by Jane Toombs
No! He's dead, the dead don't return. The noise behind the black door is not Sergei's stolen skull talking to him. But still she couldn't move. Trembling in fear, she stood waiting with a dreadful anticipation.
The darkness surrounding her seemed steeped with ancient evil, Sergei's darkness here with her again, unwelcome and loathsome. She shut her eyes to shut out the feeling of insidious invitation but she couldn't close her ears to the thin ribbon of sound.
Who was behind the black door? Were the candles lit, was someone burning the unknown powders, chanting the alien words? She'd been inside only once, nothing Sergei could do could force her into that room again. Even hypnotism hadn't worked. Samara would stop on the threshold, in control of herself again, able to flee down the stairs.
"You hypnotized yourself, the doctor had told her, the doctor Vera had insisted her father send her to. "Your brother only helped you along."
Was that what she was doing now, hypnotizing herself into believing Sergei could be behind the black door waiting for her? To end her fear, Samara took a deep breath, then another and another. She forced herself to reach toward the black door, forced her fingers to grope for the knob, to try to turn it.
The door was locked. As she backed away, she noticed the sound had ceased. Did that mean someone would come out of the room? Was there actually anyone inside or was she slipping into...?
No, she was not mad. The doctor had reiterated his conviction she was not tainted with Sergei's insanity. The knob of the south tower door pressed against her back, so she turned, opened that door and slid into the room, leaving the door ajar.
The moon was a thin sliver "holding water in the cusp" as Aunt Adele always said, so the south tower room was illuminated only by its faint light. It crossed Samara's mind that she'd been neglecting the two old ladies, but this was no time to worry about that. She peered out into the deeper dark of the landing. She had to know if the black door opened.
She waited, fear urging her to flee to safety. She knew, though, if she didn't see this through, she'd never sleep well again.
Was that a click? In her imagination she could see Sergei's hand turning the brass key in the lock... No, it wasn't the same lock, the key would be different. And Sergei was dead. Someone else had to be inside the room, using the new key, turning the knob.
After a few moments though she could see nothing, she felt someone was now standing on the landing. She hardly dared breathe. What if that person noticed the south tower door ajar and decided to investigate?
Then she heard the faint creak of the old stairs and knew somebody was going down them. She eased the door open farther, just in time to see a man's form silhouetted by the dim hall lights as the stair door opened and closed.
Mark! She knew it was him, there was no denying what she'd seen. No other man had short, cropped hair. It took her a while to force herself down the steps and along the corridor to her room. She sat on her bed staring blankly at the wall. What had Mark been doing in the locked room? And how had he gotten in?
Samara thought she'd never go to sleep but sometime toward morning she drifted into a nightmare....
Sergei faced her across four burning black candles and she knew she was in the room behind the black door, unable to flee. Shadows surrounded her and she gasped in terror as her brother raised his hand. He held the dagger-like knife called an athame. As Sergei advanced toward her, the black door opened. When she saw the figure framed against the light, she knew it was Mark, come to save her.
As she ran toward him she realized something was wrong. Mark had no face. Instead, a skull stared at her from empty eye sockets…
Samara sat up in bed with sunlight streaming into her room. She hugged herself, trying to free herself from the vestiges of the nightmare. Then the reality of last night filled her mind and that was no better.
She knew she had to see Mark. Nothing could be resolved until they talked. She couldn't think beyond that.
She hurried into riding clothes, not wanting to stay in the house. The atmosphere inside seemed to have reverted to the old days, when her brother still lived.
Hallow House became an entity that enclosed her within, making her feel trapped. She'd thought her brother's death and Vera's marriage to her father had banished that feeling forever. But now the house watched her again, watched and waited to destroy her.
Samara shook her head, angry at herself for feeling this way, for reverting to childhood fancies. Still, she got outside as rapidly as she could, grabbing up an orange from the kitchen as she passed though, not heeding Irma telling her breakfast was almost ready.
She headed for the stables. Although the need to see Mark lay like a weight within, she had a more immediate need to ride away from Hallow House, to let the mare carry her into the hills where the warmth of the sun would dry up her fears and the wind blow them away.
Sal was saddling Anna K. when she entered the stable.
"I saw you coming," he said. "You riding alone?"
She nodded.
"Something the matter?"
"No."
"Then how come you're pale, you've got circles under your eyes, and you've got that spooked look horses get?" Sal's description came close to making her smile.
"Ride with me," she told him..
A few minutes later Sal galloped Tsar next to her across the field. Neither of them spoke as they rode. Finally she reined in by the stream near the property line and Sal stopped beside her. They dismounted, tied the horses and climbed a granite boulder to sit in the shade of a sycamore. "Looks like another hot day," Sal said after a long silence.
She glanced at him in disbelief--every day from June through August was a hot day in the valley--and saw him grinning at her.
She smiled back, almost feeling no time had passed and she was eleven again, Sal a teenager. He'd never pushed her in any way. Just been there. Someone to trust.
If only she could tell him about the room behind the black door and what had happened last night, but she'd never talked to Sal or anyone about that room. Not even the doctor, although she'd told him things about Sergei she hadn't confided to anyone else.
"I didn't know Rosita Sanchez was working here," he said. "She's a friend of my sister's."
"Johanna told me Rosita was crying on your shoulder the other day," Samara told him. "Doesn't she like it here?"
"She likes Mr. Gregory," Sal said. "And Irma and the others she works with."
"Who doesn't she like?" Samara asked, hoping he wasn't about to tell her something about Mark that she didn't want to hear.
"Rosita thinks there's something strange going on at the house and she doesn't want to get mixed up in it. She needs the job, she's saving money to go to nursing school."
"Something strange?" Samara echoed.
"Apparently she was cleaning up on the third floor--you know where the towers are--and she saw Mark Schroeder coming out of a room she says he shouldn't have been in. I wasn't sure exactly what she meant. And then he gave her money not to tell anyone. Now she's upset that she took the money."
Samara grew tenser with each word he said.
"Rosita didn't realize your Uncle Vincent had seen her take the money," Sal went on. "He approached her and wanted to know what Mark was paying her to do. She lied and said 'extra laundry' but then your uncle told her he'd pay her to keep an eye on Mark and she doesn't want to do that. She's been dying to unload all this on somebody not connected to Hallow House and when she recognized me, it all came pouring out. What do you make of it?"
Samara shook her head, not daring to answer. If Rosita had seen Mark coming out of the room behind the black door that meant he really had been in there, as she'd suspected last night. What was he doing in there? Combined with his interest in Skull Cave, it was frightening to her. She had to get to him before it was to late and convince him the room brought only tragedy.
She got up, saying, "I have to go back."
Sal took her arm. "You've fallen for that guy, haven't
you?"
"I wish people would quit asking me that," she cried.
"That means you have," Sal said. "Be careful. Love makes a poor judge."
She didn't reply, heading for the horses. Anna K. had once again gotten loose but was grazing a few yards away. Sal collected her and they rode back to the stables.
When she reached the house she found Mark in the old classroom where Mr. Grosbeck had taught her. A mirror had been installed in the room and he and Johanna were engrossed in watching her image as she tried to form her lips and tongue into the correct positions for each sound.
Mark waved at Samara and pointed upward. Interpreting this as a request to wait in the south tower, Samara withdrew and slipped away before Johanna saw her and got distracted. The sun was shining outside, there was no reason for her to be reluctant to climb to the third floor, but she was. As she hesitated in the corridor, Vera came up the stairs from the first floor and saw her.
"Samara, you didn't eat breakfast," she said. "Are you feeling all right?"
"I had an orange."
"You've been riding, I see."
"Yes, with Sal."
"Sal? Oh, you mean the young man who used to work here and your father just rehired. I remember him, but I haven't had a chance to get to know him."
"He's like an old friend. When I was younger he was kind to me."
Vera smiled. "Then I'm prejudiced in his favor. I thought maybe you'd been riding with Mark again."
Something in her stepmother's voice told her Vera wasn't in favor of that. For a moment Samara wondered if she'd hypnotized herself into believing Mark was something he wasn't. Then the remembrance of his warm lips and his words of love spilled into her mind, banishing all doubt. She loved Mark, she'd convince everyone of his true worth.
"You do look tired," Vera said. "And it's not good to go skip meals. How about a glass of milk and some of Irma's oatmeal cookies?"
When Vera began worrying about anyone's health, it was impossible to argue with her. Samara let herself be swept off to the kitchen and persuaded to have a snack. Then Vera asked her to come to the library. Samara cringed at what she knew would be a heart-to-heart talk.
Once they were both seated, Vera said, "You know I've done my best not to pry into your life. But when I see something bothering you so much that it affects your appetite, I have to step in. I will not allow you to become ill. You came home radiant with health and now you're looking peaked. Does it have anything to do with Mark Schroeder?"
"Vera, please." Samara's voice shook.
"I'll risk having you angry with me," Vera told her. Is Mark upsetting you?"
Samara took a deep breath, trying to keep her anger and distress pent up. She failed.
"No one wants me to love Mark," she cried. "He's a wonderful person, but just because he doesn't have money you're all against him. You don't believe any man would love me for myself, you all think Mark's interested in the Gregory money. He's not. None of you understand him." She started to get up but Vera caught her arm.
"Any man could love you for yourself. One look in your mirror should tell you that. And you're as lovely in other ways as well. But you hardly know Mark. Vincent says--"
Samara jerked her arm free, sprang from her chair and headed for the door where she paused. "Uncle Vince hates Mark! If you don't believe me go ask Rosita why he's paying her to spy on Mark."
She ran from the room, up the two flights of stairs and flung herself, sobbing, into the south tower. Mark, already there, put his arms around her.
"There, there, Princess," he murmured. "Everything is all right." He held her until she stopped crying, then led her the window seat.
"What has upset you so?" he asked.
She clutched his arm. "Oh, Mark, I'm so afraid. What were you doing in that awful room last night?"
He stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
"The room with the black door. I don't know how you got in because Daddy's supposed to have the only keys. But I saw you come out."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Mark, please," she begged, "I came back up here to get my book and I heard something in there and I waited."
"I cannot tell you anything," he said.
"You don't have to. I'm afraid I know and I'm scared to death about what might happen."
He yanked her to her feet and grabbed her by the shoulders so hard it hurt. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "How can you know?"
Chapter 26
Standing in the south tower, with Mark gripping her shoulders, Samara cried, "Please, you're hurting me."
He released her, his face cold and wary. "How could you possibly know about me?" he demanded, his words clipped and chill.
"I've been in that room. My brother had the key and--"
Mark nodded. "So now you have the key. I should have known there would be another."
"No, you don't understand--"
"I think I understand perfectly. And what do you plan to do with your knowledge?"
"Oh, Mark, can't you give up what you're doing in that room? It will only lead to danger and--and death."
He shook his head. "You have no idea what you are asking of me. What I do is more important than my life."
She stared at him imploringly. "More important than us?"
Mark put his fingers under her chin and turned her face toward him. "You still care for me even now?" His voice had softened, but still sounded wary.
She nodded miserably. "I love you, I can't help it."
"Then you don't intend to tell your father?"
"No." He didn't understand what had happened in that room in the past, didn't understand how grief still plagued her father. If Mark would promise not to use the room again and give her the key, she'd never mention anything to her father.
Mark raised one eyebrow and half-smiled. For the first time a faint doubt crept into Samara's mind. His supercilious look hinted he thought less of her for some reason. Why?
Never mind that now, what was important was for her to extract a promise from him.
Before she could open her mouth, he said, "Will you ride with me this evening?"
"Yes," she said, relieved. Away from Hallow House she could speak more easily of the past, could tell him about Sergei and the dreadful danger of dabbling with old spells and incantations. Once he knew, surely he'd promise never to go in there again.
After dinner she changed clothes and went out to the stables. Mark already had the bay gelding and Anna K. saddled. Sal was nowhere in sight and she supposed he'd gone home for the night. As she swung herself onto the mare, something swooped over her head and she almost slipped off as Anna K. danced skittishly.
"What was that?" she cried.
"An owl," Mark said. "He's white--see him perched on the stable roof?"
Samara looked, remembering there'd always been a white owl around Hallow House. "I see him. Jose says white owls are bad luck, but he admits the owl keeps the mice and ground squirrel population down."
"You cannot believe peasant superstitions," Mark said, leading the way through the gate to the field.
Jose would hardly like being called a peasant, but she excused Mark since, after all, he came from another country, where customs were different. She glanced back and saw the owl fly off his perch on the stable roof and disappear into the gathering dusk.
"What do you see?" Mark's voice was sharp. "Does someone follow?"
Samara shook her head. "I was just looking back--like Lot's wife, I guess. I hope I don't suffer her fate. I'd hate to be turned into a pillar of salt."
He smiled, but it wasn't the usual warm flash of white teeth, but almost sad, somehow regretful.
The Mark flicked Cossack into a gallop and she forgot everything as she raced after him. The wind blew the ribbon from her hair and the doubts from her mind. She laughed aloud with excitement and happiness. She was with Mark and nothing else mattered.
Finally Mark slowed the bay, allowing the mare to catch up. "You'll wear po
or old Anna K. out," she said.
"But not you?"
"Oh, no. I can keep up wherever you go."
"This is the way to the cave is it not?"
"Yes, but...." She reined the mare in.
"What is the matter?"
"Must we go there?"
"No one will see us at the cave." In the twilight his blue eyes looked dark as they stared into hers.
Warmth rose inside her and she flushed as she realized what he was implying.