by Clare Hexom
Judith quieted us with a wave of her hands. “I hear a car.”
Ben and Sam slipped down the hallway beyond the upstairs staircase and into the den. Rick stayed behind. He planned on positioning himself behind Erik, whom he considered a greater threat than Harwood’s ghost. Dana was my charge, with Ben’s help once he joined the circle.
Grant gave me a nod that Ben and Sam were out of sight in the den. I took hold the doorknob and turned. I donned a smile and pulled open the door.
“Hi, you two,” I said cheerily. “Come on in.”
Erik helped Dana with her coat and I removed hangers from the closet.
“I hope we’re not late.” His brow knitted and he gazed into a vacant space beyond my shoulder.
“Not at all,” I said.
I maintained my feigned charm, hoping to ease them into the moment. I placed his jacket and her coat in the closet.
Dressed much like Ronnie and me, Dana fluffed her sweater and smoothed the front of her slacks. “Mallory. You are looking well. Over the ordeal with Lance, I imagine.” She patted her hair and smiled self-assuredly.
Her medicinal-smelling mint mouthwash failed to mask the telltale scent of gin.
“Ordeal?”
She nodded, eyebrows arched, eyes glazed. Her smile devious. Or perhaps I read devious because I expected devious. I was tempted to lash back for the thoughtless remark—Lance’s death was a tragedy, not an ordeal.
“I’m better.” I reined in my rage and smiled too sweetly, I suppose. “We planned a special evening for tonight.”
Responding to my cue, Jack Grant rounded the corner from the dining room with arms opened wide and a smile spreading across his face. “Surprise!”
Shock washed over their faces.
Erik stopped mid-step. “Never would have expected to find you here.”
Grant’s laugh exuded confidence. “You’re not happy to see me? I’m devastated.”
Erik hesitated, extending his hand. “Sure. We’re happy to see you. Surprised, though.”
They visited among themselves while Rick and I retreated into the kitchen for beverages and desserts. Grant stepped between Dana and Erik, and with an arm wrapped around each of their shoulders, he escorted them into the dining room.
“Guess who else is here.” He stretched out his hand. “Ronnie! Now we have a fair collection of our old friends.”
I stepped into the dining room with a stack plates and tableware. “With the exception of Jack Harwood and Ben Holland.”
Dana shot me a scowl. Her breathing quickened for a few moments. I stepped back, expecting her to lunge at me.
The dangerous emotions of unrequited love are alive and well with this woman.
I moved closer to Grant. “Of course, you remember my aunt, Judith Johnston.”
Judith smiled cordially, but clutched her arms close to her chest as though touching either of them was bad karma.
Without uttering a word, Ronnie glanced back and forth from Grant to Dana and Erik. I could tell she was reading my face for cues.
Erik stared at the vases holding the incense across the room.
Dana folded her arms and took in a deep breath as she gazed at the row of unlit white and lavender candles in front of Judith’s place at the table. “What is all this?”
Grant gave her a mischievous wink. “We’ll visit a bit first and enjoy our refreshments. Mrs. Johnston has graciously offered to conduct an old-fashioned Halloween séance for us.”
Dana’s mouth fell open. “You mean theatrics. Certainly no one expects an actual spirit will appear.”
“I certainly hope one does,” said Judith.
Dana’s eyes dulled, her expression stolid.
Judith seated herself at the table. “I will invite the spirit of a loved one into our midst for conversation. Perhaps Mallory’s father has time for us this evening.”
I gestured at two of the chairs. “Dana, please sit in the chair across from my aunt, if you will, and Erik across from me, between Dana and Ronnie.”
We visited around the table until the sun set and we finished our refreshments. Our conversation remained light and cordial. Ronnie, however, remained silent nearly the entire time, speaking only when spoken to.
Rick and I quickly cleared the dishes into the kitchen, and Aunt Judith stood and faced the table holding the CD player. She explained how burning incense enhanced the atmosphere, making it warm and welcoming to the spirits and helping those gathered to concentrate. The candle colors signified spirituality.
Only candle or natural light was allowed. Soon, the blackness of night steadily pressed against the windows—a steely shroud of death, my home cast into a house of despair. Judith would encapsulate us in a dwelling filled from cellar to attic with the essence of that desperate soul—whether good or evil remained to be seen.
“Before we start . . .” Judith reached down and brought up a small wicker basket from the floor beside her. “I insist everyone turn off their cell phones and place them in the basket. We do not want any accidental interruptions during the séance.”
Dana scooted her chair back. “I’m sorry. I need to keep mine. Our daughter may need us.”
“Give it up,” said Erik. “This won’t take long and you’ll get it back. You might have some fun for a change.”
Dana scowled but dropped her phone into the basket with the others. Judith carried the basket across the living room toward the den where Ben and Sam waited.
“I’ve never heard of anything so silly,” said Dana. “Doesn’t she trust us to turn off our phones?”
“Erik knows. You will have loads of fun,” said Grant.
“Time to begin,” said Judith, walking back into the dining room. “I’ve been thinking. Instead of my brother-in-law, perhaps I might call upon Ben Holland.”
Dana let out a small hiss. Erik cleared his throat.
“I suspect everyone is interested in knowing how Ben has fared in death,” said Judith.
“Not me.” Grant sniffled.
I nudged his ribs with my elbow and took my chair.
Judith’s chair creaked as she seated herself at the head of the table again. The music clicked off. “Everyone, please take the hand of the person beside you. Breathe in deeply and exhale.”
I stretched my left hand past the empty chair and clasped onto Grant’s right hand. Dana latched onto my right hand with the grip of a vice.
During our breathing ritual, Judith began to hum, soft and subdued. Her voice climbed to a crescendo, riding on an intense pitch. In the moment her voice held that prolonged note, Grant dropped my hand. Ben stole into the chair between us. I held his hand in mine.
The spark of a match lit the first candle. Its brilliant flicker moved from Ronnie, to Erik, and to Dana. The flame’s glimmer glinted off the silver belt buckle that moved on the other side of Aunt Judith and disappeared. I let go of Dana’s hand to take the candle and pass it on to Ben. Neither Dana nor Erik acknowledged his presence, even when Judith placed the last candle in the center of the table.
Judith chanted into a trance and summoned the residing spirit. The room turned cold and still.
“Identify yourself.”
I tugged against Dana’s hold. She squeezed my hand harder, making me lean into her grip. I leaned back when a cool breeze brushed the back of my head.
The wafting breezes turned icy and rose into a blowing wind. The candles snuffed out. Wind whooshed above our heads and around us. Newspapers and magazines fluttered in the living room.
A thud and a crunch.
A lamp, its shade crumpled.
The chandelier swinging above our heads clicked and rattled.
Judith chanted louder. Wind filled the house.
Objects on the counter, blender, toaster, crashed. A heavy object rolled, then collided with the kitchen floor and splintered into chunks.
Cookie jar.
Hanging pots jiggled and clanged. Cupboard doors, drawers opened and slammed. Stemware, glassware, di
shware rattled and shattered. Doors, upstairs, downstairs, opened and slammed.
Loud groans followed by shrill screams echoed above the table. A voice moaned wearily as though a man writhed in agony.
My breathing slowed and shallowed.
An unearthly screech wailed above us. I gripped Ben’s hand. He never flinched. Dana’s hand clasping mine eased its grip. I felt her tremble.
Judith’s chanting ceased. “Speak.”
This great house shook when the disembodied voice thundered, “No more friends to bash in the head!”
Jack Harwood shouted as though he stood among us in bodily form. It had been his voice I’d been hearing. Whispered. Spoken in the courtroom, my car, in my dreams.
“You stole lives, Dana! You killed! You want to kill again! You can’t be content with what’s within your reach. You always want what you cannot have. The truth is, Dana, you—are—selfish. This fixation you have with Ben is a perfect example!”
“Answer him, Dana.”
Dana seethed. “I will not! This is a trick!”
She pulled back, tugged until she pulled free. I waved my hand into the void, stretched my legs and searched under the table.
“She’s gone!”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
“Rick! Rick!” My shouting was a mere whisper amid the clamor.
“Over here!”
A loud crack. Shattering glass.
“Rick!” Ben shouted from behind me. “Judith?”
“I’m here.” Her voice came from near her chair. “Mallory Anne?” Her voice faded.
“Where’s the phones?” Ben shouted.
No answer.
“Stay there!” I fumbled around my chair to reach my aunt.
Ronnie screamed.
Silence.
Chairs falling. A string of thumps.
A strong hand grabbed my arm. I tried to pry loose.
A sharp crack.
Near the windows.
More breaking glass, heavier glass.
A man groaned. Ronnie screamed again.
Strong hands wrapped around me. I knew it was Ben pulling me out of the dining room.
Judith cried out.
I shouted, “Ben, wait!” He gently laid his palm across my mouth. My pleas were muffled. The guise of entertainment had ended. Jack Harwood was in control. The Fowlers now knew Ben Holland was in the house.
We kept moving, Ben pulling me farther away from the chaos. Distant screams followed more thuds and breaking glass.
A scrape close by.
The scrape again. Ben coaxed me out the kitchen door.
“No! I won’t leave you!” I pulled against his grip.
He groaned and led me by the hand through the kitchen, down the back stairs, into an even blacker darkness.
He pulled me close at the bottom of the stairs and whispered, “Hide. Hide anyplace down here where they won’t find you. I’ll come back for you.”
“Who left? Did someone come in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ben. I’m staying with you!”
“Don’t fight me.”
“They might still be in the house. People are hurt up there. Maybe dying, maybe dead.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” He paused. “You cannot go back up there.”
“This is horrible.”
“I will find Dana and I’ll restrain her, and then I’ll hunt down Erik.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Have a little faith.”
I laid my palms flat against his chest. “He either hurt or killed somebody in that dining room. I can’t let you do this alone.”
“And I won’t let you up there. You’re staying here.”
We locked arms and stood face to face in silence, the darkness too intense to see each other.
“There must be a landline down here,” said Ben.
“In the laundry room.”
“Go, then. Keep trying that phone. Then hide. Do this, Mallory. Be safe for Caleb and me. And if I don’t come back, stay put until the police find you.” He smoothed my hair. His voice quivered. “Hide, baby. Please.” He kissed me quick. “I love you.” And then he was gone.
I stood alone, waving my arms, searching.
Harwood’s voice echoed in my mind, “you want to kill again.” I had to help. I inched forward, fingering my way along the walls until I found the landline hanging on the wall. No dial tone.
Jack must have known his rage kept us from getting help.
I set the receiver back on the cradle.
“Shutting off the phones won’t help us, Jack,” I said aloud, chancing his spirit might hear.
I lifted the receiver again. Static. I found the staircase and climbed slowly, hoping to avoid steps that creaked beneath the carpet. I reached the top and paused. My shaking knee rested on the top step. I listened. In the kitchen several feet away came the sounds of metal clinking on metal, drawer rollers sliding open and closed with soft clicks, glass cracking beneath footsteps.
I shallowed my breathing until I heard nothing nearby. I crept on hands and knees across the stone floor toward the hum of the refrigerator until I felt the warmth at its base. I huddled and listened.
A woman screamed in a distant part of the house.
I buried my face into my arms folded atop my knees. Agonizing screams meant pain. Pain before death, even. Other noises were unidentifiable. Then spine-chilling shrieks.
Harwood.
My arms shivered. My muscles ached from holding them still. My heart pulsed in my throat. Footsteps approached. Stopped. I slowed my breathing to a near standstill, locked my arms tightly around my knees.
Do—not—move.
Stillness. Waiting.
A man coughed closer to me than the screams.
The death place.
A shoe touched mine. I squeezed my eyes closed. The person breathed hard.
“Dana!” A man’s voice called out in loud whisper from several feet to my left.
Dana’s voice whispered back from above me. “Erik!”
“We gotta get out of here. Now!”
“After I find Mallory.”
“After you find Ben, you mean. He’s done with you, Dana.”
“Shut. Up.”
“You’ve done enough. Hell, we’ve both done enough.” His voice quavered. “This is bad. Real bad.”
“Not my problem.”
“Yeah, well, it’s our problem, and I say we’re going. Pity you married me, ’cause you can’t have him now. And because we’re on the run, we’ll lose Emma.” He sputtered, “Damn you to Hell, woman.”
She spoke in guttural sounds as she moved away from me, closer to Erik. “I. Want. Mallory. Dead. You stupid fool. Don’t you know, we need them all dead now.”
Footsteps. Whispers. Silence.
Gone.
I sucked in a deep breath. Slid upright against the refrigerator. I laid my hands palms down on the breakfast bar countertop and lightly skimmed the surface to avoid broken glass. I found the knife rack. Toppled. I touched each one, seeking the largest blades.
She has knives. Erik has a fishing knife.
I groped the drawers beneath the counter until I found the one beside the stove. I slid the drawer open and fingered the tops of utensils, careful not to slice my hand. A familiar wooden handle. I inched my forefinger upward and touched the cold steel of Grandma’s carving knife.
A man yelled, “Erik!”
Ben!
A series of thuds.
Grappling.
Armed with the carving knife, I moved around the island and out of the kitchen into the dining room. A solid form tripped me. A large hand grabbed my ankle and tugged. Fingers pinched at my sleeve. I clenched the knife as I fell against a firm chest.
Leather. Spearmint.
“Mallory?” Sam’s voice was muffled.
I rose to my knees. “You’re hurt.”
“Erik.” He moaned. Hesitated. “Dana jammed a knife in my
leg.”
I touched his face, neck, his arm. Warm with life, not cold from impending shock. His breathing was steady.
“Give me your belt, Sam.” I pulled his belt from his jeans and slipped it around his thigh. I left enough strap for him to tighten and loosen to minimize blood loss yet keep blood flowing at intervals to keep life in his lower leg.
“I came up behind her. Nice and easy.” He paused. “Pinned her arms.” Groaned. “Didn’t know about a knife.” He groaned again. “Speared my leg. Split open my shoulder.”
I laid my hands against his blood-soaked shirt. “Who else is hurt?”
“Rick. Erik got him first. I kicked him in the leg after he jumped Rick but he stabbed me with a chunka’ glass.” Pause. “I fired off a coupla good jabs. He slammed me over the table. Ronnie butted in. Lotta screamin.’”
“She can’t be dead.”
“Don’t know.” His voice cracked. There was a long pause. “But Rick . . . he . . .”
Hot saliva filled my mouth. My stomach soured.
“Hurt bad for sure.” Sam rolled back and forth against his pain.
I scooted to the china cabinet and retrieved cloth napkins from the drawer. I folded each once more, then slipped them under his shirt and pressed gently.
“Hold this.” I wiped my bloodied hands on my slacks.
“Stuff keeps smashin’. Wind blowin’. People shoutin’.”
“The house has been taken over. I know.”
Sam groaned. “Maybe Ben, Grant found them. Hear men fightin’. Don’t know where.”
“I’ll help you crawl under the table. It’s not safe here in the open.”
“Ronnie’s there,” he grunted.
I crawled over to the table. “Ronnie?” I whispered.
No answer.
“Ronnie?”
Still no answer.
I crawled under the table. The space was empty. “She’s not here.”
“Feet runnin’ on the staircase.” He coughed.
“Crawl under this table. And Sam, don’t you dare die.”
He moaned assent.
“I’m leaving you. I have a knife, too. Kitchen knife.”
“Mallory. Careful. Busted glass everywhere. Grip that knife hard, but don’t be a badass.”
“Meaning?”
“Keep your head straight. Don’t be scared to kill. You give ’em hell.”
Harwood’s fury jumbled the voices beneath the wind and clamor. I knew where I had to go and Sam said what I needed to do. I stepped into the living room and moved toward the staircase. Halfway across the room, I slipped on newspaper. My ankle twisted. Cramped. I stumbled into the sofa. Ronnie’s crutches clattered to the floor. I squatted and patted the rug. My fingers touched wood and I lifted the crutches upright against the cushion. I took the knife in my other hand and wiped my sweaty palm across my thigh. With knife in hand, I moved again.