by Amy Cross
"What's wrong with me?" I blurt out, as the man grabs the collar of my shirt and lifts me up. He seems to be examining me, and for the first time I get a good view of his face. He's middle-aged, with cold, dead eyes and very visible veins around the sides of his head. He looks to be massively pumped up, almost steroidal, and his skin is a kind of flushed, angry red color. "Please," I say, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Help me."
He doesn't reply, of course. He just stares at me for a moment before putting two fingers against the side of my neck and checking my pulse. I stare into his eyes, hoping for some kind of compassion, but suddenly he lets go of my collar and I drop back down to the floor, the back of my head banging hard against the floorboards.
As I hear the man walking away, I try rolling onto my side again. The crushing pain in my chest is getting worse, as if my breastbone might cave in at any moment. I reach up and try to grab hold of the side of the bath, but I can barely even control my arm right now. The most I can manage is to look up at the bare bulb that's hanging directly above me. For a moment, I imagine that I'm back in the other room again, with that creature's hands on my face. Just as I think that I'm going to pass out, I'm pulled away from the bath and slammed back down onto the floor, and I see that the man has a small hypodermic syringe in his hand. Before I can even register what's happening, I feel the needle slide into my bare neck, followed by the pressure of the plunger being pushed down.
Almost instantly, the pain starts to subside. I reach up and try to grab hold of the man's shoulder, but he lets go of me and I drop down hard against the floor. Expecting the pain to return at any moment, I roll onto my side and try to curl up into a ball. Gradually, though, I realize that the pain seems to have gone for good, and I'm left staring at the legs of the bath. I can hear the man moving nearby, and I doubt he's finished with me just yet.
"What was that?" I ask, looking up at him.
He's busy over in the corner of the room, putting some items back into a small cloth bag.
"What was wrong with me?" I continue, hoping against hope that he might actually bother to respond.
I watch as he finishes with the bag, and then he comes back across the room and stands over me, staring down at my exhausted body. It's almost as if he views me as some kind of injured animal, and for a moment I wonder if he's about to put me out of my misery permanently.
Slowly, he leans down, grabs my hands and drags me out of the room. I try to get free, but I don't have the strength, and I'm helpless to stop him as he pulls me down the stairs with such speed that my head bounces against each wooden step. When we get to the bottom, he drags me across to the kitchen and then to the door that leads down to the basement. He unlocks the door before hauling me up and staring into my face for a moment. Last time, he just tossed me back down there, but this time he seems to be looking deep into my eyes.
I stare back at him.
"You had a heart attack," he says suddenly, his voice sounding rough and deep. "You'll be okay now."
"But -"
Before I can finish, he lets out a cry of pain and then he drops me to the ground, before taking a step back and clutching his head. I watch as he stumbles a couple of steps away before falling to his knees. For a moment, I can't work out what's happening, but finally I feel a hand on the side of my face, and I turn wearily to see Elizabeth and Natalie kneeling over me.
"We're out!" Natalie says gleefully.
"What did he do to you?" Elizabeth asks, clearly concerned. "Something's different. You were gone so long, Holly. What happened?"
"We got the door open," Natalie continues with a grin, "and we used the doll!" As if to prove her point, she holds up the voodoo doll, which has various pins sticking out of its head and chest.
I look over at the man and see that he's still struggling with the pain. Is it true? Are we really free? Turning back to face the steps, I see that the door's hanging open.
"We should go," Elizabeth says. "Holly, do you think you can walk?"
I shake my head.
"We'll carry you," she says, reaching under my body and scooping me up. "It's okay. We're getting out of here."
As Elizabeth carries me across the kitchen, I find it harder and harder to concentrate on the fact that we're escaping, and the man's words still echo in my head. I had a heart attack. I'll be okay now. He spoke to me. but why did he speak to me? He's never spoken to the others, so why me? As I try to come up with an answer, and as Elizabeth gently taps the side of my face in an effort to get me to wake up, I feel all the energy drain from my body. Is it true? Did I really have a heart attack? And more importantly, are we finally free? Unable to concentrate, I start drifting into the grayest, deepest sleep; the last thing I see, though, is the sudden blare of sunlight and the feeling of a warm breeze on my skin as Elizabeth finally carries me out of the house and across the garden.
We're free.
Ben Lawler
Today
"The basement," Elizabeth says, as we stand at the bottom of the stone steps. "This was my home for ten years, Mr. Lawler. It was Natalie's home for five, and Holly's for about a week. This is where we first encountered the power, and where we first tested its limits." She walks over to the middle of the room. "This is the exact spot where we created our first doll. We could hear him up above, stumbling around in pain. It was the moment when I finally realized that we could use the power for our benefit. Before that, I was never sure. I was scared."
"It's hard to believe you could have survived down here for so long," I say. "I think I'd have gone crazy."
"It's not down here," Natalie says, her voice trembling. "It's somewhere else."
"It's probably up in its room," Elizabeth says. "It rarely left. As long as it's in there, it'll feel as if it can take us on. I'm not saying it's right, but that's what it'll think. It's superstitious in many ways. Although it's powerful, you mustn't make the mistake of assuming that it's rational. After all, it's spent so many years hiding away in this place, directing others to do its dirty work."
"It probably doesn't even have a body anymore," Natalie says. "You remember what it was like by the time we'd finished with it. Its body was nothing but ashes."
"But its mind survived," Elizabeth says. "When we saw its body die, we assumed that the rest of it was also gone. We should have been more careful."
"So what's the plan?" I ask, glancing back and seeing that Holly is still only halfway down the steps. She keeps touching her left arm, as if she's got some kind of nervous tic. To be honest, I don't quite understand why she's here at all. She seems so scared and so reluctant to be with us, but at the same time she's followed us all the way down to the basement. I guess she has her reasons.
"Last time," Elizabeth replies, "we tried to burn the creature. We thought it had worked, too. We need to understand what went wrong. With the power of all three of us together, we should have succeeded. I don't understand how it survived. Everything went according to plan."
"Maybe we weren't strong enough," Natalie mutters.
"We should have been more than strong enough," Elizabeth says. "Two of us would have struggled, but three of us should have had no problem. The fact that it's still alive today makes me think that we missed something. It found some strength from somewhere, or it was able to hide away and find the time to recover. Natalie, how strong does it seem? Can you tell?"
Natalie looks up at the ceiling. "Strong," she says eventually. "It's confident, too. It keeps asking why we're down here when we could have just gone up to see it as soon as we came inside. It says it's been so lonely since we killed the cattle-prod guy. It says he wants to see our faces again, but..." She pauses for a moment. "It keeps telling us to come up to its room, but I don't think it's up there. It feels like it's closer."
"We won't make the same mistake this time," Elizabeth replies. "We'll kill it."
"It says you're cute when you're angry," Natalie adds.
"Stay on your guard," Elizabeth says. "It's
going to try something soon." She turns to me. "Ben, I was wrong to let you come here with us. I want you to go outside. If we have to worry about protecting you, we might not be fully focused on the task at hand. Even the slightest distraction could be catastrophic. I appreciate that you want to help, but the three of us have this covered. You've seen some of the things we can do. Together, we're more than a match for the creature."
"But -" I start to say.
"Please," she says firmly. "I want you to leave. I need you to leave. I know you think you can do something to help, but you can't. Just get out of here and let us get on with what we have to do. Okay?" She stares at me for a moment. "You know, I can't help wondering why you're really here. Is it really just curiosity?"
"Fine," I say, turning to go back up the steps. "I just -"
Up ahead, there's a flash of movement. I barely have time to register the fact that there's no sign of Holly, before the door at the top of the steps slams shut. Seconds later, I hear the sound of metal grinding against metal, followed finally by the simple click of a lock being turned.
"Holly?" Elizabeth calls out.
Silence.
"Holly?" she shouts again, hurrying across the room and making her way up to the door. "Holly, what are you doing out there?"
I look over at Natalie, and I realize she seems to be frowning, as if she understands what's happening.
"Holly!" Elizabeth shouts, banging on the door. "What are you doing?"
"It's laughing," Natalie whispers. "The creature's laughing at us."
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asks, turning to look down at us. "Why's it laughing?"
"It thinks this is funny," she continues. "It says it was angry when we got away, and it's been waiting a long time for us to come back." She pauses for a moment, as if she's listening to the voice as it continues to whisper in her mind. "It's shouting," she says eventually, her voice starting to tremble. "It says we're dumb. It says it knew it could get us back eventually, but it had to play a long game. It says it hates us, and it says we were idiots to ever think we could get away forever, and it says it's going to..." Tears are rolling down her cheeks now. "It says it's going to punish us. It says it's going to make us regret ever stepping foot out of the house. It's going to hurt us. It says it's going to be a thousand times worse than the ice bath. It says..." She pauses again. "It wants me to turn around," she says finally.
"Why?" Elizabeth asks.
"I don't know," she replies. "Should I do it?"
I look over at the far end of the basement. There doesn't seem to be anything behind Natalie at all.
"Of course," Elizabeth says hesitantly. "Turn around, Natalie."
"Is there anything there?" she asks, with tears in her eyes.
"There's nothing," Elizabeth says.
Slowly, Natalie starts to turn around, but almost immediately she steps back as if she's seen the most terrifying thing in the world.
"What is it?" Elizabeth asks.
"It's him!" Natalie shouts, running over to the far end of the basement and curling up in the corner. "It's the thin-faced man!"
"I don't see anyone," I say, looking around the empty room.
"He told me I'd see him again!" Natalie shouts, burying her face in her hands. "He warned me, and he told me it would mean that one of us was going to die!"
"No-one's going to die," Elizabeth says, turning back to the door and banging on the metal. "Holly!" she shouts. "You have to let us out of here! I don't know what kind of sick joke you think you're playing, but you have to open this door immediately! Do you understand me?" She waits for an answer, but there's nothing. It's almost as if Holly has completely vanished. "Holly!" Elizabeth screams, clearly losing control. "I can't go through this again! Let us out of here! Why are you doing this? Let us out! You can't make this happen to us again!"
Epilogue
Although it burns bright and high, the sun is in fact a cooling star. It gives us life, but at the same time it has already started to die. As I sit on the front steps and stare out at the afternoon sky, I can't help but feel that all of existence is essentially futile; after all, eventually the sun is just going to go supernova and burn this entire world to a crisp. What's the point of creating anything lasting, anything worthwhile, when it's all going to be reduced to cinders floating through space? Once you strip life of its meaning, you're left with nothing but the dirt in your hands. After six months living alone out here in this out-of-the-way house, I've become more certain than ever that life is totally meaningless.
I look down at the pile of papers by my feet. My manuscript, the culmination of all my recent work, is a mess. I've worked and re-worked every line until eventually I lost track of what I was doing. It started out as a novel about acceptance and self-discovery in modern New York, then it became a historical thriller about a murderer, then it became a non-fiction account of underground medicine, then it became a biography of Charlie fucking Chaplin, then it became a horror novel about a man with a hook hand, and now... Now it's just a worthless pile of paper. As I light another cigarette, I find myself wondering if maybe I should turn it into a cookbook, or a manual for torture.
"Waste of fucking time," I say quietly, as I flick some cigarette ash onto the ground. "Waste. Of. Fucking. Time."
From somewhere back in the house, there's a banging sound. I guess that stupid bitch is trying to escape again. Sometimes I wonder whether it was truly an accident that she happened to wander past my house just when I glanced out the window. I still remember how beautiful and elegant she looked, and I still remember the instant desire that filled my heart: I knew I had to have her. I remember rushing out of the house and hurrying after her, and I remember the way she politely but firmly rejected my invitation to come inside. She tried to walk away, but I couldn't let her go. That's when she started to struggle, and then everything just went wrong. It seemed like a mistake at the time, but now I see that it was the best decision I ever made. Since Catherine arrived, things have been different. It's almost as if the house and I are in agreement. She's given me a new focus in life.
A gust of wind ripples the shirt on my back. Maybe I'm imagining things, but I can't help feeling that the house is nudging me, reminding me of my duties. After all, we have an agreement and I need to uphold my side. Sighing, I slowly get to my feet. It's time to get back to work. Trudging back up the steps to the front door, I grab the cattle-prod that's leaning against the wall before heading inside for my next session with Catherine. I feel like I'm making real progress with her these days. I'm developing new ideas and new theories. I'm living the dream.
"Yeah yeah!" I shout, glancing up at the window above the front door. "I'm coming!"
"Excuse me!" calls out a voice from down by the road.
Turning, I see a man waving from the other side of the fence.
"I'm sorry," he continues, opening the gate and hurrying across the grass. "I don't mean to disturb you, but I'm afraid my car has broken down about a mile down the road. Do you mind if I call a mechanic from your phone?"
Staring at the guy, I can't help but notice that he has an unusually thin and narrow head. Jesus, I don't know how a brain can even function in a skull that's such a weird shape.
"I didn't mean to bother you," he continues, seeming a little nervous. "I can pay for the call."
I continue to stare at him. I don't have a problem inviting someone into the house, but once he's through the door, he'll never be able to leave again. Not without my blessing, anyway.
"Sure," I say after a moment. "Come on in."
"Thank you so much," he says, hurrying up the steps to join me at the door. "I think it's just a problem with the gas pick-up."
"Phone's in the hallway," I reply, pushing the door open.
"I appreciate this," he says, heading inside. "When I left New York, I was sure the old girl could handle the punishment." As he reaches the phone, there's a banging sound from below, and Catherine calls out for help. The thin-faced man freezes, bef
ore turning to look at me, and I can see the sudden fear in his eyes.
"Don't worry about her," I say, pushing the door shut before stepping toward him. "She's harmless. You'll get used to the noise." With that, I raise the cattle-prod and jam its tip straight into the man's open, gawking mouth.
Part Seven:
Sunflowers
Holly
15 years ago
"Holly!" Elizabeth whispers, gently nudging the side of my face. "Holly, wake up!"
Opening my eyes, I immediately realize that something's wrong. It's as if my body is panicking, but my mind hasn't caught up yet. The last thing I remember is the feeling of warm sunshine on my skin, and the abrupt sensation of being free. Right now, however, all I can see is the faces of Elizabeth and Natalie staring down at me, and the ceiling of a room above them. It takes me a few seconds to work out that the ceiling isn't part of the basement. Still, there's something else, something nagging and gnawing at the back of my mind.
"You're okay," Elizabeth continues, helping me to sit up. "You were gone for so long, we were worried about you. You've been unconscious for hours."
"I..." I start to say, before pausing for a moment. Where have I been? The last thing I remember is being on the floor of the room with the ice bath, wracked by intense pain. Before that, I was in the bath itself, and before that... I feel as if there's something important missing from my memory, but at the same time there seems to be a kind of fog in my mind, obscuring most of the past twenty-four hours. It's as if I have a kind of tunnel memory: whenever I try to remember something specific, I remember only the parts around that event, but not the event itself. Something definitely feels wrong. It's almost as if I'm not quite myself.