by Apryl Baker
“Noted,” I tell him. “I am still going to try it. Can you tell me how to find it?”
Silence. No one wants to tell me. Maybe if I can make them remember what happened here, they’ll start talking.
“You guys are scared of Mr. Olson, right?” I feel the cold burn my skin, it intensifies so fast. “You remember sitting in that chair, being tied to this table? You remember not being able to see what he was doing, waiting to feel what new horror he’d think of? You remember what he did to you while you were tied up and helpless? Do you? What if someone gave you a choice of escaping, even if it meant you might find something just as deadly waiting for you? Would you choose to fight or just sit here and wait to die? I don’t want to die. Please, please help me.”
A chorus of voices starts hammering away at me. My head hurts and it makes it harder to filter them. I think they’re arguing, but I can’t tell. I can feel their terror. I made them think about things they didn’t want to and it hurts to remember those things. I hate that I did that to them, but I need to get out of here.
“BE QUIET!” The awful screeching of nails on chalkboards assaults us all.
Oh goody, Mirror Boy is back. My head hurts enough without his particular brand of torture. It scatters my thoughts and the pain is almost as unbearable as the pain in my hands.
Silence settles once more and the nails stop raking hot coals across my battered mind and I can think again. “Eric, did you find Dan?”
“Yes, but I don’t know if it helped. I did everything I could, Mattie. He doesn’t believe in us like you do.” Eric did not sound happy.
I sigh, knowing it had been a long shot to begin with. Dan would refuse to see anything supernatural if it hit him in the face with a big neon sign that said GHOST. Back to plan B where I save myself with a little ghostly help. Here goes. “How do I get to the Between?”
“Mattie…” The screeching edged into Eric’s voice.
“No,” I cut off Mirror Boy. “I am not just going to lie here and die if I can do something about it. I know the risks, I know what’s in there and I’m willing to take that chance, Eric. I need to-to find it.”
“Okay. It’s the cold,” he says at last. “Concentrate on the cold, on looking for where it comes from and it will find you. You have to want to see it.”
I think back to my one encounter with it. I hadn’t been feeling cold at all. What is Eric talking about? Well, fudgepops! I know for a fact I hadn’t felt any ghost cold when I’d seen it. What had I felt? We’d been talking about my extra-curricular criminal activities. I remember he’d felt sorry for me and it brought back a lot of memories too. I’d been scared and alone, trying to survive. I’d lived in a cold harsh world then…cold. He’s not talking about ghost cold. He’s talking about emotions. Ghost manifests emotions with the cold. Eric said I had to really want it. I want it. So I force myself to think back to my time as a thief. I remember how I’d gone to bed hungry almost every night until I started stealing. I’d hated doing it, but it had been me or them back then. Shame also floods through me. What I’d done wasn’t right, still isn’t. I haven’t ever done it since, but the guilt is something I can’t shake.
“It’s working,” Eric hisses.” I see it coming. Everyone get out of here now!”
The ghost cold dissipates, all except for one. “Eric?”
“I’m here,” he whispers. “I won’t leave you, Mattie. It’s at your feet. Can you feel it?”
I concentrate, trying to sense anything but Eric and my own fear. There. The pain I remember is starting to eat its way up my body, like a live flame is burning me from my toes up. It hurts so much, but I welcome it this time, I don’t try to fight it. I can’t breathe when it reaches my face, its burning me alive. The pain goes up my arms and then I hear the door open. No…
The feeling of the snow goes away and I groan in frustration. Eric does the same. So close, we were so close.
The door closes with a bang and my body focuses on that one sound. Fear pushes every other thought out of my mind.
He’s back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The movements I hear are lighter, softer. It has to be Mrs. O. I hear the water turn on and then she’s moving all around the room. She’s muttering as she works, which only confirms my suspicions about who it is. She sounds frustrated. If I can get loose and distract her, then maybe I can get away. Maybe we don’t need to try the scary snow after all.
“Mrs. O?” My words come out slow and slurred. My face feels like it’s ballooned up and my throat continues to swell. It might cut off my windpipe soon. I remember the feel of being choked to death earlier today by the ghost at UNC. This feeling is remarkably similar, just less obvious.
“Just a minute, Mattie. Let me get the things I need to clean you up.”
“Bathroom?” I choke out. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping some of that motherly love she claims she feels for us will help me out. I need to be untied if I hold any hope of getting out of here before her husband comes back.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mattie,” she says after a long minute.
“Please?” I try again.
“Don’t do anything stupid at first, Mattie,” I hear Eric whisper. “Use the bathroom. Have her help you so she thinks you are helpless. Then on the way back, we’ll strike.”
I had a thought. “Can you and maybe some of the other ghosts make it cold enough so she feels it or is it only me that it works on?”
“No, it works on everyone,” Eric says. “Why?”
“Does she know who you are?” I ask.
“Yes.”
The feelings behind that simple word make me want to cry. There is so much pain and anguish that I feel it to the depths of my soul. I will help Eric cross over no matter what. “She knows your name?”
“Yesss….”
I flinch, knowing that the memories I’m stirring up must be beyond painful for him, but I need every advantage I can get. I swallow painfully. I need to talk and I need Eric to back me up with his ghostly abilities.
Mrs. Olson moves to me, untying my restraints with gentle care. She helps me to sit up, giving me a minute to orient myself. My head swims and if I could see, I’d be puking. Strange that I can feel the room spinning even if I can’t see it. I must have a heck of a concussion going on.
My feet are unsteady and I lean on Mrs. Olson as she helps me to the bathroom. I really do need to pee. I try to fumble with my jeans, but can’t stop the harsh cry that slips out when pain lances up both arms. My hands are useless. I’m pretty sure they’re both broken in multiple places.
Mrs. Olson makes a tsking sound and helps me get my jeans down and seated on the toilet. Relief is instant. As much as I should be embarrassed, I’m not. I haven’t been to the bathroom in Lord knows how many hours. I needed to pee.
I am so focused on my acute relief, I forgot Eric. I feel my face explode in rush of heat and scarlet fire. I can hear him chuckling. He is enjoying my embarrassment. As much as I have come to rely on Mirror Boy, no way do I want him seeing me sitting on the toilet. Not only is it embarrassing for so many reasons, it’s downright rude.
“Focus, Mattie.” Eric’s laughter reverberates through my head, making me wince. The slightest noise is starting to bother me. I’m not sure if it’s the head wound or if it’s from prolonged ghost conversation.
“Mrs. O?”
“Hmm?” she murmurs, turning on the water, presumably so I can wash my hands.
“Do you know how I knew Sally didn’t run away?”
She pauses. I can’t see her, but I feel it in the lack of movement. My other senses work much better since I can’t see. I’m actually grateful for it.
“I saw her.”
“Wh… what?”
I nod and fight back the pain it causes me. “I saw her that night. It’s why I came home early and wanted you to call the police.” My throat is on fire and it hurts to breathe. I take a few slow breaths and try to force the pain to the back of my mind. I have to
rattle her or this won’t work. “Can you help me up, please?”
She pulls me up and helps me fasten my jeans. Her movements are jerky, hurried. I take a step toward the running water. “Eric?”
The cold starts to creep in and I know it’s more than Eric. I can feel them, like I did earlier. There are more this time, almost two dozen different souls pressing in on me. I’m not afraid, not at all. It’s their way of comforting me, letting me know I’m not alone. I welcome the ache that settles in my bones.
I can hear the ice forming on the mirror and Mrs. Olson’s gasp of shock. The water is icy as it splashes over my hands. It doesn’t register, not really. I can’t feel the cold of the water past a sensory perception of it. I know that when I breathe in and out fog will be swirling in front of my face.
“You are going to have to push her, Mattie. If you turn to your right and shove with all your might, she’ll fall over,” Eric went on. “I don’t know if she’ll be down long, but you need to run. Turn around and run straight. The door is directly across from this one. Run fast.”
“Don’t you want to know how I saw Sally?”
“You can’t have seen her,” Mrs. Olson denies.
“I did,” I tell her softly, the words coming slowly. “She was wearing her favorite night shirt. There was masking tape on her mouth and she had a bullet hole in her head.”
“No…you can’t have seen…”
“To quote an old movie, Mrs. O, I see dead people, ghosts if you will. I saw her ghost.”
She flinches away from me and I blink back tears of sheer pain. Be strong, I tell myself. You only have one shot at getting away. Forget the pain, focus on escape. “Can’t you feel them all, Mrs. O? They are here with us right now. Emma, Tina, Bobby, Ricky. They’re all here.”
“How do you know those names?” I can hear fear in her voice. Good. Fear is good.
“They told me their names. I saw them, what Mr. Olson did to them. I know what happened to them.”
The room plunges to freezing. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sink water started to form into an icicle. Wow. I’ve never felt anything so cold in my life.
The sound of nails on chalkboards starts to creep into the room. “There’s Eric,” I sigh wistfully. Mrs. Olson moves closer, her body pressing into mine. I can feel her fear, feel her shiver.
“Eric?” she whispers.
“You remember Eric, what Mr. Olson did to his face?”
She gasps in horror. I struck a nerve. “His face is so bloody and mangled you can’t really even make out what he looks like.”
I lean on the sink and brace my feet. “He’s standing right here next to us, Mrs. O. Can’t you feel it, the cold? The cold is all the ghosts you’ve helped kill. That scraping sound, that’s Eric.”
“No, no, no, no, no…” she wails.
“Now, Mattie, do it now!” Eric orders.
I push away from the sink and shove my body into hers as hard as I can. She stumbles and falls hard. I don’t wait, I run.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The door is an obstacle. My head is fuzzy and I blink rapidly as I skid to a halt in front of it. I yank off the blindfold with the palms of my hands and then grasp the knob and attempt to open it. Pain nearly knocks me to my knees. My fingers are useless, but I have to get the door open!
“Hurry, Mattie,” Emma says. “She’s getting up!”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and then turn the knob as hard as I can. It pulls open and I say a short prayer to the Man Above. Definitely owe Him at least a month of Sundays for this.
“RUN!” That was everybody.
I don’t have to be told twice, so I dodge out the door and turn left. Definitely, I’m in the basement and I take a second to orient myself. I’ve been here before. This was one of my foster homes before they closed it. There’s only one entrance to the basement level.
Heavy sounds, thumping, heavy breathing. Yep, I can hear Mrs. O in the room behind me. I duck into the first room I see, leaving the door open and stuffing myself behind it. If I close the thing, she’ll know. Maybe this will buy me just a few minutes.
“Mathilda Louise Hathaway, you get back here right now!”
I flinch at the fury in her voice, but try to be quiet. She’s running but in the opposite direction which tells me she’s heading for the stairs. I turned wrong, dang it! Now she’s upstairs. And I have to try to get up and past her. Right. I need a weapon, but what can I use that doesn’t need my hands? Nothing comes to mind and I groan.
Nope. I’m not done. I made it this far, I can make it out.
“She’s upstairs looking for you,” someone said.
I let out a strangled shout and jump at the sound of Eric’s voice. He nearly scared me to death! I turn to glare at him and then stop. My mouth falls open just a bit before I catch myself. Whoa. He looks normal, not mangled. I’d forgotten what he looked like. I don’t know how, considering I’d stared at his picture for hours on end. I haven’t been able to really shake his image since Dan showed me the picture. It’s his eyes. The vibrant blue is the darkest, but clearest color I’ve ever seen.
“I have the kids looking so when she goes up to the second floor we’ll get you out of here,” he tells me.
The head wound must be doing some serious things to me if I can stop and ogle a ghost right in the middle of my escape plan. So not good. I sigh. At least he’s here and didn’t leave me.
“Are you okay?” The concern in Eric’s voice is… odd.
“Yes,” I answer him silently. “Just really, really tired.”
“Mattie, I will get you out of here, I promise.”
I smile and try to believe him. He sounds fierce like a warrior, but as sincere as my old Sunday school teacher. I wouldn’t have gotten away without him. Mrs. Olson got just a little terrified when I said his name. I frown. Why? There’s something to that. I remember thinking Eric was the key to all this and I think that is why she’s afraid of him.
“Eric, why is Mrs. Olson afraid of you?”
He sighs just as heavily as I had. “I got away once and tried to find help. It was before they moved us to this place. I’m the reason they had to move their playhouse. They found me before I could get help. But that is when I learned their secret.”
“Their secret?” My heart thumps wildly.
“Yes…”
“She’s upstairs!” Ricky screamed in my ear and I jumped. I pushed away from the wall and hobbled down the hall as fast as I could. My ankle is on fire and only gets worse with each step. I’ve probably done a lot more damage to it. The stairs loom ahead of me and I press my shoulder to the wall for support as I drag my legs up them one at a time. I come out into the hallway right off the kitchen. There is a kitchen door and all I have to do is get there.
I hear the shouts and cries of fear and dismay all at once. Two dozen voices hammer at me and I nearly scream at the white-hot agony that rips through my aching head. Something has changed, something scared them all. Eric hisses and his cold seeps into me, like he’s trying to hold me and can’t. This is so not good, so very, very not good.
The archway leading into the kitchen is blocked. A man is standing there watching me. He’s wearing a dark hoodie and I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to. There’s only one person it can be –Mr. Olson. There’s only one place to go. The back stairs go to the second floor. I grit my teeth and run.
He’s whistling as he follows me. He’s not running, just walking steadily and whistling. How weird. Why run though? Not like I have anywhere to go now is there? Just upstairs to where Mrs. Olson’s lurking, waiting to find me and put me back in that chair. Not if I can help it.
The second floor has about nine bedrooms and the third floor about six as well and three bathrooms. I bypass the second and head for the third. All the rooms are locked except the bathrooms and none of them have windows big enough for me to get out of. The attic stairs are at the end of the hallway. I can’t go back down. He’s searching and I do
n’t trust my ability to slip past him on the stairs, either.
“He’s on the second floor checking bedrooms,” Emma whispers and I nod.
The attic door is slightly ajar and I hesitate. Is Mrs. Olson up there?
“She’s not,” Emma tells me and I go in, pushing the door shut, but it springs back open as I knew it would.
The attic is huge, but not dark. I can still see daylight streaming into the windows. How long have I been here? I look around quickly and don’t go for the corners. They’ll look there first. Instead I look at the middle of the room. There is junk everywhere from broken toys to office furniture. The desk draws my attention. There are two trunks sitting in front of it. If I can duck under it…
“Don’t you watch horror movies?” The sarcasm in Eric’s voice is heavy. “It’s always the idiot girls who get killed first! Putting yourself in a place you can’t run from is the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“Yeah, well, you got any better ideas?” I snarl at him and limp towards the middle of the room, my eyes searching frantically. I need a place to hide.
“Over by the door,” Eric tells me. “Hide behind those boxes stacked up. When one of them comes in, you run out the door and downstairs as fast as you can. We’ll do our best to help you.”
Like that’s any better than my desk idea? I roll my eyes at him, but hobble over to my new hiding place. It’s not like I have a lot of options. My head feels like it’s gonna explode, my hands are on fire, and my ankle is past the point of pain. God knows what kind of damage I’ve done to it on top the sprain.
How did I get myself into this situation? Dan’s right. I’ve gone soft. I ignored my own rules about ghosts. When I saw Sally, I should have just ignored her like I did every other ghost. I should have… I sigh.
I need to get a handle on this situation. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve… none of that will get me out of this. I take a slow, deep breath and take stock of my situation. Okay, I’m hurt. I have two psychos trying to kill me, and oh yeah, I’m surrounded by ghosts. I want to laugh. It’s either laugh or cry. Mathilda Louise Hathaway doesn’t cry.