by Amy Cross
"So you don't believe in it?"
"I didn't say that." I pause for a moment. "I believed in it back then. It seemed totally real, but then we all grew up and it just kind of faded. We're not kids anymore, and we have to stop letting childish things rule our lives."
"It never went away for me," she says after a moment. "Every time I go into that house, every time I even think about it, I can feel its presence. I can even feel it now."
I try to think of something to say in response, but the truth is, she seems to be slipping deeper and deeper into the same childhood fears that the three of us were supposed to have discarded long ago. Whereas John and to a lesser extent I have managed to get over the past, Ellen's still living there, as if she and the house are somehow haunting each other. I've tried to help her in the past, but now it's clear that she's in a lot more trouble.
"It's alright for you," she continues, with tears in her eyes. "It's always been alright for you, and for John too. The house always left you two alone, even in the old days -"
"No," I say firmly, "it really didn't."
"More than it did me," she replies.
"No," I say again. "Really, Ellen, that's not true. It got to us all, in different ways. It's not fair to say that John and I weren't affected. We were."
"But the way it got to me," she continues, as the tears really start to flow, "was worse. You have to admit that, Kate. You know what it did to me, and you know it never, ever did anything like that to you or John. You never felt all those hundreds and thousands of scratchy little fingers on your legs; you never heard its voice; you never woke up in the middle of the night and saw -"
I wait for her to finish.
She stares at me.
"I saw different things to you," I say after a moment. "So did John. But we did see things. We just dealt with them in different ways and then we grew up and it stopped."
"I'm the oldest," she whispers. "It got to me earlier. It wants me more."
I open my mouth to argue with her, but no words come out. The truth is, if she thinks she was somehow given special treatment by the house, she's dead wrong: that place did awful things to each of us, and although comparing one experience to another isn't likely to be helpful, I'm damn certain that we each suffered in our own particular ways.
"You know it's true," she whimpers, her voice crumbling into a series of gulped sobs. "You saw me after it happened. I know you did. You saw me that day, even if you don't want to admit it. You saw me other times, too."
"I admit it," I reply, feeling a tightening sensation in my chest. "Of course I saw you. You know I did, but -"
"Then you know," she continues, with renewed anger in her voice. "You know damn well that whatever the house did to you, and whatever it did to John, it was a thousand times worse to me." She stares up at me, her eyes searching my face as if she's just waiting for me to concede. "The house did this to me today, too," she hisses. "It's the house's fault that I'm like this, and there's no way it's ever going to let me go."
Sitting back, I try to work out what to do next. I'm exhausted, and I don't have the strength to go through this all over again. Looking over at Ellen, I can see a determined look in her eyes, almost as if in some perverse way she's enjoying all of this.
"You're the only one who's keeping it alive," I say eventually, no longer able to offer false hope or forced optimism. "If it's still here, then it's because you're the one who lets it stay."
"It's always been focused on me," she replies, with tears in her eyes. "I don't know why, but it's always been me. Right from the start." She pauses for a moment, before turning to me. "I swear to God, all I wanted to do was to die, and then..."
"And then what?" I ask after a few seconds.
"If there's any kind of existence after death," she continues, "I'd have come back as a ghost and I'd have burned that house to the ground."
Part Two
The Basement
Chapter One
Ellen
As soon as I wake up, I can tell that something's wrong.
I don't know what time it is, but it's dark and I can barely see anything apart from the faint outline of the window. I'm in bed, on my back, but when I try to sit up I realize that I can't move my body. I try again, but something seems to be wrong: my arms and legs aren't working, as if they've been disconnected from my brain, as if my muscles and joints no longer work. I try again and again, but nothing happens except that I start to feel as if I'm getting out of breath.
And that's when I feel it.
Something's touching my feet. Ice-cold fingers are slipping between my toes, as if something it gripping me tight.
I try to wriggle free, but there's definitely something holding onto my ankles with a firm, dry grip. It's hard to look down, but I tilt my head until finally I can see the bottom of the bed and I spot a shape in the darkness, hunched but moving slowly. I try to call out for help, but my throat isn't working and all that emerges is a very faint clicking sound, as if something's squeezing my neck tight.
All I can do is watch as the dark shape at the bottom of the bed starts to come closer, and after a moment I realize that I can definitely feel its hands gripping my legs as it pulls itself along. I try again to wriggle free, but although I can just above move my torso, my arms and legs are like dead weights and it still feels as if my throat is being squeezed tighter and tighter.
By now, the shape has reached the middle of my body, and as it gets closer my eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness. I can see arms and legs at the shape's side, as well as the shape of a spine jutting out from beneath the skin of its hunched back. It seems to be moving jerkily, as if it can't quite control itself properly, and slowly it tilts its head a little toward me; I can't make out its face, but it has long hair, almost feminine, and it seems to pause for a moment, almost as if it's studying me.
I try to scream.
I can't.
The creature reaches up toward my face and slowly places a freezing hand on my shoulder, before starting to pull itself across my chest. Its face is hidden in the shadows still, but I can feel something dripping from its mouth onto my skin, a kind of hot, foamy liquid. It's making no noise, though, and the loudest sound in the room is my body rustling the bedsheets as I try to move, along with the clicking sound that's coming from my throat. Finally, even that sound stops, and all I can do is stare with my mouth hanging open.
The creature leans closer.
I can feel its icy breath on my face.
And then suddenly it's gone.
I stare into space.
There's nothing there.
Sitting up in bed, I realize I can move my arms and legs again, and I'm starting to breathe more normally. Turning, I find the switch to my bedside lamp and turn it on, and that's when I realize that my sheets are soaked with sweat. I look around the room, but there's no sign of the creature, not even when I dip my head over the side and look under the bed. Sitting back up straight, I look over at the other bed on the far side of the room and see that Kate seems to be fast asleep, as if she didn't notice anything.
It was a dream.
It must have been a dream.
Still, my arms feel tired and my shoulders hurt, as if the effort of trying to move has pulled some muscles, and when I look down at my ankles I realize that there are little scratches on my skin. Reaching down to my feet, I run my hands over my toes and find that they're still freezing cold after the creature touched me. I try to avoid crying, but after a moment tears start to fall from my eyes and I realize that I'm having another panic attack. I grip the side of the bed in a desperate attempt to stay calm, but it's no use: I start sobbing, and finally I can't take it anymore, so I open my mouth to call out for help.
"No!" Kate hisses, suddenly clamping her hand over my mouth to stifle the scream. "You'll wake Mum and Dad!"
I try to scream, but she forces my mouth shut and pulls me down onto the bed before putting her arm around my head and physically clamping my mou
th closed with such force that there's no way I can ever get free. I try to elbow her in the chest in order to push her away, but she manages to twist out of the way.
"They'll be angry if you cry!" she whispers directly into my ear, holding me tight as I continue to sob. "Please, Ellen, don't wake them up. You know what it'll be like. Please, don't do it. Please, if not for you then for me and John."
I continue to struggle.
"Ellen, please," she whispers. "Please. Just stop. You know what it'll be like."
For several minutes, we stay like this. She keeps her arm around my head, preventing me from shouting, and I shake with fear and frustration. At first I want her to let go of me, but finally I realize that I'm grateful: she's right, and if Mum or Dad came through, they'd be furious with me for waking them up, and while I can deal with Dad's anger, Mum's is something else. Finally, as I start to calm down, I feel Kate's grip on my head loosening, and eventually she lets go of me altogether and I rest my head in her lap.
"Did you see it?" I ask eventually.
"See what?" she asks, sounding tense.
I turn and look up at her, and I can see from the look in her eyes that she knows exactly what I'm talking about, even if she's not quite ready to admit it.
"I didn't see anything," she says unconvincingly.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"You're always sorry," she says, reaching down and stroking the top of my head. "Stop being sorry all the time. It's okay. It's not your fault."
"I tried to move," I continue, "but I couldn't. Has that ever happened to you? Like, you feel as if your arms and legs are so heavy, you can't move them even an inch?"
"I've never had that," she whispers.
"It was horrible," I add. "I couldn't move at all, and -"
"Keep your voice down," she hisses.
I pause, and in the distance there's the sound of a door opening elsewhere in the house, followed by footsteps going down the stairs.
"It's Mum," Kate whispers. "It's okay, though. I think she's just going to the toilet."
We sit in silence for a few minutes, until we hear the toilet flush and then footsteps coming back up. Once the danger is over, I realize that I've tensed my entire body so much, it's starting to hurt.
"I thought she was going to open the door," I whisper.
"Me too."
"I'm glad she didn't."
"It's okay," Kate replies, "but we should try to get some sleep. She'll know if we've been awake all night." She looks down at my bedsheets. "Is this sweat?"
"I'm sorry," I say again. "I was trying to move, but I couldn't."
"You can come in my bed if you like," she says. "There's room for two. You should change first, though. I don't want you in with me when your pajamas are covered in sweat like this. Just try not to make too much noise. She might not get straight back to sleep. You know what she's like."
"Can we stay like this for a moment first?" I ask, enjoying the sensation of having my head in her lap.
Silence.
"Kate?" I continue, looking up at her again. "Can we stay like this? Just for a few minutes?"
She pauses. "If you like."
"My feet are cold," I tell her.
She reaches down, and a moment later I feel her warm hands on my cold toes.
"You weren't joking," she replies, starting to rub my feet to heat them up.
I smile, before closing my eyes. I think I can hear my heart beating, but I try to ignore it. That creature, whatever it was, felt so real, and I can still see its face in my mind's eye. At least Kate kept me from screaming, though. The worst thing would have been if Mum and Dad had come through. I'd have been told off for days. Keeping my eyes closed, I realize that I'm starting to fall asleep, but I figure Kate won't mind too much. All I want is to sleep forever and never have to wake up again, and even though I know that's not possible, I like to pretend.
As Kate continues to stroke my hair, I can't help but think that everything would be okay if we could just get away from this place and be together forever.
Chapter Two
Kate
Mother's angry.
I don't know why, but she's stomping about in the kitchen like she's on the warpath. When she's angry, she likes to make sure that everyone in the house is aware of the fact, so she usually ends up in the kitchen, noisily doing chores in a way that echoes through the house and sometimes even makes the walls shake. I swear, it's almost like there's a monster downstairs, and I can barely focus on the picture I'm trying to draw.
"Hey," says a voice from the door.
Looking over, I see that John is watching me. My little brother is only ten years old, and most of the time he's a pain in the neck, but he tends to get more clingy when Mum's angry. After last night, I'd rather be alone, but I can't exactly turn him away, and even if I tried, he'd just find other ways to bug me.
"Do you want to help?" I ask, forcing myself to smile.
"What are you doing?" he replies skeptically.
"Just drawing."
He pauses, as if he's uncertain.
"Mum's angry again," I say eventually. "You should probably stay up here for a while."
He nods.
"Do you know what's wrong with her?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"She hasn't said anything to you?" Sighing, I look down at my half-finished drawing of a tree. To be honest, it's not very good and I feel like I should start over, but at the same time I don't want to be the kind of person who just gives up on stuff. I have this vague idea that one day I might be able to draw so well that I sell lots of pictures, and then I can buy a new house that'll be much better than this one. "What's Ellen doing?" I ask, turning back to my brother.
"She's in the bathroom," he replies.
"How long's she been in there?"
"Ages."
"And Mum hasn't noticed?"
"Not yet."
I pause. Ellen always tries to hide in the bathroom, because she thinks no-one will disturb her in there. The problem is, she always stays too long, and eventually Mum notices and goes storming in, demanding to know what's happening. I wish Ellen would just realize that she needs to be more sneaky, but in some ways she's pretty dumb. I can pretty much guarantee that right now, she's sitting on the chair by the toilet, with a hairbrush in her hand so she can pretend to be brushing her hair if - no, when - Mum bursts in.
"You can hang out with me if you want," I say after a moment, pulling a cushion off the bed for him to sit on. I really don't want John to be in the room with me, but at the same time I feel responsible for him. Ellen's hiding, Mum's angry, Dad's at work, and so I'm the only person who'll save John from having to be by himself.
He comes and takes a seat next to me. "I don't want to be alone in my room," he says quietly.
"Why not?" I ask.
He pauses, staring at my drawing. "I just don't," he mutters.
"Because -"
"I just don't," he says again, more firmly this time. Something's clearly bugging him, but I know from experience that he's usually too stubborn to tell the truth.
Deciding not to push him for any more of an explanation, I roll some pencils over to him. Glancing at the door, I stare for a moment at the landing, and I have this really strong feeling that something might be able to step into view. I wait, but nothing happens, and finally I hear Mum slamming stuff about in the kitchen downstairs. I think she's probably realized that Ellen's in the bathroom, and she's getting all worked up about it. With a heavy feeling in my chest, I figure that there's going to be an argument soon.
When it happens, all hell will break loose, and then once again I'll have to go and make sure that Ellen's okay.
Chapter Three
Ellen
I wince as I hear her slamming a pot down onto the counter, and then again as she pulls a drawer opens and clangs the cutlery together. She's in a bad mood again, so I figure it's better to just stay in here and wait until she gets better.
Be
sides, I've got my hairbrush in my hand, just in case she comes storming in. I can just pretend that I was brushing my hair.
I wish there was a lock on the bathroom door, but Mum insisted on having it removed a few years ago. She doesn't like the idea of locks on any of the doors in the house, because she says she needs to always be able to reach us in case anything bad happens. I remember her saying that one of us could fall over in the bathroom and get hurt, and if the door was locked no-one would be able to come and help us.
I guess that kind of makes sense, but still -
Suddenly I hear footsteps coming toward the door. I start brushing my hair, and seconds later the door-handle starts to turn.
Chapter Four
Kate
"Just ignore it," I say as I push the door shut and head back over to the middle of the room. "You know what she's like. This isn't exactly unusual."
John stares at me, and I know there's no way he can ignore the sound of Mum shouting at Ellen downstairs, but at least it'll help if we try not to acknowledge what's happening. I've lost count of the number of times we've overheard one of Mum's tantrums, but this one has been building all morning like an oncoming storm, and at least now we should be experiencing the worst of it. Soon, she'll have to start calming down.
"Maybe we can go to Lindy's house," John says after a moment.
"Not now," I reply. Lindy's our cousin, and she lives a few streets away. Her house is always so much happier than ours, and Ellen and John both like to go over there when things are getting tense at home. Unfortunately, Mum has started to notice how much we like going there, so she usually gets suspicious when we ask for permission. I'm pretty sure that she knows we like it better at Lindy's, and she probably thinks that we talk to our uncle about everything that happens to us. Given that she's currently shouting at Ellen, I'm pretty certain that she'd go ballistic if any of us even raised the possibility of going outside.
"Can we go later?" John asks.