated in the pool of water, which continued to rise, covering her face and body. She drowned without ever waking up, and it was two hours later, when the water started to rain down in the room below, that the owner found her battered body.
***
Freya woke from a bad dream, but the images faded as soon as her eyes opened. All she was left with was an uncomfortable feeling that lingered like a forgotten memory. A hint of familiar perfume hit her nostrils and, for a moment, she was convinced Bam was lying next to her in the bed, but when her hand explored the spot, she found a cold, flat mattress. She sighed and remembered that Bam wasn’t here, but somewhere in Glasgow, or perhaps LA by now. The only time Freya’d managed to reach her friend, she’d sounded very sick. She didn’t want to come back to the house even though Freya had offered to pick her up, and eventually she’d given up. She hadn’t been able to contact her after that, and it frustrated Freya that she had no clue what was going on.
With a sigh, she turned on the little nightlight on the bedside table. The alarm clock told her it was one AM. She’d only been asleep for two hours. Her mouth was so dry that her throat felt sore. A thin layer of slime coated her tongue, and she sighed with resignation when she realised that she needed to get out of bed to get a drink.
She grabbed her pyjama bottoms from the chair at the foot of the bed, then slipped her feet into a pair of fuzzy, giraffe-head shaped slippers. Bam had given them to her for Christmas, and though they were completely silly, Freya loved them. She took a few steps towards the bathroom, and then changed her mind. She would rather have a hot cup of tea than cold water. For some reason, the idea of drinking from a tap made her shudder with revulsion.
Freya couldn’t be bothered to lift her feet as she walked, and the bottoms of her slippers swished as she dragged them over the marble floor. Yawning, she scratched the exposed skin beneath her short t-shirt as she made her way across the kitchen to the fridge. Opening the door, Freya remembered that she was going to make tea, so she closed the door again and turned around.
A scream escaped her mouth as the lights went on, every muscle in her body tensed and her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. She stared at Logan, who looked as shocked as she was.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you…” He held up his hands in defence. There was a book clutched in his right hand. “I forgot my notebook here earlier, and I couldn’t sleep… I wanted to look at something, but I couldn’t find it. Then I remembered it was here. I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. Just assumed everyone was asleep.” He looked truly miserable, and Freya couldn’t help laughing.
“Don’t worry about it. You can come to the kitchen any time you want. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“Well, that makes two of us. You weren’t exactly what I was expecting either.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, his head tilted forward, and his eyes met hers with a shy smile. “I like your shirt.” He pointed at her top, which showed a picture of Yoda looking up at the incredible Hulk, the subtext read: “Hulk, your father I am.”
“It matches my slippers.” She held up a foot and wiggled it about. Logan’s eyebrows shot up and his head moved back in surprise.
“Wow… those are some, um, slippers.” He chuckled, placing his thumb on his bottom lip.
“I’m making a cup of tea, would you like some?”
“Sure. If you don’t mind. I know it’s late.”
“I could use the company.” Butterflies fluttered through her stomach, and Freya tried to keep her face neutral. The idea of spending time alone with him in the middle of the night made her nervous and giddy at the same time.
“What kind of tea do you like? I have flavours.” She pulled down a wooden box filled with teabags from the top shelf and showed him the assortment. Logan laughed.
“I thought you meant real tea, not the posh stuff, but I’ll have whatever you’re having. We can share a bag.”
Freya liked that idea, though she wasn’t sure why. “Sure.” She picked a brightly coloured paper from the lot and inspected it. “Apple and cinnamon okay?”
“Sounds great.”
The kettle weighed heavy in her hand as she turned on the tap, and the stream of water brought with it a feeling of irrational panic. She stared at the water, her brow in a tight knot. The sound of the rushing current was offensive to her ears, and she stood frozen.
“Are you okay?” Logan shot forward to close the tap, and took the kettle from her hand. “What happened? You don’t look so good.”
“I…” Freya peeled her eyes away from the tap. “I don’t know what just happened. I just… just freaked out, but I don’t even know why.”
“You must be under a lot of stress, with the house and all.” Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her away from the tap, and set the kettle down on the kitchen counter. “Your friend left. That’s probably affected you a little too.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She let him guide her to the table, the tea-making abandoned. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been going a little insane lately. Starting to see things that aren’t there.” An oppressive feeling filled her stomach, and she wondered if she had said too much. She didn’t want Logan to th
ink she was nuts, or unhinged, or anything like that. What she wanted was for him to be impressed with her, but tonight she needed to be honest.
“Stress can do that to you. I’ve had some weird moments in my life too.”
“See any ghosts?”
“No, did you?”
She shrugged, her skin going cold. “I don’t know. I think I might have been hallucinating at the time. When we went to Glasgow I had a bit of a fever. It’s just that weird things keep happening, and I don’t know if it’s just stress, like you say, or if it’s my imagination getting the better of me… or if there’s something more to it.”
“Tricky. I wish I had some answers for you. I can imagine that a house like this can get to you though. Not hard to see ghosts in old buildings.” His long, slender hands rubbed through his tousled hair and his eyes seemed far away. “I’ve seen my share of old places over the years, and some houses are creepier than others. Some almost feel alive.”
“Angel Manor feels alive. My mom used to say that as well.”
“Is it an old family home?”
“Yes, I inherited it from my aunt.” The inside of her mouth did a great imitation of cotton wool and Freya wanted a drink. The idea of opening the tap again didn’t appeal to her, so instead she got up and opened the fridge. “The house is too big for just me to live in. Also, I’m not a fan of being the hermit of Lucifer Falls. So when I told Bam and Oliver that I inherited the house and wanted to sell it, they convinced me to turn it into a hotel instead. It’s big enough.” She pulled a carton from the fridge and held it up.
“It sure is. Good location too. Great for nature lovers.”
“Exactly. Would you settle for iced tea?”
“Of course.” He got up and grabbed two cups from the counter. “Quite a big adventure to undertake with friends. You must be very close to want to start a hotel together.”
“We’re like family.” She poured the tea and handed him a cup while they both sat down around the table again.
Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) Page 14