Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  “First spider though.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “First spider I’ve actually seen in the house, which is strange, because when we first came here the whole entrance hall was covered in cobwebs.”

  “Now that you mention it, I’ve not seen anything either. No spiders… no rats, or anything else. That is a little odd.” He plucked at the sheet, making sure it covered the whole crib. “Let’s see what’s under the rest of them.”

  “Hopefully, no more spiders.”

  ***

  A soft summer breeze played with the curtains of his bedroom. Oliver sat on the large four-poster bed, eyes fixed on the world outside his window. The temperature in the room lowered and the lucidity of his thoughts became muddled, like ink droplets in a glass of clear water. A smile spread on his lips, his eyes dreamy and distant. Cold fingers ran across his trousers, fingertips tracing his swelling penis.

  “Freya wants to send the boys home. To protect them.”

  “We can’t let her do that. We need those young men. We’re hungry for company.” Her face was close to his, and though he felt a tickle of cold air, he knew it wasn’t her breath… not exactly. She was dead, after all, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Oliver was surprised that this didn’t bother him. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore, not since he met Anne. He believed that death in this house was not that different from life. Angel Manor filled a hole in his soul that he could never define. Oliver, a child of boarding schools and neglect, felt a part of something for the first time in his life. The house wanted him, thought he was special, and he had fallen in love with it. Part of him was jealous of Freya. He knew she was something even more special to the house. She was one of the bloodline. What that meant he wasn’t sure, but he felt it. He also knew that when she died she wouldn’t live in the house, and he was glad of that. Because when he died, he would stay here, and he would be with Anne.

  “You need to give us more living creatures to feast on. We’re getting stronger with the equinox approaching.”

  “The equinox will be this Wednesday. I convinced Freya to get a group of psychics to come and check out the house. That will be more people for you.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s not easy to invite people here. I can’t do too much, or Freya will get suspicious. She has the power to kick me out. It’s her house.”

  “You can’t leave here, Oliver. You’re mine now.” The entity moved closer to him, her face different from before. Less a shadow, more physical. Her pale skin was lined with black veins, and her eyes were set in dark circles, the irises white, with deep, dark pupils that stared into the world the way only the dead could. “You’re so warm.” The woman’s mouth leaked black fluid that dripped in languid trails down her greyish skin. “I crave your warmth.” She crawled on top of Oliver, straddling him. He could feel her through his clothing; she had the temperature of meat fresh out of the fridge. There was weight to her shape now, delicious weight that pushed against his pelvis. She moved slowly back and forth, pressing the fabric of his underwear tightly against him. “I was a virgin in life. You will be the first to enter me. Would you like that?”

  Oliver nodded, lust exploding like fireworks in his mind and his loins. He didn’t see the lecherous corpse that crawled on top of him; instead, he saw something that he desired more than anything else. In the dead white eyes, he saw the power of Angel Manor.

  Greyish fingers, topped by broken black nails, peeled away at the fly of his trousers and pushed away the fabric of his boxer shorts. His erection burst forth, and Oliver shuddered when the cold hand wrapped around his warm flesh. She smiled at him, the black liquid dripping further, running over her exposed breasts. Long, glistening trails ran past her dark blue nipples, where they fell like inky raindrops. She lowered her head and pressed her mouth against the tip of his manhood. Oliver closed his eyes and his body shuddered with pleasure.

  “I will give you anything you want.”

  ***

  To Freya’s relief, the rest of the furniture was not nearly as macabre as the bassinet: just an old single bed, a wardrobe, and a table with three chairs. The wardrobe held a plethora of old dresses which looked to be at least a hundred years old. Freya pulled out a green dress and held it in front of her body.

  “I think this might fit me.”

  “Would look nice on you.”

  “I’d have to wash it first, though, maybe even perform an exorcism before I put it on.” She ran a hand over the stiff taffeta. Logan responded with a loud snort.

  “Well we could always opt for the bra and knickers thing. I’m still a fan of that idea.”

  “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

  “Not anytime soon, no.”

  Her hand hid her smile as she put the dress back in the wardrobe.

  “I think that writer’s desk will be our best bet, if we can get it open.” She stepped closer to the cherry-wood piece and inspected the brass lock holding the rolling shutter closed. Underneath there were four drawers, each with their own identical lock. “We didn’t happen to come across a key anywhere, right?”

  “Let me give it a go.” Logan fished a Swiss army knife from his pocket and pulled a thin blade out. “How attached are you to the desk? I can’t guarantee that I won’t scratch it.”

  “Hack away. I have no need for it.”

  Logan placed the tip of the knife in a small crevice at the bottom of the rolling shutter. He pried at the metal, and seconds later, a small click signalled his success. With nimble fingers, he pulled the rolling shutter up, revealing a solid desktop underneath. There were a few writing utensils, placed in such an orderly way that it took Freya by surprise. A dark blue leather-bound notebook, the cover cracked with age, sat in the middle of the desktop. Around it lay three old-looking fountain pens and a dried up inkwell.

  “Could this be the journal?”

  Freya shrugged and carefully picked up the leather bound volume. The leather crackled under her fingers as she opened the cover. The pages were yellowed and brittle under her touch. The words were written in a cursive handwriting, impossible to read in the dim attic light.

  “I don’t think this is it. Too old. My aunt said she wrote me instructions, but this looks like something before her time. I’m curious to read what it says, though.”

  Logan looked over her shoulder, his chest pressed against her back and his cheek against her ear. “That’s interesting handwriting. Very legible.”

  “Might have to go over that tomorrow.” She closed the book. “Maybe there’s something in the drawers. Do you think you can get them open too?”

  “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” Logan leaned over and took something from the desk. With a bright smile, he held up a brass key, the same colour as the locks. “This might just make it a lot easier.”

  Freya made a huffing sound and snatched the keys from his fingers. She squatted in front of the dresser and opened the locks to all the drawers one by one. Carefully, she pulled the bottom drawer open, but found nothing but tiny scraps of dried-out paper and a thick layer of dust. The second drawer was equally empty, and with a surge of impatience, she skipped the third drawer and went straight for the top one. A large scrapbook filled the space, and Freya wrapped her fingers around it and lifted it from the drawer. Its pages were fragile, though not as brittle as the notebook’s had been, and from the cover, she guessed it wasn’t as old. A plethora of cut-out newspaper articles filled the pages, as well as black and white photographs which had turned a beige colour over the decades. All the articles had something in common: Angel Manor.

  “There has to be answers in here. We should take it downstairs and read it in better light.”

  “Sure.” Logan touched the lower part of her back again, his fingers running teasingly along the rim of her jeans.

  “Stop that,” she gasped.

  “I’m sorry.” He smiled and didn’t look sorry at all. “I forgot you were… ticklish.” The
n his arm reached out again and she felt his fingers press against her lower back once more. Another surge of energy tingled through her body, more intense than she’d ever felt before.

  “Stop it.” She panted the words, taking another step back.

  “Say Uncle.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.

  “Uncle, Uncle!” she yelped, “Please, don’t tickle me there. I’m serious… it’s not just ticklish… I…” She looked up at him and the smile melted off his face, replaced by a look of incomprehension.

  “Oh, sorry… uh…” Realisation dawned on him and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Do you mean…”

  “This is so embarrassing.” She hid her face in her sleeve. Logan removed her arm and tugged her towards him. Then he placed his hand on her lower back and stroked it gently. She looked into his eyes, and he held her gaze with an intense stare. Her whole body responded to his touch, and when he lowered his mouth onto hers, she eagerly accepted his kiss. Their mouths worked together in a harmonious rhythm, and Freya’s knees weakened.

  The floor shuddered under their feet, and the temperature around them became a few degrees warmer.

  “Did you feel that?” Freya broke away from the kiss. “I think the earth just moved.”

  Logan didn’t answer her; his eyes were glazed over with hunger. His lips met hers again with even more passion, and his fingers pulled at the buttons of her white cotton shirt, exploring the naked skin underneath. She answered his kisses, but more tentative this time. She felt uneasy… watched. Logan pushed her towards the single bed and she resisted a little, putting her weight against him, but he was too strong. He laid her down on the mattress, which smelled stale, like unwashed laundry.

  “Not here,” she muttered through his kisses. “Let’s go downstairs.” But if he heard her, he didn’t respond, his hands pulling her blouse away from her breasts. Freya tried to fight the lust she felt, but it was too overwhelming, and she couldn’t pull away from his touch. His lips pressed to hers, his fingers slid underneath the white lace of her bra, and the tips of his first two fingers clenched her nipple, creating a burst of pleasurable pain. She pushed her body against his, a haze settling over her thoughts, her hands pulling at the zipper of his jeans. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the buzz of voices, too far away to make out, yet she knew what they were saying. They talked of life and love and sex, of guilty pleasures and of hedonism. Something was controlling her actions and she couldn’t resist it, so instead, she gave in to the delicious feeling.

  In the wrestle of passion, clothes were discarded, naked bodies entwined. Freya spread her legs and welcomed Logan inside her.

  ***

  The house shuddered as it felt the energy flow from the living souls in the attic. The heir of the bloodline connected to the essence of the house in an unconscious way, her lust merging with its hunger. Never were humans as alive as they were during copulation, and the house trembled with ecstasy. This new heir was everything it had been promised, and it had waited for her for more than a century. Change was palatable. Even the spirits felt it, and they roamed restlessly around their enclosed spaces.

  Angel Manor had been fed only a few scraps over the years, keeping the souls from previous deaths in its walls but rarely finding the opportunity to pick fresh meat from living bones. The Guardians had seen to that. As soon as a soul was bound to the building by the heir, they were protected from the house’s ravenous appetite. However, the spirits could be creative, and fear, lust and anger still filled its needs.

  The autumn equinox was near, and it longed to deliver sweet pain and suffering. More spirits would mean a more developed consciousness for Angel Manor; it fed on their essence and turned it into its own being. The house wanted to fill its halls with more souls to punish. The master who slept demanded it. It was the bargain that had been struck.

  ***

  Bam watched the two bodies merge, and she felt a mixture of desire and fear. She wanted to warn Freya, to tell her that her lust was feeding the house, making it stronger, but she couldn’t. Her freedom was so limited. Somewhere below her, she could sense Chuck searching for her. It took all the energy she had left to keep him at bay, but Bam knew that soon she would lose the struggle, and he would find her. When he did, Bam feared she might lose her last bit of freedom.

  ***

  Freya didn’t notice the first spider until it was on his cheek, fat and hairy, tapping its long legs with slow impatience. Freya groaned with pleasure as Logan thrust himself inside her, her hips moving in perfect harmony, until she saw it. At that moment, her moan of pleasure turned into a scream. Logan stopped, his glassy eyes suddenly cleared, and he shook his head. Freya couldn’t stop screaming, especially when she saw the other spiders, and there were many. Dozens or more, crawling all over his naked body… and to her horror, she saw they were crawling on her too. For a second, the world seemed to stand still, then the two lovers broke loose, each scrambling to their feet and smacking the swarming creatures from their bodies.

  Freya screeched and jumped around from side to side, slapping herself with such ferocity that red marks imprinted on her skin. Logan’s movements were calmer, but from the look in his eyes, Freya could tell he was freaked out too.

  “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!” Freya chanted, still slapping at the eight legged intruders. “Where did they come from?”

  “The mattress.” Logan swatted a large spider from his shoulder and flicked at another on his leg. He shuddered. “They must have come out of the mattress.”

  “I told you we should have gone downstairs. What were you thinking? This place is the scariest part of the house, and we have sex here?” With a yelp, she brushed a row of spiders from her breast. “Oh God, are there any on my back? Get them off, get them off!” She continued hopping about, smacking and flicking. Logan, who must have seen her need was greater than his own, moved forward and helped her.

  Even when he assured her all spiders were gone, and she could see he didn’t have any on him, she could still feel their legs all over her. Her heart pounded.

  “Where did they go? I can’t see a single spider now.” Logan scanned the floor, the position of his shoulders betraying the tension he felt.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. This place gives me the creeps.” Freya stepped into her pants, then fumbled with her bra, hooking up the back as fast as she could. Logan inspected his jeans then pulled them on over his boxers. He leaned over to grab his shirt and froze.

  “Logan?” Her voice sounded childlike with fear. “What’s wrong?”

  “You were right.” He stood, the shirt forgotten at his feet, his long muscled torso straightened to his full height.

  “About what?” Freya’s lip trembled slightly and lump formed in her throat.

  “Ghosts.” His hand rose with an aggravating slowness, and his finger pointed towards a dark corner of the attic.

  She knew she had to turn around, even though she didn’t want to. Her head rose slowly, as slow as Logan’s finger had, and when she looked, terror gripped her.

  In the dark depths of the corner, away from the window, stood at least a dozen children of different ages, all huddled together. They were near naked, dressed in old camisoles and tattered underwear, stains covering the greyish white fabric. Their hair sprung in knotted, greasy tangles from their scalps. Some were tall and some short, but they were all malnourished and gaunt.

  “Oh my God.” Freya’s hand moved to her mouth. She felt frozen to the spot. “Logan, you see them too?”

  He didn’t answer her, but she felt his hand wrap around her arm. She followed him slowly, her eyes still on the children. Her thoughts flashed towards her aunt, who had sat next to her in the car, to her mother who had always feared this house, and to her time as a child in the cellar. All she wanted was to get away from the dead children with their melancholy stares. The children stepped forward, moving as if someone was pulling their strings, their thin arms outstretched. They ope
ned their mouths in unison, and the sight of the dark, wide openings was more than Freya could bear. She turned and ran, Logan right behind her. The children’s cries echoed through the attic, long wails, wordlessly pleading for rescue. Her heart pounded in her throat as she reached the stairs, and she clung on to the railing to avoid falling. Even on the floor below, she could still hear the children crying. Something inside her knew that the children didn’t want to harm her, but that didn’t lessen her fear.

  “Are you okay?” Logan wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. The house went silent again, and Freya burst into tears.

  “I don’t know, Logan. I really don’t know.”

  Chapter 21

  The boys were lively as they piled into the narrow pub. The interior was bright with its fresh, white paint and wooden tables and chairs. Terracotta tiles lined the floor, smelling faintly of spilled ale and floral cleaning products. The crowd inside was varied in age and appearance, and Terrence guessed that there were quite a few tourists mingling with the locals. He had been afraid that they would walk into a pub filled with old geezers who would stare at them and give them a right bollocking for being young and foreign… but there were plenty of other English people sitting around the tables. He even spotted a few ladies that were a bit of all right. Terrence smiled. This could be an interesting night after all.

  They made their way between the scattered square tables, Mr Norris leading them with Mr McLeod bringing up the rear, until they found a nice, quiet spot near the back. It was early still, and Terrence wondered if the pub would get livelier. There were certainly a few people here, but the younger ones might move on somewhere else later. It was anyone’s guess how the evening would pan out, but Terrence felt a small pang of gratitude for being out of the house. As long as he was in the house, he felt fine, but now that he put some distance between himself and Angel Manor, he wondered if it wasn’t a good idea to go back to Edinburgh after all. There would be other projects, and he was a bit worried about his brother. He decided he’d try his brother’s mobile phone to see if he could get in touch with him.