Landlocked Lighthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1)

by Mixi J Applebottom

  Adrenaline was wearing off quickly and he hurried to his car and swallowed a handful of ibuprofen. Walking hurt, his right foot was bleeding, and the left ass was throbbing at every step. He got in his car ready to drive off for help, to drive to a doctor and the cops and the whole bit. Turned the key but the car squealed and with a puff of smoke it grew silent. It was not gonna be running any time soon. He punched the horn and as it screamed, he screamed. Trembling, bleeding, furious and terrified, he sat in that car. He opened the door and turned to walk down the driveway. That was when he heard it, little Annabelle called him. “Daddy, Daddy!” Her tiny little frightened voice pulled at him.

  He turned to look but he couldn’t see her. She was in the house; he was sure she was in the house. “I’m coming!” he boomed his big voice steady as a rock. His insides quivered. Little Ann in the pan was alive! He stumbled and limped back inside, through the lion doors, onto the marble floor with the lion crests. “Annabelle where are you?”

  The tiniest whisper of her voice beckoned to him, and he followed it down the stained glass hallway. Past all the animals - Lion, Lamb, Bear, Squirrel, Stag - and freezing at the Wolf. He stood in the glimmering light of the Wolf, the teeth glowing down on his bloody face. A soft cry from his baby girl begged him to stagger forwards. He got close to the end of the hall where his bedroom sat and noticed an iron door. It opened to reveal an elevator. Someone had just pushed the button and the door had opened. “Annabelle?” His booming voice was determined.

  “Mama has me in the basement!” The words called faintly from the elevator.

  “I’m coming for you.” His eyes grew into vicious slits and he limped into the elevator and the doors snapped shut. It descended without him pressing any buttons and he got ready to kill his wife.

  23

  Time had been stolen from me. Of that, I was sure. I woke up and I couldn‘t tell how long I slept. Unusually long. I confirmed this when I tried to move. I had lost a huge chunk of time. Not only did my urine cover me, but a weed literally grew over my arm. It took me a while to sit up. I was extremely dehydrated and hungry. I ate the weed growing on me. Who the hell knew if I should, but I had to eat. My throat was so dry. I sucked every bit of moisture from the fast-growing green plant and spat out the woody chewy mess and stuffed a fresh piece in my mouth.

  Never in my life did I feel so dry. It was like I had rubbed salt in my eyes and down my throat. My eyes sank in my skull and hurt, and my arms looked shriveled. I made the tiniest bit of saliva, and my heart felt weak. Walking was very difficult. I didn’t have enough saliva to swallow. The chewed-up leaves I spit out and desperately looked for something wetter. I would give anything for a stream. I saw a tiny strawberry patch and slowly crawled over. There weren’t very many berries but I stuffed them inside me as fast as I picked them. My head ached, but my thirst screamed louder. After I consumed a handful, I found I could stand. My head rang. Not with sound, but with blood rushing in a ringing swooshing. I closed my eyes and leaned on the nearest tree. I swore I heard my heart beating. Every little throbbing beat as it tried to keep me alive. I would die out here. I raised my arm to my head and ran my fingers over my skull. It was badly wounded, the scab felt monstrous. But it had scabbed, so at least it didn’t bleed. I shifted against the tree. (Zippy attacked me.) I opened my sunken, dry eyes and stared at my arm.

  My arm was covered in filthy, pus-filled, jagged skin. But worse, it was full of sticks. Like a porcupine. I would have cried if I had any water in me to spare. But instead I cringed. How many more did I have in me? I thought about Zippy, stabbed all over. Both her legs crushed. Her shattered pelvis. That would happen to me soon.

  Maybe it already had. I looked down at my legs and I saw two sticks jabbed in them. My right arm trembled as I yanked those two out. My left arm was injured so badly already I didn’t even know where to start. Pus dripped down it as I let it hang. I gently tugged on each of the sticks in my arm, and four came out easily. Pus bubbled up when they slid out. I left the rest. The arm ached terribly. Find water. I saw a nice big stick on the ground and I crouched down and picked it up. It would help me get there. I stared at the big lighthouse towering through the trees. The house was not safe, but it had water.

  Where were the kids?

  I slowly stumbled forward towards the house, defeated. The stick held me up as we walked together. I was in some serious trouble now. I was probably feverish, racked with infection, I was dehydrated. Troubled. That was what Taffy had called me.

  And I was unconscious for who knows how long. The things I remembered were confusing. That chef, and those four children, Chessa and Alawn, the woman in the white dress and the other two older children. I wish I knew their names.

  Killed in this house. That nanny, she hung herself because it made her. A murder house. Haunted by the wolf.

  It made me tremble to even think of it. I was not a scared, soft, incapable woman. I was a tough farmer. Tough choices were a part of the living. I had grit. No ghost took that from me. No ghost could have my children.

  But what if it already had them? What if they were already full of sticks, hanging from a chandelier? Sliced by mirrored knives? What if I’m so late that my beautiful babies died? Hell, I couldn’t even stay conscious! I needed help. Or my husband. He would help me. And us. How could I find Annabelle and Tony? I limped towards the house and I came upon the garden. That gargoyle in the middle looked so giddy that disgust spun within me. I was sure he was proud of my state. My crippled arm, my ragged clothes, my tattered face. A tomato called, and I grabbed it and sucked out all the juice. Another, and another, I suckled down, quenching the worst of my frantic thirst. I sat there, covered in tomatoes and suddenly I fell asleep. I begged myself to stop but I couldn’t.

  An hour later I awoke with another stick in my leg. More in my arm too? Hard to tell.

  Less parched, but my arm ached and throbbed. My head ached too. I ate another handful of tomatoes and then limped around the house to the front door, the lion door.

  But I stopped. I saw that crappy car of his, the yellow bug. Husband. He was here. Oh gosh, he was here! My heart skipped a beat, and I raced to the car. Blood pooled in the front seat. A jar of ibuprofen sat on the passenger seat, spilled everywhere. How long had he been in this house? I reached in and took four ibuprofen, but my throat was too dry to swallow them. I would have to go in and get a glass of water. “Annabelle? Tony? Big Tony?” I called out nervously. What if the house heard me too?

  The house already knew me. I pressed on and stood over the lion crest. This was where we slept that first night. On this very spot. The dining room and the bit of the kitchen was empty. I could see the stairs, and the dreaded landing at the top. The Lamb door was to my left and I wondered if Zippy was still there in eternal horror or if the house cleaned her up. “Tony? Annabelle? Husband?” I called out again. Nothing replied. I shuffled through the dining room, past the caterer’s kitchen (I didn’t dare look in) and into the kitchen. Took out a glass and filled it with water. I swallowed those four ibuprofen and then drank four glasses of water. I was still thirsty, but my belly hurt it was so full. On the counter was wilting flowers and a Lisa Frank coloring book (puppies and kittens) and a trumpet. I guess we’d gotten paid.

  My good arm reached out and touched the wilting flowers and I found I did have tears to spare. Where were my children? Where was Husband?

  I wanted to think that he had them and they were racing to the hospital. Or he took them to my mother’s house and was coming back to find me. But I knew blood in the driver’s seat meant he’s injured. Maybe dead. And he didn’t take the children anywhere. The cart was there, and the car was there. I hadn’t looked for the old mare, but she was probably around.

  Or sticked. Or she was sticked like the dog was. Lying and dying, a big horse pincushion. My stomach turned and was tempted to toss its waterlogged contents. But I rallied. You keep that water in there. I’ve got to catch up, be hydrated, and find those kids. I sat on the floor
and waited for it to pass. Too weak to continue. I was in serious trouble. Pus dripped down my arm as I sat on the floor. I closed my eyes and waited for my body to tell me it could move again.

  24

  It wasn’t a long wait. A half hour until my body relented and I could move. Standing gave me the urge to urinate. I already felt tougher, and less parched. Okay, where are we going?

  I thought I heard her calling for a second. Annabelle’s sweet tears. “Honey are you here?” I started to follow the sound, but I stopped. She would have to come. That’s how I got lost in the woods. Were they ever even in the woods? Last I remembered seeing them was when Zippy was tearing in me with her teeth.

  Then they opened the door and went out by the pool. I killed the dog, they… jumped in the water? I remembered trying to pull them out and realizing I had gargoyles in my arms. They had been outside. But where? “Annabelle! If that is you, come to Mama,” I said firmly. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  There was a brief pause and a cackle of laughter. “You can wait in the kitchen if you want.” Annabelle’s voice giggled, “But what is to stop us from tricking the children? Have you thought of that?”

  “Who are you? Where are my kids?” My skin crawled. It sounded so much like her.

  “Come and play with me Mama. Let’s play with sticks and stones they break your bones.” She said wolfishly. My bladder let out and I whimpered.

  “Please don’t hurt them. I’ll do anything you want!” There was no reply. I looked at my arm, little twigs sticking out like hedgehog quills. Help me, somebody. I needed real help. I couldn’t save my kids like this.

  This was a turning point. I had to decide, get help (they’ll die), or try to find them (they’ll die). This house had swallowed them right up, Annabelle, Tony, and their father. It’s wrong to leave (lies). Or was it our only chance? I suddenly realized I was halfway up the stairs, to the landing. I glanced up at the gargoyles on the ceiling, and they were all staring at me, whispering at me. One had its hand dangling down and was pushing lightly on my back, guiding me up. I tumbled down the stairs, sliding on to the lion crest.

  They chattered. I heard their voices pulling me, sucking against my skin, begging me to walk up further. As soon as I fell on the crest, silence rose. They sneered then snapped back in place. Gargoyles fighting gargoyles. Mirror eyes vs empty sockets.

  I lay on the lion and listened, watching the creatures on the ceiling. But nothing happened. No whispers from Annabelle’s stolen voice. Nothing moved. My body stopped throbbing. I still hadn’t decided what to do, when it was decided for me. The lion doors swung open in a triumphant neigh. There she stood, that big old mare. Her nose snorted at me, her tail was still hanging out of the house, through the big lion doors. “Let’s go get help.” I trembled, standing hurt. My arm started pouring blood and pus. “I don’t think I can get on.”

  She did something she had never done before and has never done since. Somehow she knew I couldn’t climb, so she lay down. I crawled on, my body shivering and dripping blood on her pretty fur. She slowly stood up underneath me, and then she galloped. A smooth easy pace. She carried me to town, and I found I couldn’t concentrate to drive her. I left those two children in that wretched place. (I’m getting help), but I left them to die. (I can’t do it without help!) Excuses.

  I hurled, right down her mane, it poured across her front left leg, but she didn’t even slow. Her big, long legs kept pushing forwards. She let out a soft cry to reassure me. “I should give you a name” I whispered softly in her ear, my trembling body ravaged with fever. She let out a bellowing answer, shaking her big head. We stopped at the vet. She stomped her big horse foot and let out a loud cry. Then she snorted. I thought for a moment if someone didn’t come out, she would go in.

  Taffy appeared and shouted something at the mare. I slipped into her arms and I wept. She dragged me inside; my feet barely helped to carry my weight. Dr. Thomas showed up moments later. They flipped the sign closed and he pulled barbed stick after barbed stick out of my arm. He checked the bandage on my foot and fixed the stitches, and Taffy started an IV. Neither of them asked me what happened. They set to work while I lay on the table, sobbing.

  He set to stitching up my arm after ripping out all of the sticks. He carefully wrapped it with a firm wrapping, almost a cast. Taffy examined my skull, and they discussed it and washed it, but didn’t bother bandaging it. Taffy and Dr. Thomas kept whispering back and forth while they worked. I am not sure if they drugged me or if I fell asleep but time skipped forwards.

  Nobody was in the room with me. I moved my arm and it ached terribly, but was stronger already. It looked much better wrapped up instead of open and dripping. “Taffy?” I called out. A moment later, she was back.

  “You are in some serious trouble.” Her face looked grim, her mouth was a tight line when she stopped speaking.

  “I can explain…” I started, but I had no idea what to say next, and the room grew cold and quiet.

  Taffy stared at me. She spoke again, “Those kids are gonna die if you don’t get back there.”

  Goosebumps ran across me like a cold breeze. “What?”

  “Annabelle and Tony will be killed. Much worse than what has happened to you. You are barely even injured. Go home, take a bath, and then you get your ass down there and save them.”

  I had no words. I was choking. Her hand pressed up around my throat. “If you don’t save them, I’ll come down there and kill them myself.” She was standing there in the white dress. Her mouth seemed larger than normal and she had a massive smile. All her teeth were showing. It was Zippy’s teeth in her mouth. Dripping with blood.

  I slapped her with my good hand and she spun slightly from the blow. It was like the nursemaid except the hanging body had kept going in circles as she dangled.

  The room grew cold and quiet, and the lights flickered a smidge. I gasped for air and then it was back to normal. Taffy stood there, frowning at me. “Go save them now. That’s all I can do to help you. Good luck.” She took my arm and hoisted me to my feet, eager to have me leave. She pushed me out the door and clicked it shut and locked, then pulled the curtains down.

  The old mare stood there, chewing on the grass, uninterested in me. I walked forwards, running my hand along her neck. She sniffed me and lumbered to the bench sitting nearby. I got on the bench and pulled my body on to her bare back. We galloped back to the lighthouse mansion in a steady pace.

  We made it to the big driveway and the mare seemed so young. She had been acting so old the last time we went to town as though walking was almost too hard for her. Now she could gallop and bend down to the ground to let me on? It seemed nonsensical, but it reminded me of that first night here (Or was it the second?) when I had felt so young, I swore I saw it in the mirror.

  She slowed as we got close to the house, and she waited for me to climb off. Then she wandered away. It made me wonder if she was like Taffy, she wanted to help, but she didn’t want to get too close. I stood frozen, staring at the two lions carved in the mahogany doors. Save my children. That’s what I was here to do. If I could find them. If I didn’t get tricked. If I didn’t get sticked to death. If.

  The urge to leave pushed me backwards. The house didn’t want me here. An awful lot like the top of the stairs where my feet refused to step farther. It was strong.

  But I was stronger. I pushed the doors open and a rush of wind pushed me back. In the wind, I heard my children screaming.

  I quickly stepped on the lion crest and it grew silent. The door swung shut with a large click. “I’m back.” I sneered up at the gargoyles and flipped them off. “Are you ready for me? I’m ready for you.”

  I don’t know if I was ready, but always put on a tough face for war. Great-grandmother said that. I wondered idly where her casserole dish was now. Maybe it still sat in the Squirrel room. Didn’t Taffy tell me to take a bath? That seemed absurd. That I walk in here, take a nice bubble bath, have a glass of wine, relax, and then go find my
children? Absurd.

  I walked to the caterer’s kitchen. “Chef? You in here? You on my side or theirs?” I asked the room, waiting for an answer. “You liked the kids right? Will you help me before mine suffer?”

  I closed my eyes and my stomach sank. He couldn’t help me. He looped his own death over and over. Would I loop when they sticks and stoned me to death? Did Zippy?

  I waited. He didn’t show. I started digging around in the cabinets. “You in here? You’re the chef. Remember me?” I slammed a cabinet in frustration and the wet gush of cold water swirling around my body startled me. All my skin danced and screamed with tickled surprise. I turned around and there he was. He was shocked. (Damn your shocked face, I should slap you) He stared at me with suspicion.

  “I don’t think you’ll win.” He said. Or he thought it really loud. I’m not sure his mouth was moving, and his voice sounded inside me.

  “Do you know where my children are?” I said. Uncomfortably he pressed closer, the tip of the staff piercing through his chest.

  “Do as she says. The key is in the basement.” And he vanished with a plunking sound.

  “As who says?” I shouted to the darkness and a mumbling bubble burst with the taste of saltwater taffy in my mouth.

  25

  I was back in the kitchen mindlessly crunching an apple, and then I was so hungry, I didn’t think I’d make it. I cooked up eggs and stuffed them in my mouth. They were too hot and nearly raw, but I didn’t care. I drank a bunch of water and cooked three more eggs while I considered what the chef had said.

  Taffy had told me to take a bath. So, I guess that was what he meant. After I eased my screaming gut, I dumped the pan in the sink and trudged down the hall. I shuffled past the stained glass windows like a man to the electric chair. My poor lost children.