by Rick Hautala
“We’ve got ourselves a bit of a walk to take,” Michael snorted with laughter, only this time it didn’t sound at all crazy. His voice was thick with menace when he added, “Besides, haven’t you been listening to what they’re saying?”
“Huh? What who’s been saying?”
“Why, those other people.” Michael directed his brother toward the doorway and gave him a shove that almost knocked him off balance. “Can’t you hear them? They’re telling you that your wife and son are already waiting for you … out at the mill. Waiting for you to come out there and die with them!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Into the Cellar
The night was a swirling chaos of darkness and thick shadows as Michael prodded Edward along the path out to the mill. In the time since he’d arrived back home, he had noticed many changes in the landscape. A lot can change in thirty years: trees had gotten bigger while the boulders that lined the path now looked as though they had somehow shrunk.
But the path—ah, the path!
It was still the same as ever, just as he remembered it. Edward kept tripping and almost failing down with just about every other step, but even when the moon was lost behind the thick foliage overhead, Michael instinctively knew the exact location of every gnarled root and protruding stone, every subtle change in elevation. Several times he closed his eyes and had the uncanny sensation that he could see the path just as clearly through his eyelids. The beaten earth glowed like scratched silver in the moonlight. He navigated the dark, winding path as if he had been walking it every day of his life for the past thirty years.
And in some ways, he had. Nearly every day and night over the past thirty years, he’d had tangled thoughts and dreams about this path, these woods, and the abandoned mill. Even when he was far away from home, those people who used to come to his bedroom and talk to him somehow found him. They came usually at night, and told him, things—wonderful things … and horrible things that they had done and that had been done to them. He had known that his mother had died long before the phone call from his brother. In a dream, the people from the mill had told him all about it and how they were lost, now that his mother wasn’t around to watch out for them, to care for them. They had been the ones who had called him home.
Michael’s excitement rose, a tingling rush inside him as they got closer to the old building. The voices inside his head became clearer, too, telling him what he had to do, demanding his obedience.
“Don’t worry! … I’ve taken care of everything! … I just said those things to trick him. Don’t worry,” he muttered.
You’ll have to do it right away!
Right away! No more stalling now.
Now that you’ve got it started, there’s no turning back, you know.
“Mikie!” Edward’s voice was high and tight. “Why are you doing this to me?”
You know he wants to send you back.
And he’ll do it, if you don’t do this first!
He’ll send you back!
Back to where we might not be able to find you again!
“You’ve got to stop this, Mikie! You’ve got to let me go!”
But this is it!
It’s all up to you!
You can end it all!
All tonight!
“Hey!” Michael suddenly yelled, shoving hard against his brother’s back. “Don’t talk! You’re confusing me.”
Edward stumbled forward a couple of steps before he tripped and fell face-first to the ground. He turned around before he hit, but his head or shoulder made a hollow thumping sound that echoed like a drum.
“Stop it!” Michael shouted, his voice whining high as he banged his fists against the sides of his head. “All of you! Just stop it! You’re just getting me confused! Be quiet!”
He grabbed Edward’s arm and jerked him roughly to his feet.
“And you, just shut the fuck up too, all right? You’ll see them all soon enough!”
They started walking again, but after a while, Michael felt a current of panic.
Shouldn’t the path have ended by now?
What if it never ends?
What if we spend the rest of our lives wandering around out here in the dark?
What if we’re already ghosts, doomed to wander these woods—forever?
The voices inside his head were silent now, but he could still feel everyone’s presence lurking in the dark woods all around him. It was the same feeling he’d always had as a child when he would cry out, knowing they were there with him in his bedroom. His mother and brother hadn’t believed him, at least that’s what they had said; but now … soon, at least Edward was going to get his chance to hear them, to see them … and believe!
Michael walked along behind his brother, following doggedly and forgetting, for a moment, that Edward was his prisoner. When the mill finally came into view, a wide smile broke out across his face as his eyes tracked across the wide front of the building, taking in the flat, moon-washed plane of old wood. The black rectangles of empty windows made a checkerboard pattern across the front. All of the window holes were perfectly black … except for one just about in the middle on the first floor. There, a faint blue light glowed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure suspended in midair.
“See? There she is, Eddie. See her?” Michael whispered.
His voice was tinged with reverence, but his brother said nothing. He only grunted as he gazed blankly back and forth between the old building and him.
“Why, you should be happy,” Michael said. His voice was twisted up high, and he was barely able to contain a wild whoop of joy. “And look! There’s mommy, in the window, see? You ought to be very happy. You’re finally coming home, and we’re all going to be together again!”
Dianne heard the scuffle of footsteps outside the room. She quickly turned away from Brian, and they both pushed themselves back into position against the stone wall just as the cellar door slammed open. After a brief flurry of activity in the doorway, someone grunted loudly and plunged into the room as though roughly pushed. After a few staggering steps, he wheeled around, fighting to maintain his balance, and then sprawled onto the dirt floor.
“Oh, my God!” Dianne shouted as soon as she saw who it was. “Edward! Are you hurt?”
Edward didn’t move from where he had fallen. The way the rope was looped around his throat made him pull back, strangling him
“Jesus! Dad!” Brian shouted. He hitched himself forward in an attempt to stand up as Michael walked into the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he strutted like a self-satisfied sea captain.
“Well, well, well,” he said, followed by a twitter of light laughter. “I see we’re all here now, aren’t we? Have we all been happy?”
“Jesus Christ, do something!” Dianne shouted. In the harsh white light of the lantern, she could see that Edward’s face was turning prune purple. “Can’t you see he’s choking?”
Edward’s throat was making a high, strangling sound. His eyes were bulging from his head, but he didn’t struggle. Dianne had the impression that he no longer had the strength—or will—to fight back. She made a move to get up but then caught herself short and sagged back against the wall, shaking her shoulders futilely back and forth as though wrestling with her bonds. While Michael had been gone, she and Brian had managed to loosen the ropes binding her hands, but that was all; she knew she couldn’t do anything to help, not until her feet were free. If Michael found out she was untied before then, he would no doubt tie her back up… if not kill her.
“Shit, he’ll be all right … probably,” Michael drawled. “It’s not my fault, you know.”
He snickered as he produced the knife he’d been hiding behind his back, stepped forward and, leaning down, quickly sawed through the rope. The sudden release of pressure made Edward’s head snap forward. Dianne heard the sharp crack his neck made as he yelped with pain, then rolled his head to one side and took a long, roaring breath. The purplish blush immediately started
to fade from his face.
“You son of a bitch!” Dianne screamed. “How could you do something like this? To your own brother!”
Michael turned and regarded her with a long, languid look. The lantern light caught a wicked gleam in his eyes as he smiled and said, “My brother? Do this? Well, Jesus Christ, Rachel, if you only knew what my brother had done to me!” Michael laughed again.
“Rachel—?” Dianne was caught off guard. “My name’s not—”
She stopped herself and watched as he reached into his pants pocket and took out a small butane cigarette lighter. Cupping it in his hand, he held it up high and flicked the striker wheel until a small orange teardrop of flame danced on top of his clenched fist. He laughed as he brought the flame up close to his face and studied it for a moment. His eyes sparkled in the bright light. Then he released the lever, extinguishing the flame, and whispered, “Why, we’re just getting started.”
While all of this was going on, Brian was leaning against the wall, wildly kicking his feet in the dirt and screaming obscenities at his uncle.
“You lousy motherfucker! You lying piece of shit! You said you were leaving town! You bastard! If I ever get my hands on you, I’ll—”
“Oh, but you won’t,” Michael said calmly. As he looked at Brian, his expression softened for a moment as his shoulders slumped forward. “You know, I hate to spoil the little surprise I have lined up for you, but none of us is going to leave this place ever again.”
“Oh, yeah? Well fuck you! Fuck you, you rotten bast—”
With two quick steps, Michael was beside him. He clenched his fist, cocked back his arm, and punched Brian hard on the chin. Brian’s eyes rolled upward, and then he sagged back against the wall, unconscious.
Michael’s face was flushed. His eyes bulged out as he turned to Dianne and yelled, “Is that what you want? You want that, too?”
Shaking her head, Dianne cowered away from him. The single loudest thought hammering inside her brain was—I’ve got to get my feet untied. We’re done for if I can’t get myself free!
Edward started to move on the floor, his legs shaking wildly as he scrambled like someone trying to learn how to army-crawl. His head thrashed from side to side. Dianne could see his eyes; they were wide open and staring like a cataract victim’s eyes, glazed with distant pain. A cold, sinking feeling of pity and fear filled her as she watched him. Although she tried like hell not to, she couldn’t help but think that it didn’t matter how badly Edward was hurt. From the looks of things, Michael was right: none of them were going to survive the night!
Michael moved over to his brother’s side. For a fleeting instant, Dianne thought he was going to help him up, but then he unlooped the rope from Edward’s neck, roughly rolled him onto his back, and tied his feet together in several lumpy knots. With some effort, he got Edward sitting up and leaning against the wall between Dianne and Brian. By the time Michael was through, Edward was out cold. His head hung to one side and his eyes were closed, but Dianne thought—prayed—that she could see a slight stirring of his breathing.
“There, there,” Michael said, standing up and looking down the line at all three of them as if he were admiring a trio of newborn babies. “I guess we’re about set to finish it all off, now, wouldn’t yah say?”
“Wha—what are you talking about? What are you going to do?” Dianne asked, her voice scratching like a cat in her throat.
It took a lot of effort, but she stared up at Michael with a hard, steady gaze that, she hoped, would show enough defiance that it might unnerve him. He had obviously completely flipped his lid, and she was desperate to find some way—any way to control him or persuade him to stop what he was doing and help them. The way Michael was talking and acting gave her the impression that, in some ways, he didn’t want to be doing any of this, almost as if his actions were being controlled.
“Why, if anyone should know, you should, Rachel … You were the one who started all of it … way back when …” He shook his head and looked dreamily at the ceiling for a moment. “Way back when. You’re the one who first told me what I had to do.”
“But I—”
That was all Dianne managed to say; she was utterly baffled, wondering why Michael kept calling her Rachel, but worse than that were her concerns about what he planned to do next.
“God, we all feel sorry that it has to be like this,” Michael said. “Especially for you, Rachel … I wish you didn’t have to die again.” His eyes softened as he looked at her with a distant gaze, but she could tell that his resolve wasn’t close to breaking. He scrunched up his face as though listening to something he couldn’t quite make out, then nodded. Dianne shivered when, just at the edge of hearing, she heard the high, keening wail of a baby.
Michael’s expression suddenly hardened again as he looked at her—right through her and said, “Did you hear that?”
Dianne shook her head even though the clear, piercing cry was still ringing in her memory.
“The poor dead,” Michael said. “She’s in such pain … such agony that never ends … that could never end … until tonight!”
Dianne’s mouth dropped open, but she had nothing to say.
“Don’t you understand?” Michael said, shrugging helplessly. “They have to get even with us.”
“Who has to—? Get even for what? What the hell are you talking about?” Dianne said.
“Don’t listen to him,” Brian said groggily.
Dianne jumped, surprised to hear his voice. She looked over and saw him watching her with a dazed, cross-eyed expression. A huge, bruised lump was forming under his left eye.
“He’s out of his frigging gourd. He can carry on a five-way conversation with himself. He has no idea what the hell he’s saying anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t, do I? Well, we’ll just see about that!”
Michael’s voice suddenly had a much different pitch to it; it sounded low and threatening, without a trace of the high-pitched whine it had had before. Dianne looked back at him, utterly convinced that Michael hadn’t spoken at all, that there had to be another person in the room talking to her.
“There, did you hear that?” Brian shouted. His voice wound up the scale, bordering on hysteria. “That’s what he does. He talks in all these different voices, like he’s all these different people or something. I heard him do it once before when I was out here with him. He’s a frigging schizophrenic.”
Michael glared at Brian, then back at Dianne. “He’s right, you know! They are all here! Everyone who ever died is still here, watching us, listening to us.” Michael’s eyes opened wide as they darted around the small room “I’ve never seen them, you understand, not clearly, but I can hear them all the time. Always could … even when I was a kid.” His frown suddenly deepened. “What, you mean to tell me you can’t hear them!”
Cringing with fear, Dianne let her gaze shift around the room. She couldn’t deny the disturbing sensation she had that the four of them weren’t alone. All around her, she sensed other people, other presences … unseen. Every detail of the room was lit up in sharp relief by the lantern light, and it all seemed so solid and stable, but she was nearly overwhelmed by the disorienting feeling that this room was all somehow nothing more than an illusion. The dirt floor, the hard, stone walls, even her own panic and pain were thin projections, and behind them all was the true structure and substance of the mill, maybe of life.
Come on, Michael, do it!
Dianne jumped and let out a tiny shriek when the sharp, feminine voice spoke close beside her. It seemed to come from inside the wall behind her left ear.
Go ahead!
Do it now!
Do what you have to do!
“My father killed some of them,” Michael said. His voice trembled and nearly broke as his eyes continued to roll back and forth. “You must have known that! That’s why this place almost burned down more than forty years ago. He started the fire, and they all died! They all burned to death that time! That’s
why he died so young. They killed him. They made the truck get that flat tire, and they made the jack slip out so the truck would fall down and crush him. They were strong then. They could make things happen!”
Dianne almost asked who, but instead whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. “I know … I saw it all.”
“That’s right, you were here, so you must’ve seen it all a thousand times,” Michael said. His breath hitched so hard he grabbed at his chest like he wanted to rip his shirt off. “There were five of them that time—a family from Sweden. Their name was Larsen. There was even a baby! Hear her crying?”
He paused and cocked his ear to listen.
“The father, his name was Karl Larsen. He was a stone cutter, working out at Mason’s Quarry, in Limerick. He’d been accused of killing his foreman at the quarry, and he and his family were on the run. They were hiding out here in the mill when my mother—oh, God! My mother!”
Michael’s eyes suddenly widened. He clasped both hands to his head and leaned forward as though desperately trying to contain an explosion. His face was a rippling mask of confusion and agony.
“Oh, my God! My mother’s dead! She’s dead!”
Tears filled his eyes and ran down his face as he glanced blankly over at his unconscious brother.
“Did you realize that, Eddie? Did you know she was dead! Dead, Eddie! Dead! Dead! Dead!”
“I … I know she is,” Dianne said in a wildly trembling voice as though answering for her unconscious husband.
“She’s dead,” Michael continued, “and now—now they can’t even find her! She was the one who had helped hem … back when they were hiding out here, in the cellar of her father’s mill, and now they want to find her so they can help her.”
He swallowed noisily. The twisted, sour expression on his face looked like he had just swallowed poison.
“My mother wanted to believe that—Karl was innocent, but either way, she couldn’t stand to see the family suffer like that, especially the baby, so she brought them food and clothes, blankets and stuff. But then the police—the police and a whole posse of people from town—a lynch mob, really—found out they were here and came to get them. They were ready to hang them, but Karl Larsen had a rifle, and he threatened to shoot anyone who approached the building. The police arrived and tried to talk him out, but he wouldn’t surrender. He shot and killed Dave Lowell, the deputy sheriff. It was my father … my father who came up with the idea of trying to smoke them out. He was angry at my mother for having helped them. He wanted to see justice done because Deputy Lowell was a good friend of his, so because he knew the mill better than anyone else, he snuck around to the back of the building and started a fire down here in the cellar, to smoke them out.”