***
Ruben felt a nagging throb in his arm, and his chest was tight. He needed to get himself and the young man out of the basement, but his mind wasn’t working clearly. His vision was blurry, and he thought he’d seen that girl… the one they’d lost in the suicide forest. What was her name again? Marie-Claire, what was the name of that girl? The house pulled at him, begging him to join it, but he felt it slowly dying. I’m dying too… my heart, it can’t stand what I’ve seen here today. The girl stood and reached out her hand to him, and Ruben felt a moment of utter peace as he took hold of the translucent fingers. I’m free now, I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye, Marie-Claire. How I did love you. As Ruben’s soul left his body, the house died a violent death.
***
There was a hint of light in the cooling air, the first sign of dawn. Logan opened the van with trembling hands and helped the shocked Mason inside. The boy’s skin was so cold, and if it hadn’t been for Terrence, Jim and Gary, he would have driven the young man straight to the hospital. But Mason’s shock would probably not kill him, while the others might not be so lucky if they didn’t get a chance to escape.
And then there was Freya. He knew he couldn’t leave her, and in his heart of hearts, he would gladly sacrifice all others if it meant saving her, but she had explicitly forbidden it. She needed to do what she needed to do. Logan understood that, but he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t want to be macho about it, but he felt very protective over Freya, even if it was out of purely selfish reasons. He wanted her. He had done ever since he’d met her, and that night in the attic had only strengthened his desire.
The winds picked up as he made his way back to the house, determined to find Terrence and maybe the others, and to be at least close to Freya. Hard gusts of warm air slammed against his body, and he fought against the elements. It surprised him that the wind was warm, hot even, and dry, unlike the winds he was used to in Scotland. The air was charged with electricity, and for a reason he couldn’t explain, Logan felt the need to look back. The moon was full, and it shone over the poppy fields by Lucifer Falls, bathing them in soft light, showing off the dark, gaping maul in their midst. Light flashed from the hole, as if there was a storm brewing underneath the earth’s crust. The sight of the sharp veins of light made him breathless, and Logan watched with a growing sense of unease as the light became brighter.
A long streak of lightning shot across the valley, up into the sky in an elongated arc, and crashed into Angel Manor. Logan fought to catch his breath as he ran towards the house, his heart beating so loudly he thought it might give out at any moment. Something was happening inside, and he knew he had to get to Freya.
***
What is this place? For a moment, Bam thought she had entered the afterlife, but then she realised she was still underneath Angel Manor.
“Bambi…” Chuck sounded out of breath, which was ridiculous because he didn’t need to breathe. Bam felt as if she were trying to wade her way through a room full of water. Nothing around her was clear, and the darkness was so vivid she almost mistook it for light. Is this the light we are meant to move towards? she wondered, but she knew it wasn’t. This was no portal to the afterlife. She didn’t know what this place was, but she could feel that the Manor had taken a lot of its power from here.
“Bambi…” Chuck was near her now. She turned to him and saw a dreamy expression on his face.
“You have no power over me, Chuck. Not here.” She placed her fingertips on his shoulder and pushed him away gently. He staggered as if he were drunk.
“We’re trapped here, Bambi.” His speech was slurred. “You and I together. You have no power here either.”
“I am as trapped as you are.” She looked up at the ceiling. “We can’t get out until someone opens that latch. But it doesn’t matter because you can’t hurt me. This place won’t allow you to.”
Her own words were as garbled as Chuck’s were and her vision blurred. This place was almost too much for her. It was difficult to exist, and she wondered how long she could manage to hold herself together. She hoped it was longer than Chuck could.
***
Terrence stared up at the stairs. The figure of his brother sat at the top, leaning on his knees and staring down at him. He couldn’t see the other ghosts anymore, but it was only Tyrell that mattered. Part of him had not yet accepted that his brother was dead, and he still believed in his heart of hearts that the house might be playing a trick on him. “What do you want from me, T?” He didn’t even care anymore that the white guy was there; he just wanted to talk to his brother.
“I don’t know anymore, bro. I thought I did. I wanted you dead, here with me. The house… it wanted you.”
“It doesn’t anymore?”
“No… maybe… I don’t know. I don’t feel the hunger I felt anymore. I just feel lost now.”
“Are you really T?” Terrence hoped that the spirit would deny being his brother, that he would be able to go home and pick up his life again.
“What do you think, Terrence?” Tyrell looked up at him, his eyes sunken into their sockets. “Do you think I’m your brother?”
“No… yeah. I think I do.”
“There’s something about this house, bro. I told you this before. There’s something else here.”
Terrence felt the skin on his back erupt in little goose bumps, and his stomach dropped. He looked at the white guy, who sat with his back against the wall. If he was paying attention to the conversation with Tyrell, he didn’t show it. The man had his eyes closed and he appeared to be either very deep in thought or sleeping.
“You mean like those Angels?”
“No mate, something worse. They’re protecting something, those Angels. They’re here for a reason, but I can’t quite tell what. It’s bad, though, I’m pretty sure of that.”
“You’re making no sense, T. I don’t know what to do with this.”
“I think my time here is drawing short. I hear them calling for me, little brother. And when they do, you and I will never speak again.”
Tears welled up in Terrence’s eyes, and he felt a painful lump in his throat.
“I don’t know how to live without you.” A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye, hot and salty.
“Going to have to, little brother. You got no choice.” Tyrell looked over his shoulder as if someone was talking to him, and he nodded his head. “Not sure if it was such a good idea to let the spirits go, Terrence. I think your friends seriously fucked up on that one. But I’m grateful nonetheless. I’m happy that I didn’t have to kill you. Take care, little brother. Don’t take crap from no one.” Tyrell got to his feet and brushed off his jeans. “They’ll talk shit about me. Mostly about me being gay, so be prepared for that. But none of that matters. I don’t care, so neither should you. Don’t be a hothead about it, okay? Just know that I loved you.”
He turned and walked up the stone stairs, leaving Terrence entwined in his own thoughts and emotions. The pressure of the day, the fear of death, and the thought of never seeing Tyrell again finally exploded in a sea of tears, and Terrence sagged to his knees. The white guy still hadn’t moved, and when the majority of his tears had been spent, Terrence walked over to him.
“Mr?”
There was no response, and Terrence felt the familiar fear again. He knelt next to the man and pushed gently against his shoulder. He didn’t move. Terrence pushed harder this time, a little too hard, and the figure slid sideways, falling to the ground.
“Fuck, man. Don’t be dead. Please don’t be fucking dead.” He felt his skin. It was still lukewarm, but Terrence could find neither a pulse nor any evidence of breathing. “No, this isn’t fucking fair. You can’t just die on me, you white piece of shit.” Terrence jumped to his feet, afraid and vulnerable, and kicked the man, immediately regretting it the second after. “Shit, shit, shit.” The tears were flowing again and he had never felt so lost and alone before. He needed this stupid stranger; he was the
one who was going to save him, and Terrence had never before in his life wanted anyone to save him. But now… he was so out of his depth. He didn’t want to stay down here anymore, not with that dead guy.
Terrence inhaled deeply and took the first three steps of the stairs. He wondered if the spirits were still up there, waiting for him, but he had to take the risk. He needed to find Logan, or anyone else, and he needed to get the fuck away from this house… and whatever was still lurking here.
Chapter 35
Before they had a chance to execute their plan to lure all the spirits to the main hall, a single spirit found them. Not one of the naked females, but a pretty woman dressed in a nun’s habit. Her eyes were large and dark, and they were filled with sadness.
“You mustn’t.” Her voice was ethereal and distant. “You must stop this.”
Freya felt for the woman, and she knew she had seen her before, but couldn’t remember where.
“You are putting everyone in danger.” The spirit sounded so lost. The woman kept looking longingly at the portal, as if her heart yearned for it.
“I understand you have been tied to this house for a long time.” Marie-Claire looked straight at the spirit, and Freya remembered how well the woman could see the supernatural through those blind eyes.
“I have to stop you. You’re making a mistake.”
“You need to step into the light. Feel its warmth and its welcome. You’ve been here on this plane too long. It is time for you to be where you belong. You can feel the call, can you not?” Marie-Claire’s voice was soothing, encouraging, and doubt played on the spirit’s face.
“The Angels… we kept them here for a purpose. They… they have to…”
“Was it you who cast the spell to keep everyone here?” Marie-Claire sounded surprised, her voice was a little more shrill than the soothing tones she’d used before.
“Yes, Anne… and I…” The spirit sounded confused. Her eyes kept wandering to the portal, and she took a few tentative steps in its direction. “We had to. Otherwise we would have had to spill so much blood. It was better this way… to keep the circle unending. Sacrifice…”
“Go to the light.”
“But if I do, if I leave… who will look after Angel Manor?”
“There is no need for that anymore now. The curse is broken. You can rest.”
The spirit took another step towards the dim light, her hand outstretched. Then she pulled her hand away and looked at Freya with pleading eyes.
“If you release the Angels, there is nothing more I can do.”
“There is nothing left for you to do here. You fulfilled your task. Now it’s time for you to rest.”
“I am so tired.”
“The light is calling. Can you hear it?”
“I can. It promises me peace.”
“Answer the call. Go to it.”
The spirit of the woman looked at Freya one last time.
“I’m sorry. I tried, but it’s your task now. Your responsibility.” The essence of the spirit unravelled into long ribbons of light, swirling in a macabre dance. They fluttered towards the portal and faded out of sight. Freya felt inexplicably empty, as if part of her had just disappeared with the woman.
It’s my responsibility now, Freya thought, if only I knew what she meant by that.
“We must find the other spirits.” Marie-Claire’s voice cut through the silence, and Freya thought she sounded a bit smug. “Bring them here. It’ll be dangerous, but it needs to be done. We can’t let these souls loose on the world.”
“What about what that spirit said just now?” Freya felt a hint of rebellion surface.
“Spirits get lost and confused as time goes by. Their identities change if they are bound to this earth too long. They start to adapt to a purpose; hers was to protect the house. But there is no need for that now. That’s why she could let go.”
“What if there really is more to the house, and to those Angels?”
“Spirits can be very tricky, dear. You shouldn’t take them too seriously. She’s at peace now, and the others will soon be too. I am sure more will use trickery to try and tug at your heartstrings. They can only influence you if you let them.”
Freya raised an eyebrow and thought of the severed corpse of John Philips.
“To be fair, these spirits can do a lot more than influence me.”
“If you think it’s too much for you…”
Freya shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Marie-Claire couldn’t see her. She corrected herself. “No. I can do this. I… I’m just not sure that we’re doing the right thing.”
“Would you rather leave these spirits here? Ready to kill again?”
“No.”
“Then you know what to do.”
***
Freya didn’t have to go far to find the Angels. A group of them were gathered in the East Wing. They looked a little lost, just standing together and staring around as if they couldn’t understand what had changed. In a way, they reminded Freya of a cluster of zombies from a horror movie, their naked bodies covered in remnants of blood. It was terrifying to see them like that. She swallowed and stepped out before them, trying to remember the sentence Marie-Claire had taught her.
“The guardians of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Her voice cracked, and she held the sachet of herbs out in front of her as if it were a shield.
The Angels turned as one to face her, their cold, dead eyes boring into her soul. There was a moment where all they did was stare. It was brief, but felt like a lifetime. Then the front woman, whose flesh bulged out in layers, smiled. Dark mucus dribbled past the corner of her mouth and across her chin, where it fell down in a long strand like spider silk. There was a change in their body language. Where their movements had been deliberate before, they now appeared to be emptier, though not any less hungry for blood. The recognition she had encountered before, the acknowledgement that she was the blood tie to the house, was gone, and Freya knew that if the Angels caught her, she would die.
She ran.
***
Logan burst into the main hall, his head spinning with fear and adrenaline. He saw the old medium standing in the middle of a large, white circle. Sand? No, maybe salt?
“Freya? Is she okay?” His eyes darted around the room, but he couldn’t see any other person.
“Do not disrupt our ritual. You have no place here. We sent you to safety.”
“No, I’m not leaving here without Freya, and I want to find the others.”
“There won’t be any survivors if we don’t get rid of these spirits.” The old woman pointed towards the door. “Go.” Her white eyes stared at him, but he folded his arms and stood his ground. “I’m not disrupting anything.”
At that moment, the door burst open and Freya ran through.
“They’re right behind me.” Freya panted.
“Quickly, get into the circle. You too, boy. It’s too late for you now so you’d better just go along with this.”
They ran into the circle, and the minute they stepped inside, the doors behind them opened again. Logan counted thirteen of the naked women. To his horror, he noticed that a short, skinny blonde carried the head of the boy they had talked to in the attic. His face was a mask of terror, and strands of tissue and muscle hung bloodily from his neck. It had not been severed by a clean cut, but instead looked like it had been ripped off with brutal force.
There was something bestial about the women, something primal. Though they were shaped like humans, they were more like animals. They didn’t speak; they just took slow steps in their direction. Logan felt his skin grow cold, and he hoped that something as common as salt, or sand, or whatever it was on the floor, would be enough to save their hides. Unless it was some kick-ass magic dust, but he doubted that somehow.
The old woman stepped towards the edge of the circle, her face stern and filled with determination.
“The guardia
ns of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Her voice was so strong that Logan felt a physical reaction to each syllable she uttered, and when Freya’s doubtful voice joined in, he felt strangely safe. He almost joined in repeating the words over and over, but he remembered the warning about not disrupting anything, so he just stood by and watched and listened.
The naked women didn’t seem to budge at first, but then they turned their heads to one of the walls. The brunette stepped closer to the circle, close enough to make the old medium shuffle backwards. She sniffed the air the way a bear would sniff for prey, her eyes settling on the blind woman.
“The guardians of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Marie-Claire’s voice was less determined now, and Logan could hear a hint of panic. The naked woman reached forward, stretching out her hand slowly but without hesitation. Something stopped her just beyond the circle, and the spirit looked surprised. She tried again without success.
Marie-Claire found the confidence in her voice again and repeated the chant, though it didn’t seem to be having the effect she wanted.
“Look at the light.” The old woman sounded hoarse with desperation. “All of you, look at the light and pass through it. I command you!”
The spirits looked up in unison and, for an instant, Logan thought that they were going to storm the circle and tear them apart, but then their faces turned back to the spot on the wall. They cocked their heads as if they shared a hive mind. They seemed to be listening to something. Logan closed his eyes, and he could almost hear it, a disembodied voice that was so faint it could be nothing more than the rapid beating of his heart or the rushing of blood in his ears. Whatever it was, the hive was responding to it, and they moved towards the faint light.
“That’s it. Give in to the call. Be at peace.”
The women threw their heads back and screamed. Invisible claws tore at their skin, and deep gashes appeared in their naked flesh. Black blood oozed from the gaping wounds, but the claws continued, tearing the flesh until it stretched and shredded, hanging in ribbons from the dead bodies. Loose flaps of skin were pulled towards the portal. Logan watched with a mixture of satisfaction and horror as an arm was ripped from an elderly spirit and pulled into the beyond. Even the spilled blood was sucked up. There was no wind, no change of temperature, and yet Logan felt the force of the opening.
Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) Page 32